Mango! Oh, sweet Mango. I am so SO sorry that I’ve taken literal months to answer this. I tucked it into a corner of my drafts for safekeeping and I genuinely thought that I’d answered it. That’s my bad! - This was 100% inspired by the song Lyin’ Eyes by Eagles
Bret Hart X Female Reader
WARNINGS - Angst. Mentions of cheating/infidelity. Sad times.
~ ~ ~
At first, Bret kept his back turned towards you. His head remained lowered as he focused solely on tightening his belt and getting re-dressed at the foot of the bed. Pieces of your clothing were strewn haphazardly around the hotel room. Both of you had been too desperate to get each other naked to care about neatly folding anything or placing them together in a singular pile.
You made no attempt to gather your clothes, preferring to wrap the comforter around your bare body and sit against the headboard. If you delay getting dressed then, maybe, you could escape the heartache for a few moments longer. Saying goodbye, however, was inevitable and, no matter what you did, it couldn’t be avoided.
“Bret, this has to be the end.”
Your voice lacked any type of conviction as, if truth be told, the last thing that you wanted was this to end. Bret was everything. When you first crossed-paths, you were immediately enraptured by his dry humour and heart of gold hidden behind an icy exterior. That initial spark soon grew into a fire that threatened to burn you from the inside if you ignored it. So, you didn’t. You allowed yourself to succumb to the fire, relishing in the heat with any rational thought of the consequences forgotten whenever Bret kissed you.
“Why?”
“You know why…”
Of course Bret knew. The garish ring on your left hand was a constant reminder that you’d bound yourself to an uncaring man. One that sat at the top of an illustrious empire of wealth and riches, never lifting more than a finger and treating people as if they were disposable. He didn’t deserve you. This is a conversation that you’ve had over and over again with every time being the final time. And yet, a week or two later, you’ll find yourself in another hotel room, making the same promises that were never intended to be kept.
The room falls quiet; Bret holding his shirt in his hands before tossing it back onto the floor and clambering onto the bed. You catch a flash of Bret’s hardened expression as he presses a rough kiss to your mouth. It skates that fine edge of becoming too harsh until you lift your hands to cradle Bret’s face and he relaxes again. Leaving never got easier for either of you. Entangled hearts were rarely content with being frequently forced apart, but there was no other choice.
Perhaps, in a different life, you could’ve freely spent your days together and allowed your love to fully blossom.
Battered from two tours of Leng, can Jon help Sansa? Will he? And will the ties that bind them soothe each of their broken souls? Or only splinter them further?
“After you and Jimin break up to pursue your separate goals to achieve life’s success, Jimin tries to rekindle the spark that’s been flickering ever since the split.”
🕚 Pairing: Jimin x exGirlfriend!Reader(f)
🕚 Rating/Genres: NC-17; Angst, song-inspired, exes to lovers
🕚 Word Count: 5.0k
🕚 Warnings: Major character death, brief description of death scene (blood, body position, scene itself), pet names (kitten), car crash, not happy ending
🕚 Betas: @hoebii and @moccahobi // The amount of feedback and comments I received were so overwhelming. I’m so honored to have you both beta this piece. I feel like I don’t deserve to have such amazing betas D: Thank you both for making this piece sparkle. The common denominator comment was “oh no oh no oh no” lol. Thank you for the great reactions.
🕚 Author’s Note: This is inspired by YUNGBLUD and Halsey’s song 11 Minutes (feat. Travis Barker). I really love the story they created and the mv always gets me so emotional. Dom’s explanation of the song is so heart-wrenching that I just wanted to write about it. I hope you enjoy it. I’ve had a really bad case of writer’s block lately, so I’m trying to break through that. That being said, I apologize if it’s a little bleh. Also, who would’ve thought fanfic would allow me to work on my editing skills. Kinda’ proud of the banner.
🕚 Song: 11 Minutes by YUNGBLUD, Halsey (feat. Travis Barker)
“Modern society teaches us that being successful or powerful is kind of more important than loving someone else.” - Dom, YUNGBLUD
bts masterlist | main masterlist
Success.
Power.
Success and power are vital in one’s life. Success means being financially stable while having power means having the opportunity to claim what you desire from anywhere, anyone, and however you might see fit. Those are life’s top priorities.
