#i think understanding the root of where the anxiety comes from helps a lot too

[mars-ipan]

overcoming anxiety (through practicing the things that scare you) is so interesting. i used to be horrified of taking up space or alerting other people of my presence. now i'm compelled to tell strangers i like their outfits or hair or earrings- on bad days i tell maybe a quarter of them. do i still overthink it? absolutely. but i call attention to myself to tell someone else my opinion. and with the way they tend to smile and tell me "thank you!" i'm pretty sure it's taken to heart.

i used to be horrified of making phone calls as well. this is one i'm still getting over- i just Don't Like Doing It. i used to have a phone call routine that i still joke about- realize i need to call someone, cry, avoid it for a few days, suck it up, write a script, memorize the script, cry again, final script read, make the call with the script in front of me. and i would be Exhausted by the end of it. i don't cry when i need to call people anymore. i'm even needing scripts less and less- i've found out that people actually won't kill me if i talk a little too fast or stumble on my words. i doubt i'll ever like making phone calls- i especially hate robots (i'm afraid they'll mishear me and direct me wrong or a person will suddenly show up and i won't be prepared)- but i can make them now.

i get overwhelmed really easy. just a thing that happens to me. my brain is really really good at taking one task and breaking it up into thousands of little tasks and it feels like i'm drowning. if i try to make it fewer larger tasks then it starts to feel insurmountable. i was completely lost on how to deal with this (other than avoid until you get that panic attack and can do work in the post-catharsis calm until 6:00 AM) until one night when my dad (who i often meet late at night due to overlapping mental illness symptoms) asked me how to eat an elephant. i looked at him, confused, and he said "one bite at a time." that was way more effective than any other analogy i've seen has been. "light at the end of a tunnel"- i don't feel like i'm moving forward, i feel like i'm scaling a wall. "steps on a trail"- i can see my destination, but it feels impossible to move forward. but eating an elephant? that sums it up perfectly. this huge task which seems impossible at a glance. but it must be done. so you eat the elephant, a bite at a time. every time i'm overwhelmed i repeat that phrase to myself. it hasn't made any major changes yet, but it keeps me calm enough to start before i hit the panic attack, which i'll take.

i was such a perfectionist growing up- i actually thought it was a good thing (school always taught me to strive for perfection). but it made me scared to try new things- if i wasn't immediately good at them, then it clearly wasn't for me. i'm still not great at starting new hobbies, but i try a lot of new things within the hobbies i already have. i test out different ways of making art, i try new puzzle games i don't understand, etc. and the feeling of steady improvement reminds me that i don't need to be good right away. some of the most satisfying moments don't come from immediately being good- they come from achieving that skill over time. i'd like to try to learn to sew soon.

idk it's interesting. i rewire my own brain's fear response by doing the Horrifying Thing enough times for me to understand that no i will not die. and while i'm doing it it feels like nothing is changing. i get so stressed every time- it can actually take a lot out of me (turns out fight-or-flight burns a lot of energy). but i look back at then vs. now and i realize how far i've come, and i can't help but think "huh. neat"

[finelinevogue]

you’re okay

summary - you’re anxious but harry will always be there

a/n: im so nervous about hslot tomorrow so i thought i’d write this <333

“There he is!”

An encore of cheers for Harry fill the room as he runs in all sweaty, taking a short ten minute break before his encore.

His all black outfit is something to make you melt from how hot he is. You don’t even think he actually understands how gorgeous he looks right now. His hair is disheveled from running around on stage and his clothes are sticky with sweat.

You want to go up to him and give him a hug and a kiss for the show so far, but your anxiety roots you to the sofa.

You don’t even think you have anything to really be anxious for, but sometimes your nerves and shakes come over you when you least expect them. Your chest feels like it’s hollowing and your stomach feels like it’s swimming with butterflies. They’re both horrible feelings and you can’t seem to stop them. The shake in your hands in your only tell, to other people, as well as your bouncing knee.

Harry hugs a couple of people and he’s passed a water bottle by Brad. He guzzles it down quick and thanks him afterwards.

He then spots you, sitting in the plush velvet couch that he brings on tour with him. A sofa you both picked out together and Harry can’t be apart from.

Harry is quick to crouch down in front of you, putting a ring-filled hand on your knee to control the nervous tremors.

“Baby, what’s got you all anxious?” He asks softly, trying to keep his volume low so people don’t start to listen in.

“I don’t know.” You say, teary eyed slightly. “No. I’m fine, i’m fine.” You shake your head defiantly, convincing yourself more than Harry.

“It would be okay if you weren’t fine, you know?”

You nod your head and notice your foot now bobbing away because your knee couldn’t.

Harry keeps his focus on you. He doesn’t deter for anyone or anything.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You begun shaking your head instead and look down at where your fingers are fiddling with each other. You furrow your eyebrows as you try to think of ways to keep your tears back.

“I don’t need an apology, baby. If you need to apologise to anyone, it’s yourself, because you should be kinder to yourself.”

He moves in a little further towards you, using another hand to cup over your smaller ones. He holds onto you tight, grounding you.

“Sorry.” You barely whisper.

“I have to give fifteen more minutes of myself to all those people out there and then i’m completely yours for the rest of the night, okay?”

“Completely?” You look at him with hopeful eyes.

Normally Harry is busy whisked away to complete various business tasks or music recordings after his shows, but his words carry hope that it’s just you and him tonight.

“Absolutely. We can do whatever you want. The Harry Potter movies are on Netflix now, we could do a marathon? Or just watch ‘Goblet of Fire’? I won’t even get jealous when you fawn over Cedric.” He giggles and you can’t help but give a small laugh back.

You take the time to notice your hands have stopped twitching now, thanks to his, and your leg bounces are a lot calmer.

“Can we get a Dominoes takeaway too?”

“I’ll ask Jeff to call it in now, so it’ll be ready for us at 10:30, okay?” He squeezes your hands for reassurance. “Just promise me you’ll be okay for another 15 minutes. I’ll be as quick as possible.”

“I promise. I feel better now anyway.” You smile genuinely.

“Good.” He leans over to kiss your hands softly.

“H? We need you back now.” A member of the crew calls for him across the room.

“Go be brilliant.” You tell him.

“Go be brave.” He replies.

He stands up and leans over to kiss you, promising a proper kiss when he returns. For now you just enjoy a little kiss with your sweaty boyfriend.

He kisses the top of your head before turning to leave the room, screaming as he leaves; “I love you Y/N!”

All because of Harry does your anxiety slowly disappear and the warmth spreads over your heart once more.

[arowitharrows]

God how I wish there'd been articles like this years ago when people were tripping over themselves to deny any and all struggles asexual people face. The amount of times people demanded "proof" when we talked about our experiences. Well, there's certainly more research being published nowadays, if that counts as "proof". I hope they read it.

Today “asexuality is widely accepted as a sexual orientation in the literature,” Hille says, but cultural awareness remains in its infancy, especially compared with other orientations under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella. Saying you don't experience sexual attraction is still like saying you don't eat, Hille explains, and “if you don't eat, there's something wrong with you, and you're hurting yourself.” Asexual people sometimes get this message not just from family and acquaintances but from their health-care providers. Shelby Wren, a health equity researcher at the University of Minnesota, published a study in 2020 in which 30 to 50 percent of respondents who had disclosed their asexuality in a medical setting said a therapist or doctor had attributed their asexuality to a health condition. The proposed diagnoses included anxiety, depression and, in one case, a personality disorder. “You don't know what's going to happen when you disclose your sexual orientation,” Wren says. “And for a lot of people, that stops them from talking about things that could be relevant to their health care.”

[...]

Refraining from disclosing one's asexuality to a mental health provider is often a “very rational decision,” Chasin says. “It's always much worse to be actively rejected and misunderstood.” For instance, asexual people are sometimes subjected to conversion therapy, a practice aimed at changing someone's sexuality or gender identity. It is banned for minors in 22 U.S. states because of its well-documented and extensive harms, including increased rates of suicide. A 2018 U.K. government survey of LGBTQIA+ people found that asexual respondents were the most likely to be offered conversion therapy and as likely as gay and lesbian people to receive it. A recent survey by the Trevor Project found that 4 percent of asexual youths in the U.S. were subjected to conversion therapy, on par with bisexual respondents. On the legislative level, bans on conversion therapy should explicitly reference asexuality, Benoit says. So, too, should professional associations of health-care practitioners, says Samantha Guz, a social work researcher at the University of Chicago. “Asexual people are made to be so invisible in our society that I don't think just having a broad call against conversion therapy is specific enough,” Guz says.

Even well-meaning doctors might unwittingly harm their patients. To a clinician, a patient who is worried that they should feel more sexual desire—and who does not know they are simply asexual—might initially look similar to patients who want sexual intimacy and could benefit from treatments aimed at increasing or restoring desire. Treatments for certain types of sexual dysfunction do help some people whose level of sexual desire leaves them distressed and unsatisfied, Brotto says. For some people, though, this distress may be coming not from an intrinsic desire to want sex but from external pressures such as partners or society as a whole. “I have worked with folks where it's taken us many, many months for the person to really understand how well asexuality fits with their identity,” as opposed to having an issue that is rooted in a health problem or a situational condition, Brotto says. Most doctors, though, don't know that such a distinction exists or is necessary, she adds.

[itsclydebitches]

Building off your argument that Ted isn't going to go back to Kansas, he was constantly correcting his mother this episode with regards to British terms. Where before he was the outsider who didn't understand Britishisms, now he is the native who uses the terms instinctively to the point where he gets annoyed when they're used wrong. Sounds like he's acclimatized to England.

Yes!!! I was thinking that a couple weeks back too when Ted first uses "football" instinctively and then comments on how natural it's become. He's reached a point where he's both using that terminology as a matter of course ("Some of us have a football team to coach!") as well as teaching others (here's how the dials on the oven work). (Sidenote: I'm not sure what to do with Dottie's tea comment yet. Not even sure atm whether I read it as sincere or sarcastic, but regardless, I think it's a potentially useful detail next to Ted willingly drinking tea in "Sunflowers." That was another version of acclimation on his part.) Now, combine this verbal/dietary acclimation with our opening where every previously negative interaction Ted had with the community has been flipped to show that they now adore him -- seen most strikingly through the "wanker" guy and, throughout this season, the pub trio supporting him at training -- and if they do send Ted back to Kansas it's really going to read as that Mary Poppins situation of, "He arrives to brighten everyone else's lives and then leaves. Why do you care what he needs? He's just a narrative tool."

To further add to this I can't help but think about the long-term structure of Ted's life now that we know Beard's backstory. We're told that, like his time here in Richmond, Ted helped Beard, forgave him, gave him another chance, and ultimately gave him a life. If we look at Beard's situation as a microcosm of the whole show, it seems significant that Ted does not leave Beard behind. That was not a situation -- a situation we're worried about getting now -- where Ted played the part of emotional coach and then sent Beard on his way, far from him as he's no longer needed. Instead, we get the opposite. Beard becomes his best friend, a staple of his life, and continues to help Ted in turn. By waiting until the penultimate episode to reveal the roots of Beard's loyalty, the show has ensured that the focus is on their equal standing and how Beard has likewise benefited Ted over the years: helping him see that wanting to win isn't a bad thing, trying to provide support through his anxiety, recognizing Ted's tells and informing their new community of what to look for (Nate, during the divorce arc: "Is he okay?" Beard: "No!") Beard could have been a minor, flatter character who popped out of the woodwork just to say, "Ted Lasso changed my life for the better, extraordinarily so, and he is The Best Man anyone could ever meet" (which, frankly, would have made Ted a flatter character too) and then gone on his way, having succeeded in the narrative function of reminding the viewer that this is Ted's sole role in the story: coaching others to be their best selves while pushing his own needs aside.

Instead, Beard becomes the cornerstone of Ted's support system. Ted doesn't leave him behind, he permanently integrates him into his life.

What's a microcosm of this microcosm? Ted Lasso does the same thing with Trent. Does he go off into the writing world once Ted helps him realize what he truly wants in life, his story concluded, never to be seen again? To quote Beard, "No!" Trent comes back and, significantly, Ted doesn't pull any metaphorical Mary Poppins arguments along the lines of, "I'm done all I can for you. It's time for you to move on." He eagerly invites Trent into their Richmond circle when no one else will (I'm currently working on a meta of Trent's first scene of Season 3 because OH BOY IS THERE A LOT) and Trent stays, not simply writing his book but becoming a member of the family. Surely there's a pattern here: The people Ted helps don't leave him, but rather become core additions to his life that enrich his own outlook and understanding of himself.

I'm not saying I'm going to toss Ted Lasso in the bin if we get the Kansas ending, but I AM saying you all will have to suffer through a dissertation length meta on my blog about why that was a bad choice lol

[hel7l7]

hey there, been following you for quite a while now and never told you that your art just... hits really hard, right where it should. I'm struggling with bpd as well, and I want to ask you, but I don't even know what would I ask. I just feel so disconnected from everything right now, especially people, and I need someone who understands so I want to think you're the person who understands. anyway. how does it feel? how do you deal with it? is your skin ever comfortable? do you ever know how to talk to other people without thinking and feeling too much? do you know how to talk to yourself and not feel like a stranger? what does feeling feel like? do you think you'll ever be able to love yourself exactly for what you are? do you ever just need to lay down on the ground and tell yourself as much times as it takes for you to believe it that there are moments beyond this one (and this, too, shall pass)?

sorry if this is a bit incoherent and too much... I just need to ask. sending lots of love your way

Dear anon, I hope you still see this even though my reply came a little late. My heart goes out to you. Because I understand your questions, I feel you. I really do. I hope you feel a little less alone in it all knowing that I’m here, rooting for you. If I can make these little steps in the healing process, then so can you. You’ve got this. Stay strong. <3

The whole bpd diagnosis is a wild ride. How do I deal with it? Through art. Through therapy. Through talking with friends. Through trial and error. 

I don’t really talk about this very often, but I’m unemployed and unable to work or go to school at the moment. So I deal with it but I'd love to be able to do more… Every time I try to pick something up I often end up finding out it is too much for me and ends me in crisis. (note: all of this is currently more bcs of my ptsd than my bpd) It’s a process of trying and figuring it out. I believe I'll get there, it has been better at times, and it has been worse at times. Currently I’m working a very very low level “job” that I really like. Which is going quite alright so far. It’s only a few hours every week but it is better than nothing.  Please note that I’m not happy with this situation, I would love to be able to work or go to school. My country has a pretty well working system in which I’m glad to be able to rely on resources when I’m not well enough to support myself financially. 

