#the constantly moving sticker in the corner is driving me mad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hellotherekenobi · 4 years

Text

─── a letter to you.

summary: the one thing you’re good at, aside from being a jedi, is writing. in fact, it helps you say the things that you can never say aloud; like how you’re in love with obi-wan kenobi. the one thing you’re bad at, though, is keeping your writing hidden, and one letter gets found.

requested by: @iamfrulcrum

ONESHOT. ⟶ 2,521 WORDS.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was one of those things. Something you do to help quiet the voices in your head, to collect your thoughts into one big bundle instead of scattered scribbles on the pages of your mind. It was calming. It was your way of coping. It was writing.

When everything became too much, you knew the one thing that would always help is to write things down. With a pen or a pencil in your hand, the world goes quiet. It was also a way to express your secrets without ever really telling anybody— secrets you kept for the very reason that if anyone found out, you would be in deep waters. Why? Because you’re in love with a Jedi. And you have no idea what to do about it.

You’ve been friends with Obi-Wan ever since you were knighted a Jedi alongside him, and although you two were on less and less missions together as the years passed, your feelings for him never faulted. Whenever he greeted you with a toothy smile or ran a hand through his hair or looked at you with those dazzling blue eyes, you felt every sort of butterfly erupt in your stomach; completely head-over-heels for a man who could never love you back, or love at all for that matter.

So, writing was the best option for you. It was that or harboring your entire existence around him, which was almost becoming the norm for you with how much you think about him. But no more. To get the thoughts out of your head, you know you need to put them to paper. Then you can scrunch it up into a little ball and burn it and hope for the best.

However, the hopeful moment was split in two when a finger tapped your shoulder and you flinched; turning around in your chair quickly to see those beautiful, sparkling cerulean eyes that you were all too familiar with— the very pair that made you melt down into a puddle, feeling all gooey inside— so you can’t help but instantly relax at noticing that it’s him and smiling like, what you are sure looks to be, a complete and utter goofball.

“Hi, darling,” he smiles, a soft chuckle flowing past his lips as he settles himself into the chair beside you— and you feel as if your smile has grown even wider with just those two words and the very way he said them— “do you mind if I sit here for a while? I’m on the run at the moment.”

“On the run?” You laugh and he leans in close to shush you.

“Yes, from Madame Kandria. I’ve become her errand boy for the day and I have had it. I need a break.”

You nod at him, placing your chin in your palm, “Hmm, very good choice then here, the library.”

“It was the most obvious choice, yes—” he nudges your arm— “besides, when I saw you sitting here all by yourself, I had to join you.” He smiles brightly, as if he should be receiving a golden sticker on his robes for such a charming compliment, “What are you writing?”

“Just thoughts,” you offer, sliding him a piece of paper you had been scribbling at for the past few minutes, fortunately nothing about him... yet.

He takes the paper with gentleness; using one finger to spin it to face himself and taking his time to read each word with the utmost attentiveness— you almost scoff at how he looks, all he needs is a pair of reading glasses and the picture would be set; something adorable to frame inside your mind, as opposed to all the other moments you’ve captured that now reside where you can always look at them. After a moment, Obi-Wan hums and flashes you another, but quick, dazzling smile.

“You have a way with words,” he says and you drag the paper back to you, rolling your eyes and shaking your head as if it were a twitch, but Obi-Wan is quick to reach for the paper; placing his hand on top of yours, “I mean it!”

“Thank you.” You nod at him, focusing much more on the feeling of his soft but calloused hand rather than his sincere words.

“When are you going to write me something?” He asks suddenly, and you’re looking at him with such genuine surprise that he chuckles, “I’m asking.”

“You’re asking?”

He makes such an adorable sound when he nods at you that you almost cave and tell him well, I have written about you before, plenty of times, so take your pick! but just as his tap on the shoulder to you interrupted your thoughts before, so does the shout of his name from the doorway does now; Obi-Wan springing up, his hand squeezing yours, and stammering out a, “M-Madame Kandria!”

She looks furious, the poor woman; standing with her back so straight that she might as well have been a statue, the lines under her eyes showing more than just age but stress too, “I’ve been calling for you.”

“My apologies, I was helping my frien—”

“Come with me.”

She doesn’t say another word, just simply spins on her heel and walks right back out of the door. Obi-Wan turns around to you with a mocking yet tired smile on his face and you’re about to burst into laughter right then and there with how much annoyance you can feel seeping from him, until he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, his hand that was on yours now at the back of your head to move you toward him gently, and then he’s dashing out of the room to follow Kandria before she can shout at him again.

And you sit there. And you blink. And you write.

─────── ⋯ ───────

Obi-Wan rarely sees you that week, with him at Madame Kandria’s beck-and-call and you with your duties around the temple, that whenever you two do happen to see each other, it’s when you’re leaving the library and he’s entering it. He keeps trying, however, to time those quick encounters better so that he can actually talk to you but it turns out that when he tries, he ends up missing you altogether. Like now, with him finding the only evidence that you were even in the library to begin with being the papers scattered on one of the desks.