Be successful. Be powerful.
While love is powerful, it doesn’t equate to success. Find success. Obtain power. Then maybe you can find love.
Jimin scoffs as the shit advice lulls in his mind. He forms a trench in the middle of his living room. It was easy to believe those words once upon a time—a time when he sought advice from those around him in the crowded confines of high school. From teachers to advisors to parents to friends.
Success. Power.
But where did happiness come into play?
Was it supposed to be when he found success? Was he supposed to feel happy during his journey to success? Or maybe when he gained enough power to use others as carpet? When was he supposed to smile?
No one provided an answer to that.
The light from his phone blares in the darkness of his apartment that is near campus. His thumb hovers over the telephone icon as he debates with himself. He hasn’t spoken to you since you both went your separate ways three years ago. His eyes dance over the grey circle with your initials in the middle that replaced the years-old photo of your smiling face. He always found your smile painstakingly beautiful, but now it hurts in another way. He isn’t sure how long he can cradle his trembling heart in his hands before it crumbles in his palms.
Taking a deep breath, he slams his thumb on the screen harder than necessary.
Six rings.
Then a click.
“Hello?” Jimin’s voice is hoarse, filled with emotions he is slowly coming to understand. Resentment. Guilt. Fury. Sadness.
“Jimin?” Comes the soothing voice he’s heard echoing in his dreams. The dreams that involved you both in high school, sharing laughs in different locations—the classroom, the cafeteria, your home, the café near his home, your parent’s lake house. All the places he remembers fondly with you. It all comes flooding back with his name falling from your lips.
There’s a pang in your chest and you’re filled with disbelief as you wait for his reply. His name flashing across your screen yanked you back into the past so fast you were dizzy. There’s an inkling of happiness that feels foreign to you now. A feeling that was felt so regularly was shriveled throughout the years. Your heart hammers in anticipation, yearning to hear the voice you told yourself to get over repeatedly.
You were meant to be the “it” couple from high school. That couple that was disgustingly perfectly molded for the other. You were the couple that had their faces plastered in the yearbook’s superlative section for “Couple Most Likely to be Together in 100 Years.” It was silly to Jimin, but not to you. He wished that turned out to be true.
“H-hey,” he repeats, dazed with the memories of you.
“Did you need something?” Your voice is low, wavering, and unsure. Almost as if you would shatter glass if you spoke too loudly. Surely, he wouldn’t be calling just to chat. Not after years of zero contact. While you were hopeful, you were also leery of his intentions. He was never a manipulator, but your walls were too thick to allow a single crack.
“N-no,” then hurriedly, “I mean yes. I-” Jimin struggles for his words. He takes a deep breath, pauses, then releases gradually.
“How are you?” He tries again. There’s silence on the other end that stops his heart. He pulls the phone from his ear to check if the call is still connected. It is.
“I’m fine,” you reply curtly. You’re still on the edge, teetering on if you should hang up or if you should hear him out. There’s a sliver of wishfulness that he’s calling to tell you he wants you again. That he misses your touch and the sound of your voice. But that puts your heart on the line, and it’s already too fragile.
Jimin misses when your reply would entail a dramatic story of how your day went, even if he was there at some of the events. The short answer arouses a sense of detachment and he wants to pinch himself for allowing this to happen.
His pace across his living room slows.
“That’s good,” he answers. “Are you almost on summer break?”
Jimin glances at his couch, legs aching from how much he’s moved them in the last hour, but he’s still too nervous to sit.
“Yes,” you say slowly. Jimin can sense your uneasiness.
“Would you want to meet up soon then? M-maybe we can visit the café.”
Jimin doesn’t need to elaborate on which café he is referring to. After lounging in the café near his house for hours upon weeks, it became the third home for you both—your own homes, each other’s, then the café.
The hope in your chest begins to bloom along with your anxiety. Your heart races at the idea of being in close proximity again. To see the face you could never rid from your memory no matter how hard you tried.
Belatedly, “I’ll be in town in two weeks. Does eight work for you? I’m busy in the morning.”
Jimin opens his mouth to reply eagerly but stops himself. He feels you’ll scurry off if he’s too brash.
“Whatever works for you,” he says. He hopes you can’t hear the pounding of his heart over the line. “Eight is perfect.”