Is my skin every comfortable?  Yes. It never was before. But it has become easier. It really has become easier. I feel everything deeply still. The good and the bad. But it does get easier. I’ve grown more accustomed to my own needs and that really helps. You’re not less worthy or less of a person because you have bpd. Bpd often stems from trauma/childhood/the past. Figuring out where my behavior was coming from helped me find better ways to cope. 

Do you ever talk to other people without thinking or feeling too much?  No. Lmao. I wish I could give you another answer. And I think this might be different maybe for other people with bpd. ( I mean I’m only one person so it’s not like my answers are The Answers. Everyone has a different experience. )

For me, interpersonal contact is the hardest part. Always has been and maybe it always will be. I’ve become better at not acting on my thoughts and feelings. I’m often just very scared or anxious about things. But tuning out to those thoughts and focusing on other things (distraction) works very well for me when it comes to the anxiety around it. 

But there’s much more about this subject I could explore. I think my whole journal-art-chaos-page just comes down to me struggling with connection/people/myself. 

How do you know how to talk to yourself and not feel like a stranger?  By practice. By endless practice. Tell yourself the things you’d tell a friend. Sometimes when I’m very overwhelmed I try to imagine someone I love or someone I look up to sitting next to me and try to imagine what they would say to me. Or I ask myself what I’d say to a friend in a similar situation. Getting that kind-spoken dialogue going in my head often helps me set an example for how to talk to myself and help myself through this situation. 

What does feeling feel like?  It’s the best and the worst at the same time. I feel the highest highs and the lowest lows. Maybe this is different for everyone but I’ve always loved it. When I was on antidepressants for a while I got very frustrated because I couldn’t feel the way I was used to. I experience intense love, happiness, awe, every positive feeling you can think of. And much of the time that counteracts the deep lows. 

Do you ever think you’ll love yourself exactly as you are?  Yes. I’ve come to realize there’s no other way. I can push myself to be someone I’m not but it does never really change who I am. Even then I’ll still be myself, trying to be someone else. Which never actually stops me from being me. 

I struggle with this. Sometimes I don’t want to be who I am. This mostly comes down to me not wanting to accept that shitty things happened to me. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to face those things. 

But in the end I can do whatever I want but I’ll never be someone other than myself. I can fight myself and keep pushing all my feelings down, I can neglect myself, hurt myself, hate myself, I can do all these negative hateful things towards myself. It will never change me. It will never make me someone else. 

So what else is there to do? 

I’ve tried neglecting myself. Never made me happier. I can’t do that to myself anymore. I’m who fought for me the hardest. In the end I was the one who was always there. I was the one who tried to survive when I thought I couldn’t.

Loving myself makes my life easier. And it’s a ride. I don’t love myself all of the time. And I still struggle to accept parts of myself that I wish were different. But I mostly wish I was able to give myself more love earlier. I mostly wish I hadn’t had to go through all that pain. I wish I never felt like I had to hurt myself to survive. ( Inner child work did help me with this a bit.) 

do you ever just need to lay down on the ground and tell yourself as much times as it takes for you to believe it that there are moments beyond this one (and this, too, shall pass)?

YES. All the time. It is very overwhelming to live in a world so intense while feeling everything so intensely. The good thing is that till now every moment I’ve ever thought I couldn’t go on, I still did. I still could go on. Even when I thought I couldn’t. 

The hard moments do pass. In the end everything will always keep changing. The good, the bad. It is all temporary. Which is the only fact we have. But it does get easier to deal with it all. 

It really fucking does. 

16 year or 18 or 20 year old me wouldn’t believe where I’m at now in this all. There’s much more steps to take, but I’ve also come from very far. 

Dear anon, I hope you still see this even though my reply came a little late. My heart goes out to you. Because I understand your questions, I feel you. I really do. I hope you feel a little less alone in it all knowing that I’m here, rooting for you. If I can make these little steps in the healing process, then so can you. You’ve got this. Stay strong. <3

[strangeswift]

I actually think it is important to be be 'controversial' sometimes because it clears your mind. I am speaking from personal experience. After reading same things over and over again in the tag and seeing the same takes, it blurs your mind and it is like you join a caddle. Then you kinda need to step back and think more clearly and reading other takes and readings help you to clear your mind. I've changed my mind on many things because of that and I believe I have a better understanding in things now than before. Like. I am not gonna get blindsided by what happens next on the show because I do not agree with most popular byler takes (that are reaches most of the time). I still read those things but I am open to different or 'controversial' takes and ideas that are not widely accepted by the bylers in the tag.

Hi anon!!!! Oop I went on a rant so hold on lemme put a read more. Warning I talk about byler doubt (just the concept of having doubts nothing specific about it) towards the end.

Okay anon I agree and this makes me feel good about posting opinions that go against the grain. So thank you for saying this, because I'll be real even though I am confident in my takes, sometimes voicing them comes with a level of anxiety. Here's the thing. The tag likes to act like there are certain things we know for sure are going to happen in S5 (byler endgame being the biggest thing obviously, but there are lots of other more specific things, byler related and not) and the truth is: We Don't Know Anything For Sure!! And I think it's wise to be prepared for the possibility that things work out differently than we are expecting. And this goes for fandom discourse as well not just theories like I think the tag is a bit of an echo chamber, like you said. It truly is easy to get sucked it. I've always been extremely skeptical, that's just how I am, and sometimes I forget that just.. not everyone is as skeptical as I am. Don't get me wrong, I have been sucked in before too. There have been instances where I held an opinion, then when I examined it further I realized it was just rooted in the fact that everyone else held that opinion, and I didn't actually agree with it. But generally I take anything and everything with several grains of salt, which is why like you said it's probably good for me to talk about my opinions when they differ from the norm, because it offers an alternative line of thinking. I do keep my mouth shut about most things because I like to be liked, but yk... I also. hmm do I wanna talk about this.. eh fuck it. I think the biggest thing that makes me "controversial" to some people, other than disagreeing with widely accepted theories, is that I have on several occasions voiced my Byler Doubt™️. And honestly there's a reason why I do sometimes talk about it. I realize that there's no point in dwelling on the possibility of byler not happening, it's depressing. And I would never put doubt in the tag or anything like that. But here's my thing. When I was a smaller blog and didn't have the platform I do now, NONE of the big blogs ever EVER expressed any level of doubt. The narrative was "having doubt is bad, endgame is obvious, if you don't find it obvious you are media illiterate, stuck in heteronormativity, or just plain stupid." And I vehemently disagree with that. Frankly? I find 100% confidence to be a little bit unrealistic, but I would never ever think someone is any less intelligent for having 100% confidence! But I digress. My point is, I suspect there are many people, like me, who have doubts and who feel very isolated. Having doubt is literally taboo, which is insane to me. It's cult vibes is what it is. Anyway. Now that I have a big enough platform that I more or less can kind of say what I want and not get blacklisted, I almost feel a responsibility to occasionally be like hey by the way, I have my doubts! Just so people know. Because it doesn't make you stupid. It makes you realistic. Okay rant over sorry <3

[clumsyyhearts]

Literally cannot get over how much the show fucked up the crows' characterization. Especially since Netflix also adapted Heartstopper, and from what I've seen, it looks pretty good!?!? I just... can't get my mind around it.

It's been said before, but I really think Heartstopper benefits by having so much involvement from creators and so much love for their creation. The careful adaption of a small portion of the series at a time also really helps their case. There isn't an equivalent of dragging the Crows into the plot of Shadow and Bone in Heartstopper. There's just a whole lot of love and organic originality and real teenage charm!

Shadow and Bone could've gotten away with incorporating the Crows if they'd been careful and diligent but I just don't think they were. Preserving the spirit of that heistlike plot adventure was way more important and it shows! Instead of being treated like characters, they're just aesthetic decor to enhance the scenery. There are quite a few ways S&B could've worked the Crows into the show without being totally faithful to every letter of the books but that would've required them to understand the functionality of their characters beyond just an outsider's perspective. You can't understand Charlie Spring without understanding his past experiences with bullies and anxiety and a complicated relationship with his own body, just like you can't understand Kaz Brekker without understanding his own deep-rooted touch aversion and how he's had to grow up on the streets of the Barrel. To adapt characters on-screen is an act of love. Heartstopper is overflowing with it; Shadow and Bone feels more a feat of CGI glory.

Because it's not just the Crows that have issues in Shadow and Bone, it's Alina and Mal and the Darkling and Zoya, too! Those are rich characters with so much potential and inner strife in the books. Even if it's the first season of the show, you should be able to lay hints about those characters' depths and deeply personal backstories that contribute to why they are the way they are. I'm thinking about Zoya and how it's so vital to her story that you understand she is Alina's mirror, and how it's only barely perceptible in Shadow and Bone because they get so caught up in the depth of worldbuilding that is required to establish our basic understanding of Ravka.

Heartstopper has the advantage of not having to do that much worldbuilding but they still manage to give Charlie, Nick, Tara, Tao, and Elle rich inner lives and struggles in our short time of knowing them. Tao and Elle's relationship is organically built; Nick's struggle with his identity doesn't feel unnatural; Tara's coming out process is familiar.

I don't know. I'm a really character-based reader and consumer of media, so I'm always going to value a good character arc or development instead of plot, which is where I think I'm predisposed to like Heartstopper more because everything that happens is driven by the characters and their chance to grow and change, whereas Shadow and Bone has elements of a dystopia and a revolution and those things dominate the storytelling method. It's why I like Six of Crows better, anyway - that plot is driven and enhanced by the characters as we find out more about their lives and personalities and watch them grow, whereas S&B just intrinsically relies more on Alina's growth being secondary to the actions of the series. And Heartstopper's value in their characters is where I think the adaptation really shines. There's so much love and care in the way they were handled, and I really appreciate that.

[draintheblood]

Asker from the super-long ask a couple days ago here - read your response, just wanted to say I resonate entirely with everything you say about being a perfectionistic body control freak, and the rational brain thing (I used to joke that my brain would hijack any sleep-inducing medication I tried via that exact route: it would convince itself that the thing wouldn’t work and thus override any physiological changes via anxiety that the thing wouldn’t work! Wild). So! Definitely look at me as good model for recovery. In the thick of it, I didn’t think I would recover either.

Most important takeaway from my advice - stop making sleep the center, and thus ruler, of your mind and body. Various techniques and accessories available to do so and I touched on some of them. But this is essentially where the problem’s roots go, and knowing there’s a center to it all helps with eventual healing.

The thing you want to focus on doing is not controlling your anxiety and thought patterns, too. It’s actually just noticing when they happen right when it all starts up and then doing something small to help distract or soothe early on, before it can become unmanageable. And this certainly takes a lot of practice to figure out.

Practically this is what it looked like for me with sleep: I would lie down, physically tired, and start to drift to sleep, when suddenly I would feel the first pang of doubt or anxiety, or would think the first lines of the familiar refrain “what if I don’t sleep tonight?” As soon as I would notice this, I would stop trying to fall asleep and instead engage with one of my distractions. You can even get out of bed at this point. Read or watch a thing (or draw, whatever works! I also loved putting on a beautiful galaxy light projector and listening to music in these moments) until you notice your body relaxing a bit and getting that natural-tired drowsy feeling and then let the feeling grow until it becomes unignorable, and then you can drift towards it and into it very gently. Repeat as many times as is necessary. The key is to stop the spiral before it can start. This actually helps rewrite your whole body response to the anxiety cycle! And in all of it, tell yourself - I will be okay even if I get NO sleep. I will make it through the next day. It won’t feel great but it won’t stop me, because I know I have handled it before and I can handle it again.

You got this! I’m wishing you some peaceful rest in whatever form it comes to you as the year ends. 2023 will be less sleepy than 2022 :)

YES!!! yes thats EXACTLY what happens to me. god its so crazy how similar our experiences are. its so amazing to hear from you because it really makes me feel less alone and helpless, i cant thank you enough for reaching out to me and sharing your story. i appreciate it so much. these are all fantastic tips, i will be trying all of them before my doctors appointment on the 10th. thank you so much again!!! if you ever want to talk off anon i would love to hear from u, but i totally understand if u just want to stay anonymous. have an amazing day♥️

[f0xxyb0xxes]

The last domino…

We’ve all been there. Being obsessed with someone or something we can’t have. But what happens when it becomes too much…

So this has been my experience, albeit a bit exaggerated. Something I just needed to get out there. But I also couldn’t help but read into the vibes and make it as depressing as I could. I think it worked. I posted this on ao3 but also wanted to have it here too.

TW for some negative stuff like self harm behavior, internalized homophobia, etc

This is a lot harder to do on mobile.

Title change to The Last Domino by Skyhill. Link to music video: https://youtu.be/_arDeBucPek?si=Dnz9GZjb_814XPx-

The abyss opened up to say you’ll orbit alone dead and gone - The Last Domino, Skyhill

It’s the end of the summer. You get done watching your newest binge watch. A few characters die. You’re devastated but you move on. You have things to do. You have work to go to.

You continue on through your days, thoughts moving forward instead of behind you. You’re happy. You like the people you surround yourself with. Work is exhausting but fulfilling.

Until one day in September. You feel something settle in your chest. Something hollow …aching …dark. Like a black hole where your heart once was, absorbing every ounce of light left in your soul.

It takes over. Dulling your senses to the point of nothing but pain. Your whole body aches. Your mind is reeling. Your heart feels like it isn’t there. Absorbed by the darkness till there’s nothing like but a beating husk keeping you alive. You’re functional but just barely.

You’re drawn back to them. To their character. To their death. You’re not sure when it morphs from character to human and back again. You try to avoid it. But like any addiction, you’re drawn back in and it brings you a torturous comfort.

You understand why people end. This feeling is too intense. You’d never do it. But you get it.

You go through the motions of existing. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Dread. You cry at your doctor's appointment and get a prescription for something stronger. Something to calm the ache. And it works, but only so much. Your thoughts keep wandering. Back to them. Continuing to break the black hole open.

October comes and goes. It’s a blur. You notice the black hole. Coming and going. Taking root in your chest like it owns your whole being. Only to disappear and leave you grappling with a flood of good emotions. It’s a rollercoaster. You want off.

It was a warm day in November. You were visiting your parents. Making breakfast, you feel a breeze come through the open window. With it brings that feeling. The black hole. It’s not as bad today. But you’re still wondering when it will stop. When the feeling will fade and you’ll be back to normal.

