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tomboyneedshercoffee · 4 years

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Lovedust Pt.5 || Peter Parker x Stark Reader

Summary: Y/N invites Josh over to work on a project while Peter goes back to his Spiderman duties which sends Y/N into a spiral.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: WOWIE I really stayed up all night to finish this ha. Anyway! This gives more backstory about Y/N and what happened with her biological parents and ughhhh things are moving yall! Also leave comments if it’s good and if it’s bad also leave comments 🥰

Warnings: Mention of blood, death, panic attack, ANGST

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six ||

part seven || part eight || epilogue

Even though the Avengers Complex was your home, it was much more than a place where you crashed after school. You had to keep in mind that to any normal person, the idea of seeing alien technology in use or friends from galaxies away wasn’t an average Thursday.

You never thought any of this was particularly strange until now as you got the text from Josh that he was parked in the back lot of the building like you had told him to.

Since you and Josh were partners for anatomy, you thought it would be obvious that you would be staying at his house to work on your project but your dad had other ideas.

The sheer thought of you going to a boy’s house to “study” was absurd, especially since Josh’s parents were always out of town for business. You never thought your dad would ever let any of your friends into the complex, especially a boy but in the name of science, it wasn’t too hard to convince him.

You quietly opened the side door as Josh slid in behind you and let out a low whistle.

“ Not too shabby Stark, although I gotta say, the lawn is looking a bit wild,” Josh smiled as he readjusted his backpack straps,” if you need me to come over to cut it, I charge $9.00 an hour.”

“ In that case, your first shift starts next week,” You teased as you led him to the main set of elevators in the building.

You couldn’t help but feel on edge as Josh followed close behind you. You had never brought anyone over and you were scared that bringing Josh would make things turn into a big deal. You knew how protective some of the other Avengers were of you and you just prayed silently that you wouldn’t run into any of them, especially Peter.

You weren’t sure how Peter would take it if he found out you and Josh were getting closer.

Peter was in a fragile state and who knew what little thing could set him off. You were even more worried that Peter would find out about the party tomorrow night because it wasn’t like you could invite him along.

The idea of mixing hormonal teenagers and alcohol was a recipe for disaster but the damage that could be made from Peter’s self-destructive state could be even bigger.

As much as you knew how badly things could turn out with Josh in the complex, you knew you couldn’t let Peter’s actions affect what went on in your academic life and at the end of the day, Josh was just a classmate.

Josh looked all around him, taking in everything from the colorful array of gadgets neatly built into the walls to the natural light coming from the sleek windows.

“ I feel so out of place- am I underdressed?” Josh asked as a few lab technicians walked past giving you and Josh an odd glance,” and how do you not get lost in a place this big.”

You pressed the elevator button and gave Josh a reassuring smile,” Trust me, they’ve seen weirder things around here. Like, way weirder things.”

When the elevator doors opened, the two of you walked in and you started pointing to the elevator buttons,” So a quick tour! We’re on the main floor which basically is used for important meetings and conferences, the second floor is for the gym and pool, the third is where some of the bedrooms are, fourth is strictly for the scientists, the fifth is the labs, and the other floors are for S.H.I.E.L.D agents. Also, the basement has all the cool gadgets I’m not allowed to play with but I’m convinced it’s just where the guys all hang out and drink.”

“ You have an indoor pool?”

“ That’s what caught your attention?” You laughed as Josh nodded enthusiastically.

“ Well yeah! Do you even use it? I vaguely remember that when you were twelve, you almost drowned in 4ft water at someone’s pool party,” Josh said as you pressed the third button.

“ It was 5ft but yes I know how to swim...my dad made me take lessons after that,” You mumbled as you remembered that experience vividly,” I tried lifeguarding last summer at that super fancy hotel near Greenwich but the training was too expensive so I just took a CPR course at the YMCA and lifeguarded there.”

“ Did you ever have to save anyone?” Josh asked curiously as the glass elevators moved up towards your floor.

You nodded as Josh’s mouth dropped,” Yup, I had to give CPR and everything. Lucky for them, saving lives runs in my family.”

As the elevator doors opened up to your floor, you made sure to carefully scan the hallway before stepping out. Peter was supposed to be up in the labs all-day so that gave you enough time to work on the project with Josh while keeping Peter at a safe distance.

As you were approaching the door to your room, the fridge door in the kitchen closed and revealed Peter with an IV pole on his left side and an apple in the other hand.

“ Peter!” You said nervously as you took a small step in front of Josh, almost as if you were covering him up from Peter’s line of vision,” What are you doing here? I thought you were up in the labs?”

Peter looked past you and eyed Josh up and down before holding up the fruit, walking towards the two of you,” Um, I needed something to eat- Who is he?”

Peter was constantly feeling some type of distress whether it was chest pains or headaches but now that he clearly caught you hiding a boy from him, the pain felt off.

You had never brought over any of your friends to the headquarters before so to Peter, this was already a red flag. Peter felt like his body was on high alert as thousands of scenarios were going through his head.

Josh stepped forward and held his hand out for Peter to shake,” Nice to meet you, Peter, I’m Josh. Y/N and I go to Manhattan Prep together.”

Peter looked down at Josh’s hand for a moment before shaking it hard. Josh winced but played off his pain as he pulled his hand away and stuffed it back into his pockets. You could feel the one-sided tension between the two as you looked over to Peter to try to ease him but his eyes were glued to Josh.

You cleared your throat as you turned to face Josh,“ Peter is a part of my dad’s internship program so he spends most of his time here at the complex. He’s pretty much a part of the family and he’s a really good friend, right Peter? ”

Peter nodded as he tried to calm his nerves down, his quick glance to Josh was almost as if he was begging his body to put his guard down. He couldn’t control his body and this was the first time the lovedust had forced him into a territorial state.

“ No kidding, that’s awesome man. My buddy from Midtown was telling me that he knew a guy who was accepted into the Stark Internship,” Josh said as Peter stood up a little straighter.

“ Oh really? Who?”

“ Flash Thompson, do you know him?” Josh asked as Peter looked over at you, almost as a warning.

While Josh was trying to be civil towards Peter, Peter couldn’t help but feel the pit in his stomach sink lower and lower with the thought of Josh even associating with someone like Flash.

“ As a matter of fact, I do know Flash,” Peter said smoothly, his speech hardly hesitating,” you sure know how to pick friends.”

You and Josh could tell that Peter was giving a dig towards him but Josh quickly let it go as he tried to ease the situation.

“ Well... it was nice to meet you Peter, any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine,” Josh said as he gave a genuine smile,” I’m sure Y/N already mentioned this to you but if you’re not busy or anything, my friend is throwing a party tomorrow and you should come out.”

Fuck.

Peter looked at you for a moment before returning a small smile to Josh,” Thanks, I’ll think about it.”

“ Um Josh, can you just wait in my room for a second?” You asked as Josh looked between the two of you and nodded.

You didn’t want to be upset at Peter for feeling hostile towards Josh because you knew he really couldn’t help himself. It was eating away at you that you were the reason Peter was acting so jealous but come on, did he really have a reason to?

Once Josh closed the door behind him, you turned back to Peter and looked down at the IV that was in his arm.

“ Is everything okay?” You asked as Peter looked down at his arm,” that looks pretty serious.”

“ Yeah… I’ve been having some problems but nothing your dad can’t fix” Peter deflected softly before looking over to your bedroom door,” so Josh...is he a friend?”

Peter knew he was walking on thin ice asking about Josh but he couldn’t bring himself to just go back in the labs and worry about the two of you all day.

“ He’s just a friend Peter, we have a school project and we’re partners,” You reassured him as Peter felt almost relieved,” and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the party, I didn’t think you would want to go but I should’ve asked.”

Peter studied your expression for a moment before looking down at his feet. It was hard to tell if you were telling the truth, maybe you didn’t want him to come. School project or not, Peter felt threatened by Josh, even if Josh was trying his best to be as nice as possible.

“ It’s okay, you’re right. Parties aren’t my thing anyway,” Peter shrugged as you bit the inside of your cheek.

You weren’t sure why you felt so guilty but whatever you were feeling, you hated how much it was stirring inside of you. You never wanted Peter to feel left out and you could easily tell that it was bothering him as much as it was bothering you.

“ Maybe if you’re not busy tonight, we can watch a movie together. I checked the kitchen this morning and there’s a ton of frozen pizzas if you’re up for it?” You suggested as Peter tapped his fingers against the side of his leg.

Peter wanted to jump at the offer, any excuse to hang out with you alone literally set Peter so close to having a cardiac arrest in the best way possible. While he was getting the hang of controlling his words around you, it felt like the more time you spent with him, the more he felt himself fall for you.

“ I’m actually going to patrol tonight,” Peter said in a low whisper as he looked back at your bedroom door,” I haven’t been on the streets in a long time and I think I feel well enough to go.”

“ Are you sure you’re ready? You’re literally hooked up to an IV bag Peter,” You said as Peter subtly pushed the IV pole behind him as if he could hide it.

“ I won’t do anything crazy, I’ll be okay. I’ll only be out for a couple of hours and we can hang out when I get back,” Peter said as you hesitantly nodded.

You understood that being a superhero meant that you couldn’t take sick days but this was an extreme circumstance. To you, Spiderman could wait but for Peter, that was a large part of his livelihood that he had put aside for too long.

You wanted to tell him not to go, better yet, if you could hide every single one of his Spiderman suits you would. It didn’t sit right with you that with everything going on with his health that he would jeopardize it but you knew it wasn’t your call.

“ Okay, but please text me updates so I know you’re safe. Things have been so crazy lately and I-”

“ Don’t worry Y/N, I’ll be okay,” Peter interrupted as he felt his heart grow heavy,” I promise I’ll keep you updated.”

You didn’t know why the thought of Peter going out was so scary but before you could think things over in your head, your feet stepped forward and you pulled Peter into a tight hug. You rested your chin against his shoulder as you inhaled deeply as if hugging Peter would calm down your nerves for the rest of your life.

Without a second thought, Peter drew his arms over your body and held you close to his chest. His heart beat even faster than usual as he closed his eyes, holding you even tighter than before.

----------

You checked your phone for what seemed like the millionth time in the last hour as you grew more and more anxious.

Peter had been gone for hours to go patrol while you and Josh were still working on the project. It was eating away at you that Peter wasn’t back yet and every time another minute passed without an update, you felt like you were closer to losing your mind.

Even before Peter made contact with the lovedust, you would still secretly pray that he got home in one piece. When everyone you knew and loved had a career that put themselves in the line of danger, thoughts of not having them around anymore plagued you whenever you had a quiet moment to yourself.

You had lost people before to freak accidents like your biological parents who had passed away when you were old enough to know how death worked. You couldn’t imagine not having Tony as your dad but some nights whenever you were filled to the brim with anxiety, you wondered what your life would’ve been like if your parents weren’t killed during that home invasion.

When you’ve lost people, it never gets easier, terror plagues you. The fear of someone you know getting hurt was by far scarier than anything Hollywood could recreate with CGI and yet, it was slowly looming over you.

Superheros were literally your life and you weren’t mentally prepared that one day, something bad could happen and you could lose them forever. With Peter, you weren’t sure if it was because of how close the two of you were now but the fear of losing him was bigger than any other scenario you had crafted in your head.

“ Is everything okay? You seem a little out of it,” Josh said as you looked away from your phone and back towards your laptop.

“ Yeah, I’m good, my body just feels so tired. I’ve read so much medical terminology within the past couple of hours and now everything is jumbling together,” You sighed as you looked down at Josh who was sprawled out onto your bedroom floor with a textbook resting against his stomach.

You never realized how comfortable your floor was but seeing Josh on your floor looking as effortless as ever was a shock to your system. When Josh caught your gaze, you turned back to your laptop and rested your cheek against your palm to try to cover the blush that was creeping onto your cheeks.

As you rested your cheek against your propped up hand, you could feel your eyelids get heavier with each passing second. Josh noticed from his spot on the ground and sat upon his hands, watching you ever so intently.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed once you closed your eyes but once you felt a blanket drape across your shoulders, you stirred quietly.

You held your breath as you waited for anything else but all you could hear was paper shuffling around. You peeked your eye out and saw Josh crouched down on your floor, carefully putting his textbooks and notes into his backpack, being careful not to wake you.

Instead of waking up to say goodbye, you pretend to be asleep as if you were too nervous to even confront Josh this late. The papers stopped shuffling and as you tried to keep your breathing patterns even, you felt Josh’s hand rub your shoulder softly before walking out of the room.

Once your bedroom door had closed, you hesitantly opened your eyes and gave a quick peek to make sure Josh was really gone.

You exhaled loudly, not even aware that you were holding it in all this time. You let the blanket fall onto the chair before walking over to your large window that pointed towards where Josh had parked.

You knew you should’ve walked him down after everything he had done for your project but the least you could do now was to make sure he left the complex in one piece. After a few minutes of patiently looking out the window, you saw Josh’s car pull out of the long driveway and headed down towards the front gate.

Your mind instantly traveled back to Peter as you checked your phone again but this time you went back to your messages and looked at all of the unread messages you had left for him.

5:12pm || Y/N: update me when you get to your post!

5:29pm || Y/N: oh don’t swing and text loser!!!!

6:01pm || Y/N: you there yet?

6:36pm || Y/N: don’t make me spam text u nerd

6:57pm || Y/N: im gonna just pretend you’re too busy to txt me back-be safe!

7:40pm || Y/N: helloooo?!?! Is everything okay

8:00pm || Y/N: i will leak your identity fool txt me back

8:40pm || Y/N: whatever idc anymore

8:44pm || Y/N: still haven’t heard back from you, you dead?

9:06pm || Y/N: ur freaking me out dude, any updates?

9:33pm || Y/N: there was a fire near the museum are you okay?!?! The news said you were there

9:35pm || Y/N: peter????

9:50pm || Y/N: call me im worried

10:02pm || Y/N: ur scaring me pls respond

You cursed under your breath as you pressed the call button and placed it to your ear. After a few rings, Peter’s voicemail came on and you didn’t even bother to listen to it all the way. You had already left so many voicemails and at this point, there was nothing you could do but wait for him.

You were filled with dread as you scooted back into your bed and refreshed the news pages on your phone.

Spiderman Stops an Armed Gunman Outside Plaza

You knew that it wasn’t healthy for you to keep scrolling online but you needed to know if Peter was safe. You hated the feeling of not being kept into the loop and Peter wasn’t the type to completely ignore text messages unless that meant he was in real trouble, what could you do to help him, you don’t have any powers you’re just a teenager-

You took a deep breath in as you shut your phone off and stared up at the ceiling to clear your head.

Peter is smart. He’s fast. He will be fine. You kept repeating it over and over again like a lullaby and with some luck, you could feel your eyelids get heavier and heavier by the second with Peter being the last thing you thought before falling into a deep sleep.

You held your hand over your mouth to try and stop the sobs that rocked your body from underneath the bed. You could hear your dad begging, pleading to spare his wife before the sound of a gunshot went off.

It was louder than you remembered almost as if the sky let out a roaring thunder that shook the whole house. You could hear your dad struggling with the gunman before another shot rang out, this time even louder.

The glowing stars that were stuck to your ceiling shook off once your bedroom door had slammed opened and you prayed silently, wanting the nightmare to end.

You did your best to be quiet as you watched his feet walk slowly to the bed, almost at a teasing pace like he knew you were underneath there. Everytime the nightmare played in your head, the attacker took on a different appearance. Sometimes it was someone you knew, other times it was just a passing face on the street.

But everytime you had this nightmare, one thing never changed. The shoes, black sneakers with white laces and depending on how terrible the nightmare decided to be, you could spot the splatter of blood against the heels.

You watched as the man walked behind your bed and you let out a scream as you felt his hands wrap around your ankles, pulling you roughly against the carpet. As you scratched at the attackers face, your sob got caught in the middle of your throat.

The attacker always took a different appearance and this time, it was Peter.

You kicked and screamed as hard as you could as he tried to pin you down, his weapon pressed into the side of your rib as you sobbed uncontrollably. You knew it was a dream and you were so used to letting it ride out or until you fell out of bed but with Peter staring at you as he dangled your life between his fingers, all you wanted to do was wake up.

All you could do was continue to fight back through your tears as he kept saying your name, taunting you.

“ Let go of me!”

“ Y/N! I got you!”

“ It’s me Peter!”

“Y/N!”

You shot up from out of your bed, almost knocking heads with another figure as you let out a choked sob. You didn’t realize your fists were still swinging until you felt a pair of arms wrap around your body, cradling you.

The memory of the attacker was still so vivid in your head and all you wanted to do was get away,“ Let me go!” You screamed as you struggled against their grip as they held you even tighter,” get off of me!”

“ Y/N! Y/N! It’s me! It’s me! You’re okay!” Peter shouted as he let his grip go before cupping his hands on either side of your face,” open your eyes! Hey! It’s me, you’re okay!”

You squirmed from his lap as you opened your eyes to see Peter in front of you, the actual Peter. As relieved as you were, you felt your chest tighten as you continued to cry and without a second thought, you leaned into Peter’s chest and buried your wet face into his t-shirt.

Peter held you tighter as he rested one hand against the back of your head and the other was snaked around your waist. He smoothed down your hair as he made soft shushing noises to try and calm you down,” It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here, I got you.”

You hadn’t felt so relieved to see anyone until now and as you tried to control your cries, you felt yourself slowly transitioning back into reality. You inhaled his scent as you dug your face into his neck and you never thought a smell could bring you so much peace.

Relief wasn’t even what you were feeling, it was more than that. You couldn’t put it into words and it was heavier than the idea of weight being lifted off of your shoulders. Release. To sob into someone’s embrace where you knew you would be safe no matter what felt heavenly and with every sob you let out, you felt yourself separate from the nightmare altogether.

Peter had to hold back his own tears as he held you and slowly rocked your body back and forth like a baby. He wasn’t sure if it was comforting you but it definitely put Peter at ease.

Just minutes ago, he had just checked on you to see if you were still awake and once he saw that you were sleeping, he went back to his room to get ready for bed. It wasn’t until he was putting on his pajamas when the hair on his arm stood up seconds before you actually let out a scream only he could sense.

Peter literally scrambled to your room and had his web-shooters ready because from what he could hear, he thought someone was attacking you. It wasn’t until he saw that you were having a nightmare that he quickly threw his web-shooters to the side and tried to wake you up.

It was one thing to be in love with someone and to go through the motions as if it was a normal occasion but this was different. Seeing you so vulnerable and completely terrified utterly broke Peter in half and he knew for sure that it wasn’t all because of the lovedust.

“ You’re safe Y/N, you’re okay.”

“ Don’t worry I got you.”

“ Just breathe for me, okay?”

For what seemed like forever, Peter cradled you and whispered into your ear to let you know that you were okay and that he was there for you. He wanted you to tell him everything about the nightmare and what had triggered it but he knew that it wasn’t just an ordinary nightmare with the occasional boogeyman.

You thought back to your nightmare one last time as you pictured a hazy Peter attacking you and it almost sent you into another panic attack. Peter could feel how tense you got and his grip loosened so he could look back at you.

Your eyes were puffy from crying so much and your cheeks were flushed red but Peter thought you were absolutely beautiful. You weren’t sure what you wanted to say to him, there was so much to say yet so little at the same time.

“ Thank you,” You whispered ever so softly as you craned your neck up and pressed a soft kiss against Peter’s cheek.

You both knew that it wasn’t an ordinary thank you but for Peter, he didn’t need to analyze it any further. You closed your eyes and listened to the sound of Peter’s heartbeat that rang throughout his body.

From pure exhaustion of crying and anxiety, you felt even more tired than before and Peter could feel you slipping back to sleep. He didn’t want to let you go, if he could, he would hold you in his arms forever if it meant keeping you safe and sound.

Once Peter heard your soft snores, he held you for a second longer before carefully laying you back down into your bed. Like second nature, Peter pulled the covers back over your body and tucked a strand of hair that was danging in the middle of your face behind your ear.

Peter ignored the sore feeling that was lingering in his back and forearms from holding you up and lightly dragged his fingers across his own cheek. He was way into deep now.

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gukyi · 4 years

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four weeks | kth

summary: four weeks. that’s how long you’re trapped on campus after missing your flight home because of a grossly overtime final. and as you’re walking around your empty campus, thinking that you could sink no lower, you find yourself alone in the art building with a certain freshman-year-dorm-neighbor from hell, and he’s got an offer that you don’t think you can refuse: he’s staying on campus this winter break as well, and he’s happy to let you live with him.

or, four weeks is all it takes to fall in love.

{enemies to lovers!au, roommates!au, college!au}

pairing: art and chemistry double major kim taehyung x female reader genre: fluff, angst, comedy, the whole nine!! word count: 20k warnings: alcohol consumption (be safe!), unwanted sexual advances (not between main characters and not at all explicit), and a ton of college tomfoolery. a/n: i’m finally finished with my very first semester of college! it was a lot, but finishing this fic was a treat after my damn finals, which were very stressful. this is part of the stranded for christmas collab, and i’m so honored to be doing this with such amazing, talented writers! please give them and their fics lots of love, and enjoy this super fun train wreck of a fic!

Admittedly, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century has never treated you particularly well.

Your lecturer is about as interesting as grass growing, the readings are low quality scans of book pages with the tiniest font and absolutely no line spacing, and any friends you had in that class in the beginning of the semester dropped out of it by the time mid-September rolled around, leaving you trapped due to societal pressures and a History and Politics general education requirement you still have yet to finish.

But, of all the things you could imagine Global Politics in the Twentieth Century doing to you, like charging you an exorbitant $200 dollars for a textbook you would never open anyway, burning your house down, or even straight up just murdering you, this is by far the worst.

It’s bad enough that your final for Global Politics in the Twentieth Century is on the last possible day for finals at the latest possible time, but when the clock strikes 8:00PM and you have just about fucking had it with this semester, you realize that no one else is standing up.

This panic intensifies as you begin thinking of all of the terrible things that could be the reasoning behind this: you’re just the dumbass who finished their final first and got all of the questions wrong, the clocks have yet to adjust to daylight savings and you think that it’s 8:00PM when really it’s 7:00PM, or, worst of all, your final is running overtime.

You have only ever heard of horror stories about overtime finals. Things like having to cram the next three-hour final into one hour, or having to reschedule the final to some other time that is equally as conflicting. Stuff that is, to a normal human being, a minor to moderate inconvenience at best (and to an overdramatic college student—pure, unadulterated hell), but when this is the last final on the last day at the latest time, there are no other finals to be had. No other school-related scheduling conflicts barreling into you.

It’s just your luck, really, that on the last day of the semester, at the latest time you are allowed to be here, Global Politics in the Twentieth Century would come back to bite you in the ass one last time. As if all the times you dozed off in class (or just plain skipped), forgot to turn in your reading analyses, and showed up late to your recitation are finally catching up to you. Like the very worst kind of karma that could ever befall you.

Well, to be fair, it’s not as if the rest of the day has treated you any better. The entire time you’ve been awake on this fine December day has been an absolute trash can of a day.

This is how the beginning of your very last day of the semester played out:

Your alarm went off at 8:00AM sharp, purposefully set that early so you could wake up and have a productive day studying before your final at 6:00PM.

You hit snooze and ended up waking up around 11:33AM.

You scrambled out of bed very inelegantly and attempted to get your life together before noon so you could at least have six hours worth of a productive study day before your final.

You remembered that you hadn’t packed yet, so you spent the next hour frantically stuffing your belongings into the singular carry-on sized suitcase meant to last you through your month-long winter break.

You also realized that you hadn’t done your laundry for the week (well, week and 6 days…), and you obviously want to bring clean clothes back home so you spend the next two hours doing your laundry and finishing up your packing.

By the time you finally managed to get the time to study, the panic had fully nestled itself into your bones, so you could not focus and spent the next three hours staring at your study guide and praying that osmosis would kick in so you could actually retain information.

You left to go to your final five minutes later than you should have and then ran across campus (with absolutely no dignity left) in order to get there on time.

You arrived at your final just in time, only for there to be technical difficulties with printing the exam because your professor is a procrastinator, just like you are.

The next thirty minutes were then spent contacting the IT department, attempting to fix the printer, having to go print in another building, and then coming back with the final exam to a room of aggravated students who thought that they would be thirty-minutes into the exam by now.

You are taking the final exam. It’s stupid difficult and you’re absolutely going to tank it.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about half an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour.

You are watching as the final runs overtime for about an hour and a half.

And on your very last day of the fall semester, your final runs overtime by two whole hours because of some mystic force determined to ruin your life, and your flight heading back home took off fifteen minutes ago.

You know, it could be worse. You could have failed all of your classes. Instead, you paid an exorbitant $500 to miss your flight, fail your Global Politics in the Twentieth Century final, and end up trapped on campus for all of winter break because you don’t have the money to buy another plane ticket at such late notice (or at all).

So, it could be worse.

You trudge out of your final exam and try not to burst into tears on your way back to your dormitory. Barely anybody is left on campus now that finals are officially over, but you still want to save that last shred of dignity. As you’re walking down the pathway, you begin to feel wet splotches on your face. For a moment, you think that they are fat tears rolling down your face, but you look at the cobblestone beneath your feet and realize that instead, it’s raining.

The perfect weather to match your mood, if you’re being honest.

Not wanting to get caught in a downpour, you end up taking refuge in the coffee shop connected to the art building on campus. It’s a genius business design, if you say so yourself, because there is no one more dependent on caffeine than sleep-deprived, eyebag-laden art students. Surprisingly enough, there are still people behind the counter bustling around, so you use the last of your university dollars to order a peppermint hot chocolate to warm your insides (but not your cold, dead soul).

From there, you take a quick detour to explore the art building, a building you have, admittedly, never really taken much of a look at. It must be empty now, with everyone off campus—except you, of course—which gives you the perfect opportunity to wallow in peace while admiring art.

Walking inside, you stare at your reflection in the enormous glass walls. Look at your tired eyes, slouched shoulders, lips pressed thin, and hands warmed only by the heat of your cardboard coffee cup. Count each acne mark and hair out of place. It’s almost like you’re watching yourself as you look in the mirror, a third person standing in the background. The audience. Like the person who’s looking back at you isn’t you at all.

It's quite artistic, actually. Ironically enough.

But no matter how picturesque, how cinematic this particular moment of your life is, nothing can really soothe you after missing your flight, failing your final, and pretty much having the worst day of your entire life.

Just then, you hear footsteps echoing down the halls.

You assume that it must just be a professor leaving their office, or even maybe one of the hardworking security guards, but as you watch the glass walls to catch a glimpse of who's passing by, you realize that it's not a professor, or a security guard, or even a very large mouse scurrying across the floor.

"I thought I would be the last one in here," Kim Taehyung says when he spots you, stopping in his tracks with a canvas about half the size of him underneath his arm.

"So did I," you muse in response, not really wanting to turn around to save yourself the trouble of talking to him.

Still, Kim Taehyung has always been one hell of an observant guy, so by the time he's stopped behind you, he's already peering into the reflection of the glass windows to look at who he's talking to.

"Y/N?" He asks, walking up to you with his eyebrow raised. He comes over, standing next to you as you look at each other's reflections in the glass. "Never thought I'd see you in here."

"Me neither, to be honest," you say. Seeing as you aren't a visual studies major, you never really considered the art building to be a location of top priority. Until now, that is.

The last time you spoke to Kim Taehyung was the last day of your freshman year, when everybody was getting ready to move out, packing up their belongings and removing the fifteen thousand Command hooks stuck to their walls. You and him made eye contact as you placed the last of your boxes for the semester into those enormous Residential Services carts, glaring at each other from your adjacent rooms.

“First year flew by, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks, smirk lacing his features.

“Thank God it’s over,” you tell him.

“Not gonna miss me, huh?” Taehyung winks, and it makes you want to take this cardboard box filled with all of the notebooks and lined paper and folders you used throughout the year and chuck it at his head.

“Miss you?” You ask with a scoff. With the final box finally out of your room, you can officially lock the door behind you, closing the chapter on your very first year at university. “Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

“Why are you still here?” Taehyung asks, tapping his fingers on the side of the canvas underneath his arm. “Thought you’d be off campus by now.”

