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yslkook · 4 years

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sonder

pairing: taehyung x reader (exes au) summary: sonder: the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. or

“What am I about to say?”

“That nothing has worked out for you since we dated, because even though the women you date are all wonderful, all you see in them is me,” You exhale, “I might have to kick you out if you say something as predictable as that.”

word count: 3459 warnings: alcohol, smut (penetrative sex, oral f receiving, tae is possessive for like half a second, some tears) a/n: inspired by these pictures of taehyung. also if this feels rushed, that was on purpose- i wanted to make them kinda messy

Your second whiskey of the evening burns something bitter in the back of your throat, but you welcome it. It’s a welcome respite from the shitty week you’ve had, but that’s besides the point.

One of your favorite things to do to unwind after a tough week is to people watch, and one of your favorite places to do so was at the bars near your apartment. You liked to create vivid stories for these people that walked through the bar- who they were, what their backstories were. It was an amusing game to you, and even if both Yoongi and Hobi told you that you needed a better hobby, you’d only scoff at them.

Speaking of, Yoongi was supposed to be joining you soon. But apparently he’s running late. About fifteen minutes late, according to his cryptic text from earlier:

yoongi: running late, im bringing a friend

You think nothing of it, not really. And you just sip on your whiskey, watching a pair of new faces walk through the door from your stealthy booth in the corner of the bar.

You should’ve known that when Yoongi had said he was bringing a friend, it meant Taehyung. You briefly remember Yoongi telling you that Taehyung had moved back to the city a few weeks ago.

Taehyung, who had moved away halfway across the world years ago as a novice in the art history world. Taehyung, who had broken your delicate heart and taken pieces of it with him more than five years ago.

But even so, you harbor no ill feelings towards the man. He did what he had to do, and you did as well. It’s been so long now, that he should almost be a stranger to you.

Yoongi watches the way your lips part in surprise at the sight of Taehyung- he knows there are still lingering feelings, maybe a lack of closure. Maybe something else that you don’t feel like discussing or diving into. You send him a hearty death glare his way but Yoongi ignores it.

You and Taehyung are nothing if not stubborn. Taehyung hasn’t stopped asking about you since he moved back to the city.

After all, you’ve hardly dated since Taehyung broke up with you. You had sincerely, genuinely believed that he was your one and only, your forever. It just hadn’t felt right, not with anyone else. So you just stopped, not wanting to force love with people if your heart really wasn’t in it.

And now, Taehyung is standing in front of you, dressed in expensive black from head to toe, looking as if he had just walked off of the runway before meeting up with Yoongi. His hair is longer than you ever remembered it being, two small silver hoops in his ears.

Handsome. He looks healthy and warm. He looks good.

You clear your throat and wave at both of them, opening your arms for a hug. Yoongi’s hug is brief, you see the man at least once or twice a week, but you pinch his waist for ambushing you like this. You gasp softly when Taehyung wraps his arms around you. You’d apparently forgotten how his body just fits into yours. Even after all this time.

It truly hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it.

“Hi,” Taehyung breathes into your hair. You should pull away, you really should. You can’t even meet Yoongi’s eyes, too bewitched by the hold that Taehyung somehow still has on you.

You feel as though your heart is running a mile a minute, and yet it feels like you’re greeting an old friend after a long time.

“Taehyung,” You say softly, his name sounding like a ghost of a memory, “It’s been a long time.”

You sit in your booth and Taehyung sits next to Yoongi. It feels like three old friends catching up after a while, not like if two exes are sitting with their mutual best friend trying not to catch glimpses of the other.

You take a sip of your drink with shaky hands. It’s going to be a long night.

At some point during the evening, Yoongi claims that Hoseok has an emergency and that he has to go. You think he planned this (both him and Hobi), because there’s a meddling glint in his eye that you haven’t seen recently.

You panic, scrambling to somehow get Yoongi to stay, so that you’re not alone with Taehyung. You’re afraid of what you might do or say. Or for what you might not do or say.

And yet, talking to him comes like second nature. Maybe it’s because you have years of history between the both of you, even if you haven’t spoken in the last five.

It hurt so much. When he broke up with you, you mourned the loss of your best friend. He had said you could try to be friends, but you couldn’t handle it at the time. And then more time went by… and suddenly, he was barely a thought in your passing mind. Yet, he still lingered, in your mannerisms. Maybe some part of you was still waiting on him. Which wasn’t healthy… But it wasn’t hurting anyone. And besides, you were okay. But you had never really believed in soulmates until Taehyung. Perhaps it was the lack of closure.

At least that’s what you convinced yourself, because seeing Taehyung like this, laughing and talking to you as if no time has past throws you for a loop.

Mainly because… it’s so easy to fall into conversation with him. It’s so easy to laugh with him and make him laugh. You enjoy learning about everything he’s been up to over the last few years, all of his adventures, the sights he’s seen. How enthusiastic he is, how he finds beauty in everything.

You both had always been such good friends. Maybe that’s what you miss more than anything. Somehow, hours go by and you both are left to be the only ones in the bar-

“Hey what brought you here to begin with?” Taehyung asks, holding the door open for you, “Had a bad day? You still like people watching?”

“Yeah,” You say wistfully, “Something like that.”

He squeezes your shoulder in reassurance. You catch his eyes in the streetlights and feel your heart swell.

Even if it’s been more than five years since you saw Taehyung last, since you felt his fingers thread in between yours… it still feels so familiar. It’s funny, isn’t it? How so much time can go by, how you can be strangers on paper but feel like you’ve known his soul for this entire time.

His smile glows in the moonlight. A light breeze cradles him, carding through his dark strands of hair gently. You can vividly recall a time when it was you- your fingers running through his hair through soft laughs and unkept promises.

You wonder if your heart is still his, after all this time. It’s not as if you’ve had many people to compare your all-consuming five year relationship to in the last few years. Every person you met, you found yourself comparing to your ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t healthy.

And you had known that he had moved on from your own mutual friends. You don’t even know if he’s single right now, but you knew he was in a relationship a year ago… Or maybe two? Maybe you should care a little more, but you’ll blame it on the whiskey for causing you to squeeze his hand a little harder and lean into him.

Taehyung looks exactly the same, he feels exactly the same as he did when you were twenty-two and stupid enough to believe that you would make it. He’s always felt like he fit the messy edges of your soul perfectly, and even now, you feel that familiar warmth of his soul rubbing up against yours.

Even as he’s chatting away, eyes crinkling in genuine happiness, you’re hardly listening. You’re only thinking about how nice he feels next to you.

Serendipity. It must be serendipity, for him to show up in your life again when you had been teetering on the edge of misery and self-deprecation. Your head is jumbled, brain filled with nothing but sweet memories of him and your heart is aching for something you might never have again.

But all you have is now. So when Taehyung twirls you easily and sways with you under the dimmed light of a street lamp, pulling a surprised laugh out of you, you make your decision.

“Where’s your new big girl apartment?” Taehyung asks, a hint of longing in his tone.

“It’s not new,” You scoff, “But I live, like, five blocks away.”

Taehyung takes your hand in his again, asking you questions about your apartment. How you found it, do you like it, do you have roommates. To which you shrug and tell him that you like being alone. Something shifts in his eyes, something sad. He recalls your thirst for life when you both had been together- always ready to try something new, always wanting to be around people, always dreaming with your head in the sky.

He wonders what changed. You’re so quiet, eyes a little dark, shoulders tense. Maybe that’s what growing up is. Maybe that’s what tumbling out of your early twenties and into your late twenties is.

Or maybe you’ve just changed in general. It’s been a long time, after all. Since you both mutually broke up, since he moved halfway across the globe.

But still, he catches sparks, flutters of embers in your gaze. He catches the tender, playful excitement that you’ve always held near and dear to your heart- it’s what made you and him such a good team years ago.

Talking to him is so easy, not that you thought it would be difficult to begin with. It’s always been easy with him, easy to laugh with him, easy to love him.

The front door of your apartment building comes into view. Your hand is still in his. Taehyung hesitates on letting you go, but he does.

“It was nice to see you,” Taehyung murmurs, allowing himself the brush of the back of his hand on your cheekbone, “I mean it.”

“Yeah. I’m glad I ran into you, too. Even if I was stuffing my face with whiskeys,” You grin and lean into his touch, “Even if Yoongi probably played both of us.”

“Don’t know when you became such a whiskey girl.”

“It’s been years, Taehyung. I’m sure I’ve got a few more surprises for you,” You say, smile falling into something more intense, “Wanna come find out what they are?”

“Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”

Taehyung’s lips are on yours the minute you close the door to your apartment. His hands are molded to your hips over your clothes and you instantly moan into his mouth loudly, slipping your tongue past his lips eagerly. Drinking him up as if he’s been yours to drink up this entire time.

You fumble with the buttons of his peacoat, nearly ready to yank the buttons off. Patience has never been your strong suit, but you just want to feel him.

But the minute you pull away for air, you re-center yourself. No matter how enticing his bitten lips are…

“Are you single?” You ask bluntly.

“Why?” Taehyung says with an arch of his stupidly perfect eyebrow, “You falling in love with me again?”

“Shut up, you wish. I thought you had a girlfriend,” You say pointedly, toeing out of your heels and hanging your jackets up in the coat closet.

“You keeping tabs on me? I knew it,” Taehyung says, looking a little too smug about it.

“Shut the fuck up,” You swat his chest, “Yoongi may have mentioned it to me once or twice.”

More like he told you multiple times when you were drunk, wasted and crying over Taehyung because you never truly got over him. In some corner of the deepest part of your heart, you never got over him.

“I’m not dating anyone. Or talking, seeing anyone,” Taehyung shrugs, “That didn’t work out. Nothing’s really worked out, not since…”

“Don’t say it,” You mutter, “Don’t say what I think you’re about to say.”

You need another drink. So you pour yourself another hefty glass of whiskey and pour one out for him, too.

“What am I about to say?”

“And if it’s true?”

“Then I’m definitely kicking you out. Might need another five years to see you again,” You whisper. He moves closer to you, tentatively holding your hips in his. You don’t push him away, only looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Taehyung breathes into your hair, wrapping you in a hug, “You have no idea. And you? Are you single?”

“No, you missed the idea of me. Of us,” You mumble, but you’re unable to pull out of his hold, “We were young, we had dreams… And yeah, I’m single.”

“We could’ve made it work-”

“Taehyung, stop it,” You mutter, throat going dry with barely concealed yearning for him, “We both made the choices we made for a reason. You’re here and I’m here for a reason. Don’t wanna talk about what if’s with you anymore. Just kiss me, Taehyung-”

Taehyung doesn’t need to be told twice, cupping your face in his big hands and pressing his soft lips to yours instantly. Time feels like nothing between you both, but it feels like he’s trying to learn this new version of you through your kiss.

You’re undecided on whether this is a one time thing, but all you know is that you want him. And you want him now. His hands are warm over your thighs as he lifts you up in his arms, your chest plastered to his. His hair has gotten longer, dark strands effortlessly falling into his forehead.

He’s so handsome and you swoon when his lips press against your neck. Taehyung still remembers what you like, what your favorite spots are.

It’s almost as if no time has passed. You both ignore it, ignore the nostalgia creeping into the crevices of your kisses.

“Mmm, my bedroom’s that way,” You mumble hoarsely, pulling away with hooded eyes.

“You’ll have to give me a proper tour later,” Taehyung says, his voice somehow even deeper.

“Yeah, you’d be so lucky,” You snort and Taehyung shuts you up with another searing kiss. He doesn’t miss the meticulous way you’ve decorated your cozy home, pops of color and decorations that are so very you in every corner. He sees a small photo collage in the corner of your bedroom.

Once upon a time, a photo of you and him would’ve been the crown jewel.

“Tae,” You mumble, “Stop, focus on me. I want you-”

So he does.

Your legs close around Taehyung’s head, his tongue slipping into your glossy folds for the third time that evening. He can’t get enough of your soft noises, even when you’re telling him it’s too much, you widen your legs for him to slot in between them easily. Taehyung hikes your legs over his shoulder, nearly rutting into the bed at the sight of your quivering bottom lip and the way your tits bounce.

He palms you lewdly, squeezing and pinching. “You’re so wet,” Taehyung moans into your pussy, “Fuck, baby-”

“Taehyung,” You breathe, voice sounding broken even to your own ears, “I want you, I want your cock…”

“You sure you want this?” Taehyung asks, his voice strained.

“Yeah,” You nod eagerly, “Do you?”

With a nod, “Do you have condoms?” He rasps, nose nudging your clit.

“Y-yeah,” You moan, “The nightstand, first drawer. Brand new box, never before used-”

“Really?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow, “When was the last time, baby?”

“The last time what,” You whine, tugging on his forearm.

“Last time you had sex,” Taehyung says, pulling the box out from your nightstand.

“Uhhh… when you broke up with me?” You shrug sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Shit,” He groans, “Seriously?”

You don’t miss how he palms himself over his pants at your words. He’s always had a hint of possessiveness in him, and you already know that he’s trying to process that the last person, the only person to have ever seen you like this was him.

“Yeah, I didn’t have luck the way you did, I guess,” You say lightly, “Not that I was trying very hard, though.”

“Damn, baby, nobody’s been loving you right, huh?” Taehyung says, pulling out a condom from the box with shaky hands.

“Yeah. Not even you,” You say. Maybe that was mean, but his eyes flash at you in warning.

“Come here,” He says, a soft demand, “Did you miss me?”

You shrug playfully and unbutton his pants for him. He swats your roaming hands away and they land on his belly, your nails scratching lazily. Taehyung has always looked like a vision, but seeing him like this, hovering above you with golden, tanned skin and his jaw locked, looking every bit like the man of your dreams...

He commands, demands respect. Your pussy throbs just from the sight of him shucking off his pants and his boxers in one go, tugging his hard and heavy cock roughly with one hand.

You swear you drool. Your head is empty, only thoughts of him, his big hands, broad shoulders-

“Did you miss me, baby,” Taehyung asks again, voice a little rougher, a little harsher.

“Does it matter,” You challenge him, “You only want my pussy-”

“And you only want my cock-”

“So give it to me then. Since you know me so well,” You sneer. You gasp in surprise when he swats your thigh and then moan his name when he pushes the head of his cock into you without much warning.

“You talk so fucking much,” Taehyung breathes, cupping your cheeks with one hand.

“Shit,” You gasp, “You’re so fucking big-”

You squeeze your eyes shut and Taehyung stills inside of you, giving you time to adjust to him. He peppers sweet kisses over your forehead, a contrast to his previous words. You cannot believe that somehow, Taehyung is back in your bed, his cock buried deep within you.

The thought makes your eyes water. You’re a little overwhelmed.

“What’s wrong,” Taehyung asks when he sees your wet eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Nothing, you’re just so big,” You mumble, avoiding his eyes. Taehyung looks at you suspiciously but says nothing.

He’s the only one who’s ever had you like this. The thought makes something in his belly flare, the urge to leave bruises on your welcoming hips and pound into your wet pussy growing and growing with each second.

But he doesn’t move, not until you give him the okay. Taehyung’s fingers are tight around your hips, loose around your neck, his lips plastered to any inch of skin he can reach. With the first rock of his hips into you, you wrap your legs around his waist and shudder in his arms.

He nuzzles your neck, chest plastered against yours. Your nails are tightly pressed into his biceps, surely leaving marks for tomorrow morning. Your soft cries of his name sound like sweet rapture, something he’s been searching for for years. Or something that he had and something he let go of.

And then he wonders how he ever spent the last few years not buried in your pussy, when you feel something like home to him.

“You know, I moved back here a few weeks ago,” Taehyung says, turning on his side to face you, hands gentle over your chest.

“Oh, I know. Yoongi and Hobi wouldn’t shut up about it. They really missed you,” You reply, not meeting his eyes.

“And you? Did you?” Taehyung asks again. You hesitate.

“Does it matter, Taehyung?” You mumble, brushing his hair away from his eyes, “Does it change anything?”

“It could. If you wanted it to,” He murmurs, pulling you into his chest. His fingers are light over your spine, but you scoff.

“Don’t say shit like that,” You sigh, pressing your hand to his face.

He only laughs with his big, bright smile and pulls you in closer, kissing your forehead. “I can leave you know. If you want me to. If this is... weird.”

“I think we’re way past weird, Taehyung. If I wanted you to leave, I would’ve kicked you out by now,” You say easily and ignore the way his smile sends unfamiliar butterflies through your belly, “Go to sleep. I’ll decide if I wanna kick you out in the morning.”

#taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung fic

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maatryoshkaa · 4 years

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young god | epilogue

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue

word count: 4.4k

description: it’s been five years since the Miroh Heights murder cases came to a close — and five long, bittersweet years since you’d caught a glimpse of Han Jisung. Things in Miroh Heights have changed drastically since then — but when Felix sets you up on another blind date in an attempt to help you move on from the past, you realise that, once again, you’ve signed up for much more than you bargained for.

masterlist

recommended listening: stray kids - “sunshine”

epilogue.

“See ya, Miss l/n!”

You turned to wave back at the little girl who had called your name, her round eyes visibly bright from the waiting room of your clinic. Seven years old, front teeth just beginning to come in. One of her hands clutched a half-unwrapped lollipop as her mother held onto the other.

The first time you had seen them, the child had been unwilling to speak — bullied relentlessly at school, her mother had informed you through a veil of desperate tears — but now, her laughter filled the warm air, traumas that had once been etched into a too-young face already beginning to heal and fade.

Evening sunshine warmed your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the building’s doors, a light breeze rustling the papers in your hand as you quickly tucked them into your bag. “Five years of graduate school hasn’t made you more organised,” Felix often teased you, and you would smack his shoulder in retaliation.

Five years hadn’t changed your friendship in the slightest, either—and you had to admit you were beyond grateful for that.

As always, the city around you was humming with life: evening rush hour, with people darting here and there, frantically flagging down taxis and catching their buses. Usually, on days like these, you should have been hopping into the first cab home and collapsing like a corpse as soon as you reached your apartment. But today, you remembered with a sigh, was not going to be one of those days.

“Hey, Doctor l/n!”

You whipped your head towards the voice, a smile spreading across your tired features as you saw who it belonged to. In a slightly jaded Mini Cooper—second hand, of course, but worked just like new — Yang Jeongin waved at you from the driver’s seat.

“I’m not a doctor, ‘innie,” you reminded him playfully as he unlocked the passenger door and let you climb in.

“Not a doctor yet,” he corrected you, grinning. “Besides, ‘child therapist’ doesn’t have as much of a ring to it.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing, and waved at another one of your patients as Jeongin started the engine. “You really didn’t have to offer to drive me, you know — the streets are a nightmare during this hour.”

“It’s not that far,” Jeongin protested, “Plus, I barely get to see you now, you’re so busy.” You didn’t have the heart to argue. The kid loved being behind the wheel so much, he made it seem like you were doing him a favour.

You watched Jeongin turn onto the main road, squeezing the car in between a van and a motorcyclist. He really had grown up over the last few years — his hair was darker now, remarkably sharp cheekbones overtaking his once-rounded cherub cheeks — but in some ways, nothing had changed at all. He still had that natural knack of brightening whatever room he stepped in — the Yang Jeongin effect, Hyunjin called it. And his heart was still too big for his own good: you remembered how he had adamantly refused to take the money Jisung kept offering him after the case had finally closed, and when Hyunjin had asked him why, Jeongin had simply replied, “After everything that’s happened, it doesn’t feel like he’s the one who owes me.”

On the other hand, Jeongin had been more than happy to take Prosecutor Kang’s compensation money instead, and had finally visited a car dealership with you and Hyunjin.

The moment he had seen the Mini-Cooper — a beat-up thing from the 90s that you were amazed was still running — the younger boy’s eyes had lit up. “It’s just...it looks like the one our family used to have, before...the incident,” he had explained sheepishly, making you and Hyunjin exchange a look. And so, after a fiery back-and-forth between you and the salesman—not to mention a few sleepless nights at the mechanic’s — the rest was history.

The light turned green, and you spotted a photograph wobbling on the dashboard — a laughing child you recognised immediately as Jeongin. Behind him, a woman with a familiar wide smile had her arms around a man with eyes resembling a fox’s, with none of the slyness. “How’s your dad these days?”

“Mostly stays at home taking care of my mum, but he swears he wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jeongin turned his head to you excitedly, as if a thought just hit him. “She got out of bed a couple days ago, you know? The first time ever since my dad left.”

Your mouth fell open in a surprised smile, and Jeongin continued, “He’s real excited he got to teach me how to drive, too. I think he feels like he missed out on a lot of things, like...walking me home from school. Teaching me how to ride a bike. Graduation.” He shrugged. His words might have sounded sad at first, but you could see the way the lines of Jeongin’s face were more relaxed now, at peace.

“Mind if I make a quick stop?” Jeongin asked abruptly, and you checked your watch before shaking your head lightly.

“I’m still about twenty minutes early. We’ve got plenty of time.”

He turned onto a familiar street, and you rolled down the window as Glow Cafe slowly came into view. It was just as busy as it had ever been — even the cars were stalling by the curb — but Hwang Hyunjin spotted you almost immediately, waving through the glass window. Quickly hopping out, Jeongin popped the trunk open, and you watched him haul two crates of coffee beans into the bustling cafe. The once-famed “delivery boy” of Miroh Heights only really did deliveries for Glow Cafe now, after Hyunjin had offered Jeongin a position as a barista until he graduated—and although he wasn’t the best with his hands (or his memory, for that matter), Hyunjin didn’t mind in the slightest.

“Him being here is more than enough for business. You should see the students flock in here every morning just to catch a glimpse of him.” The former barista snorted. “What’d I tell you? They’re eating him right up.”

They waved at Jeongin now as he jogged obliviously out of the cafe, Hyunjin’s laughs muted by the glass as he threw you a knowing wink. He had graduated himself, two years ago, officially inheriting the business after his grandmother had passed away. Glow Cafe had since come a long way, with Hyunjin always at the forefront of new design ideas and enthusiastically telling you about his plans to expand even more in the future.

“Get this: ‘CEO Hwang, the most eligible bachelor of Miroh Heights,’” Felix held up his hands as if picturing a giant headline, giving his signature wolf whistle as you burst into laughter and Hyunjin kicked the blond man in the shin. “Ow!”

“How did you even get into the press with those cheesy titles?” Hyunjin groaned.

“Not just ‘get into the press’, ‘jinnie,” you reminded him, giggling, “he’s the head journalist now!”

It was true—with his impeccable wit and seamless way with words, it came to nobody’s surprise when Felix maneuvered his way to the top of the local press in a matter of years. The head of the press still loathed him with a biting passion— “I can feel her glares all the way from her office,” Felix retorted — and rumour had it that the two seemed to fire shots at each other all day long. The image of a powder-faced, middle-aged woman bickering with your notoriously insufferable best friend made you laugh, but you also knew deep down that Felix always took his job more seriously than he let on. His eloquent articles had gotten his name out across the city in no time, and so you took comfort in knowing that — no matter how hard the head of the press bared her teeth—nobody could touch Lee Felix now.

Five years, you thought to yourself wistfully, eyes catching a familiar detective’s office as Jeongin drove past. What a trip down memory lane. You’d seldom come by this part of town since then, and seeing the familiar buildings sent a flood of memories and mixed feelings stirring in your chest.

The well-loved Detective Bang, much to the disappointment of adoring students and professors alike, had moved abroad to a bigger city—whether he had been taken by a new precinct, or a new big case, you couldn’t be sure. “Rumour has it he’s doing undercover work now,” Seungmin had mentioned to you once in passing, “We haven’t heard from him in a while, but he’s making a big name for himself out there, that’s for sure.”

The District Nine police station whizzed by you in a blur, and more of the prosecutor’s words rang through your head.

“Meanwhile, the chief of police keeps insisting he’s glad to be rid of him, but we all know he secretly misses Chan.” Seungmin had shaken his head, and you had smiled at the image of the stoic police captain—chief, now—grudgingly sulking over the loss of his best friend.

Jeongin made one last turn, and the narrow buildings opened up into the heart of Miroh Heights—the oldest part of town, where the roller rink, record shop, and the diner were. The sight of Mia’s Diner made you sink down instinctively in the passenger seat, and you couldn’t keep the raw dread out of your voice as you let out a long sigh.

Jeongin gave you sympathetic look. “For someone who’s going on a blind date, you don’t sound too happy.”

“That’s because I’m not, Jeongin. I don’t even know why Felix keeps insisting on these. The last time I agreed to one was—” you broke off before you could finish what you were saying, the unspoken words echoing in your mind. The last time I agreed to one was when I met Jisung.

That’s right—the last official blind date you had been on, you had met Han Jisung — and he had turned your entire world upside down. For years afterwards, you had told yourself that you wouldn’t take that day back for the entire world, but now...now, you weren’t so sure.

After all, how could you be sure of someone you hadn’t heard from in over five years?

The rehabilitation centre didn’t allow letters in or out— you had learned that the hard way after your first letters had been sent directly back to your doorstep. Usually, they had told you, if things went well, patients could start correspondence again after a year or so—but you had gotten absolutely nothing. Not a single word.

Five years—he should have been out by now. He could have been anywhere, doing anything—but he certainly hadn’t remembered to write or even call you.

Had he really forgotten about you?

“Five years is a long time, y/n,” Felix told you gently, after you had adamantly refused the blind date he kept insisting on. “People...change, and maybe he’s—moved on.”

Moved on.

You didn’t know how to tell Felix how much the thought of that hurt more than you were willing to admit, how this was the sole reason why you hadn’t been able to go on a single date for the past five years. You didn’t know how to tell him that Jisung hadn’t left your mind since the moment he had disappeared from your sight, five years ago, in the corridor of that courthouse.

“I’ll be waiting,” Jisung had said. And yet he was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, Felix wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“You’re in your mid-twenties now, y/n. Loosen up a little, yeah? You’re allowed to go on dates, for goodness’ sake.”

“I’m hopeless, ‘lix. I’m pretty sure the stray dog on the street has a more interesting love life than me.”

“Maybe,” Felix mused, “I think I saw it running around with a litter of puppies the other da—ow!”

“You okay? You look kind of sick,” Jeongin remarked, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Got everything you need?”

You resisted the urge to laugh. If only Jeongin knew how you had prepared for this date—by mapping out all the ways you were going to end it as quickly as possible. Faking food poisoning? Check. Arrange a time for a friend to call you and pretend an emergency came up? Check— although Hyunjin had had a strange glint in his eyes when he had agreed to it. Worst comes to worst? Pepper spray, check. You let out a slow exhale. “Sure. All set.”

You thanked Jeongin with a hug and hopped out of the car. Just as you began walking towards the diner, you heard him call out behind you.

“Oh, yeah, Felix told me pass on a message — from him to you.” You turned back, and Jeongin gave a boyish grin that was half apologetic, half laughing. “‘Go get ‘em, tiger!’”

You gave an exasperated cry and yanked open the diner door.

━━━━━━━━

You were beginning to wonder if you’d been stood up.

Mia’s Diner was usually busy, bustling with students and townspeople alike, and tonight it truly was: booths packed with couples both old and new, laughter and the smell of food wafting through the warm air as friends and families celebrated the start of summer. The jukebox was on and playing an old disco song you liked but didn’t know the name of, the checkered floor tiles clicking with the sounds of brisk waitresses’ heels and dancing feet.

You didn’t know why Felix had insisted on coming here, of all places, what with the mixed emotions and memories you had tied to it, but you had to admit that the jovial atmosphere of Mia’s Diner on a Friday night never really disappointed. You found yourself relaxing slightly—just slightly, bobbing your head lightly to the music.