It’s a rainy day in November. You have somewhere to be today but your anxiety is getting the better of you. The black hole appears. You start to wonder if it would be worth it to meet them. To finally get the chance to interact. But what would that bring? Nothing that you’ve dreamed of. Nothing that would bring them into your life the way you want. But wouldn’t it be better than nothing? You wish you could find someone who isn’t them—anyone who isn’t them. The black hole is smaller but it’s still there. Still numbing your senses. When will you get over it? It always seems to come back but when will it go away? At least for long enough to get over this annoying infatuation.

You don’t like the things you see. But what can you do? It was never yours to begin with. There is nothing you can do about it. But it cuts you just as deep as you thought it would.

You cancel your plans. You lay in bed, disgusted at how this is still invading your thoughts. How they are infiltrating your existence. How can you let go? Can you even let go? You feel pathetic. Maybe that’s exactly what you are. Pathetic.

The idea of intentionally hurting yourself doesn’t cross your mind, but what you wouldn’t give to accidentally fall. Break a bone, scrape up your hands. Just to feel something else. Give your mind something else to focus on.

But you also don’t care. You’re not sure where the numbness ends and the burnout begins. It all blends together. How are you keeping your head above? It’s too much, too intense. But you don’t know anything else. So you keep going. Plastering on that smile. Which sometimes feels real. Except when you’re alone.

You’re so tired. The kind that sleep doesn’t fix. You turn back to your torturous comfort. It takes the edge off. Clears your head a little. But you know it’s only a bandaid, and really, stitches would be more useful at this point.

You’re wondering when the bandaids will stop working. When they won’t do their job anymore. Will that be when you finally drift back to reality? When you can finally go back to normal?

It’s a snowy day in November. You bring it up when conversation allows. It sounds like a joke. But you know it’s not. You’re embarrassed. You don’t even want to tell your therapist.

You make it through the day fine but when it’s finally dark out. It hits you. It’s embarrassing how badly you want this. What you wouldn’t give to have even an ounce of that future. Just a taste.

You can’t remember it being this bad before. Even when you were younger—that want for this to be real. You’re spiraling. You’re pathetic.

You feel like something is just missing. You’re not sure if it’s because of them or just in general. Would anyone help fill this void? Your anxiety is growing. You have nothing to take to diminish the unwanted electricity coursing through your veins.

You just want it to go away. You want to go away. Trade your brain in for a new one. One that forgets they exist. That you’re obsessed and can’t let go. Even your favorite music brings your thoughts back to them. You can’t even escape when you try.

You go to bed anxious. You wake up anxious. You’re irritable. You’re uncomfortable. You see things you don’t want to see. But it doesn’t change how you feel.

You start to accept that this feeling isn’t going away. Not any time soon anyway. Can you learn to live with it? Maybe. But it wears too much on your soul. It hurts to think about what could be but isn’t. And never will be. Maybe this is just your existence now.

It happened again. But this time, with them. The love they share. The kind you long for. The kind you’ll never have.

You just keep consuming. Everything until there is nothing new. You’re left with pieces. Scraps of nothing by the time you are through.

Tears flow. Because this time, you know there’s not a chance. Because of what you are. How you identify. No one will understand. You don’t even understand sometimes. It doesn’t make sense.

You’re stuck again. Frozen. Not being able to make a move, left or right. You can’t eat. You can’t move. This is worse than the first time because there is no chance.

You're too old. You're not pretty enough. You're not skinny enough. You're not feminine enough. You're not straight enough, but you’re not queer enough either. You want what they do but you don’t move like they do. You can only fake it for so long before the truth comes out. You're too traumatized. You’re alone. You will be forever.

[cleaning-has-its-benefits]

I think now I’ve experienced what “kill your darlings” meant!

Maybe.

Anyways, this time I wanted to make a post about a deleted scene of a fic I'm still working on, rather than a whole shelved fic.

The scene would have been pretty much "my take" on the day of the recital, from Basil's pov.

(I don't think I'm good at character analysis, so take all of this as a grain of salt and me just messing around with ideas.)

As I've read different fics that are about (or include) the day of the recital, there's always... I'm not sure how to call it, but it's about Basil's motivation, or how it's handled, that stands out to me. At least in the ones I've read, Basil is focused on saving Sunny, which yeah, that's the point. What I mean is that Basil is more preoccupied of getting Sunny out of trouble than anything, and doesn't spare many thoughts about, like, Mari dying right in front of him.

I'm not sure if I explained well, but I guess I feel sometimes Basil acts and thinks there as if Sunny accidentally killed some random person rather than one of his dearest friends, y'know? And I thought that it would be neat if there were more fics focusing on Basil trying (and probably failing) to process Mari's death in this situation.

So for that I wanted to write an scene of the day of the recital from Basil's pov where he mostly tries to make sense of what he just witnessed, and simply try to process the fact Mari just died, when barely some minutes ago she was alive. It all happened really fast. It's a horrible thing, but considering Basil's abandonment issues, this it's pretty much his worst fear come true. After helping Sunny carry Mari upstairs (and have plenty of opportunities to look at her inexpressive face) and laying her in the bed, Basil would just look at Sunny try to wake up Mari for a long time, when finally things slow down a bit, but Basil is still pretty much in shock, so that's why he doesn't make a move of helping Sunny wake up Mari or to comfort him.

And things would stay like that for a good while, Sunny calling Mari's name while Basil watches, Mari's death just settling in, asking himself why did this happen (not in the sense of the events that led to this, you know? the death itself is already too much to handle for him to even add into the mix that Sunny is the one who killed her), thinking about everything that made Mari herself and that they just lost, of how unfair all of this is, things like that. What will be of the group now without Mari? His thoughts eventually lead to the others and how they'll react when they come back.

It's only then that it dawns on him. He looks at the clock, seeing how much time is left before the others come back, before their friends, the parents, the neighbors learn of what happened. he realizes that if someone gets to know what happened, then they will take away Sunny to incarcerate him, maybe for the rest of his life (anxiety would surely make him think of the worst-case scenario). They might never get to see him again, so in that case they might as well consider him gone. Like Mari.

Losing Mari is already too much to handle, but losing Sunny as well, on the same day?

There's absolutely nothing Basil can do to save Mari, so that's where his motivation to save Sunny at any cost comes from. Maybe making his motivation in this one rooted in his worst fear rather than loyalty.

As my main point was to write about Basil’s thoughts regarding Mari’s sudden death, I didn’t thought a lot about how basil comes up with the idea of solving this by making it look like a suicide… I admit I went with the easy route of leaving it off-screen. In any case, it would be an act of desperation, with Basil not understanding the full extent of what he did until years passed. In any case, he would be mentally apologizing to Mari during the whole ordeal.

So basically, Basil would think a lot about Mari's death before even thinking about saving Sunny and "what was left" of the group. For this, Basil's motivation would have been more about preserving the group friend, avoiding losing another of his loved ones, rather than just wanting to get Sunny out of trouble. This wouldn't turn out very well, as everyone would go separate ways trying to cope, but at least Sunny wasn't taken away to be incarcerated in a tiny room where he would be at 24/7 without way for Basil to get in contact with him for years to come, right?

I liked this scene, but I decided to cut it because it didn't fit the rest of the fic, and the more I think about it, the rest of the fic didn't fit it either. It was easy to tell this scene was pretty much shoe-horned in.

Also, this scene needed much more space to really shine, and more set up, too. Before this, Mari only has like two scenes, so her death isn’t really felt for the fic’s own merits.

What really pains me of cutting this scene is Sunny's dialogue. You see, in all the previous scenes Sunny doesn't have a single line of dialogue, because he's more comfortable with non-verbal communication here. This is the only scene where he speaks, to beg Mari to wake up and swear he never wanted to hurt her. I thought this was a really great way of showing his desperation... and this is also the why I wouldn't post this scene as a stand-alone. I like this a lot :(

But you know how this could work the best? With a fic that focuses on Basil & Sunny & Mari's dynamic, around 5k words to really settle. I thought this could be of the month preceding the recital. Basil mentions he spends more time lately at Sunny and Mari's house in his album, so it could be about that. A pretty fluffy fic, with Mari being sisterly towards Basil, with just a few sprinkled reminders that the clock is ticking. If I felt particularly evil, maybe I would add an scene where Mari and Basil team up to annoy Sunny about being the baby of the group and, jokingly, Mari tell Basil that, when she's not available, he has to be the one to look after Sunny and protect him from danger. Yeah, with a fic like that the scene of the day of the recital would fit well!

But I already have many wips to work on so I won't write this anytime soon, if ever.

Normally I would copy-paste what I had written here, but since it’s barely above a bullet-point, I don’t think it’s worth it.

[unfoldingmoments]

Fear of the Past & the Future

Original Fear

There is a film, an image stored in your consciousness. Every time your mind goes back to the past and you look at that image or watch that film, you suffer again. Mindfulness reminds us that it is possible to be in the here and now. It reminds us that the present moment is always available to us; we don’t have to live events that happened long ago.

Every time you see that picture, you are slapped again and again and again. But that is only the past. You are no longer in the past; you are in the present moment. That did happen, yes—in the past. But the past is already gone. Now the only things left are pictures and memories. If you keep going back to the past to review those images, that is wrong mindfulness. But if we root ourselves in the present moment, we can look at the past in a different way and transform its suffering.

Some of us have depression and continue to suffer even if in the present situation everything looks all right. This is because we have a tendency to dwell in the past. We feel more comfortable making our home there, even if it holds a lot of suffering. That home is deep down in our subconscious, where the films of the past are always projected. Every night you go back and watch those films and suffer. And the future you constantly worry about is nothing other than a projection of fear and desire from the past. Don’t Fear the Past

Because it’s so easy to be caught in the past, it’s helpful to have a reminder to stay in the present. In Plum Village, we use a bell. When we hear the bell, we practice breathing in and out mindfully, and we say, “I listen to the bell. This wonderful sound brings me back to my true home.” My true home is in the here and now. The past is not my true home.

“Come with me, dear one. We have grown up. We no longer need to be afraid. We are no longer vulnerable. We are no longer fragile. We don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Contemplating the Future Without Fear

When you are truly anchored in the present moment, you can plan for the future in a much better way. Living mindfully in the present does not preclude making plans. It only means that you know there’s no use losing yourself in worries and fear concerning the future. If you are grounded in the present moment, you can bring the future into the present to have a deep look without losing yourself in anxiety and uncertainty. If you are truly present and know how to take care of the present moment as best you can, you are doing your best for the future already.

Reconciling with Our Past

There are many young people who say they hate their fathers or mothers. They sometimes tell me, in strong, clear terms: “I don’t want to have anything to do with him, with her.” These people are so angry with their parents that they want to completely sever the relationship. Sometimes, people have good reasons for separating themselves physically or emotionally from their parents, especially if their parents are abusive. Sometimes, we fear that if we are around our parents, we will be too vulnerable and will get hurt again. But even if we refuse to see our parents or talk to them, we cannot separate ourselves completely from them. We are made from them. We are our fathers. We are our mothers. This is true even if we think we hate them. We are the continuation of our mothers and fathers. We can’t extract that part of ourselves. To get angry with our parents doesn’t change this. We are only getting angry with ourselves. We need to reconcile with the parents inside, talk to the parents inside, and look for a way to peacefully coexist. If we can realize this, reconciliation will be easy. We are capable of great change, both internally and also in our ability to influence the world outside us. Because we are scared, we often think we don’t know what to do. But we only need to practice mindful walking and mindful breathing, to cultivate the energy of mindfulness and understanding. Understanding, when it comes, helps us release our fear, our anger, our hate, and so on. Love can only be born on the ground of understanding.

Practice: Accepting Our Ancestors

“Dear ancestors, I am you, with all your strengths and weaknesses. I see you have negative and positive seeds. I understand that you have been lucky and that good seeds like kindness, compassion, and fearlessness were watered in you. I also understand that if you were not lucky and negative seeds like fear, greed, and jealousy were watered in you, then the positive seeds did not have a chance to grow.   When a person’s positive seeds are watered in life, it is partly because of luck and partly because of effort. The circumstances of our lives can help us water the seeds of patience, generosity, compassion, and love. The people around us can help us water these seeds, and so can the practice of mindfulness. But if a person grows up in a time of war or in a family and community that is suffering, that person may be full of despair and fear. Parents who suffer a lot and are afraid of the world and other people water the seeds of fear and anger in their children. If children grow up embraced by security and love, the good seeds in them are nurtured and grow strong.

You are their continuation. Only when you make your peace with them can you be one hundred percent in the moment. Releasing Fear of the Future The 5 remembrances are 1.  I am of the nature to grow old. I cannot escape growing old. 2.  I am of the nature to have ill health. I cannot escape having ill health. 3.  I am of the nature to die. I cannot escape death. 4.  All that is dear to me, and everyone I love, are of the nature to change. There is no way to escape being separated from them. 5.  I inherit the results of my acts of body, speech, and mind. My actions are my continuation.”

Excerpt From: Thich Nhat Hanh. “Fear: Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm.”

[alexsfictionaddiction]

Review: Adult Assembly Required by Abbi Waxman

I devoured and giggled my way through The Bookish Life of Nina Hill recently, so I was delighted to have this spin-off book to dive straight into. While you don’t necessarily have to read Nina Hill to read Adult Assembly Required, I think it’s a good idea to do so, in order to get to know some of the characters a little better. A big thank you to Isabelle at Headline for putting me on the blog tour!

When Laura Costello arrives in LA, her apartment catches fire and she finds herself stumbling into a bookstore to shelter from the pouring rain. That’s where she meets bookstore employee Poppy. Poppy offers Laura a room in the same lovely but illegal communal house that she lives in. As the days go by, Laura meets her other housemates, including the mysterious but Impossibly Handsome Bob and an array of delightful animals. Laura’s plans in LA were to go to grad school -she had no idea that she’d be saving a trivia team and dodging her ex, who seems desperate to win her back.

Waxman’s humour is one of my favourite parts of these books. The animals all have inner monologues and I adored being privy to them. I couldn’t help but fly through the pages with a huge smile on my face and I definitely laughed out loud several times.

Like many young women, Laura struggles with self-esteem issues. Despite being tall, slim and beautiful, she manages to find several parts of herself that she is insecure about. However, she’s not one of those girls who invents her insecurities in order to appear more relatable to the average woman -to her, they are genuine flaws. I know that this is the case for the vast majority of women and so many readers will connect with Laura in this.