“I had a late final,” you say, pretending that your life and every aspect of it is fine when it is, in fact, not fine at all. The best case scenario is that Taehyung accepts your bullshit answer for what it is and heads off to do whatever it is that he does, leaving you alone so you can wallow in pity and ponder the meaning of life. The worst case scenario is that Taehyung stays.

And Taehyung has always been very good at picking the latter.

“Ah, sucks, for what class?” Taehyung asks. You can’t tell if he’s genuinely curious or just wants to interrupt your personal self-wallow time for as long as possible.

“Global Politics in the Twentieth Century,” you tell him with a sigh. You don’t want to have to hear, say, read, or write that name ever again.

“Oh, really? I took that class last semester,” Taehyung says with an eyebrow raised, surprised. “I thought it was super interesting.”

As if you needed any more proof that you and Kim Taehyung are exact opposites in every way. You are hardly surprised that Kim Taehyung enjoyed Global Politics in the Twentieth Century—not when the two of them have so much in common, like inconveniencing you, being annoying, and sort of always having it out for you. It’s like they were meant to be together.

“I can’t say I thought the same,” you say pointedly, lips pursed into a tight line.

“Ah, well, I never did peg you for a history buff,” Taehyung says with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Why are you still on campus? I thought art students had to turn in their final projects on the first day of exams,” you ask, turning the focus onto him. It’s obvious that he has no intention of leaving you alone, so your next best option is to interrogate him until the tension between the two of you is so suffocating, so thick and heavy, that he wants to leave.

“I had a couple of chem finals after I finished up my art classes,” Taehyung says. Right. You forgot he was doing a double major. “And, my parents are actually travelling this winter break, so I was planning on staying on campus. Didn’t really want to go back to an empty house, you know?”

After the day you’ve had, you can think of nothing better than opening the door to your home, knowing that you have the entire place to yourself and can spend the night in your bedroom, watching Netflix.

“You’re staying on campus?” You ask. Great. The only two people who will be on campus this winter recess are you and Kim Taehyung. Fantastic.

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, clearly unaffected. He seems particularly unbothered by the fact that he can’t go home, almost like he’s been looking forward to having the entire university to himself. “You’re about to head home, then, aren’t you? Just taking a quick break in the art building?”

Well, almost to himself.

The chances of running into Taehyung this winter break, despite being probably the only two people on campus, is still slim. It’s a big campus, and there are people who are not part of the university that walk on campus all the time.

And still, you don’t know what you’ll do if you lie to Taehyung and tell him you’re about to fly home, and then bump into him at the local coffee shop. You might just perish. That might be what happens.

So, for once in your life, you suck it up and tell the truth. For once.

“Actually, I missed my flight because of my final running overtime, so I’m sort of stuck here,” you tell him, and as the words leave your lips it feels like your whole body gets weighed down, like you’re cemented to the floor.

It’s only then that Taehyung actually turns to face you, so you aren’t standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at the rain pattering on the pavement outside. You look at him, meeting his eyes and to your surprise, they aren’t filled with mirth. He hasn’t got this pleased grin on his face. He’s not milking this situation for what it could be milked for at all. He could be standing here, bathing in the satisfaction of your timely demise, and he’s not.

He actually looks quite sad.

“Really?” He asks, genuine.

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s then that you accept your fate, resign yourself to the fact that you’re trapped on campus with no way (and no money) to get home, and try to look for the silver lining. “So, I’ve actually got to get going, grab my stuff and everything.”

“Oh, do you live off campus?” Taehyung asks. “We should get together sometime this break. Who else are we gonna talk to, right?”

Spending time with Taehyung on your lonely-ass winter break sounds like the absolute worst thing in the entire world. It’s been two years since the last time you were forced to be within fifty feet of each other, so even having this conversation is taking you by surprise.

“No, I’m still staying on campus. But my dorm is closing for the winter break, so I need to go and find an Airbnb or something to stay somewhere,” you say, feeling your heart break at the notion of spending even more money this winter break after having watched your $500 dollar airplane ticket get flushed down the toilet.

Taehyung stays silent, eyes gazing at the lines between the linoleum tiles on the floor. He’s stopped tapping on the side of his canvas, a painting which you still haven’t fully gotten a glimpse of. In the quiet of the art building, the dust settles, and you wait for Taehyung to say something. Anything.

After a few more seconds, you decide that the two of you have been standing in awkward silence for long enough.

“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” you say nervously, letting out an unnatural and forced laugh as you turn on your feet and begin to head towards the exit. You have no idea where you’re going to go or what you’re going to do, but what you do know is that you have to be out of your building by noon tomorrow, so you’ve got less than a day to figure it out.

And then, Taehyung says the worst thing he could possibly say at this given moment:

“Do you wanna stay with me?”

You stop dead in your tracks.

“What?”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Taehyung immediately clarifies, as if that makes the offer any less sudden. “But I live in an off-campus apartment year round, so you could always stay with me if you’d like. You wouldn’t have to book an Airbnb or anything. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, feeling your chest rise and sink as you inhale and exhale. You can’t believe you’re actually considering his offer. You can’t believe that Taehyung would willingly offer up his personal abode, his private apartment to you, the freshman year next-door neighbor who knocked on his door every six hours to tell him to shut the fuck up. You cannot believe that you are on the verge of accepting.

“Are you sure?” You ask, both eyebrows raised. Yes, the idea of free lodging and no-hassle appeals greatly to you, but you’re not so certain that Taehyung or you actually want this. After all, you spent all of freshman year hating on each other’s living habits as personal hobbies of yours. “You don’t have to offer just because I don’t have a place to stay. Seriously.”

“No,” Taehyung says, taking a step towards you. It’s barely a foot, but it feels like he’s a thousand miles closer to you than he was before. “I mean it. If you want to stay with me, you’re welcome to. I have a futon in my living room that you can sleep on. I’m being serious.”

You cannot believe that he’s asking this.

You cannot believe you’re considering this.

You cannot believe you’re about to say yes to this.

“You really mean it?” You ask one more time, just so you can be certain. You’d hardly be surprised if this whole thing was just a mindfuck.

“I do,” Taehyung says. “No matter what, I don’t think anybody should be alone for the holidays.”

“Then yes,” you say, letting Taehyung catch up to you as you begin to walk towards the exit, step by step. “I’d really appreciate it.” You turn to look at him, your eyes meeting his own chocolate brown ones, nearly ink black in the dark. You can’t offer much, certainly not anything to top this gracious proposal, but you smile, and he smiles back, and you think that’s enough.

Your first order of business is trekking back to your dormitory and grabbing your fully-packed suitcase. At least spending an hour shoving as many of your belongings as possible into a tiny carry-on has its benefits despite you not setting foot in the airport.

“Been a long time since we’ve done this,” Taehyung comments mindlessly as you walk through campus, following the cobblestone path as a shortcut to his apartment.

“Done what?” You ask snarkily. “Hung out with each other?” You scoff. You and Taehyung spent all of freshman year skirting around each other, desperately trying to avoid contact while also banging on each other’s doors every ten minutes. It was essentially two semesters worth of shouting at each other through walls and sneering when you actually locked eyes.

“Talked,” Taehyung simplifies, because he’s right.

“Isn’t that what we were aiming for?” You ask with a raised eyebrow, turning to look at him as your suitcase wheel skips on a stone out of place. “I thought we had reached that consensus already.” It’s been a year and a half since you last spoke to each other. You were almost confident that, without any overlapping classes, you would be able to keep that streak going long after graduation.

As it turns out, things change.

“I don’t know if we ever actually agreed on that,” Taehyung says, thinking back. “Almost like it went…” he pauses, and you can’t be sure if it’s for dramatic effect or because he actually doesn’t know what to say. “Unspoken.”

The irony is not lost on you. In fact, it hits you smack dab in the forehead as you watch Taehyung’s curious expression morph into the sleazy frat boy one he wore so much back then. He looks very pleased with his pun. It makes you want to sock him in the face.

And as it turns out, some things never change.

You resist the urge to punch him in the shoulder because he offered you a place to stay for this break and you sort of (actually, really) owe him big time right now. But that doesn’t mean you can’t send a disapproving frown, which seems to do the trick.

“I distinctly remember how you were so excited to never have to live next to me again when we moved out,” Taehyung says like he’s remembering a fun trip to the zoo. Almost like he looks upon the last time you ever interacted with each other fondly.

You mentally sigh. If only freshman year you knew what was going to happen in the middle of your junior year. If only your final hadn’t run overtime by two hours. If only you had booked a later flight.

If only.

“I don’t remember that at all,” you lie like a liar, saying the words as the picture of you snarkily spitting them at Taehyung at the end of your freshman year plays in your brain on repeat.

“You sure about that, Y/N?” Taehyung says, turning to look you up and down. He’s always been such a people reader, and you’ve always felt so helplessly transparent in front of him. Even back then. Even now. “Because I don’t really think that your memory is that bad.”

“Nope, no, I don’t,” you say quickly, trying to get Taehyung to stop eyeing you like you’re a question on an exam that he thinks is suspiciously easy.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter then, does it?” Taehyung muses as you round the street corner and his apartment complex comes into view. “Since we’ll be living together, anyway.”

“Miss you? Please. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that I don’t have to live next to you anymore.”

Before you can wheel your cart down the hallway and kiss your freshman year goodbye, Taehyung opens his mouth and says one more thing. You almost don’t hear him, too busy reminding yourself that you’ll never have to see him again, but then he says, “One day, Y/N, you’re going to realize that we’re closer than you think.”

When you walk into Taehyung’s apartment, your eyes zero in on these three things: the navy blue futon pushed up against the wall by his television and the fact that it doesn’t look like the kind of used furniture from off of the street that most college kids typically resort to, the little wooden kitchen table that looks straight out of a family-owned Italian restaurant (looks like the two of you will be eating dinner together), and the paintings on the walls.

“Did you paint these?” Is the first thing you ask once you’re inside, putting your suitcase up against the wall as Taehyung takes off his coat.

“Those? Yeah, I did them early last year. My walls looked so damn plain without anything on them.”

In freshman year, Taehyung seemed like the kind of artsy hipster who shopped at Urban Outfitters and put vinyl records on his wall with Command Strips but never actually listened to them.

But the pieces on his walls aren’t vinyls of bands like Arctic Monkeys and Modern Baseball. They’re paintings, oil and acrylics and even a bit of charcoal. Still life and portraits and shadows.

You had never seen one of his paintings before. You never imagined you’d ever want to, or even get the chance to. And now, you’re standing in the middle of his apartment, and you’re surrounded by them.

“They’re…” You trail off, eyes bouncing from wall to wall as you take all of them in. There’s at least ten, one, if not two on each wall in sight. His bedroom is probably filled with them. His apartment’s not enormous, rather small since it’s only got one bedroom, but the paintings make the whole place bigger. Make it feel full of life.

“They’re alright,” Taehyung finishes. He’s already grabbing extra blankets from the storage closet in the side of the wall. “They were assignments we had during the semester so I figured that they’d be put to good use on my wall.”

“It’s very impressive,” you admit. “Kind of a flex, but an impressive flex.” There is something so perfectly Taehyung about the fact that he’s got art all over his walls, but they’re his very own pieces that he has framed and hanging, on display for the entire world to see if they’d like.

“They’d collect dust otherwise,” he says with a shrug. He tosses two blankets and a pillow your way, letting them plop onto the futon. “Are those enough blankets? It can get fucking cold in here, so I don’t want you to freeze to death or anything.”

And for a moment, you think that Taehyung has actually outgrown his asshole-y freshman days, maturing into someone with an actual moral backbone.

“How considerate,” you say sarcastically, “but I think I’ll be alright. I’m a big, strong girl.”

“Just don’t come crawling into my bed if you want a taste of that weighted-blanket life,” Taehyung says, pretending to flip his hair. “Though, I wouldn’t blame you if you did want to sleep with me.”

With a pillow right at your disposal, you waste no time grabbing it and chucking it straight at Taehyung’s face. He easily dodges, having spotted the move from a mile away, and chuckles.

“Come on, Y/N, you can do better than that,” he says disapprovingly, shaking his head as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Your arm was much stronger back in freshman year.”

Scowling, you watch as he puts on the kettle to boil, letting the water begin to bubble as he goes about his business like he doesn’t have a guest in his living room that absolutely can’t stand him.

And you realize that maybe Taehyung’s a couple of years older, a couple of years wiser, but that doesn’t make him a couple of years any less unbearable.

If you were a sleep-deprived engineering student three cans of Monster deep who, in their 4AM haze, invented a time machine to go back to freshman year, and you told your eighteen-year-old self that you would be living under the same damn roof as Kim Taehyung in two years time, freshman year you would probably sock you in the face. And ask you if you changed majors. Which, you did.

It’s not a far reach to wonder why. By the time October rolled around, the two of you had already established yourselves as archenemies until the end of time.

It was a natural progression, really. Two tiny dorm rooms right next to each other, two beds pressed up against opposite sides of the same paper-thin wall, and two disgruntled freshmen trying their hardest not to die of alcohol poisoning.

Now, you don’t have a track record for going to sleep at a reasonable hour. In fact, you don’t think you’ve gone to bed before 11PM since middle school. But is it really that irrational of you to want to get some well-deserved shuteye at two in the morning after a long day of procrastination and a long night of doing the studying you should have done during the day? Your roommate is fast asleep across from you, having gone to sleep at midnight like a regular college student who has her life together, which means that she’s immune to the fact that right next door, you can hear nothing but pounding drums making the very linoleum floor of your dormitory shake.

Scowling, you scramble out of bed, sliding on your shoes to go give a certain Kim Taehyung a bit of a reprimanding.

Why the fuck does he listen to heavy drums at two in the morning? What the fuck is he doing? Does he not own headphones, or anything that might restrict the sound to his own two ears and nothing else? Does he not have any respect for the people next door to him that might also have to listen to the sound of a thumping bass while they’re trying to go to sleep?

Some of you have 9AM’s tomorrow morning. And by some of you, you mean you.

You quietly shut the door behind you so as not to wake your roommate, dead-bolting it so you don’t get locked out and have to trudge down to the Help Desk looking like a tired piece of non-recyclable garbage, and immediately bang on Kim Taehyung’s door. He hasn’t got a roommate, and you know he’s awake, which means that if he doesn’t respond, you’ll know why.

Surprisingly enough, he does, opening the door and immediately grinning once he sees who’s on the other side, like he can’t get enough of the fact that his mere existence bothers you.

“It’s 2AM,” you tell him, in lieu of a greeting.

He checks his watch. “That it is.”

“Would you mind turning down the music? I’m trying to go to sleep.”

“This late, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, an eyebrow raised. “No wonder you’re always so cranky.”

“Maybe it’s because my next-door neighbor plays loud fucking music when I’m trying to go to sleep!” You say, already beginning to raise your voice like a loser who can’t control her emotions.

Which is exactly what you are, actually. So this is very on brand for you.

“Hmm, never thought about it that way,” Taehyung says innocently. He’s got a gleam in his eye that says otherwise.

“I’m being very nice to you right now, Kim Taehyung. Please turn your music down. Because it’s loud and you’re probably bothering other people as well,” you say, restraining yourself. If you were any more sleep-deprived you’d storm into his room and pound in his face like it was the fucking drums he’s listening to.

“But you’re my only neighbor,” Taehyung says, a bitter reminder that you were unlucky enough to be the second-to-last room in the corridor, and he, the very last one.

You inhale, trying to not lose your cool despite having probably already lost it. Kim Taehyung makes you want to tear your eyeballs out. Or buy heavy-duty earplugs off of Amazon Prime. The thing is, one of those options costs you money, and one is entirely free. So, it’s not difficult to see which one you’re leaning towards.

“Taehyung, please turn your music down, or so help me God. I’m asking nicely,” you can feel the carbon dioxide paths coming from your nose as you breathe, in and out and in and out.

“Just for you, Y/N,” Taehyung says with a grin. God. You could just straight sock him in the face right now. “It helps me focus, but so does getting to see you.”

“Perish immediately,” you tell him sharply before pulling the door shut, marching back off to your room.

True to his word, Kim Taehyung does turn off his music. Or puts in headphones. At least he’s conceded.

That is, until you wake up to a crash of glass later that morning at 7AM, coming from only one direction.

The fact of the matter is, everything you and Taehyung did that year bothered the other so immensely that hatred, pure, unadulterated dislike, was really the only thing that could have come out of it.

“You still listening to loud ass drums in the middle of the night?” You ask, eyeing the speakers by Taehyung’s television as you sit on his couch (as far apart from each other as possible) and eat some leftover spaghetti.

“I invested in some AirPods as a treat to myself last year, so yes, but don’t worry,” Taehyung says. He’s mindlessly flicking through the available Hulu options on his TV, severely unimpressed by every one of them.

“Wow, AirPods, sounds like you’re moving up in the world,” you say callously. “At least I don’t have to listen to it with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said it helped me focus,” Taehyung says, all matter-of-fact about it. “It was from a Spotify playlist of modern orchestral music. You should give it a listen, it really gets you into the zone.”

“My relationship with classical music has, unfortunately, been tainted by a certain someone,” you remind him, taking the time to shoot him a glare just in case he doesn’t already know who exactly is at fault.

“What a shame, you might actually like it,” Taehyung says sadly, shaking his head.

“So what are the speakers for, then? If not for your fuckin’ drums,” you ask, motioning to them again as you slurp up the last of your spaghetti. It’s not as if you’ve got some sort of sacred reputation to protect in front of him. He’s seen you at your best (the first day of freshman year, when there was still light in your eyes), and at your worst (2AM, coming out of a drunken stupor, and bedhead-ridden). Like an ex-boyfriend, or something.

“My friends really like singing karaoke,” Taehyung says. He points to the bluetooth microphones underneath the television as extra proof.

“Why does that not surprise me,” you muse to yourself. Taehyung always struck you as someone that needs people not to calm him down, but to elevate his already boisterous personality. Friends who are equally as unabashed as he is.

“Since you’re here for a whole month, we should try it some time,” Taehyung suggests, taking the empty bowl from your hands and heading back to the sink to wash up.

“You need help with that?” You ask, immediately getting up because even if Taehyung has a tendency to drive you up the wall, you’re still going to be a good guest.

“No, don’t sweat it,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “You know, I have karaoke for All I Want For Christmas Is You. Super seasonal, right?”

You dust off your hands from where you’re standing, loitering in that weird halfway point between his kitchen and his living room. Checking the clock underneath his television, you realize that it’s already past ten. And while you haven’t gone to sleep this early in a while, being in Taehyung’s apartment makes you feel all sorts of strange. Subdued and exhausted, too grateful to be your normal aggressive and witty self. And after such a long goddamn day, passing out on his navy blue futon seems like absolute heaven.

“Not right now,” you say, shaking your head. Karaoke is something that friends do with other friends. And despite currently living under the same roof, you and Kim Taehyung are not friends.

(But perhaps you will be. And that’s the scary part.)

You sigh, absolutely tanked. It’s been a stupidly long day. “Maybe later.”

Living with Taehyung is a sort of strange limbo you never, in a million years, pictured yourself in. You aren’t close enough to be friends but you’ve matured out of being the true enemies you had both envisioned the yourselves as in freshman year. The both of you walk around his apartment like you’re afraid to talk to the other, waiting patiently for the bathroom when the other person’s inside, trying to keep yourself busy with nonexistent work (it is winter break, after all) and the apps on your phones.

This is the sort of thing you dreamed of when you were a freshman. A Kim Taehyung that you could co-exist with peacefully. Someone who didn’t spend every waking moment of his life making every waking moment of yours unbearable. You used to find excuses to sleep overnight in the library (it was open 24/7, after all) just so you wouldn’t have to go back to your dorm and see his stupid face. Now, the two of you sit on opposite ends of the couch minding your own goddamn business and doing two totally unrelated activities. In silence. The only noises being his refrigerator/freezer combo when it starts making ice and the sounds of your fingers hitting the keyboards on your laptops. Maybe he’s playing a video game on the Playstation 4 he keeps out in the living room, but he has headphones on and isn’t saying a word.

It’s a very strange sort of limbo indeed, because no opportunities arise for you to become friends nor do any arise for you to become enemies. At this rate, you’ll live together for the month-long winter break and when it ends, you’ll go back to never speaking to each other again.

And that, strangely enough, makes you sad. Makes you want to reach out to him, try and build up a relationship that last ended in absolute chaos so that when you leave this place, it won’t have been for naught. You will have gained something from it, no matter how small.

But just like usual, Taehyung beats you to it.

“Hey,” he says one day, walking into the living room and already pulling on his overcoat. “You free right now?”

“Yeah, why?” You ask, shutting your laptop as you turn to him. He’s all dressed up and you’ve been wearing the same hoodie for the past forty-eight hours.

“Let’s get hotpot. I’m freezing and I want some hot soup and meat.”

So, you go and get hotpot.

Like any normal university with more than approximately three East Asians enrolled, there’s a hotpot place right off campus that many a college student frequent. You have, admittedly, not been since freshman year, but this winter break you seem to be reaching back into all of those memories anyway, like a can of worms. Memory worms.

“I’m starving,” Taehyung says as the two of you sit down. He’s already opening the menu, eyeing all of the different ingredients he can order for a simple All-You-Can-Eat fare. “Plus, I’ve been craving hotpot for weeks now.”

As if on cue, his stomach grumbles and you can hear it from across the booth.

“Even my tummy knows,” Taehyung says, placing a palm to his belly to soothe it. “Have you gotten hotpot before?”

“Yeah, but it was a while ago. I just never had the time to go for a whole two hours and pig out on food,” you say with a sigh. It’s been so long that you barely remember what it tastes like.

“Then we’ll spend every minute that we’re allowed to here, eating as much food as we want and gaining a few pounds while we’re at it,” Taehyung says, determined. The waiter comes by to pour you both some water and he already begins to order, pointing to about fifteen different things on the menu before the waiter whizzes off.

“I don’t think I heard a single word you told that guy,” you say candidly. Taehyung listed everything off so quickly that it went right over your head.

“I just ordered a lot of food, so be prepared,” Taehyung says like it’s a promise. He’s got this glint in his eye, one that tells you that you should be glad you came on a fairly-empty stomach because it’s about to be filled to the brim.

And prepared you are. Within five minutes of Taehyung ordering, there are plates and dishes and boards of food in front of you and a steaming pot of broth in the middle. There’s so much on the table that you can hardly see the marble table top underneath.

Taehyung dives right in, clearly an experienced hotpot eater. He grabs two bowls filled with various sauces and pops a couple of the vegetables into his mouth as he waits for the broth to boil. And when it begins to bubble, he immediately begins dumping everything in sight into it, from meat to noodles to vegetables. It all looks ridiculously appetizing.

When the first round of hotpot is over and done with, you already feel yourself starting to get sleepy just from the consumption overload. Taehyung, on the other hand, has apparently no limit and is already ordering more, pointing to another fifteen things on the menu.

“Never thought we’d be doing this, did you?” Taehyung asks, and you can hear the knowing tone in his voice. Like he already knows how you’re going to answer him.

“I have to admit that I never did,” you say. It must the food that’s softened you up. No wonder Taehyung invited you to a place where you can literally eat as much as you want in a two-hour timeframe.

“This is nice, though, isn’t it?” He asks.

And for once in your life, you agree. It is nice. Not just the food (though the food is very nice) but being with someone on a winter break that would otherwise be overwhelmingly lonely. Eating out with someone, even if it’s someone with whom your relationship isn’t all that strong, isn’t that sturdy. It’s nice. Because it means that, somewhere along the way, you both wanted something to change for the better.

“It is.” You nod. “Way better than all the times we fought during freshman year.”

“Remind me why we never went to our RA to resolve things like we should have?” Taehyung says, but he doesn’t make it sound like you both made a mistake. He asks because he’s curious, and because the past is the past.

“I think we were both too fucking prideful for our own good,” you say, shaking your head. You now would disapprove of you in freshman year so strongly. “We thought that we could either resolve it ourselves or spend the rest of our lives hating each other.”

“Isn’t that crazy?” Taehyung asks, holding up his water like it’s a glass of vintage red wine from the 1800’s. “That we thought that we could just spend the rest of our lives hating each other?”

“I was prepared to do it,” you say, taking another piece of meat from the hotpot in front of you, letting the steam waft from it like a tiny campfire. “With how big this school is, I was convinced that you and I would never have to see each other again. Never have the opportunity to change how we felt about each other.”

“But that’s not how life works, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you, looking into your eyes like he’s trying to reach into your soul, pick apart the memories of freshman year and watch as your relationship deteriorated as each day went by. “It doesn’t matter if we see each other every day for the rest of our lives or if, after this, we never say another word to each other. You will always have the opportunity to change how you feel about someone, even if you aren’t with them. Even if you aren’t seeing them at all.” He takes a deep breath, and reaches over the steaming pot of soup to nudge your shoulder with his finger, ever so slightly. It makes you look up at him, meet his dark brown eyes with your own, foggy from the steam. “That’s what makes us human, Y/N. We’re human because we can change.”

Your heart, still and silent, begins to thump.

“Do you wanna go to New York?”

“Today?”

It’s early in the morning on Christmas Eve, and the two of you are wide awake after Taehyung’s neighbors a floor below him called the fire department as an early wake-up call for the entire complex. You’ve always been a light sleeper—Taehyung made sure of that in freshman year—but even he woke up as the fire trucks pulled up to the fire lane next to the apartment building. He came stumbling out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt two sizes too big and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, locks of his hair sticking every which way, face illuminated by the blue, red, and orange lights of the emergency vehicles beneath the window.

And he stayed like that, even as the noise died down and the sun rose. He marched around looking like he had just rolled out of bed, barely sparing himself a second glance in the reflection of his refrigerator.

“Yeah,” Taehyung responds like it’s obvious. “If we hopped on a bus now we could make it there by nine and spend the day there. How about it?”

“You mean, right now?” You ask, just as clarification. College and its many features have forced you to grow used to spontaneity, but it usually came in the form of “I’m hungry, so I am going to eat an entire bag of Hot Cheetos at this exact moment” or “Yes, my bank account is crying but these pants are very cute,” and not, “Do you wanna go to New York?”

“In a bit. Buses leave from here every hour to go to New York, especially since it’s the holiday season. Tickets are ten dollars. We could do it, if you’d like,” Taehyung says casually, like he’s suggesting that the two of you go grocery shopping or something else equally mundane.

“Just for the day?” You ask, a girl of both many questions and a shocked expression.

“Sure,” Taehyung says with a shrug, biting into a tomato as if it were a goddamn apple. “We can go to a museum or two, eat a nice lunch or dinner, and go ice skating at Rockefeller. See the tree, too. It’ll get us in the holiday spirit, don’t you think?”

And normally an outing to New York would have you planning weeks in advance, organizing reservations and buying tickets for entry into exhibits, but it’s winter break and you’ve got more free time than you know what to do with.

And maybe you’d hate to admit it, but you need someone like Taehyung to get you off of your ass and out of the house, do something fun and spontaneous like college students do in the movies.

Taehyung is practically a movie portrayal of a college student in real life. He’s spontaneous, secretive, sage. He’s artsy and worldly, paints but is also extremely smart and well-educated. He lives in a quaint off-campus apartment by himself and spends his days making friends and keeping busy. He loves to tease you, and has that sort of lopsided smirk that all casanovas do. And he is, as much as you’d hate to admit it, always been something of a looker. He’s got the same sort of handsome, classic look that young European men in paintings from the eighteenth century have, a portrait of them in the prime of their lives. One wink and he’d send every preteen girl in the audience to their knees.

And you? Well, you suppose you’re the tragically unlucky female lead who has to live with him until classes resume.

Taehyung’s standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter island as he scrolls for bus tickets on his phone. “There’s a bus leaving from the station in thirty minutes. Think we can make it?”

It might be the fact that you’ve been holed up in Taehyung’s apartment for the past forty-eight hours that makes you say yes. Or it’s the desperation to do something, anything, literally anything, to keep yourself busy this break.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that little voice in the back of your chest, one buried in the depths of your heart, that makes you go. Because there is something so wonderfully exhilarating about being spontaneous. And there is something even more exciting about it being with someone you know.

