#he drew the moon and the stars and colored it and also did the saying | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

akingdomofswordsandstories · 3 years

Text

Unrequited

azriel (acotar) x reader

Summary: takes place during acofas, you and Azriel are mates but he doesn’t know it yet, angst, fluff, and everything in between

*Also this is my first imagine ever so I'm sorry if it sucks lol! There will be a part 2 to this, but I am still working on it!!

word count: 3927

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

The winter solstice was in a few days and you weren’t sure what to get some of the inner circle. You walked briskly down the streets of the Rainbow, chilled to the bone due to the wind. You had made the dumb mistake of rushing out of the townhouse - to avoid any questions of where you were going - without taking your scarf. Your current outfit, which was a chunky knit blue sweater with leggings and boots, wasn’t enough to keep the chill away. But the cold wasn’t the most important thing on your mind. You had already bought presents for Rhys, Feyre, Amren, and Elain, but that left Cassian, Mor, and Azriel. Mor and Cass would be pretty easy to buy for, but you put it off knowing they would look through your room trying to find their solstice gift. But Azriel, that would be much harder.

Every waking hour, the shadowsinger haunted your thoughts. Something you had come to conclude was unrequited.

You had realized the mating bond between you two before he did.

It had clicked a few months ago while on a diplomatic mission. The aftermath of Hybern had left things chaotic, and if you were being honest, it still was. Rhys decided to send Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and you to travel to some of the other courts to bring back reports on the recovery after the war. However, traveling did have some dangers. While you were on your way back to Velaris from the Winter Court, your group was ambushed by a group of Hybern soldiers who had been hiding out in the mountains. Had it not been for Azriel’s wings shielding you from the initial arrows, you would’ve surely been dead, and that’s when it clicked for you. But like an idiot, you didn’t say anything.

You had thought if the bond had clicked for you, it would've clicked for Azriel too. You realized your mistake when Azriel hadn’t acknowledged any change between you two. You hoped that he would figure it out in the coming weeks, but he didn’t. You knew the same sort of situation happened with feyre and rhys so you still held out some hope. But as the months went by, and you realized the bond still hadn’t clicked for Azriel and it felt too late to tell him.

At least that was the excuse you made up. Truly, you were also afraid of the rejection that could have followed. You weren’t a fool, you knew him and Elain had some sort of connection, and that shattered your dreams even more. The possibility that he wouldn’t accept the mating bond to be with the fair skinned, doe eyed fae. Everytime Azriel was in the same room as Elain, she was the only thing he would pay attention to. During gatherings, you would plaster on a smile and act as if you were happy, but Cassian and Mor, your best friends, could sense your discomfort. They tried to ask you about it, but seeing as you would shut down anything they said, they decided not to pry too much. Amren ended up figuring out the source of your discomfort had to do with Azriel, but kept your secret until you would be ready to share it.

You came to the conclusion that distancing yourself from him would be the best option, so that's what you did.

You walked down the street till you got to one of the finest seamstresses is Velaris. Since you were an artist like Feyre, you decided to draw out a dress and have it made for Mor. The color was blood red, her signature. It was a silk slip dress that would come down to her mid-lower calf and it would be embroidered with a brilliant gold thread. You drew out a pattern of the sun, stars, and moon, which you hoped she would like. To go along with Mor’s dress, you got a jeweler to make a custom necklace and bracelet set to go with it. You designed more dainty jewelry that had gold stars with diamonds, since she was a dreamer.

You decided to design Cassian’s gift as well, creating a beautiful silver and black dagger with a moonstone on the hilt. It was a beautiful dagger, but you also made sure it was usable, because you would hate for it to go to waste. To add onto the combat theme, you also decided to buy him new fighting leathers with touches of red embroidery to match his siphons. Lastly, you bought Cassian a bottle of fae wine, which definitely wouldn't last long.

The last thing you got for all three of you was a friendship necklace. Although that sounds corny, the two of them had become such a positive force in your life and you couldn’t imagine life without them. Keeping with the celestial theme for the friendship necklaces, you bought a sun, a moon, and a star. The sun for Cassian, the moon for Mor, and the star for you. Although they are opposites in some ways, all three need each other, just like the three of you needed each other.

Now that you had gotten Mor’s and Cassian’s solstice gifts figured out, it was onto Azriel’s gift. You honestly had no clue what to get him. Due to distancing yourself, you weren’t sure if there was something that he wanted. You were positively stumped. Lucky for you though, you ended up spotting Mor in another shop a few stores down from where you were, most likely getting the rest of her solstice gifts. You decided to sneak up on her as a friendly prank. Grabbing her shoulders, you yelled in her ear, making her jump.

“Oh mother above, it’s just you, y/n! You scared the life out of me” Mor said.

“Doing some last minute shopping?” you asked. “I could ask you the same thing”. Giving her a playful smack on the arm, the corners of your mouth curled upward, even the simplest remark from her could make you smile.

The two of you were currently standing in front of a jewelry shop, looking at the collections of necklaces and earrings through the window. “Wow” you breathed out “These are all so beautiful”

“Indeed they are, although they’re quite pricey”

“How pricey is pricey?”

She whispered the amount in your ear and you stopped breathing for a second, “Holy Mother wow, that is quite the price tag. At least we can admire it from a far”, you laughed out. Even though you got a very generous salary from Rhys, you still felt guilty spending so much money on materialistic things.

After a moment you said, “Actually, since you’re here, I do need help finding a solstice gift for Azriel”, softening your voice at the end, “Any ideas?” you asked, drawing out the syllables.

“Well, I always get Azriel some cool towels, clothing, or a dagger!” Mor said. A small scoff came out of my mouth as I shook my head and raised my eyebrows. “Fine!” she exclaimed, “I may have overheard him needing a new leather sheath for Truth Teller.” grumbling towards the end. “Oh that sounds great, thank you for the help! Now let’s go off to the closest leather goods store and find a sheath!”.

“y/n! I still have shopping to do” a scowl appearing on her face. “Fine, I guess I’ll just call Cassian, cause his judgement might be better than yours, when it comes to knife related things of course” you said, baiting her.

“Ugh, I hate you y/n”

“I hate you too Mor”

“Fine, let's get going before I change my mind” she grumbled. Then we took off down the streets of the Rainbow to find a sheath.

The task was easier said than done, for you at least. Being indecisive and a major over thinker, you had looked through close to 100 sheaths, but none of them seemed good enough to hold the blade that Azriel never let anyone else touch. Except Elain.

While you were lost in your thoughts, you laid your y/c eyes on the perfect sheath. It had a bright cobalt blue stitching to match Az’s siphons. Along the tip and lining the top of the leather was a thin coat of silver plating with little sapphires embedded in the metal. You quickly snatched it up and paid a hefty price for it, but it was perfect.

“Thank god you finally picked one, it felt like we were in that store for centuries”. Mor sighed, probably a sigh of relief for getting out of the store, “But y/n, it’s perfect, I know Azriel will love it”

“Do you really think so? I just want it to be the perfect gift and I’m scared he won’t like it because what if it’s too simplistic and what if-”

“Hey! It's perfect! Don’t stress too much y/n. And for the record, I think that you’re an amazing gift giver - the amount of thought you put into gifts make it all the better.”

You could feel a blush creeping up your cheeks and mumbled a small thank you.

“Anyway while we’re here do you need to get anything to go with your solstice outfit?”

“Oh Actually, I was so stressed about getting everyone’s solstice gift that I forgot to buy my dress” your voice falling off at the end. You felt yourself being yanked to a harsh stop and the saw Mor’s face staring at yours, mouth gaping and eyes wide.

“Are you crazy?? Solstice is in 3 days and you still don’t have anything??? Oh honey, our shopping isn’t done yet.” And with that statement you found yourself being pulled into the nearest dress shop. After trying on nearly 20 dresses you finally found the perfect one, which Mor approved. It was a light blue silk dress that was more fitted at the top but flared down at your waist. It had a cowl neckline, a slit going up the side to the mid upper thigh, and accentuates your curves beautifully and has a slight shimmer to it. You looked ethereal in it

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

After your exhausting day of shopping, you couldn’t wait to get out of the cold. You swiftly walked back to the townhouse. Once inside you made your way to your room to set down the gifts, change your clothes, and grab your book. Then you quietly headed down to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea and sat on the couch to read. The house was quiet since all of the others decided to go to Rita’s tonight. You decided to stay home for some much needed relaxation. You opened your book and started reading. After a few hours, you felt your eyes drooping and eventually, sleep consumed you.

The loud noise of the front door caused you to stir and your eyes fluttered open. You were too exhausted to look so you just laid your head back down and tried to go to sleep. You could hear Mor whispering something and then felt yourself being lifted off the couch and being held close to a chest with your blanket still draped on you.

“Cass?” you whispered hoarsely along with a string of incoherent words

You heard a slight laugh “Not Cass but It’s ok, go back to sleep”. Then you felt yourself being gently placed on your bed and the sleep hit you before you could mutter a thank you.

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

The sun was setting towards the sea as you sat in the sitting room of the town house. You were in your blue silk dress with a glass of wine in your hand. Rhys and Feyre were by the mantel, quietly talking while Mor and Amren were across the room. Near the window I saw Elain, and from the corner of my eye I could see Azriel making his way towards her. My face fell but I quickly plastered on a smile, not wanting to concern anyone. Especially since today was also Feyre’s birthday and we had planned a surprise for her. Feyre thought she could slip her birthday past us, but we hadn’t forgotten. After a few minutes, Cassian made his way from the kitchen with the enormous cake.

You floated towards Feyre and gave her arm a light squeeze. “Happy Birthday, make a wish before the candles melt!”

She blew out the candles and then we ate cake before opening up the presents.

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

Rhys snapped his fingers and piles of brightly wrapped bags and boxes filled up the sitting room. Amren was the first to open her presents. Naturally, everyone got her something jewelry related. Amren opened mine and you saw a wide smile set across her face, she picked up the diamond necklace and nodded a ‘thank you’ your way. You returned the gesture back, a small smile forming on your face.

Next, Cassian handed Mor her present from him and she pulled out a-. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He bought her red lingerie. Your face turned slightly red, but the Mor said “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright. I gave him precise orders. For once in his life, he obeyed them.”

Then, you heard one sharp knock at the door.

Nesta.

You saw Cassian tense up a bit. Nesta walked in, linking arms with Elain. She got a glass of wine before heading to sit in a chair in the back of the room. The silence was deafening. Finally Varian started talking and the present opening resumed.

From Amren, you received a new calligraphy set. It was so beautiful and you loved it. From Rhys, you got some books. It was perfect since you loved to read, and they were ones that you had been wanting to read for a long time. From Feyre, you received a painting as well as a new paint brush kit.

Cassian made his way to you and set a gift down in your lap. You opened the dark blue box that Cassian had placed in your lap. He had gotten you a sky blue hardbound journal with a gold embossed star on it. You desperately needed a new one, and this was perfect. You walked over and gave him a hug, whispered “Thank you, I love it.”.

Next you opened Mor’s present. You nearly choked when you saw what she got you and your whole face heated up. She got you a matching navy blue lingerie set like the one Cassian bought her.

“Yeah, I wasn’t too sure what to get you so I thought we could twin”. You looked around the room and saw the others holding in their laughs. You could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of red on Azriel’s ears. You just smiled and mouthed a silent “I’m going to kill you, but thank you” at her.

There wasn’t anything from Azriel. Your heart twinged. Had you not been important enough? It was just a present you reminded yourself, fixing your composure before handing Cassian his present.

He ripped it open like an animal, squealing when he saw it. A promising reaction given the amount of thought you put into it.

“Did you design these? They look amazing!”

“Yeah, I’m glad you like it. It took a long time to figure out what to get for your dumb ass”

“You mean my cute ass”, you smacked his arm and then got up to give Mor her present.

You closely watched her reaction as she opened her dress and jewelry, a large smile spreading across her face.

“You really buy the perfect presents y/n, I love it”.

“Oh Cass, Mor. One more thing.” You pulled out the small boxes with the friendship necklaces and bracelets handing it to them. “This was just a little something extra I thought of, I hope you like it”. You knew you would have started stuttering and crying if you had said the meaning to them, so you just handed them notes instead. They read over them, eyes glossing over, and pulled you into a hug.

“This is the only time I’ll wear jewelry” Cass stated, causing you to chuckle

Then Mor said, “I am never taking this off” causing you to laugh again.

Finally, Azriel opened up his presents. He had opened up all the others. All that was left was yours and Elain’s gift to him. He found his way to your present first, opening it.

“A new sheath for Truth Teller. I heard you needed a new one” you quietly said.

He held your gaze and smiled, “Thank you, it's great”. Suddenly feeling exposed, you quickly gave him a nod.

Then he went to open Elain’s gift. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.” she said.

Silence.

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

You hadn’t heard him laugh before, and mother above it was gorgeous. You had never heard a sound so deep and joyous, a sound which made your heart clench. A part of you wished you were the reason he was laughing. You forced on a smile and spent the rest of the night drinking away the slight pain in your chest.

You were exhausted by the end of the night, sitting on the couch with Cassian and Mor, Azriel and Rhys seated on the opposite side of you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw movement towards the door, and craned your head to see what was going on. It was Nesta making her way to the door. You felt the couch lift next to you.

Cassian. He had swiftly pushed past Feyre and went after Nesta. This wouldn’t end well.

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

Cassian had come back quiet and brooding, walking straight to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of liquor. You got up off the couch and followed him straight into the kitchen.

“Cass, let’s take a walk, yeah?”

“I just took a walk”

“It wasn’t a question”. You grabbed a white shawl and his hand and led him outside. “What happened?”

“What’s there to talk about? It was like all the other times. Why did I have to fall in love with someone who doesn't even love me back. Who looks at me like the Illyrian born bastard I am. Who hates the idea of being in the same room as me.”

You grabbed Cass’ hand, lightly squeezing it. “Don’t say that. Nesta, she,” your voice stopping for a second “She’s different. The way she handles pain and copes is different. Give her time. She just needs time. I know how much that may pain you, but you can’t rush healing”

You pulled him into a hug

“And for the record, I know the feeling more than you know” you quietly said “unrequited love”, head pointed at the ground.

Cassian tilted his head down to look at you, his face painted with confusion. You could tell he wanted to know more, but didn’t want to pry too much.

You hesitated before continuing, not sure if you wanted to reveal your closely guarded secret. “I-“ your voice faltering, “I found my mate”. The words seemed to have rushed out of your mouth and tears pricked your eyes as you said that. After months of hiding it, you had finally gotten it off your chest.

Cassian stood shocked, staring at you. “You found your mate? And you didn’t think to tell any of us? How long ago was this”

“I-, I found out who he was around the same time Rhys sent us on that diplomatic mission. And I didn’t tell anyone because he doesn’t even know yet.”

“That was almost 6 months ago, and you didn’t say anything?”.

The tears had started flowing at this point, “I thought he would figure it out. But by the time I realized he wasn’t going to figure it out, it was too late. He had already set his eyes on someone else. And I know I could never compete with Elain, even if I am his mate.” the last part slipped out without you realizing.

“Elain? What does she-“ his eyes widening “Does that mean Az is-“

You slowly nodded, tears welled up, threatening to spill out.

“Oh, mother…”, he pulled you into a tighter hug and that’s when the gates broke. You couldn’t hold back your tears as you sobbed into Cassian's chest, his hand stroking your back.

you must have been there for 15 minutes before you realized the other might start getting suspicious. Regaining your composure, you dried your tears and tried, to the best of your ability, to hide that you had been crying.

Looking back at Cassian, you gave him a slight smile before muttering, “Thank you. I’m sorry for dumping that on you, but please promise me you won’t tell anyone. Please.”

“Of course y/n, and don’t apologize, if it makes you feel better, it helped to take my mind off of Nesta and my own problems, which I desperately needed” he chuckled out.

With the smile still on your face, you linked arms with Cassian before saying, “Oh mother above it’s freezing, let’s get back inside before we turn into popsicles!”

He let out another laugh before the two of you made your way back into the house.

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

You walked into the house and your sliver of happiness was crushed as you saw Az and Elain sitting at the table smiling and laughing quietly to themselves. Elain had her sketchbook out, showing Az her plans for the garden.

Your distraught had been clear to anyone who saw your face, and you were too tired to realize you weren’t able to hide it fast enough. Not being able to view the scene anymore, you quickly got up, muttered happy solstice, and grabbed your coat and purse before heading out the door to your apartment.

While walking home, you were consumed by your thoughts. You hated the pangs of jealousy that coursed through you. You often found yourself jealous of her soft spokenness and kindness. You also found yourself jealous of her effortless beauty. It was something that kept you up at night. She was so likeable and easily approachable, something you wished you were.

You were so drowned in your own thoughts that you hadn’t noticed a male following you till it was too late. One of his hands clamped on your mouth while the other grabbed your waist and pushed you into the nearest alleyway.

The male pulled out a knife and your tears started to fall. You were terrified about what he would do to you. This could be the last time you would have seen your family. You were struggling and kicking against him but it was no use. Your senses were groggy from the alcohol and drowsiness.

You had been so stupid to walk home alone at 2 in the morning. No matter how angry you were, you should’ve just stayed at the town house.

Before you could realize what was happening, you felt a sharp pain shoot through your side.

The sound of a clatter.

Receding footsteps.

A crimson stain blooming.

Your body crumpled to the ground and your vision started blacked out. This was it. Nobody could hear you and nobody could save you.

#azriel x reader #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel #cassian #imagine #sarah j maas #azriel acotar x reader

867 notes · View notes

blueprint-han · 3 years

Text

desert rose — yang jeongin.

↪ “ Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid. ”

— “ You’d have never thought that one incident would’ve enlightened you of how much in love you were with your childhood best friend, but it turns out to be more of a problem when you’re threatened with a life-ending disease with no cure whatsoever. Or so you thought. ”

pairing: jeongin x reader

genre: hanahaki au; fluff, angst with a happy ending.

⇥ warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of blood (not very graphic but enough that it’s tagged), lots of angst, also in this world the hanahaki surgery isn’t discovered yet, because it’s a fairly recent discovery, also y/n’s dad is nowhere mentioned in this fic idk take it as you like but i imagined him to pass away when y/n was 12 for some reason :((, please do not read if you triggered by topics of death or blood or disease! These themes will be prevalent though not in super explicit detail, they are still there. If I missed a warning, let me know. <3

word count: 11.09 K

type: long one-shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Yang Jeongin, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

part of: the @bystay skznta event, written for @stayndays !!

song: inspired from Desert Rose by Lolo Zouaï <3 No relation to the fic but it did inspire the ~vibes~.

↯ note: I’m gonna be honest this tired me out so much that I’m glad I finished it, it took me longer than I expected and it got longer than I expected, but nonetheless, here you go shayna! Hi!! It’s me! Your secret santa! Sorry I couldn’t send you that many asks because my uni is a bitch™, and I wish I could’ve made this better, but I guess this will have to do for now. I hope you like it, and I loved being your santa! 🥺 I hope we can interact more in the future, and this isn’t edited so pls go easy on me （＞人＜；）eiury2y4er okay happy reading! <3 love you shayna! <3 I wish I could give this more editing time :( but... i hope u still like it! ⇥ dawn.☀️

Jeongin’s eyes are really pretty.

The first time you'd made this miniscule observation was during your summer vacation road trip when the sun shined a tad bit overly bright, and Jeongin’s umbrella had a hole in it. The exact details of how it ended up torn don’t matter, but the way Jeongin’s eyes seemed to shimmer in the harsh noon sun almost made it seem worth it.

You remember it clearly — He’d smiled brightly when his eyes met yours, eyes crinkling into tiny little half-moons before his expression turned neutral. At that moment, you were lost into the abyss that was his midnight black orbs. They seemed to hold glimmering stars in them, ones that outshone the specks of white in the night sky.

Looking back, you didn’t think of it much, opting to shake your head off it’s daze before running to where Jeongin stood, throwing a bottle of water into his backpack and laughing at some corny jokes the rest of the group cracked.

Jeongin was a friend — a good friend. In fact, you could call him your best friend, though it had never been verbalized. You couldn’t remember exactly when or how you’d gotten closer to him — it just happened, like everything important in this world did. Like how Jeongin says “It was fate, Y/N, fate” in that old-man-philosopher voice to get you to laugh (Of course it would never work, but you’d still laugh, because anything to see him give you that bright, toothy grin and that little scrunch of his nose in acknowledgement).

The memory of how it all started is as clear as the sky, as pure as the pigment of a rose.

“Don’t stray too far away, alright? Meet me back here in two hours.” The instructor screams, and all the students chime in with a collective “Yes, ma’am!”.

“Good, now go collect your flowers.”

A flower-picking expedition isn’t a common event in a school field trip, at least in your school. You’re more used to the normal visits to the ice cream factory, or the butterfly park (which, to be fair, had some pretty flowers, if only you could pick them) or another affiliated school. Nevertheless, you don’t complain, because the prospect of your school giving you a chance to collect all the pretty flowers you could spot here had you on top of the clouds.

You’re allowed to go alone or in groups of two, and of course, Jeongin has you by the arm the moment your teacher had screamed “Disperse!” at the top of her lungs (P.E teachers had a thing for screaming, apparently). Ignoring the teasing glances the other boys made towards the both of you, you set sail on your path, scanning all the bushes for any wild and unique flowers you could find.

“Oh look, there’s one!” You pointed out after a good four-minute-walk, almost stumbling in your one-inch-too-tight-shoes and ignoring Jeongin’s giggle at your antics. You beckoned him over to where you were standing and he obliged, tucking his sweater paws into his pockets before walking over to where you were staring at the pretty flower.

So, flowers. They’d always fascinated you. You’d developed said fascination ever since you were six. Something about the sheer way the petals were arranged, the various ranges of coloring — vivid, gradient, muted — the beauty of something so delicate and intricate always drew you in. You found yourself examining a flower for hours, and surprisingly, you never grew tired of it. They’d helped you through a lot when you felt particularly down, too. Perfect distraction — snuggling against Jeongin’s arm and playing with the flower he’d always pick out for every visit, surrounded by calming; almost numbing silence along with the sound of his steady breathing, maybe sometimes his heartbeat too when he’d get overly affectionate. Flowers in a way, in every way, were your escape. You loved them.

“Hmmm.” Jeongin hummed over the sounds of the leaves susurrating and rustling on the ground, the wind enveloping you like a cold, yet oddly comfortable blanket. He fixed his round glasses over his nose, quickly flipping through his encyclopedia. No one really questioned him as to why he carried it wherever he went — but just like you, he had a vivid fascination for flowers too. It was something the both of you fit like a glove on, and you were beyond grateful to meet someone who could click with you so well.

“This is wolfsbane, we can’t pick it.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s poisonous, the whole plant is.”

“Oh…” You pouted, staring at the flower once more. You took in the sight of lush, violet petals, the way they wrapped around the centre and had almost no smell.

“Hey.” He touched your hand worriedly. “You didn’t touch them, right?”

“No, I didn’t. I know better than to touch plants without knowing what they are.”