Laura is escaping from her life in New York and throughout the book, that life is trying to chase her. Her mother often calls telling her that she’s making a mistake in moving to LA and her ex is desperately calling her back too. We learn that Laura has been through a terrible ordeal and is simply trying to reinvent herself in a new place. I totally understand the anxiety that Laura experiences and the questions that she asks herself -what if her family are right and LA isn’t the right path for her? However, the friendships that she forms and roots that she starts to put down reassured me that Laura was exactly where she belonged and I loved seeing her realise that too.

I loved spending time with Nina again because she always makes me smile. I think this is why reading The Bookish Life of Nina Hill first is important because Nina can come across as a bit spiky and possibly irritating, know-it-all. She has a lot more vulnerability in the first book and that’s because by the time Laura arrives, Nina has already been on her own journey of self-acceptance and romance. I would have loved a few more Tom cameos in this book though!

I loved how mental health issues were dealt with in this book. Laura realises that she can’t shoulder her burdens alone and that some people genuinely want to help her with them. It’s amazing how many adults don’t realise that it’s ok to ask for help and that no one is ever too old for it. In fact, with issues like PTSD and social anxiety, which are both explored in these books, help is imperative to life improvement.

Adult Assembly Required is a funny, heartwarming book with a very loveable heroine and some fantastic side characters. I laughed, I shouted, I held my breath -all very good signs that I was thoroughly engaged and present in the action. I would love a whole novel from the point of view of Daisy the pug or Phil, Nina’s cat. Could that please be a thing? 

[essentialtrivialities]

Organic Isolation

Here it is: an admission to myself that it’s important to me to be important to others. Rather than following passion, so much of my life’s plans have been made around an imagined necessity, of doing the things I thought I had to so that the things I could not allow to happen would not. I can’t really tell you if I prevented those things from happening. All I can tell you is that along the way my ability to feel excitement decayed into an ability to detect what could go wrong. The need to have some measure of control over the way others saw me blinded me to even really knowing how I saw myself. I think that’s probably why it was always so difficult for me to feel like I belonged to any community or social circle. I can think of a lot of times I had groups of friends that suddenly vanished, or even didn’t vanish but I suddenly no longer belonged to. I remember how much negotiating I had to do to get invited to birthday parties, and how one time even then a mom singled me out as a bad influence that should not be allowed (I knew him through Boy Scouts, for the record.) In my 20′s I was invited to exactly one wedding: my sister’s.

I don’t have “life long” friends. I do have two friends from high school back in my home state who I call now and then, but especially in recent years, there are no friends that I see with any kind of regularity. I do things, but I have social anxiety and it’s really difficult not to feel invasive in public spaces, so I have a hard time introducing myself or making friendships that live beyond that event.  I AM lonely, but I guess my frustration is more with how organically all of these things seem to have occurred. I was angry for a time, and still have disappointment with specific people, but therapy helped with most of that. I know I more than anyone have accountability to this situation. Understanding myself as a queer person, it’s easier to see why I don’t just click with most people, why I can almost literally feel “apart” from people even when I enjoy them. Both the person I naturally am and the way I was brought up have taught me to be self-reliant, probably to a fault. The way I know how to manage is alone. I struggle a lot with being comforted when I am upset. Communication is so important to me, and because I can often articulate my thoughts so quickly I often want that same comfort from others for myself.

At some point, because I wasn’t getting it, I stopped asking people to try. I got scared I didn’t “deserve” any number of things. I decided I would be strong enough to take care of myself, and that I didn’t need to bother people about it. I developed friendships where I gave and never asked, happy to be included in bigger group events. I developed relationships where I was with people who made me happy by being themselves, but didn’t really understand or ask what my goals were. These relationships only reinforced the idea that I should be doing all of it alone. That it didn’t matter to me if people didn’t seem to know “who I was” or offer support beyond “well you seem fine” when it was bad.

Friends, it just does not work like that. It may take some time to get there, but your people are out there and they are worth finding. The vibrancy of the emotion of you experience is too rich to keep bottled and concealed, you are too complex to be known if you don’t share those experiences with those meaningful to you. People will leave your life whether or not you want them to, and you have to accept that you can’t “keep” anyone. No matter who ends up departing, no matter the circumstances, it is not an absolute referendum on what you are worth or what you deserve.

On that note, here comes the selfish purpose of this writing. In the last 3 years, I have held 4 jobs and moved 4 times. It’s hard to feel like I have “roots” anywhere anymore. The last 6 months of my life in particular have been the hardest and most isolating. I’ve been attempting a career pivot after landing and losing a very unlikely opportunity. I’ve been on unemployment and thus have had no where to go, and little money to do much of anything with. I can’t afford therapy, which I have benefitted enough from over the course of two years to be okay without, but I miss it. There has been so much instability. So many promises that have vanished or collapsed. I even landed a job, but then failed the drug screen because I was recruited to the job with 3 years of cannabis industry experience on my resume, and living in California, but they didn’t think I used it apparently. I also drove a round trip of 30 hours to interview with one company who then decided they weren’t ready to make a decision. Housing arrangements have been offered and pulled more times than I can count.

I am writing this to admit to myself that I absolutely do want people to choose a relationship with me actively, not just allow me to exist near them passively. That I am going to pursue expressions of who I am instead of simply finding a way to make things work.

I am writing this to remind myself that I am close to finally having answers. Answers about what my life should look like, how to provide people the opportunity to know me, and how to stop this organic isolation.

[chateautae]

maybe i do | kth. I

➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst 

➵ rating : 18+

➵ word count : 11k

➵ warnings : swearing, alcohol consumption, anxiety, lots of feels about marriage, a stupid ex (reader’s), mentions of bad sexual experiences with ex (there’s consent, just bad sex that makes the reader feel shitty), does ceo tae count as a warning? 

➵ a/n: hello my first fic of my favourite trope arranged marriage, AND with kim taehyung?? yes pls !! this will be a series and I’ll be actively working on it so you don’t have to wait too long for chapters, i hope you can follow this series with me <33

chapter one : “my forever’s falling down”  

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“Another one, Father? I thought I told you my secretary would be handling marriage profiles from now on. Stop concerning yourself with who I marry.” 

“But I do, son. Trust me, I know this girl, she’s the daughter of a trusted friend and I think she’s a good match.” 

“Father, everyone you choose for me I dislike and it’s distracting me from my work. I don’t need this right now.” 

“She’s different, Taehyung. I personally know her and I’m certain you won’t say no.” 

“And why is that?” 

“There’s something about her you won’t refuse, son, you’ll notice it when you meet her.” 

“I don’t want to meet her, Father. Like I said, I need to work.” 

“I just knew you’d act this way. Want to know something, son? I’ve made her part of a business deal, you can’t back out of this.”

“What? You made her part of a business deal?! Why would you-”

“Because you wouldn’t have given her a chance otherwise, you haven’t been giving anyone a chance since I’ve been setting up potential partners for you and I’m sick of it. You said you were open to an arranged marriage, where’s that attitude now?”

“Because, Father, I have a company to run and that’s-”

“No. I will not allow you to reduce your life to just this company. There are far more enjoyable things in life than a business.”

“But Father-”

“No, Taehyung. One thing you need to learn is balance. If you don’t give anyone or anything a chance you will live a lonely life behind your desk. Even in this cutthroat world of business where you can lose money or be betrayed by anyone at any moment, the most painful thing to suffer is loneliness, and I won’t let you live in this world alone.”

“Dad-”

“You will meet this girl, Taehyung, end of discussion.” 

“Dad! I told you I want nothing to do with your company, how could you let me get dragged into this?!” 

“Y/N-ie, I know you value the life you have without any of my help, but let me help just this once, especially with finding a husband. I’m being offered the deal of a lifetime and I can’t refuse, he just happens to be part of it. I need this for the company, please.”

“But Dad, I don’t even know him. And if he’s the CEO of some rich company he’s probably an asshole, I’m not doing this.” 

“Y/N-ie, trust me, I know his son. He’s a sincere, hard-working man, I promise.”

“Yeah, right. Even if that’s the case, I still don’t know him, let alone love him, Dad. How can you make me marry someone I don’t love?”

“Because you can learn to love him. There are no rules concerning the way two people should fall in love, love doesn’t always need to come first.”

“But Dad-”

“My daughter, I have not asked you for many things in my life, but this is one thing I must ask of you. Please, just meet him, don’t say no without even trying.”

“Dad, I don’t know-”

“Please, Y.N, do it for me. If not for the company or money, please do it for me.”

And here you were, fidgeting with the tips of your nails, tuning in and out of the present world and overthinking every aspect of your life that somehow lead you to this moment. Sitting on a Leather Italia couch in what was described to be Mr. Kim’s study; listening to your father’s incessant, albeit wholesome chatter next to you with your future in-laws across. 

And next to them was their suave, unreadable son sitting in a relaxed manner, flipping his attention between your fathers’ conversation and anything else in the room.

You on the other hand, were utterly high strung due to the fact that your father failed to mention your future fiancé’s identity until 30 minutes before arriving here, having done a quick search in the car to unveil who he exactly was.

And that’s when it hit you. You weren’t marrying just anyone, you were getting married to Kim Taehyung. The infamous CEO of Kim Enterprises—Korea’s largest software development and manufacturing company, rivaling to be one of the largest in the world. He was part of Seoul’s most prestigious circle of businessmen, having made multiple Forbes international lists of Most Successful, Youngest, Richest, and is even one of Korea’s most eligible bachelors, not just Seoul.

If this wasn’t already taking you out, then it was definitely the fact that his photos through a measly Google search did him absolutely, utterly and completely no justice. They simply could never capture the truth of just how handsome Kim Taehyung was in real life. You couldn’t deny it, he wasn’t just good-looking, he was stunning, gorgeous, seemed as though God had created the universe, heaven and hell in 6 days and left the 7th just to create him. 

He was like a work of art, worthy of being placed in the finest of museums and left untouched, unsodden by the ugliness of humanity. It made you feel extremely inferior to him in an instant. It was sickening, he was sickening, intoxicating, and quite frankly, intimidating.

It was his look, his undivided stare when he eventually settled his sight on you. It didn’t matter his dark hair that landed and perfectly curled above his eyes, the way he occasionally licked his plush lips or how his long, tall legs spread out before him, it was his look that made you want to turn tail and run.  

It seemed to reach into your soul, peer straight through whatever fa��ade, walls or defense mechanisms you could spend years building only to have his simple look tear it down in minutes. He was alluring, captivating, left you wanting to cower into whatever hole you could dig yourself into or discover all the secrets he hid behind those enchanting eyes.

Kim Taehyung was many things you couldn’t quite wrap your head around, though you assessed your priorities and decided they didn’t just include him, but mainly the significance of the current meeting taking place right now. 

It wasn’t a mere one-time business deal to discuss a project, it was a meeting that entailed the partnership of both your family companies and would define the next however many years of your life. More specifically, spending it with the exact same man that looked at you without a single readable expression on his face. 

You distracted yourself by trying to observe as many useless things as you could, flitting around the room many times before suddenly glancing at Taehyung’s index finger coming up to rest against his lips.

You zeroed your vision in more. 

Is that a cut on his finger?

“Jae-in, of course! This is just as important to me as it is to you, your son is a remarkable CEO, and I’m sure he’ll make an amazing husband.” 

“Aish, Namhyun, you flatter me too much. My son may be handsome, though your daughter is even more beautiful. I’m very sure she will make a wonderful wife.”

“Yes, Namhyun, your daughter is absolutely gorgeous! Just as gorgeous as her mother. I know she wasn’t able to make it, though may I ask where your wife is tonight?” 

“Ah, unfortunately, she’s out of the country. Though I was hoping my presence would be enough to fill in for her, am I doing a bad job?” 

Laughter erupted from the parents in the room, meanwhile, Taehyung couldn’t help but notice the way you immediately winced at the mention of your mother. Something he definitely wouldn’t miss with the way he found himself examining your every move. 

It was habitual to him, something born out of his roots in business, only for the purpose of calculating and reading people like an open book. 

He knew you’d also become victim to that habit, though oddly enough, he found himself quite interested in observing you. He had already figured you out; you hated business, there was a clear disconnection between yourself and your father’s company and you reeked of a sense of independence that funnily contradicted the antsy way you bounced your leg. 

Your way of speech, however, mannerisms, gestures, your look; it was all professional enough you clearly have some sort of background in business. You seemed like an heiress to Taehyung, which you were, though you oddly had no interest in business?   

All these details piqued his interest, curious of just who you exactly were, but he was mainly intrigued by the mysterious claim his father made upon mentioning you for the first time. 

‘There’s something about her you won’t refuse.’

That had raked Taehyung’s brain consistently for the past hour now, crossing his legs loosely and his arms folded over his chest, contemplating over and over again as he looked at you, what’s so damn special about her? 

‘You’ll notice it when you meet her,’ the words rang in his ears.

That was the driving force behind his calculation, observation, near inability to take his eyes off of you as he learned new things nearly every minute and led him closer to understanding his father.  

He could tell you were an anxious person, though hid it behind a persona of false confidence. You had a tendency to stick close to your father despite observing you don’t rely on him for much of anything, even less your mother. The softness behind your every movement despite being from a business background where you should be harsh, rigid, rough around the edges, and yet you seemed entirely different.

Taehyung then realized how inherently dissimilar you were to many of the other women he met. They were all relatively of the same cut and look. Cold, sharp, cunning. All women of pure business; daughters, granddaughters or straight CEOs of wealthy companies, simply interested in marriage as a deal or an advantage rather than a commitment. 

And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that. Taehyung was a man of business himself, married to his work, his home behind a desk and the company the only thought occupying his mind 24/7.

But with you, you were interesting, unlike the others and it made him curious.

Taehyung also couldn’t help but notice you were...pretty. You weren’t too overly sexy nor too innocent, you were pretty. There was an elegance to your looks, features like your hair and eyes complementing you as a whole, and he couldn’t miss that you felt oddly...warm.

Taehyung found himself beginning to understand his father’s original viewpoint, considering the possibility he could’ve been correct. 

You just seemed different. 

“Ah, that seems to be everything. Exact details about the wedding have already been put in place by us.”

“Yes! We’ve been waiting for our TaeTae to get married for so long. We’ve had plans for months now and we can finally move forward with them! You and Y/N don’t need to worry about anything!” 

“Mom, did you really just call me that in front of my future fiancé?” 

“Oh, let it go, son. It won't be long before she calls you that, too!” 

Taehyung could only playfully roll his eyes at his overly excited mother, you scrunching your nose at the embarrassment.