It brings a soft smile to his face, though, to see all the mess you’ve left behind— you have always been a bit of a scattered bookworm and besides, this gives him the best excuse to find you and return these as if he hasn’t been chasing you around the Jedi Temple for days. As he goes to collect them all, he can’t help but skim his eyes down the pages and read what he can, because he doesn’t want to pry, really he doesn’t, but he has always hoped that you would write about him one of these days, even if it were to make fun of him or—

Soft, cerulean eyes and auburn hair. He’s beautiful without realizing it.

Was that... his eyes that you had written about? His hair? Do you think that he’s... beautiful? Now he can’t help the jolt of curiosity that suddenly rushes through him, and he sits down on the chair to properly read what’s on the page.

Write about me, he says. As if I haven’t done so a hundred times before. A letter to you, then. I’m consumed by you. You touch my hand and I light up. You kiss my forehead and I melt. I doubt you even know how I feel about you. Sometimes I think that you may feel the same. I wish you had kissed me on the lips instead.

Obi-Wan’s whole world has been turned upside down. The words he’s read are swirling around in his head, spinning faster and faster like a tide-pool, until he feels as if he’s going to topple over. All these years... all this time when he thought he was chasing daydreams, and you’ve felt the same way. Why couldn’t you be here? Why can’t you be next to him so that he can pull you to him and kiss you like you had wished that he would? How could he even tell you that he’s loved you ever since you were young? If only he had an outlet like you, where he could express himself and confess to his feelings— wait.

He looks down at the paper, and he looks at all the others, and he finds one that’s barely been written on. And he grabs the pencil you had left on the table. And he writes.

─────── ⋯ ───────

You turn around the corner with a smile on your face, looking as positively cheerful as you can muster, before noticing that the desk is empty and you’ve missed Obi-Wan in the library again, and the smile wipes itself off of your face almost about as fast as Obi-Wan had ran out of the library at the start of the week. It was becoming increasingly tiresome to constantly miss Obi-Wan by a couple of minutes or only see him down the hallway when you’re heading in the opposite direction. You just wanted to talk to him. Aside from writing, he was the only other thing— the only other person— that helped you relax. And the very fact that the last exchange between the two of you was him kissing your forehead is about driving you mad. That spot has been burning ever since and you’ve found yourself swiping your fingers along it without prompt on more than one occasion.

You need to write. You need to get these thoughts out of you before you bubble over, or boil over for that matter (it does seem the most appropriate with everything that’s been going on.) With you is your stack of papers, all crumpled up between each other; the ones that were left by your door by who you’re sure was Obi-Wan. You hadn’t meant to leave a mess behind you in the library that day but you were in a hurry, and you’re thankful that no one else found them... like Master Mace Windu. You shiver just at the thought of him reading anything of yours. What if he read something private? Like the one time you wrote in agonizing detail the embarrassing encounter you had with the Gungans who had been invited to one Senate meeting and you had... no, that’s better left unsaid.

Flicking through your papers, you look for a spare one that you can write on, but you don’t seem to find any empty space, which is odd seeing as you always make sure you have at least one blank piece of paper with you. There’s your diary entry of sorts about yesterday, the messy notes you took in the meeting which was only supposed to be quick but it went on for much longer than that, the dream you had, the note you had written about Obi-Wan— maker, what if he had seen that?— and the paper about someone’s eyes. Wait. You don’t remember writing that. Wait. That isn’t your handwriting.

The most beautiful eyes I’ve ever gazed into. You’re beautiful in everything you do and you don’t seem to realize it.

You re-read those words as if your life depends on them. One more time. Two more times. It sounds just like what you wrote about Obi-Wan the other day, and you quickly flick through to compare the two letters. It’s as if someone has replied to what you wrote. And when this thought registers in your mind, you read the rest of it.

I’ve never been too good at words like you are, as much as you may think that I am. Instead I will list all the ways that I love you. In the way I touch your hand, in the way I kiss your forehead, in the way I smile when we talk. I love you in every way that I can. I wish I had kissed your lips as well.

It’s as if someone just drove their hand deep into your chest and gave your heart a handshake. There’s no feeling in your fingertips for a moment as you sit there and hold the letter, glance at the words, and fight the urge to scream— because if what you read wasn’t any indication on who wrote this, then it was the scribbled ‘sincerely, the errand boy’ on the bottom of the page that gave it away. It was Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wrote you this letter. Obi-Wan read the letter you had written him. And Obi-Wan told you that he loves you.

Now you really do bubble over (and, yes, this is the most appropriate with the excitement you feel) at the thought of Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Jedi knight, the boy, you had fallen in love with all those years ago who loves you back. It seems too good to be true, as if you’re going to smile so wide that you’ll wake yourself up from this dream and go back to only ever being able to love him in words. But the weight of everything sinks in when you flip the page over and read ‘I’m in the training room’, and you leap out of the chair like you’ve never moved so fast before— taking care to not leave anything behind this time— and practically run to the training room. He needn’t have to tell you which one; you can feel him as you get closer— he’s nervous.