You grin. “Let’s do it.”

Two hours later, the two of you are standing outside Penn Station in New York City, staring at the road signs to try and orient yourself. It’s chilly and a little windy, but the sun beats down regardless, shadows of skyscrapers cast along the streets.

You pull out your phone to pull up the Maps app, looking up directions, but Taehyung just begins to walk down 7th Avenue, not a care in the world.

“Where are you going?” You say quickly, scrambling to catch up to him. This early in the morning, your breath still turns to fog as you jog towards him to meet his abnormally long strides.

“Do you want to go to the Met, MOMA, or Guggenheim?” Taehyung asks simply, like he’s trying to decide which type of Doritos to get in the chips aisle.

“Uh…” you are, admittedly, not that particular to the art that you’ll see. Art does not have as much of an immediate relevance to you as other things in your life, like your bank account, or your final semester grades. “Why don’t you pick the museum, and I’ll pick the restaurant we go to?”

“Deal,” Taehyung says, that same devilish gleam in his eyes, a trick (or two) up his sleeves. Only this time, you aren’t afraid of what he’s got in store.

You find that you are very much looking forward to it.

Twenty minutes later sees the both of you standing outside the gigantic glass doors of the MOMA, surrounded by a pitch black exterior about as edgy and contemporary as the pieces of art inside.

“You never struck me as a modern art kind of guy,” you tell Taehyung as the both of you walk inside, glass windows and ceilings on every side of you and a bustling crowd right in front of you. Modern art seems rather stuffy. And perhaps, two years ago, you would have equated Taehyung to such, but now, stuffiness couldn’t be the furthest adjective to describe him. He may be a little obnoxious and overwhelmingly charismatic, but he is certainly not stuffy.

“I prefer Impressionism and the subsequent periods,” Taehyung tells you, another fact you never knew but happily stow away. “But I am, admittedly, a bitch for modern art, no matter how goddamn stupid it is.”

“Good to know we’re spending our money on a museum that will definitely be worth our while,” you say dryly, taking the two tickets from the woman behind the desk. You pick up a map while you’re at it, almost certain to get lost in this maze of a museum, but Taehyung is already zooming off, forcing you to scurry through the herds of people just to keep up his pace.

“Do you know where we’re going?” You ask, entirely serious. You fumble to open up the map and suddenly you’ve got a piece of shiny paper larger than your backpack in your hands, overwhelmed.

Taehyung stops, the two of you standing right by the middle of a doorway, blocking everybody’s path. And he places his hands on top of yours, lowering the map as you gaze up at him, wondering why the heck you haven’t moved to the side so you aren’t inconveniencing the thousands of people roaming the museum. His brows are soft, a little furrowed, like someone began to knit them together but then forgot halfway through. Like he’s thinking. Like he wants to tell you something.

“No,” Taehyung says softly, large hands enveloping yours as he begins to fold the map back up, “I don’t know where we’re going.”

You open your mouth, about to prove your point, but Taehyung continues.

“But I don’t need to. Because we’re supposed to get lost,” he tells you, honest, candid, and true. “That’s the whole point. It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey.”

You scoff, heart a little warm on the inside but wit still sharp. “You sound like an infomercial for a cruise.”

Taehyung laughs, tilting his head back in the way that says that he means it. “I’m serious, Y/N. Please. We don’t need a map. We can guide each other. All we need is faith, trust…” He pauses, leaning in and waiting for you to finish his sentence.

Begrudgingly, you give in, mostly because he’s too naturally charming not to. “And pixie dust.”

Taehyung grins, satisfied, before he catches you by surprise, takes your hand in his, and pulls you into the elevator.

Much like the corrupt businesses whose main offices are only a few minutes walk away, you go from the top down. Taehyung says that it is like a very, very long slide. You say that it’s an extremely slow walk.

He’s an art student. You don’t really know what else you were expecting. He stares at each piece until it bores into his eyes, fills up another cup in his soul, overflowing with color, with light and meaning and everything in between. Every now and then, he and you stop at the same one, inspecting each and every detail, and Taehyung will lean to the side and whisper in your ear.

He will tell you what he thinks of the medium, what he thinks of this piece and what he thinks of the positioning of that specific object. He tells you not how he interprets it in the eyes of the artist, but what it means to him, and how he perceives it. And, as the hours pass, you realize that, while you have been in museums before, you had never felt like you were truly there. And here you are, standing in front of priceless pieces of art with a boy in love with art beside you, and he holds your hand as he takes you through what brings him more joy than anything else.

(Well, besides perhaps, chemistry.)

When you reach the first painting and sculpture floor, Taehyung lets out an audible gasp.

You round the corner and before you know it, you’re standing in front of what could very well be the most famous painting of the nineteenth century.

“I forgot it was here,” Taehyung says distantly, like he’s forgotten who he’s talking to. In the ink black of his pupils, you can see the oil painting reflected, the thick blue and yellow brushstrokes, each and every line on the canvas.

“Now, this piece I’m familiar with,” you say, standing next to him and staring up at The Starry Night, an artistic feat, worth more than probably a hundred times your tuition, and a legacy. The legacy that The Starry Night left behind is one that you see still reflected today. You see it in all of the other people in this little room, clambering over one another just so they can get a glimpse. You see it in the little children who draw self-portraits in art class, Sharpies and markers and crayons littering the page.

And you see it in the boy next to you, who loved something so much he knew that he would be doing it for the rest of his life. He would be following a legacy, forever, until he forged one of his own. You look not at the art but as Kim Taehyung gazes at it, memorizing each and every stroke and imprinting it onto his brain. And you finally realize what art means: passion. It means that it fills you up, flows through your blood and into your heart, consumes you. And it means that the only thing you can do to prevent it from eating you alive is to spread it, and let others get a taste of the madness.

“It really is beautiful, isn’t it,” you muse. You don’t know much about art but when there is something so mesmerizing, so stunning, in front of you, it’s difficult not to notice.

You feel Taehyung turn his head, letting the gaze of his piercing brown eyes rest upon your figure for a split second before he turns back. “It is,” he says.

The way that the two of you go through art museums, by the time you emerge, it’s already dark and the streets are beginning to empty as tourists and cityfolk alike find places to eat, walking into every bar, restaurant, cafe, and house on the hunt for a good meal, whether homemade or curated. You had spent nearly an hour in the gift shop alone, laughing at the overpriced t-shirts and kitschy pillows.

“Where to next, m’lady?” Taehyung asks as you push open the glass doors and let the biting cold hit your noses.

“You know, we were so busy in there that I didn’t even have time to find a nice place to eat tonight,” you admit sheepishly.

“That’s alright,” Taehyung says with a shrug. “I like surprises. Spontaneity is my thing.”

“You don’t say,” you comment sagely, making Taehyung roll his eyes.

Knowing that it’s nearly impossible to get a reservation now, you and Taehyung make your way south, following the flow of traffic heading towards Times Square and keeping an eye open for any places that look relatively nice and busy, but not too busy, the perfect sign of both a delicious and available restaurant.

After walking for a few blogs, cuddling together (in a totally platonic way) to preserve as much body heat as possible in the now freezing weather, air no longer warmed by the sun’s rays, you stumble upon a tiny hole in the wall Mediterranean place. You can’t really see anything inside due to the fog on the window, forming from the combination of cold air and hot, but Taehyung does a quick google search and says that it’s a modern Mediterranean restaurant that specializes in pizza. Google says it has two dollar signs. You hear the word pizza, and everything pretty much goes out of the window.

“Hi,” Taehyung says as you squeeze through the little hallway to get to the host, voice warm and silky. “Table for two?”

“Your last name, sir?” The man asks.

“Oh, we don’t have a reservation,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. You two are college students. It’s not like you plan ahead anyway.

“That’s okay, we still ask for every customer’s name for a more personalized experience,” the host says. He leans forward, eyes wide, waiting for Taehyung to respond.

“Kim,” Taehyung says simply as the host gathers two menus and a wine list.

“Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” the host says, and you open your mouth to correct him (Because you are not married. You’re not. You’re not even dating. This is not a date. It’s not a date, right?), but Taehyung puts a finger to his lips and tells you to zip it. It’s almost like he’s enjoying this.

For the rest of the evening, the wait staff all address you and Taehyung as Mr. and Mrs. Kim, which is absolutely outrageous for multiple reasons: you are college students, you both look like college students, you’re not dating, you don’t act like you’re dating (other than the hand-holding and cuddling which was purely out of survival and nothing else), and most importantly, you’re not interested in each other like that. That part is obvious. Isn’t it?

When you order a glass of champagne each they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When Taehyung has a question about one of the ingredients on one of the pizzas they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When you order your food they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they come by to clarify Taehyung’s request of no anchovies they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim. When they bring these massive pizzas and place them down on your table, wishing you a pleasant meal they call you Mr. and Mrs. Kim.

Mr. and Mrs. Kim, they call you.

“Everything alright, Mr. and Mrs. Kim?” Your waiter asks as you’re plowing through your individual pizzas very inelegantly.

“Yes,” Taehyung grins cheesily. “Thank you very much.”

He’s positively beaming.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You ask, a single eyebrow raised.

“This pizza is really good,” Taehyung tells you.

“Not that,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You know that Taehyung knows exactly what you’re referring to, he’s just being annoying about it, as per usual. “The whole ‘we’re married’ thing. You like it, don’t you?”

“The “Mr. and Mrs. Kim’ thing?” Taehyung says with a smile. He’s relishing in the feeling, especially when it’s obvious that you’re not as keen on the collective nickname. “I fucking love it. You don’t?”

“We’re college students,” you remind him.

“So? That means that they think that we look old enough to not be college students. I consider that a win, especially because Jimin always says I look twelve,” Taehyung says with a shrug.

“We’re not married,” you add. It’s the truth.

“You’re right, we’re not, but Mr. and Mrs. Kim has such a nice ring to it, don’t you think? I love the way that it sounds,” Taehyung says. He basks in it.

“We’re not even dating, Taehyung,” you say with a sigh, exasperated. Doesn’t he get it? It’s weird, being Mr. and Mrs. Kim, because you never have been. There never was a Mr. and Mrs. Kim. And quite frankly, there never will be. “We’re not even interested in it.”

“Who says?” Taehyung asks, and the path he’s directing this conversation down is not one you’d like to take. It’s rocky and bumpy and unclear, hazy with fog. You don’t do fog. You like when things are clear cut and visible.

“I do,” you say with a frown. “Are you interested in dating me, Taehyung? Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to date you right now. Or, like, at all.”

Taehyung pauses. His brows are furrowed again, but all the way this time. He stares down at his pizza, and he contemplates. You sit there and watch him, feeling the weight of every second as it passes by. Were you too harsh? Maybe you were. But it was the truth, and he deserves something honest, even if it’s brutal.

“Oh,” Taehyung says, like he wasn’t expecting those words to come out of your mouth. What you said has been lingering between you like smoke, refusing to dissipate. “Well, I—I guess that makes two of us.” It’s obvious that there’s something else there, just underneath the water, but you don’t press further. It sounds like he’d rather keep it hidden.

When you leave, the waitstaff bid you goodbye exactly as you had predicted.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim,” they say cordially as you and Taehyung pull on your coats and hats and gloves and head out the door.

“You too,” Taehyung says softly after a few seconds, like he was waiting for the words to fade away before speaking. “Thank you.”

Your bus leaves from Penn Station at 9:30 that night, and it’s barely seven. Plenty of time for you to continue exploring, see Times Square all lit up like it’s New Year’s Eve, go up to the top of the Empire State Building, or even take a peek into Central Park at nighttime, when the moon is high and the lanterns are lit.

“How about we go ice skating?” Taehyung suggests as the two of you walk along the pavement, side by side. Your hands are buried deep into the pockets of your coat.

“At Rockefeller?”

“Sure, why not?” Taehyung says. That sentence pretty much sums up your trip to New York thus far. “I’ve always wanted to go skating and see the tree during Christmastime. When else will we get the chance?”

Five minutes later you’ve paid for rental skates, a locker for your shoes, and a ticket to the rink. Visible right next to you is the enormous tree, the lights twinkling and cameras flashing as everyone scrambles to get their Instagram picture to prove that they actually went to the tree at Rockefeller Center in New York City.

When the zamboni is finished and the employees have skated over the ice enough to increase the level of friction, Taehyung and you balance on your skates as you walk towards the entrance. Slowly, everybody begins to glide on, wobbling at first before eventually getting the hang of it. There are a couple of small children holding onto those little penguin skate assistants, laughing as their older brothers and sisters guide them along the ice.

“I’ve never skated before,” you admit nervously, about two seconds before you’re about to enter the rink.

Taehyung’s mouth drops open. “Never?”

“No,” you reiterate, even more nervous than before. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I just said yes because like you said we’re in New York and it’s nearly Christmas and we should just seize every opportunity that we have and—”

“Y/N,” Taehyung says, calming you down as he ushers you away from the entrance so you aren’t blocking other people’s paths. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry,” he tells you, holding onto your wrists to make you look up at him. “I can show you how to. It’s easier than it looks, I swear. I won’t let you fall. You just have to trust me, alright?” He shakes your wrists to catch your attention, make sure that you heard him. “Alright?”

Deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

“Alright.”

Everything is, in fact, not alright. No matter what Taehyung says, ice skating is way more fucking difficult than it looks. Taehyung steps onto the ice and it turns into second nature for him, gliding around a small circle to get warmed up as you cling onto the side railing like an idiot. You have no idea how to move, you have no idea where to go, you just shuffle along the railing with the rest of the children who are far younger than you, also trying to skate for the first time.

This is embarrassing.

“You’re a liar,” you tell Taehyung pointedly as he circles around, coming up to rest next to you. You’d point at his chest for emphasis, but you’re afraid you’ll fall without both hands on the railing at all times. “This is—” you pause, remembering that there are children present, “—very difficult.”

Taehyung just chuckles. “You have to be brave, Y/N, come on,” Taehyung implores. He holds out his hand, motioning for you to let go of the wall and take a leap of faith.

“No, I will not be brave. Please let me be weak,” you beg, scared for your life. One wrong move and you’d go splat in the middle of the rink and embarrass yourself in front of all of New York City.

“Come on, Y/N,” Taehyung says, holding his hand closer. “You said you trusted me. I told you, I won’t let you fall. Come on. Be brave.” And then he adds, leaning in to meet your eyes, “for me?”

He’s always been too charming for your own good.

Tentatively, second by second by painstaking second, you remove your hands from the railing, first the left and then the right, as Taehyung pulls you right next to him, holding on tight.

“See?” He asks as you begin to move on your own, Taehyung’s short glides pulling you along the ice. “Look, it’s not that bad.”

“I am scared for my life right now.” You blink.

“Focus on me, okay,” Taehyung says, making you meet his eyes once more. “Eyes on me, alright. You’re doing fine. You’re skating, isn’t this fun?”

“I am terrified that I am going to perish on this very rink,” you repeat for emphasis.

“Look, Y/N, look! You’re skating!” Taehyung tells you, and finally you glance down at your feet and realize that they’re beginning to move on the ice, all on their own.

“Oh my God! I’m skating! What the—heck!” You say, eyes widening in excitement.

“I knew you could do it,” Taehyung says, hands gripping on tight. You can feel the warmth from his palms seep into your own, feel the back of your hand burning from the touch. “You just had to trust me.”

“This is so cool,” you say, immediately very pleased with yourself. “I’m such a pro, I can do anything. Who said skating was scary?”

Taehyung opens his mouth to respond, but you shoot him a warning glare and he zips his lips.

“Watch this, I can even do it on my own. You’re gonna be very impressed, Kim Taehyung, just watch me!”

Within the next moment, you’re letting go of his hand and pushing yourself away from him, gliding along the ice ever-so-slightly as you begin to balance on your own.

But power is short-lived, and much like every leading male in Greek tragedies, your hubris gets the best of you, and you face the ultimate demise.

The moment you attempt to pick up your left foot, your right toe pick gets caught in a dip of the ice and you go toppling over, collapsing onto the ice in a cold, bruised ball.

Luckily, your coat takes most of the hit, its length preventing your knees from hurting into the next century, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. Ashamed of yourself and even more mortified to have to face Taehyung after boasting about how amazing you are, you slowly push yourself off of the ice, wobbling like a baby deer.

“What was that, Y/N?” Taehyung says with a raised eyebrow as he skates over. He’s clearly just recovered from a laughing fit.

“Fuck off,” you mutter, and you don’t even care if children hear you. “I got excited.”

“Clearly,” Taehyung notes, eyes wide and knowing. He holds out a hand, and before you even have time to think of a snarky retort your palm is reaching out for it, letting him pull you up off of the rink. “Here. Come on.”

One hour and two fairly bruised knees later, you and Taehyung are taking off your skates and relishing in the feeling of your feet, flat on the ground like feet should be.

“You alright?” Taehyung asks. You didn’t have any massive falls following the first spectacle, but you admittedly, still cannot ice skate very well. You’ll have to figure out a way to learn.

You round out the night by going to look at the Christmas Tree. Now that it’s fairly late, the massive families with young children have all gone home, leaving only the young adults left to bask in the glory of the peak of Christmas decorations.

“It seemed bigger in photos, didn’t it?” Taehyung asks as the both of you crane your necks to look at the tree in all of its glory. “Like it was the size of a small tower.”

“Yeah,” you agree. It looks somewhat disappointingly small, now that you’re here in front of it. “Today was a lot of fun, Taehyung. Your spontaneity paid off.”

“When does it not?” Taehyung asks, proud of himself. He even has enough of an ego to do a little hair flip, making you shake your head disapprovingly. “But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I certainly did.”

“What was your favorite part?” You ask.

“Definitely when you were in your prime for one moment and a puddle on the ice the next,” Taehyung says, and for that, he earns a punch to the shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But I did really enjoy ice skating.”

“Yeah, because you can actually do it,” you remind him.

“What about you?”

You think. This day has been so long, from getting woken up by Taehyung’s irresponsible neighbors and the entire city’s fire department outside your window, to hopping on a bus to New York, to museums and restaurants and ice skating and the city, you feel like you’ve lived three days in one.

“The museum,” you finally decide. “I’m not really an art person, but I thought it was lovely. Nice and heated, too.”

“Yes, the best part about the Museum of Modern Art was its modern, state-of-the-art central heating,” Taehyung repeats, making you laugh. “I’m glad you liked the museum. I was worried you’d think it was too stuffy.”

You had thought that too. And then you watched someone fall in love with each and every piece, right in front of you, and you realized that there’s more to art than putting a price tag on it and critiquing it. It’s passion, materialized. It’s real.

It’s Taehyung.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “I thought it was beautiful.”

On Christmas Eve, it snows.

Correction: On Christmas Eve, it snows a lot.

Correction for the correction: On Christmas Eve, it blizzards.

When you listened to “White Christmas” last night, this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, if you were being honest. Maybe an inch or two. Maybe even just a flurry. But certainly not nearly two feet worth of snow, effectively trapping you inside of Taehyung’s apartment complex until the next day because not even the snow plows are allowed to go out on the roads. Not until the snow stops.

“Good thing we don’t live on the first floor, right?” Taehyung asks with a laugh that late afternoon, taking a peek out of the window to stare down at the white expanse below you. “I’d hate to be those guys.”

“It must be so cold,” you say sadly. You’ve spent the better part of today huddled up in as many blankets as Taehyung owns in his apartment and you have no intention of shedding even one of them. Not even as you sweat right through your pajama shirt from high school.

“We can just make dinner here, tonight,” Taehyung says, fishing around in his kitchen to see what the options are. It’s already beginning to get dark even though it’s not even five o’clock. God, you hate winter.

“What are we making?”

Taehyung fumbles through the cabinets and his fridge, hunting for anything that might make a good meal. Eventually, he pulls out two cartons of Trader Joe’s vegetable broth and every vegetable in his fridge.

“Wanna make soup?”

Soup is very easy to make. You set the broth to simmer, chop up vegetables, and dump them in the pot.

But the idea of you and Taehyung sharing his tiny kitchen space, both with knives in your hands is, well, a recipe for disaster.

Luckily no knife mishaps occur, but, like the children at heart that you are, you eventually end with pelting uncooked lima beans at each other in the most adult version of a food fight you have ever had in your life. No fuss, no mess, no tomatoes or key lime pies or spaghetti doused in sauce getting chucked across the kitchen floor, the dinner table.

No, your little food fight ends with you and Taehyung kneeling down on the tile as you pick up each little lima bean, gathering them in your palms.

You make to toss it out but Taehyung stops you.

“Wait,” Taehyung says, a hand on top of yours as it hovers over the trash can, “don’t toss them out.”

“Huh?” You ask.

“I’ll feed them to the birds,” he says, taking the pile from your hands and placing all of the lima beans, along with his own, in a Ziploc bag.

“You have a porch out here?” You ask, looking around. You’ve never seen it.

“No.” Taehyung shakes his head. “They land on my bedroom window sill so I feed them.”

When you were in freshman year, you remember how Taehyung always left his window open. You know this because even though yours was always closed, anytime a police car, fire truck, ambulance, or particularly loud motorist drove by, the sound was always loudest on the wall of your room that bordered Taehyung’s. You hated how he always left his windows open, even in the winter. Wasn’t he goddamn cold?

And now, even though it’s Christmas Eve and there’s a blanket of snow outside nearly two feet deep, Taehyung will go and open his bedroom window again and feed the birds lima beans like a fucking Disney prince, and it makes your heart flutter, ever so slightly.

You end the night sitting on Taehyung’s couch, only a foot or so of space in between your bodies as he multitasks, channel surfing and gulping down your homemade soup.

“I haven’t made soup in a while, but damn, this is good,” Taehyung says, drinking the rest of it before getting up to help himself to seconds. He sticks a hand out to take your bowl as well, and wordlessly you hand it to him.

“It’s my magic touch,” you tease. It was not. Taehyung did most of the work. You don’t have much of an affinity for cooking.

“It’s my chemistry brain,” Taehyung corrects. “Chem is basically like making soup.”

“But it can kill you,” you tack on.

“But it can kill you,” he agrees, returning to the couch. This time, when he sits down, he plops right down next to you, your sides touching as you sit in front of his television, slurping up homemade vegetable soup. “How’s your major? What is it, again?”

“English with a minor in Psych,” you say over a mouthful of carrot.

“Sounds like too much reading for me,” Taehyung comments. “I’d only like picture books.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” you tell him sarcastically. “But it’s going well. I’m thinking of maybe adding Consumer Psych as another minor since there’s a lot of overlap, but I’m not sure. I’ll think about it.”

“Sounds busy,” Taehyung comments.

“Almost as busy as visual studies and chem,” you remind him. “Seriously, do you ever sleep?”

“Inspiration is a fickle mistress and the will to do my chem problem sets, even more fickle,” Taehyung muses like the two subjects aren’t the absolute bane of his existence. “But yeah, I mean, I made it this far.”

“Our majors are so different,” you comment. They are. Encompassing all sides of the college major spectrum, from STEM to art to humanities. The only thing you’re missing is a business minor. But only snakes would ever be interested in something like that.

“It’s nice,” Taehyung decides. “Because this is forcing us to talk with someone with whom we don’t already share all of the same classes with.”

“I couldn’t imagine taking the same class as you,” you say, not because you’d hate having to be in the same room as Kim Taehyung or dread the potential to be paired up for group work, but because your tastes are so different. They’ve always been different. Art, English, chemistry, psychology. Headphones or speakers. Closed windows or open. It’s always been opposites with the two of you.

“Maybe I’ll take a psych class so that way we can,” Taehyung says.

“Maybe I’ll take an art history course,” you retort.

“You’d really take an art history course? They’re awfully boring, and I’m an art major,” Taehyung says, in disbelief.

You ponder it for a moment, but then nod. Yes, you would. Even if it sent you to sleep. Because it looks genuinely interesting. “After today, I wouldn’t mind it. You showed me a lot about art, Kim Taehyung. More than I thought I would ever learn in my lifetime.”

Taehyung sighs, shutting the television off. You guys weren’t watching it anyway. You hardly realized it was on. He looks down at his empty soup bowl, and then at you. He always does that—always looks somewhere else before looking at you, like he has to muster up the courage by first staring at an inanimate object. And then he says, “You’ll never stop learning about art. Neither will I. It’s a constant cycle, learning and relearning and changing your mind and revisiting old pieces. Because art is all around us.”

He looks at you, like he’s trying to say something else but doesn’t have the words. “You just have to look for it.”

New Year’s Eve is often a time of reflecting on the year that’s passed, making a list of goals to achieve once the clock strikes twelve. Thanking your friends and family, your loved ones, for being there for you this year, and promising to be there for them as well next year.

To you and Taehyung, it’s literally your last chance to get piss drunk this year without repercussions. You’ve never stayed here, at your university in the city, for New Year’s Eve (obviously). You’d be interested in getting all dressed up to go out. Taehyung would also be interested.

And so, after a day of slouching around and making half-assed resolutions you know you won’t keep (like managing your time better. As a college student? Impossible.), you and Taehyung decide to get dressed up and go out, pulling out the winter jackets you don’t care if you lose, or if they get trashed, or if they stain with vodka. All you want is to lose your goddamn mind in a tiny club with a bunch of other wasted young adults who don’t want to stay at home on the last night of the year.

You are, unsurprisingly, a self-proclaimed not-a-going-out person, but tonight is something of an exception. It’s your last night to do this this year, and honestly, you can’t really think of a better way to end the year. There’s been plenty of ups (that A+ on your paper on the ethics of Beowulf, yay!) and plenty of downs (Global Politics in the Twentieth Century, yikes), and no better way to say goodbye to them all than with alcohol in your system. But even if, during the regular college season, you’re something of a stick in the mud, you remembered to pack a nice party dress just in case, so you tug on a little black velvet mini-dress that sparkles rainbow in the light, covered with tiny glitters that get stuck in your hair and never come out.

As you’re fishing around for some tights that you don’t care about so your legs don’t freeze off in the cold, the door to Taehyung’s bedroom opens.

Out he walks in all of his New Year’s Eve glory, a full black ensemble complete with structured belt and a leather jacket. You turn around to look at him and he stops dead in his tracks, eyes blinking like he doesn’t know where to look. It gives you a clear view of him and his simple yet extremely flattering outfit. He looks like Danny Zuko. He looks like a boy you would avoid in high school.

Funnily enough, seeing him now draws you closer to him.

“Wow, hot stuff, you clean up nicely,” You comment, tugging on some black tights with a hole in the back that no one’s going to notice.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he adds on, a hand coming up to rub at the nape of his neck. “I didn’t even know you had this.”

“I packed it just in case,” you say with a shrug.

“Came in handy, didn’t it?” He asks. He comes up to stand by you, holding his arm out for you to wrap yours around, two people on a mission to not remember most things about this night. “You ready to go?”

Stuffing your phone and wallet into your purse, you quickly link arms with him as you walk to the door, your black boots clopping on the floor like the obnoxious high-heel owner you are.

“Yeah, you ready?” You ask, doing a quick double check. You’ve got everything.

“Let’s fuck some shit up.”

And fuck some shit up you do. By the time you reach the club that Taehyung had found online, you can already hear the bass pounding through the walls, feel the ground shake from the speakers alone. Go big or go home, you suppose.

As you expected, the club is already packed with bodies. Every young adult within a twenty-mile radius is out tonight, eager to spend the last night of the year doing what young adults in the primes of their lives do best: drink. And you and Taehyung are no exception.

Like everybody else entering the club at the same time as you, you make a beeline for the bar, already itching to get something into your system. You don’t love being drunk, and you like the taste of alcohol even less, so you just order a simple cocktail that should keep you occupied for a while.

Taehyung, on the other hand, well. He seems to harbor the go big or go home mentality quite firmly. It’s obvious that he’s here to do one thing and one thing only, which is not remember what he did when he wakes up tomorrow. You watch, a little impressed and a lot nervous about what exactly he’s trying to achieve, as he downs several shots in a row, pays the bartender, and immediately pulls you into the crowd of people dancing in the center of the room.