“Good.” There you could see it again. That lovely, bright smile, one more of relief this time. When you looked into his eyes, you seemed lost — you could capture every flutter of his lashes against his cheeks, count every lustrous star that was laid in his eyes. “That’s good, the poison can be absorbed easily through your skin.”

“Yeah.” You let yourself smile at him, hands dropping down to fiddle with the hem of your frock.

“Come on, I wanna get some shots for my book. Plus some flowers.” Pulling at your hand, he led you amidst the varying degrees of green and the damp smell of grass for a good distance, before halting in front of a bush. You knew what he’s referencing to by ‘shots’. The camera that hangs around his back, ready to immortalize the memory into his SD card, or rather make a polaroid (or a painting, if he’s being artistic) and tape it to his notebook along with the pressed flower.

“Look!”

Trip a step back, and you yelp at the sudden intrusion to your pace, pouting at Jeongin before looking in the direction he had his eyes fixated on. “Roses.” You giggle, kneeling in front of the bush and hissing when you feel the damp coldness of the grassy floor seep into your knees. “They’re pretty.”

You can barely hear the sound of students walking past you — the moment seems almost captivating — nothing heard, nothing felt except the whirring of the wind, and the fresh smell of various plants mixed together, it carries.

This part of the garden seems particularly shady and cool, and some of the roses haven’t bloomed yet. A few rosebuds, a few half-bloomed roses, and two fully bloomed, deep red roses, sitting nicely against the green foliage.

Jeongin kneels before you, and you turn to smile at him, chortling at the way his glasses are about to fall over his nose again. You ruffle his black hair gently before fixing the glasses up his nose.

“You might wanna get a chain attached to that thing. You know those strings that go around your neck and to your glasses to hold them in place?”

Jeongin chuckles. “It’s alright. I don’t like my glasses anyways.”

“Whyyy…?” You whine, poking his arm playfully before directing your focus back on the rose. “You look so adorable with them.”

Your friend feels a smile tug at his lips, leaning in to pinch your cheeks lightly. “You’re adorable.” He says, before focusing on the rose, (thankfully) oblivious to the way your cheeks feel warm after his action.

“Here, let me pick them out and then we can press them into our journals.” Yes. The both of you have matching journals, owing to your near obsession with flowers. You oft share them with each other and get fascinated by how the other views the flower, how they delicately craft words into how the little gift of nature meant to them. It’s a heartwarming tradition — one of the main reasons you follow it till date.

Jeongin pulls out a pair of scissors from his satchel, and albeit with a lot of force (and the adorable nose scrunch™, manages to cut off a decent amount of stem with the fully bloomed flower, carefully bringing it to his nose to smell it before doing the same to the other one. And all the while, you silently watch.

“Here, this one is more fresh.” It’s so surprising how he can just say that by looking at the flower. Then again, you know him better than anyone, so it’s not surprising at all. He looks at you with dreamy, fluttering eyes and that precious smile on his face, his hair falling perfectly on his forehead. You want to reach out and fix the stray hairs back into position, but you hold back, swallowing the lump in your throat when you look into his pretty, pretty eyes. Trying your damnedest to not get mesmerized, lost in them once again.

It doesn’t seem like a very, very special moment. And to you at that time, it wasn’t special. You simply ignored the heat that crept up your face at his silent gesture, nodding sporadically and ignoring the way you tensed up more when your fingers touched, barely.

Your heart suddenly thumped against your chest with renewed vigour, and you could tell Jeongin was close to noticing it too.

“T-thank you, that's very sweet.” Fixing the frills of your frock, you smooth them over before looking further and deeper into the garden.

“Lend me a hand, please.”

You once again, ignore the way your heart flutters at his statement, silently extending your hand and covering up your sudden emotion with a smile. His hand feels soft, warm in your hold, fingertips slightly rough from when he used to play the violin. You like it, though.

“Here.” He places the rose carefully in your palm, making sure no thorns prick the delicate skin of your palm, and you can’t help but smile at the tiny reassurance. A nod of approval and you tuck the flower away neatly into your satchel, almost like a valuable present he’d given you, oblivious to the way Jeongin’s eyes twinkled at your action, his smile beaming.

My god, who would’ve known this flower could’ve brought you so, so much trouble?

It had started simple, almost unnoticeable. Just little glances towards Jeongin when he’d come over to watch a movie, getting lost in the way his hair looked exceptionally soft to touch, silently drifting off into space as you admired him from the backseat during class — sure, you were supposed to be focusing on the lesson and taking notes, but something about the way the rim of Jeongin’s sunglasses caught the sunlight and created a lens flare effect was breathtaking to watch.

That, combined with his beauty, his personality. It was too much, too much to handle.

You found yourself waiting to get a glimpse of him, even a tiny glance of his smile would be enough to make your day — to make your heart flutter.

He was pretty.

You suppose it’s because being Jeongin’s best friend meant you already knew about the kind and empathetic man he was — but for the love of god, you could not stop your heart from fluttering when you heard his name, let alone looked at him and his mind-numbingly pretty smile, his dazzling eyes that always seemed to keep you off the ground.

Oh my, was this love?

You didn’t believe it. You didn’t agree, couldn’t accept that this was love. Maybe it was just your way of showing appreciation for him, for everything he’d done for you? Yes. That was probably it.

Love wasn’t something you’d experienced — how could you jump to the conclusion?

But you couldn’t pin the feeling you were feeling to another word — though you were desperate. The way your heart beat faster around him, the way you started noticing all the tiny details that made you fall for him even more, and for what? Just because he happened to give you a fresher, more lusciously colored rose after choosing them on his own?

Jeongin had noticed it too — it was hard not to when you’d start fiddling with your thumbs, twirling your hair, and the way heat would rush to your face when he did as little as smile at you — you’d fallen for him — and while he was ever-the-oblivious to realise the implications of your actions, he did know that something was wrong.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jeongin asks rather dully, seeming kind of worried about your current state. You’re resting your head against his lap, but Jeongin can feel the warmth of your cheek through the thin material of his shorts — and not the regular kind. The kind of heat one would radiate when they’d either been overly flustered. Or possibly a fever.

He rests a single palm against your cheek and your eyes flutter shut, and there it is again. The butterflies in your stomach, the fuzzies in your head, and the tingling that shot up to your fingertips. “Are you sick? Is that why you’re oddly quiet today? You haven’t said or eaten anything.”

“Ah, no, I’m alright.” You try to hide the dizziness in your voice, snuggling in his hold before fluttering your eyes close. Thankfully, Jeongin doesn’t question it.

“Alright, we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.” Even though you aren’t facing him right now, you can feel him smile in melancholy.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“You know I’m here for you, right?”

Oh, you knew.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t — maybe that would’ve prevented it from ending this way.

It’s such a common scenario — in movies, in books, in media. Two best friends falling in love with each other, confessing their love in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over gentle touches and lingering kisses. You’ve always had an attachment to those kinds of movies or books — because for you, that kind of love was special in it’s own way.

Those little ways the lead characters had of showing each other their undying love, those subtle acts were so special, so special in their own way. Those books had shown you how heartwarming, how vulnerable yet rigid, strong that relationship could be. It was such a pretty world to explore, to fantasize. You kind of felt that you and Jeongin were the protagonists of those books, those movies.

Except, you had no happy ending.

The books failed to show how painful it was to swallow, to digest the fact that you could be nothing more than friends. Sure, there had been some moments where the main leads would be sad, but it was nothing compared to this, this suffocation in your chest that slowly built up, day by day, minute by minute, second by second.

It was hard.

The first prick in your chest hadn’t been entirely painful. It was barely noticeable even. Simply a tiny jolt of pain when you bent forward to grab your books from your locker. It had only been a slight jab, like when you’d accidentally poke yourself in the rib with the edge of your hardcover diary while picking it up. Nothing too hard.

Then came the slight feeling of breathlessness. You found yourself unable to run a full round in P.E (when you could easily do so beforehand), having to stop in between to catch your breath. You figured it could’ve been your dust allergy because the P.E room wasn’t cleaned that often, so it made sense. Somewhat. Still sceptical, but nonetheless, you covered up your random outbursts of coughs with any and every excuse you could find when your parents questioned you about it.

It was hard, but you figured it was just a matter of winter passing by, and soon you’d be alright.

Would you, though? You couldn’t bring yourself to accept that there was in fact something wrong happening to you, pushing behind that feeling of paranoia every time with a smile on your face and a hold of your breath, wishing for the pain to ebb away.

Who would’ve thought that a sudden infatuation would have led to your demise?

Jeongin can hear the noises.

Those loud, dragged out wisps of air that you borderline struggle to take in and expel out, Jeongin can hear them.

He can feel your struggle. It’s not easy for him to look at you like this, curled up into a ball and ignoring the rampant burn in your chest. The movie isn’t even the main focus right now. Jeongin has something to say, and he’s had enough of watching you struggle. He’s rather here to persuade you to go to the fucking doctor, and get some sort of diagnosis instead of beating around the bush.

Strange. Jeongin feels oddly affectionate today, when usually you’re the one to initiate such gestures. All he wants to do is pull you into his arms and rock you back and forth until you fall asleep, because you seriously seem like you need it.

“Y/N,” he calls, watching you lift your head up from where it’s rested against your knees. You don’t reply, because right now, your throat seems like a barren desert and all you can seem to let out is a croak.

Jeongin sighs and rolls his eyes as if in deep thought, turning on the couch to face you before touching the tops of your cheeks with his hands — they seem overly feverous.

“What’s going on?” He asks sternly.

“What d-do you mean?” You manage to get out, feeling your chest hurt more and more with each syllable that leaves past your lips in a croaked voice. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing your chest with the sharp edge of the knife, the burn in your throat and lungs getting too much to handle. You can’t even tear your focus from the fiery sensation to revel in the feeling of Jeongin’s soft palms cupping your cheeks.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting weird ever since the expedition.” Worry is laced throughout his tone, mixed in with a dash of sorrow to give rise to the most heartbreaking sound you’ve ever heard. Though you know otherwise, it almost seems as though Jeongin is disappointed in you.

“You’ve been getting more and more sick—” he raises a hand to stop you from contradicting his statement. You only look at him with mellow eyes, knowing that what he says is right. You’ve been ignoring your health for too long.

You can’t help it, either. While you have an inkling of what might’ve happened, you’re too stubborn to accept it, let along your unrequited love for your best friend, who seems ever-the-oblivious.

“—and you can’t tell me it’s the winter allergy, love. I know you more than that to believe it.”

Shaking your head in dismay, you turn around to get up. You can’t be having this conversation right now, not with the faintest taste of blood lingering at the edge of your throat — you can’t be showing yourself like this in front of him — broken down, vulnerable, confused of your own feelings, having no idea of what you should be doing.

Your mother had pointed it out too, at this point. They suggested going to the doctor, and you outright refused. You didn’t want your suspicion to come to life. It couldn’t- it couldn’t be this way-

“Y/N!”

Jeongin grabs your hands to stop you in your position and turns you around.

And that’s a wrong move.

Your whole chest tightens, and the thorns that stab against your chest has never been more painful. You cry out loudly, only causing them to dig deeper into your skin and almost bleed. Jeongin’s eyes widen in shock at your sudden, unexpected reaction and only tightens his grasp on your hands.

Which again, is a very wrong move, because the following bouts of coughs that take over you shake you up from the core. Jeongin feels blanked out looking at how much you’re suffering right now, so much that he doesn’t feel the wet, yet light flutter on the back of his hand.

When Jeongin snaps back in from his momentary daze, he’s borderline horrified.

He’s convinced, completely certain that there’s nothing more terrifying, heartbreaking, scarring — he could go on and on — than what he just saw. He can almost feel his heart break into a million tiny shards, but he knows that it’s nowhere equivalent to the pain you’re going through.

Well, looks like your suspicion did come to life.

Because what Jeongin sees is, gah, he feels horrified. There’s blood dripping down your lip, staining the skin below garnet red. Your eyes are tinted pinkish-red too, most likely from the exertion that came along with the horrendous amount of coughs that took over you.

Red, red everywhere. Jeongin had previously thought of red as one of the most beautiful, and most interesting colors ever — a symbolism of love, nothing but the pure love he felt towards you.

But now, all he could think of was how much he was tormented by the mere sight of the color.

When his eyes, still blown wide in shock, trail down to his lap, the mere sight of what’s littered on it leaves him in tears.

Red petals, everywhere. All over the back of his hands, all over your lap, all over his lap.

Jeongin could probably spend ages, ages sobbing and whimpering about the sheer pain the sight in front of him brought. It tormented him beyond imagination. This should be a dream — Jeongin wants to wake up any second now, anywhere, in your lap, in his own bed, just anything to save his heart from seeing you this way.

Yet when you cough again, the pain in his heart tells otherwise.

“Y/N!” He chokes out a cry, and from there, he acts quick. He could cry about this later — he needs to find you some help, and now.

You feel numb. As numb as you possibly can when you see the tears in Jeongin’s eyes, though your sight is clouded by your own tears. You’re numb to the blood dripping down your chin and pooling in your lap, you’re numb to the feeling of those bloody petals littered all over the couch.

“We need to get you to the hospital, quick.” He gets up, wiping his eyes that are surprisingly, surprisingly overflowing with tears. You barely feel the handkerchief quickly wiping against your mouth, causing you to snap from your trance and look at him. The numbness doesn’t fade yet.

You doubt it ever will.

You’re not sure that the events after the incident go super quickly or as slow as a snail, and you’re not in any state to care about it either. Jeongin had called your mother when he drove you to the hospital — albeit over the sound of your repetitive and raucous coughs — and now your mom’s standing next to him outside, nervously prancing back and forth as he waits for the doctors to come out.

The hospital corridor is moderately lit — perfect setting for Jeongin’s mood right now. There’s no sound except for the occasional encounter when a nurse or doctor happens to walk past them. The hanahaki treatment section of the hospital isn’t the most crowded place — surprisingly enough, the doctors had immediately known what had happened to you.

Your mother can’t bring herself to thank Jeongin for dragging you to the hospital — she’s too paranoid. Your daughter coughing up blood and — Jeongin hadn’t mentioned it to her — flower petals over a movie night isn't the best news you’d want to receive when her friend calls you; so Jeongin understands why your mother is overly quiet.

He doesn’t try to reassure her either. It’s hard to do so when she’s gonna find out her daughter houses a wedding bouquet in her chest — and Jeongin isn’t that oblivious to not know what’s going on, especially standing in the hanahaki department of the clinic. His mother, not so much. All she can do is silently sob and mutter prayers repeatedly, hoping her daughter would be alright. Jeongin feels his heart break more when he sees your mom like this, and he knows he’s not gonna last at this rate, when he’s allowed to enter your room.

At this point, he can’t get past his own brain screaming a million different things at the same time, none of them coherent enough to make sense. He’s a mess right now — red eyes puffy and swollen, hair completely disheveled and half of his sweatshirt hanging out of where it was neatly tucked in.

Two hands at his heart, and that’s when he notices the red rose petal stuck to the back of his hand, probably from when you’d coughed all over it. It’s fairly large in size — Jeongin examines it, in a slightly successful attempt at trying to distract from the feeling of anxiety that builds up inside bit by bit. It’s a deep, dark red color, exactly like the rose he’d given you that day, at the trip.

The boy sighs to himself before pulling the petal off his hand, eyes widening when the blood underneath it tints the skin it runs across.

That’s when a lump forms in his throat, but he isn’t given time to cry, because soon enough, the sound of a door opening clicks through his ears, and Jeongin’s head snaps up.

He can see you from where he’s standing, and his whole world freezes in front of his eyes.

The flowers inside your chest had grown moderately large — that’s what the doctor said, at least. You’d been hiding your disease for two months, and it wasn’t until the end that Jeongin caught on — you’d been too stubborn to accept your fate. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end, after all.

You couldn’t accept it then, but you did now. Did it seriously make a difference?

Jeongin had seen your scan, and what he saw would’ve truly been pretty, if not for the fact that these flowers could be the cause for your imminent death. The roses had almost fully bloomed — and the thorns were pricklier than ever. Jeongin could almost feel them stab against his skin, and he didn’t even have the disease. It was confusing — things were too confusing right now.

You couldn’t speak much, the painkillers you were on were making you drowsy and causing you to quickly fall asleep. Even if you weren’t asleep, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Numbness ran through your veins. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything after what had happened.

Jeongin and your mother hadn’t spoken to you after the doctor had shown them your scan, and they preferred to not break the news to you either, figuring that you were pretty shaken up from the incident already.

The doctor said he could give you two weeks before the flowers filled your lungs completely and blocked your throat.

And Jeongin is devastated.

When the effect of your painkillers wear off and you open your eyes, you feel a soft sensation brushing against your thumb, slowly turning to look at your best friend — tears streaked all over his face, eyes ridden with dark circles and red and puffy, his voice sounded nasal as he silently cried, eyesight focused on the floor.

“J-Jeongin…?” You mumble past your oxygen mask, surprisingly not noticing it’s presence until right now,

He perks up at the painful call, lifting his head to gaze into your eyes. He looks worse than you look right now, if you’re to be honest. You doubt he’s even brushed his teeth or had breakfast. The hospital room is pretty dim just like the exterior, but the sunlight coming from the open window is enough to light up the whole room, enough to at least see your friend’s features clearly.

“You’re awake.” he says as a matter-of-fact and you nod, gently taking off the contraption placed against your nose. Jeongin flinches like he wants to stop you. But then freezes when you try to slowly get up.

Turns out that’s a wrong move, because you can soon feel the thorns of the garden you have in your lungs prick against your skin, making you gasp and shriek in agony. Jeongin jerks up and places a hand on your back, and the other across your stomach — and gently maneuvers you into an awkward but comfortable position, before lifting the top of the bed into a reclining position before laying you down onto it.

“Careful, love.”

Your chest tightens at the actions once again, yet you try not to cough like you did the last time. Surprisingly biting on your tongue works to rid the feeling of suffocation, or at least distracts from it.

“Where’s m-mom?”

“She went to pick up some of your essentials, plus a few clothes.”

“D-did she eat? Did you eat?”

Jeongin smiles at your concern. It’s something he’s found endearing about you — how you always seem to put others first, even though you’re in a worse situation. Though the habit isn’t healthy, Jeongin can’t seem to get over how thoughtful one would have to be to act that way all the time. You’re so innocent, so kind — you’re one of a kind, at least for him.

“What?” You chuckle, noticing Jeongin’s lingering stare on you.

Your friend only beams, taking your hand in his once again. “I forced her to eat something because of her medication, so you don’t have to worry. I ate along with her too, though the canteen’s food doesn’t taste that well.”

A soft giggle leaves your lips and quickly morphs into a set of coughs, more petals fluttering all over your lap and hands. When Jeongin stands up to call a doctor, you lift a hand to stop him, gesturing for him to sit down.

It isn’t as intense as the first time, but there’s still a tiny bit of blood dripping from the corner of your mouth, which Jeongin quickly goes to wipe off with his thumb. You flinch at the warm touch, sighing to yourself before dropping your gaze to your lap.

“So…” You start. “What did the doctor say?”

“What?”

Jeongin seems visibly tense at your question, kind of like he was dreading it. Which he was. He knows enough about this to know that patients usually don’t like knowing, and in fact can be traumatised by knowing that their apparent death would be in two weeks.

Jeongin in fact has no idea how he’s so calm. He should be sobbing, trashing, looking for a way to hold you back. He shouldn’t be so calm.

He figures he’s just accepted fate. He’s relishing what could be his last moments with you.

You don’t reply, and Jeongin knows he’ll have to make something up.

“They said it’s just a regular allerg-”

“Jeongin.”

The boy freezes.

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is laid with so much pain, Jeongin wants to reach out and crush every problem you have into his fist. He wants all your sorrow and worry to dissolve, and right now, he just feels helpless. He feels powerless.

“How many days do I have left?” You ask, sniffling before wiping your tears away. “Just tell me already, Jeongin-”

Jeongin’s grip tightens against your hand as he whispers — “Two weeks.”

The words are only let out as a soft mumble, as though Jeongin himself is questioning the statement the doctors put forth. Really, in two weeks? Would you really be gone? Would he seriously never see more of your smiles, your loving gaze, those times when you’d get overly shy of his compliments, those times when you’d silently smile at him from afar?

Was this the end?

“Two weeks.” You repeat. Your voice honestly sounds like a croaking frog, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Hey Y/N…?” Jeongin hesitantly calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” He puts his other hand on yours. “Two questions, actually.”

“Mhm?”

“This disease you have… hana-”

“Hanahaki.”

“Yeah, that.” A hand runs against the back of his neck and he continues. “Be honest, did you know that- that you had this disease before I found out?”

“Jeongin…” You’re about to shake your head, but then you remember the deadline. The deadline by which, you’re no longer going to be here, no longer going to be able to cuddle Jeongin during movie dates, no longer be able to even look at him from afar, or close for that matter. In other words, you didn’t want to end your days with him based on a lie.

Therefore you sigh, breathing out a ‘yes’ as your shoulders droop down.

You can hear Jeongin’s shaky sigh too.

“W-why?” He clenches your hand tightly, sadness mixing in with what you can only call disappointment. “How could you be so selfish?”

It's too late to take back those words now.

“Wh-what?” You raise your eyebrows, feeling scared at his sudden question. “Jeongin, I wanted to be sure-”

Oh who are you kidding? Jeongin and you both know that you’d hidden it because you didn’t want to accept it. It’s too late to change that now.

And Jeongin seems to know that too.

“Don’t- Y/N.” His breath morphs into sharp inhales, as though he’s downright angry at your actions — you know he has every reason to be — still, it doesn’t ease the pain in your heart. Or maybe that’s just the flowers.

“Do you think this is a joke?” His sobs grow louder in fervour, and you feel yourself break at the sight. The room is so, so quiet that you can hear his faint mumbles. You can hear the cries his heart screams in agony, letting you go is painful for him. The thought, rather the sound, only makes the plant in your heart grow further.

“Y/N- did you not think of your mother? Of me? Did you not think of what would have happened if you left us? You think it’s gonna be easy on the both of us? On everyone?” His gaze stern and his voice stable, you don’t get affected by his words, but you do understand what he means — and maybe wish that you could’ve reversed your actions.

“How could you, Y/N?” He gets up from where he’s seated beside your hospital bed. “How could you think that this would be the most appropriate action?”

Jeongin knows he’s angry. Jeongin knows you’re going through a lot. But he’s too.

He’s not angry at you, not at himself, but fate. He’s mad that this is your fate, that you have to go away so soon. He’s mad that he can’t do anything to help you, in any manner.

You don’t say a word, which only causes Jeongin to sigh — disappointedly, again — and walk to where his coat is hung against the edge of his bed, picking it off and pulling it over him in a hurry. Every cell in you wants to scream at him, apologize for what you did, but your voice feels small, almost like you can’t force it out of your throat.

He goes towards the door that leads to the corridor, stopping for a second before turning to look at you.

“Are you gonna tell me, at least, who this person is?”