When you step through the doorway, Obi-Wan is sitting at the other end of the room and he stands almost as fast as you had done only minutes before in the library. There’s a moment where neither of you two move, where the air goes quiet and you can only hear the hammering of your heart, and then in a soft, whispered press of the Force to your mind you hear him speak, ‘you’re here’ and you nod at him, a smile forming at the corner of your mouth, and speak aloud, “I’m here.”

He takes the first step toward you, then you take one, then he takes two more, and so you two play this game of who will reach the other first. As you near him, you can see the way he fiddles with his hands. Chuckling, you reach out to him, your hand gently brushing along the top of his until you can feel him relax under your touch, and you both have stepped so close that you’re breathing the same air together, and he takes one more tentative step to gently rest his forehead on yours. You close your eyes and you breathe this moment in; you let yourself remember what this smells like, you let yourself cherish the quiet that you spend with him like this.

And then ever so quietly, with the sweetest tone of his voice, he speaks, “Can I kiss you this time?”

tags: @thedevilwearsbeskar @goldenkenobi @aemorr-5885 @katsav17 @badedum-badaboom @solaena @lexylovesfandoms

#days #this oneshot took me days #i listened to it's a great big world by biosphere btw if you wanted to know my inspiration :)#obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi imagines #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan imagines #obi-wan fanfic #obi-wan fanfiction #star wars #star wars prequels #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #oneshot #ewan mcgregor

266 notes · View notes

angelguk · 4 years

Text

the one where jeongguk is in love with your voice (and also kind of in love with you). barista!jeongguk and busker!oc meeting for the first time. this was meant to be the intro for a fic but....life happens :/ still! it’s fun and jaykay is in love !! 3.3k words. listen to i want to be with you by chloe moriondo :3

The first time Jeon Jeongguk saw you he swore his heart stopped. It was early autumn and the sun was beating down on the tired pavement you’d paused at. He'd taken an impromptu break during the few moments it had taken you to set up and get your guitar out of its case. At first, he didn’t notice anything, too preoccupied with the game lighting up his phone screen to pay attention to the serene streets outside.

Then he heard your voice.

It wafted through the open windows and stained the atmosphere in the café, mingling with the scent of bitter coffee and burnt saccharine sugar. It took him a moment to register that the sound wasn’t coming from the speakers Seokjin had installed roughly a month ago but rather from the person standing outside in the late afternoon sun. The sound was coming from you.

He got up slowly, oblivious of the inquisitive gaze Seokjin was giving him and ambled to the glass French windows that allowed customers a full view of the cobblestone pavements outside the café. It also served the purpose of giving Jeongguk full view of you.

There was a claret scarf swathed around your neck. It was the first thing he noticed. You’d lazily tossed it over your shoulders in an attempt to combat the cool breeze that accompanied the autumn sun. The colour highlighted your skin, leaving you glowing underneath the afternoon sky. The guitar captured his attention next; it looked loved, stickers and small scruffs against the warm chestnut wood made it evident that that instrument had been in your hands countless times. That wasn’t difficult to confirm because your fingers deftly skipped over the strings with ease, pressing and strumming out notes that flowed into your euphonious voice.

It caught him by surprise, how much he liked the sound of you singing. But what drew Jeongguk in was the pure look of bliss that was painted across your features, a lazy smile gracing your lips as you sang out the lyrics of some song Jeongguk had never heard but he was going to look up in a moment.

He didn’t know how long he stood by the window watching you. Seokjin didn’t call his name when his break was over and time seemed to pass by in an instant yet it felt like it had been dragged out. He only resurfaced from his reverie when you stopped strumming your guitar. By then a small crowd had gathered and he couldn’t make out your face anymore but he heard the sound of your laughter skipping through the air as clear as the ringing of a bell. You sounded so thrilled, chatting away with some people who had the courage to walk up to you and compliment your talents. Maybe he should too — after his shift ends anyway.

(Unbeknown to him his shift had ended ten minutes ago but he still was stagnant at the window, watching you flit about with a grin on your face).

But then you were packing up and sauntering away and Jeongguk felt his heart twang as if he was one of the strings of your guitar. He had no idea if you would come back to the same spot again — he’d never even seen your face before. If only he’d gone out and said something, or just stood in the crowd and applauded.

But there was no point in dwelling on it so he ripped off his black apron in the staff room and bid Seokjin goodbye. His feet were heavy as he walked home and he kept glancing around, a sliver of hope that maybe you’d moved on to busk in a different but nearby location.

He didn’t find you despite aimlessly roaming around for an extra thirty minutes.

The next afternoon he found himself a place in front of the windows, gaze focused on the street across the café, a slight buzz in his veins because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. The urge to see you again was driving him slightly mad and his co-workers could sense that because Namjoon and Jimin had vanished behind the counters. Seokjin didn’t say anything about his unusual behaviour.

He sat there, expectant, but you never come. This reiterated itself for the next few days until he abandoned the routine and reverted to his usual break schedule; he found his old spot in the back of the café and bent himself over his phone screen once more.