“Mia’s Diner?” You repeated incredulously. “Seriously, Felix, do you only know one date location? For the so-called ‘Matchmaker of Miroh Heights’, you’re sure lacking in the variety department.”

“Easy, tiger. Just trust me on this one, okay? You’re gonna owe me one.”

“I’m not—” you began indignantly, but Felix continued.

“Plus, the poor guy in question hasn’t been on a date in years, either. You both need this.”

“Years? Are you setting me up with a hermit?”

“Oh, yeah. A big-time loser, seriously— but don’t tell him I said that. Just — indulge him a bit, okay, y/n? I promise you won’t regret it.”

And so, for the second time, Felix’s schemes and pleading puppy eyes had gotten you here—sitting at an empty booth, waiting for a blind date. He hadn’t even bothered to show you a picture of the man in question. You couldn’t help the smile from slowly slipping from your face as each minute passed, and you nibbled your lip anxiously.

Your date was thirty minutes late.

You peered out the window, at the lights of the town glowing a faint neon against the clear evening skies. Each time a car filled in a parking space, you sat up, craning your neck to see if it was him—before slumping back down in disappointment. Five years, you thought to yourself glumly. Five years, and you still had no luck with dates. Maybe you just had no luck with love, you thought dryly. You imagined Felix laughing later when you told him about it and sighed, a twinge of worry replacing the dread in your gut.

Had something gone wrong?

After turning the waitress away for the eighth time, you fished out your phone from your pocket, tapping on the foreign number Felix had given you. Zero new messages, zero missed calls. At least I can tell Felix I tried, you thought glumly. Maybe I should just call Jeongin again, and ask him to pick me up. And then you could drop by Glow Cafe for a bit, before trudging back to your apartment like a fallen soldier.

Just as you were punching in Jeongin’s name, feeling a sense of guilty relief wash over you, you vaguely registered the diner door swinging open beneath the lively music, and a pair of footsteps trying to shuffle past the dancing couples.

For a split second, you thought you saw a pair of tattered black Converse—laces untied, soles worn—but the mirage disappeared, and was replaced by a pair of dress shoes that eventually came to a stop at your booth. You sighed, fighting back the tears that had suddenly threatened to well in your eyes. Shit. This is not the time to be thinking about him. Why were you still thinking about him? And why on earth had you agreed to this?

You lifted your gaze, trying to muster up a smile, hoping your disappointment didn’t show on your face—

And immediately froze.

“Hello.”

Standing before you, looking almost like an apparition — a golden silhouette against the backdrop of the dim diner — was Han Jisung.

You had to blink several times to realise you weren’t hallucinating again. He looked...different, and yet in some ways, he looked entirely the same: his hair was shorter, but tousled as it had always been, cheeks flushed and breathless as if—as if he’d been running through a storm.

You felt your body moving before any intelligible thoughts could form in your head, pulling you forwards like a magnet until you were standing face-to-face, your shaky eyes darting across his features, not daring to believe what you were seeing.

All of a sudden, the glint in Hyunjin and Jeongin’s eyes made sense, Felix’s words replaying in your head as overwhelmed tears began welling in your eyes without warning.

“The poor guy in question hasn’t been on a date in years, either.”

“A big-time loser, seriously — but don’t tell him I said that. Just — indulge him a bit, okay, y/n? I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Y-you—are such a dork,” you stammered out, one hand weakly hitting Jisung’s chest as you felt the tears finally spill down your face. “Han Jisung, you are such a d—”

Your words were cut off when Jisung pulled you into his arms, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. Your shoulders shook with muffled sobs as you buried your face in his chest, memorising everything about this feeling, not wanting to take a single second for granted, memorising everything about him. Jisung no longer carried with him that scent of gasoline and fire — instead, he smelled faintly of lemongrass, and a hint of warm, fresh laundry.

“I missed you,” you finally whispered hoarsely, “I just—missed you, so much.”

He chuckled in your ear, the low, familiar hum stirring faint, faraway memories in your head, and you gripped onto his shirt harder, as if he would disappear completely if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

Jisung had found you in the crowded diner before you had seen him — just like the first time he had met you. And just like the first time, he had felt his breath hitch in his throat, hands hesitating on the door, wondering if he should turn back instead. He had watched you bob your head gently to the music, a small, tentative smile on your face.

You looked good — no, amazing. Different, and yet entirely the same. Kind, worried eyes catching him completely off guard, like the flash of a camera.

Just as bright.

Just as brilliant.

The truth was, there hadn’t been a single day where he hadn’t thought of you — of your voice, your touch, your laugh. Jisung had asked Felix for help the moment he had gotten released, but what he hadn’t forseen was your reaction.

“She won’t go on a blind date, mate,” Felix had informed him exasperatedly, “Took weeks of convincing. Good news, though — she finally caved. You sneaky, hopeless romantic bastard.”

She might have forgotten me, Jisung had thought. And even if you hadn’t, you might not even welcome the sight of him—after all, he hadn’t been in touch since he had left, all those years ago. But in the end, the inexplicable pull in his chest had grown unbearable, and he found himself walking towards you, wading through the crowd, feeling the ache in his heart softening with each step he took. All the way back to you.

You pulled away slowly, vision blurry as Jisung lifted a hand to cup your face, never taking eyes off yours. He had grown in the time you had been apart—he was taller, his once-lean frame stronger—and, most of all, there was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured softly, and you laughed in disbelief, “I think you’re my blind date.”

“How—w-why—”

“I told you I wanted to do this all over again, didn’t I? And I promised that I would try to do it right this time.” Jisung smiled apologetically, wiping your tear stained cheeks with his thumb. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

You shook your head, eyes widening when you saw what he had been carefully clutching in his other hand: a small bouquet of sunflowers, their golden yellow petals as tousled as Jisung’s own blond locks.

“Apparently they symbolise new beginnings,” Jisung said, pulling a stray petal from your hair and chuckling, “Keeping promises. Eternal happiness. That kind of thing.”

“Why didn’t you write?” You whispered, as Jisung tucked the bouquet into your hands.

“I wanted to...to heal. In every sense of the word. I didn’t want to show you, until I...knew I was really better. Believe me, I wanted to.” Jisung’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if he were fighting back tears. “I wanted to, so, so badly.”

You shook your head, mumbling something about how much of a stubborn idiot he was, and Jisung’s laugh made a hesitant smile tug at your lips. As if sensing the lightening atmosphere, the waitress had promptly appeared behind Jisung and meekly cleared her throat, setting down the menu. Jisung turned back to look at you, his grin growing playful.

“I hope you’re hungry?”

The diner seemed to come back to you all at once in a flood of senses, the music and murmur of restaurant goers sending a pleasant hum through your veins as you and Jisung sat down. The night went by in a warm blur, Jisung telling you about his life at the institute, the unlikely friends he had made, the dreams he hadn’t realised he had.

“I’m going to go back to school,” he admitted, one hand rubbing the back of his neck shyly. “I’ll be a bit behind, but...I want to study something I actually like this time.”

You had told him about how you had been working in a child therapy ward ever since you had graduated, about all the children you had met and loved and cared for. As you talked about them, you saw a wistful look in Jisung’s eyes, and a thought crossed your mind. “Have you heard anything from—from Minho?”

He gave a small smile, but shook his head. “Rarely. It hasn’t been long since he was released, but he said he was planning on going abroad. Doing some travelling. I think...he’ll reach out when he’s ready.” He then added, as an afterthought, “And if he doesn’t, I wouldn’t blame him.”

The sad simplicity of Jisung’s words stirred a strange feeling you couldn’t quite place in your chest, and your mind flashed back to the cold-eyed coroner and his stiff smiles; then, to the raw pain that had cracked through his strained features the last time you had caught a glimpse of him. Maybe you would meet again one day, or maybe that truly would be the last you ever heard of him.

Healing of the mind, you knew, was a strange process—one that always took much longer than you would expect. There were always scars that reopened along the way, old hidden wounds that surfaced right when you least expected them. There would always be answers you might never find, you mused sadly, closure you might never get.

But sometimes, you thought as you listened to Jisung talk, memorizing the feeling of his fingers interlaced with yours, sometimes we can only hope to hold onto what we already have.

The end of the night drew closer, and when Jisung and you had stepped outside the diner, the city was swimming in the dark ochre of the setting sun. Eventually, the two of you ended up back in the wide garden behind the hospital, your laughs and giddy conversation slowly hushing into softer murmurs. In the distance, the rush of cars on the main road grew sparser, the windows of the buildings around you flickering to life one by one like young stars. Here, though, as you rested your head on Jisung’s shoulder beneath a willow tree, the world seemed to stand still, and all was quiet.

You heard Jisung yelp suddenly and looked down to see a familiar dog pattering around your feet—a stray, with scraggly fur like an overgrown teddy bear that had been through the wash one too many times. It immediately pounced onto Jisung, beginning to lick your boyfriend’s face like no tomorrow.

“Oof! Hey there, old buddy.”

You laughed, scooping the dog off—only after it had gotten a few slobbery licks in—and shivered slightly as a cool night wind swept past you. Noticing, Jisung shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders as you raised a teasing eyebrow at the cliche move.

“It looks good on you,” Jisung insisted, and you laughed incredulously.

“Your jacket?” You asked, ruffling the dog’s ears as it curled up at your feet.

At that, Jisung looked back up at you—seeing the faint outline of your smile in the dark, your eyes sparkling as you looked back at him expectantly, obliviously—and in that moment, Jisung wondered what he had ever done to deserve someone as perfect as you.

After a beat, he replied, “Happiness. Happy looks good on you, love.”

Your mouth parted in surprise—both at his words, and at the unexpected name—and Jisung took the chance to lean in and kiss you, pressing his soft lips to yours. Gently, at first — carefully, but as you began to kiss him back, you felt Jisung slowly relax. You kissed him the way you had wanted to for so long, feeling the years of distance, of heartache, of endless waiting finally unravel beneath your lips. His hands reached up to gingerly cup your face, pulling you closer into him as if he never intended to let go.

Happy looks good on you, too, Han Jisung, you wanted to say once you pulled away, forehead still lightly pressed to his. And you deserve it, more than anything. You watched Jisung’s features come back into focus beneath the dim moonlight. His gaze was fixed on yours, filled with nothing but pure adoration, and you felt a sudden surge of warmth coursing through your chest.

I love you, you wanted to tell him, more than you could ever know — but something in the warm yet playful look in Jisung’s eyes told you that he was already thinking the exact same thing.

So you just smiled, and leaned in to kiss him again.

YOUNG GOD | END

ryu says: to you — yes, you, who has reached the end of this series! this epilogue is my way of saying a big thank you to those who stayed along for the entire wild ride that was young god. thank you for loving the characters, the world of miroh heights, and of course, the story! there are easter eggs and full-circle moments all throughout this epilogue, so i hope you enjoy and have fun finding them all ^^

disclaimer: in my opinion, all epilogues are open to interpretation: i’ve left some characters’ stories untold, some loose ends untied for this exact reason. miroh heights’ story has finally come to a close here, but what happens to the characters from this moment on continues in the reader’s mind now.

all that cheesy, pretentious stuff aside, i hope to see you in the next story!

868 notes · View notes

cozy-the-overlord · 4 years

Text

Now, Forever, and Always

Summary: She was perfect—intelligent, entertaining, kind, beautiful... but mortal. Loki was determined not to lose her.

Word Count: 7,031

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: So this idea came from a made-up fic title sent to me by @the-emo-asgardian for an ask game a few weeks ago and has been living rent free in my mind ever since. I don't know why that out of all the nice, happy fic ideas I got out of that game, it was the depressing one I decided I had to write. Oh well. Hope you enjoy!

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask :)

Read it on Ao3!

He knew better.

He hadn’t planned on remaining on Earth for any extended period of time. His forced servitude to the Avengers, his punishment—it was a nuisance that he would have to endure for a bit, but like everything else on the planet, it was temporary. Human lives passed with the beat of a heart. They would not hold him for long. Loki only needed to keep his head down and wait.

He knew better than to get involved with a mortal.

In his defense, it hadn’t been something he could have prepared for. At first glance, Madelyn Robbins was hardly anything remarkable. Her role as Stark’s personal assistant kept her in the periphery, the type of person one didn’t notice was in the room until she stepped forward with the answer to their question mere moments after it left their tongue. She was forgettable, unexceptional, a background figure that you weren’t supposed to notice.

But Loki noticed her.

He noticed her intelligence, how easily she picked up on concepts most mortals could never even begin to understand, how she seemed to remember anything and everything she heard and saw. He noticed her focus, how she was able to filter through the chaos of the Tower and retrieve the information she needed without ever having to raise her voice. And he noticed her boldness.

The first time he spoke with her was a week or two after he had first joined the Avengers, back when it seemed there was not one employee in the whole building with enough backbone to look him in the eye. Loki told himself it was fine with him. It wasn’t as if he was interested in making friends with any of them. He had been reading in one of the common areas when he noticed her standing over his chair, waiting expectantly.

He frowned. “Pardon?”

Madelyn’s smile didn’t waver. “I said Mr. Stark’s sending me out on a coffee run,” she said, clutching her tablet to her gray blazer. “I was wondering if you wanted anything.”

Loki glared up at her coldly, out of instinct more than anything else. “I do not drink coffee.” He had expected her to cower, but she only laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” she nodded as she turned to leave. “But I just wanted to make sure.” Loki had watched as she made her way across the room to where Thor was talking with two agents he didn’t recognize. He didn’t hear what they said, but her musical laugh carried over his brother’s booming voice. When he turned back to his book, he found himself reading the same page over and over again.

She didn’t ask him for his coffee order again. Loki should have been pleased with that—she got the hint, she wasn’t trying to bother him—but as he watched her make the rounds with the other Avengers, joking together as she balanced the plastic cups on her tray, he felt only disappointment.

He started watching her from afar without really realizing he was doing it: during briefings, in the lab, at Stark’s godforsaken “teambuilding exercises”—she was always there, standing in the background, waiting to jump into action the moment someone needed something. She was quiet, but not a shy sort of quiet—she’d dive into conversation with anyone who gave her the opportunity to do so. No, Madelyn was a professional quiet. Loki found himself wondering what she was like outside the Tower, beyond the boundaries of her employment.

She was notoriously private about her personal life. Stark would tease her about it often, asking her loaded questions everyone knew she wouldn’t answer.

“You don’t mind staying late tonight, do you?” he’d smirk. “You won’t be keeping anyone waiting up, right?”

Loki would have been driven mad by such interrogation, but Madelyn always laughed it off. “I’ll worry about that, Mr. Stark. You just stick to your robots.”

Perhaps this was why it was treated as such a shocking turn of events when Thor announced that he had seen Madelyn’s boyfriend.

“It was in front of the building, on the street. They were embracing.” His brother seemed unreasonably proud to be the one to break the news to everyone. “He was tall, light-haired. Very handsome. I’d say they looked to be very much in love!”

As the others tittered over this gossip, Loki slunk from the room. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Madelyn was clever, kind, attractive—of course she had a lover. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if it affected him. Still, he couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in his chest.

What kind of man would she love, he wondered? Someone gentle, probably. Someone who she could sit down and talk to knowing he was genuinely listening. Someone who would respect her choices and trust her decisions. Someone who could make her laugh—Madelyn loved to laugh. It seemed she was always giggling at something someone said, hiding her mouth behind her palm as her eyes sparkled with mirth. It was rather adorable. He had made her laugh before, once when Stark and Rodgers were arguing over some inconsequential thing. Loki didn’t even remember what it was he said; he had just rolled his eyes and made some dry remark, and Madelyn ducked her head into her hands as she chortled. When he turned towards her, she was smiling brightly at him. He found he was smiling too.

It was stupid, but Loki didn’t like the idea of anyone else making her smile like that.

The other Avengers didn’t seem to mind, and to Loki’s chagrin the mystery man remained a hot topic of conversation for the next several months. He couldn’t look at her without Thor’s words bleeding through his ears like poison in his mind: “I’d say they looked to be very much in love!”

Loki was thinking about it the day before New Year’s Eve, when Madelyn joined him in the elevator as he was returning to his rooms with her usual cheerful greeting. He nodded his hello. For a moment, they only stood in silence, but soon enough she turned to him.

“Are you going to Mr. Stark’s party tomorrow?” she asked.

Ah, yes. Stark’s infamous New Year’s celebration. Loki thought that he would prefer the scorching heat of a Muspelheim prison to spending the night with a skyscraper full of drunken mortals who despised his very existence, but Thor had made it clear that he had little choice in the matter.

“I’ve been told that I will be in attendance, whether I like it or not.” Madelyn chuckled, and Loki felt that familiar warmth rising in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Are you going?”

“Yeah, I guess. It would look bad if I didn’t,” she sighed wistfully. “I don’t know, I just always feel like such a loser showing up to these things alone.”

Loki frowned. Surely, attending alone was not her only option. “Your boyfriend is not accompanying you?”

Madelyn cocked her head, giving him a strange look. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said slowly.

For a moment Loki thought he was hearing things. “You don’t?” he repeated.

She shook her head, frowning. “Why did you think that?”

His mind was racing. “Thor—he said he saw you embracing someone in front of the building.”

“What!” she cried. “When?”

He told her the whole story, repeating his brother’s tale practically word for word in bewildered confusion. By the end, she was laughing incredulously.

“That was Dave!” she choked. “My brother-in-law, Dave! I left my purse in my apartment, and I needed my ID to get into the Tower. He was just dropping it off for me. Did everyone think we were a thing? Oh, that’s hilarious!”

She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve as Loki stared in disbelief. For so long, he had buried his thoughts under the belief that she was taken, that even if he allowed himself to want her she could never be his. This revelation seemed unthinkable.

“You’re not seeing anyone?” he asked.

“No!” She was still laughing as she shook her head. “I’ve been single for the past two years.”

“Oh.” Loki swallowed. He knew he should have left it there. She was mortal. She was temporary. Indulging the wild longing in his chest would only lead to more suffering. He knew better.

And yet he didn’t.

“Well, in that case,” Loki inhaled. There was a tremble in his voice—where had that come from?—that he hoped she didn’t notice. “Perhaps you would honor me with your company at the party tomorrow night?”

Madelyn turned back towards him “Are—are you asking me out?”

He burned. “I believe that’s the proper phrase.” This was a terrible idea.

But she didn’t appear to be offended. Rather, she sounded … confused. “Really?” she asked. “I just—I didn’t think you liked anybody here.”

“I like you.” He did, he realized, although it was strange to admit out loud. The simple truth was that the room lit up whenever she entered, and he lit up with it.

“Really?” Madelyn whispered. He nodded. “Well,” she said, a soft smile breaking out across her lips, “I like you too. And I’d love to go with you tomorrow night.”

Something bloomed in his chest, something lovely and wonderful and warm. He loved the way she smiled.

“Excellent,” he said, fighting to keep his elated grin from seeming too over-eager. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

It was scandalous, to be sure, when they walked onto the penthouse floor arm in arm on New Year’s Eve. It seemed the whole room fell quiet for a moment. In the back, Stark nearly choked on his drink.

Madelyn didn’t seem to mind. She pulled him through the hordes of people, the voluminous skirt of her dress swirling around her in an emerald sea. He didn’t know where she had managed to find a gown that so flawlessly matched his colors on such short notice, or how she had even known to look for one in that shade, but it was perfect.

She was perfect.

Stark’s holiday celebrations were always an adventure—they weren’t quite up to par with the unhinged chaos of Asgardian feasts, but they usually were hectic enough to keep Loki looking over his shoulder the entire time, half expecting to find some demon from his past lurking amidst the drunken partygoers. That night though, there was only Madelyn. She pulled him through the madness with the easy assurance of an expert, gliding with him across the dance floor as if they owned it. She knew all the nooks and crannies, all the little alcoves to which they could retreat when they wished to break from the noise to talk.

They talked a lot. She told him about her family, about her mother who went around telling all her brunch friends that her daughter worked alongside the Avengers for a living (“she leaves out the fact that I’m basically a glorified intern”), about her older sister who gave up her dreams of Hollywood to settle down with her high school sweetheart.

“He’s the one who dropped off your purse?” Loki interrupted as they sat at a bench against the wall on the balcony, overlooking the festivities below.

Madelyn laughed. “Yeah, Dave. He is a sweetheart.” She shook her head, still chuckling. “I can’t believe you guys thought he was my boyfriend. That’s so funny to me.”

“Well, my brother does have a tendency to jump to conclusions,” Loki sighed, watching Thor and his crowd of inebriated fools attempting to take shots off of Mjolnir’s handle. He turned back to his lady. “But you can’t place all the blame on him. We all knew next to nothing about your personal life. How was he to know better?”

“True,” she mused. “I like to keep an air of mystery at work. It keeps people interested.”

“Oh?” Loki raised his eyebrows. “If that’s the case, then why have you dropped the mystery with me?”

She scowled at him with mock outrage. “Am I not interesting enough for you, Asgardian?”

Laughing, he pulled back on to the dance floor.

It was fitting that the party marked the beginning of the New Year, because afterwards everything changed. It had been a while since Loki had courted anyone, and of course Midgardian “dating” was a bit different, but it brough a levity to his life that he hadn’t realized he needed. On the surface, it didn’t even seem that drastic a shift. Sometimes, it was as simple as a glance from her across a crowded room, that warm smile meant just for him, and suddenly the whole world lit up. Stark groaned that the two of them making heart eyes at each other all day made him sick, but Loki couldn’t care less. For once, life didn’t seem quite so wretched.

At first, they only spent time together within the Tower—after all, Loki was confined to SHIELD’s surveillance. He was rather ashamed of it, ashamed that he wasn’t able to take her out and show her a good time the way she deserved, but Madelyn insisted that she didn’t mind. She’d pick up sandwiches at a bakery down the street and they’d have dinner in his rooms while watching a movie.

He had to laugh—Madelyn had a list of film she claimed were a critical part of Midgardian culture that he just had to see, but inevitably they’d turn it on and spend the entire time talking over it about a subject only tangentially related. He didn’t mind though, and Madelyn didn’t seem to either—she’d rest her head on his shoulder and tell him all the differences between the film and the book which it was inspired by, and he’d wrap his arm around her shoulder and hang on to every word.

The first time she stayed the night had actually been an accident. It seemed that they both had miscalculated how tired they were after a week of wild missions and had fallen asleep together whilst cuddling on the couch. Loki woke up with the gentle pressure of her head on his chest and the warmth of her in his arms. He was smiling before he was even fully awake.

After a while, he began finding ways to sneak out of the Tower and meet her elsewhere. Her tiny apartment became the center of his world. He’d meet her for coffee or for dinner or just for a walk, and she’d take him home with her, so often that she stopped asking him if he wanted to come in. It was a peaceful kind of domestic that Loki had never thought to dream about. Madelyn was perfect—intelligent, entertaining, kind, beautiful, everything he could ever want. Sometimes, he almost forgot that she wasn’t Asgardian.

Her mortality would rear its head in other ways, though. One day, she tripped walking down the stairs as they were leaving her apartment building, tumbling to the ground before Loki could catch her. It wasn’t a bad fall, and Madelyn had scrambled back to her feet in seconds insisting she was fine, but her ankle had swollen up almost immediately. When she tried to take another step, she almost fell over again.

This time, Loki scooped her up into his arms. “Fragile little thing,” he teased, carrying her down the steps to a nearby bench.

They had laughed about it, but a week later Madelyn was still walking with a limp.

One night, he awoke with a start, sweating and shaking and gasping for air as Madelyn hovered over him anxiously.

“It’s a dream!” she was crying. “Loki, it’s not real!”

The bed was too hot. Loki ripped himself from the covers, hunching over the side as he struggled to catch his breath. Madelyn followed, rubbing his back soothingly as he fought to control the trembling in his hands. For a moment, the room was silent but for his labored breathing.

“Are you okay?” she finally whispered.

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“You were crying in your sleep.”

Must have woken her up then. He tried to swallow, but his mouth tasted like sandpaper. “I’m sorry.”

Madelyn shook her head. “No, it’s fine! I was just worried.” She squeezed his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Loki inhaled. “It was just a dream. No matter.” Even in the dark, he could feel her eyes on him, studying him in concern. When he moved to lie back down, she laid next to him, a protective arm around his torso.

“You’re safe here, okay?” she whispered. “Nothing can happen to us here.” Loki didn’t answer, only staring at the ceiling.

For once, it hadn’t been about him.

No, he had dreamed of Madelyn, stiff in a hospital bed, her cheeks hollowed and gaunt, her once vibrant hair now a thinned and faded halo on the pillow beneath her head. Her wrinkled skin sagged with the weight of infirmity. Her clasped hands rose and fell with her chest as the death rattle stained her wilted lips.

Loki tried to forget about it, but the image was seared into his memory. He couldn’t look at Madelyn without picturing her face caving into a haggard old woman choking on her last breath. It would happen soon, he realized, horrifically soon. Mortals had a hundred years if they were lucky, less if they weren’t. He spent sleepless nights lying awake in bed, listening to Madelyn’s steady breathing in the dark. 100 years—that was nothing. That was a blink of an eye, a beat of his heart, and then she’d be gone.

He couldn’t bear to think of it.

There was a story, he remembered suddenly on one such torturous night, a story his mother used to tell to him and his brother when they were small, about a goddess with magical apples that could grant immortality to those who tasted them. It was probably nothing, just a childish bedtime tale, but once it flitted into his mind Loki couldn’t get it out. After all, didn’t most legends have some basis in fact?

It was a myth on Midgard, too. He found it within moments when he looked it up—the story of Idunn’s apples. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. The human versions of Asgardian history had a tendency to be quite muddled. But … it was an idea. There had to be something, some way to extend a mortal lifespan. Without telling anyone, Loki began devoting his free time to research.

They had been together for several months when Loki decided to take Madelyn to Asgard for the first time. Frigga had extended her invitation to her a bit prior, but accepting hadn’t been an easy decision. He had watched Thor take Jane home many times over since he began his stint with the Avengers. He had seen firsthand how Asgardians looked upon mortals in their midst, even when the mortal in question were on the arm of their golden prince. He couldn’t imagine that Madelyn could expect any better treatment— in fact, given his reputation, it seemed safe to assume that she could expect worse.

But in the end, they decided to go. Madelyn was excited—her first time traveling off world— and Loki was eager to introduce her to his mother, who he knew would just absolutely adore her.

Secretly, he was also hoping that she would be able to help him with granting Madelyn immortality.

His mortal lover was a bit overwhelmed at first by their trip to the Golden City.

“I think I’m going to be sick” she whispered, clutching his wrist so tightly it almost hurt as they stepped off the Bifrost, and for a moment Loki feared that the visit had been a mistake. But she recovered quickly, and soon curiosity bubbled over her anxiety.

“What’s this made of?” she asked, wide eyes staring at the bridge beneath their feet as he helped her mount his horse. “Is it some kind of crystal? How does it work?” He couldn’t help but laugh as he climbed on behind her, pressing a kiss to her neck before spurring on his stead.

As to be expected, his mother took Madelyn under her wing immediately, greeting her with an embrace before swooping her away to help her unpack and dress for dinner.

Unfortunately, she was less helpful when Loki approached her later about his search.

“Oh Loki,” she sighed when he asked if she knew of any way to extend a human lifespan. “That’s the quandary of becoming entangled with mortals. Their lives are fleeting. You have to be able to accept that.”

No. Loki shook his head fiercely. “There must be some way,” he insisted. “The stories you’d tell us as children, Idunn’s apples—“

“Those were stories, my son.” He hated the pity in her eyes as she studied him. “She is mortal. She will grow old, and she will die. It’s the way of things.” Frigga took his hand in hers. “Enjoy the time you have with her. Don’t waste her life trying to save it.”