“That’s incredibly generous of you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim, though my conscience is not one to let such things go. My family should contribute to the wedding in some way. Y/N and I would be happy to do so.”

“Why don’t we discuss that outside? I believe we should give the future couple some time alone, shall we?” 

You and Taehyung exchanged a quick look before standing up and respectively addressing either’s parents, Taehyung shutting the door behind them once they exited and having turned to look at you, an awkward silence piercing the air. 

There it was again, his look. It was irrefutably the one reason you avoided eye contact with him, you felt he would swallow you up if you shared even 5 seconds between each other.

“So...” Taehyung suddenly broke the ice, eyeing you.

“So...” 

“Marriage, huh?” 

“Yeah, marriage. Never done that one before.” If there wasn’t a time you vehemently hated yourself, then it was undoubtedly now. You internally facepalmed at your dumb comment, adding a laugh at the end in embarrassment only to look away. 

“Uh..yeah.” Taehyung laughed awkwardly. “Me neither, if you didn’t already know.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked away, you fidgeting by the couches everyone previously occupied. 

A beat of silence passed as you both exchanged looks between objects in the room and each other, either of you pursing your lips or blowing light raspberries to cut the awkwardness. 

“I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Hm?” You turned towards him, lips just a pout as your doe-eyes awaited him. 

Taehyung didn’t miss that at all. 

“Um, your mother. I apologize if this is intrusive of me, though I couldn’t help but notice I’ve never actually met her. May I ask where she is?” 

You let out a dry chuckle before answering, another detail that didn’t slip Taehyung’s attention. “Trust me, Taehyung, one thing you’ll never have to worry about during this entire ordeal is my mother. She should be the last thing on your mind.” You assured him with what he could tell was your fakest smile, distracting him from the realization you’d said his name for the first time.

“Are you sure? I’ll be meeting her at the wedding so-”

“You won’t. I don’t think you will. Even if she does make it, it takes very little to impress her, just be yourself and she’ll love you.” You stated with a sense of finality, as though the topic should be dropped. 

“Be myself? I’m one of the best businessmen in Korea. It’s my job to get people to like me, easy stuff.” He casually gloated. 

“You don’t only have to be a businessman to do that,” you paused and looked at him, “you can just be Kim Taehyung, too.” You spoke nonchalantly, eyes lingering with his for longer than 5 seconds and he, in fact, had not swallowed you yet. 

Taehyung instantly furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback as if your suggestion was something outlandish, absurd, maybe even offending.

Nobody has ever said such a thing to him, not throughout the entirety of his life. 

Taehyung tried his best to recover, searching for another topic of conversation before he was cut off by your rather soft voice, he noticed. 

“Oh, I wanted to give you this.” You stepped towards him, reaching into your purse and retrieving something Taehyung couldn’t quite see. You strided over and extended your hand, Taehyung finding himself even more confused.

“A bandage?” 

“Mhm. For the cut on your finger. You should probably clean it and apply something before putting this on.” You stated nonchalantly once again, offering him a small smile whilst holding out the bandage. 

“Uh...” Taehyung started but couldn’t complete his sentence, lost on how you even observed something as small as his cut and spoke of treating it like it was an actual injury.  

After his struggle to form a sentence, you grew bold enough to gently remove his hand from his pocket and place the bandage in his palm, looking back up at him. You shared a momentary look with his chocolate eyes, instantly scrambling after realizing your hand was still in his.

He has really big hands. 

“We should um...probably go.” You avoided his eyes, stepping aside quickly to pull the door open.

Taehyung’s mind felt displaced, eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the fact that someone had actually left him with nothing to say, an extremely rare occurrence in his book.

He was even more displaced looking at the measly wrapper in his hand, then at the cut on the side of his finger, playing through the last 5 minutes of what just happened.

He scoffed to himself.

‘There’s something about her you won’t refuse.’

It had been 3 weeks since that meeting, not having seen Taehyung once as you wasted your time enjoying single life luxuries before you prepared for one of marriage.

It still felt odd to say such a thing, marriage, because it didn’t even feel like one, or a real one at that. It was forced, fake, a pressured one out of convenience. It felt more like a deal, something Taehyung and yourself had to settle for in order to keep your parents’ minds at ease.

That thought racked your brain all those 3 weeks; Taehyung had to settle for you, he didn’t choose you, just as much as you settled for him and didn’t choose him either. You both had ultimately agreed to the marriage only in an effort to optimize your parents’ happiness, not your own.

You had no clue how he felt, a mystery as much as the Bermuda Triangle, knowing he most certainly had a grand pick of women to choose from and you were most definitely his worst option.

You knew you were suddenly dumped on him, leaving him no choice in the matter as you learned your marriage entailed a beneficial business deal between your fathers’ companies, and Taehyung couldn’t really refuse you with so much on the line.

You had already felt inferior to Taehyung since the moment you met him, though your insecurities seeped further into the crevices of your doubtful mind the more you thought over that sad fact, contemplating a married life with him. In your opinion you were pretty much undesirable to him, Taehyung probably kicking himself knowing he had to unwillingly call you his wife for the rest of his life. 

You just knew you weren’t good enough for him, you would never measure up no matter how hard you’d try and that utterly terrified you. You were confident and independent when it came to yourself, though wedding a near perfect being regarded as one of Seoul’s finest in terms of a CEO and a man? 

Confidence be damned, this dude was intimidating. 

These were the feelings that swarmed your head as you sulked at your over-the-top engagement party, set up in a prestigious buildings’ gorgeous 37th floor riddled with baroque styling and embellishments, classical music gracing some of Seoul’s wealthiest patrons as their flutes clinked and snobby chatter filled the hall. 

It was all extremely high-status, reeking of upper class supremacy and quite frankly, it made you want to throw up.

You distracted yourself by bringing any and all types of alcohol to your lips, trying to focus on anything but your daunting thoughts.

The entire night you hadn’t talked to Taehyung, both of you having been too occupied with the numerous amounts of people meeting and congratulating you. This became a genuine nuisance as you’d mentioned before, this marriage was of convenience, one that brought families and companies together merrily and constituted hundreds of people attending your engagement party you didn’t really know.

Your friends were excited, over-the-moon you bagged a man like Taehyung and chastised you for not having told them about your engagement to him earlier. Your relatives similarly scolded you, pinching your cheeks and praising Taehyung like he was a God while they scrunched their noses at you for concealing him.

How could I tell you when I didn’t even know myself?, you thought.

It was funny they praised your ‘choice’ of a fiancé, positive nobody was saying the same to Taehyung without at least lying. The public only knew of you as your father’s daughter, never having seen you due to your vehement absence from anything remotely related to his company, and much of the business world in general. 

You weren’t part of that world, a world of greed and money-driven lunatics. It just wasn't you. It never suited you, left you with a bad taste in your mouth you constantly grimaced at and thought maybe you were the insane one for not understanding its flavour. As you grew older, however, you came to realize it simply wasn’t the path meant for you, someone who valued the independence and achievement of earning something for yourself, by yourself.

Ever since the inception of that principal, your young teenage self resolved you didn’t want to rely on your father’s wealth, especially not his influence or power to achieve your own place in life.

Your father had worked determinedly hard for years in order to stand as high he does now, warranting your acute admiration for your role model of a father, his now successful architecture business landing him a few buildings part of the Seoul skyline.

And after finally achieving his dream, it suddenly morphed into your own aspiration. His hard work drove you to want your own design part of Seoul’s breathtaking scenery as well, by means of your own effort, your own hard work. You didn’t want your father’s help. It felt wrong, like you were cheating if you used him to gain your place and so you condemned your life to one that separated yours and his. 

So you lived, worked and earned money without any of his influence.

You worked for an average architecture company where you felt comfortable, happy that you were away from the suffocating high-status business of your family. And although your detachment left your identity a mystery to many, your situation on the other hand was an extremely infamous one.

‘The-runaway-heiress’, was your staple trademark. The judgmental comments about your choice of life and the insults it warranted were never-ending, subjected to that criticism all your life.

There was no doubt Taehyung was hearing all of that, people probably warning him to step out of the marriage before it was too late. You weren’t like Taehyung, who was perfect, desirable, someone everyone either wanted or wanted to be. It left you glad and quite frankly, proud to be wedding a man of such caliber and incredibility, though left you wondering why in God’s name he would ever agree to marry someone like you; average, average and well, average.

“That’s your 5th shot, Y/N, slow the fuck down.” Your best friend Hana’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, snatching the shot glass from your grasp. “It wouldn’t be cool if you were trashed at your own party, dummy.” 

Her sudden appearance brought a smile to your face. “I know, I just don’t feel well.” You sighed by the counter of the bar, seated atop a stool as you circled an empty shot glass mindlessly. 

“I get you, there’s like, hundreds of people here and you’re probably hearing a lot of different shit.” Hana appealed to you, having read your emotions like an open book. “Speaking of people, I wanted to ask, what’s up with Taehyung and his stare?”

You stifled a snort, looking at Hana’s incredulous face. “It’s just a habit of his. He stares at everyone.”

“Okay... sure, but I didn’t mean everyone, I meant you.” Hana emphasized, comically pointing.

You furrowed your eyebrows at her, arm leaning against the bar’s counter as you questioned, “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t really stop staring at you, which is kinda weird. Unless you like that, I don’t judge people’s kinks.” Hana mockingly held her hands up in surrender, gauging a reaction out of you. 

You instantly grimaced, “It’s not a kink, Hana. Nice joke by the way, wanna sign up for SNL with that one?”

“I’m serious! I’ve been catching him just looking at you and I don’t know if it’s weird or hot.” Hana informed as you became more puzzled, her becoming oddly excited, “Awh, maybe he’s concerned with how much you keep drinking! That’s so romantic.” She chimed, looking off into the distance dreamily.

“Shut the fuck up, he wouldn’t do that.” You smacked her arm, snatching your shot glass back from her. “Besides, you’re one of the rare people who knows this marriage is fake, you know he doesn’t care.”

“Jheez, way to kill romance?” Hana rolled her eyes, smacking your arm in rebuttal before continuing. “I’m serious, though. This may be fake but he really does keep looking at you, and I don’t know what it means.” Hana speculated, contorting her lips as if in thought.

“It means nothing, Hana. You’re just seeing things.”

“Then why has he been staring at you depressed by the bar for the last half an hour?”

You nearly spit out your drink, “What?”

“Are you clueless or just dumb? He’s been talking to someone for 30 minutes but most of the time he’s been looking at you, and he still is, how haven’t you noticed?”

You creased your eyebrows in surprise as you slowly lowered your shot glass. You turned away from Hana to scan the small crowds of people mingling, eating, drinking in the hall.

You searched the room, drink still in hand until your eyes caught tall, dark and handsome in his finely pressed suit, casually standing with a drink in his hand by a table speaking to someone. You nearly jumped when your eyes locked with Taehyung’s, every cell in your body caught off guard.

What made your heart specifically race was the way he didn’t even look away from you. He held your gaze, casually conversing with the person in front of him, eyeing you until he finally cracked a small smirk before turning back to his companion.

Your eyebrows practically shot up to the sky.

“See, weird or hot? Am I even allowed to say hot?” Hana blurted as she reveled in your reaction. “And you really thought I was joking. You don’t believe anything I say, I could tell you the world’s ending and you wouldn’t believe me. I could tell you aliens finally invaded the planet and you wouldn’t believe me until the green motherfuckers knocked on your door themselves and-”

“Hana, shut the fuck up.” You cut her off abruptly and made a face at her. “Why did you even come here?”

“Grumpy, aren’t we?” She flashed you a sarcastic look before sighing. “Your dad wanted me to find you. You and Taehyung have to meet someone important, so you should stop drinking like an alcoholic, dumbass.” Hana informed hastily as she grabbed the shot glass from you and downed it herself.

“Your dad’s by the entrance, go before he gets mad!” She shooed you away, pushing you up until you whisper-yelled and smacked at her to let you go. 

You began stepping towards the entrance, smoothing over your dress and this was the moment you realized you may have drank a little too much. You were quick to reprimand yourself, cursing your unprofessional behavior as your inner equilibrium became slightly woozy, senses drowning out a bit, every sound hazed over with a buzz in your veins.

You sucked in a breath to pull yourself together, knowing your dad valued this person enough you and Taehyung had to meet them together. 

Taehyung.

You decided to glance in his direction, lips pursing seeing he wasn’t in his previous spot. You chose to ignore it, walking along until you felt a looming presence behind you, almost having time to acknowledge it before a hand suddenly touched the small of your back. 

“Looking for me?”

You nearly squealed, jumping with a hand ready to punish before calming down at the sight of Taehyung, sighing with relief. “Jheez, could you use my name? I thought you were a stranger.” 

“Well, hello to you too.” Taehyung quipped sarcastically. “And why would a stranger touch your back? Of course it’d be the only man in this room marrying you.” Taehyung narrowly eyed you, scrutinizing your reaction with his hand still pressed to you.

“People do a lot of whatever the hell they want, Taehyung.” You responded turning away from him, heels clacking as you continued to pace towards where your father stood. “W-why’d you do that, anyway?” 

Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows. “Because we’re engaged?”

“It’s not real, though.”

“It’s as real as it gets.” Taehyung finalized, making it a statement to smile at everyone you passed, to which you realized just how many pairs of eyes glued themselves to you. “This may not feel like a real marriage to us, but to the rest of the world it is.” 

He then suddenly leaned himself down to your height and lowered his tone, breath just ghosting your ear. “Y/N, we have to make this seem real, it’s the only way we’ll survive.” Taehyung was the closest he’s ever been to you, and the deep baritone of his voice as he called your name did absolutely nothing but manifest butterflies in your chest. 

Why was his voice so deep?

You shook the thought out of your head, ultimately choosing not to say anything because he was in fact, correct. You grinned widely continuing to mask the truth of your arrangements, leaning into him more as you settled for his hand on your back.

You’d noticed it before, but his hand felt particularly large against you now that he was so close. You glanced at his other hand resting by his side, impressed by how masculine they appeared; long fingers with running veins and a roughness to them, sculpted so well you were sure they deserved to be referred to as art. It tickled your giddy side for a second when they seemed to perfectly contrast your more feminine and smaller hands. 

It was kinda cute. 

You neglected your thoughts once you neared your father, warm-heartedly conversing with a well-dressed man you just about recognized. 

“Ah, there you both are!” Your father cheered, reaching out his arm so he could envelop you in a side-hug, returning Taehyung’s bow and addressment.  