And then you came back a week later, a different scarf tangled around your neck (purple this time – or at least that’s what he could discern) and your beloved guitar in hand. Jeongguk found himself at the windows again, staring at your figure with an odd warmth blooming in his chest. You hadn’t missed a single Saturday since and Jeongguk had never been able to approach you either.

↯

Winter's around the corner, glaring by the fading ochre leaves tumbling from branches above. They form a golden carpet on the ground, the trees above left bare and exposed to the bitter winter wind. In general, Jeongguk favoured the feeling of sunlight against his skin — bright emerald leaves over sepia tones — which is why he abhorred this season. And yet he couldn’t help himself from staring out the window, the world falling into a cold slumber before his eyes. But the wonders of winter weren’t the reason Jeon Jeongguk was leaning against the windows of The Container, the café he worked at. He didn’t give a damn about winter; he was too preoccupied watching the girl across the street.

There’s a chill in the air, evident by the stiffness in your fingers as they strum the guitar in your grip. Why you hadn’t worn a thicker jacket was lost to him. Everyone knew how brutal the winters down here could get. Yet there you were, in a flimsy piece of fabric that didn’t hold the chill away, gingerly plucking at the chords of your guitar. For some reason, the sight of you enduring the cold and singing with a smile on your face made something warm kindle in his heart.

“If you keep standing like that you’re going to dent your face into the glass,” Namjoon comments, a cloth in his hands as he wipes the coffee tables — a task Jeongguk was meant to be doing.

“Just dent the glass? Hyung, Jeongguk turned into a statue months ago. Don’t forget to dust him down, we don’t want our most prized decoration covered in cobwebs,” Jimin adds on, fingers swiftly drying up porcelain cups and saucers.

“Shut up,” Jeongguk retorts, snatching up his cloth and tearing himself away from the view before him. “I haven’t seen her in a while. She skipped the last couple of weekends, remember?”

“I’m sorry but I don’t have her schedule in my head, lover boy,” Jimin says, attempting to balance ten saucers and four cups in his hands, which was only going to end in a calamity of splintered glass and a tomato red Seokjin.

“That’s not an excuse to stare at her like a psychopath through the window,” Namjoon interjects, kicking in a stray chair as he purposefully misses the glare Jeongguk shoots in his direction. “Jimin put those cups down before you break something. Seokjin will dock that shit from your paycheck and you still owe me five dollars.” His gaze flickers back to Jeongguk who was only half-heartedly cleaning up the café, “Are you ever going to talk to her? I bet she’s wondering who is the ugly guy who keeps staring at her.”

“I will! I’m just taking some time—"

“Time to do what?” Jimin had somehow successfully transferred everything in his grasp back into the cupboard, a triumphant grin on his face. “Your dick is going to shrivel up if you don’t get laid soon. And as far as I know, she's the only girl who has your attention.”

“Jimin has a point. I’m tired of hearing the terrible porn you watch at three am. Like come on, their moans are clearly fake and you still blast that shit.”

“I’ll turn it down when you clean after yourself. How many times have I picked up your dirty underwear from the couch?” Jeongguk snaps back.

“Disgusting. You’re both heathens. This is why I can’t live with you,” Jimin says, nose crinkled up as he dumps another set of dirty dishes into the sink.

“Glad to see my employees are hard at work.” No one had noticed Seokjin amble in and lean against the wall. “Jeongguk has a point, Joon. I can’t keep picking up your dirty laundry, you’re twenty-four not five,” he raises a hand to halt the torrent of words that threatened to spill from both Jeongguk’s and Namjoon’s mouths. “I wasn’t done. Namjoon also has a point, the shit your watch at ungodly hours is loud and disgusting and you need to make a move eventually. This whole stalker thing is starting to creep out customers.”

“Are you concerned about your business or me as a person?” Jeongguk questions, walking over to the sink to wring out his cloth.

“My business. Obviously.”

Jimin's muffled laughter fills the room as he flicks water in Jeongguk’s direction. “Some of us actually care and the last time you stuck your dick in anything was seven months ago. Which is mildly concerning.”

“I don’t need to constantly have sex like you Jimin.”

“You say that but I bet you’d kill to have the sex life I have.”

“STI’s have not and never will be desirable, hyung.”

“Shut it. Even if I dared you to, you wouldn’t have the guts to approach her.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge, baiting Jeongguk magnificently.

“Fuck you, I can and will approach her. Eventually.” He turns away from the sink, abandoning the cloth, a broom in his grasp as he saunters back to the window. You're still singing away to a small gaggle of people, the wind whipping at your skin. You really should have worn a thicker jacket. Maybe he should bring you something to drink? But do you even like coffee? Or were you a tea person?

“She’s probably a college student. By default all college students are required to like coffee whether they want to or not,” Namjoon interjects.

“Wait was I talking out loud?” He can feel the heat of mortification filling his face.

“This is why I need you to get laid,” Jimin remarks.

“I need you to shut up.”

"Jeongguk if I were you I'd go out there right now and give her a cup of coffee. In fact, I dare you to. I'll do the rest of the dishes for the semester if you do it." Namjoon’s arms are crossed over his broad chest, eyes staring Jeongguk down audaciously. The look in his eyes is telling like he knows Jeongguk would rather set himself on fire than talk to you. And he isn’t wrong.