“The more I move, the faster my body can process the alcohol,” Taehyung tells you as your cocktail sloshes around in the glass in your hand. It’s an alright cocktail. A little too sweet for you, but you suppose that that’s your fault.

“Wow, when you said you wanted to fuck shit up, you meant it,” you comment as Taehyung dances, jumping and swaying to the beat of whatever Top 40 pop song is blaring from the speakers. You can barely hear the music over the volume of the rest of the club, people shouting to speak to each other, the sound of feet hitting the floor.

Within approximately fifteen minutes, Taehyung is already fairly tipsy and eager to keep going, bubbling over with excitement.

You convince him to dance a little longer before he goes back to get more, trying to make sure at least a bit of the alcohol he had at the beginning of the night goes through his body. The song changes to something much sultrier, like honey dripping from the speakers themselves, and suddenly, the entire club’s atmosphere changes.

“I love this song,” Taehyung says, and it must be the lack of control that causes him to place a hand on your waist and pull you in close to him, making you gasp.

“Wow, okay,” you comment, blinking. Taehyung rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning down as he holds you tight, your bodies swaying in tandem.

“You don’t mind this?” Taehyung asks.

“Not if you don’t,” you respond. He’s practically drunk, and you’re even a little buzzed. There are worse things you could be doing.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” He inquires aloud. It’s a good thing that you can’t see his face, can’t watch the haze in his eyes, otherwise you might lose your footing and collapse.

“What is?”

“This,” Taehyung repeats unhelpfully.

The next three minutes are some of the most confusing ones of your life as Taehyung rests a hand on your waist, palm rubbing up and down as the two of you dance together like it means something to the both of you.

But it doesn’t, does it? You chalk it up to both of your minds not being as sharp with some alcohol in your systems. That must be it.

When the song ends, the mood disappears as well, and Taehyung’s back to his bouncy, tipsy self. He’s practically stumbling over himself once he determines that it’s time for more shots, and you’ve never seen Taehyung drunk before but you can tell that he’s nearly there. You’ll probably put a hard stop on the drinks after this round, since Taehyung is the one most familiar with the way back to his apartment and you wouldn’t mind going home and sleeping after this.

“Come with?” Taehyung asks as he eyes the bartender like he’s the love of his life.

“No, it’s alright, Tae,” you say.

“You never call me Tae,” Taehyung comments mindlessly. Even when he’s nearly drunk, he still picks up on the little things.

“I guess the alcohol is making me soft,” you admit. “You go. I’m gonna find the bathroom and hope that nobody’s having sex in it.”

“Okay,” Taehyung singsongs as you pull away from him, looking for a dingy hallway to go down. “Be safe.”

“You too, I’ll be back soon,” you promise him, and that’s when you go rushing down the hallway.

Things are certainly weird down here. It must be the feeling of the new year looming over your heads. Like this is the last night to do everything wrong without regretting it in the morning. The bathroom is, luckily enough, empty, so you rush in and splash your face with some water, not caring about if your makeup runs. You’d sweat it off, regardless. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and this feels so stupidly like a goddamn romantic comedy that it makes you want to laugh at the irony.

Beautiful male art student lead gets drunk, confuses hardheaded and impenetrable female lead who doesn’t believe in love and supposedly hates beautiful male art student’s guts. Tension ensues.

Your life may as well already have a shitty Rotten Tomatoes rating stamped on top of it.

After collecting your thoughts and praying that that white stain on the wall isn’t what you think it is, you leave the bathroom and scurry down the hallway, eager to find Taehyung and make sure he isn’t bouncing off the walls after a second round of shots.

He’s not.

Instead, he’s still standing by the bar as a beautiful young woman speaks to him, long dark hair resting against her shoulders and a model-esque smile on her face. She’s leaning in with a suggestive look in her eyes, a hand coming up to rub at the side of his arm.

You furrow your brows as you watch them from afar, a little hurt by the fact that beautiful male art student lead is confusing hardheaded and impenetrable female lead even more, but then you notice Taehyung’s hesitance. The way he backs up a little when she gets closer. How he stiffens when she touches him.

And, well, fuck that.

“Tae,” you say, rushing up to him faster than you’d like to admit. “There you are, I was looking for you.”

The girl next to him frowns at the sight of you, and it’s clear she feels no shame to hide the immediately dislike. Sure, you don’t have model proportions or a smile whiter than snow, but you have morals.

“Who’s this?” You ask, trying to be nice.

“Nobody,” Taehyung tells you, and his hand immediately interlocks with yours. Standing next to him, you can feel as the tension fades from his body, his whole demeanor relaxing now that you’re by his side. “She just wanted to talk.”

“Are you a friend?” She asks, because she knows.

“I’m a special type of friend,” you say. There’s no way she’ll leave Taehyung alone otherwise. And this is definitely on the cocktail you drank (and nothing else, you swear!), but you even reach up to plop a kiss on his cheek for proof. Taehyung’s eyes widen as you do, but he plays it off as catching him off guard and grins, wrapping an arm around you to pull you even closer. “Can we help you?”

The girl is absolutely pissed, which means that you did your job.

“No, it’s alright,” she hisses through gritted teeth before turning her sights on someone else. Someone without a friend to protect them.

“Thanks,” Taehyung whispers once she’s gone. Even though she’s probably not coming back, Taehyung keeps you close, a hand on you at all times like you’ll fly away if he doesn’t hold on tight.

“Of course,” you tell him. “You’d do the same for me.”

“She scared me,” Taehyung says, and if his red face is anything to go by, it’s clear that he’s pretty much reached his alcohol intake limit. “I’m glad you came.”

“I could tell you didn’t want to talk to her,” you say.

“Because I wanted to talk to you,” Taehyung says, and it’s definitely the alcohol that’s erased his filter. “I was waiting for you to come out of the bathroom and she just came up to me and started flirting with me. I think she wanted to get in my pants. I didn’t want her to get into my pants.”

“I know.”

“I’d much rather be with you than with her. Than with anybody else. I would always want to be with you, instead.” He tells you, keeping your hands firmly intertwined as you lean against the bartender counter.

And well, huh. That’s different. Taehyung’s aforementioned lack of a filter means that any thoughts that run through his mind immediately turn into spoken words, but you weren’t expecting those words. You never thought you;d hear them, not in a million goddamn years.

“Okay, Tae,” you say, patting him assuringly. He’s just drunk. That’s all.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” Taehyung tells you firmly, pushing your comforting hand off of his shoulder and turning to face you directly. “I mean it.”

“I know, Tae.” you reassure him. It’s easier than trying to fight him, especially when he’s this hammered. You check the time on your phone. Maybe it’s time to leave. If you go now, you’ll be able to make it back by midnight. “Let’s go home, okay? I’m ready to go home.”

Wordlessly, Taehyung nods, and the two of you leave the club before people are even thinking about ringing in the New Year.

When you reach Taehyung’s apartment, he takes off his leather jacket to hang on the coat rack and turns the television on. Only three minutes to midnight.

“I had fun,” you say, trying to lighten the conversation. The way back was silent, the only noises the sounds of New Year’s Eve parties on every block you turned onto. Taehyung kept his face forward and his eyes ahead, even as you tried to huddle close to him to conserve the warmth.

“It was sort of fun,” Taehyung halfheartedly agrees.

“Did you drink too much?” You ask. His face is still beet red.

“I don’t think I drank enough.”

Two minutes to midnight.

You frown, brows furrowing. Why on Earth would Taehyung want to drink more? What would change if he had another shot, a can of beer or a little cocktail?

Slowly, you begin to peel off your own layers, resting your coat on the back of the couch and slipping off your boots. The both of you stand in his living room as the TV begins to buzz with excitement, the broadcast of Times Square lighting up the otherwise silent, tense atmosphere. He’s only a couple of feet away but it feels like he couldn’t be farther from you.

One minute to midnight. Everybody begins to count down, and you feel yourself holding your breath.

“Will you be alright going to sleep?” You ask. Even if Taehyung’s still drunk, he’s far less bouncy than he was at the club.

“I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, beginning to walk past.

Three.

“Okay.”

Two.

“Okay.”

One.

Something overtakes Taehyung, something quick and brief. He stops right next to you and flinches, like he wants to lean in and do something, anything, goddamnit, but stops himself before he goes through with it. Everyone on television is cheering, but this apartment couldn’t be less festive even if you tried.

Taehyung sends you a small smile as the world rings in the new year, dashing off to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

And you stand there, in the middle of his living room like the goddamn fool you are. Turning to the television, you watch over and over as every couple in Times Square kisses, clip after clip after clip, and like a goddamn idiot, you wish that Taehyung had done the same.

The end of winter break approaches faster than you’d like it, just like it does every year. Before you know it, there’s less than a week left before classes resume and you go back to the daily college life. Less than a week left before you can go back to your dorm and pretend like this year’s winter break mishap never happened.

Less than a week before you and Taehyung go back to never seeing each other.

You’re sitting at his kitchen table, clearing out your backpack and recycling every paper, every syllabus and assignment and study guide from last semester, doing a deep cleanse of your life (because holy shit, you need it), when you come across the purchase you had made at the MOMA.

“Taehyung,” you call out before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah?” He asks from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a James Joyce book. You love that novel. It was one of the very few you read for fun last year.

You take the small paper bag in your hands, walking over to the couch. “I almost forgot about this, but since winter break’s starting to wind down, I just wanted to give you this as a thanks. For everything.”

“You got me a belated Christmas gift, Y/N?” Taehyung asks as you hold out the gift, clearly something thin like a posterboard or an art print.

“If it means I don’t have to buy you two things, then sure, consider this a belated Christmas gift,” you say with a laugh, sitting down a foot away from him as he slowly opens up the packet. “It’s sort of cheesy and very basic, but I just wanted to get you something nice as a thank you.”

Out Taehyung pulls is a print of van Gogh’s The Starry Night, big enough to fill up the empty spaces on his walls, so every inch of his apartment, of his life and his home, is filled with art.

“Oh my God,” Taehyung says, mouth agape. “This is…”

“It’s basic, I know. But I know how much you loved seeing it in person, so I thought that a memory of that would be nice,” you say, trying to ease the nervousness that has bubbled up inside of you.

“It’s wonderful,” Taehyung says, and you swear you’ve never seen him so happy, other than perhaps when you saw the real thing. “This is so fucking thoughtful of you.”

“I just—you told me a lot about the art we saw that day, but when we reached this painting, you were speechless. And I sort of knew, then, that it was your favorite piece. Because you didn’t have to explain it with words,” you tell him. “I could just tell. It was like your whole body warmed up the moment it came into view.”

“I’m touched, Y/N.” Taehyung beams. “This is all an art student could ever want, really. To be able to know that their love for art meant something to someone else.”

“I just wanted to say thank you for everything. Taking me in, cooking me food, being really nice me despite me entrenching on your living situation.” You smile.

“I was happy to do all that stuff,” Taehyung tells you honestly. “I’ve had a lot of fun this winter break, even if we’re still trapped on campus.”

You loved getting to go home for winter break your freshman and sophomore years. You loved being able to escape from the college mindset and just relax, no deadlines, no assignments, no worries.

But looking back on it, you think that you’ve had the most fun this winter break, stuck at school, a five-hundred-dollar plane ticket short, with your dorm neighbor-slash-nemesis from freshman year. Never have you done so much in so little time.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, thinking back fondly. It feels like this winter break has lasted for years, but also as though it went by in the blink of an eye,

“I have something for you as well,” Taehyung says, scrambling up to dash into his room. “Consider it just a Christmas gift, because I don’t really have to thank you for letting you stay at my apartment for free for a month.”

“Roast me, why don’t you,” you muse jokingly, rolling your eyes as Taehyung fumbles around in his bedroom before he emerges with an equally flat, similarly-sized gift wrapped up in some spare tissue paper.

“I don’t recall you buying anything at the MOMA,” you tease as Taehyung hands you the gift, settling back down on the couch to watch as you open it.

Slowly, you peel back the tissue paper, and when you reveal what he’s wrapped up for you, it drops to your lap.

It’s a portrait of you, done entirely in pencil. It’s you smiling, with your eyes closed, lashes fluttering. He’s memorized your entire face, drawn it neatly onto this piece of sketch paper, like he was just passing the time and suddenly he had a picture of you on his hands. He’s even remembered where your freckles go.

“What’s this, Tae?” You ask, like you don’t already know.

“Uh, it’s you,” Taehyung says sheepishly. “I wasn’t planning on drawing you, I didn’t have a gift in mind, but I was practicing sketches the other day and an hour later I looked down and I had drawn you. And I felt bad for not telling you, because that’s weird, so I thought that you could see it.”

“You drew a portrait of me? Just randomly, from memory?” You ask, looking down at the sketch in your hands like it’s just ruined your life.

“Yeah, so?” Taehyung asks. He looks terribly nervous.

“So, that’s—people don’t just do that, Taehyung. You don’t just draw a picture of someone purely from memory while you’re practicing sketching,” You say, reeling back as he tries to lean in, attempts to explain himself.

“What do you mean? I did that. I thought of you and I drew you, what’s so bad about that?”

“I don’t know if you missed the memo, Taehyung. I told you in New York. We’re not dating, Taehyung,” you tell him, so firm and certain in your conviction that you hardly pay attention to the way his shoulders sink. “We’re barely even friends. I’m not interested in you like that. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“Don’t tell me what to think,” Taehyung snaps, and he’s mad. Really mad, not like the fake anger from freshman year when you tried to get back at him by being an equally-annoying neighbor. “Don’t tell me how to feel. I drew you, Y/N. Not because I’m obsessed with the idea of us getting married, or because you’re my muse or some bullshit like that. I drew you because I thought of you, and I draw what I think of. Don’t tell me what to fucking think.”

“Do you like me, Taehyung?” You ask, on the verge of shouting.

Taehyung’s furious. “So what if I do? Huh? What difference does it make? You’ve told me over and over that you don’t like me back, so why does it matter? It’s not like I’d ever have a chance.”

“I told you because I didn’t want to confuse you,” you hiss, standing up and beginning to grab your belongings. It’s clear that this conversation is turning sour.

“Confuse me? You didn’t want to confuse me?” Taehyung shouts. “You did a damn good job at that. Telling me in New York that you hated being called Mr. and Mrs. Kim, but holding my hand as we walked around the city and looked at art together. Kissing my cheek in the fucking bar but then patting me like on the back like I’m just a sadass friend of yours. Can you blame me if I was confused, Y/N?”

“I told you,” you say again.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Taehyung bites. “I’m sorry that I fucking fell in love with you, even though half of the time you acted like it was alright. My mistake.”

“It was your mistake. I never said I wanted to date you,” you tell him firmly. You refuse to take the blame for something you had made so explicitly clear.

“Can you fucking blame me for being hopeful?” Taehyung asks. He’s standing up, about to head back into his bedroom, absolutely furious. “You held my hand and kissed me on the cheek and I thought that meant that you felt it, too.”

“Taehyung—”

“Keep the portrait, Y/N,” Taehyung spits. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”

He slams his bedroom door.

It’s a good thing you made friends with some upperclassmen when you were a freshman.

After packing your belongings into your little suitcase and standing in the lobby of Taehyung’s apartment complex, you remember that one of your old friends who had graduated last year still lived in an off-campus apartment since he would be beginning graduate school at the same university.

“Yoongi?” You ask when you hear him pick up your call.

“Y/N? What’s up?”

“Long story,” you say with a sigh. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you until school started?”

“Holy shit, you’re on campus? What the fuck, yeah, sure, you know where I live. I’ll be here whenever you stop by,” he says without question.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing outside his door, double checking to make sure you’d got the right apartment.

You barely get the first knock in before the door swings open to reveal Min Yoongi himself, clad in all black and looking very tired.

“Are you okay?” You ask. He looks exhausted.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, ushering you inside.

“Have you been up all night?” You ask, resting your suitcase against the wall.

“I took a brief nap between two and three, but yes, I have been,” he says like it’s natural.

“You’ve always been a chaotic sleeper,” you say with a shake of your head.

“The grad school grind stops for no one,” Yoongi says with a sigh. “What’s up? Why are you on campus?”

“It… it’s a long goddamn story. Do you have time?”

“I have a piece due for a small indie band tomorrow at noon that’s barely finished,” Yoongi says.

“Oh,” you say. You suppose the story can wait. Yoongi offered up his abode to you until classes resumed if you needed it, and there’s no way in hell you’ll be going back to Taehyung’s.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh’? I got loads of time,” Yoongi says. He plops down on his couch and motions for you to sit next to him. “Tell me everything.”

Yoongi has always been a particularly good listener. Not just to other people’s words, but to music, to the sounds of the chords and the notes of the piano. He has an ear for things that most others would never notice.

It’s the same thing for when he’s doling out advice.

“To clarify,” Yoongi says when you’re finished telling your story, thirty minutes later. You had warned him that it would be a long one. “You had once hated his guts, but no longer hate his guts?”

“I stopped hating him after freshman year,” you admit, more to yourself than to Yoongi. It’s true. The moment the two of you stopped seeing each other, everything dissipated.

“And now you like him.”

“We’re friends,” you say, tentatively. Maybe less than friends after the disaster that just went down in his living room.

“But he drew you a portrait of yourself,” Yoongi mentions.

“I said that it was complicated,” you say with a frown.

“It doesn’t sound that complicated,” Yoongi says. And maybe he is a graduate student with more life experience under his belt than you, but you think that it’s pretty complicated.

“What do you mean?”

“It sounds like he likes you, and you like him. I wasn’t really interpreting it in any other way,” Yoongi says casually.

You reject the notion immediately. “I do not like him.”

Yoongi frowns. “Would you really be here, in my apartment having a relationship breakdown, if you weren’t confused about your feelings for him? Really?”

“I just needed to get out of his damn apartment, that’s all,” you say, avoiding eye contact. Yoongi has this very annoying habit of being extremely reasonable all of the time, and it bothers you immensely.

“Sure, okay. Y/N, I’m not gonna dictate how you feel and try to change your mind, or anything. But if you can look me in the eye before the end of your break and tell me, one-hundred percent honestly, that you don’t like him, then I’ll believe you,” Yoongi tells you simply. “How about that?”

It sounds like a very doable deal. Maybe it’s not doable right now, but it certainly seems possible in the future. In the future, specifically.

“Fine. But you’re making a big deal out of nothing,” you tell him matter-of-factly. Why does he care? It’s not like you’re worried about it.

As it turns out, you’re worried about it.

You’re worried about it because even though you’re not in the same room, not in the same building, not even on the same goddamn street as him, you’re thinking about him. Thinking about how much fun the two of you could be having right now as you relish in the last couple days of your winter break before the cold reality of school hits.

Think about the things you could be doing. Exploring, going out to restaurants, finding new little gold mines in this city that you call home. And instead, you’re moping around your friend’s living room wishing that the two of you hadn’t ruined the whole thing.

Maybe you had been too harsh. Taehyung has a right to be mad at you for lashing out at him. How was he supposed to feel? You held his hand and kissed his cheek and pretended that it was still freshman year, that the two of you were still just two people stuck together by unfortunate circumstances. Acted like nothing had really changed despite the years going by. Going through with all of these adventures with him knowing, in the back of your mind, that once classes started back up, you’d probably never make an effort to see him again.

Drawing a portrait of you says one thing, but dancing around him says another. Every time you fucking see Yoongi in his own goddamn home you try to muster up the bravery to tell him that you don’t like Taehyung the way that he thinks you do, and you can’t.

He sets up his pullout couch in his living room for you when you go to sleep that night, you dream of Taehyung. Envision him wandering the halls of a nameless museum, priceless pieces of art hung along every wall, from van Gogh to Monet to Picasso. He turns back around so you get a view of his face, dream up his curly black hair and soft eyes, sparkling with wanderlust as he roams the corridors, stopping to spare a quick glance at every painting he passes.

And then at the end of the hall, he pauses in his tracks, looks up at the painting on the wall. You watch as the camera zooms in on what he’s looking at, what made him stop in his tracks the moment he laid eyes on it.

It’s your portrait. A simple piece of paper out of a sketchbook, graphite on the coarse canvas. It’s barely more than a line drawing, your eyes here, your nose there, the little freckles that decorate your skin. It’s only in one color and still, even now, it leaves you speechless. Taehyung made that. He drew that, line by line. He made that for you.

You wake up in a cold sweat at seven in the morning. Yoongi’s fast asleep in his bedroom, and you know he won’t be waking up until the hour on the clock reads double digits. Frantic, you scramble through your backpack until you pull out the sketch paper a little bit larger, a little bit thicker than the rest, still wrapped up in tissue paper.

Pulling the paper away to reveal the canvas, you stare down at it in the hazy light of the sunrise, small rays beginning to stream through Yoongi’s window. Your fingers trace along each line, picturing Taehyung as his pencil scratched along the paper, over and over until it looked perfect. Taehyung made this. He sat down, thought of you, and drew this.

A picture may be worth a thousand words but this one doesn’t say a thousand words. Instead, it only says three.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you flip the sketch over to see if there’s anything else he’s drawn. There isn’t, but you find a little note in the bottom right corner.

Y/N,

I hadn’t realized that I had drawn you until I was nearly finished with this. My bad, but it was too late to stop. I don’t know if I’ll ever give this to you, or if I’ll just have a guilty conscience for the rest of my life, but just in case I do, I want you to know this: art inspires me, and you are no exception.

Tae ♡

When Min Yoongi wakes up that day and trudges out of his bedroom, he finds you sitting on his pullout couch, staring down at a sketch in your hands. When you turn to look up at him, he sees your red eyes and wonders how long you’ve been out here, crying.

“I can’t do it, Yoongi,” you tell him.

“Do what?” Yoongi asks, even though he already knows the answer. Why else would you be letting your tears drip onto your portrait?

“Tell you that I don’t like him. Because I do. And I can’t lie to him like that.”

Yoongi grins. He knew you’d come around, like you always do. You may have quite the stubborn streak, but you’ve got a big heart, and it always gets the best of you.

He sits down next to you, glancing down at the portrait. It’s gorgeous. Taehyung did a wonderful job. He looks at you as you cry over a sketch of yourself, and he thinks that, even if he doesn’t really know this Taehyung character, the two of you will make a perfect pair.

“You should tell him that,” he tells you with a nudge. You look up at him, scared for your life. “I think he deserves to know.”

The night before winter break ends, you ask Taehyung if tenants of his apartment complex are allowed on his rooftop. He says no, but also says that his landlord is out of town for the holidays.

In the biting cold of a mid-January evening, you climb up the stairs of his apartment complex and push open the heavy metal door to the rooftop, a gust of wind nearly blowing you right over. Looking around, you spot Taehyung in nothing but a sweater and a scarf, sitting on the edge of the rooftop and looking out over the city.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He turns around to find you standing next to him, wrapped up in a long coat, gloves, a beanie, and a scarf.

“I’ve got a warm body,” Taehyung tells you, looking back out into the sea of lights.

“This is scary, isn’t it?” You ask, sitting down next to him. Your feet dangle off the ledge, and normally you’d be insistent on sitting in the middle of the rooftop where no danger can befall you, but this feels a lot more personal.

“Why did you want to meet me up here?” Taehyung asks, all business.

“I just wanted to talk,” you tell him. “You know, since it’s the last day of winter break and all.”

“It went by fast, didn’t it?” Taehyung muses.

“I remember failing my final and missing my flight like it was yesterday,” you remember fondly, laughing. It seemed like the end of the world at the time, but there’s always a silver lining. You just didn’t know what it was, back then.

You think you have a pretty clear idea of it now.

Taehyung chuckles, letting the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you gaze out at the rest of the city. Taehyung’s apartment building isn’t particularly tall, but it’s got enough height to it that it feels like you’re looking out over a place you hardly recognize. There are so many things you don’t know about this city, despite having lived here for over two years. So many things you are aching to find out, and only one person you’d really like to do it with.

“What’s your New Year’s Resolution?” You ask randomly, interrupting the quiet that had befallen the both of you.

Taehyung jumps at the sound of your voice piercing through the atmosphere, caught off guard. You lean in, expecting him to answer.

“Oh, um, I guess to draw and paint for fun more. A lot of the stuff I’ve been making in school I’ve been doing because I had to,” Taehyung says quickly. It’s sort of obvious that he made up the resolution on the spot. “Uh, what’s yours?”

You press your lips into a thin line, smiling to yourself. “To be honest.”

Taehyung scoffs at that. “Believe me, Y/N, you are more than honest. Brutally so.”

“To others, yes,” you reason. You always were a tell-it-like-it-is sort of person. “But I’m not very good at being honest with myself.” You swing your legs slightly as they dangle over the ground below, kicking into each other. Taehyung turns to look at you, waiting for you to continue. “Yoongi says I’m a very stubborn person. I always have been. Once I determine something is the way it is, it’s very difficult to change my mind.”

Taehyung chuckles to himself. He’s probably quite familiar with that aspect of your personality.

“But I realized recently that sometimes, things change without you even realizing it, and that instead of being afraid of those changes, you should embrace them. So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to be more honest with myself, because I think I’ll make everybody around me, including myself, happier.” You continue.

“Good for you,” Taehyung tells you mindlessly, turning back to face out towards the city.

“Kim Taehyung, I’m not finished talking, yet,” you demand, forcing him to look back at you. “I hated you in freshman year. You were the worst thing to happen to me that year, annoying and full of yourself. And I didn’t know you in sophomore year. We stopped talking and decided that it was better if we never did again.”

He lets out a little huff of breath, visible in the cold night air.

“But I do know you now. You offered me a place to stay when I missed my flight after what might have been the worst final I have ever taken in my entire life. You took me to New York, and we made vegetable soup together. You let me hold your hand and kiss you on the cheek, and you drew me a portrait,” you say firmly. He looks up at you and finally, finally, his eyes aren’t foggy. There’s no haze, no mist. You look into his eyes and you can see yourself reflected in the ink black of his irises. He’s beautiful. He’s sitting on the ledge of the roof of his apartment building in the middle of January with nothing but a sweater and a scarf on, and he’s beautiful. “You are the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Before you can even take another breath, Kim Taehyung places a cold palm on your scarf-covered cheek and pulls you into a bruising kiss, his other hand wrapping around your waist as you shuffle along the ledge, closer and closer. And even if his hands are cold and his lips are chapped, his mouth is warm and soft, wanton and desperate. You beam at the feeling of his lips on yours, wrapping your arms around his neck as you ring in the New Year for real. This is how it was supposed to be. This is what you had been waiting for.

When you part, Taehyung’s lips are a cherry red to match the tip of his nose. His brown eyes are twinkling, and not from the light pollution of the city.

“Can I be honest, too?” Taehyung asks. He’s got the biggest goddamn grin on his face. “I think I’m in love with you.”

The words are music to your ears. “My honesty is rubbing off on you,” you tease. “Because I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Smiling, grinning, positively fucking beaming, Taehyung wraps his hands around you and kisses you again. It warms your heart from the inside out, blossoms like a tulip in spring. When you started this winter break, you thought you had reached your lowest point, but you’re finishing it on a high that you hope never fades. He loves you, he loves you, and most importantly, you love him back. And as it turns out, the movie where beautiful male art student lead and hardheaded and impenetrable female lead are stuck with each other for four weeks has a happy ending, after all.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

#taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #v fluff #v angst #v scenario #taehyung scenario #bts imagine #taehyung imagine #v imagine #bts au #taehyung au #REPOSTING BC IT WASNT SHOWING UP IN THE TAGS #w: four weeks

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spookyboywhump · 3 years

Text

Okokok this was. Out of nowhere but holy shit I had fun with it. Some Bad Timeline content y’all, 100% Wren bullying

CW: Pet whump, dehumanization, noncon kiss, noncon touching (nonsexual), knife whump, branding (kind of), nightmares, strangulation mention

***

Eli sighed as he unlocked the door to his apartment, exhausted after a long day at work. He just wanted to go and collapse into bed, sleep until he had to get up and do it all again in the morning. He stepped inside and turned around to lock the door, but he froze in his tracks, his blood running cold when he heard a terribly familiar voice.