“Dad, I heard you wanted us to meet someone?” You perked up in a superficial tone, at least attempting to act as though everything was fine and dandy in your life; maybe owing it to the alcohol to endure all the falsehoods.

“Yes, Y/N-ie, I wanted you to meet Mr. Won. Chang-in, my lovely daughter and whom I guess you already know, her fiancé and CEO of Kim Enterprises, Kim Taehyung.” Your father proudly presented you both.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Won, Kim Taehyung.” Taehyung was the first to address the man, extending his hand and bowing as he greeted him. You were almost taken aback by how polite he could be, the way his charming smile graced his features and attractively displayed his perfect teeth. His manner of speech and etiquette were all refined with a high degree of professionalism as well, internally gawking at his duality.  

Wasn’t he acting all entitled with you just now? 

“Nice to meet you as well!” You collected yourself and cheered, a little baffled as to why Taehyung still rested his hand against your back. “I’m hoping my father has only said good things.” You earned a laugh from the group, Mr. Won responding by receiving your hand with a firm shake. 

“Ah, Namhyun, you forgot to mention how beautiful your daughter has grown, and your future son-in-law has me jealous! What a handsome and accomplished young man, the perfect match, the two of them.” Mr. Won praised you both kindly.

You and Taehyung both smiled and thanked him humbly, feeling some heat collect in your cheeks upon Mr. Won’s words. You two? The perfect match? Unless he believes a rock and a Greek statue belong together, then he’s absolutely correct. 

Other than that, you chest swarms with butterflies thinking you’re now referred to as ‘two’. 

Taehyung for some odd reason encircles the curve of your waist suddenly, pulling you closer to him. You last minute sputter at the intimate action before leaning into him, one arm nervously encasing his torso as the other rests against his chest. 

You feel him tense underneath you. 

“Aish, you’re such a flatterer. Y/N-ie, do you remember Mr. Won? My friend from university? You haven’t seen him in a while.” Your father rested a hand on your shoulder, trying to jog your memory. 

“Oh, you mean Mr. Won from SNU?” You suddenly remembered, looking to your father for confirmation. 

“Yes, so you do remember!” 

“Of course I do, how could I forget!” You smiled brightly and returned your gaze to the familiar man. “Mr. Won used to sneak me ice cream when you wouldn’t let me have any, Dad.” You scolded him with a playful jab to his arm, inviting more laughter. “I apologize for not recognizing you right away, it’s been a long time, Mr. Won, forgive me.” You solemnly apologized, Mr. Won giving you a look of understanding. 

“Ah, forget it, Y/N. Don’t worry about it, although since it’s been a long time I hope you remember my son? He should be here somewhere..” Mr. Won trailed as his eyes fished over the grand hall, scanning around. 

“Your son..” You repeated to yourself, realizing there was a familiar connection itching at your mind, he was your age actually-

Wait. 

Oh God, not him. 

Anything but him. 

You felt raw panic seep into the spaces between your ribs, your chest filling with a constricting feeling of anxiety you couldn't shake off. Your heart picked up speed and the alcohol coursing through your veins didn’t help your judgement or memory at all, mind fogged over with the poison we dare call alcohol.  

You felt stupid, so utterly stupid. How could you forget Mr. Won and who his Godforsaken son was? 

You felt an anxiety attack riddling you, shifting your weight on your feet as you tried to bite back your uneven breathing. You just couldn’t see this man, especially in a situation where you were standing next to your husband-to-be. 

Taehyung wasn’t so invested in the conversation before him, mindlessly nodding along before he felt you physically freeze next to him, his glance to the side confirming your pale look, watching as your panicked eyes faltered to the floor and revealed... fear? 

He registered your odd shifting and your failed attempts at plastering a smile, confused if you knew this guy and if you did, why were you freaking out so much?

Were you in love with him or something? 

The thought minutely bugged him until he watched you turn straight up uncomfortable, horrified when Mr. Won called out his son’s name. 

“Kiseok-ah! Come here!” 

You stopped breathing when you heard the name, eyes going wide as you avoided eye contact with anyone in the group, but caught Taehyung’s undivided attention. He grew curious when Kiseok sauntered over to the group, your hand on his chest suddenly squeezing his suit as the mysterious man greeted everyone respectfully.

Taehyung watched as his intrigued eyes locked on you, eyebrows perking up amusedly as his lips curved into a smile Taehyung honestly couldn’t admit to liking. 

“Y/N? Wow, long time no see. It’s been what, a year?” The man Kiseok called out happily, like there was absolutely no problem occurring here but as Taehyung felt your hand clutch onto his suit, lips just about quivering before you forced a smile, he knew there was most certainly a problem. 

“Yeah.” Your voice was weak, small, and Taehyung found himself wondering how a courageous person like you was all of a sudden cowering. 

He’d heard it all night, all the accounts of your other life away from the business world. He wasn’t going to lie, he heard a multitude of opinions concerning you, many of which including either looking down on you or telling Taehyung there’s many other, more powerful women in business he could’ve been marrying instead. 

But Taehyung didn’t care for their opinions, he found you the most powerful woman he could ever marry, and agreed to do so because of that very prospect. Sure, you were estranged from the business scene and practically abandoned any role you’d play in your father’s company in order to pursue your own personal aspirations, but if anything, Taehyung found it highly commendable. 

Taehyung knew it took guts to do what you did, a bold and daring act that no other heir or future heir of a wealthy company could ever think of doing, including himself. 

What he found to appreciate most was your unwillingness to give in, where you had to have heard all the back-handed and snobby comments, yet you still held your head up high, remained rooted and adamant in keeping your current way of life. It instantly signaled to him you were courageous, fearless, unable to be stopped in your tracks.

So when he watched you become smaller and smaller the more you stood in the vicinity of this Kiseok, he knew something was sincerely wrong. 

“Ah yes, it’s been quite some time. Why don’t we step away from you three? You could do some catching up.” Your father urged as he motioned Mr. Won to step away with him. You lightly addressed them only to have your hands neglect Taehyung entirely and start fidgeting, attempting to calm your nerves as the alcohol inebriated your system and magnified your anxiety by tenfold. 

“Ah, yes, Kim Taehyung, CEO of Kim Enterprises. I’ve been meaning to meet you.” Kiseok extended his hand as his voice irked you with every syllable, trying your best to seem like absolutely nothing was wrong. 

Taehyung reached out his hand in response uneagerly, giving a small shake while wondering why you let him go. “That’s news to me, nice to meet you.” Taehyung responded, already feeling an intense aura of discomfort and tension between you both, sensing he was missing out on something that seemed 6 ft deep. 

“Likewise. Y/N..” Kiseok suddenly turned towards you, making you wince. You painted on your smile as you lifted your vision. “Kiseok.” 

“How’ve you been?” 

“Better than ever. You?” 

“Marvelous, just wondering what your life’s looked like since I haven’t been in it.”

“I believe I said better than ever, didn’t I?”

Kiseok scoffed unamused, “So a year, huh? In all that time you suddenly found yourself a fiancé, and Kim Taehyung at that?” Kiseok seemed to be making light-hearted conversation to anyone outside of your group, though you knew deep down the hostility behind his words.

“Yeah, I did. It just happened.” You shrugged, gaining the confidence to counter him. “And you? Plan on putting a ring on any of your girls? Maybe the 5th or 7th one you liked?” You sarcastically questioned, furrowing your brows in mock contemplation. 

“No, you know I’ve always had my eye on one girl when it came to marriage.” Kiseok eyed you knowingly, purposefully, like he was trying to make it obvious.

You snorted and glared at him, “If I remember correctly, your attitude said otherwise.” hatred began boiling under your skin. You felt yourself growing angrier by the second, memories between you two coming back in flashes. You didn’t even realize you were shaking until Taehyung’s hand suddenly entangled with yours, pulling you towards him almost defensively. 

You were surprised, looking at your connected hands and back up at Taehyung. He returned your look, peering down at you as he smiled warmly, affectionately. 

“I’m sorry, Kisook? Was it? My future wife and I have plans for tonight. May you excuse us?” Taehyung didn’t even let Kiseok respond before he was pulling you away, in complete shock at his first lack of manners you’d ever seen. You were only left to watch Taehyung as he lead you along, gaining the timely opportunity to realize he was taller than Kiseok, and in fact significantly taller than you. 

Taehyung was a large man in general, you noticed. His shoulders looked broad from behind, accentuated by the fit of his suit which also emphasized the expanse of his chest, tastefully exposing his sculpted neck. His legs were long, proportioned perfectly in accordance with the rest of his model-like figure, which was ideally fit and contained just the right amount of muscle. 

Dear God, you took your time with this one. 

You didn’t even realize Taehyung had pulled you into a secluded hallway or that you were ogling him when he suddenly stopped, turning in your direction and snapping you out of a near fever dream. 

Yeah, alcohol was not a good idea tonight. 

“Who the fuck was that?” 

“What?”

“That douche, who was that?” Taehyung inquired slightly pissed, in need of the asshole’s identity after watching whatever shitshow he didn’t pay for. 

“Nobody, Taehyung, he shouldn’t concern you.” You looked away from him, pouting in a way that made Taehyung momentarily notice the plush of your lips. 

Again?, was all he could think, first, your mother, and now this guy? Just how many people did you have bad connections with and he needed to ignore? 

Why were there so many intricate pieces to you? 

“Are you kidding me? He concerns me now, your mother I can understand but this guy? Nothing to me. I could step on him.” Taehyung proclaimed confidently and stood up broader, conviction written all over his face.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his remark, resembling the thought you had earlier. “I was just thinking, you’re a lot taller than him.” 

Taehyung couldn’t help but bite back a smile, watching you giggle like a shy high schooler and his ears gladly welcomed the soft sound. “Damn straight I am.” He adjusted the jacket of his suit suavely. It was then he remembered what his other hand was doing; still holding yours. 

His eyes suddenly gleamed with mischief. 

He squeezed your hand a little tighter and yanked you towards him, bodies just centimeters apart as you crashed into him, all up in each other’s personal space.

Your eyes widened in complete surprise. 

 “So you were thinking about me, huh?” Taehyung teased with a stupidly lowered tone, a smug grin decorating his face. 

You ignored the electricity shooting through you, rolling your eyes and playfully sneering at him. “Shut up, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see you’re taller.” You forced space between you two and tried snatching your hand from him, but his grip transformed into an iron lock. 

“Says the one who was thinking about me.” 

“Taehyung, shut-” You almost huffed out but as soon as you stepped away, your copious consumption of alcohol suddenly attacked you all at once, vertigo making you lose your balance until Taehyung reached out to steady you. 

“Jheez, did you have to drink tonight?” Taehyung chastised you as you fell into him, head spinning with disorientation and growing flimsier by the second. “You’re probably a lightweight at your size.”

“I am not a lightweight. You don’t even know how much I drank, it was a lot.” You bit back in rebuttal, hooking onto his taut forearms as he supported you. 

“But I did see.” He voiced barely above a whisper, causing you to snap your vision up at him incredulously. “What?” 

“Nothing, it shouldn’t concern you.” Taehyung mocked, though still tried to fix you onto your own footing.  

You didn’t even get to scrutinize him further when you felt another round of dizziness plague you, balance faltering again. Taehyung huffed out and finally flanked you on his side, arm encasing your shoulders as he adjusted you. “Okay Miss I’m-Not-A-Lightweight, you should eat something.” He fit you beside him, beginning to walk you towards the main hall. 

Taehyung in this moment didn’t understand what he was doing, utterly clueless as to what was fueling his actions. He was uncertain why he found himself.. caring? He didn’t even know you, yet he couldn’t help but become a little concerned when he watched you down drinks like it was New Year’s Eve. 

How can all that alcohol fit into one tiny person?

What was he even thinking when he dragged you away from that Kisuk guy? Why did he feel like protecting you all of a sudden? A near sense of possessiveness? He wasn’t even your real husband. 

It started giving Taehyung a headache. This was all strange, a foreign concept he wasn’t familiar with and he didn’t know if it was the result of his considerate personality or only manifested solely because of you.

The same way Taehyung dealt with his inner turmoil, you dealt with yours; you were always so adamant on independence though ironically found yourself leaning on Taehyung.

Oddly, you let him carefully guide you back into the hall with no protests. 

It was the day of the wedding. 

You wish you could recall your emotions throughout the day, certain there would be at least a sliver of a positive one. Though as you remained unmoving, nearly catatonic, unresponsive to your surroundings, you knew there wouldn’t be a single happy memory in the tsunami of sorrow that attacked you today. 

Emotions of grief plagued consistently as you realized the loss of everything you valued most in your life. Your happiness, your freedom, your ability to choose. The stripping of all those bundled into an stifling wad in your chest that left you in a perpetual state of wanting to cry.

The sting in your heart when you realized your mother didn’t bother to come, the excruciating smile you forced onto your features when Taehyung’s mother delicately placed the veil atop your head, the secret tears you shed after adorning your body with a wedding dress you didn’t even choose; it all left you internalizing feelings of utter agony. 

And none of it was your real choice. 

Even the flowers at the wedding weren’t your favourite. 

This day was horrifying. You couldn’t believe you prided yourself on your independence, refusing to give in despite numerous challenges and never taking a word of what anyone said to you. Even when someone begged you to change or come back to your old life, you always chose for yourself. You never allowed someone to push you around, seldom coerced into anything solely based on the wishes of another. 

Yet here you were, standing just before the grand doors of a wedding you never asked for, having easily followed every word of your father’s and sacrificed your deepest principles in order to make him happy, to appease and live up to his expectations that weren’t your own. 

It was utterly frightening, appalling. As if you had lost the one true commendable feature of the intricate character you were, suddenly lost the acclamation of others even if they didn’t know the true nature of your marriage. 

But what disgusted you the most was truly, that you had lost respect for yourself. 

These grim thoughts were the ones that attached themselves to you as you hesitantly hooked your arm with your father’s. You used every ounce of strength to not flee, to remain here, to still walk down that isle with your head held high like you always have despite abandoning every foundation of the character you’d spent years working on.  

You didn’t care that your eyes watered, masking them with the facade of happy tears from the blushing bride. You didn’t care when your father looked incredibly concerned and wondered what was so wrong, you didn’t care how sorrowful you may have appeared to anyone at this ironically glamorous event. 

Though what you did care for was that you couldn’t hold your head up as you walked down the isle, vision fixated on the ground as your tears betrayed you, spilling out at the traumatizing feeling of not being able to stand tall like you always did, something stripping you of your self-reassurance, your strength, your confidence.  

