#i started reading the next book in the hollows series today so! heres to book number 1 i will finish next year!

[peanutdream]

List of books i read this year. btw. if you care.

Surprisingly no rereads this year, only books i hadnt read before!

[firadessa]

1 Year Blog (Return) Anniversary- and thank you

It's been a while, huh?

Fly with you! I'm five days too late, but I reopened this blog on Oct 13, 2023. I wanted to celebrate here! You can read the rest of my thanks below (light cw mental health discussion)

I was dealing with my own personal stressors at the time when I closed the blog. I had shut it down because I wanted to focus on school- to keep it lighthearted. When I made the blog private, I wanted to wait for what felt like the "right time" to come back. I wouldn't say I came back at "the right time" for myself, but I am very happy to come back!

I impulse opened the blog cause I found an amazing surprise- many weeks later I came to find around 2000 notes combined on some of the special things I found on Archive. for some reason I was always embarrassed of myself of doing, of trying to find DF stuff on Archive oddly enough. But it payed off! And now, I don't really feel that way anymore, seeing how preservation is important and how many memories I helped you secure again. One year to the date IA is having an unprecedented DDOS attack to which I hope is resolved very soon...

I started the blog at 17 years old, and now I'm 22. But it hardly feels like it has been that long for me, as many world and personal events had shook up my life so to speak. In a way, this blog and Pixieblr (we can workshop that) has a very special place in my heart.

Thanks to artofdisneyfairies, ranibell (formerly Ask the Never Fairies), Darleen Enchanted/Plumwillow Pixie, Disney Fairies 2005-2007, Katzoo12/Disneyfairiesparadise, nabbing-nibs, zigazone, pixiehollovv (Mary). (sorry if there's more I missed) I feel like your blogs paved the way to where the community is today- and I'm glad there even is a Disney Fairies community to reminisce and enjoy. It's genuinely such a well crafted series, and I'm glad it gets some sort of attention and even had a sort of nostalgia lookback a few years back. Small but mighty pixies!

Year in review:

I shared some prototype drawings of Disney Fairies I found on a Japanese promotional site. Additionally, I secured a lot of notes with some pictures I found on the site XD

I archived around 5 Disney Fairies promotional disks

I found a PC version of the Create a Fairy game on one of these disks, a pink one sold around 2007

I found some interesting pictures and footage of early Pixie Hollow in a video by one of the companies that collaborated (Silvertree Media)

I started a Youtube archival channel and an extra archival blog!

Disney found the hype (or was just getting desperate) and is releasing new books, one middle grade series next month and a YA SOTW novel about Clarion and Milori in Feb 2025.

There's a ride at Fantasy Springs in Tokyo Disney Sea centered around the Tinker Bell franchise.

Anyway guys, thanks so much for a great year!

[darry-rules]

Bloody Bones

Way back in the deep woods there lived a scrawny old woman who had a reputation for being the best conjuring woman in the Ozarks. With her bedraggled black-and-gray hair, funny eyes – one yellow and one green – and her crooked nose, Old Betty was not a pretty picture, but she was the best there was at fixing what ailed a man, and that was all that counted.

Old Betty’s house was full of herbs and roots and bottles filled with conjuring medicine. The walls were lined with strange books brimming with magical spells. Old Betty was the only one living in the Hollow who knew how to read; her granny, who was also a conjurer, had taught her the skill as part of her magical training.

Just about the only friend Old Betty had was a tough, mean, ugly old razorback hog that ran wild around her place. It rooted so much in her kitchen garbage that all the leftover spells started affecting it. Some folks swore up and down that the old razorback hog sometimes walked upright like man. One fellow claimed he’d seen the pig sitting in the rocker on Old Betty’s porch, chattering away to her while she stewed up some potions in the kitchen, but everyone discounted that story on account of the fellow who told it was a little too fond of moonshine.

“Raw Head” was the name Old Betty gave the razorback, referring maybe to the way the ugly creature looked a bit like some of the dead pigs come butchering time down in Hog-Scald Hollow. The razorback didn’t mind the funny name. Raw Head kept following Old Betty around her little cabin and rooting up the kitchen leftovers. He’d even walk to town with her when she came to the local mercantile to sell her home remedies.