“W-what?” Things are too confusing right now.

“Hanahaki comes with unrequited love, Y/N. Are you gonna tell me who didn’t return your love?”

“You didn’t” You want to say. But then again, you stay quiet, not being able to handle the intensity of the moment.

Jeongin wants for two seconds, then sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever, I guess.”

And then he leaves.

In the next week, your health goes down drastically. More of petals expelled out of your lungs, more blood dripping from between your lips, more of your mother’s horrified expression as she runs away from the room while the doctors tend to your coughs. More sobs from your mother when she thinks you’re asleep, more melancholic smiles when you’re awake.

But you feel so empty.

Every piece of you feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t even sit up without someone’s help, of such intensity is the pain. The pain of knowing that your love would never be returned.

The pain of knowing that you hurt the person you loved truly.

You were put on your oxygen mask 24/7, and instructed to not take it off whatsoever. Your medication stopped taking it’s usual effect, and if anyone saw you the way you were outside the current circumstances, they’d have assumed that you haven't slept for 8 days and were going to crumble into the earth any second.

“Honey?”

You gasp at the sudden intrusion to your thoughts, turning around to see your mother, sitting next to you and holding your hand with her own. You hum as a response, clearly unable to respond more than a mere mumble.

“Did you and Jeongin fight?”

A pang of guilt floods through your nerves at the mention of your friend’s name. He’d come to visit you only once in the past week. Perhaps even he couldn’t handle the fact that your death certificate was ready to be signed soon, and was trying to not be tormented by the fact. Or perhaps he was just angry.

“W-why?” You croak.

“I convinced him to come stay here while I go pick up a fresh change of clothes, but it took me quite a bit of arguing.”

You feel sad for her. She’s clearly paranoid — you can hear it in her voice, the shake lingers throughout. Yet she holds it in, trying not to let you worry about it.

You don’t answer her question. The last thing you need is for her to get mad at you too, though you doubt it. Your mom has never been the kind to yell at you for anything — provided, you’ve never given her a reason either.

“Do you think he’s mad because I didn’t tell him about the person who didn’t return m-my l-lo-ve…?” your throat goes dry towards the end and your mother quickly hands you a glass of water. You chug it down and sigh in relief, breath still short.

“Is that person him?” Your mother questions with her gentle, soothing voice one that can make you relax on the first listen. There’s no use lying to her, you figure. She knows you too well to do that, plus, like you said, you couldn’t bring yourself to end your days with her on a lie.

“Yeah…”

“Oh sweetheart,” She brushes some of your hair off your face, sitting down again before drumming her fingers against the back of your hand gently. “I don’t think he could be mad at you.”

“But he is. Didn’t y-you see? He didn’t bother to meet me as much after our argument. He’c c-clearly mad.”

“Hmmm,” Your mother ponders. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I have known him for a while, dear. He’s been with you for more than five years. Maybe he’s having trouble taking this in? Just like…” Your mother stops after that, but you know the completion.

Just like her.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

You simply don’t get it. You should be scared. You should be sad and devastated that your end was going to come soon. You should be thrashing around and crying and wailing in despair — you just don’t have the energy to even bother about your end. It’s depressing, but you know there’s no way you could avoid the inevitable, or get your lover to return your love.

Love wasn’t supposed to be something forced, it had to happen naturally. And if Jeongin didn’t develop it naturally, you just had to learn to live with it. Or not.

“Don’t be, darling. Everyone deserves to love, just like how they deserve it back. I wish it could’ve ended differently.”

“It’s alright mom. He loves me too… just not on the way I love him.”

You sniffle as a single tear runs down your chin, though you and your mom aren’t given enough time to speak more when you hear a familiar voice at the door.

“Hey Mrs. L/N.” Jeongin says, shrugging off his half snow-covered coat before hanging it onto the bedside. Did he seriously walk in the snow? All the way here?

“Hello, Jeongin dear.” Your mother stands up, picking her coat before moving to fish the car keys from her purse. “Thank you for watching over Y/N while I’m gone, darling.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. L/N.”

“Oh, so formal.” Your mom chuckles, though in her despaired state. “Y/N, you get some sleep, it’s about midnight dear.” She leans over to kiss your forehead while Jeongin excuses himself to the washroom, and you nod.

“Good night mom.”

“Good night, and don’t worry about him. He’ll talk to you eventually.”

Oh, how reassuring. “Mhm.” You smile, closing your eyes to drift into slumber before Jeongin returns, because the last thing you need right now is to feel sad and cry over how you’d hurt him.

By the time the sound of the door clicking resounds through the space, you’re already asleep.

It’s way past midnight. Jeongin shouldn’t be up.

Somehow, he still finds himself seated next to your bed, staring fondly at your calm features as you finally get the rest you’ve needed for the past few days.

Oh, he wouldn’t be able to compare your sheer beauty to even that of the moon; even when you’re in such a fragile and vulnerable state. Your eyelashes are still and unmoving where they sit against your skin, your breath is calm and slightly wavering as you struggle to breathe slightly.

His hand slips into your own gently, and his heart melts when you shift, tightening your grasp on his warm skin before falling into a slumber again.

Why was he mad in the first place? Jeongin feels dumb for acting so quickly on his emotions, especially when you’re in a bad place at the moment. He wants to wake you up and apologize, but he can’t, because you’re sound asleep — and that’s a good thing, since seep comes so scarcely to you these days.

Then, a single tear falls from his eyes. His thoughts traverse to the dream he had the previous night — you, cold, dead in his arms. Him, sobbing, trying to wake you up but you’re really gone. He can’t even hear your mother’s cries from behind him, because he’s devastated to know that you’ve left him. The dream had woken him up in a cold sweat — it was then he realised that he’d committed a mistake, and agreed to come visit you, because you had about 5 days left.

His thoughts then traverse to the conversation you had with your mother, while he was standing outside in the cold hospital corridor, curiously listening.

“Is that person him?” “Yeah…”

When he heard those words, countess, infinite thoughts crashed at his head; all at once. Nothing made any sense. The reality of the situation was dawning on him too quickly, and Jeongin was having a hard time processing it.

You loved him? He was the person who didn’t return your love?

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He mumbles in confusion — so much confusion, so much hurt — he wanted time to just stop for awhile and give him a fair chance to analyze the situation.

But, once all the initial thoughts were out of the way, only one question remained:

Was he the reason you were going to die?

Jeongin felt like a murderer — like he’d just stabbed you in cold blood. He knows it is’t like that — just like you’d said, love should come natural. So why did Jeongin feel so bad? WHy did he feel like he was the one at fault?

A fond smile crosses his lips when he remembers the book where you keep all your flowers safely. Who would have thought your fondness for flowers would morph into the reason for your demise?

Quiet, hushed in the midnight wind, Jeongin gently brings out the rose he’d picked from his satchel. It’s almost relieving to see a rose in it’s true glory, without scattered petals or blood covering the flower. A part of him grows sad that you won’t be able to gush over flowers together anymore, he won’t be able to see your smile anymore. It hurts him. It stabs his heart over and over again, and Jeongin is pained — almost like he’s being put to death slowly — he wants the pain to end, but only suffers and suffers.

The stem has already been cut and the thorns have been thrown out. Jeongin leans over to tuck the flower behind your ear, fingers brushing against the almost cold skin at the back of your ear before letting another tear slip from his eye, running down his cheek and falling on your palm.

A strange, oh-so-strange feeling creeps up on him. It’s like… a fluttering in his heart? Jeongin can’t quite place it — heck, he doesn’t try to make sense of it. There are more important things to look at, right now. He suddenly has the urge to pull you into his arms and gently murmur sweet words into your ear — seems odd for a situation like this, but oh well, feelings are feelings.

He pats your hand gently and smiles, before moving to sleep on the smaller bed in front of your own. Not allowed to go far, though, because your grip on his hands tighten almost immediately, and Jeongin tightens to look into your eyes, sparkly and slightly droopy from the intrusion of sleep.

“Y/N, go to-”

“Stay.” You mumble, feeling your voice choke as the petals threaten to spill out for what seems like the millionth time. Yet, you manage to spill out another, “Please?”

Jeongin feels like he’s about to cry. Your expression is so, so hopeful, he can’t bring himself to deny. He wouldn’t in the first place, because who was he to deny what could be his friend’s last wish?

A sob bubbles up his throat, but he swallows it down, smiling with melancholy before following your weak pull on his hand, genty climbing on your bed before slotting himself between you and the steel grill that prevented patients from falling down. He gently tucks his hand under you and pulls you close to himself, tensing up for a second when you wrap an arm around his own, gently rubbing on it before drifting off to sleep. You want to cherish this moment — this could be the last time before you could never see him again. Fuck your medication for making you so drowsy. Or not, because you were certain you would start crying, and that would certainly not end well.

The whole room falls silent for two seconds, and you fall asleep almost immediately.

And then, Jeongin releases all his tears, and everything comes crashing down on him. He breaks apart.

The world was too cruel to you. He was cruel to you. He can’t believe that in less than a week, you’d be gone. Gone from earth. Flowers had lost all their beauty for him, the moment he saw you coughing them up on that couch during movie night.

He wanted to do anything. He wanted any small sign to show that you would stay with him. He was in so much pain, he couldn’t accept your fate. He wanted to grab your hand and pull you to himself, keep you close, he couldn’t let go, he couldn’t give you up, he couldn’t —

“I love you.” You mumble unconsciously in your sleep, and Jeongin loses it then and there. His throat feels dry as tears flow and flow and don’t cease no matter what. His body shakes like a sobbing child, but thankfully you’re knocked out from the effect of your medication. He hasn’t cried this hard in a while, guess there’s a first time for everything. The three words pierce his heart, and they suddenly hold more meaning than anything — Jeongin wants to hear those words on a loop; he feels strangely ecstatic when you say them.

And so, with a shaky voice and a sorrowful tone, Jeongin replies after pressing a kiss to your forehead — “I-I love you, t-too.”

His eyes flutter shut and he basks in your arms just one last time, holding you close to himself as he finally, finally finds himself at peace, next to you.

When your mother finds you both snuggled up and asleep together, a smile crosses her lips. A hopeful smile.

“Are you ready for your scan, Y/N?”

You feel oddly light today — one would say it’s because your body was close to shutting down completely, but your throat felt a bit, a tiny bit clearer and less barren than a fucking desert. Nevertheless, the scan does make you nervous. This would make clear how long the flowers would take to reach your throat — the doctor’s estimation was about three days, which seemed way too short for Jeongin.

Oh, how embarrassing it was when the nurses, all giggly and mushy-eyed, found you snuggled with Jeongin like a teddy bear at the early hours of the morning, waking you and Jeongin up and only cracking up more at your bewildered expressions when you find yourself tangled with each other.

Before the scan, Jeongin had held your hand softly, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. You’d shyly smiled, nodding before letting the nurse drag you to the scanning room.

The details of the scan itself aren’t important, it went pretty well — as decent as a scan could possibly go. You’re able to cooperate with your nurses pretty feasibly, you feel the sudden urge to get out of your wheelchair and try walking. Sure, you can still feel the choked feeling in your throat and the burn in your lungs, but somehow, it’s just a tiny bit lesser than usual. Maybe it’s because your painkillers are working more effectively. Maybe.

Jeongin’s waiting for you outside when you’re led out of the room, and he smiles when he sees you.

You don’t even remember what you’d said the previous night. All you remember was passing out while Jeongin was in the washroom, and then waking up to him cuddled up, warm and snug next to you. His features were clear and calm as the ocean on a sunny day, a small smile on his lips, as though he was dreaming about something happy. You hope he did, because that boy deserves the happiness.

“You seem energetic today.” Jeongin says, taking note of your perky demeanour, that only causes you to giggle slightly.

Sure, you don’t remember the happenings of last night, but he does — and he’d promised himself to cherish every last second. Because in the end, it’s all he can do — for leading you to this state, for getting mad at you and wasting precious time in which he could’ve stayed with you. He’d promised to not let you live your last moment sad and desolated.

“I feel light, for some reason.” You mumble with a broken voice as Jeongin takes the wheelchair from the nurse, listening to what she has to say before bowing and nodding, leading you back to your room.

“What did she say?” You ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“She said your scan results would come in an hour.”

“Oh… alright.”

For some reason, you’re too joyous today, after the little surprise you got as soon as your eyes opened. You can’t seem to bother about the end— you want to live in this moment, right now.

When you come back to the room, Jeongin lifts you up bridal style, causing you to gasp before placing you down onto the bed. The nurse waiting there quickly fixes your IV and helps you sit into a comfortable position (though it’s hard when thorns keep pricking at your ribs) before bowing to the both of you, and leaving.

Your mother has once again left to go fix up the house, leaving you in the trust of your best friend. You aren’t complaining though, especially when Jeongin sits down beside your bed, taking your hand in his before playing with your nimble fingers — just like always.

He looks gorgeous today. After a lot of nagging from your mother, he’d used the hospital bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair neatly, and you’re happy about that because he looks fresher and happier than ever. You want him to be smiling and happy, even when you leave, because… did you need a reason? You just wanted him to be happy and content with his life.

The thought invokes an angsty feeling of melancholy, but you brush it away, trying to focus on Jeongin and the silence that drops on the both of you like a warm blanket. You smile softly at him, gently letting go of his hand before tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear, almost melting when Jeongin’s eyes flutter close.

“Hey Jeongin?” You call, grabbing his hand once again and interlacing the fingers together.

“Yeah?”

“When I… leave,” You notice the twitch in his expression, but nonetheless, continue. “Will you bring me flowers every week?”

You remember the red rose you’d found tucked behind your ear when you woke up — it had dried up a bit, but nonetheless, it was one of the prettiest objects you’d ever seen — even though there was a whole bouquet of them spewing out your mouth every two seconds.

“I will.” Jeongin sniffles. The thought of having to visit your grave every week to bring you flowers is immensely saddening, but Jeongin agrees anyways. He agrees, for you.

It’s the least he can do.

It’s funny how you say “leave”, like you’re going to your hometown for a month-long vacation and not actually like you’re going to be buried any time soon. Jeongin thinks it’s because you don’t want him to get too sad over his loss — a stupid thing to wish — Jeongin knows this loss is going to affect him in more ways than one.

“Jeongin, d-don’t cry…” You cup his cheek, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek and wiping away the tears that fall, one by one. Jeongin shakes his head, placing his palm on your hand and smiling at you.

“Can you do me another favor?”

“As many as you’d like Y/N.” He says. He’ll do anything you want — it’s your last wish after all.

“Bury me with my flower journal, please?” It may seem like a weird claim to bury oneself with a dusty old book, but Jeongin understands the significance — you want to hold onto those memories you made with him while writing it together, while picking flowers together and all those happy moments you exchanged.

Jeongin tries not to let his voice break again. “I will.”

You beam at his acceptance. Jeongin feels the slight thump of his heart against his chest, and a warm feeling envelopes him from inside. He’s suddenly overcome with an urge to press delicate kisses on your eyelids, though he tries to shoo it away, because it isn’t the main point of focus right now.

But soon your mother walks in, and it’s all small talk and deep conversations with her at the same time. You have breakfast, persuade (more like force) Jeongin to scarf down his meal and giggle about some random jokes thrown here and there, until the doctor comes in. Both Jeongin and your mother stand up, bowing and wishing good morning while you do too. Wish, not stand up. You’re basically tied to the bed at this point.

“Mrs L/N, I’d have had a word with you in private, but I think Miss Y/N needs to hear this too.”

“What is it, doctor?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and Jeongin’s grip on your hand tightens, thumb rubbing over your skin to soothe your obvious tension. The doctor slides the transparent, firm sheet off it’s envelope before letting the sunlight hit the back of it, in order to enable a clearer viewing.

“This is… the most unusual case I’ve ever seen, but —” He points to a junction on the scan. “The flowers have actually reduced in amount, and they've separated from the windpipe by a whole two inches. See?” He points at the edges of the lungs and at the windpipe, but you understand what he means. The flowers are there, no doubt, but it’s almost like — a whole stem of them just disappeared into thin air.

Of course this could’ve been because you coughed them up, but the coughed up flowers go instantly, or so you’ve heard. There’s confusion written on all of your faces right now.

“Is that why I was feeling lighter and easier to breathe today? Because the flowers withered off and gave more space for air?” You ask in your low voice, and your doctor nods.

“Seems like it. Do you have your previous scan?” Your mother hands it to him quickly after a great deal of fishing out of her purse.

He places the earlier scan behind the newer one, and suddenly, you can see what he means. It’s almost like they shrunk — you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but nonetheless, you’re happy you can breathe a bit more.

“What does this mean, though?” Jeongin asks, bewildered at the strange news. The room is so quiet and the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, and you can see both your mother and Jeongin waiting for the doctor’s words.

“It means that we’ll take another scan tomorrow, a deeper one. And check if the flowers are actually collecting somewhere else, or just disappearing. And if they are disappearing…” He trails off, and you giggle when Jeongin and your mother lean forward in anticipation, though curious yourself.

“She’ll be home by Christmas. Or even earlier, if the recovery speed is fast.”

“Y-You mean… I can be cured?” Your voice shakes with hope, and the doctor smiles sweetly at you, before nodding.

“Yes dear, you’ll be the first patient who’s walked out of this place cured from hanahaki.”

At that moment, it almost feels like every flower inside your chest wilts out — you feel so light, so ecstatic. You’re over the clouds at the news, and don’t even hear your mother’s cries of thankfulness before the doctor heads out.

“Y/N!” Jeongin exclaims, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his heart and the burn in his cheeks when he cups your own. “You’re gonna come home!”

You shake with soft sobs, and smile at Jeongin.

“I’m gonna come home.” Provided the scan tomorrow showed a positive result, but you don’t bother to mention that part.

And the next day, when your scan results come back, a huge smile adorns your face, and your mother is in tears. Happy tears.

The sunshine is overly bright today, leaving you squinting for sight, especially when you’re seated in a garden out in the open, book in one hand and the other one resting against the cool, moist grass. The air holds a musky forest scent, and you revel in the feeling of the shivers the cold air that cuts through skin brings.

The park is relatively empty for the morning — you’re glad it is, because it brings on a sense of calmness that you seem to like. The surroundings are just perfect — you don’t want anyone to disrupt your mood right now.

So yeah. The story ends that way. You recover, bit by bit, though it takes a whole bunch of time. There were times when you still had to cough out those petals, but you couldn’t be happier — it felt as though you were spitting out those vicious thorns that had tormented and threatened your life. The doctors had no idea how you’d managed to recover — but this was an interesting case to put into their portfolio, so they weren’t complaining.

And oh, you had Jeongin to help you through all of it, of course.

It had taken you two weeks to be discharged from the hospital and be able to finally walk again, but when you did it — you felt like a whole new person, in a whole new world. Sure, you had to hold onto your mother or Jeongin wherever you went for the first week or so — it was almost like your legs had turned jelly.

When you returned home, Jeongin insisted that he take you to the garden every day, and when you complained that you couldn’t walk, he’d lifted you into his arms (bridal style, again) and carried you all the way there, and then given you a piggyback ride you all the way back home.

Eventually, you ended up telling him the truth — that the unrequited love that caused everything was because of how you’d fallen for him. You figured he deserved it, especially when he’d stuck with you the whole time without any hesitation and helped you whenever he could — he was truly one of the nicest, kindest people you’d ever met.

Of course, you were surprised when Jeongin only smiled and told you that he knew what you were talking about, and then proceeded to narrate how he’d overheard you in the hospital. Giggles left his lips when you gave him that meme-worthy look, making him shake his head before slinging and arm over his shoulder.

Surprisingly, that night ended just like the books — lovey-dovey confessions exchanged in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over shy smiles and lingering kisses. The both of you finally gave in to each other.

Huh, so maybe you were wrong about them — books — after all.

So when, your love was returned in the end, every flower in your chest had finally disappeared, and you couldn’t have been happier.

“You know when I brought you here I wanted you to help me pick flowers and not read a book?”

You laugh at the voice that comes from behind, closing the book shut before placing it on the side while Jeongin takes a seat beside you, hissing at the slight coldness of the grass. Ah, what a romantic scenario — green and colorful flowers as far as the eye could see, a book that you’ve been trying to finish but have never been able to because your boyfriend keeps interrupting you with his random outbursts of affection, and said person sitting right next to you.

“Well, you keep interrupting me all the time!” You chuckle, sliding a hand behind his shoulder before pulling him down to lie on your lap, and Jeongin complies. A sigh of content leaves his lips when he feels your fingers comb through his hair to rid them of any tangles — Jeongin feels stupid to not realise how much he loves you. It feels nice to call you his, feels nice to be able to say I love you, in all of it’s true meaning.

“What, I can’t cuddle my girlfriend now? Come on,” He takes your other hand in his, turning onto his back to look up at you before pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You feel the heat creep up your cheeks when he calls you his girlfriend, still not being able to take it in without growing immensely shy.

“You crybaby, fine. I’ll read the book later only because I love you and you give exceptionally nice cuddles.”

“Hmm, good.” He mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut in calmness when he feels your fingers brush away any stray locks of hair that may get into his eyes. The reaction to your touch is so immediate these days, Jeongin thinks it’s a part of his routine now. Spend at least an hour admiring you in all of your happy, healthy glory.

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, admiring his features in silence. His hair has grown longer now — Jeongin refuses to cut it no matter your endless verbalizations of how his original haircut looked better — and a small part of you has grown fond of this look too. His warm skin, and his sparkly eyes when he looks up at you, the bright, loving smile that he displays before getting out of your lap, kissing you on your lips to break you out of your focus.

The action only makes you more shy, and Jeongin laughs, cooing at your behavior before standing up, dusting his clothes off the dirt and extending his hand for you.

“Lend me a hand, will you?”

The line seems vaguely familiar and you’re overcome with a sense of deja vu, but nonetheless, you give him your hand, standing up before picking up your satchel and handing him his own.

“Now are you gonna pick a rose for me or do I have to do it myself again?” Jeongin raises an eyebrow and smirks, and you frown, slapping his arm before walking off to check all the flowers in their bushes.

“Hey, wait for me! Y/N!”

When he reaches you, he slides a hand into your own, interlacing the fingers before looking at you lovingly.

“I love you.” You both say at the same time, giggling at each other soon after — perhaps at how well you knew each other to time the confession so well.

So, this is how it ends. While you do think that things could’ve been handled differently, you’re glad that everything went the way it went, because in the end, you’d found him, he’d found you, you’d discovered your feelings together. You loved each other.

Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid.

but what if she had never recovered?

taglist: @inkidz @stayverse @districtninewriters @kpopscape @skzwritersclub + @sunoo-luvs @sleepylixie @rae-blogging @happiestgirlontheeastcoast @guerillrah @p2q3r4 @baby-innie (Please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist!) *oh holy lord pls let this show up in the tags*

468 notes · View notes

herherteartear · 3 years

Text

blanket kick

précis— Peter's not the suave man he would hope to be in front of his crush. instead, he's a blushing mess that haunts his memories and causes him to take out his frustrations on his blanket. luckily, you prefer cherry cheeks over smooth lines any day.

pairing— Peter Parker x enhanced!maximoff!reader

a/n— this is my first standalone written story and my first time writing for marvel! i hope you guys enjoy thisss<3 i'm also open to creating drabbles to continue this if anyone's interested????! pls enjoy and pls comment and let me know ur thoughts!!!

there are many ways to describe Peter Parker, but none could ever wholly capture the true essence of the boy

besides the obvious stuff,, his intelligence , his insanely good looks , his teenage awkwardness,,

it was a hard feat to string along words to describe the way he carries himself , the way he is with others , the way his heart loves with the same ability a sponge soaks up water and soap

Peter's had crushes before

perhaps more than he'd like to admit

(can't blame the boy, who gave Ty Lee the right be that cute!?)

but when he sees her, his heart begins to swell and suddenly, he forgets how to breathe..

or how to think... talk. y'know normal human stuff

in all honesty, Peter has tried his absolute hardest to block out their first meeting from his memories

he doesn't regret meeting her, of course not! never would he even repent that embarrassingly wonderful day

he only wishes it would've gone a little differently

let's set the scene, shall we?

the sun was shining brightly, the sky was a Carolina blue, the clouds were the prettiest porcelain color, rimmed with lace

Peter was riding in an awfully silent car that Happy was driving to the airport. despite being terrified of what's to come,, the fight Mr. Stark had recruited him for,, the boy was thoroughly enjoying this adventure.

the car came to a stop, which did little for Peter's nerves. he gathered his courage before stepping out, eyes squinting at the brightness of the yellow sun. once his eyes adjusted, they landed on the prettiest head of hair he had ever seen

(although he did think the same for Hermione Granger)

Peter had never been on a plane before that day. but even then, his sparkling eyes stayed trained on her,, completely ignoring the brilliant private jet behind her

"oh? Happy, i thought it was just us?" her voice made Peter's ears burn. he swallowed thickly. you blinked at Peter, curious but also intrigued , you smiled.

to which Peter choked. on air. your eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"a-are you okay?"

"god, kid, get ahold of yourself."

"i-i'm okay! it's– i'm– i'm fine!" Peter quickly stuttered out.

"well, Yn, this is– uh,, what's your name again?" Happy turned towards the boy who's cheeks were now redder than a firetruck.

"oh! i'm Peter– Peter Parker. it's nice to meet you- not that i don't know you. well i don't, y'know not personally. but like from the news.. not that i believe the news! they're awful to you, but i mean i guess i do sometimes– but never about what they say about you–"

"i'm Yn Maximoff. it's nice to meet you too, Peter." you cut him off before Happy strangled the cute boy. you had an amused smile

he was cute

finally getting on the plane, Peter had hoped he would be able to sit far away from you and wallow in his embarrassment,

maybe sneak a glance or two.. imagine a couple of scenarios where he wasn't a doofus,

but that's not quite what happened.

after witnessing just how much the new kids was able to ramble,, Happy was not about to spend a whole ass plane ride remotely close to him

so he took it upon himself to make the kiddies sit together.. much to Peter's dismay.

like!!? did Happy not see how Peter crashed and burned in font of you?!

you, on the other hand,, had the opposite reaction.

being the youngest avenger, you don't get to be around people your age too much,, which isn't something you're complaining about!!

you totally made the decision to be an avenger and you happily welcomed the consequences..

that didn't mean you didn't get lonely at times. especially now with the accords and the team breaking up., things got a whole lot more lonely

your sister, Wanda, had made her choice to leave the compound. you completely understood why, but a part of you had hoped she would've taken you with her

although, staying at the compound did ensure your safety.

it was a weird time for the avenger's , it felt wrong for you to say some of your teammates were criminals

it left a sour taste in your mouth

you glanced from the window seat to see Peter nervously wringing his fingers. you frowned.

"are you okay?" you asked, gently. Peter's eyes widened and his heart jumped to his throat. he wanted to say something, something cool or aloof, something that would make up for his ranting earlier

"i've never been on a plane before." Peter squeaked out. he dropped his shoulders, rolling his eyes at himself. that was the highest pitch he had ever heard his voice. you took in his clearly anxious posture.

"lets switch seats? maybe looking out the window will help you." you stated. before Peter could quickly shake his head, because how rude would it be of him to take your seat?, you were already stood up.

"oh god!" Peter breathed. he quickly shifted over to the seat you once occupied. he wanted to put up more of a fight, but the way you were swaying due to the turbulence, made his palms sweat in fear for your safety.

"you, like, swing from buildings and stuff, right?" you asked. he turned to you with a nod. "are you afraid of heights? or do you just not like planes?"

oh god. oh. no. you thought– you thought he was scared of being on the plane. Peter wanted to shrink in a hole and hide. you probably thought he was such a baby! that he could handle swinging from hundreds of feet in the air, but a plane is where he drew the line?

but what else is he supposed to say? 'oh, no! it's not the plane I'm scared of. it's just your beautiful smile and the way you smell like cocoa that gets me sweating'

wtf.

that was so wrong in so many ways.

"um, no, no. i'm okay, just– just a little nervous, is all." Peter tried to force out a chuckle. but it come out more like a cough. you mouth formed an 'o.'

"ohh, okay." you paused before your eyes lit up. "how about we play a game? to distract you?"

"o– okay.."

"can you talk with spiders?" Peter lifted his eyes from looking at his hands hovering above yours,; he let out a much more relaxed laugh than earlier.

you took advantage of his distraction to swiftly bring your palm from underneath his and slap the top of Peter's hand. he jumped.

"ouch!" he playfully pouted. you eyes glanced down at his lips. you giggled nervously. your hand went to hover over his, him now being the one to do the slapping. "of course i can't talk to spiders! i– i feel like i should probably be able to shape-shift into a spider in order for that to happen, y'know?"

you nodded thoughtfully. "that's true.. you didn't hear this from me, but i heard there's an Ant-Man going around." Peter looked at you with wide eyes.

"no way! that's crazy! does he like turn into an ant?" you bumped his hand with yours in order to get his attention back to the game. his hand burned at the feeling

"i don't know-" you said in a singsong tone. "it's just what's being said around the compound." you quickly slid your hands to avoid Peter's attack. he huffed.

"how are you so good at this?" he knitted his eyebrows to focus on how to attack quickly without hurting you.

"it's a game i used to play with my brother and sister." you answered. Peter finally took his chance to slap your hands, to which you squealed excitedly as you had tried to move in time. Peter and you fell into a fit of giggles.

you both leaned against your seats, still facing each other. your hands fell on top of Peter's.

the brown haired boy quickly slid his hand out from under yours, not because he didn't enjoy the contact, but because he was worried you'd feel how clammy his hands were

you frowned slightly at the loss of contact.

"a– are we really fighting your sister?" Peter wondered out loud, without a second thought.

you shifted uncomfortably. Peter quickly noticed; his heart sped up and he mentally scolded himself for being so inconsiderate.

"not because i think she's evil! i mean,, i know that's what the news says.. but they also think Spider-Man's like thirty. and i'm not thirty! its just everything's crazy right now.. with the accords., i can't even imagine how you're feeling! probably terrible.. oh, g od wait, not terrible, i'm s–"

you had been watching with an endearing look in your eye. you had come to find that you enjoy watching Peter ramble.

his eyes would become unsettled and shaky, his body would begin to become more and more animated, but his voice

gosh, his voice was something you wanted to listen to for the rest of your life

but you could tell he was getting more and more skittish. so you put him out of his misery

"terrible probably wouldn't be my go-to word, it's up there though.. at least i got to meet you." you smiled softly.

Peter's eyes ran over your soft features. night had fallen, so the windows of the plan displayed an almost picturesque display of the moon and stars. the light hue of color the moon provided painted your face in a way that clouded Peter's thoughts.

with your comment of being grateful to have met him, Peter wasn't in control of his mouth for much longer.

"so pretty." he breathed. both of you guys froze.

Peter's face quickly morphed from love-sick to mortified. you blushed violently.

deciding you didn't want Peter to fall into another rant-like apology (because if you got to listen to him talk for that long in this setting, you might just drop the 'L' word) , you said,

"let's watch a movie?"

the two of you sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but being too hyper aware of their thighs pressed together and brushing hands to actually pay attention

upon arrival, both teenagers walked off the plane, sleep deprived , but with thumping hearts and dazed grins.

Peter threw himself on his hotel bed that night,, hiding under the covers

his thoughts replayed your interaction over and over (and over and over) in his head

the boy shoved his head, face first, into the stiff hotel pillow and let out a muffled groan

Peter flipped himself over, stared at the ceiling, before remembering his spouts of unnecessarily long explanations

he thrashed his body, kicking his poor blanket in frustration but most of all, out of embarrassment

he calmed himself down once his memories refreshed themselves over your gentle giggles and how soft your hands were

Peter fell asleep with cherry red cheeks and a blissful grin.

because despite those small mess ups, despite the futile way he beat his covers in humiliation, Peter treasures that day like no other.

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x yn #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #peter parker headcanon

121 notes · View notes

djadins · 3 years

Text

aurora glow | thrawn x f!reader — part one

An alien ship lands on Earth after electrical failure. You have been surviving alone, the planet being struck by an EMP-like solar flare years prior. What happens when you meet the inhabitants of this ship on your travels?

warnings: violence, explicit language, canon divergence

rating: T

word count: 2.8k

a/n: Thrawn probably is and will be OOC during this series. also, as the story progresses i’m definitely bound to get things wrong and probably accidentally add something that’s actually from star trek (so apologies!) loosely inspired by the Voyager episode ‘Gravity’ and a book I recently finished!

You saw the crash before you heard the explosion.

It had been a long time since something had lit up the sky that wasn’t the moon, sun or auroras. You weren’t very far away from the crash site, you could tell. Although, admittedly, you were still bad at measuring distances. It was on your way southbound anyways - as it was fall, and winter and the first snow would be fast approaching.

You arms tightened around the smooth handle of your walking stick, one of your favorite found items. You preferred to think of them in this manner, rather than “looting” or “stealing”. Could they even be considered that if their owner was no longer there to use them? You didn’t think so, at least.

It took twenty minutes before you were close enough to see the smoke rising out of the giant space... ship. You felt a shudder rip through your body. You know exactly what you saw but it was still a concept you had to wrap your brain around. Believing for nearly your whole life that out there, somewhere, other life had to exist... and actually seeing it with your own eyes were two different things.

You instinctually began walking lower to the ground, closer to the shrubbery and trees, checking your hip for the well hidden, small 9mm you kept on you at all times. You knew you had few bullets left and would not use it unless you really needed to. There was a knife in the inside of your boot that you would try to use instead but only if the situation called for it.

You could make out many white, helmeted figures from here. At least, you assumed that was armor and not their actual bodies. There was also one, deep, calm voice alongside a fair amount of shouting that you couldn’t quite see. You walked in a semi circle, closer to the voices. There was a lot of brush, thankfully, that you could hide yourself in.

When you were close enough to see the event that was unfolding, you instinctively held your breath. There was the spaceship, in all her glory, smoking and partially buried in the ground. You were surprised there wasn’t more outward and obvious damage, but you weren’t sure of the full extent of the electrical failure or how far from the planet it had reach. Many of those white figures were scattered around, holding some sort of weapon in the direction of the action.

The shouting figures, which were now only a few feet from you, were holding weapons you recognized. Even with their backs fully or partially turned from you, you could tell that the three of them were human. Two men, who had their weapons pointed towards select armored white aliens, and one woman. She had a short-barreled shotgun that was pointed at the tallest of the aliens.

His crimson eyes caught your attention first and you released your breath at the sight of them. They were dark, reminding you of the Red Delicious apples you had stored in your pack. His vibrant blue skin contrasted harshly against his eyes and his pitch colored hair and uniform. His hair was short and slicked back but a few strands were hanging over his face. He seemed humanoid apart from his angular face, but even with that, if he wasn’t blue he might actually pass for human.

You realized the woman wasn’t shouting at him, but the uniformed men around him. Their weapons were pointed at the three humans but they were taking no action.

“We want all the food and supplies out of that ship, now!” she shouted. “If we don’t get it in five minutes, I’ll take big blue here down!”

You were close enough to see the jaw in the tall blue alien’s mouth tighten. He pinched his lips together tightly before responding in a cool, calm voice. “As I have already stated, my men will not respond to your demands. Neither will I, for that matter.”

The woman began shouting again. You bit your lip and wondered if you had gone mad for what you were considering doing. You didn’t even give yourself time to think if this was the smart move before you picked up the palm-sized rock that was on the ground beside you. There was a large, wooden warehouse on your right where one of the human men had been standing beside, weapon ready. You were about 30 feet away from it from your current position.

You wound your arm back and threw that rock with everything you had. It smashed through a wood panel, making a sharp cracking noise. All heads momentarily turned, except for the blue alien, who’s line of sight was now firmly focused in your direction. You had already taken off from the bushes, walking stick in hand, when you realized he was looking directly at you.

While everyone else’s attention was still focused on the dilapidated warehouse, you spun your walking stick behind your back and then quickly whipped it back in front of you, hitting the woman with the shotgun square in the head. Your walking stick shattered where it connected with her. She crashed into the ground with a bloodcurdling scream and you grabbed the shotgun she dropped. All eyes were now on you as you pointed it at her.

“Drop your weapons, you two,” you yelled, partially out of breath, eyes still focused on the woman on the ground. You poked her with the barrel of the gun. “Tell them,” you warned her.

She nodded her head and looked around at the two men. You heard the familiar crunch of grass as the two weapons were dropped, but your eyes were still focused on her. Then you heard the shrieks of the men and a sickening crunching sound that followed. Two of the white armored men now approached either side of you, weapons drawn. The blue alien was still silent, but he put his hand up towards his men. They lowered their weapons instantly.

He motioned for you to back up and you did just that. The two armored men flung their weapons behind their backs and went towards the woman on the ground. They restrained her before you finally drew your attention fully to the tall man in front of you. He had stepped closed to you now that you were hanging onto the shotgun with one loose hand, the barrel almost brushing against the grass.

He held a large, cerulean hand out to you. His eyes had seemed to lighten. “If I may,” he started, “it will take my men off edge.”

You nodded and passed the weapon over to him. He held it in both hands, studying it for a moment, before handing it to one of his men.

“Why did you betray your people?”

You looked from his hands back up to his eyes, your voice suddenly gone.

You bit your lip and looked around you, fully realizing the situation you had now put yourself in.

A handful of the armored men had restrained the three humans but the rest were looking at you and the alien. They still had their weapons drawn, and although they weren’t pointed in your direction, you knew that they easily could be.

“Th.. they weren’t my people,” you stammered, looking back into his vibrant eyes.

He tilted his head slightly. “Hmm.” He took his time, looking you up and down before doing the same to them. “They resemble you. Are you of a different race?”

“N.. no. I, uh,” you struggled on how to explain. You bit your lip again. “We are all humans, from this planet, yes. But I do not know them personally.”

Another hmm escaped his lips as you wondered how on this good earth you could even understand what he was saying to you. “I am still perplexed,” he admitted. “What would compel you to help me?”

You looked down at your feet after he asked you this. You honestly weren’t sure what surged through you in what had only happened moments earlier. You looked back up at him, directly in his eyes. “I’m not sure,” you answered honestly. “I have never seen an alien before and I didn’t want you to think we were all bad.”

His eyebrows scrunched together at your response, giving you what you could only describe as a quizzical look. It was as if he was trying to figure you out entirely by solely examining you. He took a step towards you.

“You have never met another who wasn’t from your own planet?”

You shook you head. “Before the blackout, it was a widely debated topic whether or not there was extraterrestrial life somewhere in space.”

He smiled at your response. “Well, I’m happy to inform you, there are many different life forms, spread across millions of light years.”

He watched your eyes light up at this statement. You couldn’t help but look up at the sky above you. You felt infinitesimally small in that moment.

“I am Thrawn, Captain of the Thunder Wasp.”

You looked back at him and gave your name.

“I am unsure of how your people greet one another, however it is a pleasure, nonetheless.”

You held you hand out towards him without thinking at his response. Some of his men tightened their grip on their weapons at your action and you flinched. He looked towards them and shook his head. He slowly mimicked your action, bringing his hand out but not quite touching you.

You grasped his hand, slow enough that he could pull back if he was uncomfortable. You looked in his eyes and smiled, slowly shaking his hand up and down. His hand was large, enveloping yours easily. He was incredibly warm to the touch. “Nice to meet you, Captain.”

He caught on to your action, bringing his hand up and down in a synchronous motion with you. When you both released your light grip, he smiled back at you. “Please, Thrawn is sufficient. I am not your commanding officer, but a visitor to your planet.”

After this interaction, Thrawn’s men separated, leaving the two of you to yourselves. There were still four guards with the other humans and only then did you bring your attention to them.

“Dirty bitch,” the woman spat at you and as soon as she did, one of the guards knocked her in the back of the head. A shudder ripped through your body after witnessing this.

Thrawn called out your name and you focused your attention back to him. “If I could borrow you a moment, I have some questions I would like to ask.”

You shook your head in affirmation. He turned on his heel, hands firmly clasped behind his back as he walked towards his ship. You left your walking stick on the ground as you followed behind him.

The ship was tilted sideways slightly, it’s nose buried in the ground while it’s backside was raised a little above. You approached the side of the ship, where two of his soldiers were standing in position beside a door.

At the Captain’s approach, they grasped what appeared to be suction cups on each individual door. The pulled and the door split open in the middle and Thrawn walked towards it, taking a large step up into the ship easily with his elongated legs. Upon realizing you would struggle a lot more to get in than he would, he bent down and reached a hand out towards you.

You didn’t hesitate as you put your hand into his and one foot on the floor of the ship. It was angled just above your waist and you could feel the stretch burn the back of your thigh. The sensation didn’t last long as Thrawn hoisted you into the ship, seemingly using little energy on his part. He dropped your hand as soon as you were steady and the doors were manually shut behind you.

The corridors were lit with dim red lights along the wall. Shadows bounced as you and Thrawn navigated through the ship. His skin looked almost iridescent in here.

You followed him through many different corridors until he paused in front of a door. He pulled a card out from somewhere in his uniform that he swiped against the panel next to the door and it slide open automatically. Same at the doors outside, just without someone manually pulling it apart.

You looked around as you followed behind him. You were in a large room that resembled an office and had another closed door leading to somewhere else along the wall. There were many different pieces of what you would describe as art scattered through the room along with a giant desk. It had two large, comfortable looking chairs settled on either side.

Thrawn pulled out the chair that had its back facing the door you had just entered, clearly made for whoever was visiting the owner of this desk, which you could only assume was the man in front of you himself. Once you had settled in the chair, which threatened to swallow you whole, Thrawn settled into the seat across from you.

He started by asking you what exactly you had meant by the ‘blackout’ you had mentioned earlier. You did your best to explain what little you knew of it, telling him that a few years prior the sun had sent out a solar flare strong enough to act as an EMP, effectively wiping out all electronics, everywhere, and sending humans back to the stone age. Thrawn listened to you intently, without interruptions as you did your best to work through what information you had gathered through the years. You ended your long explanation by telling him that approximately once every 30 days, another solar flare would hit the Earth for roughly 12 hours and restore most of the electronics during that time. You could tell it was approaching by the aurora that would brighten the sky the night before.

You both sat silently as Thrawn chewed through the information you had just given him. Finally, he simply said, “That explains some things.”

You waited patiently for his next question while he formulated it. You had trouble keeping your eyes off of him, but didn’t want to come off as rude, so you looked around the room every once in a while.

Thrawn called out your name softly while you were staring at a painting situated over his left shoulder. If it wasn’t eerily silent on the ship, you might not have heard it. You looked over at him. He was examining you as if you were that painting hung on the wall. Finally, after a minute that seemed like an hour, he asked what your plans were.

“Well, winter is fast approaching. I aim to keep heading south where it will be warm during the season.” You looked down at your feet. “I have found it best to keep migrating through the years. Staying in one place invites danger,” you practically whispered.

“Are you all alone?”

You held back the emotional outburst that threatened to rip through you at that question. You shook your head in confirmation.

“How long?”

You swallowed hard. “7, maybe 8 seasons.”

You could feel Thrawn’s pity even if you weren’t looking at him, even though if you had looked at him you would have only outwardly seen stoicism.

“When do you expect the next flare to hit?” he asked you after a few silent moments.

You looked up at him for the first time in a while. His red eyes were soft, the color nearly washed out compared to the first time you saw him. He had folded his hands on top of his desk and was hunched over — or what a military man like him probably considered hunched over. His back was still pretty stick straight.

You pondered his question. “If I had to guess, 10... maybe 12 days. I don’t keep track very well anymore and sometimes it doesn’t follow an exact pattern. But it always happens, eventually.”

Thrawn nodded. “Would you be willing to stay with us while we repair the ship?”

Your mouth fell open. Sensing your confusion he added, “You are the only one who knows this planet, we could use your expertise.”

You bit your lip so hard you tasted metal.

Thrawn continued, voice near a whisper. “I will take you off this dying planet in return.”

His transition from ‘us’ to ‘I’ didn’t go unnoticed by you. You still sat there, silently processing his question.

You took a sharp breath in and let it out shakily. Tears prickled at your eyes.

How could you leave the only home you had ever known, if Thrawn and his men could even get their ship working again in the first place?

How could you survive out there, in space? A place you didn’t know... none of your people really knew, where you didn’t belong.

Where would you go? What would you do?

But you had no one and nothing left here.

You gave him your answer and you could have swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in response.

73 notes · View notes

thisisarcanereverie · 3 years

Text

When in Love (Sam Wilson x Reader)

A/N: I love Sam Wilson period.

ULTIMATE MASTERLIST

REQUEST SOME PROMPTS

Summary: Bucky did indeed flirt with Sam’s sister again........and now they’re getting married. Sam brought you as his date to their big day.

“It’s not too late to get Carlos,” Sam said as you straightened his tie, Sam could do it by himself but then he wouldn’t have an excuse to have you near him.

“I’m pretty sure people would notice if the groom weren’t to make an appearance.” You said as you finished straightening his tie, letting your hands linger there for a while as you looked up into his dark eyes.

“Don’t know unless we try.” Sam half heartedly said. He was only half joking, for the past few years he saw Sarah happier than she had been in years. He knew Bucky treated her well and that he loved the kids as well. Sam knew Bucky would never hurt them.

Didn’t mean that Sam didn’t have Carlos on speed dial and an alibi set up just in case.

(Y/n) lightly smacked her hand against Sam’s chest as he laughed. His warm dark eyes lit up as he looked at her.

(Y/n) smiled and rolled her eyes. She had gotten ready before driving over and Sam couldn’t help but think of how beautiful she was in sky blue.

Sam had been nervous when he asked (Y/n) to be his date to Sarah and Bucky’s wedding. He knew she wasn’t one for parties where she didn’t know anyone but she had surprised him by accepting.