He ripped his arm from her. “That’s not good enough!”

She inhaled, holding the bridge of her nose. “You could ask your father,” she finally offered. “He may know something I don’t.”

Loki huffed in resignation.

When he brought forth his question before the AllFather, he had known Odin would never take it seriously. Still, he found himself tasting blood as his father’s ragged laughter echoed across the empty throne room.

“Is this the reason why you brought her here, then?” he asked. “You seek a cure for inferiority?”

“I seek to expand my lady’s lifespan,” he said, struggling to maintain his even tone. “She has no inferiority to cure.”

“Your lady,” he mocked. “Your lady, who you might snap in half with a wayward flick of your wrist. Would you not call that inferiority?”

Loki held his tongue. Try as he might to ignore it, there was truth to Odin’s words and he hated him for it.

“I seek to expand her lifespan,” he repeated. “Do you know of any method do do so?”

His father raised his eyebrows. “Unlike my sons, I’m not in the habit of keeping mortal pets.”

Loki seethed. “She is not a pet!”

“Your time on Midgard has made you as childish as your brother.” Odin shook his head, leaning back in his golden throne. “The mortal’s life is fleeting, insignificant. You would waste your time and mine trying to raise a dog to godhood.”

“She’s not a dog!” he snapped. “She’s not a dog, she’s not a pet, she’s my love and her name is Madelyn.”

“And in a century, she’ll be dust!” the king retorted. “Will it matter then what name marks her headstone?”

Loki stormed out.

It was pathetic, pathetic, that his father’s words still cut him so deeply, that his inconsequential views could still send him running with tears burning in his eyes like a slighted child. He stomped through the palace halls with no real destination in mind, heaving like some kind of animal.

He’d show him. He’d show them both. He’d find a way to save her. Somehow, he’d find a way to make her immortal, and then they’d see. They’d see.

He was shaking uncontrollably by the time he found Madelyn in the gardens, gathered in the middle of the brick pathways with Frigga and several of her ladies. It was strange— swathed in an Asgardian gown, with her hair done up in the latest fashion, one would never have known she was of Midgard.

She turned as Loki approached, her eyes lighting up as they always did whenever they landed on his. However, her gaze turned to a frown as he got closer.

“Loki, what’s wro—“ he planted his lips on hers before she could finish, cradling her face in his palms as he drank in her smell. Madelyn stiffened at first, but in moments she had melted into the kiss even as the court ladies tittered around them.

When they finally pulled away, she let out a flustered giggle. “What was that for?”

He studied her face, her sparkling eyes that seemed to hold whole galaxies, entranced. “I love you.”

Loki had never said the words before, not to her or any other woman, and yet they flowed from his lips as easily as a downhill stream. Madelyn’s breath hitched.

“What?” she breathed.

“I love you,” he repeated, his heart glowing with all the confidence in the universe, and he kissed her again.

When they returned to Earth, Loki threw himself back into his research with a new ferocity. He scoured the history of the Nine Realms, seeking just the slightest hint that what he was searching for existed. The myth of Idunn’s apples was a recurring subject, and he tried frantically to trace it to reality, but unfortunately, his mother’s assertion that it was naught but a child’s bedtime story appeared to be true. He couldn’t find any proof of them actually existing. Still, he spent nights at his desk, hunched over the scrolls Frigga sent him from the palace library, praying for something that continued to elude him.

Madelyn, unconcerned with her impending mortality, fretted he wasn’t getting enough sleep.

“Just come to bed,” she pleaded with him one night. “Whatever it is, it can wait until the morning.”

He laughed softly. “I don’t need as much rest as you do, love. I think I’ll be fine.”

“But you stay up all night, and then they send you into the field in the morning!” she insisted, rubbing his shoulder. “That can’t be safe.”

He covered her hand with his own, gently stroking her knuckles. It never ceased to amaze him how soft her skin was. “You don’t need to worry about me, darling.”

But Madelyn was right, as always. He wasn’t getting enough sleep at night, and it was beginning to affect his reflexes. It was only a matter of time before it all came to a head.

In Loki’s defense, it wasn’t entirely his fault. The mission had been flawed to begin with, everything that could have possibly gone wrong went wrong, and Loki had ended up trapped in an underground Hydra base with no backup, no escape plan, and hordes of enemy agents closing in. Still, it was manageable—far from ideal, but manageable— until he miscalculated a dagger throw and hit one of their Tesseract-powered devices.

Shit—

He felt the blast more than he saw it, felt the burst of scorching heat that flooded the hall and ripped the air from his lungs. His vision burned bright white.

Huh, he remembered thinking, perhaps Madelyn and I will have closer lifespans after all.

She was the first thing he saw when he awoke, head buzzing and limbs too leaden to move. He opened his aching eyes and she was there, glowing in the light of the hospital room, his guardian angel watching over him through the night. When he croaked her name, her eyes swam with relief. She reached out to stroke his cheek, the chill of her fingers soothing against his feverish skin. He melted against her touch. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

“Madelyn,” he gasped. “Madelyn, marry me.”

He passed out before he could hear her answer.

They were wed on Alfheim, atop a picturesque cove overlooking the gardens of Ljosalfgard. Madelyn was absolutely radiant, her silver gown bathing her in a pearly glow as she practically sang her vows to him. Loki drowned in her eyes, drowned in the desire to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until they were both out of breath. He could have almost ignored the vow "til death do us part" had it not been for the pitied glance the Elvish officiants exchanged as she said them.

"I'm going to find a way to save you," he whispered against her hair that night as he held her to his bare chest.

Madelyn shifted, craning her neck so that she could fix him with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

A wayward strand of hair clung to her forehead. Loki pushed it away absentmindedly.

"Death will not part us, my love. I swear it."

She sighed. "Don't think about stuff like that. Not tonight." She leaned back against him, covering his hand with hers as she drifted off to sleep.

Loki didn't say anything.

Stark bought them a house in Upstate New York as a wedding present—a sweet, cozy little place not too far away from the new Avengers base. It was quiet, secluded, peaceful, everything he could have ever asked for.

If only he hadn’t known it was temporary.

Madelyn didn’t understand. She’d get up in the morning to find Loki pouring over his scrolls at the kitchen table, having never come to bed at all, and scold him for not taking better care of himself.

“This is ridiculous!” she snapped. “You’re going to kill yourself over this wild goose chase!”

“I have to!” he insisted. “I have to find a way to save you!”

She sighed. “You don’t need to save me.” Kneeling besides him, she took his face in her hands. “Don’t you see? I don’t care how long my life is, as long as I get to spend it with you.” Loki closed his eyes as he leaned into her palm, covering the back of her hand with his own. It was so simple for her. She didn’t understand how the image of her decaying features haunted his every waking moment.

They had been husband and wife for quite some time when he finally found something—a lead that might have the capability to save her from her ephemerality. Loki was ecstatic, more hopeful than he had been in years as he prepared to make the journey across the galaxy. Madelyn was less so.

“Look,” she worried as she watched race about the house packing a bag. “I’m glad that you’re so happy, but is this really worth the trip?”

“How could it not be?” he asked. “Once I return, you will finally be immortal, as you deserve. We will be able to live out our lives together forever.” Loki glanced up at her. “Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I want that, Loki!” Madelyn cried. “But more than that, I want you, here, safe. You don’t know what you’re walking into. You can’t even know how long you’ll be gone! What if something happens to you?”

He laughed softly. “You need not fear for me, my love. I will always return to you.”

Still, she remained unsoothed. “Please,” she said. “If you have to go, let me come with you. We’ll stay together!”

“No. It’s far too dangerous for you.” The very thought sent a shiver down his spine. “I’ll not allow the Norns to take you from me as I attempt to save you.”

“Loki …”

“Darling.” He kissed her, relishing the way she melted against him. “All will be well. I swear it.”

But all was not well. Months of searching in the very corners of deep space brought him nowhere, his false hopes dashed across the barren landscape of the planet her salvation. The scrolls had been wrong. There was nothing.

At first, Loki stayed out there, still frantically searching for something that could save her. He had promised, sworn, to her that he would find a way. He couldn’t return home empty handed. And so for a while longer he remained on the edges of space, traveling from planet to remote planet as he fought to find even the slightest hint of the solution he sought. But the time away weighed heavily on his soul. He missed Madelyn—he missed the curve of her smile, the melody of her laugh, the way she never seemed to tire of listening to what he had to say. He missed waking up to the comforting pressure of her head on his chest. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He had barely made it up the driveway before Madelyn had thrown her arms around him, clinging him so tightly that he almost couldn’t breathe even as her tiny body shook with her tears. Loki tugged her closer, burying his face in her neck. She smelled like home.

Still, something held him from smiling when they finally pulled away.

“I failed,” he whispered, hanging his head. “I failed you, Madelyn.”

She shook her head, cupping his face with her hands. “You’re back,” she said sternly, “You’re back and you’re safe and that’s all I will ever care about.”

Loki hadn’t realized how long he had been gone until he returned. Madelyn was the same gorgeous creature he had always known, but he began to pick up on miniscule differences within her. She was thinner, her face more worn than when he remembered. He found himself repeating the same tales to her over and over again—she’d ask him questions about his journey, he would answer them, they’d talk about his answers until she was satisfied … and then she’d ask the same question a few days later as if she had never spoken it before. It frightened him.

At first, he would point it out to her, his fear manifesting in frustrated questions: “Didn’t I already tell you all this?” But he hated the way she flinched, how her face would fall as she murmured apologetically that she must have forgotten. He hated feeling as if he was causing her pain. So, Loki repeated his anecdotes and kept his worries to himself.

He feared for her physical health as well. Her hands had become stiff and swollen since he had seen her last, painful to the point that she now took prescribed medication to help her cope. On some days, it seemed hardly noticeable, but on others she could barely bend her fingers. Still, Madelyn insisted that it was fine.

“It’s no big deal,” she told him. “My mom had arthritis, I knew I was probably going to get it eventually.” With a dry laugh, she added, “I’m probably lucky—she always had it much worse than this.”

Madelyn’s mother had passed away while he was gone, the victim of the horrible human disease known as cancer. Madelyn didn’t speak much about it, not even to him. Loki felt guilty—he had unknowingly her left alone and without support in a time when she had probably needed it the most. He was also increasingly anxious—if Madelyn had already inherited one disease from her mother, who’s to say she wouldn’t also develop the far more deadly one? Loki found himself returning to his research.

It wasn’t until he started on the texts Thor had gifted him from his own travels that he thought he found something. A necklace of myth, purported to be held deep within the twisted forests of Terma, enchanted to bring eternal life to those who wear it about their neck. Loki arranged to leave for it immediately.

However, his wife put her foot down. “You’re not going again.”

Loki sighed. “I have to. Madelyn, there’s a chance that this could work—”

“That’s what you said last time!”

“I know. But I have to try.”

“Why?” she demanded, tone verging on hysterical.

He turned around incredulously. Why? “Because I love you!”

“No you don’t!” The walls rattled with the weight of her words. It was only then that Loki realized his wife was crying. His eyes widened in horror. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t keep leaving.” Her voice cracked, her breath coming in unsteady hiccups. “You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if you were okay, or if you were coming back—I was so scared—”

Loki pulled her into his arms, where she sobbed freely against his chest. It was as if someone had stuck a dagger in his gut. Everything he had done, every action he had taken—it had all been for Madelyn. That’s all he ever wanted, to protect Madelyn! And yet, it seemed he had caused her more pain than the forces of nature he sought to protect her from.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against her hair as he held her to his chest. His vision prickled with tears of his own. “I won’t leave again, I promise. I’m so sorry, my love.”

He resolved to be strong. He would not think of what the future held; he would keep his mind in the here and now, safe and warm with his perfect wife at his side. And so he did, for a time. He’d read poetry to her out loud as she rested her head on his lap, telling himself that he was only imagining that the creases in her face seemed to be deepening with every passing day. Some nights, they’d join the others for dinner at the Avengers base, where the conversation would inevitably devolve into Barton and Stark arguing over who had the more accomplished grandchildren and Madelyn would doze off against his shoulder on the way home. There was a steady sort of domesticity to it, and Loki enjoyed it—he enjoyed every moment with her—but he could only ignore time’s dark specter for so long.

It reared its ugly head in the form of a bottle under the sink. When Loki had first found it, he had only been confused, but when he presented it to Madelyn, she wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

“It’s hair dye,” she finally admitted. “I’ve been using it for a few years now.”

Loki didn’t understand. “What are you talking about? Your hair color hasn’t changed.”

Her laugh was soft and tinged with sadness. “I went gray a while ago, sweetheart. I’ve been dying it my natural color.”

It was as if someone had ripped the air from his lungs. “Wh—” A few years? He gulped. “Why would you do that?”

“I—” Madelyn seemed ashamed. “I was afraid it would upset you. You’ve always been so worried about me, you know—” she inhaled sharply. “I was afraid you’d leave again.”

The heartbreak in her voice was killing him.

“I’m not going anywhere, darling,” he assured her, reaching out to pull her closer. “I promised, remember?”

She nodded, resting her cheek against his chest. “I do remember that, at least.” Loki laughed as he held her close, but inwardly his mind was racing.

He was running out of time.

This time, when he returned to his research, he did so in secret. Madelyn was suffering enough—he didn’t want to contribute to her pain. At one point, keeping her in the dark about his activities would have been difficult, back when she caught every little shift in his personality, but these days she didn’t seem to notice as much. Still, Loki couldn’t spend whole nights at his work the way he used to. Madelyn slept lightly, often waking up in the darkness to a fit of hacking and gasping for air. He’d be at her side in a second, glass of water in hand and notes abandoned.

“Sorry … for waking you up,” she’d wheeze. “Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” he’d choke.

But one night, she caught him. It was chillier than usual, and he had moved from his desk to the living room and the fireplace. The crackling of the flames masked the padding of her feet down the hall.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped. Madelyn was standing in the hallway, wrapped in a blanket and leaning against the doorframe for support. Her eyes seemed to glow in the light of the fire.

“I—” He didn’t know how to respond. Perhaps that was enough of a response. She sighed, hobbling forward on unsteady legs. Loki rushed forward to support her. “Darling, you shouldn’t be up.”

“No.” She gripped his wrist, nodding towards the couch. “Sit with me. Hold me.” Her expression left no room for argument. He wasn’t certain he wanted to argue with her anyway. Loki scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the room, surprised by how little effort it took him. Madelyn had always been light, but it seemed she had become even more so since he had last picked her up. He found himself thinking about the first time he had carried her, when she twisted her ankle on the steps of her apartment. It felt like just yesterday that he had held her in his arms as he teased her for her mortal fragility. For Madelyn, he realized with a start, it had been a lifetime ago.

He sat on the couch before the fire, still holding her in his lap. She fixed him with a stern glare.

“You said you were done with this.”

As words failed him, Loki let out a pained breath. “It’s you,” he whispered finally. “I can’t—I can’t just give up on you.”

“It’s not giving up.” She reached out to stroke his cheek with wrinkled fingers. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Loki, I’m old. I’m going to die, soon rather than later. That’s not something anybody can change. Not even you.”

He wished he could accuse her of lying, that he could stand up and prove how she was wrong, how he could stop time’s work. Instead, tears blurred his vision when he opened his eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “You’re not losing me! I’m right here. With you. Now, forever, and always.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, leaning her head against his. “I love you, Loki.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. “I love you too. So much.”

The fire had gone out when he awoke in the morning. She was still in his lap, at rest and peaceful.

“Madelyn?”

She didn’t move.

Loki brushed his fingers across her cheek. Her skin was cold.

His voice broke. “Madelyn.”

But Madelyn only lay against him, still and silent and perfect as could be.

#loki x ofc #loki marvel #loki fanfic #now forever and always

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samanthadalton · 4 years

Note

You’re latest Ina Fanfic was sooo lush! Can you write one where Ina and MC bump into each other in NYC on Christmas Eve? Just think that would be super romantic ❤️

hi anon, im sorry it took a while, im slowly trying to get back into my requests, hope you enjoy ❤️

pairings: Ina x Bea

taglist: @cloud9in @kulaykape @citybornchick @helpconfusedpersonhere @astrangeandunusualgirl @jenxespinoza @thedaft1 (added people from my ina taglist if you wanna be added in future fics let me know 😊)

word count: 1.7k

Holiday tour date

You wade through the busy streets of New York as the streets are in full pandemonium, as patrons roam the streets, most likely doing their last minute christmas shopping. You take a minute to watch the looks on their faces, so full of worry, so far from the christmas cheer they’ll most likely plaster on their faces tomorrow morning. As you look around the streets you see a woman who kinda looks like Ina, she even has the same glasses as Ina- wait… that IS Ina. What is the coincidence that you’ll bump into her on Christmas Eve???

You’re about to approach her, until you notice the crestfallen expression on her face, her corner of her lips drawn downwards as she wishfully stares up at bustling crowds. After a few more moments of deliberation you decide to take the plunge and approach Ina, after all it's Christmas Eve and no one should be sad on Christmas Eve.

“Hey stranger.” You announce as you edge closer to her. As if startled by the sound of your voice, Ina jerks her head towards your direction, her eyebrows shot up.

“Bea!” She looks at you like you’re not real, unable to hide the sound of surprise in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I saw you from across the street and decided to say hi to my favourite professor.” You give her a sweet smile and see some of the shock dissipate from her face, as her expression softens and relaxes.

“I meant what are you doing in New York?” She quirks an eyebrow up at you. “I thought you said you were going home for the holidays?”

You sigh sadly, and pointedly glance away, “yeah, I was planning on going home a couple of days ago but there’s a storm back at home so all flights got cancelled.” You give her an empty smile, sadness swimming in your eyes as you draw your gaze back to her. She frowns slightly, her expression solemn as she looks at you apologetically.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What about your roommate Zoey? Surely you aren’t spending Christmas alone?”

You are but for some reason you don’t want Ina to know that so you give Ina a teasingly smile and retort, “wouldn’t you like to know?” Ina huffs, her cold breath clouds out of her mouth as she does, and you can’t help but smile. “So what are you doing here professor?”

Ina gazes at you, a calculating look on her face, and you can almost feel her building the walls around you, but as the intensity of your gaze darkens, Ina sharply inhales before running a hand through her hair.

“Lexi decided to crash my Christmas Eve party and try to parade me around my colleagues like I’m some trophy she’s just won.” At the mention of Lexi you feel your blood beginning to boil, that try hard wouldn’t know what’s good for Ina even if it slapped her in the face, and with how arrogant she acts, you would just love to give her a nice slap on her stupid face. Ina glances over to see your fists balled up and places a sweet hand on yours, her fingers gently rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles. “Something the matter?” You see the amusement glistening in her eyes which just frustrates you more.

“No.”

“Are you sure,” she playfully asks, and you feel the walls she put up before, crashing down as she teases you.

“Lexi needs to get a job and stay away from you,” you grumble.

“She’s a renowned anthropologist.”

You sigh, “no, it’s a saying.” You relax your hand opening it up and Ina slips her hand into yours, fingers intertwining. You’re not sure if she’s purposely done it or not. “Enough about Lexi, I don’t want to hear about her anymore than I have to.”

Ina flashes you a wide grin, “and what do you suppose we do?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, why don’t we live a little?” You gently tug Ina towards you, her slender fingers tightening against your hand even more. “It’s my first Christmas in New York, why don’t you show me around?”

“Okay, but be warned this won’t be an ordinary tour, where we go to the conventional places every other tourist goes. I’m going to give you the full New York experience.” Ina’s gaze darkens and just as the air surrounding the two of you begins to feel dense with anticipation, she pulls you out of your trance as she trudges along the soft snow begins to cover the ground.

Ina first takes you to a food stand where she orders apple pie nachos for you to share

“What the hell is apple pie nachos?”

“You’re about to find out.”

The vendor hands Ina a box and she slips a $20 bill in his tip box and places her hand on the small of your back to guide you away from the stall as other customers begin to order. You look at Ina as if she’s heaven sent, your heart unable to take the softness overload of this woman.

Ina licks her thumb after opening the box and raises a confused eyebrow at you, “what?”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a saint?”

Ina lets out a small laugh as she hands you the box, “everyone could use something extra during the holiday.”

You take the box, your fingers brushing against hers as you do, “so this is the famous apple pie nachos?” You inhale the sweetness of the food, your entire body going into sensory overload just by the smell of the cooked apple infiltrating your nose. You lift up one of the nacho pieces and all but moan when you crunch into the apples, “oh my god this is heaven.” Ina watches you eat, as her gaze drifts down to your lips and when you catch you, you catch her cheeks dusting with red. “You want a bite?” You take a piece of the nachos and hold your hand out to her, inviting her to have a taste. Ina leans forward, her eyes never leaving yours as she wraps her lips around the piece of food and all makes a satisfied groan and she relishes in the taste.

“Mmm.” You feel transfixed by the way her tongue darts out to lick the glaze on her lips, unable to look away. Ina’s lips quirk up a little and you feel like it’s your turn to be flushing red. Once you finish the box you look at the time on your phone.

“Don’t you think it’s getting late? You should be getting home.” You try and hide the sadness that’s lurking in your tone. Ina’s eyes search yours, before she gives you a small smile.

“Why would I leave now when I haven’t even shown you the best part?” You feel your heart doing somersaults as Ina’s hand finds yours once again and she pulls you into a cab and whisks you away to an unknown place.

…

“Trust me Bea, it will be worth it.” You trudge behind Ina, your legs beginning to burn as you walk up a secluded hill, you mentally groan and berate yourself for not being fitter but you don’t mind the view of Ina’s ass in front of you and she effortlessly ambles up the hill. “Almost there.”

Once you reach the top you triumphantly cheer, your legs slumping over as you sit on the slope of the hill looking out to the rest of New York, the brightness of the christmas lights glowing every inch of the town.

“Wow.” You breathlessly say as Ina sits next to you, your legs brushing together.

“Wow indeed.” Ina wistfully gazes at the town, her eyes contemplative. You bask in the silence for a few moments, reflecting back on the night you’ve had so far with Ina. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her so free, so careless. Ina breaks the silence, when she speaks her voice is low and soft.

“Charlotte loves christmas, so does Lillian.” You hum as you recollect the time Ina told you about her sister and niece, you remember the cheerful glint in her eyes as she told you about the time she took her niece to a theme park. “Sometimes Lillian gets mad when I place work over her, but sometimes I have to sacrifice things for the sake of my career.” In your peripheral vision you see her eyes move to yours, filled with sadness and longing. She sighs dolefully before speaking out again. “It’s why I love Christmas so much, it gives me an excuse to be with my family and put them first no matter what.”

“Ina?” Ina hums in response. “If spending Christmas with your family is so important, why are you here with me right now?” You gaze up at her, anticipating her answer. You see a smile ghost around her lips as she meets your eyes, her brown eyes glistening under the reflection of the lights, “because we should all have some company during the holidays. I can’t imagine how you’ve been feeling without your family.”

You nonchalantly shrug, trying too hard not to think about being away from them, “it is what it is I guess. I can’t control the weather. But thank you Ina. Tonight was great.”

“Bea,” your name escapes her lips in a breathy fashion, “I know that this,” she gestures between the two of you, “is unconventional to say the least. But you must know I,” she pauses, her eyebrows furrowed together as she looks away from you, unable to finish her sentence.

You cup her chin, bringing her gaze back on yours, “I know Ina. Let’s just forget about everything else tonight. Right now we’re just two people with a connection we can’t ignore.”

“Right,” she nervously chews on her bottom lip before leaning down, capturing your lips in a soft and slow kiss. Before she can pull away, you lean in more, your hands hooking around her neck as you draw her in closer, the kiss becoming more fuelled as she slips her tongue into yours and you involuntarily moan. You enjoy the sensation of her lips on yours for a few more moments before pulling apart resting your forehead against hers. “Merry Christmas Ina.”

“Merry Christmas Bea.”

#playchoices #queen b #ina x mc #ina kingsley #request #hope you enjoy!!!

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hopelesshawks · 4 years

Text

Official Accounts Part 35 (Bakugo Route)- Whole Again SFW Version

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Masterlist

You have willingly fallen off many a building since you first began the ‘think fast’ tradition. First was the UA dorms and since then you’ve also fallen off every apartment building you’ve lived in at least once. All of this to say that you know what it’s like to fall and you know what senses and feelings you like to focus on when you’re in free fall. Typically if you’re falling someplace new you’ll stare at the surrounding buildings as they streak past. More familiar places you typically just close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of falling.

Falling with Katsuki is different.

You pay no mind to the buildings rushing past the two of you. You dare not close your eyes. Instead you focus on the feelings of his warm arms wrapped around you as you look down into beautiful crimson eyes. The eyes of one of your best friends. The eyes of the first person to break your heart. The eyes of your first love. “Hold on tight,” he tells you with a soft smirk. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck and then wrap your legs around his waist as well. He brings one hand to caress your cheek briefly, his look so incredibly soft, before dropping both his hands behind him to send the both of you flying back upwards. He helps you slide around so you’re piggybacked on him with an ease developed from years of doing this ritual. Then he starts directing the two of you further and further away from the venue. “Where are you taking me explosion boy?” you ask in his ear. “It’s a surprise dumbass, just wait and see,” he insists. Eventually you leave the downtown area and move further out to the suburbs and soon enough you start to recognize some of the streets. Bakugo touches down at a public park with an old playset only a few minutes walk from UA’s campus. He carefully lets you back down onto the ground as you take in the space around you. “You brought me to our park,” you say in wonder as you move towards the rusty swingset nearby. “I did,” Bakugo confirms with a smile as each of you takes a seat on one of the swings.

You and Bakugo used to sneak off campus to come here on a regular basis. There’s a dent in the jungle gym where you’d lashed out at it with your quirk one day when one of your classmates had pissed you off. There’s a hole in one of the tunnels that Bakugo had created after a particularly contentious fight with Midoriya. If you looked long enough you’d probably even find where you and Katsuki had carved your initials the night of graduation. The park was filled with memories of the two of you together and this is your first time back since the two of you had broken up. “We used to stay out here for hours when we could sneak away,” you recall wistfully. “Those were some of my favorite memories from the UA days,” Bakugo admits. “Really?” “Obviously,” Bakugo scoffs but then he stops, thinking for a moment. You watch him curiously as he takes a deep breath, staring determinedly ahead as he continues in a softer tone “it’s the place I promised you forever.”

You know exactly what night he’s referring to. It was about a week before graduation and the reality of high school being over and your careers beginning was hitting Katsuki hard, so the two of you had decided to escape out to the park. You both sat on the swings then just like you are now and you looked at the stars and talked about the future. “I remember. You said there was no future you imagined for yourself without me in it,” you admit quietly. “I meant it,” he replies. “I know.” “I still mean it.” “What?” “I said what I said.” The two of you briefly lapse back into silence as you mull over his words. You gently swing a little as you gather your thoughts. “I’m so-“ “Don’t apologize dumbass you did the right thing. Plus I didn’t bring you here to guilt trip you about the past,” Bakugo interrupts you. “Why did you bring me here?” you ask curiously. “Well... This is where I confessed to you the first time and that seemed to go well. Guess I was hoping it would give me good luck again.” “Katsuki, I... What exactly are you saying?” you ask breathlessly. “I love you, (y/n). I never stopped loving you,” Bakugo finally confesses, dragging his eyes away from the ground so he can look you in yours as he says it. “Even after all this time?” you ask. “Especially after all this time.” “I love you too Katsuki,” you reply before you lean across the short distance between the two swings to press your lips to his.