“Okay,” you respond. Jimin presses the phone closer to his ear as you speak, trying to decipher your emotions over the call. Were you excited like him?
“Okay,” he echoes. “I’ll see you then. I-I’m glad to hear from you again, Yn.”
“Me too,” your voice comes out as a whisper before the call flatlines.
Jimin’s hands are shaky when he pulls the phone from his ear. He locks the device then tosses it on the couch. He runs his hands through his unkempt hair as he exhales. His heart has yet to slow, making him feel the need to move in order to get the jitterbugs out of his system.
So he imprints his steps into his living room floor as he paces the small area again until the clock strikes two in the morning.
The café is a 15-minute drive from Jimin’s house in his hometown. Ten if he speeds.
Despite this, he is running late.
Two weeks whirled past him. The short, quick text messages exchanged between the both of you had Jimin’s palms sweat. In his three years of college, he’s never been happier. The messages occurred daily but the conversations never lasted more than an hour. He wasn’t sure if you were too busy or if it was just a coincidence. No matter, he would take the thirty-one-sentence messages rather than none.
The advice he remembered earlier rings in his ears as he rushes to find his misplaced car keys. His carefully fixed hair is becoming undone as he dashes around his home. Why did he consume their advice like they were sacred words? Would things have been different if he followed his heart rather than his head?
An exasperated huff escapes Jimin’s parted lips when he finally catches sight of his keys. He snatches them up, storms his way past his front door, and slides into his car.
Ten minutes.
He can make that.
The ride stirs a mixture of emotions in his chest. The familiar windings of the road have him recalling memories of the two of you.
“Don’t you know the eight ball goes in last?” Jimin chuckled as his gaze lingered on the pocket the ball you hit rolled into then to your remaining solid balls scattered across the green cloth. Your glare told him no.
“Claws in, kitten,” he teased and plucked the black ball from the pocket. He placed it back in its previous location then took a step back.
“Oh, look, the Time Fairy appeared and rewound time. It looks like it’s your turn,” Jimin nodded his chin toward the table. “Again,” he mumbled with a small smile that was a borderline smirk.
Your glaring lasted a few seconds longer before you lifted your chin and moved toward the table. Your eyes dropped down and found your next hit. You aligned the cue stick, narrowing your eyes as you calculated your angle, then made your shot.
Your shoulders slumped when the blue ball you were aiming for stopped a few centimeters short of the pocket. Jimin “accidentally” bumped into the table, causing the ball to slowly roll into the pocket.
“Wow! What a shot, kitten!” Jimin exclaimed, offering you his charming smile.
“I give up,” you whined and set your cue stick across the table. You peered up at your boyfriend with a pout. Jimin laughed at your dramatic expression, setting his stick with yours before enfolding your body into his strong embrace. His pillowy lips found yours easily, caressing yours in a soothing kiss—causing tingles to race throughout your veins. No matter how many times your lips locked, the love-sick feeling never ceased.
“You did great,” he mumbled into your hair after he pulled away. He sealed a second kiss to your forehead and you allowed your body to melt into his at the tender touch. “Just not as great as me.”
“Babe,” you groaned and pushed against his chest to leave his grasp. Jimin’s hold tightened.
“I’ll make it up to you and buy you whatever you want at the café,” he replied and began moving toward the exit with you by his side.
“But you do that already,” you argued and glanced up at him.
“Fine,” he paused as he held the door open for you before taking you under his wing as you strolled to his car. “I’ll let you pay this time.”
“Jimin,” you huffed, causing Jimin’s laugh to echo in the half-filled parking lot.
If he didn’t think success and power were more important than love, would he still be filled with regret? Would the regret have been about not achieving his career goals instead of letting you slip through his fingers? If you were on the same path, would you both be going to the same college as each other? Would you have stayed together even then?
Jimin’s knuckles turn ghostly white as he forces himself to slow his speed when he rounds the corner. The café is in his sights.
There is no point in dwelling on the what-ifs. It isn’t as if he hasn’t done this already. No matter how much he calculated his past actions, the equation never added up. There was always something changing—always another follow-up question.
Things were changing though.