“We have a wedding to get to.” You drew him from his thoughts while grabbing your clutch on the bed and walking out the door to wait for him. You had no idea the effect on Sam, even the way your hips sway when you walked away drove him insane.

Sam took a deep breath in to calm his nerves as he readied himself mentally. Sam was not only going to be one of Bucky’s groomsmen but also the one giving Sarah away.

Their father was the one to give her away the first time she got married, and now since their father had passed Sam was the only one left for the job.

Sam gathered his thoughts and headed out of the bedroom and down the stairs to see your figure waiting for him patiently at the bottom.

You hear the stairs creak under his feet and look up. You had always thought he looked attractive, but put that man in a suit and your knees began growing weak.

You barely managed to tear your eyes away from him for a second as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Ready?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

“Ready.”

---

The wedding had been beautiful, it was held at the church. The aisle and booths were decorated with white flowers and ribbons.

On Bucky’s side there was Dora Milaje and T’Challa. Along with Thor, Brunheilda, and the Guardians. Rocket was mostly looking at Bucky’s metal arm though.

The Ceremony had been just as beautiful, Sarah walked down the aisle in a beautiful white gown which made Bucky tear up with Sam. AJ and Cass were already by Bucky’s side, after all Bucky had named them his Best Men.

While Sarah and Bucky said their vows Sam’s gaze couldn’t help but wonder to you. You were seated by Sarah’s side of the church along with almost everyone in town. You smiled and wiped a few tears as the vows got increasingly emotional. You had been seated near a glass stained window and all of its colors bathed you in it’s light. You just got more beautiful the longer he looked at you.

Suddenly your eyes had met with his, and he felt his heart stop and breathing suddenly became difficult. It wasn’t unwelcomed though, in fact it was quite the opposite. Sam didn’t look away and neither did you. You both had stared at each other until Sam decided to be bold and wink and flash his intoxicating smile. You smiled bashfully before winking back and tearing your eyes from his to focus back to the stars of the day as Sam did the same thing.

The reception was back at the house, Sam and a few other people from town helped set up the yard yesterday. Making an area for dancing, dining, food, socializing. Decorating it with magnolias and fairy lights and it looked stunning.

The sun had almost begun to set by the time everyone got back to the house to enjoy the party.

Bucky and Sarah did their first dance as husband and wife to an old 1940′s song and was later joined by AJ and Cass. Bucky had gone above and beyond to make sure the boys had been included in everything.

After their dance ended, something faster paced began to play and almost everyone began to make their way to the dance floor. You and Sam being among them. Sam had twirled you around and danced with you until it was time for the toasts to begin.

“I just want to thank everyone who came here today,” Bucky began to speak on the microphone, a beer in his hand. “I especially want to thank AJ and Cass for letting me into their lives, and my beautiful wife Sarah.” Bucky paused and gave her a wink, Sarah winked back and smiled. “I promise to uphold my vows and protect and love you and the boys with everything I have.” He raised his beer bottle in cheers before taking a quick swig out of it.

AJ and Cass had performed their toast next, welcoming him into their family and just an overall sweet speech which ended with Bucky in tears for the second time that day. It made your heart swell to see Bucky so happy after all these years he had to endure alone and tortured. He deserved this, they all did. Sarah, Bucky, Cass, and Aj deserved to be happy together.

A few other people gave speeches before Sam gave his. Even Rocket gave an impromptu speech.

“Can I have that arm now?”

“No.”

“I’m getting that arm.”

You saw a quick look of fear cross Bucky’s face as Rocket was approached by Dora Milaje and struggled to hold in a small laugh.

Sam made his way up the stage to give his speech. He straightened his jacket before grabbing the microphone.

“Sarah as your brother I am so proud of you and I know if Dad and Mom were here they would say the exact same thing. They would be proud of the woman and of the mother you have become.” Sam said with tears at the corners of his eyes at the mention of their parents, Sarah wiped her tears away as well. “Bucky as your friend I know Steve would be as proud and as happy for you as I am. Happy that you have finally found your peace and I welcome you to the family with open arms.” He raised his glass to Bucky who returned the favor. “Although I do recall telling you not to flirt with my sister,” laughter then ensued as Bucky chuckled and shook his head. “As Sarah’s brother,” Sam then motioned to Carlos sitting at one of the tables, “I want you to know that it’s not too late for me to get Carlos to feed you to the fish if necessary.” Carlos then waved and laughed at the groom who returned the favor. “treat her and the boys well and I guess we’re no longer co workers.” Laughter erupted as Sam took a drink in congratulations as did everyone else.

---

As the party began to die down you had snuck out the pier to get some fresh air away from everyone.

It wasn’t like you didn’t enjoy their company and didn’t get to meet some pretty interesting people. It was just you needed a moment to yourself to relax. You were an introvert at heart and so many people at once tended to overwhelm you sometimes.

You watched as the water moved gracefully, breathing in time with it. The lights from the party reflected in the water and the music could still be heard although softer now.

You didn’t even seem to notice a certain man making his way to you before you heard a silent ‘oh shit’.

If Sam thought you had looked beautiful before, now you were angelic. The sun had long before set and now your figure was illuminated by the faint lights of the party and the moon. It gave you an almost ethereal glow as he noticed your hands fidgeting. A habit he noticed a long time ago, you always have to do something with your hands. He honestly found it cute.

Sam had been so caught up in you that he hadn’t noticed a little loose board and nearly tripped over himself.

Your hands stopped moving as you saw Sam holding onto the wooden railing of the pier for dear life. You laughed a little at Sam’s embarrassed expression as he tried to walk it off as though it didn’t happen.

You looked back out to the water as Sam finally made his way to your side. Out of the side of your eye you caught a glimpse at the man beside you. The light of the party and the moon made him look romantic, and you noticed that at some point in the night Sam discarded his tie and jacket, rolled the sleeves up his forearms and unbuttoned a button or two on his shirt. He started fidgeting with the watch on his wrist as you both look at the water dancing.

You could hear the upbeat music from the party change to another slow dance.

“You wanna dance?”

You turned and saw Sam with his hand out, ready to take your hand if you accepted. Which you did.

Slowly you and Sam moved with the beat, the music was quiet and the lights had made the moment all the more romantic.

Sam held your hand in one and his other hand went to your waist, pulling you flush against him making your heart beat out your chest.

Neither of you said a word, Sam hummed in tune with the song as you smiled at him.

Sam’s heart was beating out of his chest, usually he was smooth. Usually Sam had no trouble speaking to ladies, but it seemed as though you were the exception.

A couple of seconds passed before Sam finally broke the silence.

“Usually I can speak just fine in front of someone,” He started his deep voice quiet, “but now I can’t seem to speak without getting all tongue tied.”

You laughed a little at that, Sam loved your laugh. He couldn’t understand why but your laugh always seemed to put him in a better mood.

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked with a smile on his face, you wondered if his smile would ever stop making your heart beat faster.

“It’s just something my Mum used to tell me,” you explained, “what you just said reminded me of it.”

“Tell me.” He said his eyes focused on you, eyes reflecting the light from the reception. You looked down bashfully before meeting his eyes again.

“When in love speech becomes meaningless.”

Sam’s dark eyes stared into yours intensely as if you had become the only thing left in the world.

For a moment you wonder if you had misread the signs, maybe you had scared him. Panic starts to fill you as you begin to apologize before his hands move from their places at your waist and hand to either side of your face and kiss you.

The first thing you noticed was that Sam tasted of beer and spice. The next thing you noticed was how soft his lips were on yours and how gently he moved against you.

You had been so lost in the kiss that you hadn’t noticed the music dying down and the lights going out, all there was, was you and him.

You both pulled away reluctantly and watched as the moonlight reflected off the water. Content with not speaking another word and just holding each other in peace.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #the falcon imagine #the falcon x y/n #falcon marvel #falcon mcu #x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #sarah wilson #White Wolf #wakanda #t'challa #black panther #marvel x reader

151 notes · View notes

everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Like The Stars Hold The Moon

Written By : @katnissmellarkkkk

Prompt 59 : "Katniss dad is a victor, he won his hunger games and is a mentor. Peeta is reaped for the games and Katniss begs her dad to help him win the games. [submitted by anonymous]“

Hi! It feels like there’s so much I need to say here and I can’t remember any of it now! This is obviously–if you read the summary, which I assume you did and that’s why you’re here hahaha–an EFE prompt. It was submitted by an anonymous person, so I don’t know specifically if this is what you wanted but I really hope this is good enough that you’ll be fulfilled?

I don’t think there is much more to say? I hope everyone who reads this has a good day! I wrote plenty of this on Easter so I’d like to thank Jesus for rising again. And I feel like the prompt alone is a sufficient summary but just so you know, this heavily features Katniss, Peeta (obvi), Haymitch and Katniss’ father, Hunter (I named him, that’s not canon, I know).

This fic I likely going to be a three-shot with an opportunity for a sequel three-shot. Oh and also, thank you to the anon who sent the prompt!

Oh and this got really long, so I’m just going to submit the first part on here and then I’ll add a link at the bottom to continue reading on AO3. I’ve never done this before so I don’t know if I’m doing it right?

Okay, if you read all my talking, bye now!

Rated T for the canon violence.

At the reaping for the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games, Matty Knick drew out the names of a ”very special boy“ and ”a very special girl“ from the reaping bowls. She read them off in a bright voice and matched the sentiment with an out of place perky smile. The girl’s name was Heather Branch.

And the boy’s was Hunter Everdeen.

Of course, everyone knows the story of Hunter Everdeen.

Year of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"So Hunter,” Caesar Flickerman leans toward the victor, absolutely electrified, and says, “tell us, tell us. How excited are you for the games this year?”

The camera focuses in on gray eyes, the color of a storm cloud or a cleanly polished knife. Dangerous and hard and cunning.

Or protective and frightful and angry.

Or warm and loving and kind.

“I’m about as excited as I always am, Caesar,” he shoots back, not a trace of even so much as a smirk on his face. Not even so much as a lift from the corner of his mouth.

And still, the crowd of Capitol idiots burst out in laughter, as if they just heard the funniest joke in the world, as if this was Hunter’s desired response to the words.

As if the conversation wasn’t about teenagers—and some as young as twelve—killing other teenagers.

“And what about you, Haymitch?” Caesar asks next, segueing from one aggravated man to another.

“I’m looking forward to the free drinks,” Haymitch says while tipping back dark gold colored liquid into his mouth. Almost as an afterthought, he gestures wide and sloppy to the crowd, igniting cacophonous sounds from the population once more. “And of course, the social interaction with all you lovely people.”

No one in the audience recognizes the insult. No one understands the blatant sarcasm at their expense.

Here in District Twelve though, we do. As exemplified by Peeta’s laugh, vibrating against my back. “Shh,” I hush, laser focused on the enormous television screen before us.

“Daddy’s not speaking anymore,” Prim reminds me from the other room, where she’s currently flipping through a magazine our father sent.

“Well, be quiet before he does,” I snap, elbowing Peeta when he rolls his eyes now. “Stop it, I haven’t seen him in weeks,” I complain, fixing him with a fierce glare.

“I know,” he murmurs agreeably, gently kissing my temple. “But he’ll be home in a few days.”

As if they could hear our exchange from inside the television box, Caesar turns his attention back to my father. “Hunter, how excited are you to get home to District Twelve?”

At that, his eyes genuinely light up with ferocity. “I’m counting the minutes,” he replies, but still manages to keep his tone cool. He adamantly refuses to give away his true emotion to even a single soul in the Capitol. It’s his way of withholding power from their greedy, glitter covered hands.

But I see the change in him. Prim, from her position against the doorframe, sees it. I’m positive my mother, who’s watching with our brother from the comfort of our house sees it as well.

Our father’s eyes are now alive again, the permanent frown his mouth resides in on every televised appearance loosens a bit, his brows aren’t knit so closely together any longer.

Caesar Flickerman sees the change too evidently.

“Look at those silver coins!” He bellows, gesturing for the cameras to put my father in a close up now. “They just lit up like the stars when talking about home. Tell me, Hunter Everdeen, how’s the family back in District Twelve?”

At that, my father makes a considerable effort to transform his entire expression into a mask of indifference. “They’re good,” he states evenly, his tone clipped. Making it blatant to even the airheaded Capitol citizens that he refuses to speak publicly about his family.

“Because you’re not property of the Capitol, baby,” he told me once, while on a walk in the woods. “You’re not anyone’s property.”

“What about you and mommy?”

“You’re our responsibility, but not our property.” He’d knelt down to my height, which happened to be the shortest in my second grade class. “Property implies ownership, Katniss. And no one owns you. No one owns you or your sister. Remember that for me. And never let yourself forget it.”

“You’re daughters are both old enough for the reaping, am I right?” Caesar presses further, and my sister and I automatically sigh. Knowing the response that’s bound to come.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, as he still remains completely clueless. I shake my head instead of offering an explanation though, leaning further into his chest.

Peeta won’t understand. He was raised in town by merchants—the owners of the bakery, to be specific. He’s never understood the fierce protectiveness, the instantaneous fury, the irrational tunnel vision, that appears when a victor’s child is mentioned entering the games.

Peeta’s never even met my father. I’m not impatient by any stretch of the imagination to put the two of them in the same room, to watch my father chew my boyfriend up and devour him alive, to abide by his rules and regulations that will surely come with dating.

He doesn’t know Peeta and I have even so much as shaken hands. I’ve never so much as left him even the slightest hint. Not even when I’ve accompanied him to the bakery for the occasional trade with Peeta’s father, the baker himself.

Like both Prim and I predicted, our father is now on edge, his breathing uneven and his nostrils flaring. “Yes. Both my girls are of age,” he says after a long beat, his tone hard and jagged.

Caesar though is either oblivious or is extraordinarily practiced at appearing obtuse. “Well, wouldn’t it be something if either of them were chosen for the games? Am I right?” He directs his questions to the audience. “Don’t we all love a family story?” His words elicit cheers and hollers and a murderous glint in my father’s silver eyes. The camera only catches it for a moment’s time before quickly flitting away, towards the much more enjoyable image of the Captiolites chattering like chipmunks at the very idea.

And suddenly I feel Peeta’s arm tighten around me, the vision of me—the only person in the world he’s certain that he loves—being taken away from our home here in Twelve and tossed into an arena with kids twice her size, too much for even his naïve mind.

“Don’t we all believe in Mr. Everdeen,” the talk show host continues to push and I feel my typical annoyance with the odd man bleed into anger. “I mean, he brought home Mr. Abernathy here.” And with one single hand gesture from Caesar, the entire interview’s focus re-centers on Haymitch.

And unlike my father, he doesn’t even miss a beat before replying.

“Barely,” he mutters with a last swig of his drink, cleaning the glass. “And he was stingy with the gifts.”

Next to him, my father relaxes a bit. Haymitch always brings out a bit of levity in him, even on his worst days.

After all, in my father’s eyes, the paunchy drunk is a symbol of hope.

Haymitch is the only person my father’s ever brought him. He’s the only other living victor inside the confines of Twelve.

Not to mention his closest friend.

And my surrogate uncle, I note, a bit ironically. Haymitch and I have a far different relationship than he has with anyone else in my family but he’s always been there, has known me since the day I was born, often has dinner at our house, rain or shine, no matter how much he annoys my mother, and he’s an irreplaceable member of my family.

The audience is still riled up from Haymitch and howling with laughter—a bit too much, in my opinion—but my father can’t let the subject of his children go before adding one last sentiment.

“Don’t worry, Caesar. If either of my girls are reaped, trust me,” he states, louder and far more pronounced than anything else he’s said the entire interview. “They will be the victor. There’s not a tribute in the arena that would survive against my girl.”

For as long as I can remember, my father had taken me to the woods. He sometimes claims the first time he looked down at me in my mother’s arms, at a mere two days old, he saw a familiar hunger in my eyes.

Not a hunger for food. District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest in the country of Panem, but luckily, my family is one of the richest.

Unlike my schoolmates, I’ve never once had to worry about having enough to eat for lunch. My parents never worried that we’d starve to death or that Prim and I could be taken from their grasp by authorities. They never worried about supplying us with whatever we needed—they gave us more than we ever could have wanted—and they never had to fret that we’d be sent to the mines for work one day.

No, we were far too wealthy and far too famous for any of that.

But my parents had a far different batch of worries to keep them up at night. Not about food or finances or anything remotely common in Twelve.

No, they had to worry about cameras peaking into the privacy of our home and photos being taken without our knowledge and my face or Prim’s face being splashed across every magazine and newspaper in the country.

They worried about the almost insatiable thirst the Capitol seems to have for more family dynamics among the victors.

Especially after the recent back-to-back sibling victories led the hunger games to higher ratings and revenues in the Capitol.

When I was a child, my mother coached me to never go into town without my father by my side. Which sounds easy enough, until my father’s extensive vacations to the Capitol are taken into consideration. For as long as I can remember, my father would leave at random stretches of time, for weeks on end. To go play puppet for a population so dumb, so completely isolated from the rest of the country, that they took his anger for sarcasm. They took his bite as charm. They believed his glare was an act, was part of his appeal, when in reality my father had rebelled against performing for the last twenty-seven years.

When he was gone, our lives became strict. Bedtimes came earlier, curtains remained drawn day in and day out, our mother never wanted to sing or dance or even so much as smile with her husband gone.

But when he was home, sunshine peaked in our windows again. It danced on the floor and it swept us away with its gentle affection.

There was music and laughter and sweets and toys. He never returned from the Capitol empty-handed. He brought back expensive jewels for our mother, he built me and Prim a fancy treehouse in the backyard, put up a large, golden swing-set, went as far as purchasing as many cakes and breads as he could hold from the Mellark Bakery.

Peeta’s parents bakery.

Since I was two, further back than I can even retain, my father would take me out to the woods, would hold my hand and tell me old stories of District Twelve’s past, detail insane urban legends, teach me about plants and berries and trees and the direction of the wind.

And for as long as I can remember, I idolized him. He was so confident and so charismatic and so kind. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be exactly like him when I grew up. It felt like an honor to me that I received far more his end of the gene line than my mother’s. She was regarded as a beauty in her youth, but he was one of the most magnificent people in the country. Having his coloring and the same silver eyes felt like a special gift, awarded every single time someone marveled at how similar we appear.

But my father was gone often and the unpredictable lengths of his stays in the large, foreign city was one of the only constants my family ever knew. So it really came as no surprise when my mother phoned the cabin only minutes after Caesar’s interview was over.

“I’ll get it,” Prim says flatly after a moment, throwing a sardonic glance at me and Peeta on the couch. Now in a much different entanglement than we had been while watching the talk-show.

“Thanks,” I murmur unintelligibly against Peeta’s mouth, before closing my eyes in pleasure.

“Don’t strain yourselves,” she can’t stop herself from tacking on the end.

“We’ll try not to while you’re still here,” Peeta murmurs cheekily, moving his lips downwards, towards my neck, right onto my pulse point. I let out a somewhat ridiculous squeak in response.

“Hello?” Prim says lightly into the receiver, already knowing it’s our mother. No one else calls this phone, inside this hidden cabin, located in the woods surrounding Twelve.

The woods in which officials fenced off years ago. The woods in which it’s illegal to enter. The woods in which my father has taken me to hunt for families less fortunate than ours since I was a small infant.

It’s not a typical cabin found in the outskirts of Twelve. No, ordinarily a cabin out here—a cabin anywhere in Panem, really—is nothing more than a broken down shack. There’s normally nothing other than an unsteady foundation, a freezing damp floor and an unlit fireplace.

But somewhere along the lines, in the years before I was born, my parents resurrected this place from the depths of despair and expanded it, rebuilt it, refurnished and redecorated and turned it into a vast, warm, safe second home for all of us to run away to when we felt the need.

Prim listens into the receiver for a long moment before she sighs deeply and beckons me. “Katniss, can you?”

Instantly, I break away from Peeta’s embrace, cupping his face and pulling him back from my collarbone.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I scramble off the couch, my anxiety abruptly spiked. “Did something happen?” I search Prim’s eyes as I take the phone from her but, to my utter relief, all I find there is blatant, unmasked disappointment.

I already know what my mother is going to say before I put the phone to my ear. “Hi?”

“Hi, honey,” she murmurs, her voice both strained and higher than typical. Which indicates she’s trying to put up a front for us right now, when she’d rather be moping in bed. “Your father just called. Evidently Effie Trinket informed him he has more scheduled commitments to fulfill before he can come home.”

I deflate, already prepard, knowing this was coming. Isn’t it always coming inadvertently? My father has never been home when he was scheduled to be in my life. No matter the holiday, the birthday, the emergency or event, the Capitol demands that they comes first to him. Not even my birth could upstage his commitments. He wasn’t allowed to return home to Twelve, to meet his firstborn child, until his press events were done and over with.

It’s no wonder he refuses to put on show for those people.

“Okay,” I mumble after a moment, not even convinced my mother is even still there on the other end.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, as positively as she can. “He’ll be home as soon.”

“Yeah.” I try and fail miserably to match her tone. I inherited my father’s ability to act. Or inability, that is.

There’s the faint sound of crying in the background, and my heart aches a bit. “I’m sorry, honey, I have to go check on Archer,” she apologizes as a way of saying goodbye.

I make my way into the kitchen as soon as we hang up. Prim is standing by the counter, staring at the same magazine our father sent three weeks ago.

Peeta comes up behind me then, his hand rubbing my back in comforting circles. “Your father delayed again?”

I nod silently, as my eyes focused on my little sister now. She’s trying her best to hold back the upset that’s threatening to take over.

And without hesitation, my instincts to protect my family from anything and everything painful kick in. “Prim, it’s okay. It’s probably only going to be another week before he’s back,” I console, stepping closer to her small frame and touching her back.

It’s all the initiation she needs before spinning around into my arms and clinging onto me tight. “He’s never around,” she cries into my neck—I’m not much taller than her—as her shoulders shake with tears.

I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, measuring my reaction to Prim’s words. He’s heard me cry the same thing time and time again, he knows the familiarity of this scene better than anyone should.

“He tries his best, Prim,” I whisper thickly into her long, blonde hair. She’s fair and light, like our mother. Like a merchant or peacekeeper. Looking at my little sister, you’d never consider her to be the daughter of a man from the Seam.

But you’d easily believe that she was a girl raised in Victor’s Village and I suppose that’s what counts. Where we were raised and not where we could have been, if things had gone different.

“He’s never really going to be ours though,” she weeps and I don’t have words to comfort her now. Because she’s right.

Our father will always belong to the Capitol, first and foremost.

And not even his children can upstage that.

Prim leaves not long later, to head home to Victor’s Village and more than likely curl up with our mother for the night. They’ve both always been so alike, so much softer and more hopeful than me. I half expect every trip of our father’s to double in time, if not triple. After a lifetime of disappointments, I can’t help but prepare myself.

It’s not that they’re weak for believing. It’s that I have too much Hunter Everdeen in me. I have too much pessimism crawling inside my bones to ever fully trust that he’s really coming home until he’s already stepped off the train in Twelve.