“Jeongguk move, right now,” Seokjin hastily intervenes. “Shoo! He’s offering to wash the dishes! Grow a pair and get out the door right now!”

Seokjin’s right. The three of them abhorred washing the dishes (which was why Jimin was at the sink while they swept and dusted the café). So this was a perfect offer. He knew he should just take it because Namjoon didn’t do shit in the house anyway but he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive, a steady dampness forming in his palms. What if you found the gesture weird? What if you found him weird? What if his actions would make you run away from the café and then Jeongguk would never be able to see you again?

“Hyung...” His uneasiness was evident in his tone, whine sounding exactly like a wounded puppy.

“Knew you couldn’t do it.” Namjoon plucks up his cloth once more. “This really isn’t healthy though. She’s not some mythical creature, Jeongguk, she’s a person and people talk to each other.”

“I’m sorry are you declining Namjoon’s offer?” Seokjin looks as if he wants to snatch the broom from Jeongguk’s grasp and smack it against his skull. “Jeon Jeongguk you are putting your job at stake.”

“You can’t fire me for that! That’s unfair dismissal!”

“I’ll fire you for whatever.” Seokjin shifts towards the machines behind the counter, briefly cleaning his hands underneath the running sink. “I’m going to make you a latte and you’re going to leave this place and give it to her. Namjoon is offering to clean for God’s sake!”

Seokjin doesn’t pay attention to Jeongguk’s protests, swiftly fiddling with the machines as they whirr to life. “Here.” His outstretched hand held a steaming cup of coffee. “Are you going to take it or are we going to stay here all day?”

Jeongguk pauses, acutely aware of the tense atmosphere fusing with the scent of coffee beans and cream. He doesn’t have to do it; he could just take the coffee and drink it himself. But then the sound of your voice comes drifting in through the open windows and his chest closes up. You’re singing louder for some reason, almost as if you were calling him to come. In all honesty, Jeongguk had to get over his fear of you. Namjoon’s right — you aren’t some mythical creature — you’re just a person like he was. And even if the small (read really big) crush he had over you felt paralysing at times it was better to say he tried then to admit he never did anything at all.

With a wave of sudden sureness rushing through his body he grabs the cup from Seokjin’s outstretched hand and twists around, blatantly ignoring the slow clap Jimin starts up or the shock filling Namjoon’s eyes.

His feet hit the pavement with a resounding thud, one that he feels in his chest but he keeps on walking. The closer he gets the more he feels like the world is slowing down. By now the crowd had dispersed, only one or two people stood around lingering. That’s reasonable because the sun had dipped further into the horizon, dwindling golden rays of sunlight illuminating the pavements. An instant later, he’s standing before you holding the cup of coffee in his hands. It’s then he realises just how stupid he probably looks. It suddenly hits that he’s got no idea if you were lactose intolerant or whether you preferred soy or oat or almond or how sweet you liked your coffee or whether you liked coffee at all and then you were looking at him and he didn't know what to say.

He tries to open his mouth but he can’t grasp at the words he needs. The strumming of your guitar slows down, a curious sparkle in your eyes as you look at the boy before you who’s turning bright rose with every passing second.

Jeongguk immediately goes on autopilot, shoving the cup in your direction. “Um, here, coffee. It’s cold.”

“The coffee? Sorry but I think I’ll pass on iced coffee,” you reply, shooting him a soft smile. “Thank you though.”

“Uh — no. The coffee isn’t cold, the weather is cold. I just thought that maybe you’d want something warm to drink?” Jeongguk wants the ground to open up below him.

The corners of your lip tug upward, eyes flickering over Jeongguk’s body. He refuses to look directly at you but he can feel the warmth of your gaze as you examine him. This is a stupid idea and he was going to kick Seokjin in the balls when he gets back inside. But instead of hearing a rejection floating from your lips, your voice urges his eyes up from the ground with wonder. “Sure, why not,” you say, an easiness in your tone. The coffee cup is out of his hand before he can blink.

He feels something in him shift violently when a smile breaks across your face.

The slamming of his heart against his ribs is nothing compared to the pounding in his head because holy shit your smile was the best thing he’d ever seen. Your face just lights up, the grin on your lips just as dazzling as the bright afternoon sun behind you. It felt as if there’s a hand around his heart squeezing it tight, leaving him breathlessly in love.

“Before I drink this,” you say, fiddling with the cup in your hand. “How do I know it’s not been tampered with?”

He flushes, taken back by your valid direct question. The sentence that leaves his lips is jumbled, a result of his nerves getting the best of him. “Uh — I —well — um, I work over there,” he gestures to the establishment behind him, ears tinging rouge when his gaze lands on Seokjin standing menacingly behind the window. “My boss made it for you — well not for you, but kind of? I could have made you one too but he did — for no particular reason of course.”

Your laugh is light and airy, wrapping around his heart with a gentleness that leaves him woozy.

“Okay, I believe you.” You take a ginger sip of the coffee, still brightly gazing at him. “Thank you. This is so sweet of you. And a latte too, that's my favourite. Good guess.”