Katsuki’s reaction is immediate, one of his hands moving to caress your face as he deepens the kiss, pouring every unspoken ‘I love you’ from the past 5 years into it. God he’s missed this. All this time he’s been resigned to never feeling your lips on his again, never feeling your love again, and yet here he is feeling it all in the very spot where it first began. He pulls away slightly to mumble “come here,” against your lips, and you happily let him tug you towards him and into his lap. Your arms wrap around each other as he presses a kiss to each of your cheeks and the tip of your nose before returning to your lips. With each peck Bakugo feels a sweet relief akin to diving into cold water on the hottest day of the year. He had forgotten what it was like to not be heartbroken until this very moment with you once again in his arms. For the first time in five years he is whole again.

Author’s Note: This actually came out shorter than I anticipated but I liked it and didn’t want to try and force something longer. I’ve been pleasantly surprised with how much fun it’s been to write the Bakugo Route so I hope that even though it feels short this was satisfying as we get close to the end now. Just like with the Hawks route there will also be a NSFW version of this one posted soon

Taglist [open]: @maltese-sparrow @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @captaincyberqueen @ladyzayismultifandom @pixelwisp @cathy8taffy @itskindofafairything @larkspyrr @thatonegeekchick @thesleepysphinx

#hopelessoa #bakugo smau #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki

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biggest-stupidhead · 4 years

Text

Who We Were Before (Levi x OC)

Summary: Three girls living in a society where ghouls are despised by humans. They must find out who they are in order to be with the people they love. Lust, jealousy, unrequited love. And the need to fight for what they believe in. Will they hate the CCG forever? Or will some people change their beliefs? Can they break the cycle of hatred that has been push upon them? Or are they just what everyone thinks? Monsters.

Word Count: 2.2K

When the world has labeled you a monster, you can't help but fit into that role No matter how you feel, you will always be an ant they must crush under their boot. How could she be any different? When she looks into the cracked mirror, all she can see is a ghoul. The red in her eyes is persistent as she tries to keep her hunger down. Her stomach growls angrily at her, as she looks across the way to see her neighbor closing his blinds. She thinks how easy it would be to finish him, nobody would know. He's old and has no family, he's alone. Just like her, she wonders if when people look at her they see what they see in him. Ugly, unwilling, all alone. A reject to all society holds dear. She shoves those intrusive thoughts aside and refocuses on the task at hand. She can hunt later, but now she needs to get ready for work.

Yomo usually carries some extra food on him in case of emergencies. But his food comes with a cost, a cost that she'll never hear the end of. Besides, she's not one to beg. If she's lucky Itori will let her off early and she can snag a drunk in a back alleyway. She finishes pulling on her white button down shirt and checks her appearance in the mirror. She has the same sunken eyes, the same messy mane of blonde hair. Her curls are harder to manage nowadays since she has such little strength. She really should start taking better care of herself. How can she love herself when nobody else does.

The walk to the bar is usually a lonely one but for some reason, tonight the streets are bustling and crowded. Her stomach twists painfully as the smell of human flesh wafts into her nostrils. She's so focused on controlling her hunger she doesn't see the small child in front of her. The small girl crashes into her and smiles apologetically up at her. She looks at her small frame and thinks about how easily she could crush her bones. With great self restraint she pushes past her, the child whimpers and calls out to her mother.

She reaches the bar and like always it is mostly empty, except for the usual trio that sat perched upon the barstools. At first she was apprehensive of the older male ghouls, but overtime she's come to respect them greatly. Itori stands to greet her with a wide smile, although she can see Yomo behind her with an irked expression on his face.

"You're late." Yomo quipped, setting down his wine glass harshly.

"Won't happen again." she said, shooting a cold look at Yomo. He huffed and took a sip of his blood wine, averting his gaze. As she settled behind the bar, preparing herself for a long boring shift, Uta held his glass out for a refill. She pulls out a bottle of blood wine and pops the cork, the smell washes over her and her stomach growls loudly. Uta chuckles as he tops him off, Yomo looks at her knowingly.

"When was the last time you ate?" Yomo asks with a hint of concern in his voice. She rolls her eyes and pours herself a glass to tide her over.

"Don't worry about it, I've got it under control." she says not meeting the tall ghoul's eyes. He reaches into the deep pockets of his trench coat to produce a neatly wrapped package. He slides the package across the bar without another word. She snatches the parcel and unwraps it with urgancey. Itori chuckles as the young woman scarfs down the bloody hunk of meat.

"Geez Emi take it easy, not like it's going anywhere!" Itori teases as she swirls her wine in her glass. Uta chuckles at Itori's jab and watches Emi wolf down the food, her eyes dark, irises glowing red. Yomo clicks his tongue and frowns at Emi, who was now wiping the corners of her mouth free of blood.

"Always such a lady." Uta sighs wistfully as he holds out a handkerchief for Emi. She accepts the napkin and wipes the remaining blood off her chin daintily in spite of Uta's remark. She then turns to take stock of the alcohol, even though it's rarely used, only kept in case a human patron comes through. Her pointless task is interrupted by the chime of the familiar bell. She turns to see who has entered, her eyes widening at the sight of three familiar faces. Reiner leads the trio into the small space, all of them wearing matching suits. Emi quirked a brow and smirked as they sat down a few seats away from the older ghouls.

"What brings you to this side of town?" Emi inquired as she poured them some blood wine. Emi hadn't seen the younger ghouls in some time, almost a full year now.

"What, we can't come visit our dear friend?" Reiner smirked as he accepted the glass Emi handed to him.

"Bullshit." Emi smiled at him playfully, leaning across the bar.

"You caught me." Reiner chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender.

"So what do you want?" Emi asked, her eyes roaming over the trio, they'd changed a lot.

"We have a job for you if you're interested." Annie spoke up, swirling the blood around the delicate glass.

"Depends on how dirty the work is." Emi sighed, grabbing her own glass to take a sip.

"Oh it's dirty alright." Reiner said with that same smirk that made her want to sock him in that square jaw of his.

"Not interested." The blonde says, going back over to top off Uta who has a large smile on his face as well.

"We can offer you money." Bertlot says, his eyes glued to the bar.

"What do you take me for, a prostitute?" She asks him, her cheeks turned slightly upward. Annie gives her a small chuckle, not into her games that she usually likes to play with the trio.

"Will you do it or not?" Annie asks again, more demanding than before.

"If i do, this will be the last time." she says, looking at the three.

"Fine. This will be a good send off." Bertolt says, finally meeting her eyes.

The young woman nods, and the muscular boy writes out the address she must go too. Even putting his number on the napkin. He hands it to her, she smiles to him and rips off the part with his digits.

Halfway across the dazzling city, an annual ball is commencing. Ghouls from all over have come to take part in the feast that Shuu Tsukiyama has prepared. The event is well known and very prestigious, only the richest members of the ghoul society are present. The patrons fill the balconies eagerly awaiting for the main event to begin. Two girls walk into the ring, their hands intertwined, looking eerily similar. They wore pristine white dresses, framing their delicate features. They almost looked like dolls. Everything matched, perfect carbon copies, even their masks were identical. Mainly featuring perfectly hand crafted masquerade masks that matched their dresses. Dainty lace lined the bottom of the mask, falling onto their noses, leaving the lower half of their faces exposed.

Shuu flicked his wrist to signal for the gates to be opened. The crowd cheered loudly, clapping and stomping and shaking the arena. A large man came stumbling out of the darkness, clearly he was owned by one of the patrons. He laughed at the sight of the two ghouls, knowing that he could take them easily. They looked to Shuu, who gave them an encouraging nod. The two broke apart and ran along the outskirts of the arena. The oafish man turned his head sluggishly as he tried to follow the girl's quick movements. He lashed out at the girl to his right, who easily dodged his slow attack. The other rushed in from behind and leapt up onto his broad back, wrapping her legs around his thick neck. He choked and stumbled backwards, his fat fingers clawing at the girl's creamy thighs.

The girl in front of him unleashed her blue bikaku kagune and swept him off his feet.

"No fair!" the man screamed as he threw the girl off his neck. She slid in a puddle of blood, her white dress now stained in the dark liquid. She snarled and unleashed her red and blue bikaku kagune as she rejoined her twin, the two rushing him from the front. He barely blocked the blue kaguned girl as she lashed out at his large belly. The other girl's punch landed successfully and managed to penetrate his vast stomach. The man choked on his own blood as he fell backwards. The twins stood over him, looking up at their master for his order to finish off the man. Shuu nodded proudly and the two launched into the air, their kagunes flashing in the light as they descended to administer the final blow. The crowd cheered loudly as life drained from the man's eyes, fat tear rolling off his cheeks. They intertwined their fingers once more and bowed as the audience gave them a standing ovation.

The pair retreated into the dark underbelly of the building, leaving the loud arena behind them. With an exhilarated chuckle one of the girls pulled the white wig and draped it over her arm.

"That was awesome!" She giggled as she shook the excess blood from the wig.

"It was sloppy." the other snarled as she ripped the wig off and shook out her dirty blonde hair.

"Don't be so uptight, Shuu told us to have fun with this one." she said, placing the wig on a mannequin's head sloppily.

"When you have fun you get careless, and one of these days you'll have too much and get us killed." she reprimanded, reaching to fix the wig and place her own down.

"Lighten up Addy, nobody likes a party pooper." the girl pouted as she pulled her skirt up to inspect the deep gouges that the man had left in her thigh.

"Nobody likes a corpse either, Alice." Addy lashed out, gripping her sister's wrist for her attention. The other girl pulled away as if she'd been burned.

"If I don't have fun then what's the point?" Alice scoffed, smoothing her skirt down.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten. We're in this mess because of grandma, she needs us." Addy says glaring at her sister, not knowing what solicited this behavior.

"It's always about grandma." Alice sighs as she watches some blood drip onto the floor.

"Yeah because she's sick." Addy snapped, her posture tense as she watched her sister.

"Forget about it, I need to go clean up." Alice mumbled as she marched out of the small dressing room to find some bandages. Addy sighed as she watched her disappear into the darkness before turning to inspect her appearance in the mirror.

Alice ran her fingers absentmindedly over the textured cobblestoned walls as she wandered through the basement. She froze when she noticed a dark silhouette standing outside of the bathroom. The shadow pushed off the wall when he noticed the girl's presence.

"Nice work out there." his smooth voice cut through the thick silence. She dared to take a few steps closer to the mysterious boy, thoroughly intrigued.

"Thanks..." she said carefully as she stepped into the dim light that was barely illuminating the corridor.

"Shame you're wasting your talents here." his teeth flashed as his lips peeled back in an endearing smirk. She chuckled nervously and shifted her weight a bit awkwardly.

"Where do you think they'd be more useful?" Alice asked, playing into the stranger's alluring aura.

"There's a group called Aogri, you can do whatever you want when you want to. I think you'd fit in nicely." he spoke slowly as he closed the space between them. Alice stood tall as she tried to not fall into his deep purple eyes.

"You wouldn't even have to wear those silly costumes.If you're interested meet me at the abandoned mall in the 1st ward." he said softly as he brushed a lock of her blond hair off her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat as she dipped her head to hide her blush. He chuckled and dropped his hand, much to her disappointment.

"Alice I-" Addy froze, a roll of gauze in her hand as she took in the scene before her.

"Who are you?" her voice turned hostile at the sight of the stranger.

"The name's Ayato." he replied, stepping away from Alice, who seemed to be in a daze.

"I don't care what your name is, what are you doing with my sister?" she snarled, stepping between the male and her sister protectively."

"He's just offering us a job." Alice said, snagging Addy by the back of her dress.

"I don't give a damn." Addy snarled, still looking at the boy accusingly. Ayato held his hands up in surrender as he took a few healthy steps backwards.

"You know where to find me if you change your mind." he winked at Alice before disappearing into the shadows. Addy huffed and steered Alice into the bathroom to clean her wounds.

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thepencilnerd · 4 years

Text

– a budding romance | part 1 –

➵ After moving into a new apartment, Min Yoongi stumbles across a flower shop down the street who’s radiant bouquets and even brighter personality catches his eye. What happens when two completely different worlds collide?

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strong friendship/family dynamic, strangers to lovers, barely a soulmate AU

➵ word count: 16.8k

➵ warnings: swearing, very heavy angst, alcohol consumption, discussions of mental health and past emotional trauma—if you are in need of help, please please seek out professional care. there is hope out there and people that are here to help you. you are not your illness and always remember that you are not alone.

➵ a/n: I finally decided to get back to writing since I was on spring break for a short period of time (and because staying home is cool :) this story was inspired by my newly developed passion for houseplants, of which I’ve amassed a collection of over 30 in the past few months and totally don’t have an addiction to... This chapter turned out to be a very filler-heavy introduction to the universe it takes place in; although there’s not much romance in this part, I’m very happy with how the friendship dynamic between our main/secondary characters and their backgrounds turned out, so I please forgive me ^^

I’ve missed you all so freaking much, and I cannot thank you enough for showering Melophile with so much love throughout the past year. Thank you for being patient with me during my hiatus, and I hope you and all of your loved ones are staying safe, healthy, and happy ❤️enjoy, and please stay tuned for part two ❤️

“Where do you want the shelf?” the mover asked while holding one end of the wooden bookcase.

The sleep looked up from his seat by the kitchen island and “Right by the window,” Yoongi directed, guiding him to the west-facing window that opened up to his balcony. “Thanks.”

Tipping each of the movers, he thanked them once and bid them goodbye, shutting the door. The whoosh of the door closing left him alone in his new apartment with nothing but hastily arranged furniture, the quiet murmur of traffic outside, and of course, his thoughts; he was finally moved in.

Yoongi had thought about moving out for years now, but never brought up the topic until Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were traveling out of the country more. By the time university had started, he and the guys had all agreed to move into a duplex a few minutes away from campus for time, money, and friendship’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the three boys were scouted off the street by the head of a modeling agency. Might he add that it was a late Friday night, post-finals season of senior year, and all the boys were more than inebriated, so how the man decided that giving contracts to three loud, wild, and utterly wasted uni students was astounding. Either way, the three stooges dropped out to pursue a career in modeling faster than you could say ‘show in Europe.’

After graduation, Namjoon brought up the idea of moving into a smaller building, to which Jimin and Hoseok disapproved of with arms crossed and pouty faces. Taehyung and Jungkook tried to come to an agreement and schedule what times of the year they’d be in town, but with their unpredictable schedules, it was a pointless compromise. Seokjin—the oldest of the seven—was expected to move out before any of them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually offered to share a place with Taehyung and Jungkook. They were still employed under the same agency and manager, so understandably, they would all share similar shows, shooting schedules, flights, and time spent in and out of town. It was also pretty close from here, so the seven would still be able to spend time together when they had the chance to.

Yoongi was the first to offer moving out so the four of them wouldn’t have to be crammed into a small condo. He had booked a few producing jobs here and there while still at university, so he practically had a contact list of full-time connections. Plus, Jimin had decided to enroll in a master’s program for traditional dance while teaching at a nearby dance studio, Namjoon started his first semester towards a postgraduate degree in literary criticism (again, how the boy had even passed his G.E. chemistry class in sophomore year was beyond anyone’s wildest imagination), and Hoseok had landed a solid job teaching hip-hop classes at the same studio Jimin was at.

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” Jimin asked Yoongi with worry laced in his voice. The four were lounging in the living room of the quiet apartment. Seokjin and the two younger ones had moved out earlier that morning, and they were probably still getting settled. It was only a ten minute drive from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin’s new place. Thankfully they’d all be living a relative distance to one another even after moving.

Patting him on the head, Yoongi’s lips formed a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. At least I won’t have to deal with Hoseok’s late night gas bombs...”

Hoseok’s face burned bright red and his eyes grew wide as a storm of curse words flew out of his mouth. “Hey! Don’t blame me, tell Namjoon to learn how to cook raw food all the way through!"

To this, Namjoon threw his comforter at Hoseok, nailing him square in the face. Jimin held back his giggles while Yoongi stared wistfully. He would miss them more than he thought.

“It’s only a few minutes from your place so I’ll come and check up on you guys every once in a while,” Yoongi sighed, leaning into the couch. With everything packed and sent off the day before, it was the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. A distant memory resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the dented armrest. He and Jungkook had bought it at the thrift store on 5th Street after weeks of Seokjin complaining that there was no place to sit and watch TV; a past time he required to “relieve him of his grievances.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, redirecting his attention back to the present moment. “You know, just to make sure you haven’t all starved or strangled each other.”

The four shared one last month together and even helped Yoongi find his new place eight blocks down. According to Yoongi, the day Hoseok ran into Yoongi’s room with the crumpled piece of paper was a match made by hell and granted by heaven.

Snapping back into the present moment, Yoongi’s watch read 12:45 p.m. He rubbed his eyes at how dreadfully early in the day it was and his body was already begging for sleep. By the magic laws of the universe, the familiar sound of his ringtone reverberated through the barren apartment—his new apartment. Walking to the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s name flashed across the screen and Yoongi swiped to answer the call.

“How’s our big boy doing?” Hoseok immediately shouted through the receiver.

Yoongi scrunched his face in displeasure at the volume but couldn’t hide the slight smirk that grazed his lips. “I’m doing great mom, thanks for checking in.”

“We wanted to know if you needed any help settling in!” Jimin’s soft voice, as usual, offered with nothing but joy. Judging by the distant sound of complaining and forced laughter, he had taken the opportunity to snatch the phone away from Hoseok, and Namjoon was now holding him hostage with the force of tickling.

“I second that!” Namjoon’s voice boomed in the background.

Yoongi allowed himself the barest hint of a laugh. “I already had help from the movers, so the furniture is decently positioned already.” Opening up his fridge, he saw that it was unsurprisingly empty other than a few bottles of water. “I might need to run to the grocery store though. Can I call you guys after I get back?”

“Jimin, I swear to god you’re going to regret sharing a room with me!” Hoseok’s voice echoed closer from the other end.

“Call us when you get back! It’d be nice to get to know the shops around the neighborhood,” Namjoon backed up with confidence but he suddenly yelped in pain. Yoongi pictured Hoseok jabbing him in the side like he always did whenever they fought.

Hoseok huffed as he brought up the phone and was in possession of the device once again. “We’ll swing by your place at 6 with food, so don’t worry and buy some basic groceries. Namjoon, I swear—”

“—and make some neighborhood friends!” Namjoon blurted out. “We’ll see you soon!”

“See you soon!” Jimin added cheerfully.

“Miss you bud!” Hoseok chirped.

“Bye guys,” Yoongi chuckled. "Don’t kill each other.” Clicking off, he sighed once more before admiring his new place. The one-bedroom penthouse came with a decent sized-kitchen, in-unit washer and dryer, and included utilities. Not to mention the extra room that he had already moved his studio equipment into and man, that balcony view. It wasn’t considered budget-friendly for it’s square footage, but for the amenities and the part of town it was centered in? A steal.

Even though a job in the music industry didn’t exactly pay well, Yoongi considered himself lucky to have gotten the exposure he did so early. He had been bound to music for as long as he could remember, and it was during his middle school years that he discovered the editing software that changed his life. By junior year of high school, Yoongi had accumulated hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of listens on his streaming account. After he declared his major in university, renowned musicians from all over the world were flooding his email with requests for new songs, collaborations, editing, and everything in between.

As fame and status quickly began consuming his every waking thought, a dark cloud loomed over him. There had been a period of time when sitting in his studio was no longer enjoyable and felt like pure hell. Slowly but surely, it was the same cycle over and over again: get a request from a record label, make a new song, send it back to the tone-deaf money hungry CEO’s of the music industry, and then get feedback on how it’s not catchy enough or "up with the times.” God, that pissed him off more than anything. Good music shouldn’t have to be labeled as such because it fits into the typical mold of some teenage trend; that’s what makes it good.

That’s all they cared about these days. No meaningful lyrics or real talk about everyday life and how the world goes around—only songs about meaningless sex, regretting one night stands, repetitive ear worm tunes, unrequited and dumb young love, or things that talentless, plastic Instagram models could lip-sync and stick choreography to. It’s hard to pursue your passion in a field that you love when it’s hellbent on destroying itself.

Don’t even start with the controversies Yoongi dealt with on a daily basis. Flashy yellow headlines that talked about who this mysterious producer Min Yoongi was, where he was brought up, who he’s dated/is dating, his sexuality, and even his family members and their backgrounds. All of these were topics that every single news and social media outlet had the audacity to stamp on hundreds of magazines covers and copy/paste on their blogs, yet if given the chance, none would have the real guts to ask him in-person, face to face.

Yoongi found himself falling into periods of constant downward spirals. What would he become if he gave in? Who would he be if just shut up and took the money? If he listened to what everyone had to say and gave them everything they wanted? Would they love him any less or hate him even more?

It was half past one when he realized that he still had to go to run errands. Another 30 minutes of the day spent lingering on things that can’t be changed and don’t matter, he noted to himself. Wonderful.

Despite the chilly weather, Yoongi opted to throw on a hoodie and call it a day. His decision to wear ripped jeans was poorly made, but he refused to admit that laziness was the culprit for not packing some spare clothes into a suitcase before moving day. Before stepping out, he quickly slipped on a beanie and a face mask for privacy’s sake. He was really not in the mood today.

Murmuring a quick thanks to the cashier, Yoongi walked out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Within minutes, people had gathered in a crowd around him asking for pictures, autographs, voice memos, and the works.

Every single time he had to turn down someone’s request for a picture because he could not miss the last bus; constantly hiding in fear of someone catching him and finding out where he lives, or worse: his family members; always trying to leave the house at the most awkward time of day so he could actually walk around and get basic shit done. No one knew it, but he hated himself for feeling like the biggest asshole that ever existed when in reality, he was just trying to live a normal life.

Yoongi loved music, but more than anything, he loved how there were people who truly empathized with his songs and the effort he put into making them. He missed the days before fanbase culture mobbed those who genuinely understood what he was trying to say. He missed going out with the guys and not having to worry about strangers following him home and leaking his address for publicity and likes. He missed having the decency of basic privacy and boundaries. Yoongi was grateful for everyone’s unnecessary unconditional love for his work and lifelong devotion to music, but after all, he was nothing but a human being who needed some space to breathe.

Today was no different. He got lucky and managed to snag enough fruits and vegetables to fit into a single paper bag before the overwhelming screeches and overlapping voices forced him out of the mart.

One of the security guards and a few cashiers were kind enough to hold back a few of the people who tried following him out. Giving them a quick bow before scurrying out, he felt like an even bigger nuisance.

What kind of a prick like me disrupts people’s day-to-day life just to get some food...

Should’ve worn a damn ski mask.

Yoongi was two blocks from his apartment complex when the smell of smog and car exhaust was replaced by a tidal wave of—roses? The fragrance of fresh flowers flooded his nostrils with a vibrancy and sweetness that he had never smelled before. Trying to find the source, he stumbled across what appeared to be hole-in-the-wall flower shop.

Treading carefully towards the vivid assortment of colors and warm light, he glanced over at the array of plants that graced the outside shelves. It wasn’t until he started feeling hot that he noticed a patio heater beside the entrance, which doubled as a lamp.

As he admired the wide variety of colors, leaf shapes, and aromas, Yoongi picked up a weathered terra cotta pot. The gritty surface of the pot was splotched with discolored patches of white, probably from water and rain. It housed a plant with small, plump, ovular, dimpled emerald green leaves, and it was vining up the bamboo stick that was staked in the center.

A delicate shuffle of shoes on hardwood accompanied a soft voice. “Need help finding something?”

Looking up, Yoongi’s eyes met the young woman’s gaze. Even through his mask, her friendly smile seemed to glow brighter than the embers from the patio heater. Underneath her apron, she was wearing a fluffy white sweater and a pair of comfortably loose jeans that were decorated with colorful paint-splatters.

Blinking hard after catching himself staring too long, Yoongi shook his head and put the plant back. “Just looking around. Nice place you got here.” If he spoke any quieter, he’d have a new job singing lullabies to babies.

Knitting her eyebrows with an inquisitive stare, he felt his pulse start to pick up. Did she recognize him? Was she going to freak out? Was there something on his face?

She brought her finger up to her quirked lip and widened her eyes. “Botanophobia is my area of specialty!” she exclaimed with joy. “You don’t have to worry about killing a single plant under my wing.” Picking up the plant he set down, she held it out towards him with a warm grin.

Yoongi won’t be the first to admit that of his absent green thumb. When he used to visit his grandmother, she’d always tug on his ear for picking at the hanging pots draped underneath her patio. He didn’t even have a plant near his vicinity until Taehyung brought home individual cactus for each of the guys. Something about keeping it on their desks for focus and oxygen or whatever.

Needless to say that Namjoon and Yoongi both learned very quickly that cacti don’t like water as much as you think.

“Oh,” Yoongi waved his hands in defense. “ I’m not really a plant collecting type of guy.”

The girl rolled her eyes teasingly and handed him a ball of twine from her pocket.

“Stay here until I get back,” she commanded with a stern look and playful confidence. “I’ll be but a moment.” Retreating back into the shop, Yoongi was frozen in place. Guilty if he leaves, not guilty if he stays—

Right as he was about to put the twine on the shelf, the girl came out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package. “Water it once a month and keep it by a window, preferably brightly lit but not necessarily,” she instructed with nothing less than an energetic smile. “They kind of thrive on neglect.”

He was taken aback. “But—”

She held her hand up to halt his rebuttal and took back the twine. “Think of this as a little welcome to the neighborhood gift. I know all of my locals by heart and I’ve never seen you around before.”

“I can’t just take a plant from you,” Yoongi huffed, slightly annoyed at her stubborn nature. She was determined, he’d give her that.

Shaking her head, her hands didn’t move. “You can pay me back the next time you visit, and if you still haven’t fallen in love with this guy—” her head motioned to the paper-wrapped plant in her hands. “—then I guess I’ll just have to work harder.”

Yoongi bowed his head in thanks and accepted the parcel with a tightly pressed smile. She was definitely not one to give in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that there were still people in the world who loved their jobs as much as this woman.

The dimming sky signaled that it was time for him to get back home. Waving goodbye, the sound of his steps grew louder as the echo of her voice faded farther away. “See you around!”

Sure, the pessimist in him spat.

You awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window. Drops bounced off of the glass as the sound grew harsher, the water droplets ricocheting off of the already-streaky pane and onto the surrounding leaves of the tree whose branches caressed your small windowsill. The freezing cold air whistled through the crack between your window pane and the latch, causing you to shiver reflexively.

Stretching out your limbs, a large and clearly gracious yawn left your mouth, which harmonized in tandem with your outstretched palms and scrunched face. The warmth of your rumpled and disheveled sheets made you groan, your body naturally refusing to leave the comfort of your own bed. Did you really have to go out today? Using the rusty spring of the mattress to swing your legs over the bed, your feet grazed the cold, damp fabric of your carpet—

“Crap.” Partially awake, your aching limbs dashed across your small studio apartment and rummaged through the pile of rubbish in the spare closet, fishing out an old bucket. You ran back to your room and placed on top of the wet patch of fabric just underneath the foot of your bed. The sound of water hitting the carpet soon turned into muffled pangs. The culprit? A leaky spot in the ceiling of your humble abode that you had so graciously discovered months after you’d moved in.

Your landlord/makeshift, of course, said he couldn’t do anything about it. Something told you it wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, he couldn’t be bothered to...

The pleasantly dull morning heaviness that weighed your body slowly retreated, and left you fully aware that your feet were still wet and freezing cold. Very, very cold. It was Monday, right? A sigh escaped you as your hand came up to rub your eyes. Definitely a Monday. Stretching once more, you sat silently and found a moment of peace in gazing at the pouring rain that battered your window.

There was something oddly relaxing about watching the water droplets slowly slide down the glass. Whether it was the transparency of the glass against the clarity of the rainwater, or the different textures of sound as the droplets bounced off of the window onto the tree leaves, one thing was certain: overcast skies and the fresh smell petrichor was one of nature’s many great gifts.