It all spelled the requiem of your soul as you reached the end, dwelling in the impossibility this was happening to you until you felt the touch of Taehyung’s fingertips, guiding you up the stairs. It was then confirmed to you this was in fact real, part of your new reality you had no choice but to accept. 

You suddenly felt eternal gratitude for the veil that now covered your face, hiding the tears you cried at mourning the loss of everything you worked for.

While the priest’s words were read, you didn’t exchange a single look with Taehyung, knowing you’d only want to evaporate into the air, to run away at light speed or have someone in a turn-of-events suddenly take your life, just so you didn't have to face the humility of giving up the life you’d spent blood, sweat and tears building if you looked him in the eye. 

You felt the weight of your unknown future crushing you, pushing you towards the precipice as you gripped Taehyung’s hands harder to ground yourself. 

You were to rely on Taehyung, to share a bond with him you had never spent time cultivating, expected to live a life next to him while never being able to truly understand him, know him, love him. The natural process of falling in love now tainted with the coercion of a pressurized marriage, losing the opportunity to achieve any true sense of love. You’d never experience finding the one anymore, your soulmate, the other end of your red string of fate. 

That realization made your tears spill harder, disconnecting your hand from Taehyung’s to prevent your choked sobs becoming audible, holding your palm against your quivering lips. 

To anyone beyond you and Taehyung, it would look as though you were crying tears of happiness, joyously weeping at your matrimony with the love of your life, though as Taehyung felt the shaking of your hands, your refusal to meet his gaze as you reluctantly walked down the isle, the agonizing pain he could see through the sheer of your veil, he knew you were far from happy. 

He couldn’t help but purse his lips together tightly, knowing you were probably swallowing insurmountable torment down your throat because of this marriage, and tears pricked at his own eyes finding himself able to relate. 

He wasn’t just upset for you or himself, it was the entire situation, quite frankly the fucking world. The fact that the universe planned this as your destiny, his destiny, that the happiness of your parents and two companies came at the expense of both yours and his.

He knew you didn’t hate him, that he wasn’t the reason just as much as you weren’t the reason either, it was the arbitrary nature of the arrangement. That whatever version of true love and happily ever after you and Taehyung had separately dreamed of, it could never come to life. 

Even if the company meant everything to Taehyung, his CEO position more important than whatever position he’d play as some husband, seldom having time to consider love and relationships, he still harboured the same wants and desires any human would. A partner, a companion he truly loved with whom he’d start a family eventually, create a life for them and himself defined by love and comfort.

Though Taehyung only knew now you would both die with your decision-making capabilities robbed of you, bound to each other forcibly without the ardor of real love. 

Taehyung’s every thought was proven correct when the two of you exchanged your vows in near strangled chokes and shaky tones, appearing as happy emotions to the guests of the wedding though only you two knowledgeable of each other’s suffering. 

Your vision finally met Taehyung’s once you heard the rawness in his voice, your miserable emotions doubling when you registered he was just in the same pain as you. It was in that moment the priest’s words became audible and rang loud in both your ears, suddenly grounding you two to earth and reminding you of your reality. 

“You may kiss the bride.”

Both of your eyes grievously locked for a moment of horrified realization; that you were seconds away from going through with this, throwing each other’s lives away for the utilitarian benefit, abandoning any sense of choice in whom you both would spend a lifetime with.

Taehyung swallowed thickly as he removed your veil, feeling his eyes fill with tears again when he laid them upon your utterly devastated, tear-stained face. You were using every nerve in your body to stop yourself from sobbing and caving into the ominous thought of fleeing the ceremony.  

Taehyung’s sight wondered to your lips as they still quivered, nearly swollen red at the intensity in which you bit them, awaiting the kiss you were certain would be filled with frustration and hatred, hatred for the mud you were dragging him through, hatred for pressuring him into suddenly valuing something more than his work and his company, to suddenly become a husband to you. 

Though as he watched the terror flashing through your eyes, tears watering your lash line, he knew he could never feel anything so ardently negative towards you, remembering exactly what he was stripping you of. 

The life you built on your own, defying any and everyone’s expectations of yourself, cursing your heir status to hell, your strength, your independence. Now? Your life was bound to his, bound to one where you were obliged to sacrifice yourself for your father’s company and the upper class cesspool you’d spent so long trying to run away from. 

So as Taehyung began closing the gap between you two, nearing your shaking figure, he resolved he wouldn’t make this hard. He would try, try to accept that his life now entailed you, would try to work towards the balance his father insisted he needed, try to understand that you were now part of his priorities and could never simply ignore you.  

He glided his thumbs against the back of your hands that held his pacifyingly, leaning down until he was just inches from your lips as you squeezed your eyes shut. He unexpectedly spoke quietly, meaningfully, seconds away from sealing the deal of an uncertain future, though, remained certain of this one thing. 

“I’ll take care of you, Y/N, I promise.” And he kissed you in a single breath, no haste, no pressure, only the gentle touch of his lips as they met yours, soft and light. 

Maybe Taehyung didn’t know the exact feelings behind his promise, but he knew the meaning; that no matter the arrangement, the non-existent feelings, the loss of choice, he would at least take care of you like any husband would, a good husband.  

He at least owed you that.  

You were left shocked at the nature of his kiss, Taehyung’s warm lips connecting with yours tenderly. You were convinced the tears you saw in his eyes were enough to assert he hated this, frustrated he had to sell his soul, wishing to only rush the kiss so he could call it a day and ignore you for the rest of his life. 

Though what you never expected was the promise he made, or the way he kissed you with such intimacy you found yourself melting into his touch, reciprocating. He kissed you like you were fragile, locking your lips in a way that solidified his promise, as if out of all the empty vows you spoke today, this was the one, true vow he would keep. His lips felt plush against yours, catching his mouth just a little more before the bittersweet disconnection. 

You and Taehyung exchanged a poignant look, small smiles decorating both your faces with a mutual understanding swimming in your eyes as you gripped each other’s hands. You let his promise permeate the air between you two, finding solace in his words as the applause of everyone attending the ceremony filled the hall.   

Maybe it was the warm way Taehyung always pressed his hand to the small of your back when you spoke to others the whole night, maybe the way he veered you away from excessive amounts of alcohol with a light-hearted scolding considering that last time you drank, or maybe even the way he gently held you during your first dance..

Maybe it was all these considerate, kinds act that made you view Taehyung in a less negative light and rather a favourable one, that maybe he wouldn’t be the asshole CEO you’d first accused him of being.  

You would also be an idiot to not mention how completely and utterly handsome he was, looks carved by the Greeks themselves, quite possibly the hottest, most attractive man you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. 

And maybe all that accumulated into your assured opinion that when it came to consummating your marriage with Taehyung, you’d have no qualms or worries whatsoever. You would be absolutely willing, ready to take the night on and maybe even have some fun for yourself with whom you could tell was a really, really nice guy.

Though as Taehyung walked calmly in front of you towards your hotel suite, reaching into his suit pocket for the card key he’d retrieved at the front desk to swipe against the lock, your chest clogged with a crushing feeling of anxiety you couldn’t subdue. 

These weren’t the same nerves of maybe being not pretty enough, body insecurities or fear of what to expect from Taehyung, no, these nerves came from the utter panic of having to experience sex with another man.

Especially since your last partner. 

It always started with your permission, that wasn’t the issue, Though what left you afraid, so utterly frightened with the thought of spending a night with a man like this came from the treatment you received from that partner. 

Safe to say, you weren’t treated kindly. Far from that, actually, you were treated as though you had no needs or were a means of simple use. Your last partner was the opposite of giving, he was selfish, self-absorbed and only concerned himself with his own pleasure, going on and on only until he was satisfied and neglected you in every sense of the word, sometimes even refusing to listen to you if you protested. 

To make matters worse, he wasn’t faithful. 

You knew he slept around, a lot, it was the number one reason you never agreed to actually date him, never make things official. 

But the reason you would end up sleeping with him was because of the most perfectly imperfect concept among the human race; love. You believed every time with him was a new chance to make that love real, that it was the genuine manifestation of your feelings for one another, thinking maybe he wasn’t the asshole he always portrayed himself as and could man up enough to love you unconditionally. 

And he completely reeled you in, made you fall in love too quickly and made you believe he was capable of love. This grew exponentially when you were often described as ‘the different one’, the one he always came back to, that you were special. You clung onto those words as much as you could, convinced each time you were in fact the one for him, that maybe one day, he’d wake up and abandon his fuckboy lifestyle and mature.

But everyday that went by, every promise that was never fulfilled, every word that wasn’t met with an action, and especially after every hook up that resulted in nothing new, you began to understand you were everyone’s favourite role in a Shakespearean play. 

The fool. 

You were a joke to believe anything he said, the most naive person on earth to think you were any different from the others, when every night simply ended in rough fucks, virtually no orgasm and miniscule aftercare.

It left you essentially scarred, traumatized that every man in the world was built like this. It didn’t help that whenever you look back, many of your ex partners were of the same cut, the same trope of assholes that don’t seem as bad but end up being exactly so. 

It was what made you swallow thickly as Taehyung opened the door to the suite, holding it open as he moved aside to let you enter first. You walked forward and unintentionally brushed against him, realizing how much smaller you were in comparison to him all over again. 

He towered over you, and it made you more nervous. 

You looked up at him momentarily and quietly thanked him as you stepped inside, setting your sights on the large, king sized bed situated on one side of the room, a lounging area with couches to the other side which lead to a bathroom. Seoul’s breathtaking skyline was visible in the dark of the night through wall-to-ceiling windows opposite to you, covered by flowy, sheer curtains. 

You took a deep breath, trying to remind yourself Taehyung was not the same. Not all men are the same, you can’t inflict the mistakes and wrongdoings of one man onto another, categorize them into one kind. You wanted to think this way, and you knew it was the humane way to think. 

But as the memories of those heart-aching nights filled your head, the empty words, the lack of care or concern, the neglect, the feelings of pure abandonment and use only caused your heart to beat profusely in your chest, clutching onto the neckline of your dress to breathe. 

What if Taehyung really was no different?

It then suddenly hit you you didn’t know him. All you knew of Taehyung was that he was a fiercely successful business man, sitting atop Seoul’s most prestigious with Godly looks and a stare that could kill a man. You remembered your initial feelings about him; his stare in fact intimidated you, quite frankly all of him intimidated you, he was the epitome of perfection and you were far from that very notion. It left you thinking you didn’t measure up, and that he could view you in a dissimilar light than you viewed him; an unfavorable one. 

He could simply not want you, but is forced to.  

You’d observed his kind behavior and actions over the odd two days you met him, though that was exactly the inculpatory factor; you had only met him twice. You didn’t know what he would be like alone, when it was just the two of you, when there weren’t eyes scrutinizing him and cameras snapping shots of his every move. 

You didn’t know how he would be like in the bedroom, either. 

Your mind raced as you conflicted with yourself, trying to understand that Taehyung could be different, though apprehensive with the miniscule knowledge you actually had of him. 

You discerned after that last asshole of a partner you needed the love and care of a real partner, someone who would tend to your needs, adore you in the midst of their actions, be a giver and not just a receiver.  

And you didn’t know if Taehyung would be that partner. 

“Y/N...” Taehyung called out to you rather softly as he removed his suit jacket, the rustling of the cloth signaling he had indeed done so. His footsteps were hard to miss, the soles of his shoes sounding against the hardwood floor as he neared your lonesome figure standing in the middle of the room. 

Your breathing quickened with nearly every step he took, attempting to resolve the civil war you were battling within. You were trying to convince yourself Taehyung would be a nice man, a nice husband; though couldn’t help but feel deflated by the fact it was all mainly coerced out of him.

Your thoughts overwhelmed you as Taehyung finally stood behind you, mere inches from your back as he watched you from behind, unbeknownst of any feelings or thoughts currently riddling you.

He hesitated, though gently placed his hand against your bare arm, the sudden warmth of his hand against your skin causing you to flinch. He peered down at your smaller self squarely focusing in front of you, anticipating your response. He grew slightly soft when you tentatively looked over your shoulders, clearly teary-eyed. 

Taehyung couldn’t miss how scared you seemed, and he his heart inexplicably stung at the thought you were afraid of him. 

“We don’t have to do this.” Taehyung’s voice was low and resembled warm honey, reverberating in a way that made you ease up. 

You worked towards a stable voice. “W-we don’t?” 

“No, we don’t” His voice held no disappointment, only the intention of seemingly wanting to assure you, firm and oddly comforting. 

“I’m sorry, Taehyung. I’m really sorry.” It was hard to keep your tone leveled, clutching your hand over your mouth as you swallowed your emotions. 

“Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing for you to apologize for.” 

You strangely felt the desire to hold his hand that rested against you, though you ignored the urge and simply stepped out of his touch, clutching your chest tightly in an effort to cower away from him. But it was here you suddenly remembered that he kissed you, and the way he did so. 

It made your cheeks fill with a rosy blush. 

“Do you mean that?” You’d finally turned to meet his eyes, his face only visible by the moonlight illuminating the room. He seemed to have retracted his hand and stood with both tucked in his pockets, relaxed. 

This became the first time you noticed just how ravishing he looked tonight. 

His dark hair was slicked back loosely and left enough pieces to fall as a comma, graciously exposing his forehead, his Tom Ford suit attractively hugged his model-like body, watch and accessories accentuating his expensive look. 

His features were casted over by soft lighting, somehow adding to his beauty as the glow made him appear... less intimidating, dare you say warm or inviting. 

His expression was funnily enough, one that you could actually read. He held no contempt, no impatience or anger, only a hint of consideration as his calm eyes looked at you. His face may have been predominantly blank, void of a smile, though certainty held a form of reassurance.  

“Of course I do, why would I do anything with an unwilling person?”

You scoffed lightly, “Not a lot of people would say that.” Your eyes faltered from Taehyung’s and clutched yourself tighter, expression completely telling of trauma.

Taehyung instantly picked up on it, eyebrows slightly furrowing at your words though softening once registering their weight. He felt an overwhelming sense of apology take him, thinking of his next sentence before his mind oddly flashed back to the night of the engagement party.

“Y/N, did Kiseok..?” Taehyung trailed hesitantly. 

You winced at his line of thinking, “No, no...not what you’re thinking,” you immediately denied. “Just, shitty experiences.”

“Shitty, as in...?”