It’s been long enough to realize the empty gap in his heart wasn’t due to him not making progress to success—he was—but it was the lack of happiness in his life. And the biggest source of happiness came from you. With the endless study nights, he rarely found time for himself. He isolated himself from others and dug his head into his books. He wasn’t sure if he was cramming his nights with textbooks to distract his mind from you or if he was really trying to stay on top of his classes. It was probably both, but he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to admit he needed you because that would mean he was lied to all those years ago. That you were both lied to. That you didn’t need each other; you needed to be successful.
He can’t remember the last time his smile reached his eyes.
After being seated, his phone rings. It’s two minutes until eight.
“Hey,” he answers, voice sounding more cheerful than anticipated.
“Hi Jimin,” you reply, the sound of your blinker emitting in the background. “I’m eleven minutes away. Sorry, I’m running late.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin replies, unhesitantly. “Take your time. I’m in a booth to the right when you walk in.”
“Sounds good,” you pause and Jimin can hear the churn of your wheels as you take a turn. There’s a silence that signals he should hang up, but he can’t find the strength to. There’s an odd sense of comfort in listening to your breath on the other line.
“I-I missed you,” you stutter after a moment, hesitant to reveal how you truly feel. Speaking it would make it true, and that worries you. After denying you still cared for the man for three years, it was difficult to allow yourself to be optimistic. You’ve been distancing yourself to keep your heart from fracturing for a second time, but as the days passed you just wanted to yank down your walls. So many jumbled thoughts are on the tip of your tongue. You have missed him all day. His face would appear every time you shut your eyes. He was prominent in your mind.
“I’m glad you called,” you add when you realize this meet-up was his doing. If it weren’t for his call two weeks ago, you would be hiding in your house as you shoved all the memories of you and him that this city resurfaced.
Jimin’s heart clutches in a way he hasn’t felt for years at your words. He stares out the window, watching as the last bit of sun disappears along the horizon.
“I missed you too,” he breathes out shakily. He swears he hears a sound akin to relief from your end.
“I’ll see you soon then.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”
Three words die on his lips as the call disconnects. It’s too soon to say those words again but after years of ending a phone call with them, it felt strange not to. Maybe he can get back to that point in your relationship. It will come easy to him to fall back into that pattern with you. It’s not like that feeling left his heart. His entire body is stained by you. He’s a fool to think he can scrub you off him.
The prospect of being able to hold you in his arms or feel the softness of your lips makes his heart somersault. Hell, just being able to be in a six-foot radius makes him giddy.
The thought of you moving on already is in the back of his mind. He knows it’s a possibility, but he will solve his emotions if that moment ever transpires. He’ll rather fantasize about you smiling and telling him you love him than frowning and saying you didn’t. Perhaps he is being delusional, but he will hold on to the hope you still want to rekindle what you both had.
As the minute ticks by, he grows disheartened. It’s been more than eleven minutes and you haven’t stepped foot inside the café. The coffee he ordered himself is becoming cold.
Perhaps there was traffic. There wasn’t any when he traveled, but maybe you were taking a different way. Or maybe he sounded too eager on the phone. Did that scare you?
The onslaught of questions pours on him as he bows his head and fiddles with his phone. You’ll call any second and tell him how you’ve hit every red light and were running later than planned. He’ll sigh in relief, tell you it’s okay again, and maybe he’ll get you to stay on the phone longer. The sound of your voice was comforting to him, and it made warmth spread throughout his body.
He holds onto that feeling while he waits for you.
The café is closing.
The staff tells him he has to leave and ushers him out so they can clean and go home.
Jimin is distraught.
His phone remains without notifications. He had heard you driving so surely you didn’t stand him up. But perhaps you were driving somewhere else and used that as an excuse to say you were on your way. No. That didn’t sound like something you would do. You wouldn’t go through that hassle instead of telling him a simple no.
Regardless, you don’t show.
It crushes him more than he’ll admit.
He sits in his car for a few minutes, thinking of what could have happened. He decides to drive the route you probably took if you were to go to the café from your home. Maybe he can find you stuck in traffic. It’s a silly idea, but he doesn’t want to believe you stood him up.
Just his luck.
There is traffic.
The cars in front of Jimin move at an agonizing pace. He’s tempted just to ring your cell and ask where you are, but he’s fearful he was right and you played him.