Jeongguk is never going to hit or insult Kim Seokjin again. His words still feel clunky falling out his mouth but he can't stop them from escaping.“You’re welcome! Thought I would bring you something you know. It’s really cold and you’re kind of the reason why we get so many customers.”

The eyebrow you raise is playful. “So you’re paying me with free coffees now? Not a bad move.”

He rubs the nape of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. “Got to keep the free advertisement happy, right?”

You laugh again and Jeongguk feels his world rearrange. In a second he’s buzzing, the warmth of your voice rushing through his body and leaving his nerves humming. Your smile was starting to have an adverse effect on Jeongguk’s heart. It might have stopped functioning properly a moment or so ago.

“I appreciate the gesture. Tell your boss thank you for me.”

Jeongguk splutters, eyes soft as he looks at you. “Actually, if you want to come in I could fix you something else as well. On the house! You can meet my boss as well.”

You pause, pretty lip caught between your teeth in thought. He thinks you might say yes. Needs you to say yes more than he’s needed anything else in his life. But then your eyes flicker to the well-worn leather watch strapped around your wrist, gaze crestfallen the second you register the time.

“I can’t today, unfortunately! Got to hurry somewhere right now.” He watches you pack up your guitar, the swiftness in your movements stabbing at his infatuated heart, the coffee he’d handed you sitting lonesome on the ground. You stuff the loose change scattered within your guitar case in your pocket before delicately placing the instrument in there. It only hits him then that he never once tossed something in there as a show of gratitude to you for filling the world with your mellifluous voice. His empty hands suddenly felt useless beside him, swinging forlornly in the winter breeze. He wants to help you, but he’s afraid he’s encroached enough already. “Thank you again. Maybe I'll drop by one day,” you say, smile bright and warm. He commits the image of you looking at him like that to memory, treasuring it deep inside of his heart.

“Yeah, sure. No problem." He doesn't want you to leave, but he can’t think of a way to make you stay.

Then you're gone, coffee clutched in your hand as you melt into the hordes of people roaming through town. Your claret scarf is the last he sees of you before he registers that he never asked for your name.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook drabble

112 notes · View notes

chemically-imbalanced-romance · 6 years

Text

A Year Of Royality

Prompt/Synopsis: Jumping in leaves

Requested by: Day 5 of @sanderssidesspook

Trigger warnings: None. Pure fluff

Word count: 1522

A/N: Extra Boys™

Seriously, I’ve never written such an extra couple. I think that just means I’m getting better at writing Roman tho

Wow. I literally hate that ending. But well. There it is.

I also hate the title. But. Well. Let’s move on.

“Patton, my love?” Roman knocked on the bedroom door, amused. “Are you almost ready to go?”

“Almost!”

He rushed around, snatching his sweater off the bed and tripping to sit down and tie his boots. He grabbed the scrapbook and held it against his chest, closing his eyes and breathing in, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat.

Patton set the scrapbook in his lap and flipped it open to the first page. A year old picture of he and Roman smiled back at him; Roman was dressed as a prince, Patton his unknowing princess.

The two met at a Halloween party Roman hosted last year. Roman had invited Logan, and Logan Virgil. Virgil didn’t like to go many places without Patton, so Patton tagged along uninvited.

Patton was the only one in the entire party dressed like a princess, and Roman apparently took this as a sign. While Logan and Virgil sulked in the corner, Roman walked right up to Patton and introduced himself as “his Prince Charming-” Which Patton found absolutely adorable.

Patton had never had so much fun at a party before. He was a sociable guy, and was able to have a good time anywhere, doing anything, but he always enjoyed himself more when around Virgil or Logan. But Roman was easy to become friends with- He was loud and energetic, they had a lot of similar interests, and were both passionate bundles of overflowing emotion. It wasn’t hard to find a connection there. And by the time Virgil and Patton had left, the prince and princess were crushing hard.

They’d only been on a few dates when Roman has asked Patton to be his boyfriend, and they’d moved at a fast pace ever since (unlike Logan and Virgil, who only recently made it official). Patton had kept track of it all in a meticulous series of photos, at first out of habit- He loved his friends and he cherished their memories together, so things to look back on were a must -but the idea sparked in his mind shortly after their six month anniversary.

Patton secretly bought a blank scrapbook and began developing almost every photo he took of them in different sizes, some of them cut into things like hearts and some of them big enough to cover an entire page. He wrote with each page a description of what was happening and why it meant so much to him. He lovingly decorated the thick pages with his favourite stickers, glitters, and tape, and the book was near massive.

Some of Patton’s favourite pages were the one of their third date, where Roman took Patton “faerie catching” in the big park in the next town over, fireflies lit up all around them while Roman kissed his hand, or the selfie Roman took the morning after they slept together for the first time, Roman grinning happily at the camera while Patton slept snuggled against his bare chest.

Every page whispered out Patton’s adoration. It was… Terrifying. He was putting so much of himself out there, and he had no idea how Roman might react.

Patton slid it in his messenger bag and finally came out of the room. Roman smiled at him, looking like the sun, and came over to kiss him softly.