Too many hours of my childhood were spent, wearing fancy stockings and warm, fur-lined coats, standing at the train station, only to welcome a load of cargo and no father in sight. Too many times were phone calls answered in tears. Too many night spent crying, clinging to my father’s hunting jacket, so disoriented by the hazardous schedule in which our lives were ran, waiting for my father to phone, waiting for him to walk through the front door, waiting for him to sneak up on us in the middle of the night or pull us from class on a school day.

That was the true constant in my life. Waiting for my father to finally come home, knowing every moment we shared was on borrowed time. Knowing that he’d never truly belong to us. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to hear my mother’s bedroom door slam and lock, waiting to hear Prim cry or Archer wail, waiting to see that defeated glint in my father’s slate gaze.

I close the cabin door behind my sister now, knowing with confidence that she’ll make it home alright, even with the sun currently setting in the faded blue sky.

Our father never took Prim hunting like he did me, never brought her out to the woods and taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, never showed her how to trap and kill an animal. But even still, the path from the cabin to our home in Victor’s Village is imprinted in our brains, like a birthmark or tattoo. We’d be able to find our way to and from, even if we were sleepwalking.

As would Peeta. Considering this is the place he spends the majority of his time.

Considering this cabin may as well be his permanent address.

And if it weren’t illegal, it very well might be, I think to myself wryly as I walk over to where he’s leaning against the doorframe now.

“Hello,” I greet again, hopping onto my tiptoes and kissing his lips lightly.

He grasps my hips, smiling against my mouth. “Don’t you have to get home too?” He hesitantly asks, his desire to keep me here bleeding through every caress of his fingers, as they trail underneath my loose shirt, sliding upwards and causing an electric current to ripple through the core of my body.

But I just shake my head at his inquiry, moving my mouth from his to kiss down the side of his face, underneath his jawline.

“Mmm,” he moans after a long moment, before suddenly putting a few more inches between us. “Are you sure your mother won’t miss you?”

Peeta’s always been considerate of my mother. Too considerate sometimes, if I do say so myself. Bordering on obsessive.

He is obsessed with keeping her approval, with never crossing any invisible line, with never even so much as mildly exasperating her.

I suppose it’s only natural though. She is the only parental figure he has in his life.

I’ve never been too enthusiastic to introduce him to my father and he’s never pushed the issue too far. Hunter Everdeen is a practical legend around Twelve—and beloved across the entirety of Panem—but he’s the reason, I’ve always privately felt, that I was isolated from all my classmates.

Sure, I’m already not the most friendly person to start with, in anyone’s book. As Haymitch never hesitates to tell me. But there was already very little chance of me making friends in school anyway. Being the victor of the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games’ child dropped the chances of play-dates or sleepovers drastically. My father trusts no one. Not with his children.

And I didn’t mind for the most part. I’m too like him to enjoy people much anyway. This whole notion was much harder on Prim, who adored her fellow classmates and easily endeared herself to them as well. But no matter how darling my little sister may be, nothing changed our father’s mind and when he was set on something, it was practically written in stone.

I can’t even imagine how Peeta must feel, having to live in fear for the entire last year of our little secret being exposed. I may be nervous about how my father will react, but Peeta has to be outright petrified.

“My mother will be fine,” I murmur, rolling my eyes as I lean back against the wall now. “She’s got Prim and Archie to keep her sane until my father’s home.”

Peeta chuckles at me, a mirthful smile in his eyes. “And you got me,” he teases, tapping my nose with his finger.

I giggle in a way I withheld until Prim left. I wasn’t about to give her ammunition to mock me later on. “All to myself,” I add, matching his expression now. “For unlimited hours of the day.”

“That’s my girl, looking on the bright side.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s me.” I’m the exact opposite of an optimist. I prefer expecting the worse and setting expectations low. Maybe it’s a learned behavior but, at least that way, I’m not crushed like my mother when things don’t pan out the way I want.

Peeta mistakes the look on my face to be one of hidden disappointment. “You’re father will be home soon, sweetheart. They can’t keep him in the Capitol forever.”

“Can’t they?” I mumble, not expecting an answer. Before he can offer one—because Peeta is nothing if not a fixer—I quickly segue to a new topic. “Where do you think you’ll go when my father does come home?”

He just shrugs the question off though, completely unbothered. “Anywhere but home,” he says simply, his stunning blue eyes clear as the sky they remind me of.

“Anywhere but there,” I agree, my smile twisting into a grimace.

A year ago, when I was barely fifteen, President Snow—Panem’s true Gamemaker, my father always said—demanded every victor extend their stay in the Capitol, even after the games ended that year. He gave no outright reason and my father was cagey to speak on the subject, but in the end, the president’s word was law and there was no room for argument. President Snow can demand of us whatever he wishes.

It was a cold, dreary autumn that year, with early snowfall, which was the leading cause to the significant increase in accidents and injuries. My mother, the born healer, had more patients than she could handle, and even while training Prim as her assistant, she required my help. I was to head to town and purchase a list of herbs from the apothecary shop her parents still owned. The people who disowned her, who had little to no interest in her after she married a man from the Seam, victor or not. The people who never cared to meet their own grandchildren, to acknowledge our existence even as we passed right by their shop, in their plain sight.

I was dragging my feet the entire walk there, already with a sour taste in my mouth, when I heard the loudest wail my ears had every registered. When I heard sharp words being screamed out, when the sound of a boy sobbing filled the air.

And my instincts took over, my every sense focused on finding the hurt and helping them, altogether forgoing the trip for my mother’s herbs.

I followed the commotion to the bakery’s backdoor. Right through the open threshold, it was crystal clear, the baker’s wife—the witch, as many of the kids at school referred to her—had beaten her youngest son senselessly.

He’s in my year, I’d realized abruptly, staring with an agape mouth at his bloody face. His eye was swelling and his nose and lip were smeared scarlet and the only thing that crossed my mind at first, was I recognized him as the blonde boy with the colorful notebook, who could never meet my eyes and always wore long sleeves.

Of course, I snapped out of the daze after only a moment. The witch turned and caught sight of me, snapping that no Seam brat was going to get any free handouts from her and to scatter before she called the Peacekeepers.

Something about the unmasked prejudice against the Seam, a place where people in Twelve had next to nothing and were seen as lesser than the merchants, jolted me into action.

“Get your hand off him!” I’d demanded, using my entire body weight, just as my father taught me, to push the door open as she tried to close it in my face. “Let him go or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

At that, I heard an ugly laugh and the door flew open again, my exerted force throwing it back into the wall.

“I’m serious, child,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrow and her mouth in a snide smirk. “I will call the Peacekeepers to remove you from my shop-”

I didn’t even let her finish. I wasn’t one to be messed with. Not when I just witnessed something awful firsthand, not when I had it in my power to do something.

I knew then I couldn’t bring my father home. He was owned by the president and the Capitol. To an extent, we all were. And I knew I couldn’t stop the games from happening or the possibility of my name being pulled from the reaping bowl. I couldn’t always make my mother come out of her room or even out of her bed, when her illness struck bad. And I couldn’t stop my siblings from crying for our father at night.

But I knew that day in the bakery, I had the power over Mrs. Mellark and I wasn’t going to let her get away with hurting her son anymore.

“Call them,” I dared, not an ounce of insecurity in my voice. “Cray is an old family friend.” He was actually indebted to my father, who’d kept the man’s secrets for too many years to count. But family friend rolled off the tongue more effectively.

“Head Peacekeeper is now making friends in the Seam?” She spat in disbelief. “No wonder this district is so rundown.”

She laughed humorlessly, but my focus was pulled towards the boy. He was covering the left side of his face, as if it hurt too badly to release. As if he was trying to stop his eye from swelling, stop his nose from gushing blood. As if he could hold his now split lip together with nothing more than the palm of his hand.

The sight hurt my heart to see. It burned a fire inside of me that only a true injustice could set alight.

“My father is Hunter Everdeen,” I snapped in the woman’s direction, not even basking in satisfaction when her face drained of all color. The idea that a scrappy little girl with olive skin and dark hair was the child of the most powerful man in all of Twelve struck a cord inside even the witch. “Still wanna make that call?”

The woman’s face was caught between anger and shock when I glanced at her again. And I hated her for it. I hated her and every single person in this district who hurt their kids, who took out their grievances on them, who made them cower and quiver in fear. Who raised them to be afraid of those they loved in a world already so awful.

I know I live a privileged life but, deep in my bones, I know even if things were different, my parents wouldn’t have laid a hand on us. Even if we were so poor I had to take tesserae, even if we were starving to the point of no return, even if we were practically homeless in the Seam, my parents would never hurt us.

“Leave,” the witch spoke then, but her voice was void of all emotion.

“Not without him,” I refused, my eyes planted on the wounded boy in front of me. The boy who was doing everything to avoid looking me in the eye, too busy covering his battered face.

I heard a sound caught between a groan and a shriek, before a cutting board was tossed across the room. “Just go!” She shouted at her son, causing him to flinch severely. “Just go with her!”

On her order, which sounded more distraught than angry, the boy had stormed out the back door and into the chilly evening air, still covering his face desperately, still looking utterly ashamed.

But he waited for me to catch up with him. He waited for me to guide him away from that awful woman he was forced to call his mother.

He didn’t flinch when I touched his arm nor when I took his hand. And when I led him away from the town and towards the village, he followed me without complaint.

Actually, he followed me without a single word.

I realized this just as my house came into view. “You never told me your name?” I whispered, looking up at him gently.

He had tears leaking from his eyes that he was doing his best to ignore, the bleeding on the left side of his face had barely even lightened up, his eye was swelling bigger and bigger, and yet, he chuckled a little at the question. “I’ve been in your class since kindergarten, Katniss.”

I felt my cheeks burn pink, even under the darkening sky. “I know.” But I still peered up at him, curiously waiting for him to tell me.

“It’s Peeta,” he finally answered, maybe a bit satirical.

“Peeta Mellark,” I suddenly recognized.

“Mhmm. Figured you’d pick up the last name.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s printed across the bakery in huge letters?”

“Oh.” He chuckled at my ignorance, causing my blush to deepen.

And I realized immediately how much I liked the sound of his laugh. How I liked being the reason for the sound.

My stomach did a complete flip at the notion and my ears abruptly felt hot, but I tried to push all this away, needing to get him to my mother.

“Wait,” he halted before I could even reached the front door. “Is your mother in there?”

I shot him a confused look. “Yeah, of course? Who else-”

I didn’t even get a chance to finish though. “I really don’t want anyone else to know about this,” he pleads, his eyes looking as frightened as they did with the witch.

“Peeta-” I start, opening my mouth argue, to convince him to go into the house and let my mother treat his injuries. To let me get him help.

But one look inside his desolated, defeated, terrified eyes and I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t put him through any more than he’d already gone through. Not when he’d eventually have to go face the witch again at home.

“Okay,” I whispered, and I felt him squeeze the hand I didn’t realize I was still clutching. “Let me take you somewhere else. And I’ll try to fix you up myself.”

I wasn’t a healer like my mother and Prim. I was a hunter, just like my father, just like his very name, through and through. But I had witnessed enough of what my mother did—my father had forced me to witness enough of what she did, in case I ever needed the knowledge—and I was confident I had the expertise to help him.

My decision was validated by the relief in Peeta’s eyes, by the visible exhale he expelled from inside. He was ashamed, I realized, of his abuse. He was embarrassed to let anyone know what was happening behind closed doors.

I guided him by the hand outside the village, through the Seam—a place in which he’d never been before—and to the fence line.

“Isn’t it electrified?” He asked, his grip on my palm tightening. I liked the sensation for some reason. I liked the way his big hand felt wrapped around my small one. I liked how he wanted to hold onto me in the darkness.

“Nope,” I say, and let out a proud giggle. Or maybe a nervous one. Whenever I think back to this night, I can never tell.

“How do you know?” His blonde eyebrows knit together, still afraid in a way I’d never had to be. My father had taught me everything there was to know about the woods from a young age.

“Listen,” I urge softly, leaning my ear towards the fence.

He cranes forward too, waiting for the buzz of electricity to fill his ears. Only, just as I knew, it never does. Because it never has. The fence’s electricity was shut off long before we were even born.

I watched as his face registered the silence, as he realized and trusted I was right. And I beamed at him, before showing him the way my father slips beyond the fence and guiding him through the trees, towards the cabin, buried deep inside the woods.

It took an hour to find, not because of the blackened sky, but because Peeta’s face hurt so badly that his gait was slowed. But I remained patient, even though that was never my strong suit either. I waited for him to pick up the pace, to be ready to move, to find our way through the tall green trees. I pulled all the branches I could see out of his path, used the moon as our flashlight and didn’t complain once when he stumbled along the way.

By the time we got to the cabin, it had to be past Archer’s bedtime. My mother would be worried sick for me, but I soothed myself that she had plenty on her plate. I’m her firstborn. The child she understands the least, the one who’s like her husband in body and soul. I knew I was probably near the bottom of her worry list.

The very first thing I did when we entered the cabin was order Peeta to sit down in the dining room. I gathered my mother’s first aid kit from the bathroom, wet a rag in cool water and I got to work cleaning the blood from his face.

“This has to be gross for you,” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. His eyes betrayed how self-conscious he must have felt.

Trying to alleviate his anxiety, I pretended to shrug it off. “My mother cleans wounds all the time. At our kitchen table, no less.”

Peeta made a noise that indicated he didn’t buy my act of ease. “I heard at school that you run from the sick and injured.”

I raised my eyebrows at the comment. No one at school talked about me. No one knew me well enough to. People stopped trying to get close to any of Hunter Everdeen’s kids years ago.

The longer I stared at Peeta in disbelief, the more he seemed to lose confidence in his statement. “Maybe I didn't hear it,” he finally amended. I brought the damp cloth back up to his face again as a reward, tenderly wiping away the blood, before using the clean side to set against his swelling lid, hoping to offer some pain reduction there as well. “Maybe I saw it,” he added sheepishly.

I furrowed my brows, even more perplexed by the elaboration. “Saw it?”

“When Leaf Barker tripped and broke his knee in Physical Education last year? You were almost green when you bolted out of the gymnasium.”

His words conjured up a vague image. Still though, something about this felt odd to me.

“How do you remember that better than I do?”

At that, Peeta shrugged. “I guess, I notice you sometimes?”

“What do you mean, sometimes?” I pressed, none of his words suddenly making a bit of sense.

“Why did you stick up for me tonight?” He abruptly segued, his expression shifting into something of defense, like he’s trying to deflect.

But I’m not one to be deterred. “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch your mother hurt you,” I stated, my voice remaining firm. “Why?”

He continued to walk around my question. “Is tonight the first night you ever noticed me?”

I pulled my hand and the damp cloth away from his wounded face, reaching in the kit to grab a white cream I’d seen my mother and Prim both use on swelling before. “Yes,” I finally replied, because I don’t know what else to say. That I saw him glance at me sometimes and then watched as his eyes flit away? That I noticed how he doodled in math class, because he found the subject boring? That I’d seen him lift a sack easily over his shoulder at the bakery and watched him beat almost every upperclassmen at wrestling, even while three years their junior?

None of that seems even remotely relevant to mention.

“When was the first time you noticed me?” I shot back, still being careful to apply the cream with only the lightest pressure to his battered eye.

“Kindergarten,” he instantly blurted out, his tone simple and bold.

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before chuckling, catching the joke. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” he refuted, peaking his good eye open, the sky meeting a silver dollar as our gaze locked. And I see that he is serious somehow.

“What?”

“The first day of kindergarten,” he continued, after a long beat of me just staring him. His confidence had wavered once again and he was looking a bit regretful that he’d put this out in the open. “You were wearing a red velvet dress and brown stockings. Your hair was in two braids instead of one and your ribbons matched your dress. The teacher asked during music assembly who knew The Valley Song and your hand shot right up. She put you on a stool and you sang it, clear as day, for everyone to hear. Even the birds outside stopped to listen. And from that moment on… I was a goner.”

I just continued to look at him in disbelief, unable to put the pieces of what he’s said together. Finally, I whispered, “you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” he admitted, his singularly open eye giving away his nerves at the admission. “And I know you probably don’t feel the same way. I know you didn’t even know my name until tonight but I just wanted to say, in case we never have the chance to speak again-”

“Stop,” I cut him off, my mind already about to explode. “Stop, um…” I refused to look at him as I spoke, furiously staring down at my lap. “I need more time to… process this.”

He had a crush on me since the first day of kindergarten? He’d heard me sing and from that day forward he held a hidden candle for me?

And he never once worked up the courage to talk to me?

Dozens of moments suddenly race through my mind.

Cerulean blue eyes finding me in a crowd countless times and then pulling away as soon as I meet them. The time I wanted to play a stupid game at recess and a stocky blonde boy volunteered to be team captain, and then picked me first. The stunning drawing I found in my locker last year on Sweetheart’s Day, that I was convinced was put there by mistake, though it bore a striking resemblance to the doodles on Peeta’s notebook.

And before I could stop it, I felt myself begin to shake with nerves.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeing my frightened reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I didn’t know if I’d ever get the opportunity to tell you again-”

“Shhh,” I hushed, picking up the damp cloth once more. “Let me take care of your face. And then…” I hesitated again, unsure what to say in this situation. I had exactly zero experiences to compare this to. “Tomorrow we can talk more.”

Peeta nodded amicably, staying silent for the reminder of my ministrations. I felt a terrible pang of guilt for not responding the way he’d probably hoped, but there was still a part of me too stunned to even fully register the confession.

I was an outcast. I’d never fit in with the kids at school, neither town or Seam. I don’t look like the merchants and I’m too rich for the Seam folk. I would have been alone all the time at school if it weren’t for Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter who sat with me at lunch and partnered with me in class.

How could anyone have even noticed me to be anything other than strange? I barely spoke, even in classes where I knew all the answers. And I hardly participated in games or gossip. I had a father who insisted most days on picking me up himself from school, not allowing me to walk home alone like the other kids.

But the look in Peeta’s eyes was earnest. He wasn’t playing some elaborate trick on me, he wasn’t trying to coerce me into confessing something as well so he could humiliate me. He was being genuine in every way I could tell. And I had my father’s senses.

The same senses that helped him win his hunger games.

A new thought struck me out of the blue. Peeta seemed too kind and too considerate to have a mother who beat him like this. He doesn’t fit the profile of the kids in the community home, brought there by even less abuse than I witnessed firsthand tonight.

The insane urge to get to know him more, to learn more about this complete stranger who I went out on an impulsive limb for suddenly surges through my brain.

It wouldn’t be a good idea, I told myself. He’s a merchant and I’m the daughter of a victor. Two titles that seem not far apart in theory but are miles away from the other in practice. And I’m not experienced with people the way he is. I don’t know how to make friends or how to maintain them. I don’t know what he expects from me but it’s surely more than I know how to give. I don’t know what to say in a situation like this. Haymitch always tells me I’m as romantic as dirt.

But is that what I want to be? I asked myself as I finished fixing Peeta up. Do I want to be romantic? Do I want to be that girl who holds her boyfriend’s hand in the town square and kisses him under the moonlight? Do I want to put an embroidered ribbon in my hair and wear an expensive dress from the Capitol to go to the Sweetheart’s Dance? Do I want to sneak in through my bedroom window at the crack of dawn so my father won’t know I’ve been out all night?

If I could learn to be romantic, would I want to be?

And naturally, the answer I’ve always known automatically seeps through my brain. No. I’m not like my mother and Prim. I’m practical by nature, rather than fanciful. I’ve never truly obsessed about falling in love or fawned over even the most incredible looking men on the television.

But something held me back now. Something inside me said that answer, the truth I’d always known, is suddenly not entirely accurate anymore.

Because I find that I did want those things I just described. I did want to have someone to hold, someone to laugh with, someone who conjured up that same flip in my stomach as Peeta did earlier when he laughed.

I wanted the same kind of love my parents had. The kind of love that brought them both to life, despite the horrible circumstances they’d both separately endured. I wanted the kind of love that they showed me was possible, even in a world as bleak and as inhumane as Panem felt at times.

I only realized how long I’d been silent, contemplating my inner desires, when Peeta offered a minuscule smile and stood up slowly to leave.

I opened my mouth to speak but when his eyes met mine, every thought in my head was magically wiped away. I had nothing to say, nothing that could be of any sort of consequence, that could mean anything in comparison to his confession.

“I should head back to town,” he murmured, trying to appear nonchalant. “Face my mother. Hope she’s in a better mood now-”

But I couldn’t stand the idea of him returning to the witch, the idea of going to school tomorrow and acting like his words weren’t still spinning around my brain, the idea of even sleeping soundly tonight.

“Peeta,” I called just as he was about to reach the front door. “Wait!”

He turned towards me, looking puzzled by my outburst. “What’s wrong?”

And I don’t know what came over me. I still can’t place what made me—a girl who had never been decisive a day in her life—fling myself across the room and smash my lips onto his.

He didn’t respond at first. I caught him too completely by surprise. His lips hung there, frozen, as mine pushed against his, with too much force and an overload of desperation.

But I felt an incredible stirring in my chest, an odd sensation that felt akin to a giggle amplified.

And when he finally recovered from the shock of it all, his hands both came to rest on either side of my hips, his mouth began to move against mine, his knees bent to reach my height with more success, and the stirring turned to a fiery spark. I know he felt it too, as the kiss was swiftly disturbed by his wide grin.

“Don’t go back home tonight,” I gasped out, looking up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

His gaze melted as he took me in, he head bobbing in agreement without even needing to consider my request.

“Okay,” he’d whispered with a dazed smile, his blue eyes impossibly wild and sleepy at the same time.

His expression, his spirit somehow, was contagious, and I found myself somewhere stuck between a laugh and a blush when I replied.

“Okay.”

After that night, Peeta rarely went back home. I had called my mother and let her know I was staying at the cabin, but intentionally eluded telling her that the baker’s son was joining me. We’d spent the entire night talking in front of the fire, making each other laugh. The bashfulness I felt from my unexpected kiss stayed in my gut, causing me to bubble up with embarrassed laughter every so often.

But instead of that making things awkward, it cut the tension pretty smoothly. It was only months later did Peeta confess he’d felt just as nervous and just as shy about spending time with me. He was charismatic, I realize even that first night. Ironically funny. He was nice, in a way I rarely have found anyone to be. And, the more time went on, the more my desire grew to stay close to him. The more often I was around him, the more painfully I missed him when we were apart.

It was only a matter of time until my mother found out—not least of all, because my siblings accidentally caught us kissing in back of the school, a month to the day we first spoke.

I always imagined she’d be strict on me, the firstborn, when it came to dating. Especially in the world we lived in. Especially with my father’s position. I truly thought she’d forbid a relationship until I was of age. Maybe I was wrong about her. Or maybe she just saw how I looked at Peeta and understood that I wasn’t just being careless or rebellious. That whatever magnetic connection I felt towards Peeta wasn’t just an ordinary school-aged fling.