Since the day was still immersed in the early hours of the morning, you were compelled to stay inside and burn through a book or two while in the comfort of your own bed. However, your fairytale fantasy was shattered by the reality that was your day job. You washed up, got dressed, and didn’t bother adding any extra layers to combat the cold. It was, of course, the sensation of the icy biting air against your flushed cheeks that made you treasure this kind of weather all the more. The haphazard toss a mini-umbrella into your bag and the clink of a lock and key was quite complimentary.

Ever since you were young, you’d loved flowers. Red roses, to be exact. It was in your best interest as a 6-year old to tag alongside your dad on his trips to the hardware store. Each time you came home, you ended up bringing a 99-cent fern home that ended up dying a week later. No matter how much your little heart adored each tiny gem, it was only a matter of time before you drowned the plant with too much water. In your pre-pubescent mind, taking care of a plant meant watering it. Every day. Little did you know that tending to a garden meant leaving it alone and giving it time to grow by itself.

Hundreds of plant funerals were held from the tender ages of six to fourteen. Years of experience, tears, frustration, determination, and love ended up raising your brown thumb well. Who knew that you’d end up majoring in biology and horticultural studies? Not to mention starting up an independent business as a flower shop and nursery. Now that was something to be grateful for.

It might seem strange to many; working a job that doesn’t pay a ton or have a stable workload, sitting in a humid shop some days with nothing but the rustling of dried bouquets to keep you company, or learning to appreciate the quiet solitude of white noise against morning traffic. It may have seemed like torture for anyone with some ounce of sanity, but to you, it was home.

Nothing excited you more than when you received the bi-weekly shipment of new plants. You were lucky the rain had stopped by the time you made it halfway to the shop. Marco, your go-to greenhouse guy, was just in time. He was wearing a blue sweater and the navy scarf his wife, Lucia, knitted him for Christmas four years ago.

You’ll never forget the gifts they exchanged that year. It was two days before Christmas and Marco was so busy with deliveries, he didn’t have time to get Lucia a present. Of course, seeing him ramble his worries to you while bringing in the day’s shipment made a lightbulb go off in your head.

As he was unloading boxes, you ran inside and whipped up a somewhat-simple but ever-classic arrangement: red tulips, white honeysuckles, baby’s-breath stems, and a mix of myrtle and lemon leaves to balance out the flower to foliage ratio.

Before Marco could leave, you put the finishing touches on the lush bouquet and finished it off with a gold-dusted bow for added holiday spirit.

“All done!” Marco bellowed. Running out of the shop, you handed him the box that sheltered Lucia’s gift.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered with a giddiness that couldn’t be held back.

“Oh, bella...” His reaction was priceless. With a mouth parted, sparkling eyes, and a wonder-struck smile to top it all off, this was why you loved your job.

“Red tulips for a perfect love, honeysuckles for devoted lovers, and baby’s breath for everlasting love.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a second language.

Marco was still speechless. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Marco, my business would not function without you and neither would I,” you hushed. “This is the absolute least I could do for you and Lucia.”

“Bella!” His deep voice brought you back to the present day. The nickname always made you feel fuzzy. “How are you?”

“I’m doing wonderful, Marco.” Your eyes beamed. “How are Lucia and the girls?”

He laughed, shaking his head with a grin. “As wild as always. Fia and Gianna just started 2nd grade a few days ago. They’re growing up too fast.”

Your heart melted. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? Time flies...” The wistful tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, what’s in today’s box of treasures?” Rubbing your hands together like an animated cartoon, your eyes lit up at the sight of all the new varieties that peeked from the boxes.

“Oh you’ll love these!” Pulling out one of the 4-inch grow pots from the boxes, he revealed to you a healthy Hoya bella. The delicately draped stems with spear-shaped leaves and grooved foliage was breathtaking. A few of them even had a few peduncles, which was where flowers bloomed from. Hoyas were known for their delicate, candy-like flowers, and Hoya bella was a prolific bloomer.

If you had to choose a favorite type of tropical genus, it’d most definitely be the wax plant family. There are hundreds of species within that range from your typical waxy, thick and succulent leaves to thin, hair-like sparse leaves that looked like grass. Expensive grass, might you add.

You couldn’t hold back the excitement. “You brought me hoyas!” Jumping up and down with an overzealous amount of energy, Marco bowed for dramatic effect. Today was already off to a great start.

He counted all the boxes one more time, summing up the numbers in his head. “There are also some krinkle 8′s, compactas, variegated and green carnosas, more bellas, australis, curtisii, pubicalyx, burtoniae, lacunosa, and only a couple linearis. You know how popular those are these days.” Each time he listed off another set of species had you spinning. “The bottom boxes have some pothos, rubber trees, ferns, tradescantias, and peperomias.”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug. “Don’t count me guilty if I run home with a few of these.”

A hearty laugh reverberated from his chest. “Always a pleasure, bella. I have to get going. Watch the rain! I’ll see you next week!”

Bidding him a goodbye, you reminded him to drive safe before he was off.

The first customer of the day was a regular; you could spot her bright red lipstick and pinup elegance from a mile away. If she hadn’t said anything, you could have sworn she was related to Marilyn Monroe.

“Good morning, Ms. Simmons!” you greeted as the chime on the door jingled. “How are you?”

Her bright red lips curled into a grin that revealed her immaculate smile. “I’m doing very well, thank you dearie.” Did you mention that she had an Irish accent?

Stepping out from behind the counter, you pulled out the freshly wrapped parcel and unfolded the top to show her. Cupping your hand to speak, the words came out in a whisper. “I got the new shipment of linearis.”

At this, her eyes grew bigger and mouth rounded into an O. She’d been waiting for these grass-leaved hoyas for months now and you had made a promise to her that she was the first on the waitlist.

“You are an absolute jewel my love, an unreal star!” Handing you her usual payment method of cash, you made sure to choose the fullest plant for her before she arrived. Also, you may have added in a begonia and African violet or two. All in the name of agape love, truly.

Even though she celebrated her 70th birthday over the winter, Ms. Simmons was a regular ever since you opened the shop. She always made the two mile walk from her home to your shop every Monday and you couldn’t understand for the life of you why. All you could do was be the best at your job and treat your customers as well, if anything, better than they treated you.

“I’ll see you next week, Ms. Simmons,” you smiled, holding the door open for her as she went on her merry way.

The rest of the day was business as usual. Mary, another regular, came in looking for a rubber tree and a peace lily; she’d just moved into a bigger house to accompany their newest family member, and needed some green so the place didn’t look so sterile.

Isaac, the pastor who worked at the local church, was in need of some rose arrangements for this weekend’s sermon. He always loved how full the ones you had out on display were.

Kat was an old university friend you had stayed in touch with and a fellow “hoya head.” She was the sweetest girl and always brought you coffee and a perfectly toasted bagel whenever she visited. The doorbell always chimed at exactly 12:25 p.m. and she never missed it once ever since you opened the shop’s doors.

“You got a perm?!” you gawked. She’d gotten another haircut. Her once long, pin-straight dark brown hair was now shoulder length and curled like Shirley Temple’s signature look. “You look a-freaking-mazing!”

Tussling the curls with one hand while pushing up the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with the other, she reminded you of a revamped 70’s Betty Boop. “Thank you darling, I’ve been meaning to chop it all off for a while now but the weather has had me down in the dumps,” she remarked in an over the top, received pronunciation accent.

Shaking your head and appreciating her choice of clothing, you couldn’t help but applaud at how she always chose fashion and style over basic comfort.

"We got some bellas and compactas so grab ‘em and go before you get a cold.” Her red dress and black cardigan ensemble was an eye-catcher but did not bode well considering the cloudy sky.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll take those two and a krinkle, if you please.” You will admit, her energy was something you never got tired of.

The wrapping of planters had become muscle-memory now. Wrap around, fold over, crease the edge, tuck in the sides, and tie with some twine. A snip here and brushing off the excess soil there and voila.

Before she left, you handed her the umbrella you brought from home. “Get home before it starts raining!” you nagged. “I only live a few minutes from here so just take it before you ruin your clothes.” Kat definitely needed it more than you.

She wrapped her arms around you in a familiar hug and promised she’d call you back at home. “Love you!” Perfect timing, too. Right as the door shut, the slow patter of rain had started sprinkling the rooftop, and cars started whooshing by with an added splash.

Cradling your warm cup of coffee was a routine on Kat’s visiting days. The rain was now trickling down the ridged shingles of the roof and down the gutter, droplets of water blurring into coiled trails. Absolutely mesmerizing. After making a dozen bouquets that were on today’s order list, Sara, Louie, Timmy, Kyle, and George visited one by one to pick them up. Soon after that, the day started slowing down and the rain showed no signs of stopping like you had anticipated. It was nearing closing time too, so maybe it was a good idea to head home a bit early.

You rushed to bring in the buckets of pre-cut flowers and ready-made arrangements from outside. You ended up wrapping everything up right on time. Even better, a few new faces showed up. All of your linearis and bellas had sold out today (no surprise), and you got to meet some new customers right before closing time. It was nothing but a joyous and success-filled day in your eyes.

Gripping the cold metal, goosebumps prickled your skin as soon as your fingertips rolled down the gate over the store windows. A smile of triumph grazed your lips. The quietest of goodbyes escaped your lips.

Until tomorrow.

The buzz of alcohol and smell of grease wafted in the air as they all got crazier by the minute.

Namjoon had already burned through three bottles of beer and was on the verge of losing his sense of direction. Hoseok was two sips in before his face flushed a bright red. Jimin was prancing around like a fairy after his third shot of tequila. Taehyung and Jungkook were singing and dancing to bad karaoke songs, nearly knocking over the TV a few times.

Seokjin was the only one who was mildly sober. Again, mildly is a word that should be used very lightly. "Since when did you have a green finger?”

The five paused their shenanigans to glance over at the single plant that decorated the otherwise empty bookshelf.

Yoongi chewed silently, unable to come up with any response.

Jimin hiccuped before talking. “Didn’t you kill a cactus a few years back?”

Again, Yoongi chose to stay silent and give an unbothered shrug. Hoseok’s face still looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, but he managed to nod his head in confirmation.

“Yeah, Namjoon drowned his, too,” the youngest spoke with a ditzy tone. Taehyung giggled like a child at Jungkook’s strangely accurate description and pointed at Namjoon. Some comment about his messy hair or turtle glasses, or a combination of both.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself so I should be able to take care of some stupid weed.” For some reason, Yoongi’s mouth burned saying those words.

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the comment and got up to grab some water. Of course, his drunk state amplified his clumsiness and caused him to bang his knee against the corner of the kitchen island. Hoseok and Jimin burst out into cackles and snorted as Yoongi rolled his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to pass like water. He should slow down.

“Apparently that one thrives on neglect.” Yoongi finally broke his vow of silence, changing the topic and directing his attention to Jimin and half-there Hoseok. “How’s teaching going?”

Leaning on each other as the alcohol sleeps finally kicked in, they could only raise their thumbs-up with half-lidded eyes.

Coming back with a tray of water cups that remained miraculously intact, Namjoon collapsed down into his seat. “They’ve been working every single day for the past month now. Jimin has his mid-semester show coming up and Hoseok got booked for some choreography with a local theater group.”

Yoongi downed one last mouthful of the bitter drink before calling it quits, enjoying how it burned his throat as it made its way down. “And you guys?”

Seokjin and Jungkook all murmured something about an upcoming shoot in May for the spring catalog.

“Jungkook and Seokjin got booked for a perfume ad and I got an acting gig,” Taehyung explained. The excitement was evident in his voice. Yoongi congratulated the three, cheering them on with another shot.

He turned to the boy rubbing his bruised knee. “And you, Joon?”

It was Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “School is school. Always studying, reading, writing, nothing new,” he droned in a monotonous voice. “How’ve you been handling everything?”

He was talking about all the new deals that Yoongi was offered in the last couple of weeks. Every post on social media was rampant with news of Min Yoongi’s latest tracks and upcoming collabs. Although the boys would never fully understand his stress, their sympathy for him was plenty enough.

“Same old same old. Money hungry bastards trying to get my advice on shitty tracks that have as much depth and complexity as a poptart just to get my signature stamped on it.” Yoongi spoke with painful honesty, causing everyone to sober up and focus on him. He took a final swig of his drink. “Whatever sells, I guess.”

Namjoon and the others shook their heads in agreement solemnly, showing his wordless support and understanding. “You’ll get out of it, Yoongi. Trust me.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in vain, but only Yoongi knew it.

Trying to swallow the words, Yoongi looked over at the snoring bundle that was Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Seokjin was probably passed out in the bathroom. His upper teeth raked across his lower lip, savoring the dull sensation that felt more real than the situation he had gotten himself into.

“Yeah. I’ll get out of it.”

Spring was always the best time of the year. All of the flowers were in bloom and sunlight was streaming through everyone’s window without being unbearably hot. To top it all off, it was also the busiest time for you and your business. The shop was always flooded with customers marveling at the colors that decorated the exterior. When the inside of the shop finally cleared out, you were able to take requests for individual bouquets, parties, and weddings.

“Need some help?” a familiar someone shouted through the crowd of people.

Your head snapped over to the upbeat and bubbly voice you knew by heart. “Kat!” Hugging her over the counter and bringing her behind the register, you quickly thanked her before running around frantically with a notepad in hand.

This became a routine about two springs after you opened up: people piling in by the masses for a chance at bringing home the freshest roses, tulips, and succulents you had to offer, Kat making her weekly visit and seeing you overwhelmed, weaving her way through the horde of people crammed inside the shop and lined up outside, and finally putting on an apron of her own and managing the register while you paced back and forth getting people’s orders.

“What would I do without you?” you mouthed to her as you formed your face into a meme-worthy cry face.

She stuck her tongue out and managed the register like a pro, fingers pressing buttons left and right at lighting speed. You giggled and went back to jotting down everyone’s orders.

1x assmt/ peace lilies; red and white in ceram. pot

2x 4-inch maiden hair ferns delivered

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/ filler foliage

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/o filler foliage

1x dozen individually wrapped W roses with gld. ribbons

R, W, PRP, PNK tulips w/ queen anne’s lace

Succ. terr. for bday, round jar, colorful

Over the course of one day, you used up three ballpoint pens and couldn’t feel your fingers or your cheeks. Writing and smiling at the same time should be an official sport for next year’s Olympics. Kat fared no better. Slung over the register like a floppy piece of bacon, the only indication of any remaining energy from either of you was the heavy sound of breathing.

Stretching out your hands, you set down the notepad and groaned. “Kat?” Checking to make sure she was alive, she groaned back in response. “Thank you.”

She looked up and rested her cheek against the gold glass of the counter. “Welcome,” she mumbled, flashing her signature smile. It was a quarter past seven but you usually closed the shop by five, so why were you and Kat still here? After the commotion of today, both of you were too exhausted to close up, so you just brought whatever flowers from outside remained and ordered some takeout to eat here.

Standing up, your body needed to step outside and get some fresh air. Kat was knocked out comfortably on the counter, so you decided to leave her alone to nap in peace. The first step you took outside made your body tingle. You were constantly running back and forth earlier, but being out of breath and in a mental flux with all the orders made you feel like you were floating.

You inhaled the cold air as deeply as you could and breathed out with an equal amount of force. The sky was tinted a coral pink color and the sun was barely kissing the horizon. Thank you spring for yet another marvelous attribute that only you can provide.

Right before you were about to step back inside, a familiar masked figure entered your field of vision. “Hey!” Calling out through cupped hands, you prayed he could hear you over the few cars that were driving by. His head perked up and even behind his covered face, you could see that he was surprised. Ducking his head in a makeshift greeting, you waved him hello and goodbye, happy to see his masked face again. No point in calling him over this late at night. He probably had things to do. Didn’t we all?

Jungkook and Taehyung were the first ones to point it out.

“Yoongi...” Hoseok uttered.

“How could you?” Seokjin continued, mouth agape in pure disbelief.

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. ‘Responsible adult’ my ass.”

“You’ve had it for two weeks and it’s already dying!” Jimin was the one who finally blurted it out.

Yoongi rubbed his sore eyes. It was 11 in the morning and he was exhausted from staying up all night. The deadline for his upcoming track was this Friday and contrary to popular belief, making a horribly repetitive and catchy song was a lot harder than you’d think. The guys managed to find some time in their schedules to come visit him. He never thought the day would come where he wanted them to stay home.

“It’s fine,” he grunted.

“When was the last time you watered it?” Hoseok asked, inspecting the sick looking plant. He was making that weird face. The one where his nose wrinkled at an invisible stench and eyes narrowed into slits.

“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged while chugging a few mouthfuls of water and relished the feeling of cool liquid coating his parched throat.

They all surveyed the state of the place. There were crumpled scraps of paper that littered the hardwood floor like confetti. Empty water bottles were spread across the bathroom, music studio, kitchen counter, and balcony shelf—and who could forget the pile of worn hoodies and shirts that were nestled in the sofa corner and had slowly been growing bigger, congregating to form a laundry mountain.

Namjoon was the one to point out that the fridge was still pretty much empty. “Did you even go grocery shopping, Yoongi?” He spoke with the tone of concern now. If anyone knew how persistent Yoongi was, it was Namjoon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped meals and sleep just to work on a song.

“Yoongi, we can go out for you if you need us to,” Jimin offered as usual. Hoseok and Namjoon voted in support of his idea, already mouthing a list to Taehyung and Jungkook.

“We’ll go to the supermar—” Jungkook was cut off by Yoongi’s sudden spike of anger.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied a bit too harshly. He could only hold in pent up frustration for so long before he burst. “I don’t need you to go grocery shopping for me. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s not your job to bear my burden of being a nuisance.”

They stayed quiet. The ball was already rolling and he needed to get it all out.

“You think I don’t want to go out? To step outside for one day and have nobody recognize me?” Yoongi scoffed, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. “I want—” he paused. “No, no. I crave that more than anything. The anonymity I had in high school when I was a nobody and only had you guys by my side.

“Back when I didn’t have to bury myself underneath hoodies and beanies, suffocate myself underneath scarves and face masks, or wear sunglasses when it wasn’t the slightest bit sunny out.” Yoongi held back a scream and ran his hands through his hair in anger, tugging at the strands so he could feel tense pain nip at his scalp; he needed to feel anything other than this—this thing inside of him. Realizing that he had directed his vexes toward the wrong people, he sighed. Yoongi buried his face into his hands, disappointed at himself for doing it again.

Sinking into the ground, he couldn’t find it in himself to shed a single tear. In a fit of blind rage, he had just yelled at his childhood friends for absolutely no reason. Guilt was starting to eat away at his conscience; he’d fucked up—bad. What the hell was wrong with him?

The six kneeled down beside Yoongi and enveloped him in a silent hug. The boys had formed their group of seven in middle school and were forever bound by their loyalty to one another. Pushing past the temper tantrums of adolescence and living through the toils of university was all accomplished by the means of what connected them as a whole: friendship. Friends were there for each other through thick and thin, and they knew that none of them were free from the confines of daily life; friends were family

Yoongi pressed the palms of his hands harder into his eye sockets and blinked back the ache that was diffusing across his muscles.

I’ll get out of it.

It was an unusually cloudy day for spring. The grey clouds that were spread out across the sky didn’t seem to bode well for the day ahead. Today went by slower than usual. Granted it was a Sunday, but still—it was an off day.

You were in the middle of pruning the plants that were set up outside the shop when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by a doe-eyed young man and his equally handsome friend. You had never seen them around before and they were each carrying two insulated grocery bags by their sides.

“Good afternoon.” The latter greeted you with an immaculate smile, bowing slightly. His friend mirrored the greeting, also presenting himself with his own charming grin.

Starstruck for a moment, you blinked a few times before gulping nervously. “Pleasure.” You mentally face-palmed your brain. Great job.

The big-eyed one spoke with a certain shyness you couldn’t put your finger on. “We were looking for some advice on plants. For a friend.” Chuckling, he scratched the back of his ear. It was only after a few moments to process their appearances did you realize that they were both attractive enough to be models, or something of the sort. Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you felt like you’d seen them on last month’s fashion catalogue...

“I’m Jungkook by the way.” Shaking his hand, you couldn’t help but be aware of the pink that crept up your face. You tried to hide it with a nervous smile.

Act professional, you mentally scolded. “______,” you introduced yourself.

The other apologized for his manners and shook your hand as well. Your small fingers paled in comparison to his. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” His blinding smile made you blush furiously and you were dying inside.

“So uh—our friend, he has a plant like this one,” Taehyung continued, stopping to point to the tray of green carnosas beside his knee. “—and it’s starting to turn brown?”

“Hmm...” you frowned. "Does your friend always have the air conditioner or heater running? Something that might cause the air to dry out?”

The two stared at each other at a loss for words. “Not really, he always complains that the weather is too hot to turn on the heater yet too cold for the AC,” Jungkook elaborated.

“Oh!” He gasped as if a mind-blowing thought had struck him. “There’s a humidifier by his couch. Remember? He always used to complain about nosebleeds when we lived by uni.” Jungkook shook his head up and down like a cartoon, probably recalling this as well.

You were stumped. “You’re sure they’re brown leaves, right? Not yellow?”

They nodded. Damn. Yellowing leaves almost always indicated over watering or under fertilizing. Browning edges and tips usually meant that the plant needed more humidity, but full blown brown leaves?

Sighing in defeat, you packaged a small packet of water-soluble fertilizer with instructions and handed it to doe-eyed . “Try this and see if it helps,” you instructed, praying it would. Hoyas were known as bullet-proof plants, so why a carnosa of all species was starting to decline was alarming.

They thanked you for your help and asked you a few more questions before leaving.

“By the way,” Taehyung asked. “Do you do arrangements for large-scale productions? Like photoshoots?”

You said yes with a gentle smile. “Occasionally I will, but being such a small shop, I try to limit it to only during the springtime. It’s harder to fill out orders for big events when there aren’t that many materials to work with.”

Jungkook’s eyes got bigger than you thought to be possible and beamed, still running his hands through his hair shyly. “Would you be interested in helping us out?”

Raising your eyebrow at their request, you were curious. “What exactly would I be helping with?”

Taehyung started stuttering, his turn to be shy. “We actually have a spring photoshoot coming up for our modeling gig, and we thought it’d be cool to have an actual set full of flowers. Not just a big, white room with oversaturated fluorescents.”

“So you are models?” You felt like Sherlock Holmes had cracked the case.

This time, they were the ones who turned tomato red and cleared their throats, scratching their heads nervously. Humble folks.

“Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me,” you comforted. “What kind of theme are you trying to go for?”

You conversed for the next half twenty minutes about their ideas for the shoot and a little bit about their backgrounds, and you managed to exchange numbers. It turns out they were quite the dynamic duo.

If you hadn’t reminded them that they had groceries that needed to be taken home, you could have easily talked to them for another couple of hours. They were the welcoming social butterflies, not the typical annoying ones that felt the compulsive need to blabber on about nothing.

After saving their contacts into your phone, Taehyung and Jungkook thanked you once more for your time and said they’d see you around.

What an interesting day it turned out to be indeed...

“We come bearing gifts!” Taehyung announced grandly in his signature deep voice. Setting down the bags, the six got to work organizing the food stash. Jungkook, Taehyung and Seokjin were fortunate enough to be in town for a while before their next shoot, and Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok were on spring break. Basically, all of them had been camping in Yoongi’s living room for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Jungkook and Taehyung had bought enough food to last all of them for a month had they still lived under a single roof. Jimin got to work on washing and slicing up the vegetables, Seokjin was dividing up the cuts of beef, and Hoseok was boiling some water and sauce for the pasta. Meanwhile, Taehyung was busy figuring out how to set the temperature dial on the oven and Jungkook was scolding him every few seconds for not letting him do it.

Namjoon was keeping a keen eye on the water to make sure it was boiling.

“Do you think he’s still sleeping?” Sat on the bar counter of the kitchen, he propped up his chin while resting his elbow on the table.

“I hope so,” Hoseok sighed. “But you know he never sleeps even at the best of times.”

Jimin shook his head. “He was snoring a little earlier, but he might just be swaddled underneath the covers,” he added, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables timed perfectly with his words.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jungkook asked with worry evident in his voice.

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to, but until then, it’s not our place to pry.” Seokjin was the class clown of the group, but every so often he let the wise part of his brain come out. “Let’s cook up a feast, pop open some bottles, and have a good time just like the old days.”

“The water is boiling!” Namjoon shouted, a bit too loud for Hoseok’s taste. He jumped at the sudden spike in pitch like a cat. Bursting into a fit of laughter, Hoseok whacked Joon on the forehead with the wooden spoon, making him howl. A spitting image of siblings fighting on Thanksgiving.

In the other room, Yoongi let out a deep sigh from beneath the jumbled mess of covers. The smell emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water and fooled him into thinking he was still dreaming.

Sitting up slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush too quickly to his head, he stared outside at the glimmering lights of the city that lit up the dark sky. Across the street, he could barely make out the flashing shadows of people’s TV screens behind their blinds and the monotonous, undecorated, cement balconies. For the most part, the sight was nothing extraordinary.

If he shut his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the faint hum of sirens; feel the quiet murmur of the heartbeat that lived and breathe in the city. If he silenced his mind entirely, he could smell the wet cement through the crack of his open window, still damp from the rain that poured hours earlier.

His footsteps were light as he made his way to the kitchen, but not before sneaking a glance at his friends from the hallway. Hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi listened to their voices; somehow even throughout puberty, he could still tell exactly who’s voice belonged to who just by the energy their words radiated.

“You told me to tell you when the water was boiling!” Namjoon defended with a whine, still rubbing his forehead from where Hoseok struck him with the spoon. He swore it was turning red.“I told you the water was boiling!”

Jungkook hung his head down to hide his wide-toothed grin. He was trying his hardest to hold back the snort that threatened to escape. “I think Hoseok meant to let him know with some bit of sanity, not intentionally scare him.”

“Either way, Hoseok definitely knew the water was boiling,” Taehyung chuckled with his mouth half-full. He always liked sneaking bits of food whenever they cooked something.

“Stop eating all the carrots, Taehyung!” Jimin yelled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I hope your nose turns orange.”

His hand stopped midway, the carrot a mere centimeters away from his mouth which was still open. “Can—can that actually happen?” he sputtered.

Yoongi could picture Jimin’s smirk down to the last dimple. “I don’t know Taehyung, ever wonder why some babies turn orange?

“It only happens if you only eat carrots for a long time, like a carrot juice detox or something.” As usual, Seokjin was the voice of logic and mild reason in Yoongi’s absence.

Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek as revenge, popping the carrot into his mouth.

“I don’t know Taehyung,” Hoseok warned, sucking air in between his teeth for added effect. “Now that you mention it, your nose is starting to look a little bit—”

“What?!” A few chunks of carrot came flying out of his mouth, causing the boys to explode into snickers and simultaneous “ew’s.” Taehyung ran to the nearest bathroom and nearly ran face-first into the mirror trying to get a good look at his face.

“Hoseok!!!” he screeched like a demon. “You are so freaking lucky we don’t share a room anymore!”

Jungkook was starting to hyperventilate and clap like a seal, while Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok sounded like they were on laughing gas from all of their snorting. “How do you fall for that sort of thing?” Seokjin forced out while clutching his stomach and nearly bursting into tears.

“God you guys are so stupid,” Namjoon facepalmed. In reality, he was hiding his ear-to-ear grin and his cheeks were sore. “I don’t know how we dealt with each other for twenty years.”

This made all of them laugh even harder.