He drives at an odd angle to see if there’s construction. Instead, he sees blue and red lights flashing in the middle of the four-lane road. There are three police cars and two ambulances, but none of them have their sirens on.
When he nears the accident, he spots parts of debris from the vehicles scattered along the road. He slows down more as he passes, partly due to being careful not to hit anything or anyone and because humans are curious creatures.
Illuminated by the street and emergency lights are two cars—one bigger than the other. The smaller one is flipped on its top; some of its windows are broken. The bigger car is upright, the head crunched significantly. Something about the flipped car pings familiarity but he’s not sure why. Whatever it is though, it’s strong enough to make him detour and park next to an empty cop car. He can hear the police direct him to get back in his car and leave when he steps out.
Jimin tells them something, but he’s not even sure what he’s saying. He’s too zeroed in on the upended car.
It’s not until he rounds a police car to get a better look that it clicks.
There’s an “I ♥ Billiards” sticker on the car’s bumper that he pranked you with years ago. The packaging had said it was easy to remove, but from the torn, jagged edges and scratches across the surface, that was a lie. Despite the initial groans and whines from you when you first spotted it, he knew you were secretly fond of it.
The sticker is more tattered than the last he saw it. It is as if you had tried to unstick him from your life, but similar to the strong adhesive, it wasn’t completely successful. There were still remnants of him.
Jimin walks dazedly to the front of the car. He staggers on legs that feel like twigs, struggling to support his weight. The soft pink of his cheeks is draining before he sees it.
The sight has him immediately reaching for the cop car for support, but it does nothing to stop the buckling of his knees as they collide with the concrete. The pain in his kneecaps is nothing compared to the pain in his chest.
The flashing red and blue is reflected in your eyes that stare blankly into his. One arm lays limp outside your shattered window while your head rests at an uncomfortable angle. There’s blood on your body but he can’t see its origin from his blurry vision. He swears he can spot the slow rise and fall of your chest, but he knows in the back of his mind he’s just hallucinating. Your eyes are a portal to your emotions and he can see the remnants of remorse. The look resembles how you looked at him the last time he saw you.
“Have you figured out which college you want to go to yet?” You questioned while you sat up from his warm embrace. Jimin’s hand glided down your back as you repositioned yourself to straddle his lap. He followed your lead and shifted so his back was propped against your headboard.
“Yeah, it’s in Seoul so it’ll only be a three-hour drive to see you.”
You gave him a smile, but Jimin could tell it wasn’t filled with the happiness he expected. He didn’t like the way his chest clenched involuntarily.
“That’s great, babe,” you said, flickering your gaze to his chest briefly. Jimin could sense your detachment and it scared him.
“What’s wrong? Three hours isn’t that bad. I’ll come to you so you can stay in your dorm.” Jimin reached up, wrapped his hands around your wrists then gently tugged you to his chest. Before you could protest, he encircled your back with his arms. Jimin waited for your body to relax, as it usually did when you were in his arms, but it never did.
Silence filled the room. The pounding of your heart was loud enough for Jimin to hear and he wondered what happened to have you so distressed. As he opened his mouth to reassure you again, you spoke.
“I got a scholarship,” you blurted. Your eyes closed as you rested your head against his toned chest. Despite wanting to mold your body into his, you couldn’t block the anxiousness from seeping in.
“What?” Jimin asked and pulled you away slightly to look at you. “That’s great news, kitten. You’re too intelligent to not get one.”
You hummed, a shy yet melancholy smile forming on your lips. Jimin scrunched his eyebrows when he noticed your lack of excitement.
“Isn’t that good, Yn?” He questioned. You bit your bottom lip in thought. Jimin could see the war you were battling internally and it caused red flags to sprout.
“I-It’s in the States,” you stammered and searched his eyes.
Jimin’s arms tensed around you. His crestfallen expression had you break eye contact. It was simply too painful to watch his face crumble.
“I-” Jimin started but stopped himself. He what? He’d fly every weekend to visit you? Once a month? He didn’t have that kind of money.
“I can call you every day. We can video chat,” Jimin said suddenly, eyes filled with hope that had you falling more in love.
“Yeah,” you answered, but you didn’t believe your own words.