Well, folks in town got so used to seeing Raw Head and Old Betty around the town that it looked mighty strange one day around hog-driving time when Old Betty came to the mercantile without him.

“Where’s Raw Head?” the owner asked as he accepted her basket full of home-remedy potions. The liquid in the bottles swished in an agitate manner as Old Betty said: “I ain’t seen him around today, and I’m mighty worried. You seen him here in town?”

“Nobody’s seen him around today. They would’ve told me if they did,” the mercantile owner said. “We’ll keep a lookout fer you.”

“That’s mighty kind of you. If you see him, tell him to come home straightaway,” Old Betty said. The mercantile owner nodded agreement as he handed over her weekly pay.

Old Betty fussed to herself all the way home. It wasn’t like Raw Head to disappear, especially not the day they went to town. The man at the mercantile always saved the best scraps for the mean old razorback, and Raw Head never missed a visit. When the old conjuring woman got home, she mixed up a potion and poured it onto a flat plate.

“Where’s that old hog got to?” she asked the liquid. It clouded over and then a series of pictures formed. First, Old Betty saw the good-for-nothing hunter that lived on the next ridge sneaking around the forest, rounding up razorback hogs that didn’t belong to him. One of the hogs was Raw Head. Then she saw him taking the hogs down to Hog-Scald Hollow, where folks from the next town were slaughtering their razorbacks. Then she saw her hog, Raw Head, slaughtered with the rest of the pigs and hung up for gutting. The final picture in the liquid was the pile of bloody bones that had once been her hog, and his scraped-clean head lying with the other hogsheads in a pile.

Old Betty was infuriated by the death of her only friend. It was murder to her, plain and simple. Everyone in three counties knew that Raw Head was her friend, and that lazy, hog-stealing, good-for-nothing hunter on the ridge was going to pay for slaughtering him.

Now Old Betty tried to practice white conjuring most of the time, but she knew the dark secrets too. She pulled out an old, secret book her granny had given her and turned to the very last page. She lit several candles and put them around the plate containing the liquid picture of Raw Head and his bloody bones. Then she began to chant: “Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones.”

The light from the windows disappeared as if the sun had been snuffed out like a candle. Dark clouds billowed into the clearing where Old Betty’s cabin stood, and the howl of dark spirits could be heard in the wind that pummeled the treetops.

“Raw Head and Bloody Bones. Raw Head and Bloody Bones.”

Betty continued the chant until a bolt of silver lightning left the plate and streaked out through the window, heading in the direction of Hog-Scald Hollow.

When the silver light struck Raw Head’s severed head, which was piled on the hunter’s wagon with the other hog heads, it tumbled to the ground and rolled until it was touching the bloody bones that had once inhabited its body. As the hunter’s wagon rumbled away toward the ridge where he lived, the enchanted Raw Head called out: “Bloody bones, get up and dance!”

Immediately, the bloody bones reassembled themselves into the skeleton of a razorback hog walking upright, as Raw Head had often done when he was alone with Old Betty. The head hopped on top of his skeleton and Raw Head went searching through the woods for weapons to use against the hunter. He borrowed the sharp teeth of a dying panther, the claws of a long-dead bear, and the tail from a rotting raccoon and put them over his skinned head and bloody bones.

Then Raw Head headed up the track toward the ridge, looking for the hunter who had slaughtered him. Raw Head slipped passed the thief on the road and slid into the barn where the hunter kept his horse and wagon. Raw Head climbed up into the loft and waited for the hunter to come home.

It was dusk when the hunter drove into the barn and unhitched his horse. The horse snorted in fear, sensing the presence of Raw Head in the loft. Wondering what was disturbing his usually-calm horse, the hunter looked around and saw a large pair of eyes staring down at him from the darkness in the loft.

The hunter frowned, thinking it was one of the local kids fooling around in his barn.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big eyes fer?” he snapped, thinking the kids were trying to scare him with some crazy mask.