Still hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi felt a bruising pain bloom from within his chest. It started deep down in his ribs and moved up his chest, crawling up his throat and contracting every muscle and scraping against every bone as it made its way farther up. The ache grew into a bubble, inflating itself bigger and bigger until it hurt for him to swallow or breathe. His knees buckled from beneath him as his back slid down the wall, his body curling into a crouched position. He looped his hands behind his neck and tugged his face into his knees, the familiar darkness comforting him. He wanted to scream until his throat refused to; punch something until his knuckles were pink, kick a box, bite down on a towel until his gums ached, throw a glass at a wall and watch it shatter into pieces, thrash around until his limbs went numb from the buzz of blood circulation.

He wanted to cry but he didn’t; he wanted to feel the tears as they trailed down his face. He wanted to feel the burning sensation of them trailing down his skin each time he wiped them away, cheek stinging even more after he did.

He needed to cry but he couldn’t.

“Do you wanna go wake him up, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, his voice waking Yoongi up from his daze. It was more of a gentle command than a question, really. “He never gets mad at you for waking him up.”

On cue, Yoongi walked into the kitchen and pretended to rub his eyes as if he were still sleepy. Sitting at the table, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Wow, you actually managed to cook something and not burn my place down.” His chest was still sore and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but there was also a part of him that was genuinely impressed by the setup.

“Hey, we’re not all like Namjoon.” Hoseok poked fun at him again and twirled his spatula as if it were a hypnotist wand.

“At least I made sure the water was boiling,” Joon mumbled under his breath.

Yoongi had no energy to smile, but he managed to lift the edges of his lips into the ghost of one. “I’m starving,” he spoke as his voice cracked a little.

The dinner table was already set and they just needed to bring some spare plates over. As everyone began gathering around the food, Yoongi felt the swelling in his chest begin to calm down. He was still having trouble breathing deep breaths, but it was better. Better than nothing.

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, face still flushed red from laughing earlier.

“Thanks,” Yoongi accepted. He patted the youngest on the head and ruffled his hair like the high school days. Looking around, he studied every single face of his friends, admiring traits he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate before.

Pouring him a glass, the boys soon joined Yoongi at the table, wine glass in hand. Hoseok handed the extra one he had brought to Yoongi, sneaking him a wink. A grin spread across his lips.

Jimin passed around the bottle of white wine as Taehyung cracked open a mini bottle of red for himself. All eyes darted towards the second youngest, causing him to raise his hands in defense. “Chardonnay gives me a hangover sometimes!”

“Mhm,” Jungkook hummed. “Totally the chardonnay.”

Another circle of laughter encompassed the table. Right as they were about to start eating, Hoseok remembered that he forgot to take the pasta out from the saucepan.

Namjoon stood up so fast, he didn’t have time to voice his pain when his toe struck against the table leg. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered before anyone could stop him. The dining table was right beside the kitchen so why was he in such a rush?

The others trusted him enough with a simple task like pouring something out of a pan into a dish. At least, that was until the boy decided the pasta was lacking a little bit of “zest,” so to speak.

“Jungkook, where’d you put the basil?” he asked while shuffling through the refrigerator.

"In the fridge, second drawer,” Jungkook answered, going back to take a bite of his steak. “Why?”

“The pasta needs some green!” he said with far too much energy in his voice.

Jimin, Taehyung, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi all looked at one another with the same puzzled expression before shrugging it off. That classical fiction analysis class was probably making him go kooky. The peace lasted for about half a second until Namjoon asked where Jimin had put the knife.

Their calm expressions immediately turned into ones of sheer terror as they looked at each other and scrambled out of their seats at the speed of light.

“Namjoon!” they screamed in unison.

Kat nearly dislocated her jaw. “He texted you again? What did he say? Did you text him back? What did you say? Was he being a dick again? How—”

You smacked your hand across her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Her overzealous energy was really a double-edged sword. On certain days, you absolutely thrived on it. On days like this, you hated it with a burning passion more than you hated maidenhair ferns. They were beautiful in theory but were a bitch to keep happy.

“Kat,” you stopped. “I love you and I would do anything for you, but I really need you to just shut up for right now, okay?” Nodding slowly at your request, you carefully peeled your hand off of her mouth.

“Are you okay?” she asked instead, much calmer than before. “You seem a little off.”

Sighing, you decided it would just be better if you showed her the texts.

Douchebag: hey ______, is this ur number? [ 2:22 p.m.]

Douchebag: i got a new phone that’s y [ 2:23 p.m.]

You: yea [ 2:29 p.m.]

Douchebag: how’ve you been [ 2:35 p.m.]

You: good, you? [ 2:42 p.m.]

Douchebag: {download image.jpeg} [ 2:44 p.m.]

Douchebag: I wanted to snap u this cuz I was wearing the sweater you got me but I guess u don’t have snap lol [ 2:45 p.m.]

You: I deleted all of my apps and never got back to reinstalling them, sorry [ 2:50 p.m.]

Scrolling through the rest of the messages, Kat scoffed in disbelief. “I knew he was scum, but catching up after three years of nothing and acting like everything is peachy keen is a new level of assholery,” she rambled on.

You rolled your eyes, resting your elbow on the counter and palm cradling your temple. “What can I say. I definitely know how to pick them well.”

“And the goddamn audacity of him to send a shirtless pic, masking it as a ‘thank-you for buying me that sweater’ schtick?” she growled, fist clenching around nothing while picturing his face.

“An absolute disgrace,” you tagged along.

“It’s not your fault, ______,” Kat soothed. “I would’ve fallen for his mind games too if he charmed me like that.” She took a sip of her iced coffee and shook her head vigorously. “God he makes me want to punch him in his stupid ugly face with that stupid dumb grin and those stupid poofy curls in his stupid misshaped head—”

“Kat,” you warned again, begging her to calm down. Her vernacular wasn’t the best, but damn was it amusing at times. “We just texted back and forth to kill some time. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not happening again.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than her.

She studied your expression carefully before deciding what to say next. “If he ever crosses the line again, call me.” Placing her hand over your free hand, she gave it a good squeeze. The edges of your lips curved into the tiniest smile and you instantly felt at ease.

“Have I ever told you how lucky and grateful I am to have met you?” you chuckled, ignoring the throbbing in your temple that started early in the morning.

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders like an actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, her teeth glimmered like diamonds against the bright red lipstick she had on. “As am I, my pumpkin patch sweet pea,” she beamed.

Covering your face to hide your painful grin, the door chimed, welcoming a customer. You fanned your face to calm down your rosy cheeks. “Welcome!” you greeted with your usual bright tone.

“Don’t touch anything,” someone criticized, the quiet sound of a hand smacking skin resounding through the small shop.

“I didn’t!” another voice, most likely the one who was scolded, replied in an irritated whisper.

Sitting up straight, you saw three young men standing right by where the glass terrarium displays were set up. You’d recognize that toothy smile and round face anywhere.

“Jungkook!” Finally getting out of your chair, you couldn’t help but be excited to see his face again. Kat’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared back and forth between you and the guys with a blatant, “are you kidding me, you met a cute guy and didn’t bother mentioning it to me” face.

Poking the shoulder of his friend who was scolded, Jungkook greeted you with his signature smile and energetic wave. “______! Namjoon, Jimin, this is ______.”

The taller one shook your hand. “Nice to meet you,” he spoke gently with a close-lipped smile and sensed a child-like wisdom from him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. It didn’t help that his horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a teacher and a student.

“Jimin, wonderful to meet you.” The shorter-statured boy addressed you with a nearly angelic tone, voice softer than what you’d imagine clouds to feel like between your fingertips. His silver-dyed hair added to his overall ethereal aura.

Still sat at the counter, a starstruck Kat greeted the three with more confidence and gusto than you could ever muster. “Honored to meet you, I’m Kathryn but please call me Kat.” She strummed her fingers in the air as if she were plucking a harp. Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon grinned, already sensing the quirky nature of her personality. Yup, Kat’s so-called “Kat-Attack” was definitely contagious.

If you had a dollar for every time you blushed because of Jungkook and/or his friends, you’d have enough money to buy your own greenhouse—and live in said greenhouse. It wasn’t until Kat forcefully coughed up her left lung out that you registered how long you had been shaking Jimin’s hand. Pulling away abruptly, you let out an awkward chuckle. This was totally not weird at all—just three attractive, charming, attractive young men who waltzed into your shop on an ordinarily quiet day. Nothing weird. God, you were making it so weird—

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you guys want anything?” Kat asked out of the blue. If she was going to do what you think she was about to do...

“No, that’s alright,” Jimin turned down kindly. “We stopped by a café on the way here, but thank you for offering.”

“No problem at all!” Kat smirked just the slightest bit while saying this as if she’d gotten away with a bank heist. “I’ll see you after work, ______!” As she was walking outside, you saw her shoot you a mischievous wink through the glass before running off.

“So,” you started, trying your best to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t the most socially awkward human in the world. “What brings you and your friends in today?”

Jungkook, still as shy as ever, ruffled his hair lightly out of habit. “Well, you see, me Taehyung, and another friend of ours moved into an apartment a while back, and it still doesn’t feel...” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “—homey enough.”

While listening to Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon were exploring the shop, taking in everything they could with their eyes, smelling what they could with their nose, and feeling every leaf and petal with their fingertips.

“We’re not the roommates,” Namjoon joked. “He dumped us ‘a while back.’” He acted out air quotes around the last three words. You held back a snort.

“He didn’t dump us, Joon,” Jimin corrected. “He found someone else who makes him happier.” Jimin pouted, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and sniffling like a kid.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and scoffed. “These two goofballs are with my other friend,” he clarified. “Taehyung, Seokjin and I have a pretty hectic schedule because of, you know...” Jungkook’s face was dusted with a shade of pink, clearly still too bashful to admit that he was a model.

“I understand,” you nodded, still biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling too much. “So you, Taehyung, and Seokjin share an apartment while Jimin, Namjoon, and—?” Trailing the sentence off with a higher pitched voice, Jimin got the message.

“Hoseok,” he finished for you. “He’s an even bigger dolt than me and Joon combined, trust me.” The image he painted made you giggle.

Eventually, you arrived at the best conclusion you could form with the information given. “Right, so the six of you are best friends and live in two apartments.”

“In theory, yes,” Namjoon established. “But we also have Yoongi who lives by himself.”

“He’s the guy who Taehyung and I came in asking advice for?” Jungkook clarified, helping you recall back to the first time you met them.

You heard Jimin exhale deeply. “He’s sort of like the dad of our group, if you know what I mean. Quiet, kind of emotionally detached but in reality just doesn’t know how to express himself—that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” It slipped out by accident and sounded more melancholic than you thought. You tried coming up with something to neutralize your slip-up. “I’m really glad he has you guys as family.”

Jimin and Jungkook gave you a heartfelt smile—then there was a thud.

Turning around, Namjoon was hiding his face behind his hand while rubbing his temple. The grow light that was hanging still from the ceiling was now swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

You were wincing as if you felt his pain secondhand. “Are you okay?”

He nodded too quickly as if trying to convince you that he was really okay. “Fine. Good. Flower shop. Plants need light. Forgot about the dangling lights. A lot of them.” he sputtered like a morse code machine.

Turning back to Jungkook and Jimin, they too had their faces buried in their hands out of sheer embarrassment. Sometimes, people found it hard to believe that Namjoon was that clumsy in his actions, but even harder for Jungkook and Jimin to tell them that he was their senior.

“Anyway,” Jungkook coughed. “Our new place looks kind of uninviting and Jimin thought adding a couple of plants might make it more cozy.”

Jimin had made his way to the syngoniums and rhaphidophoras. “We have better luck with plants than Namjoon and Yoongi. They don’t exactly have the greenest thumbs.”

Chuckling, you directed their attention to the macrame the 6-inch pothos n’joy that cascaded from the ceiling. Coincidentally, Namjoon was inspecting that exact one. Perfect. “Actually, he’s a pretty forgiving little guy.” Stepping up the ladder and bringing him down, Jungkook’s eyes grew big and his hands flew out to hold the ladder steady. “Thanks,” you blushed again.

Holding the plant up close now, you let them admire the creamy white variegation, watercolor patches of green, lighter patches of green, and the lush leaves. You also showed them the golden pothos, which was a more of a typical chlorophyll green, but it had beautiful yellow and white specks of variegation throughout the foliage.

“I’m assuming you’re all still beginners,” you inferred, to which they all nodded in agreement. “These guys need lots of bright light, but don’t press them up against a window or they’ll get sunburn,” continuing to explain.

“Water them every few weeks and wait until they’re bone dry, then give them a good, thorough drench. Don’t overwater them or they’ll hate you for it, trust me. They rarely ever need fertilizer, but I’ll give you guys some packets to last you a couple of months.”

“Can we take them all home?” Jimin gawked, head tilted up towards the sky and staring at the ceiling that was ornate with vining, trailing, hanging, and branching foliage.

An amused laughter left your lips. “I wish you could, but the next time you come and visit I’ll let you take one of those home,” you promised. “If you want another eye-candy foliage one, you could also take home a brasil.” Holding up the heart-leafed philodendron, the neon yellow stripes down the median of each leaf and clusters of light and dark green looked like they were hand-painted.

“Oh me, me, me!” Jimin’s hand shot up in the air, flapping it back and forth vigorously.

“Could I take one of these too?” Namjoon inquired with a 6-inch pot in hand. “Rhaphid—off... fera—?” he tried to sound out, earning another giggle from you.

“Rhaphidophora tetrasperma but it’s more commonly known as a mini monstera,” you clarified. He formed his lips into an o shape, caressing the delicate split-leaved foliage. “I think you’d be more than able to take care of that one.” Jungkook coughed to hide his snort.

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t drown it,” Jimin assured, throwing you a sly wink. Add another dollar to your bank account, would you?

“Hello, last time I checked we came here to buy housewarming gifts for my house?” Jungkook reminded them in the form of a rhetorical question.

You patted him on the shoulder to wipe the pout off his face. “There’s more than enough plant love to go around.”

“We’re gonna be here all day...” Jimin sighed in content, gently feeling the fuzzy leaves of some African violets. “Say sorry to my bank account for me, will you?”

“I second that,” Namjoon added. “What on earth is this?” Holding up a 2-inch grow pot, you pursed your lips at his dumbfounded expression, eyebrows raised and wrinkled at the odd looking succulent.

“It’s a lithops.” His face contorted more at your reply “They’re also known as living stones. As they grow, they split in half and pop out little baby lithops.”

Blinking to process what he had just heard, Jimin groaned and shielded his eyes. “Don’t say it, Joon.” Looking closer at the plant Joon was holding, Jungkook parted his mouth—

“It looks like a lil’ol buttcrack,” Namjoon pointed out bluntly. The three of you let out a synchronous sigh and buried your faces into your hands, but couldn’t help and burst into laughter right after.

“We are going to be here all day, aren’t we,” Jungkook said muffled through his hands still covering his face.

After the last crappy 72 hours, you were more than grateful to have them keep you company for the day. "I’m more than happy to make some new friends while doing my job.” The words flowed freely from your mind, excited to get to know them better.

After sending each of the guys home with enough plants they could manage to carry, you closed up the shop for the day. Kat texted you right after the guys left in a panic. She completely blanked about the gala she had to attend for her design and commerce class and was running to catch the metro. You could tell she was still adamant on wearing her fashionable but not functional cube-heeled oxfords, as her texts were a mixture of all-caps lock and garbled, choppy sentences.

As you made your way back to your apartment, you couldn’t help but hear a jumble of voices arguing with each other in your head.

Text him back, he misses you.

Don’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants again. He’ll leave just like that last time. Remember last time? You don’t want that to happen again do you?

Scum. Dirtbag. Trash. User.

What if he means it this time?

Asshole. Player. Heartbreaker.

Maybe he’s changed.

Don’t do it. Put your phone down.

What if he actually misses me? What if it’s different this time? Just text him. Nothing bad will happen if you text him once.

Everything bad that can happen will happen, it’s only a matter of—

The slamming of your door seemed to silence the conflicting pieces of your collective conscience. Leaning against the door, you clicked your lock and pressed your hand against your chest, willing yourself to calm down.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and jumped into the shower as soon as you threw your clothes into the laundry basket. The steam engulfed your body with a pleasant heat, releasing the tension in your neck and shoulders that had built up from the sleepless nights in bed.

After spending a little less than an hour in your makeshift steam sauna, you remembered that you actually had utility bills to pay. You quickly got out of the shower and slipped on your usual attire of joggers and an old shirt. The place was chilly, so you slipped on a cardigan for good measure. With your hair wrapped in a towel, you searched through your fridge for something to eat.

“Damn.” The words left your lips before you could stop them.

Of course, it was pretty much empty. You were so caught up with spring orders for the past few weeks, you didn’t get a chance to stop by the grocery store on your way home. Settling on half of a turkey sandwich leftover from yesterday, you were grateful you still had a few cans of soda left to compliment tonight’s gourmet feast.

You made yourself comfortable on your couch that was arranged right across your balcony. There was no use in having a TV if you couldn’t afford to pay the electric bills, and you wanted to utilize the limited space of your studio to its fullest. The fizz of the soda nearly made you choke. It had been a hot minute since you had soda, relying purely on coffee for the past few years to give you that caffeine boost.

The sound of sirens wailing echoed throughout the city and pierced through the hum of traffic with ease. Leaning your head back into the dense cushion, you closed your eyes and listened; the relentless thumping of your upstairs neighbors, probably having another night of friends over; the faint shouts from the restaurant across the street that was overflowing with diners, typical of a Friday night; the gentle whisper of cold air that bled through the crack of your sliding balcony door. You needed to get that fixed ages ago.

The food wasn’t going down well. It was that damn soda. Putting down the last few bits of the sandwich, you stood up and stepped outside onto your balcony. The lights flickered on and you admired the plant shelves you’d set up a few days after moving in. It was a teeny tiny space, but the luscious array of green, pinks, reds, white, and every color in between made it all the more bearable.

You propped your elbow up against the rail that guarded the edge and breathed in for four seconds, held it for five, and exhaled for six. It was working, right? Your hands came up to the sockets of your eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure to them. There were days where you really wanted to sleep for days on end; a hibernation, if you will. Today was most definitely one of those days. There was one problem—how were you supposed to fall asleep if you were too afraid to?

You were scared of seeing him in your dreams. Not even dreaming about him, no—the fear of encountering him as a random stranger while you were on your way to the floral market or a jogger passing by on your stroll in the park. His face resurfaced in flashes The glimpses of your favorite memories together were now inescapable bursts composed of your worst nightmares.

You hated him. You loathed him with all of your heart, despised him with every fiber of your being and with every single living cell in your body. You wanted to forget about him; you wanted to forget he ever existed and that he ever met you. Every single moment you shared with him and every second you wasted pining over whether he loved you back; you wanted those years of your life back.

But you knew better than anyone that time was never forgiving, and you would never get to relive those years ever again.

The funny thing—actually the hilarious thing—was that you hated yourself more than you hated him. You hated yourself for being the one who introduced yourself to him at that stupid party; you never should have gone to that stupid fucking party. You were such an idiot, what were you thinking?

All those days, months, and years you spent constantly hovering over your phone, begging and pleading for him to send you a text. Something, anything to acknowledge that he still knew your name and to give you the opportunity to manipulate it into meaningless signals, then use that to convince yourself that he actually did care about you.

You couldn’t remember for the life of you how or why you started falling for him. You both agreed to it no-strings-attached. No cuddles, no aftercare, no dates, and definitely no kissing in front of other people or hugging each other. He said his reputation would be ruined if his friends found out about you two.

In love with the idea of being in love, you agreed without a second thought. No feelings, no crossing the line. Simple.

Until he started breaking the rules.

He’d get jealous of you hanging out with other guys, blowing up your phone with questions and angry paragraphs along the lines of “You’re not going to parties anymore unless it’s with me” and “I can’t believe you hung out with Aaron of all people. You know he’s a complete fuck up, right?”

Then he started caring—at least, acting like he did. Pretending. Faking. Lying. Masquerading. Call it whatever you will. He held you close to his chest after spending time with you in his bed, wrapping you under the covers to keep you warm. You’ll never forget the warmth of his chest as his heartbeat thumped against your ear. His fingers traced the outline of your face when he thought you were asleep, never knowing that you did everything in your power to hold back your smile. Then there were times when he’d leave you right after, making an excuse about a night out with his friends or a project due tomorrow. It was always due tomorrow. Other times he would go to the bathroom and then come back to throw you a towel.

“My roommates will be here any minute. You should hurry up,” he’d warn.

Case and point, his games worked. After three years, you were head over heels for him. The memory of how it ended was blocked from your mind. Anytime you tried to remember that day, you always ran into a concrete wall. It was almost as if you built it to protect yourself from something, but what?

The only thing you could recall were the tears. Maybe they were his too, but you vividly remember yours. They flooded your vision with a cloudy film, overflowing in streams and trails down your face and even causing you to choke on them. And the screaming—god, the screaming... More memories flooded in as your hands cupped your ears.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry that I want what’s best for you and that you can’t see how much I care. I’m sorry for being so blind and seeing you for who I wanted you to be, that I couldn’t see you for who you truly are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you felt a drop of wetness fall dribble down your cheek. You were crying again. A sniffle followed the scoff that came out of your mouth. What, three years have already passed since then? Three years and you were still crying over that asshole?

Wiping at your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve, you bit your lip to concentrate on something else. You stared at nothing to the point where everything looked blurry and your eyes stung. The temperature suddenly dropped, indicated by your shivering. You couldn’t afford to get sick and hurried back inside.

Before you knew it, the clock had struck 11:00 p.m. and you were not the slightest bit sleepy. Sheltered in the safety of your own home, you had an idea that would not only get your mind out of the rut you’d fallen into, but also . Digging through scraps of loose paper, dry pens, and trash in general, you found your old earbuds. They worked perfectly fine, okay? Why fix something when it’s not broken?

Plugging them into your phone because yes—you had a phone which was one of the dying species that still had a headphone jack—you turned on your favorite playlist (appropriately titled stre$$ed) and commenced dancing in your room like someone from the 70′s. The only thing missing was a pair of flare-cut jeans, a splotchy tie-dyed shirt, and a pair of Kat’s over-the-top disco boots.

Even though your neighbors were assholes about keeping it down after lights out, you chose to be the bigger person and take their residence into consideration. Mouthing the words silently and jumping as softly as you could, your damp hair stuck to the edges of your face and flung around, hitting your cheek a couple of times. Truth be told, you were far past the point of caring.

Each time your foot came thumped against the plush carpet was an invigorating strike; every head bob was a liberating release; each labored breath and winded puff felt like the exact opposite, a breath of fresh air.

An escape.

You flopped onto the bed with a heavy exhale, trying to catch your breath. Panting, your face felt hot and every part of your lungs burned like you were being roasted alive on a bonfire. The back of your hand felt cool against your forehead and your eyes began drooping at the soothing touch. Before you could pull the covers up, darkness engulfed your senses and you were out like a light.

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He had counted backwards from one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and maybe a thousand. He tried listening to a random playlist full of rain sounds, alpha waves, crickets, and a fireplace crackling. All that came from that was an unnecessary number of bathroom trips, ear scratching, skin itching, and throwing off the covers from the heat he was imagining.

Sitting up in annoyance, Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his forehead resting on his hand, elbow propped up on his elbow. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about his job, the deadlines he had to meet, the songs he had to make, lyrics that still needed to be written, phone calls and emails he needed to send out—he was supposed to call his mom during lunch.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his eyes again. Looking at his alarm clock, the time 12:12 a.m. was outlined in blue. He initially settled on the traditional red one while at the store, but Hoseok convinced him to opt for a more “peppy color.” Yoongi’s lips curved into a soft grin at the memory. Within seconds, his eyebrows knitted together into a frown and his eyes flickered, the subtle expression he bore moments ago now a stone cold gaze.

No matter how hard he tried and how badly he wished and prayed, he couldn’t compel himself to cry. Despite his adamant concentration and determination, he didn’t shed a tear. Not being able to force it out without knowing what it was, proved to be absolutely suffocating.

He tried focusing on something else. The lights, the city, the sounds—he needed to focus on something else. Gazing through the window he’d familiarized himself with, Yoongi took in the view. From his room, he was able to see a picturesque layout of where the biggest main streets of the city intersected. Through the fog, he could also make out the faint edges of the longest footbridge that ran across the skyline. Looking down, the warm glow of street lamps and building lights twinkled through the dark night like man-made stars.

Lifting his head up to the apartment complex directly across from his, there were still a couple of lights on here and there. Yoongi felt validated in the sense that he wasn’t the only one who had sleepless nights. One by one, they started to fade, each apartment light turning off as someone’s hand flicked a lever and went to sleep. It was strangely relaxing to watch. After about twenty minutes of staring intently at every person tune out for the night, he narrowed his eyes at one that remained.

Directly across from his apartment was the faint yellow glow of someone’s balcony light. He imagined the wonderful warmth radiating from it, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the imagination. Looking closer, Yoongi saw the shadow of a woman leaning on the railing. She was shivering.

Bringing her hand up, she wiped at her face and started laughing—crying? He couldn’t see in the dark all that well. Trying to get a closer look, he forgot about the glass that separated him from the outside world and face planted the pane. Wincing in pain, he wrinkled his nose and inhaled sharply through his two front teeth.

He shook it off and centered his vision back to the balcony opposite to his room, remembering to open the window this time. Cold air bit at his cheeks but he ignored it, determined to find what he had witnessed seconds ago. The girl was still leaning on the rail and was staring at seemingly nothing. Her shoulders hiccuped up every few seconds and hands came up to wipe her face again.

Definitely crying.

Yoongi was awestruck. How good did it feel to finally get it out? Was it worth it? Did it feel like you could breathe again? Yoongi soon realized that he was jealous—no, he envied her ability to weep; her ability to shed real, painful, cathartic tears.

He envied the one thing he couldn’t have and would never be able to get.

Following your movement back inside, he should’ve gone back to bed himself, but for some reason, he just couldn’t. His gut told him not to, but then again, that way of decision-making was a 50/50 bet.

Whether it happened in the blink of an eye or this was all some sleep-deprived dream, she ended up going from crying her eyes out to dancing her heart out? She reminded Yoongi of Seokjin’s drunk dancing; good but not good, sane but not entirely, and so rhythmic yet incredibly off beat. Her vibrancy was contagious and made Yoongi smile a real smile for the first time in a while. If you told him that she had bawled herself delirious two minutes ago, he would have snorted. It looked as if she didn’t have a single worry or care in the world....

He felt like a creep. He shouldn’t be up, period. He should be sleeping, not spying on his neighbors. Worse, they weren’t even neighbors, had never met before, nor did they even come a foot close and live in the same building.

Hell, that made it so much freaking worse.

He sighed at how pathetic he felt. Was he that desperate for something he didn’t even know? Yoongi decided to call it a night. Crawling into his covers, they never seemed to keep him warm, no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in them. It was either searing hot discomfort paired with cold sweat or ice cold feet and teeth chattering.

That night by whatever random laws of the universe he slept soundly. Not once did he shoot open his eyes from nightmares or stir in his sleep out of discomfort. Maybe it was from witnessing someone’s emotional outpours and experiencing them vicariously through his own means, or maybe it was the satisfaction of selecting all of his unread emails and archiving them until tomorrow, one thing was for sure—Yoongi had accomplished his goal of sleeping through an entire night; something he hadn’t done for years now...