Jimin knew it was wishful thinking. Every long-distance relationship he’d heard of ended in failure. The video calls were sufficient for the first few weeks, but as the semester got crazier, the less time the couple had for each other. They would end up drifting apart regardless of the attempts to salvage whatever was left.
“I would’ve denied it if it weren’t for the scholarship,” you added. “The university also has the major I want. My counselors believe I can be really successful there.”
While there was a glint of excitement in your eyes, the sorrow overpowered it. Jimin nodded in understanding. He was told Seoul was his best opportunity to excel in his career field. How could he pass up the opportunity to be first in his classes? With the tough competition in his field, he could use any leverage he could get to rise to the top.
“I’m happy for you,” Jimin replied. He meant it. He was genuinely proud of you and you knew that. But it didn’t make anything easier.
“Thanks,” you mumbled. Silence loomed over you both as you each got lost in your own thoughts. Your eyes trailed over his features. From his plump lips to his scattered moles across his forehead. You memorized every detail of his face and as each detail filed itself in your mind, your heart grew heavy.
“We’re not going to make it, are we?” You questioned and moved your gaze slowly to his. His eyes were dark, swirling with affliction and dread. You could already see his defense walls rising.
“I’d like to,” Jimin answered softly. “But I… It’s unlikely.”
“I love you,” you declared abruptly, the urge to tell him one last time too strong to ignore. There was a desperation to your voice Jimin has never heard before.
“I love you more, kitten.”
Jimin’s voice was gentle and angelic. You were so engrossed in the way his voice engulfed you that you didn’t realize the fallen tear on your cheek. Jimin was quick to wipe it away with his thumb, the coldness of his ring making you shiver slightly.
“I should go,” he whispered, almost reluctantly. You nodded meekly and climbed off his lap. He gracefully maneuvered off your mattress and strolled to your door.
“I can walk you out,” you offered and forced yourself to meet his eyes. In the brief time it took to move from your bed to your door, Jimin had his own tears sliding down his rosy cheeks. You mimicked his earlier actions and smoothly wiped at his cheek. He faintly leaned into your touch.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, then with a deep breath, stepped away from you. His hand was on your door handle when you gripped his wrist.
“Wait. Please,” you begged. “C-can you,” you trailed off but glanced at his lips to indicate what you wanted. He seemed hesitant. His jaw clenched as he mulled over your request.
“Just this once,” he murmured and cradled the side of your face as he leaned in. “Just one more moment like this.” His breath tickled your face as he spoke.
The kiss was overwhelming. What started off as a gentle kiss quickly turned into desperate glides of lips and tongues. Both his hands were caressing your cheeks while yours clutched his lower back. There was no hatred in the kiss. You nor Jimin were upset with each other. You both had known this was bound to happen; high school couples rarely lasted after graduation. You told yourself it was just another hardship in your life. That letting Jimin go was the right thing to do. You didn’t allow yourself to imagine a life without him because then it would be too easy to follow him to Seoul.
Only when neither of you could breathe did you pull away. The gasps of breaths and harsh breathing filled your small bedroom. The rapid thumping of your heart matched his. He was the first to pull away.
He stared at you as he placed his hand on the handle again. Your eyes were wide, silently begging him to stay, but you knew this was for the best. This was destined to happen. This wasn’t going to work in the long run and you would need to focus on your studies more in college anyway. Maybe once you graduated from university could you try to reach out again. But who knows? He could forget about you by then. You had the briefest thought of if this was truly the route you wanted to take. Was everyone right to say you needed to be successful in order to thrive in life?
Before you could change your mind, Jimin opened your door and slipped behind it.
He had seen the turmoil behind your eyes. There was a flicker of tentativeness but he couldn’t allow himself to linger any longer than he already had. You had both known your fate. If you didn’t call it quits then, you would at graduation.
But maybe you could have made it work. Maybe if you both had just tried.
From the look in your vacant eyes, he could sense the same thoughts had run through your mind. Were your last thoughts of him then? Did you die regretting listening to the same foolish advice he has been pondering over lately? Had you wished you told him you loved him one last time? Did you die wanting to hear him tell you he loved you more? He’s reminded of the way those words got caught in his throat earlier on the phone with you. Suddenly those three words tastes sour in his mouth.