“Hello, Love.”

No no no no. There’s no fucking way. Not here.

He couldn’t force himself to turn around, but he could feel his presence behind him. He knew he was still at the door, he could hopefully get it open, run for help, but just as he reached to unlock it again a hand tangled in his hair, and he felt the cold tip of a blade come and rest against his throat, forcing him to tilt his head back.

“No no, you’re not getting away from me that easily.” He said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” He said as he dragged him further into the apartment, into the living room. He had clearly been here for a little while, things laid out and prepared on his coffee table, things he hoped to never see again. Leather cuffs, a blue collar, that goddamn ball gag, other tools Nicholas had used on him time and time again. It only just then occurred to him to call for help, panic taking over completely.

“No! Stop it- please- help me!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. He kept screaming, he had neighbors, somebody had to hear him, he hoped desperately this would work.

He fought when Nicholas moved the knife away from his throat, kicking the back of his knee and forcing him to the floor. There was a brief moment where he let go of his hair, he tried to scramble away but he was quickly grabbed by the wrist, roughly dragged back. His arms were twisted behind his back, secured in place with the leather cuffs, and he let out a broken sob, uselessly trying to pull against them.

“No no no please! Please somebody help!” He cried, but Nicholas finally had enough, grabbing him by the hair and holding the blade to his throat again as Eli took quick, shuddering breaths.

“Stop your crying and listen to me,” He hissed in his ear, “If you shut up now, I won’t have to gag you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He said, and all he could manage was a soft, whimpered mmhm, his lip trembling as he struggled not to cry. “There’s my good boy.” He said, finally letting go of him, only temporarily as he took a seat on the couch, grabbing his face and forcing him to meet his cold grey eyes.

“P-please, please don’t- don’t-“

“Shhh, it’s okay my love.” He said gently. “Look at you- you’ve only been away a short while and you’ve already ruined yourself.” He said, using the tip of the knife to brush back a loose strand of hair. Elias had dyed it as soon as he could after getting home, a nice deep blue color he had always been fond of. The thought of having that taken away again brought even more tears to his eyes. “You ran away for what? This tiny apartment? Long hours at work? Loneliness and fear and paranoia? Why would you do that when you were so much more comfortable with me?”

“N-no, I wasn’t, I wasn’t-“ He took a deep shuddering breath, struggling to put his frantic thoughts into words. “You-you know I was-wasn’t happy, how-how could I have been? Please, I-I’m home, it’s over now, please let it be over.” He whimpered pathetically, trying his best to keep his voice down.

“It’s not over until I say it is, you know that.” He said, a cruel smile on his face. “You need to learn a lesson, you need to learn to drop this stupid idea you have that you’re actually a person.”

“I-I am- I am a person, m-my name is- is Elias Brax, I-I’m-“ He tried to go through the words Zander had taught him to hold onto himself, words he’d repeated again and again and again, only for Nicholas to suddenly slap him, his head snapping to the side.

“Shut up!” He snapped. “You’re lying to yourself and you know it. You’ve gotten stupid in your time away, you need me here to remind you.” He said. He roughly shoved Eli back, the boy crying out when the back of his head hit the edge of the coffee table. Nicholas got to his feet, wandering about the living room as he seemed to be thinking about something. “You need to learn a lesson…” He said again, Elias watching him in fear.

His heart was pounding hard in his chest, he felt like he couldn’t breath. He wanted to try to keep fighting but he was scared, he was scared and he was so, so tired of fighting, he couldn’t anymore. He wanted this to be over, but the only way to get there was to ride it out.

“Who is this?” Nicholas asked, picking up a framed photo of Everett from a shelf. From his tone, Eli knew he didn’t have the option not to answer.

“He’s dead.” He blurted out immediately, Nicholas giving him a look as though he didn’t believe him. “He- that’s- that’s my brother, he’s d-dead, you can’t hurt him.” He told him. Nicholas didn’t seem to buy it, but he dropped the picture frame, Eli flinching when he heard the glass break. He picked up the frame next to it, a photo of him and Zander taken not long before Nicholas had first kidnapped him. “The mutt is alive and well though- for now, that is. Maybe that’s what you need to learn to listen-“

“No!” He cried. “Don’t-don’t hurt him, don’t hurt- don’t hurt anyone but me!” He said, and Nicholas smiled.

“Well, if you insist.” He dropped that frame as well, Eli whimpering as he made his way back over to him. He had changed his position to watch him, making it easy for Nicholas to kick him down so he was laying on his back, his arms trapped beneath him. Nicholas got down on the floor with him, straddling his waist. He was instantly scared he intended to strangle him again, but Nicholas gently touched his face, wiping away a tear at the corner of his eye. He cringed at the feeling of leather against his skin, he’d always hated those gloves he always wore.

“P-promise me.” Eli said, hardly thinking as he said it.

“What’s that?”

“Promise me- promise me it’ll be just me. Promise you-you won’t hurt anyone e-else. Please.” He said, his voice wavering, and Nicholas laughed.

“Alright sweet boy, I promise I won’t hurt anybody else.” He told him. He leaned down, before he could turn his head away he kissed him, Eli freezing and going tense out of habit, he never did learn how he was supposed to react. He knew he was testing him, pushing his weak boundaries to see just how much he would take without snapping. He pulled back after only a moment, though it felt much longer, seeming pleased with the fact he hadn’t put up a struggle. “I only want you, after all.”

He sat up straight again, busying himself with unbuttoning the white shirt Eli was wearing. In the back of his mind he couldn’t help but be disappointed it would end up stained with blood. He watched Nicholas reach across the coffee table, picking up a different blade, one he’d used on him often before, often enough that Wren’s breath caught in his throat when he saw it.

“How many days have you been gone from me, love? I’m sure you know the number.”

“I-It… it’s been almost seven- seven weeks… forty… forty six days today…” He said softly.

“Forty six days!” Nicholas said, almost sounding impressed. “You almost made it fifty days without me, I’m surprised you made it so long! That’s far too long though, too long for you to be left alone. A stupid thing like you is better off as a pet, you know that, right?” He said, clearly expecting an answer.

“I-I… Yes… yes sir…” He wanted to argue with him but he knew it would just prolong the ordeal, he just wanted it to be over.

“Good boy. Forty six days, well, we should go ahead and get started then.” He said, Elias wasn’t entirely sure what he intended to do but he bit back a cry when the blade pierced his skin, a small, quick cut, that stung more than anything else. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he’d made four similar cuts, only to slice across them as the fifth. Tally marks. One for everyday that he’d been gone.

Five of them was irritating, but bearable. Ten of them hurt, but aside from whining he remained quiet. Twenty of them, he couldn’t handle it anymore, sobbing as he felt like it had been going on forever, and would last just as long. The stinging pain was paired with the ache of his arms, his head pounding from his panicked breathing and crying. He wanted this to be over, he wanted everything to just go back to normal.

Forty six stinging cuts later and he was in tears, and despite the pain he was causing him Nicholas gently wiped away his tears, seeming to enjoy listening to him cry. Eli didn’t even want to know what his chest looked like, didn’t want to see all the blood. He wondered if Nicholas would be kind enough to clean him up at the end of all this, or if he would simply let him bleed out. He took a deep, shuddering breath when Nicholas got off him, though his relief didn’t last long when he pulled him into a sitting position, this wasn’t over just yet.

“Alright love, you did so well for me but the gag is necessary now.” He told him, and almost reflexively, obediently, he opened his mouth, slowly going numb the same way he did when he was trapped with him. Nicholas was gentle this time, the ball pushed between his teeth, the straps tightened and locked behind his head. He tried not to think about what was going to be so bad that it was supposedly necessary. He was careful as he moved him, adjusting him to lean forward and place his head on the table, Nicholas perched on the edge of the couch behind him. He heard a sound, the click of a lighter, and he couldn’t help but think about the time Cain heated a blade, and pressed it to his tongue.

He didn’t expect how close this would be to that. A sudden searing, white hot pain pressed against his back, in between his shoulder blades, and he *shrieked*. He sobbed loudly, tears streaming down his face as it happened again, he didn’t know how but he easily placed the pattern, forming out a letter N.

He screamed, though it was muffled by the gag he screamed, desperate and hopeless. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he screamed, because there was nothing else he could do.

***

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his living room, shoved against the table and staring at that awful blue collar. He was staring at his ceiling, laying on his bed, his shark still clutched in one arm. He was covered in sweat but cold to the point of shivering, even under his blankets. The room was lit by a pale blue light, from a cat shaped night light on his desk, a gift from Zander. He sat up, shaking as he took in his surroundings.

As he finally came to his senses, he suddenly pulled his shirt over his head, looking down and expecting tally marks but not seeing any new scars, only ones he was used to, and the brand from Cain. He was able to reach back, his hand feeling between his shoulder blades and finding no traces of a burn or any wound. He took slow deep breaths, realizing it had just been a dream.

He opened his mouth, he tried to speak, and he couldn’t. Yep, just a dream. He’d never been so relieved to be silent.

He wasn’t entirely relieved though, a sense of paranoia still weighing down on him. He hardly thought about it when he stumbled out of bed, swaying and having to grab his door frame and stop for a minute on his way out. His dreams always disoriented him, having to adjust to only half his vision again. Once he was sure he was okay, he rushed to the front door, checking the locks, all of which were still in place. He moved about the apartment quickly, efficiently, flipping on every light and checking every room, even the closets. He checked the locks on the windows, the door to his balcony, all locked, all secure, every room empty. He even stopped in the living room, making sure the pictures of Everett and him and Zander were still intact, which they were. He was still nervous, but he felt safe enough to return to his room, climbing back into bed. He didn’t lay down, he stayed sitting propped against his headboard, holding his shark close to his chest.

Just a dream. Just a nightmare. He was alone, safe in his home. Nicholas wasn’t there, he couldn’t hurt him anymore, he didn’t have to play the part of his Love ever again.

My name is Elias Brax, He mouthed, his lip trembling, I’m twenty four years old. I’m not a dog. I’m not Wren. I’m not Love. My name is Elias Brax.

His shoulders shook as he buried his face in his stuffed animal, a silent sob wracking his body. He was tired of this, he wanted to be okay, he wanted it all to be over. Nicholas couldn’t hurt him anymore, but he was still scared of him, still so, so scared of him hurting somebody he loved. He didn’t want to be alone, he wanted Zander there, but it was hard to get ahold of him when he couldn’t even speak. He didn’t really want to bother him as it was, he had spent so much time with him in the first few weeks, Eli had been insisting he could finally sleep alone again. Well, apparently he couldn’t, it seemed.

He didn’t fall back asleep that night. He stayed curled up like that until the sun rose, and even then he didn’t want to move, too scared of doing something wrong, too scared that maybe the nightmare had been reality, and this was the real dream.

***

Tag List: @ihaventwritteninsolong , @galaxywhump , @legallylibra , @to-whump-or-not-to-whump , @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi , @as-a-matter-of-whump , @grovegrocer , @renkocchi , @whumpasaurus101 , @inky-whump , @lonesome--hunter , @ladygwennn , @simplygrimly , @withering-whump , @lave-e, @whatwhumpcomments , @thatsthewhump , @just-another-whumper , @starnight-whump , @unicornscotty

#whump #my writing #my oc’s #Bad Timeline #Wren #Nicholas #sibling death tw #pet whump #dehumanization #noncon kiss #noncon touching #knife whump #branding #nightmares

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

Text

Flower | 36

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 3.9k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: If no one sends me tons of messages/comments about THIS chapter then I will be eternally sad LOL. I enjoyed writing it and I hope you all enjoy reading it :P

; Flower Masterpost

“Ciri! Don’t go too far! Ciri!” You call out, concern laced into your voice as you stretch up onto your tiptoes to try and catch sight of the eager puppy. She’s over six months old now and she’s not grown a huge amount, although her personality is bigger than ever.

Something Hoseok and you had both discovered about Ciri was that she was just unbelievably affectionate and sweet. Kasumi hadn’t been too happy at her arrival but had resigned herself to it pretty quickly, taking herself away to the top of her cat tree when she’d had enough of play fighting with her new yappy sister.

You’d been trying to teach her when to be quiet so that she didn’t make too much noise and had been pleasantly surprised by how receptive she was to learning commands. She didn’t learn them incredibly fast but enough that you already had a little repertoire that she would do happily for a treat.

Hoseok had been the same with her; just as firm as he was fun and she was turning out to be a perfect little puppy. Already house trained at this point and so inquisitive, you didn’t think that you could ask for anything better. And you would admit to enjoying being welcomed so enthusiastically every time you came home.

Cage training was working very well with her and she often took herself off to sleep in it even when you were both sat on the couch. Just as Kasumi was able to have her space above the ground, Ciri had her space with comfortable blankets and a fluffy dog bed.

Probably her only issue was that she got a little too enthusiastic, but you didn’t get too annoyed over it. She was a puppy after all, and her boundless energy always ran out eventually. You did not doubt that by the end of this walk, she’d be fast asleep in Hoseok’s arms. It happened often enough.

Ciri just didn’t have the endurance yet to go for long walks and she still did the puppy thing of practically falling asleep midstep. It was adorable, but what was better was getting to see Hoseok holding her so close and how safe she must feel in his arms.

You understood that feeling so you can’t begrudge her a little snooze while being held by him. If you could do that then you would as well.

“I’m gonna have to carry her back, aren’t I?” Hoseok asks, once more seeming to read your mind and making you snort with laughter. Grinning broadly, you poke at his side playfully until he’s giggling and trying to shift away from you.

“Oh, you love it. Don’t lie. You get all those pretty ladies fawning all over the handsome, tattooed guy with the tiny, fluffy puppy in his arms. All that attention must be tiring.” He’s biting at his lip, trying not to let his amusement at your words show but you manage to tickle it out of him.

His laughter is pure and infectious, body wriggling around in an attempt to avoid your searching fingers. It’s a half-hearted effort though as he doesn’t move too far away, staying close to you on the rough dirt path. You’d both taken up a little more walking since Ciri was able to go out properly, exploring the nature trails that could be found close to where you live and even driving further afield to make a day of it.

Today was one such day, with the two of you finally visiting the largest national park closest to you. There were rolling hills as far as the eye could see, lush grass growing in a wave of green. In the far distance, you could spy a herd of cattle as it grazed slowly along with another field of sheep. Life seemed so peaceful here compared to in the city.

“There’s only one pretty girl I want to impress with my puppy skills,” Hoseok finally gets out, a little breathless from the mini-workout you’d just given his stomach. “And that’s Kasumi. I think she’s very impressed with me. Ten out of ten would recommend on Yelp.”

Rolling your eyes in bemusement, you push his shoulder lightly and make a half-hearted complaint as he crowds you, kissing your cheek loudly. If there’s something you’ve learnt in over three years of dating this insatiably attractive man, it’s that he could be a certified idiot sometimes.

He was just lucky you loved that about him.

“The good news is that Kasumi is going to love you no matter what. Me, however…” That makes him wrap his arms around your waist, his chest against your shoulder as he tries to hug you tightly sideways. It’s combined with his whining and you wonder what kind of image you’re presenting now; the tattooed man crab-walking while squeezing his girlfriend tightly and making the most childish noises.

You wouldn’t think he was thirty-two-years-old. Though you knew he only did it because you let him, and you didn’t feel like stifling his personality for no real reason.

“Ciri!” Ignoring him, you call out for the puppy once more and feel relief when she stops where she is. Her head looks up at you alertly, watching you both carefully. It takes her only a few seconds to decide she doesn’t like what she’s seeing before she comes running back, barking as loudly as she can.

When she finally reaches you both, she growls lightly at Hoseok before trying to jump up at both of your legs. Smiling, you crouch down and fuss her with kisses and strokes before gently scolding her for growling at Hoseok. While you appreciate her being protective of you when she saw a situation she didn’t particularly like, you didn’t want her to encourage her behaviour when it was harmless. Particularly with Hoseok.

“Don’t growl at daddy, okay? He’s not doing anything wrong, see?” Reaching up, you gently tug Hoseok until he’s crouched with you as well. She sniffs at his hand for a moment before licking it and butting her head in an attempt to get more strokes. Of course, he obliges, his lips quirking up as he babies her with words that she couldn’t possibly understand.

But she doesn’t need to understand really, all she probably cares about is the positive tone to his voice. Ciri reciprocates immediately, yapping as her tail whips back and forth furiously and trying to almost climb into his lap.

Gently, you push at her until she’s just sitting there and accepting the love from both of you. Her eyes watch you both carefully with so much love and you can’t help but smile. While you were still more of a cat person than a dog person, you couldn’t help but love this little ball of fluff with her exuberant nature and unending love.

“Okay, come on. We’ve still got more to walk.” Standing back up, you gesture to Ciri and giggle as she runs off excitedly. She’s still adorably small but growing, her legs awkward as they’re a little too long for her little body. It means she runs oddly at the moment but it just makes your heart clench more, your hand pressed to your chest.

“Happy we got her?” Hoseok asks, taking said hand and holding it gently with his. You let him, happily leaning into him as you both carry on walking along the well-worn path. Instead of verbally answering him, you just nod before taking in a deep breath of the fresh air.

The temperature is pleasant today, warm enough that you don’t need a coat but with a slight breeze to keep you from getting too warm. It’s a little stronger than you might have expected from all the open land but it’s nice to combat the heat. You hadn’t even known that this place existed, only finding out when Chungha had talked about the hiking walks she’d done with Dahyun over the last few months.

But you were glad that you’d listened properly, enjoying the scenery and the fact that you were getting a little bit of exercise in as well. Plus, you had the perfect company to do it with.

Turning, you walked a little ahead of Hoseok and just admired him as he followed you. His head tilted slightly, his question silent but easily understood. He’d dressed today in some jeans, a pair of hiking boots on his feet given the distance you both were hoping to walk and a plain black shirt that was covered by a hoodie. It made his shoulders look a little broader than normal and you couldn’t help but admire the way his chest looked.

Jungkook had convinced Hoseok to go to the gym with him every other evening straight after work, the two of them spending an hour working out before he finally headed back home. It had resulted in Hoseok just becoming a little...bigger overall. Muscular bigger, but still lean enough to resemble the man you originally fell for. You certainly weren’t opposed to it.

While you didn’t go to the gym with Hoseok much anymore, you had taken up going with Soyeon instead. The two of you attended some of those classes that they held every week along with going swimming. You much preferred swimming to being in a smelly gym.

Unlike Hoseok though, you were just going for general health purposes to make sure that you could keep yourself fit enough to ward off illness. You’d finally reached a place where you could accept your body and feel content with yourself, not feeling the need to hide away and just generally loving what you had. The exercises you did help to ease your mind’s worries as well.

“What?” Hoseok asks, a hint of laughter to the question as he can’t help the smile that spreads over his face at your inspection. There’s a tiny hint of awkwardness when you don’t respond at first which vanishes as you shrug, biting your lip coyly.

“Just admiring the scenery.”

You only hear his snort once you turn back, facing the path once more and keeping an eye on Ciri as she sniffs intently at the path just ahead of you both. There are only seconds that pass before you feel familiar fingers creeping around your waist, playfully tickling at your sides before linking up on your stomach.

Walking awkwardly for a few paces, trying not to fall over or trip over the extra feet you suddenly had, you don’t complain as Hoseok holds you. His embrace is tight enough that you can’t escape easily but also light enough that you can walk without being too encumbered. Leaning back slightly, you put enough pressure on his front to make him walk even more awkwardly until he’s complaining, his words loud against your ear and you just laugh pleasantly.

“You’re being particularly...annoying today,” Hoseok teases, tightening his arms until you can’t move properly. “What’s gotten into you?”

He doesn’t mean the words in a bad way, his tone is far too light and jovial for that and you wiggle until he finally let’s go. Darting forward a few steps, you carefully step around Ciri from where she’s been standing and waiting for you both to catch up before spinning around with your arms wide.

“It’s just...a nice day! I’m in a good mood.” And you were. It was the weekend, you were out with your boyfriend on a lovely walk in the beautiful countryside. On top of that, you’d found out this week that the promotion you’d put yourself forward for at your company had been approved. It was hard to not feel happy and carefree when life was going so damn well.

Feeling so good about everything wasn’t exactly something that came naturally to you, to be honest. It was still awkward for you to realise that you were allowed to be happy and to not have to feel anxiety about something going wrong, but you were getting a lot better at it. And you didn’t want anything to ruin the high you had going right now.

“Life is going good right now,” Pausing, you face Hoseok and reach out to take his hands. “I think I’m doing better than I thought I would be at this point. But then again, I was half-convinced that I’d be back at my parent’s house by this time.”

“Why? You were doing pretty okay before.” He keeps going, one hand firmly encompassing your own until you’re once more walking alongside him. For a few moments, you don’t respond and just hum as you think over where you were back then.

Lips twisting, your nose wrinkles as you shake your head.

“No, not really. I wasn’t living. Just more...existing? Like I didn’t enjoy a lot of stuff, I had bad depression and anxiety, I hated my job and had become way too obsessed with my routines. Now...now I don’t feel the need to have everything in so much order. I feel a little happier just letting things happen sometimes. I do like my routine but there’s way more wiggle room in it. Not to mention the fact I have a better job, a house I never thought I would’ve had, waaaay better mental health and feeling a little more economically stable. It’s nice.”

“That’s good.” Hoseok seems to be a little quieter than normal, his expression almost like he’s miles away when you look up at him. Frowning, you chew at your lips and wonder what he’s thinking about. You were being honest when you said that your life was going well right now, but you wondered if maybe that was about to change in the future. One of the constant issues of your anxiety, that still happened, unfortunately, was that you could never have too much of a good thing.

There was always an inevitable downside.

“Hey, is something wrong?” Playfully swinging his arm, you give him an encouraging smile while tilting your head. Ciri speeds past you both, having fully investigated that intriguing patch of grass and yapping at some birds ahead on the path. You're not surprised when they take off immediately, fleeing the scene before your excitable puppy can reach them.

Distracted by the fast ball of fluff, you don’t notice the way Hoseok frowns slightly. If you had, it would have been sure to worry you even further than normal. You may not be as anxious as you had once been, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t get a little stressed over things sometimes.

“Ciri! No!” Calling out sternly, you let go of Hoseok’s hand and speed walk ahead, catching up to her and scolding her while you take the empty food wrapper out of her mouth. She yaps at you annoyed that you’ve taken her prize but you take care to try and teach her that she was wrong. You know it’s a bit futile at the moment, but hopefully, she will eventually learn that she can’t go around trying to eat everything she sees.

Just the thought of what she could accidentally eat makes your stomach turn. Who knows what kind of crap gets thrown onto the floor by uncaring people?!

Lifting the wrapper as you stand, anger bubbles in your stomach as you note it’s for a chocolate bar. Turning, you hold it up for Hoseok to see while outrage laces every syllable as you speak.

“People are so fucking selfish, look at this! It’s a fucking chocolate bar, don’t they know that’s poisonous to dogs? God knows what might have happened if Ciri had- Hoseok? Are you okay?” He’s just stood, staring at you a little oddly and you feel unease burn. Stowing the wrapper away into your pocket, you move towards him hesitantly.

“Hobi?” His sudden change in demeanour frightens you, particularly given how you’d been babbling only minutes earlier about how good your life was. Did he not feel the same way? Was there something going on that you weren’t aware about? Was he ill or something?

“Will you marry me?”

You’re that concerned about what could be wrong that you don’t quite register the words, your frown still present as your mind races through all the reasons that he could be unhappy. It must have looked comical when you finally realised, the lines on your forehead vanishing as your eyes widen and jaw drops.

“What?”

Whenever you’d imagined this moment previously, it had always been far more romantic in your head. Him on one knee after a meal, you clasping your hands in front of you before cupping them over your mouth while tears fell and you nodded. It would have not only been romantic, but graceful.

Instead, he’d just blurted the question out randomly in the middle of a walk and you’d just bluntly given a one-word answer. The one word you hadn’t quite imagined you would have told him. But you’re just shocked, this came out of nowhere. Although you supposed proposals did usually come out of nowhere, but still.

“Will you...marry me?” He’s grinning now, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. Your eyes goggle in amazement as he pulls out a small velvet bag, revealing a beautiful ring. The band is silver, whether it’s white gold or platinum you don’t know because you’re not an expert in that kind of stuff. The solitaire diamond on top is circular and practically glitters in the sunlight.

Squinting slightly, you realise there’s something else on it. Without even realising what you’re doing, you take the ring from him and examine it closely. The elegant design beneath the diamond is in rose gold, standing out from the rest in a beautiful infinity symbol. On one side of the ring, the centre of the infinity symbol has a tiny amethyst while the other side has an aquamarine gem.

“Wha-” You go to ask, but Hoseok’s already moved closer to you with a hopeful grin. Pointing at each side in turn, he explains them a little more to you.

“Amethyst for February, aka my birthday. Aquamarine for yours, an infinity because I hope we’re it for each other and diamond because it’s traditional. Do you like it?” As the meanings sink in, the tears finally start to fall. A little late but better than never.

Pressing a hand to your mouth, you blink through them as your lips wobble slightly. It’s all finally making sense and you’re feeling a little whiplash at the change in topics. Mostly, you’re just flabbergasted that he’d suddenly proposed. And that he’d been keeping the ring in his wallet of all places.

It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise to you; the two of you had casually discussed the idea of marriage over the years. Much like you had both talked about children, or the decision to not have them. You’d known that you were both open to the idea, but you hadn’t thought Hoseok would truly want it to be honest. He’d always felt a little like he couldn’t be fully held down, and given his past, you hadn’t expected him to want to get married.

But here he was, proposing to you.

“Really? You...I mean...you want to get married?” Now he frowns, pressing his lips together until his dimples appear.

“Yes. I mean, for starters I did just propose. With a ring that I bought and everything. Seriously though...yes. I love you. I love living with you, I love our house, I love our dog, I love our cat, I love our life. I never considered marriage before, didn’t think it was for me. I do now. I want to just...be able to call you my wife and get to see you walk down the aisle while I blub. You can say no if you want, I won’t be mad.” He speaks earnestly, gently wrapping one hand around yours while his other takes the ring from you.

Holding it up in front of your face, his brows rise as he smiles at you. There’s a softness to his eyes, and you wonder what was going through his mind to make him do this suddenly. The realisation that he hadn’t been upset or annoyed was a relief though.

You don’t even realise you’re nodding until Hoseok’s smile widens and brightens, his eyes almost disappearing as his cheeks rise from the force of it. It’s enough to rival the sun in the sky above and you feel just as much warmth from the sight of it. Your lips mirror his as the tears fall, not of sadness but pure happiness and joy.

Carefully, Hoseok pushes the ring onto your finger and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from squealing. You’re not hugely a ring person so it’s the first time you’ve ever put one on your ring finger. It’d be a lie if you said you didn’t like the look of it.

“I may have measured your finger while you were sleeping once,” He says, almost apologetically as he glances at you once it’s on. “But at least it fits.”

“Oh my god, Hoseok!” You breathe, lifting your hand to admire the ring and the way it refracts the light so perfectly. The design is incredibly simple but the underlying elegance and intricateness make it even better. It’s everything you could have ever wanted in an engagement ring.

Stepping forward, he carefully avoids Ciri from where she’d plopped herself down to sit at your feet. She’s reached her limit for the day, already beginning to snooze but you can’t bring yourself to truly care right now. Which sounds mean, but you’re far too enamoured with staring at the ring.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he distracts you away from looking at it. His lip ring catches the light momentarily and you marvel at how you’d managed to get this stunning man to not only date you, but fall in love and even want to marry you. A once in a lifetime opportunity.

“I just had to when you were talking about your life being good right now. I wanted to make it even better. Not quite the setting or the time that I was originally planning but...I figure all this pretty scenery will make up for it.” Wiping at your face, you sniff as you nod slowly.

Instead of responding to him, you just link your hands behind his neck and tug him gently until you can press your lips to his own. It’s a soft kiss at first, full of love that you want to try and imprint into his skin before it evolves into something much deeper. Neither of you cares that you’re making out in the middle of the path, not even when his tongue slips into your mouth as it gets far more heated than you’ve ever felt comfortable with being in public.