“As in only seeking self-satisfaction, neglect, lies, infidelity. Can we go to sleep?” You deflected with a heavy sigh and a hand at your temple, the day’s events catching up to you.

Taehyung nodded in agreement, “Yeah, sleep. We both need that.” His eyes then landed on the bed, registering even if it were large enough you two could sleep apart, he still opted for caution. 

“Um.. you can take the bed, by the way. I’ll sleep on the couch-”

“No, don’t do that.” You replied quickly. “I can’t sleep on a king-sized bed all by myself, it’s huge.” You side-eyed the massive mattress and laughed a little, lightening the heavy aura casted over the room. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomf-”

“Don’t worry, Taehyung. You don’t make me feel uncomfortable.” You smiled at him lightly and received a small one from him, both your eyes mirroring the same sense of understanding you exchanged at the altar. 

“I’ll let you wash up first, your overnight bag should be in the bathroom closet.” Taehyung informed, pointing towards the direction of your things. 

“Thank you.” You voiced with an amount of warmth that made Taehyung want to genuinely smile, though crushed the weird urge and nodded agreeably instead.

You began walking away from him until a nuisance suddenly occurred to you, cursing yourself as you came to a full stop. “Um, Taehyung.. I forgot but could you..?” You angled your back towards him to call out to the ribbons tying the back of your dress, knowing you would’ve taken 20 years just to untie your bodice yourself. 

The fact that you weren’t looking directly at Taehyung made him feel relieved, glad he wouldn’t embarrass himself with the his eyes slightly widened. He was quick to reprimand himself, it’s just a woman’s dress, why the hell are you shocked? 

Taehyung swallowed dryly before replying, “Uh, yeah I’ll--I’ll do that.” He walked towards you sparingly and positioned himself behind you.

He’d noticed it before, but you were relatively small compared to him in size and it continued to poke at his brain, maybe even momentarily think it was cute. 

Cute? When have I ever found a girl cute?

Taehyung exhaled before his hands carefully made for the silk ribbons, his tentative fingers fiddling with the ties until he eventually began loosening each one. He started unlooping your bodice, breathing out considerably when each loop began exposing your back inch by inch.  

Taehyung’s sweet, hot breath fanned your skin, tensing each time as your every nerve went haywire feeling just how close he was. His slender fingers brushed against your bare skin here and there, making heat collect in your face.

You grew even hotter when your kiss with him suddenly crept back into your mind, unknowing of the reason why excitement and electricity shot throughout your body because of it. The way his soft, full lips met yours, mouthed at you tastefully repeated in your head, making you extremely nervous at how much a measly kiss from him was occupying your mind; it was just a kiss. 

Taehyung found himself tensing by the intimacy of the moment, remembering the way he so boldly kissed you. He found that he liked the plush of your lips, the way he had to bend down to your smaller height to lock lips; and it made him feel strange. 

How the hell was he taking interest in something other than his work? No, this isn’t interest, Taehyung thought, and would spend however long denying it. 

He’d finished the task throughout all his thinking, unrealizing of how proximal he was to you. He oddly hated that the moment was over, coming back down to Earth.

“There you go.” He cleared his voice and stepped away from you. 

You held your bodice up against your chest, realizing Taehyung had a full-access view of your back and you grew 10x hotter. You gulped at the thought before hastily turning around to thank him, quickly disappearing into the bathroom for a moment of reprieve. 

You shut the door and instantly breathed out a breath you didn’t remember holding, looking at your hot mess of a face in the mirror trying to cool down, reliving the last 10 minutes of what just happened. 

You took a deep breath. 

Maybe Taehyung is different after all. 

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[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

[allyouneedisbuck]

the warmth of your love

summary -> there are more ways to say i love you than just i love you. you and bucky share a few.

words -> 2.2k

warnings -> pining, friends to lovers, back to my fluffy bucky roots, female!reader

notes -> i wrote a harry s. piece similar to this years ago & it’s so interesting to see how my writing has changed since then. based off of this list. items from the list are italicized!

— ➶ —

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

They’re simple words that Bucky has become accustomed to.

Steve Rogers departure has left a hole in the world and a gap in Bucky’s chest that aches. They were best friends, brothers, and Bucky wasn’t sure how to navigate this world without him.

Bucky has grown used to the pity filled eyes of the Avengers, or at least what’s left of them, and the apologetic tone of voice.

The way the words came from your mouth though was different. Your eyes full of kindness and a small smile on your face that offered comfort.

“Th..Thank you.” Bucky says quietly. The two of you have only known each other for a couple years now, but Bucky finds comfort in you more than he does people he’s known since Steve and Sam had saved him. “It means a lot.”

Your hand squeezes his right forearm gently. “If you need anything, I’m here for you.”

He knows the words hold true; That if he called, you’d be over with dinner or movies to help him. It makes Bucky feel warm in a way he hasn’t in almost a century.

“I know.” His left hand covers yours. “I appreciate it.” You both share a smile, small and private, before the moment is over.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

There’s a knock on his door that makes Bucky jump. He’s been working on his reactions, logically he knows not everybody is out to get him, but it’s something ingrained in his mind.

He’s working on being better about it, he is, but it’s almost ten at night and Bucky doesn’t really have many friends left.

His hand wraps around the hilt of his knife as he creeps towards his apartment door. There’s another knock and Bucky moves to look through the peephole.

It’s you. Covered dishes in your hand and scarf wrapped tightly around your neck. Bucky’s lips quark up at the sight, fall was starting and fall in New York was a bitter cold. His hand falls from his knife as he moves to unlock the door.

“What are you doing here?” He asks incredulously as you step inside. Bucky’s eyes find his makeshift bed on the living room floor and he shifts in embarrassment.

You gently place the glass dish on his counter and shrug your coat off. “I was in the neighborhood.” It’s an obvious lie, if the meal for two is anything to go by, but Bucky doesn’t dispute it. “Thought you might be hungry.”

You move around his kitchen like you belong there, pulling out plates and utensils. Bucky watches with his mouth parted in awe. “You didn’t have to-“

“-I wanted to.” You move over, making room for Bucky to stand beside you, and hold out a fork for him. “Now, come on. It’s a new recipe.”

Bucky holds a finger up. “Let me get you a drink. I have some wine.” He shuffles through his cabinets until he comes across a bottle of white wine, a housewarming gift from Sam.

“Now it’s a date.” You giggle and Bucky can feel his cheeks heat, not at the insinuation of it being a date but the fact that he so desperately wishes it was.

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

Bucky knows you’re not his girlfriend. It’s a painful observation he makes every time you bring something over or offer to go out. The way your hands brush but never intertwine and how you give him a hug and press a kiss to his cheek instead of his lips.

Bucky knew you weren’t his girlfriend, but he didn’t know you were dating.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” Your voice is choked up and you struggle to get the words out, “I just, I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Bucky’s mind has slipped into panic mode as he jumps up from his couch. He moves around his apartment, hastily pulling on pants and socks while holding the phone to his ear and listening for any signs of pain. “Where are you?”

You sniffle. “I’m fine! I’m not hurt! Well, not physically anyway. I had a date tonight and he stood me up.” You suck in a deep breath and Bucky freezes.

A date?

“So, my pride is injured.” You joke, but Bucky’s stuck frozen in the middle of his living room with one shoe on and a broken heart.

He knows, okay, he knows you never told him you had feelings for him. That you didn’t owe him anything, but he thought maybe…

“…But physically I’m okay.” You’re still talking and Bucky is only half listening. “Can I come over? I’m, like, five blocks away. Bad Moon bar. I can walk to your place. I just need a friend.”

The word rings in Bucky’s ears, but he forces himself to speak. “Stay there. I’ll come get you.” Bucky moves to pull his second shoe on and pulls on a coat.

He hears your sigh of relief. “Thank you so much. I’ll be outside.” Bucky swallows thickly when you hang the phone up.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

You have another date. This time with a man who asked what your favorite flower is and has decided to take you out to dinner instead of a bar.

Bucky’s chest hurts, but he stays silent. He’s unwilling to break this friendship up by telling you how he feels, especially when it seems clear to him that you do not feel the same way.

“Okay! Okay!” You come barreling down your hallway and into the living room. Bucky looks up from his phone and his mouth almost falls open in shock.

You look lovely in the dress that flows to your feet. It fits around your curves and Bucky can’t stop his eyes from trailing over you in awe.

“Wow.” He murmurs. Your eyes shift and you glance down at your hands fiddling in the front of your stomach. “You look…”

You cut him off before he can get anymore words out, “I look ridiculous! I knew it. I look far too dressed up.” You spin on your heel, but Bucky shoots up to stop you.

“No! You look…” He trails off nervously. Bucky looks at you, really looks at you, someone warm and full of light and understands what this feeling he has around you is. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Happy Birthday.” & “I made this for you.”

Bucky walks into his apartment and is immediately hit with the smell of vanilla. He can hear your voice, reading ingredients to yourself, from his entryway and smiles to himself.

“I knew there was a reason Sam kept me out all day.” Bucky laughs when you jump and drop the whisk in your hand. “What’re you doing here, sweetheart?”

Your shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “It’s your birthday!” You smile brightly as Bucky presses a greeting kiss to your cheek.

“I’ve had too many of them, no need to bring attention to it.” Bucky dips a finger in the whipped frosting in your hands and laughs when you smack it away.

“We have to celebrate!” You exclaim with an affronted look. “No ifs ands or buts! Happy birthday, Bucky!”

The bowl of frosting is dropped on the counter as you move to wrap your arms tightly around Bucky’s waist. He settles in your arms as his own come up to wrap around you.

The poems and stories talk about being in the arms of the one you love as rapid heartbeats and butterflies but all Bucky feels is calm. It’s like the worries of his day to day life just slip away when he’s with you.

It’s good, so wonderfully good to have an anchor like that. He didn’t need the butterflies that made him feel sick or the rapid heartbeat that worsened his anxiety. He just needed the warmth.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Bucky presses another kiss to the top of your head. You pull away to look up at him excitedly. “What’s that look for?”

You pull away completely and move around to pull your bag off of one of his kitchen stools. “I made this for you.” Your voice is quiet and nervous as you push a wrapped box towards him.

It’s a small book, one with no title to indicate what’s on the inside, but Bucky can tell it’s something personal from the way you’re rocking back and forth nervously on your feet.

When he opens it to the first page, tears almost spring to his eyes. His lungs burn with effort to not cry as he flips through picture after picture. Him, you and him, him with Sam and Steve and all of you together.

Each photo has a small note next to it too. Hearts and smiley faces decorate the edges. Bucky looks up at you with his mouth open in awe.

“This is… Nobody has ever done something this special for me before.” He admits quietly. “I love it.”

A sigh of relief escapes you as Bucky moves to pull you into his arms again. “Happy Birthday, Buck.” You murmur into his chest.

It’s the best birthday Bucky’s had since he was a child.

“You can tell me anything.”

You’re nervous.

It’s obvious in the way your eyes shift to Bucky before back to the sidewalk in front of you.

Your nervousness is making Bucky nervous. His fingers twitching every so often and he finds himself shifting around as if he expects something to hop out from behind one of the trees.

“Are you okay?” Bucky finally asks when he notices your hands tangled together in front of your stomach. “You’re being fidgety.”

You look up with wide, shocked eyes like you had forgotten Bucky was there entirely, too caught up in your own thoughts. “I’m okay!” You say quickly.

Bucky feels his eyes narrow and he forces you to a stop beside him with a gentle hand on your elbow. “Are you sure?”

“Yep! Just busy overthinking.” You laugh awkwardly as you glance down at the hand still wrapped around your elbow. Bucky drops it quickly, but your hand reaches out to intertwine your fingers with his. “I just… I’ve been wanting to ask you.. No. Tell you something.”

Bucky squeezes your hand gently. “You can tell me anything.” He says quietly. You look at him with wet eyes and Bucky feels himself panic. “No judgement, not from me, not ever.”

“Promise?” You ask quietly. Your voice sounds so unlike you, so nervous and uncomfortable that Bucky isn’t sure what he can do to make it better.

So he nods. “Promise. I’m the last person to judge, sweetheart.”

“I love you.”

It’s right out of those romantic comedies that Bucky pretends to dislike. The way you stand in front of him, wrapped up in a winter coat and scarf, with trembling hands and admit to Bucky how you feel.

“I’ve felt like this for a long time. A really long time now, I don’t think I could even tell you when because it just happened.” You ramble when you’re nervous, a habit Bucky thinks is adorable. “And I knew you were going through a lot, so I never said anything. I love being your friend, I do, but I had to tell you. It’s tearing me up having this secret because I hate secrets.”

Bucky says your name in an attempt to cut you off, but you don’t seem to hear him. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I-“

Your lips press shut when Bucky’s hands come up to cup your cheeks. “Will you shut up for just one second?” He asks sweetly.

You nod with wide eyes. “I feel warm around you,” Bucky starts off, “I don’t feel butterflies or sweaty palms. I used too, sometimes when you look at me a certain way I still do, but most of the time I just feel warm. I… I feel like I can breathe again. I feel calm. You make me calm.”

“What?” You ask softly. It’s obvious you’re trying to not get your hopes up as Bucky talks.

“I love you too.” Bucky says clearly. Your hand comes up to rest over his on your cheek as you press into the pressure. “You make it easy for me to breathe again.”

Bucky feels the sigh of relief you let out. “You make it easy for me too.” You say quietly, your tone much lighter than before.

“Can I kiss you?”

When you nod, Bucky can feel his entire face brighten. He’s sure there’s a nervous blush there as you tilt your head up towards him and leans to meet you halfway.

It’s just as warm as you are, the way you kiss. Slow and pushing all of your emotions into it. Your lips are cold, but Bucky’s sure his are too.

It’s everything he’s wanted with you. Despite the snowflakes beginning to fall around you and the wind nipping at his skin, all Bucky feels is warmth.

Bonus -> “Can I have this dance?”

A winter wedding seemed fitting when you had suggested it. Something small, intimate and warm. Just a few of your closest friends and family to bear witness.

You’ve been wandering around the venue for the past hour, saying hi to family and catching up with people you’ve been too busy to hang out with the past couple of months. Bucky’s sick of not having you by his side.

His arm wraps your waist from behind and he presses a kiss to your cheek, immediately cutting off what you were saying to Pepper.

A slow song starts, Bucky won’t admit until later that he told the DJ to start it once Bucky reached your side.

“Mrs. Barnes, can I have this dance?”

— ➶ —

me: has ten pieces in the drafts that need to be worked on

also me: just writes this fluffy disaster