His eyes refocus on you in the car.
He can’t breathe.
There’s a firm grip around his throat, blocking his airway. He feels as if the grim reaper is sucking his soul out of his fragile body. He might as well be.
Jimin can’t stop the sob that rips from his throat as his hands dig into the floor, unknowingly pressing into glass shards. He can’t feel the coldness of the concrete, the impaling of the shards, or the saltiness of his tears.
The voices around him sound distorted. They’re slow, drawn-out, and distant; but they don’t echo.
There are hands around his arms that he staggers out of.
"Please,” he hears his voice faintly in his ears. Has he been speaking this whole time?
He doesn’t make it one step because the set of hands is on him again—more forcefully this time. He tugs on the restraint, freeing one arm, but that doesn’t aid him in his escape. He’s grabbed by a second person.
He drags his feet, creating a pathway in the debris when the people pull him away from the scene.
Away from you.
Cold metal is enclosed around his wrists before he’s tucked inside a vehicle. He belatedly registers that he’s been handcuffed and stuffed inside a police car. He stares outside the window. Your static face is still in view and he presses his forehead against the chilled glass.
He squeezes his eyes shut and feels the streak of tears fall for the first time. Memories of the two of you replay in the darkness of his vision. He slams his head against the window in anguish. He needs to feel something other than this suffocating guilt.
When he opens his eyes, you’re still there.
Would things have been different if he didn’t believe the advice and sought success and power? Would he still be able to cradle you in his arms and kiss your lips swollen?
There’s nothing stopping the torrent of questions from drowning him. Everything he envisioned for the two of you comes plummeting around his feet. He wonders if he will ever be able to find true success without you.
A shuddering whimper racks his body as he continues to torture himself by staring at your lifeless body.
He desperately wishes he could sell his soul for a bit more time with you.
A/N:
“We don’t realize how much we need something until it’s taken away from us. We are so distracted and focused on what’s next, we can fail to see what is actually in front of us.” - Dom, YUNGBLUD
“Laura, I got Jeremy to go on an ice cream date with me tonight!”
“Oh, Riley, that’s great,” Laura pasted what she hoped was an excited look on her face. Riley didn’t notice the strain in Laura’s smile. In fact, Laura needn’t have bothered, since Riley was busy digging through her closets.
“What should I wear? I don’t want to look like a slut, but I definitely want to look hot,” Riley said.
Laura glanced down at her own outfit, which consisted of leggings and a sweatshirt. She was pretty sure that she’d worn the same thing yesterday, but with slightly different colors.
“I'm probably not the one you should be asking for fashion advice,” she said. “But I think he likes green?” Riley glanced at Laura.
“Mmm, yeah, I think I’ll call Alex.”
Laura hefted her backpack onto her shoulders. “Well, I’m headed to the library; I’ve got a bio test tomorrow. Have fun on your date!”
Riley smiled as she held up a green crop top, “Ok, nerd! I’ll tell you all about it when you get back.”
Laura smiled weakly and walked down the dorm hallway. She pulled her hood up before heading out into the brisk air that always seemed to accompany September evenings.
Yes, this is entirely inspired by the Crazy Ex Girlfriend song. Don’t @ me
...
“Captain-” Spock stopped and took a deep breath, correcting himself. “Jim. I have something I want to say to you.”
His Captain looked up from stuffing linguine in his face, this stunned look interrupting his attempts to ingest the entire plate before it even settled. After all this time, he never understood why James T. Kirk had such a voracious affection for shrimp pasta.
But considering the sauce dripping down his cheek was erroneously distracting, Spock chose not to ponder the question too much and leave the culinary observations to chefs and food connoisseurs.
Gulping down the food hanging from his mouth, the Captain nodded. “Of course, whatever you want to talk about.”
When Captain Kirk leaned over the table- perhaps Jim would be better for the situation- he tried to place his hand on the science officer’s, but the Vulcan recoiled.
Touch was not advisable, not until their conversation was over.
Spock thought they solved his problems with his Pon Farr last month, but ever since there had been these building, distracting, illogical urges growing in his chest, his gut, his skin follicles. And he couldn’t handle them any longer.
The only lucky part was that a solution might just lay before him.
Meeting Jim’s hazel eyes, Spock took a measured breath and said, “Let’s have intercourse.”