You can’t bring yourself to give a damn, not when you just need to show Hoseok how much you love him. How happy you are and how happy he makes you. Needless to say, there’s not a whole lot of talking that happens for the next five minutes. At least, nothing that’s said verbally. It doesn’t get unsafe for the general public but you’re glad that no one comes by during that time.

The excitement and happiness you’d felt before are magnified to levels you didn’t even think was possible.

You’re getting married to Jung Hoseok.

309 notes · View notes

alicemitch09writes · 3 years

Text

lame

03.

don’t come for me with your half-assed presence

Pain spread across your abdomen, sending you sprawling. Rolling over you turn on your hands and knees, steadying, as you eyed the purple-haired boy in front of you, breathing hard – in the nose, out the mouth.

“Shinso, five, Yoruichi, six.” A voice announced, loud, tired, but clear.

Cursing under your breath, you lifted your shirt to wipe the sweat off your upper lip.

Shinso Hitoshi’s breathing was haggard, hair sticking wildly above him, eyes narrowed at you but focused and steady – it was a good look on him.

Aizawa Shouta – also known as the Pro Hero: Eraser Head, stood idly on the side, watching the two teens go at it. Beside him stood a rather muscular elderly man, dressed in his kimono clothes, stoic eyes on the two teens before him, the stern Shihan of the Yoruichi dojo.

…who also just happened to be your grandfather and Eraser Head’s instructor during his early years.

“Oi, foolish granddaughter, keep up!”

“Shut it, old man!” you yelled back, annoyed. But turning back to the purple-haired teen, you discreetly gave him a thumbs up. You’re keeping up, that’s good!

Though hidden by his scarf-capturing device, you could see the making of a smile spread across his face from the faint crinkles beneath his tired eyes.

Rising to stand, you fell into a ready stance, the teen mimicking you.

“Best six outta ten?”

“You’re on.”

The two men watched on the sides as the two began to go at it again, the purple-haired teen careful with your lower attacks, while you avoided his fists and scarf, yellow eyes glinting as you attuned yourself to Shinso’s, trying to get a read on him – ears picking up on his breathing, the pressure of his footsteps, eyes taking in the slightest movement, any signs of hesitation.

A kick followed by a swift sweep off, he just barely managed to duck before meeting your smirk. Planting your feet against the ground, you leaped over him, completely catching him off guard, before you leaped towards him again. Everything was happening too fast for him to catch up, your body or legs wrapped around his neck, before arms grabbed hold of him and slammed him down the mat, hard.

“Yoruichi, seven, Shinso, five,” Aizawa announced once again, eyes betraying nothing as his gaze fixed on the purple-haired teen.

Sweat was dripping down his clothes, his muscles were burning from the exercise. Still, he struggled on his feet, body flinching a bit from the kick (or was it a punch?) you delivered two or four fights back? He didn’t know, he was getting lost.

These supplementary lessons were getting harder and harder, especially when it was at night and that he was up against someone with nocturnal quirk and skilled in martial arts.

“You remind me of my best friend,” you say to him, hands on your knees. “you both don’t know when to quit. Or was it just Izuku, who didn’t like to quit?” the words were a bit testy, but in a way, a challenge.

That seemed to be the right trigger, watching with a smirk as the purple-haired teen quickly got to his feet, controlling his breathing.

“You’re hard to beat, so let’s put it at that.” He tells you, eyes narrowed.

You shrug, smirk still in place.

“Also, Midoriya can be irritatingly encouraging.”

The smirk was gone, replacing it was a genuine smile that almost took him off guard.

Keyword: almost.

“Foolish granddaughter, don’t flirt! That wasn’t part of the training.”

“Shut up, old man!”

In the end, you had Shinso beat 10 to seven.

He was improving, more alert, more used to one-on-one combat, and stronger. Watching him, training with him, just the thought of how much influence Izuku’s done at his new school, interacting with the people he met, with whom he’s spread his kindness to – it was a great way to end your day.

To: Izuku

From: (Name)

Finished another training session!

[image.txt]

...

From: Izuku

To: (Name)

Uwah! That’s so cool!

But wait, is that Aizawa-sensei behind you?

…

To: Izuku

From: (Name)

Not telling! :p

But yeah, sometimes I have to spar with him.

…

From: Izuku

To: (Name)

THAT’S SO COOL!

...

To: Izuku

From: (Name)

Yeah, but he beats me every damn time :/

…

From: Izuku

To: (Name)

Well, he is a Pro Hero after all.

…

To: Izuku

From: (Name)

That. And because he’s kinda dirty when we spar D:<

He’d use his quirk when I least expect it.

…

From: Izuku

To: (Name)

THIS IS A LOT TO TAKE IN!

LET’S CATCH UP AND CHAT MORE ABOUT YOUR QUIRK NEXT TIME!

IS THAT OKAY WITH YOU?????

sorry if i’m rambling

…

To: Izuku

From: (Name)

Chill, no problemo~ :3

As if I’m not used to your excitement after 15 years of friendship hehehoho ;D

…

From: Izuku

To: (Name)

You’re the best, (Nickname)!

…

To: Izuku

From: (Name)

I know I am.

Just drop by the café or text me, okay?

…

From: Izuku

To: (Name)

Will do!

Having finished your shift, you released a heavy breath. Weekends were the only times you were granted to work longer hours; you usually request for the closing shift as your body worked better at night. Still, it didn’t mean work was easy as weekends also tend to the busiest time of the week.

“At least I’m getting paid for this…” you mutter to yourself, fixing your bag around your shoulders.

After disclosing with Izuku your quirk, you’d expect him to turn his back on you, after all, he was kept in the dark for so long. But the thing was, you forgot that he wasn’t the other guy. Instead, he went a mile asking about your quirk – what does it exactly do, its amazing advantages, and how it was a waste that you were studying at a normal school. Needless to say, nothing’s changed between you two. It actually reminded you of the time he shared his secret.

“…come again?”

“Y-Yes, my quirk…it was passed down to me…by All Might…”

“…”

“(N-Nickname)…?” Izuku asked, worried.

For what seemed like a minute, you tugged his sleeve, he looked up at you. “Izuku…punch me.”

“E-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH!?”

Izuku didn’t really punch you, because he feared the power One for All was capable of, instead, he just pinched you. As hard as he could.

Jolting at the pain, eyes gazed at the bruise on your wrist. “W-Woah…I am awake, this is real. Y-You have a quirk?!” (e/c) eyes widened at the curly-haired boy, shrinking at the information disclosed between you two.

You could see that frail little boy, standing on wobbly knees to protect you, tiny fists raised in the air.

This was still the same boy. “Izuku,” Your protector. “that’s amazing!” Your best friend. “You finally get to be a hero now!” Your hero.

Those words.

Those heartfelt words, together with that bright look in your eyes – pride and love, those were the words he was waiting for.

He heard it first from his idol, and now, he heard it from his best friend.

A wet sheen filled up your friend’s green eyes, a warbled smile making its way on his freckled cheeks. You stopped, feeling your heart swell at the expression on his face.

“H-Hey, why’re you making that face?”

Shaking his head, he stared into space, worrying you. “I-I’m just…I-I…”

Falling to his knees, the tears wouldn’t stop, streaming down his face as those words, those words that left your mouth swallowed him whole.

Realization fell upon you; you couldn’t help but tear up as well. Izuku can be too modest with himself, sometimes.

“Dummy, get over here!”

As if needing to be told, he tackled you into a hug, crying on your shoulder as you rubbed at his back. “Of course, you can be a hero, Izuku, with or without your quirk. You’d make an amazing hero! In fact, you’re my hero.”

Those words fuelled his tears even more, hand tightening on your shirt. Izuku wailed, you held him tighter, tears continuing to stream down your faces.

…

Just thinking about it makes you laugh, especially since after that, you were left with a wet shirt filled with snot and tears and Izuku was so guilty that he bought you a new shirt the very next day.

Since then, your friendship strengthened.

It made you happy because he trusted a great secret in your hands because he trusts you that much, you were important to him.

But as much as you loved and adored your best friend, what you couldn’t understand was why he had to reveal his secret to him.

Shoulders sagged, eyes dulling. “Bakugou Katsuki…”

He just stood there, leaning against the wall, hands in his pocket, as though he’d been waiting on you. Carmine eyes swallowed you whole, however, you refused to bow in his presence.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

It had been a little over a week since he last dropped by, since then, he hadn’t come back since. Izuku dropped earlier that week, much to your relief. Anyone but him would be a sight for sore eyes.

“I want to talk to you…”

Scoffing, you stepped away from him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

Before you could take another step, he takes you by the elbow, stopping you. “That wasn’t a request.”

He was so close, his tall frame towering over yours, the smell of burnt sugar and spicy cinnamon lingered – the sensation was too much for your heightened senses.

Glaring, your eyes slowly shifted from (e/c) to a dangerous yellow. “Sorry, don’t fucking care.”

Undeterred by the change, his hold tightened, eyes still locked on to yours. “Let me rephrase: I need to talk to you.”

He sounded desperate, too desperate. Something unheard of from one Bakugou Katsuki.

Smirking, you titled your head as you leaned in, noses brushing. “Oh, yeah? Too late, used up all my fucks for you.”

Tripping his foot, catching him off-balance, you used his disorientation to turn on your heel, strapping your backpack in front of you before you made a run for it. With the help of your sonar senses, you had found an easy route out, one where it’d be easy to get away from him and away from unwanted attention.

With all your might, you leap off the ground, leaping ledge to ledge before you were atop a building, legs instantly moved the moment you landed. Not a moment’s notice, you tell yourself, leaping on to the next room, must escape-

“OI!” a blast sounded off behind you.

Fuck. “Seriously!?” you looked back in disbelief. “You’re doing this?”

“GET BACK HERE, (NAME)!”

Eyes narrowed, you dropped to the ground, scowling at the blond as you landed swiftly on your feet. “Not a chance.” And then you ran again.

Following the path your senses mapped out, the chase continued on, unable to shake him off even as you purposely dashed through a crowded street, skirting through easily. He was screaming behind you, people making way for the angry teen after you.

For a few blocks, you were almost confident you had lost him, unable to keep up with your heightened speed. However, if there was one thing Aizawa Shouta or your grandfather taught you, it’s that you could never underestimate your enemy…

Bakugou let out a loud growl, practically sounding like a snarl, too, explosions went off with every leap, it was sure to make a scene.

…sooner or later, they’d catch up to you.

You did catch their sports festival, Bakugou winning the first spot even though his finals match was rather half-assed. Nonetheless, he was rather versatile, calculating, and undeniably cocky the whole time, effortlessly besting and standing out above the rest of his class. It was irritating, to say the least.

No one with that shitty of an attitude and pride should be capable of such amazing feats.

Still hot on your heels, Bakugou relentlessly chased after you, quick to follow even after you’ve come across building after building. With your heightened hearing, you could hear him cursing under his ragged breath, his chest pounding wildly, exhausted from the tireless chase. There was the faint sweet scent of nitroglycerin cumulating from his palms, which he’s probably saving up for a later time, something you’d have to be wary about.

It’s alright, you thought to yourself, seeing the familiar houses of your subdivision, you could outrun him. Also, it was night-time, where your quirk was at its peak form.

Sure enough, an explosion blasted off behind you, launching him forward. Having expected this, just as he reached you did you jump back, a great foot off the ground, legs folded in time before his hands grabbed hold of either of them.

What you weren’t expecting was that he had blasted with only one hand, the other was on the side, ready for another blast.

Shi-

A loud explosion cut through the night, Bakugou’s body propelling, colliding with yours until you were both flying off, blindly landing in a nearby park, on some bushes.

Ash touched your tongue, vision unfocused, slowly coming to from the bright flash, ears ringing almost painfully – senses disoriented, you tried to collect yourself.

Fingers twitched, grabbing hold of the dirt. Yes, you were definitely knocked out. But you could still make a run for it-

Sniffing, your nose picked up the smell of smoke, grass, dirt, and burnt sugar.

Strong arms were wrapped around your body, Bakugou behind you, holding on to you, cushioning you against him to break the fall. Coming to, he groaned, his breath was hot against your neck, arms tightening as he sat up, bringing you with him.

For a moment, you relished at the moment – his arms were tight around you, letting you lean against his chest, roughened hands gently grabbed hold of yours, and his nose burrowed into your neck.

Ears suddenly focused on the beating of his heart, the gentle fluttering, like a bird’s wing flapping, resonating throughout his body. The beats, it was in tune with yours. Gentle. Calm. An unexplained warmth.

Hot breath against your sensitive neck brought you back, remembering the wild chase from earlier. “Oi,” he remained silent, unmoving. “L-Let go of me-“

“Not a chance.”

“Fucking,” his hands tightened on yours, firmly. “what the fuck, let me go, Bakugou!”

He still wouldn’t budge, teeth grinding. Freeing one hand, you shoved at him, using your nocturnal strength, but he still wouldn’t budge. So, fucking persistent! Finally freeing your other hand, you tried with all your might to push him away, but his hold on you only tightened.

“I said,” Push “let” Shove “me” Push, Shove “go!”

“Hey, (Name)…” he whispered, rough voice almost tired, rough hands grabbing hold of your wrists, breath hot against your ear. A whimper escaping your mouth before you could stop yourself. “…what’s so great about Deku?”

Your body went slack, his hold unrelenting on your wrists.

“What makes him so special? All Might, you, you seem to find him amazing, endearing. Why is that?” his hands slid into yours, thumbs rubbing your palm. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“Why?” his hands squeezed over yours. “Why were you willing to spend all that time, pretending to be quirkless, just to be with him? Why him? He’s just Deku! Why didn’t you tell anyone that you had a quirk? Why didn’t you tell me!?”

The desperation in his voice, followed by bitterness, insecurities, probably held on for years and years, the way he desperately held unto your hands, unto you – unrelenting, desperate, as if to ground yourself. All of it – it was exhausting. So exhausting.

“I’m exhausted,” you whispered. “please let me go.”

Annoyed, he snarled. “Not until you answer me.”

“Would it make a difference?”

“It would at least make things crystal fucking clear!”

You could feel your hands twitch against his, that ugly feeling coming back. “If that’s the case,” sighing dramatically, you leaned back a bit, yellow eyes glinting against the moonlight “then the answer should be obvious.”

There was something in the way those eyes shined, something that reminded him of something. However, because his emotions were muddled, it obscured his line of thinking, causing one ugly emotion to rise above the rest.

“Hah? Are you in love with him or something!?”

“The fuck-!?” body turning, you shoved at him, hard, finally creating some space. “NO! HE’S MY BEST FRIEND! I DON’T SEE HIM THAT WAY, AND NEITHER DOES HE!”

“Then, why do you trust him so much? Why didn’t you tell me about your quirk? Where does he go off all high and mighty, as if he were better than me? Is that it? Were you both fucking sorry for me? Were you looking down on me as well, huh, (Nickname)!?”

SLAP!

Pain spread across his cheeks; face turned the other way. You must’ve used your quirk, maybe you didn’t, but it hurt. It fucking hurt.

“You’re despicable, Bakugou Katsuki, absolutely despicable.” Shoving away, you stood, body shaking – from anger, disappointed, you don’t know.

Yellow faded away into (e/c), those (e/c) eyes were burning down, tears starting to form, threatening to fall, which shocked him. He’s never seen you cry, not even once.

“You want to know why I trust Izuku so much, why I care for him so much, why I love him so much, and why I chose him over you? Because compared to you, Izuku’s always been more of a hero compared to you.” his body stiffened at that, hands balling into fists, fingers digging into dirt and grass. “Also, you do remember what happened in junior high school, right?” He flinched, faltered.

Flashbacks of that day came rushing through your head, along with the pain, wreck, and havoc. So much happened that day, so much, too much.

Jerking his head upwards, he could only watch you walk away.

You went home that day, lost in a daze as tears streamed down your face. Once in the safety of your room, your legs gave out, falling awkwardly to the ground, your bag slipping off you.

With shaky hands, you reached for your bag, unable to stop shaking as you desperately search through your things. Picking up your phone, you called the one person who would always help you through the pain.

“(N-Nickname)…?” came his sluggish voice, having answered on the fifth ring.

Breaking into a garbled sigh, you pressed a hand to your mouth. The noise alerting Izuku on the other end. “(Nickname)?” his voice was firmer, alert, sleep gone completely. “What’s wrong, are you okay? Is it nightmares?” a wet laugh escaped your mouth, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. “What is it, (Nickname)? Please tell me.”

Sniffling, you wiped your nose with the back of your hand, knees folding. “I love you; you know that?”

“Yeah, I love you, too, (Nickname).”

Bakugou Katsuki came home that night, covered in dirt and grass, feeling numb. Completely numb, from head to toe. Barely registering that he was in his living room, home.

His cheeks numbed from the slap earlier, sure to leave a bruise for a day or two. He probably deserved it.

Unable to shake the memories of that day – laughter from him and his classmates, a burnt notebook, the look on Deku’s face, your words, the look in your eyes – before sick dread washed over his veins.

Angrily, he threw his bag across the room, hitting the wall.

“KATSUKI, KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN AND GO TO BED!”

masterlist • four

#lame #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki angst #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bhna fic #bnha angst #bnha angst fic #mha fic #mha angst fic

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undermattsun-archive · 3 years

Text

japan national team x reader | w.c 1.3k

a/n: omg guys here’s the super cute epic collab fic i made w all my frieednsies <33 we all worked superrrr hard on this so pls don’t be mean!!!!!!!!! pls enjoy its xoxox and don’t forget to follow everyone here on this kidnapped by hq collab <33333333333

warnings: not proofread bc who does that xD (guys pls free me from this hell i’m in so much pain i didn’t even look at this i skimmed over it i left it as is, gg)

Read this while lsitening to the best song evar!!!!!!!!!!!1 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_cXhBy78T4&ab_channel=JonasBrothers if you dont listen whil reading ill eat ur family MONCH MONCH MONCH

i go dwnstars, yelling ‘by mum!’ bfor laceing up my wite convrrse hightops (NOT blck becauz u cant sharpi on it) wth 1d lyrics scribbled on it. i rmb to draw a directioner infinite sign on mywrist. perfect, i think to mysdlf.

I never thot i would get to go to the olympics all the way on the other side of the planet in toky o japan! It was a dream come true for a simple, average, run of the mill girrl like me, who is 5’7 with naturally wavy hair, that’s not curly or strait and eyes as blue as the dark blue part of the ocean.

I been dreaming of the olypoics since fetus. I just knew I had to be here, but I never thought it would actually happen. The only thing that would make it better is if I had a smezxy smexy boyfrwend! (A/n: Tee-hee! Maybe even two! (Or five! <333) haha! Aren’t I so quirky? <3)

I’m Wearing A Mint Green Crop Top That Ties In The Front And Some Denim Shorts With Black Converse. I Don’t Need Makeup Because My Skin Is Naturally Smooth And Clear And My Lips Are Already Red #wokeuplikethis And I Listened Only To MCR And P!ATD On The Plane Ride. I Bet You Dont Know Who They Are, THey’re My Favorite Banxds And Are Super GOod And Like Underground Bands. (A/n: Okay But If You Don’t LIke Welcome TO THe BLack Parade GTFO Of My FIc I Don’t Need YOu Here xoxo)

ok so like,, im on my way to the olympics but then like, i get kidnapped !!! the car i was in was like super expensive and i cant see anything with the blindfold on. i hear voices of men all around me though, for like, a whole 30 minutes before they bring me somewhere and tie me up? "Take Her BLindfold off," one of them say, i hear. and im so nervous. but it's like a dream when they tug my blindfold off and im met with the prettiest emerald orbs ever looking back at me.

my stomach knotted in fear (more like an angry swarm of butterflies fluttering around ) i feel like screaming or squealing or both bc those eyes belong to someone so gorgeous . even more gorgeous than harry styles. hes like a god. i woukd so worship his foot. or something. (squee omg i can’t believe this is happening. i bet you wish that it was you huh?)

bro who tf has emerald orbs green eyes im blanking rn

^ yo i was gonna ask i cannot for the life of me remember who

his #afff14 sppheres peered into my soul i really just felt seen. i took a deep breath before fainting he was just so pretty. *one hours later* i woke upa nd saw the pretty viridescent peepers staring into mine. like he was literally two inches away from my face omg i could feel his minty breath on my lips it smelled so good.

“My name is atsumu miya,” he said gruffly, the gruffness in his voice so gravely. “And me and me mates here think yer the most gorgeous girl weve ever seen. I blink up at him, orbs gleaming amd full of tears.

“What do u mean, i’m just a normal quirky girl?” I say shakely, biting my lip. I bit my lip as the piss blond man spoke.

“You don’t know ur beautiful.” YOUR INSECURE DONT KNOW WHAT FOR YOUR TURNING HEADS WHEN YOU WAlk THROUGH THE DO OO OOOOOR

“U may be a normal quirky girl but ur OUR nroaml quirky girl now” his friend said with a deep voice. It was so deep that i almost thot it was like the ocean, he had curly balck hair and his eye were sooo mysterious (a/n i loooove sakusa i can’t believe him and his friends kindapped me omgggg XD)

“Stop it go away” osamu said (hee hee i can never remmber tell which twin is which LOL i think its osamuuu) “no u have to share” sakusa responded angrily. I starred at them and didn’t know what theyd do next!

I looked over to he side ans see sakura pulling out hand sanitizer passing it around to his teamates. The green orbed boys huff as they put it on. i wished i could see his whole face hes so sedy, look over here pretty girl, i gasp pulled from my thoughts by their captain kita walking into the room with his hands on his hips and was theat aran? “You look even better in peroiusn” aran said to me, walking over to me “how do you know who i am?” i ask.

“listen bbygurl...” he yealls, pulling out a chair to sit acros from me. “you dont get to ask the questions, we are your new masters, and you shall do as we say.” i gulp nervously, my stomach feeling like a sharkndao is happening inside. “we hope u will be worth every penny we payed foru.”

“M-m-m-masters?” my head felt like it was spinning in a teacup from disney land as i thought about what he just said to me. what did this mean? was i gooing to miss the olympics?? I wanted ot hate him with his super smug look on his face but i cant deny that he looks kind of hot and i’m into guys who look just like him,, the other guys r also relly attractive it makes my heart race. I look around trying to find answers when i make eye contact w a really really reall y tall guy who i thinks name is gao only to see another really really relly tall guy next to him,, hyakuzawa?

“what are yo going to do to me then?” ((*lenny face))

you ask, stomach bubbling. maybe i shoudnt have ateen that stale pizza earlier and washed it down with watermelon-lemon minute maid because now i felt like it was gonna come up. ((ew gross um tw vomit mention hehe)

“Dont worry were going to grab seme din din soon lil one,” one of them says. His name espapes me. Hes a ginger. They wont answer me for some reason and i suddenly miss my freedom when i would go to school (i go to an expesive private school for rich kids ahahah).

“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH ME??” i yell again batting my fists against the ginger but he doesnt even blink. Ive decided hes hot but in a short king kinda way. His hair reminded me of of like cheeto coloured fine thread woven into waves.,,, like the ocean xD (ans...this has an ocean theme)

sudenly there was another voice it was yalling “BOKE HINATA BOKER” i looked with my stricking dark blue orbs and there wasd inother pair of stricking dark blueor bs like the ocean and blck hair. his voicde was veryy deelp an sexxcy (a/n lololol i luv u gakeyama kun *w*)

theres suddenly a loud voice in ur ear screaming directly into ur eardrum " BAKA KAGYEAMA BAKA" (wtf our they communicating ???? ? ) i cringe at the yellign and another pair of strong arms bulls me away . i land against a hard, solid chest, i can feel the six pack thru his track Suit.

and then my alarm clock playin what makes u beatyful goes off n i woke up.

amen.

i rub my eyes wakng up, starrn into the mirror at my super borng brwn ugly eyes and brsh my equaly borng brwn hair. i lok up at m wall and see harey stylz and niallr starinf back at me on t walls. i sigh dreamily. they wud twll me my brwn uairs beatufil.

#i'm gonna kermit #my eyes hurt #my brain is dying #where am i #kidnapped by hq #tw wattpad

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the-mighty-jellybean · 4 years

Text

Rising From The Earth

Series Summary: After months of trying, and several heats, and ruts, Y/N was now beginning her journey on her road to motherhood. All Steve and Bucky wanted to be is supportive and strong for their Omega, but life doesn't always run so smoothly....

Series Warning: a/b/o dynamics (the fun stuff that comes with that) Smut, Accurate Representation of Pregnancy and (eventually) Childbirth, Strong Language (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader X Bucky Barnes

Part One// Part Two// Part Three// Part Four// Part Five// Part Six//Part Seven// Part Eight// Part Nine// Part Ten// Part Eleven// Part Twelve// Part Thirteen// Part Fourteen// Part Fifteen//

Part Sixteen: Endgame

Chapter Warnings: Childbirth

Word Count: 4.6k

20 Hours-Into Labor

With the help of your Alphas, you were able to get a few hours sleep. Every few minutes, you would twitch and clasp, Steve and Bucky’s hands as a contraction washed over your body. Each time, they would squeeze your hands back, whispering comforting words in your ear.

“Shh, it’s nearly over, baby.”

“It’s alright, we’re right here.”

Their reassuring tones, helped to sooth your tense muscles, providing you with some forms of comfort.

“How much longer?” you whine, curling inwards, as the pain was at it’s height.

“Soon, sweetheart, not long now.” Steve encourages, he moves off the the bed. and you whimper, from the loss of his contact.

He grabs another pair of gloves, and Bucky helps you to roll onto your back, you seize his hands, and allow Steve to examine you once more.

“Please tell me I can push.” you plead, Steve gives you a look of sympathy, as once again he peels his gloves off.

“Not quite, darlin. Your body will tell you when you need to push.”

“So how dilated am I?” you look up at him, and Steve’s sad smile drops, and a frown appears. “No.” you cry out, your head dropping to the pillow, tears leaking from your eyes.

“You’re doing so well, bubba. It won't be much longer I promise.” You roll back onto your side, burying your head in Bucky’s chest. Bucky cups your head, and stroking his fingers through your hair.

“It's alright, baby. It’s okay.” Bucky just about soothes you to sleep, your fingers, fisting his shirt.

“So how dilated is she?” Bucky looks to Steve, who’s grabbing some towels from the bathroom.

“5.”

“Still.” Bucky’s eyes widen, his heart ached for you, at the thought of you having to suffer another day of agony. “How can we help her?”

“There’s not a lot we can do, just keep her comfortable.” Steve sighs, “if there's no change in a few hours, I’ll call Dr Cho and Bruce, and see if they can help us.”

25 Hours-Into Labor

“Make it stop, please, make it stop.” you shrieked, as the water poured down your back. You were kneeling in your shower, Bucky supporting your shoulders, stopping you from falling forward, as another contraction took hold of your body.

“I would, baby girl, I would if I could.” Bucky is almost in tears himself, as the want to protect, and stop your pain, was overwhelming him.

“I want to get out, this isn't helping.” you use Bucky’s shoulders to help you stand, your legs shaking, as he helps you to wobble to the bed.

“Slowly, honey. Slow down.” You stop short of the bed, collapsing onto your knees, and placing your elbows on the mattress.

Bucky gets on his knees next to you, hand going to your back, trying every thing he can to help you.

“Alpha, please just pull them out!” You plead, the contraction, fading but not going completely, leaving you with a dull ache.

“You can do this, baby. I know you can, Alpha knows you can, and you know you can.” Bucky comforts you, but you just shake your head.

“No, no I can’t. I want it to be over.” Your body begins to tremble, Bucky grabs a blanket, to cover your shivering body.

“Are you cold, sweetheart?” Bucky begins to rub up and down your arms, but you push him away, your skin felt hot, but your teeth chattered. “Steve!”

You hear Steve’s footsteps, as he races up the stairs, he had just been on the phone to Dr Cho, when Bucky called.

He entered the bedroom, and knelt by your side. He tries to rub your back, but you squirm out the way of his hand.