To my surprise as well, my mother seemed to take on a very similar stance to me when it came to Peeta and my father. Keeping the news of this entanglement from her husband’s ears was almost her idea.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks me now, bringing me back to the present moment. His fingers tickle my neck as they brush my hair back behind my ear, touching one of the satin green ribbons weaved throughout my loose braids.

“You,” I reply coyly, shooting him a sly glance as I slip past him to head back towards the kitchen.

“Me?” He calls in mock disbelief. He trails up behind me, catching me by the waist and swinging me into his arms without warning.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, automatically wrapping myself around him as I try to steady my balance midair.

“What, baby?”

“Put me down, baby,” I mock, pressing my nose to his now, rubbing them together.

“I like holding you though,” he whispers, like he’s confessing some huge secret.

“Until your arms gets tired-”

“That was one time, Katniss.”

“I’m just reminding you,” I say with an air of superiority. “You don’t always appreciate holding me.”

At that, his demeanor falls a little. “I do when I realize I won’t be seeing you much in a few days.”

I feel my heart sink now too. As excited as I am at the prospect of my father coming home, after weeks apart, I always have to be a little more careful upon his first days back.

He always likes to spend time at the cabin and go for long walks in the woods upon his return. Spend more time in nature than the indoors, stay far away from people outside our family, sleep under the stars by the lake. The Capitol is apparently luxurious, but in my father’s own words, it is void of any true or natural beauty. Everything is artificial, man-made, concocted and orchestrated. There’s nothing that compares in his mind—or mine either—to a cool breeze on a sunny day spent in the meadow where the dandelions grow tall.

“But I’ll still see you in school?” I say, though my voice comes out as more of a plea. Peeta doesn’t always like to attend school these days, not when he knows his parents can easily track him down there.

His father, the baker himself, took the ambiguous loss of his youngest—his favorite—son particularly hard. It was only a matter of weeks after I intercepted his mother beating him that Peeta definitively decided to sever ties with majority of his family.

I’d like to say he made the choice all on his own but that’d be a lie. I watched as the physical bruises on his skin healed, as he began to peel back emotional layer upon layer to me, as he slowly told me what really had been going on in the Mellark’s family home. And I can’t say that I was impartial to his decision to cut the connection to a mother with a bruising fist and a father who closed his eyes and let it happen.

“Delly’s parents usually make me go to school so…” He shrugs it off, like it’s of no consequence, his arms hoisting me higher against his chest.

But I feel a sudden wave of gratitude towards the Cartwrights. They may be a little too jolly for my liking and their daughter, Delly, maybe can’t take a hint to save her life, but at least they always watch out for Peeta’s well-being. At least they cover for him when his mother come sniffing around and they feed him what they can afford and force him to attend class, where I’ll be able to see him.

“Good,” I murmur, at peace now. My father will be home soon and Peeta will be safely tucked away with his best friend.

I lean down and kiss his nose sweetly, reveling in the tender moment. His lips follow my lead and begin to plant themselves across my chin, underneath my jaw, causing me to squirm and squeal at the sensation.

“So,” he murmurs against my throat. “We have the entire place to ourselves, for the whole night, huh?”

His audacious smile elicits my own. “At least.” My father’s delays usually mean a minimum of two days.

Within a minute, Peeta has me on my back, against the softly quilted bed of my upstairs room. He takes his time helping me out of my clothes before I hurriedly shove his off, impatient and hungry.

He, of course, finds time to crack a joke. “Good thing Archie is too young to come here unchaperoned. Or else we’d never get the chance to do this.”

I roll my eyes and shove his mouth off my collarbone, utterly disgusted now. “Talking about my baby brother is one sure way to turn me off, Peeta.”

Archer, my three-old-brother, was an unexpected surprise, to put it lightly. My parents were done with two girls. My father joked him and my mother were both already set with one clone each, but alas, the year of the Seventieth Hunger Games was a year full of shocks.

A few months before the games that year, the coal mines—the industry Twelve is known for—exploded. Right in the middle of the afternoon, as everyone was obliviously going about their day.

It was a close call for many and one more reason my father is beloved around these parts. If he hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time, if he hadn’t volunteered to go with Prim and her class on a field trip down to the mines that day, there was a chance that no one would have noticed the gas leak.

It was too late to do anything by the time my father pointed it out, but his warning and the fact that people in Twelve take his word very seriously, managed to save the lives the inevitable explosion would have otherwise cost.

Through the outpouring of gratitude, and the overwhelming media coverage my whole family was abruptly bombarded with, my parents made the decision to pull me and Prim from school for a while, to hole up in the remodeled cabin, where no one could find us because of its illegal location.

I’ve never ask and I don't ever want to know when my parents conceived Archer. But about nine months after the vacation from the world, my mother gave birth to a little boy who looked identical to me and my father.

“Sorry,” Peeta whispers with a chuckle, collapsing beside me. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He moves to kiss my stomach, to trace circles on my hips like he always does. But I shake my head, a different request—or more like it, demand—on my mind.

“Tell me the story of how you first fell in love with me?”

Peeta rolls his eyes. Very dramatically. “You mean a year ago?”

“I mean in kindergarten,” I say with a smirk and then let out a shriek of surprise when he pounces on me, his lips attacking my neck.

“Aren’t you tired of that story yet?” He asks, his voice edging on exasperated.

“You never tire of a classic.” I give him a pout, knowing he never refuses me anything when I pull that trick.

I’m right, as per usual. “Fine,” he relents, but his eyes tell me that he enjoys telling this tale more than he leads on. “Come here.” He holds open his arms and waits for me to crawl into them, to settle against his chest.

I lay there for a long moment, my pointer finger running up and down the center of his bicep, as my ear rests against his heartbeat, patiently waiting for him to begin.

“It was the very first day of school. You were wearing a red, velvet dress…”

Read the rest on AO3

#katnissmellarkkkk #prompt 59 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

154 notes · View notes

cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

a/n: drabble dump for our boy kuroo -- i love him loads and think about him endlessly. i also apologize beforehand for the awkward ending bc i’m terrible at ending things. hope you all enjoy! gonna go knock back a melatonin and sleep my wooziness away

w/c: ~2.4k; some angst, fluff, mentions of alcohol

you’re avoiding tetsurou, and he’s keen on figuring out why. college!au, friends to lovers.

“you’re not as slick as you think, y’know.”

instantly, a shiver creeps up your spine, electrifying you in quick, tiny bursts. those eight, nine words were more than enough to let you know who was standing behind you, peering over your shoulder in an effort to catch your gaze. his voice made your heart clench and lungs fight for oxygen – you begin to curse the high, intellectual level of tetsurou’s observational skills. you just wanted to make it another day without seeing his face outside of class, opting more for longer walks and just looking back to see the back of his stylishly mussed hair in the far distance. it frustrates you how much you’ve used the word ‘infuriating’ when it comes to him, but there’s no other better word you can think of without having to consult the thesaurus.

you have a few seconds to dart your eyes around, desperately searching for a way to escape. your productivity typically thrives within the library, but he’s always there, so with lots of pleading and promises of baked goods and decent coffee, you were able to borrow a close friend’s ID, a graduate student, and access the graduate resource room in a less traveled hallway. and in the expanse of that area, you’ve tucked yourself away into the back corner behind some shelves where almost no one visits. but it leaves you cornered and vulnerable – no matter which direction, in combination with his long legs, tetsurou would catch up to you in a heartbeat. you thought you had finally found a way to permanently escape his grasp, but apparently not.

much like you, he’s not supposed to be able to access this area. after all, you’re both senior undergrads so –

“how did you get in here?” you quietly hiss. you’re pretty sure you’d be booted out if you made any sound above 15 decibels, and you’re not about to let tetsurou ruin this haven for you.

there’s a rustle of clothing, a hand that rests on the back of your seat, and the hairs on the nape of your neck spike, before a delicate whisper informs, “you’re not the only one with grad student friends, love.”

if you weren’t so focused on keeping yourself rigid, body absolutely understanding of the effect that this man has on you, you definitely would’ve shivered from the proximity. but the gentleness in his tone sends you back to three weeks ago – you’re no longer under a fluorescent light tucked between cream-colored walls, but rather basked in a somewhat garish hue of crimson. your veins were tinged with alcohol, the substance leaving you feeling like you were on clouds, a silly smile breaking across your face uncontrollably. other bodies surrounded you but the only one you were focused on was the one in front of you, following your swaying movements to the beat of the music coming through someone’s speakers. even in the warmth of the house, tetsurou’s hands on your waist seared your skin, branding the feeling on you for eternity. his eyes twinkled with apparent affection, unbridled and screaming at you for you to understand the line he wanted to so desperately cross, that the alcohol pushed it behind his efforts to deny himself the one thing he’s been searching for in all these years.

“i’m a little drunk, but fuck, you have no idea how bad i wanna kiss you,” he had murmured just loud enough into your ear, then ghosting his lips over the shell of it. everything around you dissolved into a blur as you could only focus on his breaths and the tightening of his grasp on you. his confession wasn’t completely unwarranted – not at all.

tetsurou and you had met in the quantitative analysis lab freshman year, having been assigned as partners for the semester just by how the ta’s drew the seating chart. he was a friendly, kind soul – had saved your ass multiple times from overshooting your titrations, prevented multiple beakers and graduated cylinders from falling over, always down to compare numbers to help ensure that neither of you were fucking up too hard.

coincidentally, the two of you were registered to the same ochem lab the next year and immediately gravitated towards each other, grateful to find some familiarity in all the anxiety. he witnessed your breakdown mid-lab, did his best to comfort you and salvage your sample so there was enough for recrystallization because you somehow got landed with a shitty, leaking separatory funnel, and stayed back with you when you had fallen behind in the cleanup process. from then on, it was a weekly habit to study together and work on your lab journals and reports together, not taking long to become close friends.

tetsurou did his best to keep his growing feelings at bay, knowing that you had explicitly mentioned swearing off relationships as you tried to figure out your future first. he wasn’t oblivious enough to think that you didn’t feel anything for him whatsoever – you were stubborn and tenacious at best. the house party at miya atsumu’s was simply a suggestion for the both of you to relax after a brutal midterm in your inorganic chemistry course, to let loose and treat yourself. he really hadn’t meant to say what he said, but just looked so good, so lovely and beautiful and enthralling, and you were looking at him like he hung the stars and moon in the sky – he knows he’s sent that same look to you multiple times when you weren’t looking, completely sober and unfazed.

he couldn’t stop himself from leaning close into you that night and you hadn’t stopped in – he knows he should’ve resisted, but feeling your soft lips against his was easily one of the top ten highlights of his college career, and his love for you only surged beyond his hold, overwhelming him to the point where all he could think about was nothing but holding your cheek in the palm of his hand so he could get a better angle and let himself indulge just this once.

that’s all it was – kissing and kissing in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor until there was no more oxygen left in either of your lungs. like a decent human being, he dropped you off at your apartment and bid you goodnight, hoping that you wouldn’t forget all the events that had transpired. and maybe, just maybe, he wished that you would let it happen again, that you could make him the exception in your plans.

evidently, you did remember it, because suddenly your responses to his texts were delayed and dry. you were picking up extra shifts, showing up to class at the very last minute, and leaving as soon as the professor dismissed you, allowing practically no room for him to make small talk. and while he would usually pass you in the halls of the chem building at some point, you were always too far from him and scurrying away in a different direction. tetsurou did his best to give you your space, but the less he saw of you, the more nervous and frustrated he grew. there was a wrench thrown into his daily routine, and your presence had always managed to bring some peace to him. so when he realized that you had truly abandoned your usual study spot in the library a week and a half later, he set himself on a mission to find out exactly where you were hiding.

it honestly had been sheer luck that he saw your figure ducking around into a hallway he’s never bothered to go down, and by the time he caught up, the door to the graduate resource room had just closed on your and there was no way he could get in without some help. luckily, his mentor who had stayed at the university for their phd was pretty nonchalant about letting him borrow it for a few days, preferring to study at home or in a coffee shop off-campus themselves.

he knew that since you were hiding, you were probably going to be in the most inconspicuous spot possible. so while there was some time dedicated to navigating the new maze of an area, he immediately felt a sense of relief when he saw your back hunched over your notes, hair tied up into a messy bun, and your laptop open with a spotify playlist.

after you’re done reminiscing, you begin to pack your stuff up, opting to just nor respond to tetsurou and ignoring the pleasant sensation that his term of endearment for you brought. he pulls back and stands straight to give you some room, but the tapping of his foot against the tile floor speaks to his blooming agitation at your silence. you’re still wordless as you weave between the shelves to the exit, knowing that the man plaguing your dreams is not far behind. the game of ‘follow the leader’ (or is it ‘cat and mouse’?) continues until you both have exited the main door, and right before you can walk down the granite steps, tetsurou seizes the opportunity to run ahead of you and stand in your way.

“tetsu, please,” you sigh, avoiding his piercing stare by fiddling with the sleeves of your jacket. “is there something you need?”

“you can’t play coy with me,” he chastises, bending down slightly in hopes that you’ll finally look at him. “you know why i’m here.”

it’s a bad habit of yours to nibble on the inside of your lips when you’re searching for the right things to say. tetsurou only picked up on it just last year – the action itself is very subtle to the outside viewer, and he hadn’t been paying close enough attention back then. “don’t bullshit me right now.”

“do we have to do this now?” you whine a bit.

“yes, or else i’m never gonna get you to talk to me. come on, you don’t do this, love.”

“what do you mean?”

“you’re running away. that’s pretty cowardly, don’t you think? you’ve had 3 weeks—”

you start to walk forward and around his tall, lanky figure. “i’m not humoring you with this—”

“with what—”

“—you’re doing that provoking thing, you’re trying to get me to think that i’m wrong in avoiding you—”

“so you have been avoiding me—”

“i said not now!” you protest in a raised voice, path once again blocked. tears of frustration are beginning to build in the corners of your eyes, and you’re cursing yourself for feeling so weak in this moment. part of you wants nothing more than to run into his arms.

it’s dead quiet for a few seconds – the ambient noise of the wind and the occasional passing car this late at night fail to make themselves known over the pounding of blood in your ears. only tetsurou’s first knuckle underneath your chin to raise you up grounds you, and you can no longer avoid his gaze. small crests of guilt wash over you as you recognize the uncharacteristic brokenness in his eyes – the last three weeks must’ve been much harder on him than you thought.

“just hear me out for a few minutes, okay? you can make your decision then.”

he takes your nod as a signal to continue, but also softening a bit at how nervous you look.

“i’m in love with you,” he softly confesses, a smile of defeat gracing his complexion. “and i have been for a while. i don’t think i’m bullshitting when i say i think you feel something for me, too, but i knew it wasn’t in your plans. didn’t wanna push or force you into making a decision when you weren’t ready. so i held back – but i couldn’t help it at the party, and…i’m sorry, love. i really am.”

tetsurou doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that crosses your eyes. “so does that mean you regret it?” you bite out, nails clenching and digging into the fabric of your jacket sleeves. he shakes his head.

“i don’t regret kissing you at all – it’s all i’ve wanted to do for the last two and a half years. but i’m just sorry that i did it without your explicit, sober permission. i went against your wishes in a time of vulnerability, and that’s pretty shitty of me – i’m not gonna excuse myself either just because i was a little drunk, so i hope you’re able to forgive me.”

he watches you sniffle and fight the grin that’s trying to creep across your face. “someone had their shot of respect women juice this morning, didn’t they?” you chokingly tease.

“five shots directly injected into my veins, every morning,” he jokes back, thumb sweeping over to catch your falling tears. “but i mean it though – i’m really sorry.”

“you’re forgiven, and i appreciate that more than you know. but if i’m being honest…it was something i’ve wanted to do for a while, too. i was just really scared because it was so unexpected and i wasn’t sure if i was ready for our relationship to change, or like if i would be emotionally available enough for you, y’know?” you blubber, hand reaching up to rest against his on your cheek.

“hey—”

“i really want this to work out.” tetsurou can hear your voice shake, and he’s sure you’re almost trembling. “you’re one of my best friends – i can’t lose you, tetsu. and what about grad school? what if we end up too far away from each other and video calls aren’t enough? what if you get tired of me or—”

“i know you hate it when i interrupt, but honestly (y/n), you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. i’m gonna do everything i can to make this work, too, mmk?”

“okay,” you whisper. “okay.”

his thumb gently sweeps back and forth against your cheek for a little bit before speaking up again. “not to ruin the moment, but do i have permission to kiss you now?” his eyes shine despite the midnight sky, and you can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your chest.

tetsurou swears up and down that your kiss in response is much, much sweeter than the one at the party, and he can’t wait to see what the future holds for you two.

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo angst #i fully stan the fact that kuroo is highly respectful of anyone and especially women #no one can fight me on this #stay hydrated and get good quality sleep and eat some nutritious food and take your meds!!!

365 notes · View notes

amphiptere-art · 1 year

Text

So this is a reblog talk but without the reblog.

I want to talk about these pieces I did for a ask.

_First and foremost I love my art of Eclipse/Blue Moon in a hammock staring at the stars. The proportions were hard to do. Especially with the hammock but it worked out. The stars in the sky were actually just a rush that was in the library. I just created a space-like background and draged that said brush around. Although without dark it is it's not until now that I realize how hard is to read his words. But it says

"hoping from place to place. Never time for work, play, or sorrow but when the world fades and silence fills it's shadow. That always stays the same."

I will admit Eclipse/blue moon is supposed to talk like blood moon but due to my inability to write that sort of stuff It turns into the haiku's and poems that I am more used to writing. Which in a strange way mixes well with the whole lunar + blood moon.

The words vaguely translate to- due to being a sporadic dimensional traveler he doesn't really get too enjoy things for long. But the silence of night time is always the same in every dimension. It's the one thing he gets to enjoy daily.

_Second. For sun's image I gives all creedence to my brother. The pose is an exact copy of what my brother does with his cat. He Even posed for me as I drew. Meaning that despite the complicated look of the hands and arms it was actually quite easy to draw. Unfortunately the pillows in the room were an afterthought. But they surprisingly blended in well. Frankie also just kept his coloring from the first illustration I did with these guys. Despite the fact that he is supposed to be a tortoiseshell I decided "whatever he's going to be a brown cat it makes it simpler to draw."

Sun states that he doesn't have time to enjoy things. At the end of the post though eclipse/blue moon gives a more concrete answer. Of course the eclipse/ Blue Moon is talking in rhyme/poem talk but it's clear that sun likes to paint. Although the way eclipse/blue moon says it, it's supposed to sound like he's only ever seen Sun paint once or twice. Which as sad as it is, gives Credence to suns own answer.

_Third. Moose panel and words was rather simple. In my AU I lean more into his engineering personality. And moons answer is rather straightforward. He enjoys tinkering, he hates computer work. Moon is technically working on a firework launcher. I was running off of memory but I'm pretty sure it looks close to what was used by Monty.

Moon's pose was rather simple for me although hard in other ways. I have experience with working with tools but I was running off of my own hands. And while I knew the poses the hands need be in in was hard to do so without a reference. I knew exactly how the hand should be shaped but not how it interacted with the object. Eventually I just asked my mom to take a picture of my hand in the poses required.

#ask red blue and black #red blue and black #tsams au #sams au #tsams moon #tsams eclipse #tsams sun #sams moon #sams sun #sams eclipse

13 notes · View notes

starshine583 · 3 years

Note

For the soulmate letter prompts, Felinette with prompt O please.

O: Opportune outfit (soulmates will eternally color coordinate, even if they have not met one another yet, and often times have similar patterns in their clothing)

(Thank you @symwinter and @desiiigirl for this ask! I had a ton of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoy!)

“We’re here live tonight at the Carrousel du Louvre where Audrey Bourgeois is hosting her biggest party yet! Celebrities of all kinds will be invited, including Jagged Stone, Gabriel Agreste, and MDC herself! Stay tuned to catch sight of these incredible fashion icons!”

Marinette drew in a deep breath to calm her nerves as her miniature limo drove up to the front entrance. She’d been to plenty of parties before hosted by celebrities, but none as big as this. There were going to be reporters everywhere who would hold her under a magnifying glass all evening and powerful, influential people that she would have to tip-toe around to make a good first impression. On top of that, this was going to be the night she revealed her exclusive designer’s dress that she’d kept a secret for the last six months! It was an extremely important event for her, and she didn’t want to mess anything up.

The limo pulled to a stop in front of the red carpet, causing Marinette’s breath to catch in her throat. She quickly checked her hair and makeup, then smoothed out the corners of her dress.

“You can do this.” She muttered to herself. “You’ve already made it this far. Now, you get to show the world why.”

The driver opened her car door, and Marinette offered the reporters a bright smile as she stepped outside. Screams of delight and excitement swept over the crowds of people that were huddled on both sides of the carpet. Cameras were flashing everywhere, almost blinding her, but Marinette kept an elegant stride despite it as she signed a few autographs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, MDC has just arrived at the gala, and may I say her dress looks absolutely dazzling!” A reporter to her left trilled. “The navy blue mixed with those silver dots and stars makes it look like the night sky! And the way the sheer fabric in sewn to the dress makes it look like the stars are trailing behind her as well! It’s truly a fantastic creation, especially with that diamond, crescent moon necklace to compliment it! Could this be that secret design that MDC’s corporation has been hinting about for so long?”

Marinette tried to contain her grin, but by the time she walked inside the Carrousel du Louvre, she was positively glowing. After spending many sleepless nights working on Starry Night- as her design was called - hearing the multitude of praises from the reporters was immensely satisfying. It made the whole project feel worthwhile.

“Oh, Marinette!”

Audrey Bourgeois, having heard the commotion, waltzed over to the Louvre entrance to greet her. She seemed to be as fashionable and haughty as ever, and Marinette pulled an extra bright smile in an effort to please the woman. "Bonjour Audrey." She said politely. “It’s wonderful to see you again. Thank you for inviting me to your party.”

“Oh, think nothing of it!” Audrey replied, linking her arm with Marinette’s to guide her into the heart of the party. “I’ve been dying to speak with you about your latest designs, anyway. You’ve certainly made a name for yourself since the first time we met.”

A bit of tension melted from Marinette’s shoulders at the comment, and she felt a more genuine smile settle onto her lips. The last time she saw Audrey was when she’d been offered that job in New York, the same job that she ended up declining. It was good to know that Audrey wasn’t holding a grudge against her for that.

“Yes, these last two years have been quite eventful.” Marinette agreed. She’s managed to build a small company out of her designs that’s only continued to grow. The fact that she’d already designed things for Jagged Stone and Gabriel himself definitely helped her take-off.

“Indeed. Even my customers all the way in America have heard of you, which is why I wanted to propose a collaboration between us.”

“A collaboration?”

“Yes! Imagine how much popularity you’ll gain if we-”

“Audrey! Audrey Bourgeois!”

Audrey’s pleasant expression quickly soured when someone from across the room called out her name, interrupting whatever proposition she was going to make.

“What is it?” The woman snapped. “I’m busy.”

A man stepped forward from the crowd, his countenance stern and unimpressed. “We were supposed to talk about the location of your next fashion show. Need I remind you that I have other business I need to attend to tonight?”