Even though Captain Kirk- Jim- didn’t have a drink nor was sipping it, it looked like he was pantomiming spitting one out like it made the awkwardness of the question easier.
“What did you just say?”
“It has become clear to me that our fight did not satisfy the requirements of my Pon Farr. As my most trusted friend and captain, I ask you help me resolve it.” Spock cocked his head, knowing that his request didn’t quite meet human sensibilities, not the kind Jim -Captain Kirk- liked. He watched too many times the close talks in dark corners, the subtle caresses, the tenderness of it all.
He didn’t know why it built such a knot in his stomach, but Spock did not believe that those kind of actions were in his ability.
So, he offered what felt logical: “If it helps, please pretend I’m seducing you. Also, as officers confined to a starship, we could use the exercise. It could be beneficial for many reasons.”
Next to him, Jim still looked dumbfounded, so much so that his cheeks were starting to go pink. Spock wasn’t quite sure what he’d done, but he’d certainly never seen this kind of reaction. “Spock, I-”
“Do not worry, Captain, this is purely biological. Though most would not admit it, Vulcans at their core still have animal urges like all humanoid lifeforms. We can go back to normal afterwards.”
When Spock stood and offered his hand to Jim, he stared at it like it was a foreign object. Considering the Captain had taken his hand many times (a scandalous thing, but the science officer accepted it to adapt to human customs) it was odd he was recoiling now.
In lieu of Captain Kirk’s uncertainty, Spock got down on his knees in front of his commanding officer and said, “If we move with peak efficiency, it will only take a minute or two.”
Just as Spock reached for the edge of his pants, Jim... Captain Kirk... (Spock could hardly get it straight which name was more appropriate for the situation.) Well, the objectively handsome man in front of him sprung up and took a step away, his face flush and his chest heaving and he was doing these nervous giggles that Spock had never heard before.
As Spock stood to face him, tall and serious, Vulcan to man, him captain asked, “Why me?”
“Anyone else would be illogical.” Spock blinked and added, “You are the only one I am reasonably compatible with and attracted to.” Jim just stared up at the Vulcan before he fell into a fit of laughter. “Did I say something wrong?”
His captain shook his head and stood up straight. Spock could see the confidence finding its place again in Jim Kirk, settling on him like the kind of well-worn uniform that belonged on a man. And before he could ask anything more, Jim put his hands on either side of his face. “You’re absolutely unpredictable mister Spock.”
“I’m very sorry-”
Jim smirked and said, “Don’t be.”
Then he pressed his lips to his and Spock felt relief for the first time in months.
However, they were not efficient about the process. Afterwards, Spock resolved that they would have to work on that.
Though, looking at Jim napping on his shoulder, he thought, perhaps not.
“If our love’s a tragedy, why are you my remedy? If our love’s insanity, why are you my clarity?”
- from Clarity by Zedd
I’ve been wanting to finish this for a while now... But flower’s detailed outfit always intimidated me from working on it. TwT
(Look flower, I love you but THERE ARE SO MANY DETAILS ON YOUR HOODIE MY AMATEUR ARTIST HANDS CAN’T DO THEM JUSTICE AHHH-)
This is also kinda related to how I tend to perceive FukaFlower in a... not-so-nice light.
(LONG RAMBLE BELOW)
I know ‘Clarity’ is an old song, but I feel like it really fits them??? I mean, in the sea of Vocaloid ships involving Fukase or Flower, they’re mostly paired in yaoi or yuri couples, which I don’t hate but none of them really got to me as much as FukaFlower does. And since it’s a rare straight ship in the fandom, I guess that accounts for why I feel that their relationship is a ‘tragedy’ or ‘insanity’, as in because they’ve been portrayed as LGBTQ so often, it’s not ‘right’ for them to feel these emotions for each other... :(
The other half of the lyrics is purely from my own head canons. I’ve always perceived Flower to be that one person who looks emotionless half of the time but deep down she wants to be happy with everyone else, while Fukase is that one person who wants everyone to smile but deep down he’s hurting badly and refuses to tell anyone about it. They meeting and helping each other through their plights just warms my heart... ;-;
Anyway, sorry for rambling. I just love these two very much~ ^////^