“Don’t touch me.” You whimper, your fingers twisting in the fabric of the bed sheets, clinging to them desperately.

“Okay, baby, okay.” Steve sits back, Bucky doing the same, “I think you’re coming into transition.”

“What does that mean?” Bucky asks on your behalf.

“It means, it’s not gonna be long.” Steve smiles at him, it drops when he can hear you mumbling to yourself. “What are you saying, sweetheart?”

“Please...please...please.” You chant, your brain is too worn out to form any real sentence, the only word you can articulate is “please.”

“Please, what bubba. What do you need?” Steve tries to touch your shoulder again, and you fuss in discomfort, he immediately pulls his hand away.

“Please...please.” You repeat, pushing your face into the bed sheet.

“It’s not gonna be long, Y/N.” Steve tried to reassure you, he hoped that you could hear him, despite being in the full swing of transition.

“What did Dr Cho say?” Bucky looked to Steve hopefully, and that Dr Cho had given him some assuring words.

“She said we just need to keep her calm, all this is normal, for a first birth.” Steve, moved round to Bucky, and pulled him tightly against him, “we’re gonna be fine.” He kissed the side of Bucky’s head, but both of them became distracted when you let out another guttural moan.

“Ohhhhhhhh.” you groan out, Steve and Bucky were unsure what to do, having you just refused their contact.

“What do you need, baby. How can we help?” Steve questions you, but you are too distracted by the growing pressure in your lower area.

“I feel like I want to push.” you choke out, Steve and Bucky’s eyes going wide.

“Don’t push, sweetheart.” Steve grabs under your arms trying to lift you onto your feet, you howl in disapproval, “we need to get you on the bed.”

Steve ignores your pleas, for him to stop, Bucky grabbing under your other arm, to help Steve place you on the bed.

“I need to push, Alpha.” you wail, as they lay you down on your back, Bucky moving to your side, Steve grabbing another pair of gloves.

“Not yet, darlin. I need to check you.” Steve snaps on the gloves, and moves your legs apart. You scream as he begins to examine you, your contraction still very much in full swing, “shh Y/N, it’s okay.”

You can feel the stretch of Steve’s fingers, and you cling to Bucky in despair.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here.” Bucky smooths the sticky hair that’s clinging to your forehead, pushing the sweat off your face.

“Can..I p-ush.” you stutter out, your teeth are still chattering, the pressure is overwhelming between your legs.

“Not quite, sweetie. But you’re so close, you’re at 9cm, baby girl.” you yell at Steve’s words, thoroughly displeased by his response.

You try and push anyway, but Steve can tell what you’re doing by the look on your face, and the noises you were making.

“Don’t push, Y/N.” his voice is stern, and he’s holding your chin, so you have no choice but to look into his searing blue eyes, “you aren't ready yet. Don't push or you’ll tire yourself out, little one.”

“I have to.” you sob, Steve and Bucky soothing you as best they can, with there touch.

“It won't be long, baby. It won't be long.” Bucky whispers over and over in your ear, and you pull yourself closer to him.

The contractions don't appear to stop, there’s little to no break between them now, as they proceed to just roll over your body, without yield or warning.

“I don't want to be on my back.” you begin to sit up, without the help of Bucky and Steve, and shuffle your way to the edge of the bed. Steve and Bucky move out your way, but are on hand to held stabilise you, as you reach the end.

Just as you stand on your quivering legs, you feel one of the babies, drop even lower, causing another build up of pressure, the need to push, is uncontrollable. And against Steve’s request begin to bear down once again.

Steve can tell that you’re pushing, and quickly places you on the floor, at the foot of the bed. You wrap your arms tightly around Bucky’s neck, using him to lean on, as you push.

“Baby, are you pushing?” Steve asks, but he already knows the anwser, he can tell by the way your legs are trembling, that you are using some kind of force.

He bends down to look between your legs. He doesn’t need to examine your cervix, when the slight glimpse of something making it’s way out of you, catches his eye.

“Alright, sweetheart, it’s alright.” he moves your legs a little further apart, so that he has a clearer view.

“Y/N, listent to me. Stop pushing, and listen to me.” you can just about hold off on the urge to bear down, and tilt your head, so that Steve knows that you are listening. “You need to push with your contractions, otherwise you’re just gonna be wasting your energy.”

You nod your head, that’s in the crook of Bucky’s neck, your hands are grasping his shirt, his hands rest on your hips.

“Deep breaths, baby.” He reminds you softly, and you take a deep breath in through your nose. As you exhale, the sigh of air turns into a deep moan, as the tightening begins.

“Push, honey.” Steve encourages you, you tuck your head further into Bucky’s neck, and begin to bear down with all your might. “That’s a good girl, well done.”

You can hear Steve praising you, but all your energy is focusing on the job at hand. You finally stop for a breath, and you can feel Bucky’s lips on your cheek, continuing Steve’s soft praises. “That was so good, baby.”

“Y/N, that was great, honey. Just breath for a second.” Steve instructs you, and you begin to breath deep, you can feel Steve’s hand on your back, and it helps to sooth the nerves that are building. The feeling of both your Alphas so close to you, is making the pain just bearable.

Your break is not long, another pain begins to build.

“There’s another one coming.” you mutter, setting your legs a little further apart, before you tuck your chin into your chest.

“Okay, remember with the pain, baby.” Steve reminds you, before he cranes his neck, to peer between your legs.

You curl forward into Bucky’s chest, and push with all your might, you can feel the baby moving through your hips, and it makes your legs shake with the effort.

“That’s amazing, honey. Keeping going.” Steve cooed.

“Push, push, push.” Bucky is chanting in your ears, and all you can do is focus on his voice.

The pain eases, doesn't stop, but it eases off enough, that you know you can breath. You gasp, you can feel the baby’s head beginning to stretch you a little.

“Is it coming?” you ask, halfheartedly.

“The head’s right there, sweetheart.” Steve informs you, you feel Steve’s gloved hand, rubbing your ankle, encouragingly.

“It hurts, Bucky.” The name caught both Alphas by surprise, they had not heard you call them by anything other than Alpha, in a long time. Their chests hurt at the thought of you being in so much pain, that you would call them by their first names.

“You’re okay, honey. I’m here. Alpha and I are here.” Bucky kisses your hair, and you whimper.

Before long, the wave begins to peak once again, and you grasp Bucky”s shoulders.

“Come on, bubba.” Steve holds your shaking legs, it gives you the strength you need, before you begin to push once again, “good girl.”

You cry out, a burning sensation spreading from your opening.

“That’s okay, baby. That’s alright,” Steve holds your legs firmly, as you try to close them around the head, “it’s just the baby crowning. Means it’s coming.”

“It’s burning.” you whine, clutching desperately at Bucky’s shoulders, “it hurts too much.”

“You need to push through it, honey. I know it’s difficult, but push through the stinging.” Steve consoles, stroking your inner thigh.

“Come on, sweetie. You can do it.” Bucky’s lips are just under your ear, and you push your head into his chest, and you feel his arms tighten around you.

“Push, Y/N. You need to push.”

Taking as deep of breath as you could, you pushed through the stinging, legs buckling as you felt the head slip out.

“Stop pushing, honey. Just pant for me now.” You feel Steve shift behind you, as he moves between your legs, to support the baby’s head.

The need to push was over powering you, especially with the feeling of your baby being so close to being born. You tuck your head once again, only for it to be pulled back up again.

“Don’t push yet, darlin. I need to check the baby’s neck. Just do your panting breathing.” Steve briefly explained, before going back to doing his needed checks.

“I can't help it, I have to push.” you wail, the urge to push, was becoming to much.

“Look at me, baby. Just look at me.” Bucky, catches your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his, “just pant. Pant with me.”

You managed to copy his breathing, long enough for Steve to give you the all clear.

“Alright sweetheart, the neck’s clear. Now you just need to do small pushes, baby. Small pushes.” Steve guided, moving your legs a little wider to give you some more room.

“Just keep your eyes locked on me, honey. Just watch me, little one.” you hold your gaze with Bucky, and with his support you’re able to give small pushes, gently freeing the shoulder.

“Atta girl, baby. One shoulder,” both Steve’s hands are concentrated between your legs, supporting the head and shoulder, that have been delivered, “keep going, honey. Just another small push then both shoulders are gonna be out.”

You give another small push, feeling the second shoulder slip free, you squirm slightly the pain intensifying, as you were being, what felt like, torn in half.

“It’s okay, baby. One last gigantic push, and we’ll have our first pup.” Steve tells you excitedly. That was all you needed to spur you on, before you gave your last push.

“That’s it, there we go.”

Suddenly you felt nothing, like you were floating on a cloud, and for a moment the air was filled with quiet, just the sound of your heavy breathing. Before the peace was broken by the sound of a high pitched shrill.

“You did it, baby. Look.” You feel movement between your legs, and you shuffle slightly, as Steve passes you a squirming pink being, through your legs.

You clutch the squealing pink thing to your chest, holding it close to your skin.

“You clever girl.” Bucky kisses your forehead, helping you cradle the tiny baby to your chest, “you clever, clever girl.”

“Do you want to spin round, honey.” Steve helps you rotate, so you can lay against Bucky’s chest.

“Is it the boy, or girl?” Bucky asks you, as Steve grabs one of the towels, and rubs the baby clean, in all the commotion of the birth, you had forgotten to check.

Steve helps you to lift the baby’s legs.

“It’s the girl.” You feel your eyes stinging, but your tears don't fall in time, as you feel wetness growing on your shoulder, looking up, you see Bucky’s eyes streaming, tear tracks streaking down his cheek.

“I’m so proud of you, Omega. We’re so proud of you.” Bucky blubbered, holding you both close to him.

“I love you, Alphas.” you snivel.

“We love you too,” Steve sniffed, his eyes too are brimming with tears, but he knows he can't lose it yet, with there still one more baby, “more than you can every imagine.”

“Buck, do you want to cut the chord?” Steve looks to Bucky, holding the scissors out.”

“I don't want to hurt her.” Bucky shook his head, but you took Bucky’s hand, and guided it to the scissors.

“Please Alpha, I want you to do it.” Bucky’s hands are shaking slightly, but with your’s and Steve’s help, he successfully cuts the chord, severing the external tie between you and the infant.

“She’s so perfect.” you whisper, once you have settled her. Your stroking your finger down the side of her face, the baby cooing slightly at the touch.

“She’s so tiny.” Bucky comments, he was right, she was probably the size of a small melon. Your Alphas could easily hold her in one hand.

“Is she okay?” you look to Steve, who just smiles and nods at you.

Your peace is short lived, soon you can feel tightening in your lower abdomen, that makes you groan, in discomfort.

“I think our son wants to say hello.” Steve comments, noticing the way you shifted, and grimaced.

“I think you’re right.” you moan a little. Steve takes the baby from you, and lays her safely, in a little shroud of towels, to keep her warm.

Bucky grasps your hands, and kisses the side of your head.

“You can do this, baby. Not long now.” Bucky reassures you, Steve kneels between your legs once more, holding you knees securely.

“Just as you did before, sweetheart. With your contraction, I want a big push down.” Steve directs, and you nod at his words.

“Alpha can you hold my legs, I’m so tired?” you look to Bucky, as your knees go a little lax, as you struggle to hold them in their bent position.

“Of course, baby girl. Hold my wrists, and I’ll hold your knees.” you clasp Bucky’s wrists, as he cups your knees, and pulls them towards you slightly.

You feel the cramping start once again, a small squeak escapes your lips, before you tuck your chin to your chest, and push down.

“That’s a good girl.” Steve rallies, watching the second head, begin to peer through, “I see the top of his head, sweetheart, he’s coming.”

His assurance helps to spur you on, and you take a quick break, sucking in another deep breath, before pushing down once again. Unlike before, you don't feel the shift, with you pushes.

“He’s not moving, Alpha.” you shake your head, you couldn't feel the baby moving at all.

“He is, sweetheart. Don't give up.” Steve rubs your inner thigh, pushing your legs wider, to give you some more room.

You push hard once again, making your head spin a little, but again you can't feel him moving down.

“He isn't, he’s not moving, Alpha.” you lull your head against Bucky’s shoulder, you begin to quake with exhaustion.

“Remember, he’s going to be a little bigger than his sister, bubba, that’s why he feels like he’s not moving.” Steve reminds you, but it doesn't give you any confidence, “but I promise, he’ll move.”

“I can't do it. I can't.” you breath, eyes fluttering.

“Yes you can, baby. You can. I’m here. You can do it.” Bucky spurs you on, but you turn your head away from him.

“Sweetie, look at me, look at me.” Steve calls you, and you dart your eyes down to him. “You can do this. Put your chin to your chest, and push hard.”

You shake your head, but Bucky lets one of your knees go, Steve holding it in his place. He places his hand behind your head, guiding your chin to your chest.

“Put your chin down, and push, baby.” Bucky coached, you whine, but do as he says as the urge to push, forces you to. “That’s my girl.”

“Good girl, Y/N. He’s coming.” Steve reassures you, you can just about feel the shift, as the baby moves down little by little.

You gasp, when you finish pushing, Bucky relaxed the pressure he was putting on the back of your head, allowing you to lean back a little.

“I can see the top of his head, baby. He’s got Alpha’s dark hair.” Steve smiles up at you, and you return it, tiredly. “Once again, honey. Big push, just like before.”

With Bucky’s help, you press your chin to your chest, and bear down, the burning and stretching feeling returning. You jolt a little, the pain still being a shock.

“Shh, you’re okay, bubba. It’s just the baby crowning.” Steve rubs at your ankle, and your legs begin to tremor. “You’ve done this before, push through it.”

You cry out, but do as Steve says pushing through the stinging sensation. A small scream falling from your lips, as the head slipped free, much bigger than the one before.

“Okay, pant honey.” Steve advised you, his hands going to check the baby’s neck. You wriggle, and squirm, struggling to keep it together, the need to push overpowering, and the pain of you stretching more than before, overbearing.

“Please get it out, get it out, Alpha.” you pull against the hand Bucky has cupping your thigh, and push agains Steve’s hand that sits on the other knee.

“Calm, sweetheart, calm. Keep in control.” Bucky holds you tighter, the hand that was on the back of your head, was now settled on your forehead, pulling you closer to him, “stay in control, honey. I’m here. You can do this.”

“I can't, I have to push, I want it out.” you stammer, trying to push down, but Bucky stops you.

“Not yet, bubba. The chords just a little tangled around the baby’s neck.” Steve sounded calm, but you could tell there was an edge of panic. Your eyes went wide, and you looked to Steve afraid.

“Is he okay? What do I do?” You panic, Bucky grabbed your hand, stroking over it gently.

“It’s alright, baby. Alpha’s gonna fix it.”

Steve carefully, unhooks the chord, manuvering it over the baby’s head, and untangling it from around it’s neck. He does that twice more, before checking again that the neck was clear.

“Alright, sweetie, give me some small pushes.” Steve says, letting out a shaky breath, “you really need to stay in control for me, small pushes.”

You nod your head, and bend forward, Bucky’s hand going back to behind your head, moving you forward.

“Gently, baby, gently.” Steve watches, as you give him small pushes, the head slowly slipping forward. “Such a good girl.”

You close your eyes, and take a shaky breath, when you feel one of the shoulders slip through. “Ah.”

“You’re okay, little one.” Bucky kisses along your neck, the feeling of his lips, cooling your hot skin.

“Pull it out, Alpha.” you plead.

“I don't need to, baby. You’re doing it.” Steve shakes his head, “you’re doing it all by yourself, sweetheart.”

Finally the second shoulder slipped through, and you shuffled slightly, the feeling not comfortable.

“We’re almost there, Y/N. Grab your knees, and give me some big pushes.” Steve commands. Bucky releases your hand, so you can hook it under your thigh, you pull them towards you, as Bucky holds your shoulders,

“Push, Y/N.”

You let a scream fall from your lips, as you put all of your last effort into this final push.

“That’s our girl, that's it. Push, push.” Steve’s voice rises as the exciemtent of his second child entering the world, is about to reach it’s climax.

Your eyes are shut tightly, all focus is on the baby leaving your body.

Eventually you collapse back into Bucky’s chest, he wrap his arms around, kissing you all over your face.

“You did it, baby. You did.” He says in between kisses, “look down, look.”

You squint your eyes open, to see Steve rubbing your son’s back, cleaning him of the blood. Your feeling of euphoria, is halted, when the baby still lays still, his skin tinged blue.

“Come on, buddy. Come on.” You can hear Steve’s quiet pleas, as he rubs vigorously at his sons back.

“What’s wrong. Why isn't he crying?” you mumble, you can feel Bucky’s heart hammering against your back.

Steve doesn't answer you, and instead continues to rub the boy with the towel, trying everything.

“Alpha, what’s wrong. What’s wrong. Tell me what’s wrong.” you cry in distress.

“Shh, it’s alright, baby. Alpha’s just cleaning him up.” Bucky pulls your eyes from the limp child in Steve’s hands.

You sob into Bucky’s neck, your heart being ripped in two.

However, your sobs are interrupted by the piercing, cry of the small bundle. Your eyes snapping to the slightly blue skinned baby.

“He’s alright, sweetheart, he just wanted to give us a little freight.” Steve lifts the baby, onto your chest, and you didn't think you had held anything so tightly.

“My boy, my boy.” you repeat, in shock and overwhelming love, “you’re okay. Alpha, he’s okay.” you look to Bucky, who once again has broken into sobs, of happiness.

“He’s beautiful, they both are.” Bucky glances over to the corner, where your daughter now lays sleeping soundly.

Steve cuts the chord, and wraps at towel around both of you, keeping you both warm. He begins to rub at your abdomen, causing cramps to begin again.

“I can't do any more.” you confirm, eyes fluttering once again with tiredness.

“Just small pushes, sweetie. We need to get the placentas and then you’re completely finished.” Steve confirms, massaging your lower half.

You give some feeble pushes, and before long, you had delivered both of the babies placentas. Your Alphas had moved you onto the bed, Bucky still sat behind you, you rested against his chest, both of your babies are curled up on your chest. Steve sat in front of you, watching you mothering the infants.

“So...what have we decided?” Bucky brushes the hair from your forehead, and you look to him, with a questionable expression.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“What are we gonna call them?” Bucky places a small kiss on his daughters forehead, before rubbing over the blonde fuzz, that sprouted from her head.

“Well...I thought for the girl, the name Poppy Sarah incorporated both of your lives.” you smiled at Steve, who’s lips twitched a little, his eyes going a little glossy.

“It’s beautiful.” Bucky complimented, kissing you cheek.

Steve clutched your hand, and you gave his a squeeze back, “a beautiful name, for a beautiful girl.”

“And what about our boy.” Bucky’s thumb rubbed over the large tufted of brown hair.

“Well it’s a name I found ages ago, but I wasn’t sure whether it was too much to bestow on such a little baby, but...” you look down at the baby in your arms, who’s piercing blue eyes are fixed on your’s, “after what he’s been through I think it’s quite fitting.”

“What is it?” Steve moves closer, so he can rub over the baby’s back.

“Finian, it means handsome warrior.” you smile at Steve, “Finian Jacob. Like you said he is a big boy.” you laugh, and the two men chuckle softly.

“I love it.” Steve praises, and you give him a watery smile.

“Welcome to the world Finian Jacob. You’re gonna be trouble, I just know it.” Bucky jokes, kissing the top of the boy’s head.

Steve moves so that he is laying next to you and Bucky, and he places his arm over the two bundles. He leans over, and kisses them both softly on their heads.

“Hello, Poppy and Fin, we love you so much already, you can't even begin to imagine.” You push your forehead into Steve’s and he does the same to you, you rub your nose with his, before he kisses your lips softly.

“I’ve never been more proud of anyone, in my entire life. You did the best job ever, and gave us the greatest gift, of all. We love you, Y/N.” Bucky turns your head, so he can kiss your lips as well. “You’re our Endgame, honey.”

“That’s good,” you smile, “because I’m with you till the end of the line.”

A/N: Annnnnnnd that’s a wrap! I’ve loved every minute of writing this story, the response from you guys, and the support you’ve given me, is incredibly, and I’m soooo grateful, thank you so much for all your kind words.

My next story, will not be following on from Rising, but will be a new book, with a new story. But I won't say I won't be coming back to see little Fin and Poppy in the future.

This isn't the end, only goodbye!!

TAGLIST:

@mikariell95 @sexyvixen7 @booboobella01 @rororo06 @vickstaahh @krazykatkay456 @winchester-wifey @nightlygiggles @coonflix @broco8 @animegirlgeeky @amanda-the-fangirl @brunettebabylou @flyaway1221 @frozenhuntress67 @colourforanamee @bisexualbaby2001 @dottirose @captainchrisstan @lemonadygirl @lolwelcome @im-dracos-thotter

#alpha!steve #alpha!bucky #omega!reader #pregnant reader #pregnancy #childbirth #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve fic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #stucky x reader #stucky

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deerixiie · 3 years

Text

u n e x p e c t e d g u e s t

ep 12: questions

previous / next (ep 13) / series masterlist

a/n: i was too lazy to edit or have someone beta so if you see a grammar mistake,,, no you don’t.

Kenma watched you.

He watched as you slowly set your phone down with a quiet sigh. He watched as you picked up Ankha gently in your hands and began to stroke her fur. He watched as you looked out into the distance, your eyes unfocused, your mouth curved slightly into a small frown.

Kenma found himself frowning, too. He didn’t like seeing you this worried. A simple appearance in the background of a livestream had turned your life on its axis, and it was taking a toll on your mental health, as well.

What should he do? He was the one you turned too, after all. But he was terrible with words—if saying his order at a restaurant was difficult, how could he even imagine comforting you?

His eyes dropped to the console resting a foot away from him, and he let out a tiny sigh. He wasn’t good with words, but he was good at video games.

Kenma extended the Switch to you with a soft smile. “Do you want to play?”

You played Smash this time, something that you picked up surprisingly easily. Kenma, however, wasn’t paying attention to the game. His eyes kept drifting back to you. You seemed more relaxed now that you were playing, but every so often your smile would drop and your eyes would unfocus.

Kenma frowned again.

Come to think of it, you only knew him for about a week—or maybe less? Why were you coming to him when it was obvious he couldn’t do much to comfort you? Didn’t you have other friends? There was Kuroo, the one who had introduced you two. (Though, now that he thought about it, Kuroo wouldn’t be much help.) Then what about your brother and his friend?

Kenma glanced over to you for what had to be the umpteenth time. He paused, considering his words, and then put down his controls. “Do you have any other friends that live around here?”

You didn’t seem as uncomfortable with the question as Kenma was, even offering a smile smile. “Apart from you, Kuroo, Hajime and Oikawa? No, not really. Why?”

“No reason.”

You shrugged. “Now that I think about it, it’s kind of weird, y’know? As a kid I basically clung to Hajime, meaning I was friends with Oikawa too. I haven’t really been the type for friends, per se?” You frowned. “Does that make sense?”

“No, I understand.” It was like that with him too—apart from you, Kenma’s closest friends were probably only Kuroo and Hinata. Everyone else was a mutual friend or an acquaintance.

“And whenever I need something, I would turn to Oikawa or Hajime. It’s actually weird for me to be coming here now. But,—” your voice became more solemn, “the thought of being in the house with Hajime and Oikawa just felt… suffocating. Being around you calms me down, I guess?” Your eyes widened at that statement, as if you didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Kenma ducked his head, wishing his hair was down so it would hide his blush.

You felt comfortable with him—and Kenma did too. Whereas talking to others gave him anxiety, he found himself easily being able to talk to you. (It was ironic, how easy it was for Kenma to talk to you but still not able to comfort you.)

His mind floated back to the conversation he had with Hinata. Kenma’s eyebrows furrowed. Did Hinata ever ask you about him? He glanced over to his phone, only to remember as he reached for it that you were still sitting there.

“Can you give me a second, Y/n?” Kenma asked, swiftly tucking his phone in his hoodie’s pocket.

You looked up with him with startled eyes. “Uh, sure! Go ahead.”

Kenma ducked into the hallway, pulling out his phone. Sure enough, a text from Hinata glowed on the screen.

Kenma sighed and slipped back into the living room. Your expression was thoughtful, although unfocused. You continued to stroke Ankha’s fur, but more aimlessly this time.

“Y/n?”

You didn’t move an inch.

“Y/n.” Kenma’s voice was louder. He took a few cautious steps toward you, saying your name a third time. You blinked and turned to face him, giving him a startled smile. “Oh, uh, did I drift off there?”

“Yeah.” Kenma sat down and picked up the controls. He paused and turned to you again, his expression full of concern. “Are you... okay?”

“Oh.” You gave a small shrug. “I’m doing better than before.”

“You kept drifting off.”

“Oh! I’m uh, I’m thinking.” You looked away from him, rubbing circles into Ankha’s fur. “I think I want to start all over again.”

“Start…” Did you mean your art blog or something else?

You leaned your head back. “Yeah, like, start my entire life with a clean slate. New blog, new twitter, new hobbies—” e/c eyes flicked to him, only for the briefest of seconds—“new apartment, new roommates.”

Kenma played with the controls, avoiding eye contact with you. “Do what makes you happy.”

“Yeah.” Kenma’s gaze snapped back to you. You had a wistful, almost dreamy expression in your eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. “What makes me happy.” You looked back at Kenma and the expression dropped, a sheepish smile taking its place. “Ah, whatever, lets just go back to playing!”

Kenma frowned but picked up his controls anyway, sparing you one last glance before focusing on the screen.

Two hours passed rather quickly. You played Smash for another half-hour or so before switching back to Animal Crossing. Conversation was light, comfortable, and Kenma found himself easing back into that odd familiarity he had with you. You seemed to be doing the same, but every so often you’d look over to him as if to ask something and then back out of it, turning back to your Switch. It frustrated him at first—what weren’t you asking him?—but the hypocrisy of the situation humbled him. He couldn’t ask you a simple question either.

(But then again, there was a heavy weight over his question. Six simple words-will you go out with me?—carried much more meaning than six simple words normally did. What if Hinata read the situation wrong, and you only saw him as a friend? What if you said no? What if you exited his life almost as quickly as you came?)

Eventually you set the console down with a heavy sigh and stretched your arms above your head. (Kenma glanced over at the exposed skin before he could stop himself.)

“It’s already two,” you remarked, glancing down at your phone. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Onigiri or inari sushi?” you continued, disregarding his response. “Do you still have some leftover rice from last time?”

“I’m not-” Kenma shook his head, letting his protests die away. “Yeah.”

You gave him a small, smug smile and walked over to the kitchen, humming to yourself. The sounds of cluttering pots and pans that Kenma oftentimes forgot existed followed.

She knows me better than myself, he mused. It’s been barely a week and you were such a strong presence in his life—was it because you watched his streams? Your friendship with Kuroo? You were popping up in the most unexpected places, first behind the counter at the flower shop, now at his front doorstep meekly asking if you could stay for a while. You chose him, even when there were so many others out there.

“You’re getting soft, Kenma.” Kuroo had said that to him last night after you went home, a smirk playing on his face. Kenma had shot the dark-haired boy an annoyed glance and a bitter retort, but he saw the truth in the statement now.

Kenma let out a quiet, defeated sigh. You were doing so much for him and yet he had nothing to offer.

He had to change that.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?” You turned around to him, expectant, and Kenma realized with a sickening churn of his stomach the reality of what he was about to do.

“Is there something on your mind?”

He couldn’t even ask the real question.

Your face falls. “Yeah, there’s a lot.” You glanced away from him, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a question, actually.”

Kenma held his breath.

“Can I move in with you?”

The response flew out of Kenma’s mouth before he had time to consider it—something that shocked him, because he always was careful of his words.

“Yeah.”

previous / next (ep 13) / series masterlist

notes:

❍ im so excited for what’s happening next hehe

fun facts:

❍ punchy was napping under a couch so y/n couldn’t pet him :(

taglist (open, send an ask!):

crossed out couldn’t be tagged!