“You ready to go?”

They drove about twenty minutes to the same town they had gone faerie catching at, since it had the cutest walking trails, and the entire time, Patton sang along to the radio and played the fingers on the hand Roman wasn’t driving with. Occasionally, he’d bring Roman’s hand up and kiss along his knuckles gently, and Roman would yelp as Patton nipped at the skin.

The trail was a blend of soothing reds, oranges, yellows, and browns. Though most of the trail had been cleared so it was easier to walk through, the leave were falling constantly and it was impossible to get every one. Every once in a while, Patton would drop Roman’s hand to jump on one, and it crunched beneath his boots.

Throughout the entire walk, Roman begged to know what was in the bag. Patton just giggled and waved him off. At one point, Roman asked Patton if it was breakable, and after he said “no,” he snatched the bag and tossed it to the side so he could throw his boyfriend over his shoulder and spin. Patton was the most motion-sensitive person Roman had ever met; Spinning him around in a little bit made him feel like he was on a rollercoaster, and he made the most adorable squeals as he gripped onto Roman as hard as he could.

Roman finally set Patton down, but kept him in a tight grip, not wanting him to fall over. His eyes sparkled and he cleared his throat; Patton grinned, waiting eagerly for the speech he was sure to make.

“My love,” he cupped Patton’s cheek, “when I first saw you, I knew I couldn’t leave without speaking to you. And the moment I spoke to you, I knew I had to try with you.” Patton smiled, nuzzling into his palm. “Every day before you I spent giving myself away to others, hoping someone would come to appreciate me, like you have. I was struggling. But you came into my life and showed me how to be in love with myself, in love with life. And along the way, I fell in love with you.” A flash of nervousness flickered across Roman’s face as he gaged Patton’s reaction; Patton was absolutely beaming, though, tears in his eyes, so Roman relaxed and murmured, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

Patton threw himself into Roman’s arms, and Roman chuckled as he caught him, kissing him gently.

“I love you,” Patton mumbled against his mouth, and Roman mumbled it back.

They stayed like that for a moment, before Patton pulled away and grabbed the bag that had landed in the leaves. He slid the still-pristine scrapbook out and dropped the bag, beaming and holding it out.

Roman tentatively flipped it open, his heart filling with love. His eyes welled up with tears as he flipped through it; He stopped at a page full of pictures from the first show of his Patton had ever attended. There was a bulleted list- Made of little pink hearts -of everything Roman did well. It took up space on both pages.

Patton snuggles up to his side and nuzzles into his neck as Roman continues looking through it. Roman giggled as he came across a picture of Patton, without his glasses, sitting in their bed with a tray of food. A few months ago, Patton had to stay home from work, sick, and Roman hung around for a little bit to make him breakfast.

He stopped again at a page towards the end, with nothing but a picture held to the page with snowflake themed duct tape, showing the four of them last Christmas. They all had something keeping them from going home, so they spent it together. In the picture, Logan held Virgil protectively to his side while Patton sat, giggling uncontrollably, in Roman’s lap.

The last page was blank. Roman was confused for a moment. His eyes widened as Patton pressed his lips to his cheek, the camera on his phone going off. Roman’s cheeks turned pink.

“Once I get this in there,” Patton said with a smile, showing Roman the picture, “we can start a new one.”

Roman’s quite certain he’d never been so love. Maybe he’d never been in love at all. He took Patton’s hand in his own, swinging them a little as they continued walking, talking softly. Roman noticed a big pile of leaves blocking the rest of the the trail, and his eyes lit up; Patton didn’t have time to react before Roman dropped his hand and sprinted towards the leaves, and they exploded into caffeti.

“Roman!” Patton gasped, covering his mouth and giggling.

Roman took the bag and set it aside again so he could pick Patton up and carry him over to the pile of leaves, nearly dropping him as he shrieked through giggles and squirmed. Roman tripped, and they fell into the leaves, Patton landing on top of his legs. Patton sat up to sit atop his thighs, giggling and pushing his hair out of his face.

“Verge and Lo are gonna be so mad when we get to the party like this,” Patton said. Twigs and leaves stuck out of his hair, dirt smudged on his hands and clothes, and Patton doubted he looked much better.

“We’ll just say we’re going as very well dressed Scarecrows.” Roman grinned, and pulled Patton down by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

Patton rolled into Roman’s side as they kissed. Even after they stopped, they laid there, breathing together with their foreheads pressed together.

�� Finally, Roman started to get up, but Patton pulled him back down and took out his phone. Roman chuckled and took it for him; He grinned as Patton rested his head on his shoulder, and they took the first picture of their new year.

... let’s just pretend this never happened ~max

#roman sanders #patton sanders #royality #sanders spooks #sanders sides spooky month #virgil writes

55 notes · View notes

robbinsarizonas · 7 years

Text

Holding On

So the idea for this fic was sent to my in my inbox from an anon, and it was brilliant and it’s been in there for rather a long time but finally this is the first part of what is hopefully going to be a multi-part fic. Thankyou anon, and thankyou guys for bearing with me <3 Every single one of you is awesome. Here it is :)

“So you’re pregnant.” Meredith said as if it was a fact.