I’ll get out of it.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” you started, trying to close your agape mouth. “But I think you guys might have one too many plants.” Looking at their coffee table, it was overflowing with the eight boxes you’d delivered this morning. Yes, there were eight boxes full of plants delivered to a single apartment. Marco would have the time of his life restocking for next week. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin helped you carry up the boxes and were all staring at the ground sheepishly, their hands clasped behind their backs like children who were caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

You offered to deliver the boxes to their places separately, seeing as they had different spaces and floor plans, but that cheeky bugger Taehyung convinced you to rendezvous at his place. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of walking back and forth between the shop and their corresponding buildings, and the guys would get a chance to meet you.

Guilt gnawed at you for making them interrupt their daily schedules just to bring home some houseplants, but Jungkook insisted that they were all free for the next two weeks; spring break for Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok, pre-season break and scheduling bookings for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

Meeting Seokjin for the first time and Taehyung for the second was a memorable experience, to put it lightly. You walked in on them running around half naked and throwing crumpled balls of clothes at each other. Turns out they had been arguing about who’s turn it was to do the laundry and neither of them were having it. Long story short, you lived life by the rule that first impressions were a good indicator of someone’s unfiltered, raw, underlying disposition, and in this case, it proved to be entirely true in the best way possible.

“We’ll share, we promise.” Jimin was the first to break the silence but still had trouble meeting your gaze.

Jungkook pointed an accusing finger at Seokjin and Taehyung, his turn to talk. “They didn’t believe us after they saw how many plants we came home with, so we figured we’d invite you over to meet them in person and see whether they convert or not.”

“Safe to say that we are officially convinced,” Taehyung raised his hands in surrender, elbowing Seokjin to do the same.

Hiding your smile by pressing your lips together, a tingling sensation spread across your face at his odd choice of words. When you reminded them about their hectic schedules and voiced your concern about them being able to keep up with care, Seokjin revealed his contract agreement with Hoseok. “He promised that he’d come by and water them whenever we’re out of town for longer than a week,” the eldest explained while biting back a smirk. “He kind of owes me a lifelong debt...”

Forcing out a tight-lipped sideways grin, Hoseok slung his arm over Jimin’s shoulder, bearing a smirk of his own. “Don’t worry, Jimin here owes me a debt of his own.”

A sly grin crept along Jimin’s face. "Considering that my lifelong debt doesn’t have to do with the fact that you bl—” Before he could finish, Seokjin and Hoseok’s hands flew up faster than lightning to cover the boy’s mouth. Taehyung nearly spit out his water and the others were near tears and clutching their abdomens, their mouths sealed tight and refusing to let out one of their pact’s biggest secrets. You admired how loyal and strong their bond was, a rare thing in this day and age.

Shaking your head to distract yourself from their incessant laughter, you pressed your hand over your forehead and widened your eyes in concentration. “Well, let’s get to organizing, shall we?”

Unpacking the boxes one by one, each contained an array of species from pothos, philodendrons, syngoniums, hoyas, pileas, peperomias, baby rubber trees, rhaphidophoras, sansevierias, ZZ plants, money trees, and finally, two mature, green monsteras for each of them to keep in their living rooms. Not knowing what kind of lighting situation they had going on, you tried to limit your recommendations to medium-light tolerant plants. After they alerted you about their east and south-exposure windows, you were relieved in your selection.

“I call the big guy,” Jungkook cooed, picking up the staked rhaphidophora and clutching it to his chest and smirking coyly. “For my room.”

Seokjin whined loudly. “We live in the same apartment!”

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “You see what I have to deal with every day?”

Namjoon reached for the philodendron micans. “It’s like velvet!” he commented in awe as he felt the leaves. It was nicknamed the velvet-leaved philodendron after all, but his reaction made you feel fuzzy with plant love.

“Woah this looks like an alien’s flying saucer,” Hoseok noted. Picking up the pilea, it never struck you that the round, green disks did, in fact, look like flying saucers. Once everyone was satisfied with what they were taking home (it ended up taking a lot less time than you predicted), you went to work arranging them around the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, all while explaining to them the water and light requirements, periodic maintenance, and looking out for pests.

You urged Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok to go back to their place first, assuring that you’d meet them there. They said it was no bother and wanted to witness your working process. You were just doing your job, but seeing them fascinated by your passion and vigor was much more endearing than you thought it would be.

Just as you were hanging the macrame pot by their balcony, you heard the front door click open. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were holding the step ladder steady for you.

Since you were concentrating on getting the nail at the right angle, you paid no attention to it, assuming it was Hoseok or Jungkook going to recycle the used wrapping paper and packing materials.

“Yoongi!” Jimin called out.

“Good to see you dude,” Taehyung beamed. “Sorry, our hands are kind of full.”

“Could’ve given me a heads up that you had a guest over,” he grumbled, but you couldn’t hear through the rustling of the leaves that smacked your face.

The sound of footsteps grew louder from afar, then paused when you felt a presence behind you. “Jungkook,” you called out, turning your shoulder and looking down to where he was standing. “Do you mind grabbing the pliers from—”

Here’s the thing you never understood about step ladders. Standing on them is considered a safety hazard, yet it’s method of use and reason for existence is to be stood on. You wished you remembered this when you decided to turn around and look down at Jungkook, except, it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t Hoseok either. Despite not wearing a mask or beanie, you instantly recognized that cold gaze, piercing through yours like daggers.

He was equally shocked and mirrored your exact reaction, eyes growing wide and mouth parting as if you were staring through double-sided plexiglass.

“Yoongi, this is _____,” Jungkook introduced comfortably, conversation flowing freely from him. “______, this is Yoongi. The dad Jimin talked about.” While the boys broke into convulsions of laughter, you and Yoongi were still shellshocked. Of all the people that could be in this friend circle, it had to be the guy who crossed paths with you a few of times on the street?

You didn’t register that you’d lost your footing from the ladder until the familiar weight of gravity tipped you over. The last thing you saw were multiple pairs of hands reaching out to try and catch you, but it was too late—your body collided into his before crashing onto the floor as one whole, the clear thud of wood against flesh echoing throughout the apartment.

That’s definitely one way to make a first impression.

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

i do like you. [Gigi/Nicky + Jan/Jackie] - pinkgrapefruit

A/N - I wanted to try and figure out these characters and I thought this was the best forward! let me know what you think! betad by the wonderful frey <3

And I don’t like it when you’re never home

And I don’t like it when I’m sleeping alone

And I pick up the phone just to call you again

You never say never but you never say when

Gigi tosses and turns in the double bed that feels so empty, now that she’s its only inhabitant. New York City sunrise is filtering through the blinds in thick, warm stripes, making it harder and harder to forget that she is alone. She rolls onto her back, smoothing the covers on her body where they have become ruched during the night, and stares at the crack in the ceiling, reminiscing about the time Nicky tried to replace the light fitting, but ended up creating web-like fractures in the paintwork. She allows herself to exhale a chuckle at the memory of her normally poised girlfriend covered in plaster dust, waving a screwdriver.

Gigi flops onto her front so she can scroll through her messages, finds the good morning text Nicky sent when she woke up four hours ago, and fires back a response. Makes it sweet, but not saccharine, wanting, but not needy. She toes the line of ‘I love you’ without being overbearing, because she knows how hard it is to want someone, but not be able to hold them close and breathe in honeysuckle and lavender from their hair.

It’s only seven when she drags herself out of bed, tossing the comforter in a way she hopes will make it look clean, without being bothered with the arduous task of pulling the sheets taut. Jan and Jackie’s room faces west, so there is no light seeping from under the door, so she busies herself with feeding their cat and putting last night’s dishes away. Two plates, two bowls, one mug, as she fills the other with lemon and ginger tea. By the time Jan wakes up, Nicky is on her two o’clock lunch break, and Gigi is whispering broken French down the line to try and feel connected. It’s the twentieth of March, which, by the countdown on the wall, means there are only sixty-three days until they breathe the same air again. If she catches Jan staring wistfully at it too - she doesn’t mention it.

She ends the call with a promise to call again and she knows they will try. They always try.

But I do, and I do like you

And I do, and I do like you

Nicky sets down the phone with a sigh and looks over the quad. Parsons is beautiful in Paris, but she manages to miss the feeling of New York. She’s taken the prestigious offer of a semester abroad to be able to see family and experience the culture she’d missed so very much, but looking around it all now, she feels like maybe she misjudged it. Yes, she had been missing family, but now she misses the family she created in the States. It took a year to cement her roots firmly in the US soil, to build friendships and relationships, and find a woman who melts her heart, and now she is five hours out of the loop.

She lets her chin fall onto her hand as her other fumbles to unlock her phone, firing off a text to Jackie, who she knows must be feeling it too. It will be almost six p.m. over there, and - doing the time conversions in her head - Jan will have just woken up.

Paying quickly, she grabs her bag and starts to walk back to the apartment she is leasing. It’s strangely uncomfortable to be back in a country you left. She feels like a foreigner, even though her blood runs clearer here than it ever did in New York. She can breathe more, see the stars if she tries, but she is tied to the floor like a lead balloon.

She sends Gigi a text wishing her a good day, and then buries her phone in her bag, turning back towards the city. She needs cake.

And I don’t like it when you call me out

And I don’t like it when you’re putting me down

Just picking me up on a Saturday night

All ‘cause you had to, had to be right

Jackie responds to Nicky under the table. Her fingers deftly type out condolences and words of wisdom as the rest of her body stays focused on the meal in front of her. She’s having dinner with her host family from her high school exchange trip and she is pretending to be anyone other than herself.

They’re lovely people, they really are, but in a country as famously homophobic as Iran, nowhere is safe. So she tugs on her Hijab and goes back to eating.

By the time dinner is finished, it is almost half-past ten, and Jackie finds herself begging for one of the older sons to escort her across the suburbs of Tehran to her apartment. She arrives home face flushed and completely exhausted, thanking the son in Farsi before triple locking the door and removing the Hijab. She leans back against the wall, hand reaching into a hidden pocket to find her phone - looking forward to the way it will light up with Jan’s face when she turns it on.

She’s not disappointed as texts flood through, ranging from what she had for breakfast to the weather in New York City. It’s a huge comfort for them both to text their random thoughts. It’s a level of connectivity they didn’t think they could experience on different sides of the planet.

Jackie hums to herself quietly as she flicks through her old voice messages, finding one from their freshman year and pressing play. She listens to Jan sing through twenty minutes of the Mean Girls Soundtrack while she removes her subtle makeup and changes into a pair of men’s baseball shorts and an oversized t-shirt for sleep. When it hits half-eleven, she calls Jan, knowing that she’ll be done with classes for the day and heading to their favourite smoothie place. She falls asleep to gossip about the performance movement coach.

And I do, and I do like you

Jan listens to the quiet, even breaths of her girlfriend halfway across the world. She closes her eyes sometimes, when the work she’s trying to complete feels a little too arduous, and tries to imagine that Jackie is laying in bed next to her. She can roll over and see the glow of their alarm clock send shadows over the gentle curves and ridges of her face. The way her baby hairs flatten on her forehead in a way that makes her look younger than twenty-one.

She’s taken out of her daydream by a server trying to clear her smoothie away and she smiles apologetically, gathering her laptop and leaving a dollar on the table. She checks the time on her dad’s old watch between running across roads and down alleys, before finally arriving at the worn down little cabaret theatre being rented out for the latest show. It’s her first off-broadway show, and as she watches the posters go up outside - her name under the lead character - she feels a pang of longing. She wishes so deeply to not be alone in this moment - the taste bitter under her tongue, a raspberry seed stuck between her teeth.

But Jackie is not there, so she enters through the side door and gets to work, rehearsing the final scenes.

It’s eleven p.m. when she slides into bed in New York, firing off a good morning text to Jackie, as her early riser of a girlfriend sends a good night text from across the ocean. She sends a photo of herself tucked in and receives a bleary-eyed photo back of Jackie, comforter pulled up to her nose.

She can almost picture them in the same bed, and it leaves her to fall asleep with a smile on her face.

Why does the street get louder when it gets dark?

Why do I feel that sound in the pounding in the shape of my heart?

Oooh, oooh, oooh

Facetime is not a substitute for the way your hand fits in mine, Gigi thinks, as she sinks further into her couch. The calling tone burns her ears as she waits for Nicky to just pick up the phone. It’s been more and more like this - harder and harder to hold onto the notion that she’ll be home in just a few more weeks. She’s just not sure Nicky will recognise this as home when she finally returns.

Nicky picks up on what she is sure would be the last ring, and the noise sends floods of relief through the American, who tries to sit up straight. She tries to look less overjoyed to see her girlfriend’s tired eyes, feel less warmed by the quiet, but faintly affectionate tone with which she drawls the two-syllable name to make it four.

They exchange ‘I miss yous’ and hold the ‘i love yous’ on the tips of their tongues for a time when togetherness will feel more like togetherness, and less like loneliness. Then they let the silence hang.

“Do you want to come home?” Gigi asks, and maybe it’s not quite how she meant it, but the tone borders on accusatory, and she’s too tired of censorship and questions that go nowhere, but she looks into Nicky’s pixelated eyes and realises maybe she’s made a mistake.

“Why would you ask that?” Nicky replies, hurt and offended. “Why would you act like that?” She’s referring to the petulant lip, the time between texts that’s been dragging on of late, and the way she refuses to look at her, really look at her. But Gigi cannot read minds.

“Look like what?! Look like what, Nick, like I miss you? Like I really fuckin’ miss you?” If the connection was better, Nicky might have seen the tear in the corner of her eye. She might have heard her voice was cracking in a way that wasn’t static.

“I do miss you. I do want to come home,” Nicky finally responds. And she sounds defeated and tired and like the twenty-three days left are out of her control - which they are. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth, fingers finding the bottom of the Vintage t-shirt she stole from Gigi before she left.

Gigi runs her fingers through the front of her hair, letting the dark brown locks fall in front of her face in a moment of frustration.

“I don’t want to end this call angry,” she states, her tone measured and closed off.

Nicky nods. “Twenty-three days, baby.”

“Twenty-three days.”

And I don’t like it when I feel I’ve been had

And I don’t like it when I go to bed mad

Just to wake up again in the middle of the night

Why do you leave, baby, why do we fight?

“Baby!” Jan squeals across the phone as Jackie picks up with a wide smile and a melting heart.

“Baby,” Jackie repeats, mirroring the happiness in tone and the twinkle in the eyes. Jan scrunches her nose at the term of endearment and it makes Jackie chuckles with mirth. “How’s the show going?” She enquires, knowing that’s why Jan called - not that she needed a reason, but judging by the time, she’s just finished a show, and she looks like she’s glowing, so all things considered…

“I GOT SCOUTED!” Jan screams in a way that makes Jackie worry for her neighbours. She hears something hit the wall in their apartment and assumes it’s Gigi’s way of telling the blonde to please shut up. Still, she can’t stop herself from welling up with pride.

“You deserve this, love. I am so proud of you,” she gushes, one hand running over her eyes to try and stop the tears threatening to escape. Jan is openly crying on the other end of the connection, and one of them needs to stay strong. “I love you, baby.” She repeats because it’s all she can say or do to stop herself from booking an early flight home just to give her a massive hug.

“We are gonna damn celebrate when you get home,” Jan tries to assert, but she’s laughing and crying at the same time, so it’s not very effective. “Twenty-three days.”

“I’m expecting a full welcome committee,” Jackie jibes, smiling still.

“Will me and Gigi do?” Jan giggles, snot dripping from her nose as she tries to hide it from Jackie, who just lets out a quiet snort of laughter.

“That sounds perfect. Go to bed, baby. I love you and I’m proud of you.”

“Good morning Jackie, love you,” Jan says like it’s a promise.

“Good night Jan.”

But I do, and I do like you

And I do, and I do like you

Gigi’s been pacing for twenty minutes when Jan finally throws a cushion at her. She cradles her coffee while sitting on the sofa and her eyes keep flicking to the clock - watching it tick through the minutes. They have half an hour before they need to leave, but it feels like months.

“Bitch, you’re making me feel seasick,” she states, looking disapproving as the taller girl picks up a piece of toast before setting it down again. Too excited to eat.

“How are you so calm?” Gigi enquires, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion as Jan continues to sip her coffee instead of letting it go cold. Peanut - the apartment cat - is curled around her feet.

“Unlike you, I told my girlfriend I loved her a year and a bit ago, and am therefore very secure in my relationship.” She pauses, running her fingers through her hair, “I’ve not had to tiptoe around it since she’s been gone.” Gigi gulps, eyes flicking around the room. She’s well aware that’s what’s been going on - they all are - but that doesn’t mean Jan’s bluntness didn’t hurt a little bit. Jan and Jackie got together a month before she and Nicky finally did, and they’re all approaching two years together. Gigi and Nicky are just a little bit - very - emotionally cautious.

“Fine,” she relents. “But you’re driving.” Jan laughs, dislodging herself from the cat and grabbing the keys to the rental car off the countertop.

“Sounds right.”

Why does the street get louder when it gets dark?

Why do I feel that sound in the pounding in the shape of my heart?

Oooh, oooh, oooh

Nicky’s flight comes in first and as the plane prepares to land, she shifts nervously in her seat. She’s excited, maybe a little anxious, and all of her nails on her left hand have been bitten down to stubs. She taps her right-hand nails on the arm of her seat until the businessman next to her gives her a scathing look. She knows from his interactions with the air hostesses that he’s French, so she drops a cursory ‘Pardon’ before she resumes watching New York spiral below her.

She lets her head fall back onto the headrest as the plane comes to a stop on the runway. Nicky pulls out her phone to check her long blonde hair as she pulls it out from her customary travel low ponytail. She’s dressed in a simple pair of light grey jogging bottoms and a white t-shirt tied at the waist, Parson’s hoodie tied around her carry-on.

Gigi had told her they’d meet her in Baggage Claim before they go to Jackie’s terminal, so she walks through the archway into the luggage carousel expectantly. Her smile soon drops, though, when she realises they aren’t there. Her hand curls into a fist, nails digging into the soft skin of her palm as her teeth worry the inside of her cheek.

She jumps at the feeling of two hands on her hips and turns with a start, before suddenly flinging herself onto Gigi’s waiting body. She lets herself relax into the hold of the taller girl, feeling more grounded than she has in months, safe and at home. Nicky doesn’t even realise she is crying until she pulls slightly out of the embrace just to map Gigi’s face. It’s only been four months, but she looks older, the bags under her eyes are a little more prominent - she has a new acne scar on her chin and a couple more freckles on the apples of her cheeks, but she looks perfect. She puts a hand on each cheek and kisses her in a way that connects them deeper than just skin. It’s full of tears and longing, but she needs it more than oxygen, and she only pulls away when she realises that last statement was undoubtedly false, taking in a deep breath while Gigi just studies her. She lets the brunette press her lips to her forehead and smiles at the thought that Gigi didn’t think she missed this.

Nicky feels Gigi’s lips move on her forehead and she doesn’t need to ask to know what it means.

“Me too,” she whispers, “I love you too.”

The spell is broken as Jan coughs behind them. She’s got one hand on Nicky’s giant suitcase and the other on her hip, as she hollers about how this is a lovely reunion, but only one of them has really tried to keep Nicky’s goddamn cat alive, and Nicky slips out of her girlfriends grasp to say a long-awaited hello to one of her best friends.

And I go away, but when I come home again

We’ll find a way to go back and rebegin

Jackie stretches her legs out in the seat, feeling one of her knees crack as she straightens it. After just over eighteen hours travelling - including two connections - she’s finally about to touch down in New York, and she’s beyond happy. The thought of standing in a busy street and just breathing in cool air makes her heart flutter. The idea of the neon lights and the smell of her favourite bodega and a blueberry muffin, god, she could swoon. And Jan.

The smell of her perfume has long since faded on the old Varsity t-shirt she stole back in January, but she can still imagine the shea and sea salt infused blend. She cannot wait to bury her face in her hair and hold her hand and sleep with their legs intertwined under the covers.

She steps off the plane with a sigh of relief, and she feels like she is home. As welcoming as Tehran was - as much as it wormed its way into her heart, New York is where she feels her soul relax.

Back way to the stars

Back into our hearts

We can win

Jackie’s barely stepped into arrivals before she’s jumped on by a short blonde woman, tears streaked down her face in seconds. Jan silently thanks the gods that she kept up her strength training in Tehran, regretful that she’d not even considered the outcome where she’d have knocked her girlfriend to the floor.

Luckily, Jackie can hold her petite love up, legs wrapped around her waist and face buried in the crook of her neck. Nicky hurries over to grab her bags and takes them back to Gigi, while Jackie just focuses on getting them both back to the relative safety of their friends, without walking into any suitcases or unsuspecting humans.

“I missed you so fucking much,” she hears Jan whisper into her neck and she smiles, twisting her head to press a chaste kiss to her hair. Jan drops her legs, sliding down til she’s standing with her arms wrapped tightly around Jackie’s waist, head pressed into her chest while the brunette burrows her face into her hair, chasing the shea and sea salt, and the smell of her grapefruit shampoo.

She looks up at the other couple briefly to wink at them, and they smile in understanding.

Why does the street get louder when it gets dark?

Why do I feel that sound in the pounding in the shape of my heart?

Nicky places her head on Gigi’s naked collarbone, fingers tracing patterns onto her sternum as they both relish in the way the room feels like a vintage polaroid. It’s warm and comfortable and so full of love it’s almost choking. The covers pool around their legs as Gigi uses one finger to lift the blonde’s chin up to meet her - lips connecting as Nicky’s back arches in the moonlight. Her hair cascades over one shoulder and Gigi’s knee rises between the other girl’s legs.

Jackie rests her cheek on Jan’s hip, smiling gently as the blonde runs her fingers through her hair. She places a soft kiss on her navel before she pulls herself up to the top of the bed, laying on her back so Jan can curl around her like a cat. “That felt like a good celebration,” Jan whispers into her favourite point on her neck, and Jackie hums in response. The moonlight falls through the window leaving a pattern of shadows on their intertwined legs.

“G’NIGHT,” Nicky yells and the entire apartment bursts into laughter.

Oooh, oooh, oooh

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi x nicky #gigi goode #jan sport #jackie cox #nicky doll #lesbian au #university au #I have no understanding of new york #fluff #pinkgrapefruit #I do like you #song fic #jankie #s12 #college au

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madmadmilk · 5 years

Note

This might be kinda dumb and it’s ok if you’re not taking requests but if you ever do I’d love for you to consider this. I’m going through a really unexpected break up and honestly I’m having a pretty hard time. I’d love to read a short fic about Tom comforting y/n through a break up. I love your writing by the way. I check up on your blog almost daily. Keep it up 💕

hey! this isn’t dumb, but i’m sorry i took so long to reply. i hope you’re feeling better and seeing bluer & brighter skies. you’ll be okay! 💞 for now, please take time to enjoy the little things,, and this is for u 🌷

anything & everything

pairing: tom holland x reader

you’ve never really broken up with anyone before. no one as serious as this, at least. you always imagined there would be fighting words, kicking and screaming, a shower of rain to hide your tears, and twinkling city lights to wistfully look at in your pain.

but there were none of those.

instead, the “break up” was crisp and concise and in the bright light of day. you both knew it had to happen. it had been a slow crack that grew bigger and bigger. a fire you both had tried to water and fan, only to burn it all down.

you both had seen it coming.

and that’s not all bad; sometimes life just pulls you apart. you go one way, and they the other. and you don’t always have to hate someone for making that choice, it’s their life after all–– and there’s so much to live, and see, and feel and love

but it still made you hurt.

the silence after the fact is what pained you the most… knowing that you shouldn’t contact them, no matter how much it wanted to. you both had to move on from this point, you had to let go. you could still be friends, but not now. not when it was so fresh.

so in the early morning, only 9 AM, you call someone you know would be up. (or rather, would get up for you)

“of course, of course–– no, don’t explain. i’ll be there, don’t worry. no! no, i’ll come pick you up. i have time–– all day. i’m free, don’t worry. i’ll be right there. gimme a sec––” his voice is groggy with sleep but full of sympathy. a wonder he could conjure up so much emotion within moments of waking up.

most people would be pissed, but tom was not “most people.”

you were always fond of tom, he’s always so friendly and his smile puts you at ease. he’s quick to tease you, but incredibly trustworthy. he’ll stand up for you, but also tell you the brutal truth. he doesn’t cut corners, but he’d speed over to comfort you in your time of need.

tom is just that kind of person.

the kind that shows up after a surprise call at 9 AM to pick you up from your now ex’s place, spare hoodie and water bottle in hand. he comes up to your door, guiding your hollow spirit to his car, helping you into your seat.

it’s at that moment when you realize how weak you felt. your knees buckled and you fell back against the leather, your fingers fumbled with the seatbelt, but he helped you wordlessly. your knuckles turned white as your gripped the strap across your chest.

he doesn’t speak until he’s sped off in a random direction. you couldn’t tell where, because of the tears that blurred your vision.

“what happened?” the words ripped through your strained composure

your mouth opened to speak, desperate to sort your emotions, but only a weird squeaky sob made way. you have to breathe–– probably taking ten minutes just to say anything intelligible–– but he gets it.

“we,,––hhic–– they said,–– t-they–– we broke up––” you shut your eyes as you say it, the finality of hearing yourself say it out loud.

“it’s over”

“oh, no,” he says quietly. he reaches over to rub your shoulder, sparing you a sorry glance that you don’t see. “i’m so sorry.”

you nod. those were the only words he could give you, there was nothing to be spiteful or angry about. this was what had to run course.

after another ten minutes of sharp hiccups and groaning, you started to let yourself settle. you lean your head back while tom just drives, and watch the bright blue, cloudless sky as your eyes start to swell. your face was warm, and shoulders tense.

“this sucks,” you say out loud, voice cracked.

tom laughs softly, reaching out to touch your shoulder again. it felt nice. he slowed to a stop light, and sat back to look at you fully. there you notice he was wearing some dodgy sweatpants, a dark hoodie with a white shirt pulled down under it. his hair was a tangled mess, eyes ringed with dark circles. but he was still smiling gently,

“i know.”

it was nice that he didn’t comfort you right away, that he wouldn’t smother you with pretty-nothings. it would be hard to believe at this point. instead he drove far, far away from all things familiar, and let your ramble about things you would probably all take back in a few days time.

he pulls into a parking lot, excusing himself for a second, and then coming back with your favorite coffee order. he watches you sip it and smile slyly, when you realize he remembered. you thank him.

“don’t worry about it,” he comforts, “your order is easy to remember.”

“how so?”

“it’s the opposite of mine.”

and that makes you laugh, falling into a special sort of ease. you push your sticky hair off your face, taking another sip. tom plays his spotify wrapped playlist, and you tease him about his artist of the decade. he defends himself and lists their bops. you listen as he fills the silence.

it’s nice.

you don’t exactly want to address the fresh wound, not yet at least. and tom understood that. right now, he was a distraction, and he understood that.

but he’s a good friend, you hope he understands that.

when the conversation falls to a lull, and you’re starting at the shaking, barren trees, tom offers,

“wanna step out? take a walk?”

“sure.”

you both step out of the car, maybe immediately regretting it because of the sharp chill–– but warm drinks in hand, it was enough. you laughed as he pulled his hood up, and protested when he tossed you a spare jacket–– though you put it on.

you walk towards shop buildings that weren’t yet open–– quiet, cold streets. you look down at your feet, and then are pulled

tom hugs your shoulders, pulling you to meet his side. he rubs his hands up and down your arm and shakes back and forth with funny steps. you look at him and he’s smiling goofy and apologetic.

the sight of him feeling sorry for you, makes you feel sorry for yourself and you start to tear up. he gets flustered and you laugh,

“god, tom, don’t make me cry! my tears are going to fucking freeze!”

“sorry, i’m sorry––” he whines, wiping your face roughly as you stop in the middle of the walkway. you duck away from him but he continues to rub your face,

“–– these are gonna turn into fucking ice cubes––”

“tom!”