@rhaynedaze @1tsnoya @hnpriscilla @chaelysian @deimmortales99 @pantasticalcat @goosyy @loxbbg @officiallykuute @handsoffmyfriends @flrtykawas @kenmashoe @kingkagss @sempiternal-amour @sol-demure @bbecc-a @ggukiefrappe @ashleydaowo @space-flamingo @finnydraws @bakibakini i @satorispup @erininium @creativedogs @johnnysactualgf @bethbat @prcttylittlcthing @rachelexe @vanilla-beanzz @saccharine-sunflower-seeds @icaruskenma @aikochan4859 @knmsapplepi @h0ngh0ngh0ng @shhhspect @vicassa @crykv @a-applepi @beanst0ck @ephemeralninon @pocket-of-anxiety @kozumesupremacy @air-wreckaaaa @kageyamasbabygorl @kjalidd @lostmarimoismyhubby @oikawasphlatass @punicorn999 @sugawater @yn-tingz @memorableminds @mirikusashes @jiminifiess @semiis @elianetsantana@bwoodybwood @chaseyui (continued in replies!)

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pars-ley · 3 years

Text

VOID

Pairing: Jackson x female reader ft Yugyeom x female reader

Summary: Jackson ending it with you was supposed to be for the best, but instead it spirals you into a pit of unhappiness and bad luck. What happens when meeting someone new can't compare to what you've already had?

Genre: Angst / break up au / established relationship au / marriage au / fluff

Rating: 16+ (SFW)

Warnings: Heavy Angst / swearing / some depression and depressive thoughts

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: This is for the flight log project with @got7writerscollective the prompt was ‘The Journey’. This is also unedited because as last minute Ley strikes again I didn’t have time. Thank you to everyone from the net who read this and wrote their reactions to this in the channel, you guys made my heart super happy.

Meeting Jackson wasn't planned but it happened.

A shy glance from the table across from you and you knew he was interested. All it took was one smile and he was at your table asking to join you.

Your conversation, free and absorbed and never ending.

The late night dates for dinner or to the movies, with walks in the park watching the sunset fade and the inky sky take over as you stroll in the moonlight hand in hand.

The early morning coffee stops that made you smile as soon as your eyes opened and you wiped the sleep from them. Just knowing you would see his handsome face and be on the mercy of his playful banter.

Every moment you were together felt like home.

Falling for him wasn't your intention but it happened.

The silly things he would do to try and cheer you up when you were sad, even if he made himself look like a fool, he didn't care as long as you smiled.

The long, hot nights of steamy love making that always took your breath away, as he explored your body until he knew it better than you. Prying his name from your lips more than once during those pleasure filled nights. Never tiresome or boring.

The quick lunch dates when he made it to the top of his career, bringing him lunch when you knew he had no time to eat but he still made time for you, no matter how busy he was.

Something had clicked fairly early on and you knew he was the one you wanted to spend your life with.

You fell hard and fast, your feelings never fading in four years, your love and lust for him still in abundance and only growing day by day.

Now suddenly, everything you've built together so solidly, so secure, has come crumbling down in front of you from six words...

"I think we should end this."

They echo like a distant voice concaved in a tunnel of stone desperate to escape, like you are. You struggle to find the end, to see the light, to feel the relief of being out of that darkness.

You feel like your drowning, gasping for air, fighting your way to the surface. But which was it? How can you get there when his words are the ocean, smothering you with its liquid jaws.

"Why?" You squeak out, fighting the tears that desperately fight their way out.

His eyebrows knit together as he watches your face. "Because I cannot give you what you want."

You shake your head, lower lip trembling fiercely. "I can wait, it's ok, I'll wait." You hear the desperation in your voice and the sound makes you sick.

"Baby, I don't know when I'll be ready, I'm finally where I want to be in my career and I've got to work hard, long hours to stay here. There's no place for children. It's not fair to ask you to wait."

"Y-your not asking. I'm t-telling you, I'll wait." You whimper, tears spilling from your eyes.

He sighs and wipes your tears away, his own eyes glassy and bloodshot. "And what if I'm never ready? You have always told me how important being a mother is to you. I will not be the one to take that away from you. I can't. I need to let you go. To let you find someone who can give you the things I can't."

Your tears fall freely now, feeling hot on your cheeks but the trails quickly turning cold in the air. Your body shivers uncontrollably, blood feeling like ice in your veins.

"But I-I don't want anyone else." You argue, the sound is petty, hardly audible.

You're losing, you know it. He's slipping through your fingers no matter how much you try to grasp at him.

"I don't either, but I think this will be better for you in the long run. I don't want to lead you on a road of disappointment because of my selfishness." He plants a long, lingering kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry. I love you."

Before walking away and out of the door.

You crumple, your cheek finding semblance against the cold, hard floor. That's it. He's gone. You're alone.

6 months later…

The letters on the newspaper practically fly out and slap you in the face. The gaping hole he left in your chest when he took your heart with him begins pulsing with fresh agony.

Your emotions rush at you all at once, coming up and escaping from your mouth and into the kitchen sink.

The emptiness of your stomach feeling heavy as a rock, weighing you down, urging you to greet the floor. Your legs wobble under your weight as silent tears fall, leaving clear splashes on the mahogany wood under your feet.

Why is this happening? How?

So many questions, so many thoughts swirl in your mind, deafening you.

You get up from your chair and shuffle weakly back to bed, unable to face anything today.

Your phone rings wildly but you ignore it, the sound growing more distant the more your thoughts and woes consume you. Your friends have probably seen the news, they'll be worrying. Let them.

Climbing under the duvet and hoping to forget the world as your tears fall, staining your pillow, you see the print inked on the back of your eyelids. Everytime you close your eyes, it's there mocking and tormenting you.

"Millionaire CEO Jackson Wang expecting first child with Swedish actress and model, Scarlett Borgsson."

The blanket of sadness you pull over yourself, reminding you how much you still love him. Meaning he's never truly gone and you will never be truly free.

He's moved on. You should too.

But right now all you can envision is his hands on her swollen belly.

A child with his smile and her eyes.

Your chest aches agonizingly beyond belief for one that’s so empty and useless.

For three weeks you stay locked away, ignoring the world, hardly sleeping and then sleeping too much. Hardly eating but then binging late at night, when you eat in an attempt to ignore the screaming inside your head and the pain piercing your ribcage.

You remember real life. Your job, money, bills, friends. And you pull yourself out of the dark void. The thick shadow that clings to you, constantly pulling you back, giving you the easy and very tempting option. But you fight it.

You shower and wash your hair. You attempt to eat normally but food doesn’t interest you, everything has lost its flavour, everything is bland, tasteless and black and white without him.

You sleep during the day and lie awake at night, attempting work on your sculptures, everything you create shows heartbreak, devastation and sadness. But it'll have to do.

A deadline for an exhibition is rapidly approaching and you need to get back to some semblance of normality. To think about something other than him. To be productive and to work.

3 months later…

You stroll around the room, watching as people critique and fathom your artwork, listening to the theories and stories they invent. This is the best part.

No one knows you created these pieces. You can go undiscovered and walk among people, no fake niceties or pleasantries, just honesty.

You feel happiness creeping into you, filling your empty places with a new fulfilment, one you haven't felt in so long.

It's the moment you hear a familiar voice that every part of you freezes.

Any emotion other than dread or heartbreak leaves your body instantly, running away leaving you empty again. Your blood turns to ice in your veins. GET OUT OF HERE! You scream to yourself, willing your feet to move but suddenly, they feel chained to the spot, your body betraying you.

You manage to turn towards your escape, his face entering your view and masking everything else.

Just as handsome, just as perfect as he was when he was yours. Dark hair swept back not a strand out of place, a flawless fitted suit that shows off every muscle and curve of his chiseled body.

You take a step to the doors with the bright red ‘EXIT’ above them but as soon as you move it's almost as if he senses it. His head snapping in your direction following your movement. His eyes lighting up for a moment the way they used to, a small glimmer of hope flares inside you, maybe he still loves you, maybe he realises this has all been a mistake.

Until, a swollen belly makes its way into your eyeline and it all comes crashing down like a thousand shards of glass, as a reminder where you belong. Wounded and bleeding with unreciprocated love.

You finally tear your eyes away from his to look at her. All slim legs and breasts, nipples braless and pointing aggressively at Jackson.

Her small, pregnant stomach is perfect; the envy of every expectant mother. A perfect set of teeth behind full lips smile at all of those around her.

Long blonde hair shimmering, strands reflecting the light as if purposefully trying to blind you.

You’re not good enough to even be looking at her, they tell you.

Something else glinting catches your attention and your eyes immediately travel to her left hand. On her boney ring finger sat a rock the size of a baby's fist, glaring at you, teasing you. Of course. The cherry on top of a fantastic year.

Jackson follows your gaze and when you meet his eyes again he stares at you with wide eyes and a sorrow brow. A hand outreached towards you.

A bitter taste in your mouth at his pity sends your feet pulling you away and out of the room. You’re out of those doors before you know it, cold air whipping at your face but you barely feel it. You’re numb, unable to form the energy to feel and yet feeling everything so deeply, all at once. You want to scream into the night sky. Wondering what it is you’ve done in a past life that was so awful to deserve this.

8 months later…

Meeting yugyeom wasn't planned but it happened.

An aspiring artist featured alongside you in one of your exhibitions. You got along instantly.

The first time in a long time holding a conversation or getting to know someone didn't feel like hard work.

You both ran in the same creators circle, you had a lot in common so naturally you become fast friends.

You weren't sure when it changed for you, when it became something slightly more, but you did know he was the sweetest, purest soul you'd met and you couldn't let him slip through your fingers.

Jackson still ran through your mind constantly of course, using you as his own personal treadmill. His face still haunting your dreams, memories still sneaking up on you when you least expect it.

You'd caught headlines about his baby or wedding but most of the time you avoided everything about him completely. Not wishing to know anything about his life, for fear the pain would return and your chest would open up and become the gaping, black hole it used to be.

Yugyeom deserves your full attention and your whole heart, what was salvaged of it at least.

After he moves in with you it's all late nights cuddling on the sofa, early morning runs through the local park, dinner parties with friends and holidays to new destinations having adventures.

Yugyeom being with you means having your best friend around. He makes you feel safe and comforted, the wall of heat when you get home after a long day out in the cold. The blanket around you when watching your favourite movie. The bubbles that surround you in the bathtub when having a relaxing soak. He is your solace.

"Marry me." He whispers in your ear with his arms wrapped around your stomach.

You freeze, stirring the vegetables in the pan no longer matters once you hear those words.

A million thoughts race through your mind, one jumps out.

I thought it would be Jackson saying those words to me.

You catch it and toss it out the open window allowing it to be carried in the breeze. Jackson is married and has a child, he is gone.

Yugyeom stands behind you, cradling you and offers you his heart on a silver platter with all the trinkets.

No matter what expectation you had for your life before, you're on a new path now. A path that deserves a chance.

You turn in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck and bringing your lips to his, dancing in a mellow kiss.

"Is that a yes?" His mouth smiles against you, hands either side of your face, tucking hair behind your ears.

"Yes."

He beams at you, pulling a ring box out of his pocket and presenting it to you.

A large, gaudy diamond wrapped in a thin, gold band. None of your jewellery is gold, in fact, you detest it but this man has given you his heart, the least you can do is wear the ring he's bought.

He slides it on your finger. Looking down at your hand, you don't recognise it, it looks alien like it belongs to someone else. But you smile and kiss him until you're a tangled mess on the kitchen floor, dinner long burnt and forgotten.

9 months later…

You stand central to everyone, rows of packed seating behind you, eyes focused just on the two of you as you both recite your vows.

Looking around at the decorations you never would have picked, it's far too showy and glitzy for your taste but Yugyeom's mother had insisted, including what type of dress you should wear.

Not wanting to start a new life with atmosphere and anger, you opt with keeping your mouth shut and hoping for a quiet life.

She practically planned it all, even told you who your bridesmaids would be.

You sat there watching everyone around you move at a different speed, as if you were stuck in syrup and unable to catch up.

All you could do is watch, watch as your wedding and life was planned for you.

An alarm bell sounded in your head, screaming at you 'it's not right' but Yugyeom would come into view and give you a smile that would cloud all your fears and ease your worry.

Now the second alarm bell sounds as you stand here, on your wedding day, in a dress you hate, with Jackson's sweet smiling face staring back at you instead.

Somehow having replaced Yugyeom.

You look around frantically but no one else seems bothered by the silent exchange. Panic seizes your heart. This should not be what you're thinking of on this day. You blink furiously, shoving him out of your mind, willing him to disappear.

Yugyeom's face returns and you breathe a sigh of relief.

***

The ceremony is over. Husband and wife.

You greet everyone with their grins and cheers, finding yourself smiling with too much teeth, too much enthusiasm you don't feel inside.

Shouldn't you feel happier than this? You finally have a husband. You're finally somebody's wife. Why don't you have that instant feeling of completion? You should be jumping for joy right now. Instead you feel...normal, like you do on any other day. Maybe it just hasn't set in yet, maybe you just need a few days. So you wait. And wait. And wait.

That feeling doesn't come, not after your honeymoon in which you became restless, quickly realizing there is nothing else to do apart from lay on a beach and have sex.

Your busy mind grows louder, screaming at you, but you ignore it and swallow it down into the pit where it belongs.

Upon returning from your week in the sun, you settle quickly into a mundane routine together. Easy, calm and comforting. Some might say boring, some might even say mind numbingly dull.

But you continue on day to day…

"I want one." He says nodding towards the screen.

"What? A new tv?"

He laughs and points. "No, a baby."

You look up at the advert for nappies, a baby grinning with two little teeth protruding from his gum, big cheeks and a bald head.

Your heart stops, stutters then slams into your ribcage repeatedly. A baby. That's all you've wanted, a little version of yourself. A little bundle of joy to love unconditionally.

But is now the right time?

"Are you sure you don't want to wait a little while?"

"Wait for what? We're married, why waste time?" He clings to your hands enveloped in his.

He makes a good point. What are you waiting for?

You've already wasted enough time being with Jackson, hoping one day he'd be having this exact conversation with you.

Then spending your days after him wallowing in heartbreak and self pity.

You have the opportunity to live out your dreams with someone giving you the chance to, literally holding his hand out ready for you to take and walk the path with.

"Let's do it." You nod.

1 year later…

Your period is a week late.

You have been regular as clockwork since the day you started trying for a baby. Every month, the disappointment is undeniable when you see the crimson shade in your underwear. And every month you have to will yourself not to give up, to keep trying. Another month of ovulating tests, scheduled sex on precise days and times and legs in the air after, an attempt to help mother nature as much as you can.

Needless to say the excitement radiates off you in waves.

You rush home from work, pregnancy test in your bag, hardly able to contain yourself.

Yugyeom at the door, as excited as you, waiting and ready.

"Are you going to do it now?" He asks following your every footstep to the bathroom.

"Yes."

You shut the door and open the package, reading the instructions carefully. You'd drunk about a litre of water on the way home, your legs clenched together to stop you wetting yourself.

You sit down on the toilet and take a deep breath.

Once it's done you open the door for Yugyeom. Both of you sitting on the tiled floor staring up at the bright white stick resting on the sink. Gazing up at it like it holds all your answers, like suddenly life would make sense seeing those two red lines.

You've never realised how long two minutes is, you wring your hands nervously in your lap until he cups them in his, squeezing you reassuringly.

Your alarm goes off on your phone signalling the end of waiting and your heart pounds frantically in your chest.

He leans over and grabs the test.

"You ready?" He asks.

You take a breath and nod. Ready to see those two red lines. Ready to call your doctors and set up your appointments and scans. Ready to make a list of baby names and shop for all the necessities.

One line. Yugyeom shows you the test, with its mocking one line and your smile drops, so does your stomach. How? How could this be negative?

"Wait a minute, it says on here 'for the most accurate result use the first urine sample of the day as there will be a higher concentration of hCG.'" He looks over at you, a hesitant, optimistic smile plays across his mouth.

Yes. That's true. You cling onto that with every fibre of your being and agree to do the other test first thing in the morning.

***

As soon as your eyes open your mind is there, on that test in the bathroom. You climb enthusiastically out of bed, all traces of drowsiness vanish, as you tiptoe quietly to the bathroom.

If you do the test, then while you wait you can wake Yugyeom and you can both look at it together.

You quietly close the door and prepare the test, your fingers fumbling with excitement as you tear open the packet.

As you pull your underwear down, stick poised and ready, red catches your eye in your otherwise white bathroom. You look down, only to be greeted with your monthly agony, here to haunt you once more.

The test falls to the floor. It's useless now anyway. You're not pregnant, never was and likely never will be.

You let your head fall into your hands and let your misery wash over you. Tears stream down your face as dismay feels like it infects your soul with a never ending sadness.

A heavy cloud smothers you in a blanket of sorrow, choking the air from your lungs...you have no idea how long you stay in that bathroom before Yugyeom finds you. But you feel no better when he does and cradles you in his arms.

5 months later...

"When are you going to admit to yourself that it's not me you want?" His voice sounds into the silence and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The weekly fights he starts are almost timed like clockwork.

"What are you talking about?" You reply, continuing to type your ideas for your new art show.

"I've seen the way you look at Mark when you're working on your art pieces." He spits, slamming his drink down on the table.

This catches your attention. You close your laptop and swing your feet off the couch, heading over to the cupboard to pour yourself a Gin.

If you were going down this path, you needed a drink.

"Mark at the gallery?"

"Yes 'Mark at the gallery.'" He mocks you and you fight the urge to laugh.

"Dear, Mark is gay. I can assure you I look at him the same way I do all my other colleagues." You take a sip of your drink, eyes fixed on him.

He frowns for a moment then waves a hand in the air dismissing your statement. "I don't care about Mark."

"Then what do you care about Yugyeom, aside from starting fights with me?"

He stands abruptly from his seat, the wooden chair legs screeching across your wooden flooring making you wince.

"Do you ever ask yourself why I start these fights?" He shouts, a vein bulging in his neck.

"You start them because you like to get drunk on Friday's, and when you get drunk, you get mean." You say matter-of-factly, recalling all of the horrible things he's said to you lately, things you never thought could have come from his sweet mouth, things you won't forget.

His eyes pop in surprise as he's taken aback by your answer. "N-no," he sighs, returning to his chair, suddenly looking drunker than he seems. "I start fights because it feels like the only time I have your attention lately."

Guilt pangs inside you, pulling at your chest. You take a seat next to him and place your hand gently on top of his, the action feeling alien nowadays.

"I've had a hard time since we stopped trying for a baby." You admit.

"I never wanted to stop in the first place!" He yells, snatching his hand from yours. "That was your choice and you made it alone!"

"Because I can't keep putting myself through it! Can't you understand that?" You snap back, finally being open about your feelings, knowing it will only fall on deaf ears.

"I want children!"

"And you think I don't? I can't handle this pressure you put on me! You know my ovulation schedule more than I do."

"Because you never want to have sex anymore!"

"Because you've taken the fun out of it, it feels like a fucking chore! I'm not here for you to enter at your leisure to deposit your seed. What happened to spontaneity, romance, foreplay for god's sake? You're like a man possessed!" Your hands grip around the glass to stop them from trembling with anger. Finally being able to release the words that have been pent up inside you for the last five months.

Without a word he stands and walks to the front door, snatching his jacket up along the way. "I understand Jackson more now."

Hearing Yugyeom say his name, you freeze.

"Maybe he just knew you couldn't give him what he wanted." He says, looking over at you with watery, hate filled eyes before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

Your glass follows in an instant, smashing against the closed door, clear liquid and glass decorating the entrance to your apartment. Maybe you'll leave it there for him to step on when he comes home even drunker later.

An angry tear escapes as you sit here feeling trapped in your own home, wanting to be anywhere but here, anywhere but have to deal with your husband anymore tonight.

The word 'husband' feels foreign in your mind and on your tongue.

Nothing has felt right for the better part of eight months. You hardly talk to each other and when you do it's mostly fights and angry words spat or slurred in the other's direction. This is no way to live.

What you had given him of your damaged, used heart has slowly come back to you. With every alarm bell you hear ringing, every hurtful word sprayed in your direction, your heart has winced its way back to you. Putting up its own defense, from every barb that's thrown your way is turned into a wire fence, wrapping it in a sharp, pointed cage of protection.

***

Yugyeom doesn't show his face until the next afternoon, coming home looking rather sheepish.

"We need to talk." He says quietly.

The four words everyone dreads to hear.

You know what's coming, you've felt it for a while, it still doesn't ease the pain in your chest as you listen to his every word.

As you both apologise for your part in the break down of your short marriage, admitting maybe it was rushed from the start and accepting the fact that maybe you're not right for each other.

Two hours later and countless tears from the two of you, you both decide to call it a day. Even though you care deeply for each other, it's time to admit defeat. You have tried and given it your best shot.

"The worst part about this…" you say, wiping at your constant stream of tears. "I feel like i'm losing my best friend."

He pulls you into a tight, warm embrace, "hey, you are not losing me, I will always be here for you. We'll still see each other plenty at work events too. You can't get rid of me that easily."

You laugh, feeling thankful that you met him and thankful that you gave him a part of yourself, you had meant every word of your vows when you said them and you too would always be here for him. He'll always have a part of your heart to take with him, not that there's much left for yourself now.

2 months later….

A cup of morning coffee and reading the Sunday paper has become a routine you rather enjoy. You relax with your feet up on the dining table, crossed ankles.

You flick through anything that doesn't interest you, when a name catches your eye, drawing you to the headline.

"Jackson Wang scandal: Millionaire files for divorce from Scarlett Borgsson."

Your eyes pop. Scandal? What scandal?

You grab your phone and type his name into your search engine. You click on the first link and skim through.

"Model Scarlett Borgsson reportedly had an affair early on in the couple's relationship. An insider reveals she is now demanding a DNA test for their two year old little boy."

Your stomach drops as you click the next link.

"Jackson Wang revealed not to be Father of Scarlett Borgsson's son."

You read through story after story saying the same thing. How had you missed this?

You pick up your phone and dial the number to his office without even thinking.

You can't imagine how he feels right now, all you want to do is reach out and let him know he has someone he can talk to.

When the receptionist's voice sounds in your ear, you now doubt if he'd want that person to be you. You lose your nerve and hang up.

Your heart aches for him. Maybe it shouldn't but it does. No matter what he's done or how he's upset you, he does not deserve this.

You feel severe hate for that woman, thinking back to the last time you saw them both in the flesh.

The way she smiled arrogantly at everyone, as if they should all bend to her will with a flick of her hair or a swish of her hips.

Your stomach churns.

For the next few nights, your thoughts are consumed of Jackson as you toss and turn restlessly in bed. Maybe you'll gather the courage to speak to him…maybe not.

7 months later…

"You look good." Yugyeom says as you smooth down your pale blue dress.

"Thank you, so do you." You smile at him, looking at his impeccably tailored suit.

"It's nice to see you."

"Yes, it's been a while." You agree.

You do the usual catch up chit-chat until it dies down, he even introduces you to his date who seems like a very sweet and pleasant lady.

The newly wed couple enter the hall and cheers erupt all around, echoes bouncing off the wall. You cannot stop the grin that stretches across your face as you watch them take the centre of the floor for their first dance.

You'd known Jasmine since you were children, you'd always been inseparable. Your mothers were best friends growing up so naturally you spent a lot of time together.

Seeing her in the intricate, elegant wedding gown smiling up at her groom, elation in her eyes makes your heart smile. The joy you feel for her is stronger than most happiness you've felt for yourself.

Watching the sheer adoration in Jinyoung's eyes warms the deepest, darkest pit of your heart. They are so right for each other it's sickening.

You wonder briefly if you ever looked at Yugyeom like that and can collectively say 'no'. You two are the perfect example of two people almost forcing yourselves to be more than friends. You wouldn't change the time with him and you definitely learnt a lot from your marriage.

Jinyoung twirls her before bringing her back in close. You know him through Jackson, they had met at uni and become fast friends. As far as you were aware they remain that way.

But you haven't seen him here, not that you were hopeful he'd come.

The evening continues on, through dinner, speeches and finally opens up to the party.

The loud music pounds through you, realising you've had a little too much to drink you decide to step outside on the balcony and get some fresh air.

The gentle breeze skates across your skin leaving a delicate trail of goosebumps across your skin.

A jacket drapes your shoulders, an all too familiar scent intoxicating your senses, as your head snaps to the side to see him.

Jackson.

All this time you've thought about him and pictured him, your memory had not done him justice. He looks flawless, his hair swept back perfectly as usual, his smooth skin and unguarded eyes welcoming you. His soft lips stretch into a hesitant smile.

"I was hoping I'd see you."

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest making you feel light headed suddenly, although you don't show it. You take a breath and compose yourself.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come." You reply.

He takes his position next to you, shoulder brushing lightly against yours. How this man can still feel like home to you after all these years is mind boggling.

"I almost didn't. But Jinyoung told me you would be here as a bridesmaid and I couldn't stay away."

Your stomach flips dramatically at his words, large butterflies caged and desperate to escape.

"I'm sorry about your marriage." You say quickly.

He shrugs. "Thank you but I'm not."

You turn, raising a questioning eyebrow to him.

"She was not the person for me, let's put it that way."

"Why did you marry her then? 10 months after telling me that's not what you wanted." You jibe. You couldn't help it, anger threatening in the pit of your stomach at your same old reaction to him.

He sighs, hanging his head and rubbing his eyes. He looks tired, you hadn't noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

"I know, I know. That wasn't my plan. I meant what I said to you that day, every word." He looks behind you. "Can we sit?"

You follow his eyes to the ornate metal table and two chairs and nod.

Taking your seat with his jacket still draped around your shoulders stare out at the sunset, pinks and oranges streaming across the sky. When you look back at Jackson he's already watching you, his eyes soft but pained.

"I'm so sorry. For everything."

He means it, that much you can tell.

"It's in the past now."

"But I don't want it to be." He reaches across for your hands, holding them so tight his knuckles start going white. "There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I haven't thought about you, that I haven't obsessed about that moment I let you go. I'd give anything to change it you know, anything, but I can't. I truly wanted you to find happiness and I thought I was doing the right thing by you, giving you a chance without me holding you back."

You laugh, the sound almost bitter. "And yet, happiness still eludes me."

His eyebrows knit together in sorrow. "When I met my ex wife, it was a casual thing, nothing more. When she told me she was pregnant my world changed overnight. I didn't know what to do. All I could think about was you. It was supposed to be you having my babies one day, not this woman. I wanted to run to you then but how would you ever want me?"

He brings your hands up to his face and rubs his cheek along your fingers.

"My mother pressured me into marrying her, told me how it would look for someone in my position, said I'd lose everything. So I proposed, the words tasted like ash in my mouth but it was done. Then when I saw you at your art show, I almost came over and ended it all right then and there. But when I saw the tears in your eyes I couldn't bear the thought I'd done that to you. I felt so ashamed and I knew it was over."

You want to comfort him, to reach out and cup his cheek but you resist, letting him finish what he's so desperate to say.

"Then I heard you got married and I was happy for you, truly, I thought maybe I had done the right thing by you after all. Then all this shit came out about the affair and everything collapsed around me. All I wanted was to talk to you, like we used to, those late night talks where we would really open up. God, I craved that."

You squeeze his hand and he straightens a little, seeming a bit less dejected.

"When Jinyoung told me you'd gotten a divorce I was shocked and felt responsible somehow. He seems like a good guy by the way, he gave me one hell of a lecture about not hurting you as soon as I walked in."

You laugh and look through the double doors to see Yugyeom watching the two of you intently as he moves side to side on the dance floor with his date.

"He is a good man. Just not the right one for me."

The hope in Jackson's eyes could not be more obvious.

"I have to ask you something." He says leaning forward on the table, the action creaking the old iron underneath the weight on his elbows. "Could we start again? I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but I would like to try and earn it."

Mulling it over in your mind, you feel yourself nodding before your thoughts are even processed. But the resulting smile that lights up his face has you knowing your decision is not a mistake.

He leans in and strokes your face. "It's always been you."

Those words reiterating how you feel are like music to your soul. You feel at ease for the first time in a long time, your broken pieces mending and your heart more hopeful than it has been in a long time.

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