“I’m not pregnant.” Amelia protested.

“You’re pregnant.” Meredith said again, plainly and simply.

“I am not pregnant!” Amelia continued to protest. She was convinced she wasn’t pregnant, just as much as Meredith was convinced she was.

“I can’t do this if you keep moving.” Meredith scolded, as if she was talking to one of her children.

“I’m staying perfectly still.” Amelia said, holding out her arm so still it could have been a statue, not even a flicker of movement.

Meredith sticked the needle into Amelia’s vein and watched as the blood filled up the little container.

“Ouch, needle.” Amelia said under her breath as she felt it go in.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Meredith said, sticking on another bottle and watching as it filled.

“Can you two stop fighting?” Maggie said, louder than the two of them combined.

Both Meredith and Amelia’s heads turned to look around at Maggie, who was standing just behind Amelia’s chair with a hand on her forehead.

“Let’s just, do this, okay?” Maggie said, as if she was sighing the words rather than saying them.

“Done.” Meredith said, sliding the needle out of Amelia’s arm and putting a piece of cotton padding over where it had been.

“And I still don’t like needles.” Amelia said, pressing down on the cotton with two of her fingers.

“You’re a doctor.” Meredith said, like thus was the most ridiculous statement she had ever heard.

“And I can still not like it when there’s a needle stuck in my arm.” Amelia sighed, getting up from the chair, her hand still pressed against the cotton wool.

“Amelia’s pregnant.” Meredith said, sitting down at a cafeteria table and placing her tray in front of her.

“Shepherd’s knocked up?” Alex Karev said from the opposite side of the table, like Amelia wasn’t even there.

“I’m not pregnant.” Amelia protested, putting the straw of her drink in her mouth and taking s sip.

“Symptoms don’t lie.” Meredith said, picking up her fork and sticking it into the cardboard container that was filled with her lunch.

“How can you say that?” Amelia argued, her drink held so firmly in her hand the paper cup was in danger of collapsing in on itself.

“They’ve been doing this all day.” Maggie sighed, looking over at Alex and pretending she was somewhere else that didn’t constantly contain bickering sisters.

“I’m surprised they’ve managed to keep it up.” Alex said, taking a rather big bite of a burger that sat in front of him.

“Those two? Please.” Maggie said in complete disbelief at Alex’s statement. She was sure those two could argue for America. It was never catastrophic, relationship ending, bad kind of arguing, but that didn’t mean it didn’t drive Maggie spare. She just wanted everyone to get along, all the time, especially her sisters.

“You still live with them. If it drives you so mad, just move out.” Alex said, taking another bite of his burger to the point where it was almost all gone and he had barely been eating for any time at all.

“Oh trust me, they need a buffer. I’d be too worried about them murdering each other if I wasn’t there.” Maggie said in a light almost joke-like tone.

“I’m done.” Amelia said, having eaten almost nothing that she had picked out for herself, her plate still filled with food.

“You’re not gonna eat anymore?” Maggie asked, concerned for her sister and even more so if she was eating for two.

“Maggie you’re not my mother.” Amelia said, not in a snappy, angry tone, but it was easy to tell she was definitely annoyed.

Amelia got up from her chair and lifted her tray up, pushing out her chair a little bit more with her legs so she had more room to move out from the table and she was still able to hold the tray at the same time.

“Results for Amelia Shepherd…” Amelia said to the man sitting behind the sliding glass window, taking a peak into the room he was sat in, filled with filing cabinets and many of the same drab brown coloured folders.

It took a good few minutes, but after some waiting the man came back into view, right into his space behind the window, and passed a brown folder through the gap.

The folder had a sticker on the top in one of the corners that read ‘Shepherd, A.’ in a robot-like font. As much as Amelia was sure she wasn’t pregnant, it didn’t hurt to look at what the results said, just in case, just to see, just to be sure. If there was something there, a blood test would show it, no question.

She placed herself near a nurse’s station, as close as she could get to from where she had been, first place she had come across. She wasn’t worried, she didn’t need privacy, she just needed Meredith to shut up. That was why she had even agreed to doing a test, Meredith hadn’t shut up in almost 4 days. She was tired of this argument. She was tired in general.

She opened the folder and pulled out its contents. She started to read it slowly, just in case she skipped over anything, but as soon as she saw it, that wasn’t even a problem. She couldn’t miss it if she tried, it was now etched into her brain.

She wasn’t pregnant, that was for sure. There was no baby in there, not at all. She wasn’t pregnant, but the test had found something. There was something wrong with her. Something very terribly wrong.

Amelia felt her heart drop, and her whole body somehow felt like it no longer existed. She couldn’t move, her feet had planted roots and stuck themselves into the ground. She couldn’t even try to move. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t process. She couldn’t do anything.

The only thing that gave her comfort in that moment, was the thought that at least knowing this would finally make Meredith shut up. For some reason however, that didn’t seem like enough.

#amelia shepherd #meredith grey #maggie pierce #alex karev #fanfic #*

62 notes · View notes