“ew, wait!–– don’t wipe your nose on that!”

“then, where the hell else–– you told me to wear this!”

you sniffle, your ribs aching with laughter. he holds your wrists lightly to stop you, but let go quickly. you hold your snotty sweater over your fingers and hold them against your face.

“thanks, tom. for coming out with me.”

he laughs, kicking his feet, “’didn’t really come out. kinda kidnapped you.”

you pull your hands down, crossing your arms and smiling the best you can, “well, thanks for being here with me.”

his head tilts, eyes crinkling genuinely, “don’t mention it.”

your lips press together, attempting to smile wider.

he nods, looking over you. he could see that you were going to be fine, that you were standing strong on your own two feet, your future clear and bright, your spirits ready to be lifted, you heart bruised, but intact–– he could see that it wouldn’t hurt for you to have someone to lean on.

tom approached you slowly, his arms held out. you didn’t move, not because you didn’t want to–– but it felt nice this way.

he engulfs you in a hug, his arms going over your shoulders, his heads resting against yours, inviting you to lean against him. and you do. you smush your face against his shoulder.

his scent was unfamiliar, but incredibly warm.

he held you tight, rubbing your back and eventually swaying again. it was a way to say, “you can pull away at anytime, but i’m here for you.”

you don’t cry again, and instead hug him back with time. it was just a kind gesture you needed so badly. you didn’t want to feel like a burden, you didn’t want to be pitied, you didn’t want to be alone––

and tom gets that.

but sometimes you just gotta say it outright,

“thank you. you’re a really good friend, tom.”

he pulls back, both your arms sliding off each other, his hands come to rest by holding your elbows. you lightly lay on his forearms. his smile is crooked, while his eyebrows twitch. he speaks more bluntly than he means,

“i’d do anything for you”

you crack a laugh, rubbing your nose,

“thanks? likewise.”

tom laughs gently alongside you, as you resume your walk. the wind is not quite as cold with tom beside you.

maybe it’s because he blocked it–– or because of the violent flush that ripped across him upon realizing that he confessed his buried feelings for you.

you miss the way he lovingly looks upon you, but that’s okay. he only wants you happy and warm–– no matter the means.

he’d do anything & everything.

💞

#Anonymous #hope you're feeling better! there are lots of things to look forward to #just give yourself time and space #focus on YOU!#all the best 🌿#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland you #tom holland reader #tom holland writing #madmadthirst #madsweet

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murderousginger · 4 years

Text

Deep South

Original spooky fic based off of Deep South by Cartel.

Word Count:1,736

She closed her eyes and hummed. She could smell the storm coming in. Feel the lightning light up the distant sky. She could hear her feet tap against the cobblestone walkways in a steady rhythm with her heart. She could feel the weight of the summer air press against her as she perspired a prayer for a breeze.

She knew the way. It just took one step after another. The sun felt good on her skin and her eyes opened when she heard the moss shift in the trees.

Instantly she was back into her body like a rip chord went off. She slumped from her pose on the floor and huffed in annoyance. So close. So very far away.

She slapped her hands upon the wood floor of the tiny apartment as she stood up and went to the window to see the freak ice storm that roared outside. The day was dark from clouds but the ice and snow twinkled anyway.

She glared at the weather as if it was openly mocking her before she kicked the wall below the window and went back to her spot on the floor. She took a deep breath.

"Again, honey," she muttered, "Try again.I can do this."

She exhaled slowly, squeezing her eyes shut before relaxing and trying to find a rhythm to breathe in. She crossed her legs before purposefully extending her arms and planting her palms flat onto the floor.

She inhaled slowly, and with her exhale she pressed her palms deep into the floor. Her muscles flexed and instantly she was back on the beach, feeling the breeze across her face like opening an oven door. She felt her hands press into warm sand and water the temperature of bath water caressed her forearms.

This time, she didn't open her eyes. Instead, she could feel the lighthouse in the distance, it's visitors cooing and taking photos of the old place. She felt the boardwalk down the way bustling with families and couples buying ice cream to beat the southern heat.

She slowly lifted her hands from the sand and water and turned her back to the sea, squinting at the waterway that turned into a river and led back to her home. She shifted along the waterway until her memory could place her along the riverbanks and her feet touched the cobblestone again. She thoughtlessly waved at the statue of the woman waving her laundry at the sea.

She strolled along the shops, her hands wistfully touching the old buildings as she went. No one that passed her even took a glance. She licked her lips as she passed the taffy store, watching the man pull the sugar long and slow in the window.

She did not stop. If she stopped now, she might not find her way back.

She ran her hand along the brick hotel that was once a mighty cotton gin company. She could feel the old building breathing, expanding and contracting with memories. She almost paused, but continued on.

Her time was short, and her energy was constantly depleting. She had to reach him. She had to see. She only had this much energy because she was stronger on the day she was born. Sunday. And time was short.

The day was winding down and street lamps slowly came on. She passed one of the dozens of beautiful squares. This one had a memorial fountain under the massive oak tree covered in moss.

A sudden urge to sit on the edge of the fountain and touch the water moved through her so violently that her steps faltered for a moment. The breeze whispered in her hair, begging her to stop and touch the water. Her breath stilled. She took another step.

One more trip past the old cemetery, she thought, pushing herself on.

She thoughtlessly ran her hand across the metal fence as she walked past it, looking at the unearthed headstones across the far wall that had been desecrated by union soldiers. Names were changed, dates were scratched over. Sorrow poured from it's gates as it beckoned her in. She walked by, gently squeezing the metal gate before letting go.

"Not today, honey," she said.

She was almost to the flat. It was a quaint little apartment space in the attic of an old Victorian home, repurposed to be a string of low-income apartments rather than a massive plantation for an elite family. Her steps felt heavier as she locked her eyes on the attic window beckoning her with it's soft yellow light.

Would he be there?

"You don't want to go up there, baby," a soft voice called from behind her.

She startled before turning her head and seeing a middle aged woman walk across the street to stand beside her. The woman's black hair was expertly curled, and her dark dress shirt and slacks were covered with a charcoal apron that the woman patted as she looked at the house.

Her skin was deceptively smooth with minimal aging lines around her dark eyes, and her voice was soft and smooth with the native twang of the south.

"He's not there no more," the woman said. Her tone held an edge as the girl stiffened beside her. "Child, don't be mad at him. Time works differently on the other side. He still thinks of you. Life continues on, just like we do."

"Who --" the girl started, "how-- how do you know? How do you see me?"

"You can call me Momma E," the woman said as she slipped her hand into her apron, bringing up a red wrapper decorated like a strawberry and pushing it toward the girl. "I'm here to smooth things along, honey. Sometimes people get lost and need a push. That's what I do."

"Momma E," the girl says incredulously. "How am I lost? I know where I am. I belong here."

"Baby," Momma E said, dark eyebrows raising like angry wasps, "you might know where you are, but you don't KNOW where you are."

She took the strawberry candy from Momma E and inspected it before popping the candy in her mouth.

"Why can't I return here?" She asked quietly, deflated.

"Do you remember how you got to that apartment?" Momma E asked softly.

She jerked her head down with short images of running, blood, screaming. She inhaled sharply before slowly shaking her head. Momma E patted her on the shoulder.

"There, there, baby," Momma E soothed. "You just suck on that candy and focus on here. We don't have enough time for you to blink out now."

She focused on the taste of candy and crumpled the cellophane wrapper in her hand before shoving it into her jean shorts. Momma E nodded in approval.

"Now," she drawled, looking down into the girl's eyes, "Listen closely because there isn't time for repeating. They're gonna find your body in three days, child. That could feel like a minute or a hundred years. We all move differently through time here. But in three days, they're gonna find you and they're gonna put two and two together. You ain't gonna be stuck no more. They gonna find your parents and they gonna bring you home."

She inhaled a sob of relief as tears started to form around her eyes. Momma E hushed her and with quick fingers rubbed the tear off her cheek.

"I ain't done yet, baby," she said, gently holding her chin. "You gotta go with 'em. You gotta go with your bones. 'Else you ain't ever comin' home, child."

She hiccuped with a jolt, grabbing the woman's hand.

"But that means---" she started.

"Shhh," Momma E said, putting her finger to her lips. "I know what it means, child. You're gonna have to go back to that dark place and wait. I know it's scary, but it's only the only way to bring you home. Don't you wanna be home?"

She nodded, gasping in between sobs.

"Alright, then," Momma E soothed. "Then you're gonna have to go back, honey. You're almost used up as is, you gotta let yourself go back and be found. Then you can be here."

She clutched the woman's hands, looking up into her dark eyes and tried to steady her breathing. Fear was etched into every feature as she slowly let go of Momma E's hands and disappeared slowly. Momma E quickly grabbed the candy wrapper out of the air and stuffed it into her apron. She looked back at the house in front of her and let out a sigh.

"Poor child," she whispered. "Soon, baby, soon."

------

He sometimes walked this way, remembering how it was her favorite. Not often, mind you, because it was so out of his way, but just often enough to remember.

She loved the moss-filled trees, the cobblestone, the meandering trail of it all. Most of all, she loved the graveyard.

He never understood why she took solace among desecrated gravestones, but she always had to go and trace her fingers over them.

It had been years and he still thought of her. Of their fight and breakup before she uprooted her life to go to college up north. Of how they found her body. She'd always be the 'what if' in his life. He'd never forget her.

He thoughtlessly put his hand up on the metal fence like she did, slowing to peer in like she always did. He froze in panic.

There she was. She was sitting on the memorial, book in hand, hair behind her ear in the shade of the trees. She smiled softly to herself, lifting one knee to her chest to lean on as she continued her book.

He inhaled sharply, hands clutching the fence spokes until his knuckles were white. He almost said her name, but hesitated.

Her back straightened suddenly and she looked up at him, eyes locking. She gave him a soft smile before blinking out in the afternoon sun. He paused, searching the graveyard for her. No one had been buried there in hundreds of years. She was there. He knew it. With no other indicator of her presence, he exhaled the breath he had been holding.

"Hi darlin'," he whispered softly, letting go of the fence and stuttering his footsteps until he found an even rhythm again. "Hi, darlin'," he said even softer, but what he meant to say was goodbye.

Masterlist

#deep south #writing #cartel #prose #short story #story #fic #savannah #death #personal

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insfiringyou · 5 years

Text

BTS - Missing You (Jungkook x Young-soon)

Contains: Fluff. Smut. Angst. Mentions of cheating.

A series of events between Jungkook and his girlfriend Young-soon (OC), set at various points between the events of ‘A Phone Call’ and ‘Jin’s Wedding’ as they try to come to terms with the mistake that Jungkook made a few months before and what this means for their future together.

This is a major chapter in our headcanon universe (find out more about our headcanon universe plot and characters here).

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook

& Our full masterlist can be found here

Rated content below the cut

PART ONE

She had said she needed space and, despite how it pained him not to message her or look at his phone frantically every time it pinged, he had done just that. He was surprised one evening, a few weeks after they had spoken on the phone, to find she had texted him asking whether he had remembered to pay off his part on their shared credit card before the interest rate kicked in, but he tried not to read too much into this. She had always looked out for him and it was more than likely she had set a reminder on her phone for when the bill was due. He had sat through a group dinner, organised by the oldest member and his girlfriend a week later, without much luster. While Yoongi was unsurprisingly absent, the others had come with their partners and questions on the whereabouts of his own were quickly dodged and forgotten.

A few days later, while he was drying himself off from the shower, his phone rang, catching him off guard when he read her name on the screen. Fifteen minutes later, after hastily dressing in a daze, he was pulling up at the edge of a side road behind a blue Renault, its hazard lights flashing.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asked as the passenger door was pulled open, a cold stream of morning air hitting him in the otherwise cosy vehicle.

“Yeah.” Young-soon muttered cautiously. “The car was squeaking the whole way, and when I pulled over, it wouldn’t start again.” As she climbed into the car, Jungkook observed her office attire; a black skirt which framed the curves of her hips and backside, paired with a flattering white blouse. He quickly looked away. “Thanks for picking me up, no one I work with lives this side of the city.” She quickly explained, clearly embarrassed.

Jungkook shook his head, it was nothing. “Shouldn’t we wait with the car?” He asked, gesturing towards the blue vehicle.

“The break down company is on its way…”

“Did you give them the right licence plate?” He asked automatically, an old memory tugging at the back of his mind. He pushed it away as she rolled her eyes with a smile.

“If I’m late to work again my boss will put me on a warning.” She explained with a sigh as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, rejoining the rush-hour traffic at the end of the street where it joined the main road.

He frowned. “Have you had a lot of time off recently?”

The short silence which followed made his heart sink as he realised the cause of her absences.

“I’m sorry I missed the dinner…” She eventually said. “Min-seo invited me by text.”

The apologetic tone of her voice told him she was serious and he couldn’t help the thud of his heart.

“I told them you were sick.” He said, not knowing if this was the right thing to do. A pause filled the air.

“Do they know?” She asked.

“I didn’t know what to tell them.” He shrugged, feeling pathetic as another silence stretched out. “It’s this way isn’t it?” He nodded towards another side street.

“Take a right.” She confirmed as he indicated and carefully turned the corner, avoiding a stream of pedestrians on their way to work.

“They’ve not been paying much attention to me anyway.” He murmured as they passed a row of tall offices, trying to maneuver the car through the rows of tightly packed parked cars.

“Why?” She asked interestedly.

“Yoongi’s girlfriend broke up with him.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. “I didn’t know he was dating.”

“Neither did we.” He shrugged. “I kind of thought...I saw him with a girl, but…” He trailed off, not knowing how to explain the surprise he was witnessed at the theatre, over half a year before.

“Is he okay?” She asked softly.

“He’s just getting on with things.” He paused. “But I don’t think so.” He finished, honestly.

The woman beside him fell silent for a moment before asking. “And how about you?”

He turned to look at her, meeting her gaze for a moment with big, brown eyes, before turning back to the road. His heart was jackhammering in his chest, suddenly realising that this could be it. “Does that mean you’ve come to a decision?”

“Kook…” She whispered sadly.

“What I did…” He felt a lump rise in his throat as he tried to explain, needing her to know. “I can’t take it back…but you don’t know how much I want to.”

“Me too…” She agreed wistfully.

He felt his eyes sting and blinked fiercely, trying to clear his vision as he pleaded. “I don’t want us to be over…I don’t.”

“I know.” She said quietly.

He fought on, knowing if he didn’t say it now, he might not get another chance. “I know you don’t love me right now and I can’t expect you to...but do you think you ever could?” He asked.

She took a moment to reply, wiping the corner of her eye. “If I didn’t love you, this wouldn’t be so hard…” She admitted, her own voice trembling. He met her gaze once more and saw that her eyes were glimmering with tears. He wanted nothing more than to reach for her, to take her hand in his.

“Keep your eyes on the road.” She warned softly.

“Sorry.” He muttered, turning back to the street. He took the next left from memory and the skyline turned dark as a row of shiny, glass buildings blocked out what remained of the sun. “I’m moving apartment next month.” He eventually said, breaking the silence.

“What’s wrong with your old one?” She asked with a smirk, her voice normal once again.

“Nothing.” He said, thinking. “This one has a home gym.”

“Is that all?” She teased.

“It was a good price.” He shrugged.

“You can drop me off at this corner. My building’s right there.” She pointed to the metal sign which hung above the revolving doors of a modern complex he recognised immediately. He had only been inside once, on the day they met, but he remembered the layout of the foyer vividly, and how she had looked when he first caught glimpse of her behind the reception desk.

“Right.” He said, checking the wing-mirror before tucking the car against the curb. “Do you need a lift home?” He asked as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“I can get the bus.” She offered automatically.

“It’s on my way back to the studio.” He said, hopefully.

“Okay then…” There was a bout of uncertainty in her voice but she agreed. “I finish at five. I might be a few minutes late.”

“I’ll pick you up here?”

“Okay.” She smiled, closing the door behind her. He watched to make sure she was safely inside the revolving doors before he pulled away, already anticipating seeing her again later that day.

PART TWO

(Set a few days following the events of ‘Can we work out together more often?’)

The routine continued for the next few months and slowly, almost cautiously, they had started seeing each other outside of the car and their twice-daily journey. The sex had come as a bit of a surprise to them both, with the first time happening during a tour of his new apartment. Their lips had met in his bedroom and before he knew it, he was pressing her down into the covers, his lips seeking her pubis as he tugged the fabric of her panties away down her shapely legs and touched his tongue to her clitoris. He was down there for a long time, kissing her with as much passion and tenderness as he could muster despite her quiet moans and the rigidness of her body. He worried he had taken things too quickly, until he felt her hands tugging him up, her nimble fingers seeking his erection. Wordlessly, she had rummaged through his bedside table to find a condom, and slipped it on him. Unable to hide his pleasure, he had buried his head in her long, fragrant hair as she guided him inside, stifling his gasp as they moved together. He hadn’t lasted long, despite the barrier between them, and when he came he called her name out loud, both in relief and euphoria.

They barely spoke afterwards and he didn’t finish his tour. The home gym went unexplored until a month later, where their desire had once again gotten the better of them. This time had been different; she had seemed to want him as much as he wanted her and there had been no latex barrier between them as they fucked.

The memory of it, of seeing her with his seed dripping down her breasts and on her tongue, still rang through his mind as he pulled up outside her building, unable, as always, to help noticing the chipped paint on the front door which, from a certain angle, looked like a smiling face. As he twisted to turn off the engine, another object caught his eye and he turned to Young-soon with a smirk. “When did you get it back?” He asked, nodding towards the familiar blue Renault parked on the corner of the street.

Her lips pressed tightly together. “Do you want to come in for a coffee?” She asked softly, a little coquettish.

“If you’re inviting me.” He grinned, feeling his heart skip at the prospect as they unfastened their seatbelts and walked across the street to her building.

“I’ll pay you back…” She muttered apologetically as she searched through her purse for the house keys. “For the petrol.” She explained, cheeks pink.

“You don’t need to do that.” He shook his head as they headed inside and up the narrow set of stairs which led to her floor. “I’m just curious where you’ve been hiding it all this time.”

“My neighbour has a garage.” She shrugged as she unlocked the wooden door and closed it behind them both. As always when he visited her, the loftiness of the apartment took him by surprise. The building was much older than any he had ever inhabited, built during the days when space was not so much an issue.

“I thought a new fan belt wouldn’t take that long to fit.” He admitted, realising that a part of him had known or at least strongly suspected that the car had been fixed weeks, if not months before.

“So why didn’t you say anything?” She asked with a smile, leading him to the circular table which stood in the centre of the living room.

He shook his head with a cautious grin, not wanting to sound too sentimental or sappy.

“Sit down.” She gestured softly. “What are you having?”

“Whatever you are.”

He watched as she headed into the adjoining kitchen and switched on the electric kettle. It hummed to life as she spooned instant coffee into two matching mugs, part of a four piece set she had treated herself to with the gift vouchers her parents had got for her birthday. Pastel polka dots adorned the ceramic.

“Were you scared it would break down again?” He asked, calling into the kitchen as she returned with the mugs.

“No.” She set them down gently and took her place opposite him on a wicker-backed chair. “It’s nice to have company on my way to work.” She confessed with a blush, before adding: “The radio in my car’s broken.”

His lips turned up at the corners as he blew onto the dark surface of the liquid, cooling it down. “If you got it fixed would you still need me?”

“No.” She admitted, trailing a finger along the edge of the mug. “But I’d still want you there.”

His stomach grew warm as he looked at the table, mirroring her awkward stance but unable to help his lips stretching in a wide toothy grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He listened as she continued.

“I missed you.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I left last week, after the shower…”

“I understand why.” He quickly said, meaning it as he said it.

“It just felt best not to rush things.” She shrugged, taking a sip of coffee. The sound of heavy footsteps as someone from the apartment above descended the stairs filled the space, cutting the silence.

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” She replied automatically, trying to find the right way of putting it. “I was relieved.”

“Why?”

She met his eyes across the table. “That you could still make me feel like that.”

His gaze softened with her own as a moment of understanding passed between them.

“It’s getting late…” She eventually muttered, a little regretfully.

“I should go. You have to be up early.” He remembered, finishing his coffee and getting to his feet.

“Thank you.” She whispered, knowing that he desperately wanted to stay but was taking the initiative to be sensible. The last few months had been incredibly hard for her, but she thought things just might be okay so long as they took things one step at a time. She pressed a lingering kiss to his warm cheek, inhaling his sweet aftershave as he hovered by the door.

“Did you want a lift tomorrow into work?” He offered with a timid grin, a hint of mirth in his voice.

She smiled in return. “Yes please.”

PART THREE

(Set a few days following the events of ‘Jin’s Bachelor/Stag Party’)

“What’s wrong with the pink dress?” Jungkook asked as discordant scraping of metal against metal filled his ears. Young-soon was pushing a row of coat hangers aside on the narrow rail, trying to view the garments which hung there. The boutique was small and, thankfully, almost deserted considering it was a weekend.

“With the frills?” She asked, turning to him as her hand hovered on the thin fabric of a cerulean blue dress which had stood out to her among the others.

“Yeah.” He shrugged.

She rolled her eyes, turning back to the garment which she picked delicately from the hanger, draping it over her forearm. “I wore it to my aunt’s sixtieth birthday party…” She murmured, walking towards the pink velvet curtain which framed the store’s single fitting room. She pulled it closed behind her as she faced the full length mirror. “I thought I should probably buy something new.” Slipping off her sweater, she turned to the buckle of her jeans. “And I hate it.” She muttered under her breath.

“Do you want to know who's the best man?” Jungkook called through the barrier of the curtain, observing the sound of a zipper being undone.

“You?” She guessed with a grin.

“No. Yoongi…” He said, absently killing time by peering into a glass cabinet of jewellery and accessories. The glisten of a bridal tiara caught his eye in the centre of the display. “He’s been working hard on his speech.” He finished.

PART FOUR

(Set in the evening following ‘Jin’s Wedding’)

The evening was naturally drawing to a close as the guests slowly began to filter from the room, the soft, melodic ballad of a long-ago singer filling the space as the last of the remaining couples clung to each other on the dance floor. Jungkook nodded at Jimin and Ara as he passed them, the older member’s hand resting softly against the young woman’s backside as they swayed in time to the music. Both Yoongi and Namjoon were absent, having already gone to bed. The newlyweds were standing by the bar, both finishing a final glass of champagne. It had been a long day and they looked ready to retire themselves. Min-seo rubbed her eyes as Jungkook and Young-soon approached.

“Are you leaving?” She asked with an understanding smile.

“We’re going to head to bed.” Jungkook confirmed.

“Congratulations.” Young-soon said to them both before wrapping her arm around the bride’s shoulder in a hug.

“We’ll see you tomorrow.” The older member embraced the maknae before turning to his girlfriend and repeating the motion.

“Jin’s going to teach me how to play golf.” Jungkook smiled as they pulled away.

“Count me in.” Young-soon grinned before waving softly. “Night.”

They passed a tall figure coming back from the ladie’s bathroom in the quiet corridor, her sweet, summery fragrance filling the space.

“Night Nana.” Young-soon smiled as they passed.

“See you tomorrow.” The other woman grinned, fixing a floral hair grip in the tightly wound curls on her head.

“I dropped our stuff off earlier.” Young-soon turned to Jungkook as they stepped in the elevator.

“Did you reserve a twin room?” He asked, knowing she had sorted out the booking.

“No. Double.” She confirmed with a slight smile.

“Good.” He whispered as the doors ushered shut.

The lighting in the bedroom was warm and soft, framing the back of her neck as she brushed her hair over the side of her shoulder, unfastening the hair band and allowing her long brunette locks to cascade across her breasts. He caught her gaze in the bathroom mirror from his position on the bed. “You look beautiful.” He said softly.

She grinned. “Are you glad I wore this dress now?”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you during the ceremony.” He admitted, unfastening the top few buttons of his white shirt and pulling the thick fabric from his collar where a few beads of perspiration caught on his throat.

“It wasn’t me you were supposed to be looking at.” She turned around and quietly shut the door to the en-suite, walking towards the bed.

“I’m sorry.” He blushed, teeth flashing. “I couldn’t help it.”

She stood in front of him and took his hand gently in hers, running her thumb along his knuckles as he looked up at her. She felt his spare hand reach between her breasts, his fingertips grazing the tiny diamond which hung between them on a thin gold chain.

“I love you.” She confessed, running her eyes along his sweet, familiar features and welcoming the fluttery sensation in her stomach as she took him in. “I’m sorry I haven’t said that for a while…” She said sadly.

“It’s okay.” He whispered, trailing his hand from the gentle swell of her cleavage to her neck. “I love you too...more than the whole world.” His voice was earnest and she felt warm all over, not least of all between her thighs.

“Jungkook…” Her voice was quiet and a little breathy.

“Yeah?”

“Take me to bed.”

Their eyes locked as his breath hitched in his throat; for a moment he was still, unable to move, and then she felt his arms around her, turning her by the waist and spinning her around as their lips connected. The bedsheets were cool and soft against her back as he lowered her gently onto the covers, their mouths opening against each other while he slowly slipped the tops of her sleeves from her shoulders, caressing her skin with his hands and lips as she unfastened his remaining buttons and eased his shirt from his torso.

“I love you...I love you…” He whispered as he moved down her body, mouth skimming the smooth material of her dress as his fingers sought the zipper at the side, uncovering her as she gasped above him, the cool temperature from the air conditioning hitting her skin as she wriggled out of the dress. He hesitated, hands clutching the edges of her silk panties as he regarded her expression. She gazed up at him, her eyes dreamy beneath heavy eyelids as he slid them down, pressing his palm between her warm thighs to feel her sex. Her mouth parted and his eyes fell to her chest, to the necklace which lay above the band of her bra. He kissed it softly, running his lips along the mounds of her breasts as he teased apart the petal-like folds of her labia, sliding his fingers along her centre until they reached her opening.

Breaking away from her skin, he shifted positions to press a lingering, open mouthed kiss to her clit as she unfastened her bra, before straightening up to remove his increasingly tight trousers and underwear.

“Here…” She reached forward, propping her upper body against the headboard as she eased the fabric away from his crotch, not forgetting to admire the flattering fit of the tailor-made garments before throwing them to the floor with a grin. They moved together against the bedsheets as he nestled between her legs, allowing her help in guiding him. Their moan was mutual as he buried himself as deep as he could, grasping her hips and raising them from the bed to find the right angle. Her eyes scrunched closed as he hit her perfectly; his cock trailing along the swell of her g-spot as he pulled out slowly, before moving back in. He kept the pace slow, savouring her gasps and biting his lower lip as he watched her breasts quiver with each thrust, her sparkling diamond in the centre catching his eye as he felt himself growing closer to release. He tried to hold off, wanting to prolong the sensation as long as possible, and focussed his attention on her clit which he rubbed and massaged sensually between his index and middle finger, knowing he had hit the spot when she moved her hips to meet his hand, her moans becoming louder and more breathy with each passing second. Her chest grew pink as she bit her lip, closing her eyes tightly as she began to shake deliciously beneath and around him. He felt her encompass him, her walls squeezing his length as her orgasm consumed her. It had been so long since he had seen her like this; her entire body consumed with pleasure, and he followed not long after; her pulsating body helping him along as he clutched her breathlessly to him.

The bathroom suddenly felt like a long way away as he wrapped his arms around her body, slipping out of her as easily as he had entered and moving onto his back. Her breath was likewise ragged as she tucked her head into the concaving space where his shoulder met his neck and ran her hands lovingly along his chest, utterly exhausted.

His lips found her damp forehead and he pressed a kiss to her, utterly content. “I’m so happy.” He whispered to her, allowing sleep to take him.

***

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