Audrey huffed and rolled eyes. “Fine, fine, we’ll talk then. Marinette, dear, do me a favor and stay put while I go discuss a few matters with M Laurence.”

Marinette nodded and took to idly surveying the room while the two strolled off to another corner of the Louvre. She wasn’t sure why Audrey would have to leave to talk about fashion show locations, but she supposed it also wasn’t any of her business either. Everyone had their own way of working, right?

The Carrousel du Louvre was an extraordinary place, especially with the gold and silver decorations lining the walls. Lights reflected off of the glass pyramid that dipped into the center of the room, making it shine almost as brightly as it would in the day, and the floors were polished so well that Marinette could actually part of her reflection in it.

The guests were no less remarkable than the setting too. Save for a scarce few, she could recognize every face in the crowd, be it through newspapers, magazines, movies, or heads of rival companies. A part of her almost miniscule in the presence of such greatness. Audrey certainly knew how to throw an enchanting party.

“Yo, Marinette! Is that you?”

A voice that Marinette immediately recognized yelled out to her, and she turned around with an eager smile to greet them.

“Uncle Jagged! When did you get here?”

Jagged wormed his way out of the crowd with a wide grin. “I should be asking you the same thing! That dress looks great by the way.”

Marinette giggled and offered him a little spin. “Thanks! It took me forever to finish it. How have you been?”

“Oh, the usual. I’ve been rock and rollin’ to my heart’s content. Have you tried the food here yet?”

“Afraid not. Audrey told me to stay put until she came back from a meeting with somebody.”

Jagged scoffed and gently took her by the arm. “Audrey Shm-audrey. You’re an adult now! You can do whatever you want, like coming to try these over-priced cream puffs with me.”

Marinette snorted, but before she could reply, a cacophony of squeals tugged her attention to the front entrance of the Louvre. Someone new was joining the party, and it had the reporters quite excited.

“It appears that Felix Culpa has decided to come to the gala after all! There was speculation of him skipping out, but we’re happy to see him regardless!”

Annoyance swirled in the back of her mind at the mention of the actor, though she tried to hide it for the sake of civility. Ever since she started her small fashion business, Felix Culpa has been indirectly stealing her designs and wearing them without giving her an ounce of credit. She’s not sure how, since she’s jumped through who knows how many hoops to keep her projects a secret, but he does. Magazines, social media, behind-the-scenes pictures from his movies- anything he appears in, he’s wearing something of hers, be it a t-shirt or a tuxedo or a button-up shirt with jeans. It was infuriating, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not figure out where the leaks were coming from. No one was sending out emails, no one was going to visit him in person, and no one was posting any pictures of the working process online. And yet, he still managed to match his outfit with everything she created.

She couldn’t even sue him for copyright! Because, technically, all of the outfits that he’d worn so far had been made from a mix of his own wardrobe, and that, unfortunately, wasn’t a crime.

Whatever, she thought to herself with a slight shake of the head. At least he can’t copy me tonight.

“What’s this?” A reporter gasped. “Folks, I’m not sure if I’m actually seeing this, but Felix Culpa has just stepped out in a silver tuxedo with a navy, button-up shirt underneath that matches MDC’s outfit exactly!”

Marinette’s jaw had to have dropped to the floor when she heard those words. How was that possible? There was no way Felix could have coordinated his outfit with hers! No one even knew what she was going to be wearing! Unless this some insane coincidence?

“Oh, Look at that! He even has a small, diamond star clipped to his tie! Could Felix Culpa be dressed as MDC’s moon?!”

Marinette whirled around to face the entrance. This was most certainly not a coincidence. Even if he did decide to wear a silver tux tonight, nothing should have prompted him to wear a diamond star clip. Not unless he was trying to copy her designs again.

“Marinette? Are you alright?” Jagged Stone asked, noticing the sudden shift in her mood.

“I’m fine.” She said, forcing a leveled tone as she eyed the door. “I’m just going to go greet M Culpa, if you don’t mind.”

“ No problem! Come find me by the hors d'oeuvres when you’re done.”

Marinette didn’t bother throwing Jagged a tight smile as she stalked towards the door. Instead, she focused on how, exactly, she was going to call this esteemed actor out on his indirect theft without making a scene. This was a high class party, and she couldn’t afford to make a fool of herself. At the same time, however, she desperately needed to know how he’d been matching her outfits to a fault.

Felix Culpa strode into Louvre a moment later, wearing the very tuxedo that the reporter had described. The silver jacket and dress pants matched the glittering stars on her dress, while the navy blue, button-up shirt underneath matched the main color of her outfit. Don’t even get her started on the diamond clip! It was like the thing had been bought as a pairing with her necklace! The only way he could have coordinated with her that well was if he looked at a picture of her dress directly, which didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t have seen her dress! It’s been in her personal apartment since she started working on it!

His eyes scanned over the room leisurely, stopping when they landed on her, and for a moment, Marinette felt her anger falter, because my gosh was he a gorgeous man. She’d seen pictures of him plenty of times, but they apparently didn’t do him any justice. His strong jawline and defined cheekbones were perfectly framed by his pale, blond hair in a way she’d never noticed before. Then, there was his slender figure that the tuxedo seemed to cling to..

Marinette shook her head slight. Focus! There was a reason I was walking over here!

She offered the man a smile as she approached him, so as not to alarm him towards her somewhat hostile intentions, and he returned the smile with a slight nod.

“I assume you’re MDC?” He said in greeting.

Marinette nodded, barely holding back a sarcastic tone as she replied, “What gave me away?”

A small smile graced Felix’s lips, and he gestured to her dress. “I believe I’m supposed to be your ‘moon’.”

Marinette swore she felt her eye twitch. Was he being smug about it now?

“Yes, it would seem that way.. If I might ask, what prompted you to dress that way this evening?”

Felix glanced over his outfit thoughtfully, before giving her a little shrug. “Nothing in particular, I suppose. I simply felt like it.”

Marinette bit her tongue to avoid scoffing. He simply felt like it? No one accidentally coordinates their outfit with a specifically crafted dress because they ‘feel like it’. That’s just preposterous!

“I would like to compliment your work, though. It is my understanding that you brought that dress to life yourself?”

“..I did.”

“It’s phenomenal craftsmanship. I’m afraid I’ve only heard of you in name alone, but the praise clearly wasn’t over-exaggerated-”

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. Did he just say that he’d only heard of her in name alone? Meaning he hadn’t seen any of her other designs yet?

“-I couldn’t imagine stitching that many stars onto a single garment.”

“I’m sorry,” She politely cut him off. Did he expect to get away with lying straight to her face? “But did you just say you’d heard of me in name alone?”

He nodded. “I’ve been rather busy as of late and haven’t had time to check with things in the fashion industry.”

“Then how do you explain your other outfits?”

A blank expression fell across Felix’s features. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your other outfits.” Marinette repeated, almost through gritted teeth. “I have proof that you’ve been blatantly plagiarizing my designs for the past two years. How do you explain that if you supposedly haven’t seen any of my work until now.”

Felix raised a brow, appearing to be genuinely confused. “Mademoiselle, I can assure you that I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

This time, Marinette did scoff. How could he not know what she was talking about? If it had been once or twice, Marinette could write it off, but consistently matching her designs for two years? That’s no accident. How else would he manage to-

“Oh, there they are!” A reporter gasped. “MDC and Felix Culpa have already found each other! The moon and stars circling around each other as always. I’ve never seen such a fashionable pair of soulmates!”

Marinette froze, and from the looks of it, Felix froze too.

Soulmates.. Color coordination.. Was that why Felix had been ‘plagiarizing’ her outfits all of this time? Was that why he claimed not to know anything about it even though it was glaringly obvious? Had she been obsessing over a mystery that had had a reasonable answer right in front of her face all along?

Her eyes trailed down to his suit, the suit that matched hers perfectly, and the realization that washed over her nearly caused her to face-palm.

He hadn’t been copying her designs.

He’d been copying her outfit specifically.

Because they were soulmates.

“..What was that you said about my plagiarizing your designs?” Felix asked after a moment.

Marinette let out a defeated sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, I feel ridiculous now.”

A soft chuckle passed Felix’s lips, and she glanced up just in time to catch the spark of amusement dancing in his silver eyes. Gosh, this beautiful human being was supposed to be her soulmate now? How was she going to cope? How was she going to Alya, the person she’d been ranting to for a good year now, about this new development? Actually, did Alya know about this all along? She always did act strange when Marinette brought it up, with her sly smirks and mischievous smiles and-

Felix offered his arm to her. “I, personally, would love to hear about this ridiculousness if you don’t mind sharing.”

Marinette pressed her lips into a thin line, a blush creeping onto her cheeks, but she took his arm with a huff despite it. “I guess I might as well tell you. We’re probably going to be spending a lot more time together after this, anyway.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Felix replied lightheartedly, shooting her a smirk that made her heart skip a beat.

Marinette glanced away to regain some composure, but failed miserably as she only felt herself blush harder. Darn Felix Culpa and his stupid, breathtaking face.

She absolutely loved it.

(Send me a letter and I’ll do a thing!)

(The next one I’m going to be working on is J for Daminette!)

#asks #felinette #Soulmate AUs

196 notes · View notes

macbetha · 3 years

Text

below the cut, you'll find an interest check chapter for quatervois, a nancy drew pc fic. it's francy and also my idea of my absolute dream game. please let me know what you think and enjoy!

+++

After Ned breaks up with her and she loses her father, Nancy struggles to find her old vigor for detective work. While on vacation in London with Bess and George, Nancy accepts the urgent invitation to return Blackmoor Manor. Her English getaway quickly turns into an investigation once Nancy realizes the true reason Nigel Mookergee asked her back to the moors. Finding Deirdre Shannon at the manor under the same pretense only sets Nancy’s nerves further on edge. It isn’t until the Hardy Boys show up in Blackmoor that Nancy gets a glimpse of who she once was. With a manor full of suspects and a glass heart cracked open, Nancy is determined to find the truth.

Dear Ned,

How are you? It’s been a while. I’ve always started off my letters telling you about my latest case, but I’m not on one right now. I’m sure that’s hard to believe. Bess and George have whisked me away to London. I’m sure you would love it here. This is the first time I’ve seen Bess and George since I sold the house in River Heights. I stayed with Kyler and Matt in Ireland for a while. I needed a change of scenery. Their daughter just turned two. I’m somewhat jealous I’m happy for them. Anyways, I miss you I hope you’re doing well. I’m sure New York is lovely at Christmas time. I hope Stephanie is I wish Stephanie well How is Stephanie? I hope Stephanie is doing all right. I appreciated the card Stephanie sent when dad passed away. Warm regards, Merry Christmas, Love Nancy

She stares down at the letter as if the red ink were her own blood. It feels just as wounding, seeing her emotions made physical in the words on the paper. Only when a tear splatters on the page does she break free from her trance to the past. Nancy is the only person in her hotel suite, yet she works to rid the evidence like one of her own suspects. She pulls her feet up in the desk chair and crosses her ankles, holding the arch of her right foot – it recently became the victim of her latest culprit. Nancy’s foot got caught under the getaway car’s tire, and she is lucky to even be able to walk after the event. Months later, it’s stiff as hell with the most intense cramps she’s ever endured. Heart racing to forget the night it happened, she focuses on the snowfall out the window – counting little sparkles of snowflakes, though the world blurs when she squints. The doctor thought her failing sight as well as the daily headaches were on account of being hit in the head so many times.

She busies herself with choosing a postcard to send Hannah and Nancy selects one with a cat dressed up as a royal guard. The cuteness puts a smile on her face, however small – she hopes it’ll do the same for Hannah, but there is no telling. Nancy had the gut-feeling Hannah was lying about recognizing her the last time Nancy visited the nursing home. Torment swirls like wind to fallen leaves. She doesn’t have Hannah or Togo to come home to. Togo passed just before Nancy’s thirty-second birthday, and Carson fell ill soon after that. Nancy looks to her hotel bed where Mr. Woogle Woggle sits tucked between two pillows. It seems he is the only one that hasn’t left her. A knock on her hotel door reminds her that is simply not true. Nancy rights herself, fixing her posture to the stance of someone passionate, and she opens the door. Bess and George greet her with blazing smiles; Nancy gives silent thanks for their presence in her life. She would still be in Scotland with Kyler and Matt, had Bess and George not insisted to take her on a vacation. Nancy imagines that their insistence was due to them wanting to keep Nancy from spending Christmas alone on the road again like last year. “Nancy,” Bess stresses. “You’re never going to guess who we ran into in the lobby!” Horror strikes dull and loud in her ears. Surely, it’s not Ned. Please, don’t let it be Ned. George says, “Give you a hint: they were involved in one of your cases.” Nancy’s despair leaves her throat tight. She glances down the hallway, preparing to yank Bess and George into her room and dial her Cathedral contact to get them set up in witness protection.

“That didn’t narrow it down at all, George,” Bess says with a roll of her eyes. “Nancy’s been on hundreds of cases.” Nancy’s strain creeps into her one word: “Who?” Bess and George beam. “Maya Nguyn!” ++

Nancy follows Bess and George to the elevator in a hurried stupor. No thoughts can she conjure as she steps free from the elevator walls which seem to close in on her; Nancy marches into the lobby and notices a woman in the crowd of tourists. She stands with her back to Nancy, her hair drawn up in a bun, and her chin is lifted high with no time for games. Maya turns around and her bright red mouth stretches into a smile. “Nancy!” “Maya,” Nancy huffs in disbelief. She tenses in Maya’s sudden embrace before all but falling into it. This is something good I did; Nancy cherishes with shut eyes. This is someone I helped. When Maya pulls back, Nancy says, “What are you doing all the way out here? You said in your last letter, you were still in Washington.” “My house is technically there,” Maya nods. “But I get to work on the road more these days.” Her brows crease over a sympathetic smile. “Bess and George tell me you’re kind of in the same boat.” Nancy shrugs, struggling to hold Maya’s concerned gaze. “It’s just easier,” Nancy lies. Maya seems to see right through it, but she doesn’t speak on it. Nancy will have to thank her later. George says, “Maya offered us free tickets to a play she’s reviewing tonight and get this – it’s at the Globe Theater!” “Remind me what’s so special about a globe theater,” Bess sighs, checking her nails. “Not ‘a’, Bess, the.” George shakes her head. “The Globe Theater – well, technically it’s a reconstruction of the first one, but it’s where Shakespeare wrote his plays.” “It’s the opening night of a new play,” Maya explains. “And Nancy, you’ll never guess who the star is.” Nancy cannot take anymore guessing games. “Brady Armstrong.” Maya blinks. “Well – yes, actually.” Nancy frowns. “Wait, really?” “Yes,” Maya laughs. “I’ll be conducting an interview with him after the show if you want to go backstage and chew him out for all the stunts he pulled back in the day.” A spark of vigor heightens Nancy’s senses. That doesn’t sound bad at all. Still – “Are you sure we won’t be a distraction or –” “Nancy.” Maya’s hand falls on her shoulder. “You saved my life. You’re the furthest thing from a distraction.” Gratitude floods her before Nancy nods. “All right, then.” +++ The walk to the Globe would be depressive what with the sky being the color of a soaked napkin, but the Christmas decorations lift everyone’s spirits. Nancy limps by a shop playing Christmas oldies through the open door and she is borne back to her father listening to records over cocoa on Christmas morning. She tries to push the memory from her mind, then she thinks of building snowmen with Ned and having snowball fights that turned into the sweetest kisses she’s ever received. The music won’t stop. There are three Christmas trees in the display window and their flashing lights strike pain behind Nancy’s eyes. She pants through a sensory overload before someone squeezes her hand. Maya smiles in understanding as Bess and George walk obliviously in front of them. “It’s hard,” Maya says. “This life on the road. You pick up a few habits.” Nancy squeezes her hand in thanks before tucking her own in her peacoat’s pocket. “I want to enjoy this,” she admits quietly. “But I think the holidays are always hard.” Maya nods. “It won’t be this way forever, Nancy,” she promises. “I’ve got my fingers crossed for you.” Cross your fingers, there’s a story behind this door! Nancy swallows around the lump of panic in her throat. She plasters on a smile. +++ The theater is packed with noise and touching and all-around boisterous patrons. They find their seats in the crowd and Nancy doesn’t watch where she’s going – she must keep her eyes on the open ceiling to remember how to breathe. She sits down at the end of the group and Maya passes out programs. Quatervois, the title reads. Bess says, “What does that mean?” “It means you’re at a crossroads,” Maya says. “A turning point.” “Sounds a little dramatic,” George grumbles. Nancy traces the swooping lines of the title with

her thumb, repeating the process until the lights go down. The masked chorus emerges from the shadows and gives a synopsis: Down from Olympus a great hero emerges, Mighty in his strength and courage! A choice he must make Shall he ignore fate? Will he choose love, Or follow his destiny there-of? When Brady saunters on stage in an impossibly short silk chiton, it’s an out-of-body experience for Nancy. He still hasn’t grown his ponytail back, so Simone could very well be in the audience right now. Nancy rubs her aching temple at the thought. Brady begins his journey as the character Diogenes, a demigod that was supposedly – according to the play’s plot – written out of ancient Greek mythos. Diogenes must defeat those who want to leave him forgotten in history, lest he admit that he can’t win this fight and live his life like everyone else. Nancy assumes the play’s ending too soon. She imagines this will be a droll experience written only to paint Brady as a glorious hero that can conquer anything – but she is quickly surprised. Brady is stabbed in the final act and addresses the audience in a wail: And so my story ends a breath too early, No time to even be weary! The moon shall pass over my corpse, And the sun will beat down on my ashes with no remorse. Today, I have failed my quartervois Alone, forgotten, and lost. When the curtain falls, Nancy’s mouth is parted in disbelief as a tear burns down her cheek. They don’t receive a proper goodbye with Maya since the rest of the crowd is bustling toward the exit. She does have time to say that Brady is producing a new television series and will be scouting some locations further into Essex; Maya will be following the film crew there for test shoots. She embraces each girl individually and holds Nancy for a beat longer, whispering, “You’ll call if you need to talk?” “Of course,” Nancy says by impulse. “Same to you.” +++ Nancy is proud of herself for going out, but when she closes the door to her hotel suite, her back thunks against the wall and she must take deep breaths for several minutes. She decides to treat herself to a bubble bath even though it’s nearly midnight. She rolls her hair up into a bun and looks at it in the mirror, how haphazard and messy hers is in comparison to Maya. Nancy isn’t jealous – but she can’t help but notice when people are thriving. She wants to figure out how to do it herself and hasn’t found the cure yet. The bath is claw-footed and deep. Nancy sinks into the steaming water before goosebumps rise on her arms, and her freckled skin blushes in the heat. The water does wonders for her foot. She eases her head back on the lip of the tub and nears a light doze when her cell phone rings. It rests atop a stack of towels by the tub. Nancy wipes her damp hand off before looking to the screen. Frank Hardy. Nancy answers and taps the speaker button to relax back in the tub. “Hey.” “Hi, Nance,” Frank says, his voice a familiar balm after such a stressful time. “What’s going on?” “Things aren’t too different from last week’s call,” Nancy smiles. “But I’m on vacation with Bess and George.” “Oh wow! That’s awesome. I hope it’s been fun.” Nancy’s glazed eyes blink. “Yeah,” she rasps. “It’s nice.” She clears her throat, searching for her old enthusiasm. “But what about you? How’s Joe?” “Same as usual, a pain in my ass.” Nancy chuckles before a distinctive lift raises Frank’s voice. “We’re actually getting ready to get on a plane for a case – but I wanted to make sure everything’s good with you.” Nancy’s hand closes in a fist on her raised knee. “Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve been on a case.” “Not really. You just took a few months off to stay with Kyler, right?” “Yeah, but that’s the longest I’ve ever gone without a case since I started.” “I’d give you ours if I could,” Frank says. “Really not looking forward to such a long plane ride. Oh, they’re calling for our gate – but do you want me call you when I land?” Gratefulness is a warm glow in her heart. “No, that’s okay – but

thank you. Be safe on your trip and tell Joe I said hi.” “Can do.” Frank pauses. “I – tell Bess and George I said hi.” “Can do,” Nancy repeats. She chews her lip. “See you soon?” She feels foolish for saying something when Frank is headed to a case. While the weekly phone calls have kept Nancy sane, it would be even better to see the Hardy Boys. “I’ll make it happen,” Frank promises. “See you, Nance.” After they hang up, Nancy struggles to get out of the tub with her swollen foot. She gets into a pair of sweats and wraps up some ice in a washcloth, then holds it against her foot. Nancy mulls over her conversation with Frank, wondering how much of her poor mood could be due to not solving a mystery. With a deep yawn, she tosses the soaked washcloth in the wastebasket, not able to walk to the bathroom to put it in the sink. She cuddles up to her teddy bear and flicks the lamp off when her phone rocks to life on the nightstand. Bewildered, Nancy turns the lamp back on to look at the screen. The number is unknown; she sees her hand tremble around the phone. She lets the call go to voicemail before the phone vibrates to life once again. Bracing herself, Nancy answers. “Hello?” “Yes, hello – I’m trying to reach a one Nancy Drew?” The voice is British and eerily familiar, like Nancy heard it in a dream. “This is she.” “Splendid! Oh, you wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve gone to in order to find your number.” “Sorry? Who is this?” “Why, Nigel Mookergee. We met at –” “Blackmoor,” Nancy whispers. “Nigel, hi. What’s going on?” “I’m afraid the manner of my call is not a jovial one,” he says. “How should I explain this? Well, I suppose from the start. You see –” He sighs. “Don’t tell anyone I’m speaking of this, but the Penvellyns have fallen into a bit of… financial trouble.” Nancy says, “’Financial trouble’?” “It’s certainly not my business to spread, but yes. It’s not that they are a poor family by any means, but one diplomat’s salary is not enough to keep up a castle.” Nancy sits up, grabbing a pen and notepad from her bedside table. She jots as Nigel continues. “The Penvellyns began to host historical tours at the manor – much to Mrs. Drake’s dismay, I might add. Jane wishes to expand the business to the paranormal side of things, and I don’t quite agree with the idea myself, but she insists it’s just what the manor needs.” Nancy finishes scrawling and says, “So, you’re working for the Penvellyns now?” “Yes. I’m afraid there’s been some situations – inconsequential events, if you will – that need a glance over.” Nancy arches a brow. “You mean an investigation.” “Ah, such a serious word. I simply want to make sure we are fully prepared to expand the business.” Nancy’s eyes narrow. “Right. When would you need me there?” “As soon as possible -” Nigel catches himself. “I mean, at your earliest convenience.” Nancy glances over her notes, running her hand over the page filled by red ink. She closes her eyes against the sight and says, “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

thank you so much for reading! please let me know what you think and stay safe. and please consider following me here and on twitter! xoxo

#nancy drew #nd #nancy drew pc #nd pc #CUR #clue crew #blackmoor manor #curse of blackmoor manor #francy #frank hardy #nancy drew fanfiction

21 notes · View notes