“To see your grave,” Raw Head rumbled very softly. The hunter snorted irritably and put his horse into the stall.

“Very funny. Ha, ha,” The hunter said. When he came out of the stall, he saw Raw Head had crept forward a bit further. Now his luminous yellow eyes and his bears claws could clearly be seen.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big claws fer?” he snapped. “You look ridiculous.”

“To dig your grave…” Raw Head intoned softly, his voice a deep rumble that raised the hairs on the back of the hunter’s neck. He stirred uneasily, not sure how the crazy kid in his loft could have made such a scary sound. If it really was a crazy kid.

Feeling a little spooked, he hurried to the door and let himself out of the barn. Raw Head slipped out of the loft and climbed down the side of the barn behind him. With nary a rustle to reveal his presence, Raw Head raced through the trees and up the path to a large, moonlight rock. He hid in the shadow of the huge stone so that the only things showing were his gleaming yellow eyes, his bear claws, and his raccoon tail.

When the hunter came level with the rock on the side of the path, he gave a startled yelp. Staring at Raw Head, he gasped: “You nearly knocked the heart right out of me, you crazy kid! Land o’ Goshen, what have you got that crazy tail fer?”

“To sweep your grave…” Raw Head boomed, his enchanted voice echoing through the woods, getting louder and louder with each echo. The hunter took to his heels and ran for his cabin. He raced past the old well-house, past the wood pile, over the rotting fence and into his yard. But Raw Head was faster. When the hunter reached his porch, Raw Head leapt from the shadows and loomed above him. The hunter stared in terror up at Raw Head’s gleaming yellow eyes in the ugly razorback hogshead, his bloody bone skeleton with its long bear claws, sweeping raccoon’s tail and his gleaming sharp panther teeth.

“Land o’ Goshen, what have you got those big teeth fer?” he gasped desperately, stumbling backwards from the terrible figure before him.

“To eat you up, like you wanted to eat me!” Raw Head roared, descending upon the good-for-nothing hunter. The murdering thief gave one long scream in the moonlight. Then there was silence, and the sound of crunching.

Nothing more was ever seen or heard of the lazy hunter who lived on the ridge. His horse also disappeared that night. But sometimes folks would see Raw Head roaming through the forest in the company of his friend Old Betty. And once a month, on the night of the full moon, Raw Head would ride the hunter’s horse through town, wearing the old man’s blue overalls over his bloody bones with a hole cut-out for his raccoon tail. In his bloody, bear-clawed hands, he carried his raw, razorback hogshead, lifting it high against the full moon for everyone to see.

[jojoblessed365]

A Teeny Sneak-Peak of “SUMMER- On a Slow Boat Trip Going Nowhere”

And just because I want to, here's a sneak peek of the upcoming sequel to Jess and Denny's Travel Series:

I hit “SEND” and smile for the first time after seeing Rory today at the restaurant. It was quite surprisingly fast how close Denny and I had gotten close over Spring Break, given that one day, out of the blue she called me, asking me to tag along for my New Orleans/Memphis leg of my book tour and by the end of the week, we were already scheduling calls over the next few months.

I continued touring for my book, but even I could realize that it didn’t feel the same way. It is then that Denny and I devised a plan to split-screen movies together- we’d watch from our respective locations the same movie and talk about it on the phone. Kind of like in ‘When Harry Met Sally’, when they’re watching ‘Casablanca’ together from their own homes and talking about the ending that many people continue to be stuck on- “should Ilsa have gotten on that plane? Or chose Rick?”. So far, we had finished watching about 17 different movies from different genres and were now stuck on the last half of Douglas Sirk’s ‘Written on the Wind'.

Thinking about that movie gives me the hives, cause for some reason, I could feel myself reflected in Rock Hudson’s character, powerless and unable to tell the woman he loves that he’s in love with her and when he does... she chooses her husband over him. Of course, fate plays a hand and... he gets the girl in the end. But I learnt the hard way that life doesn’t work out like that.

But now, after reading Denny’s email, I found myself with the comforting fact that it was okay not to have romantic stability, it was okay that I was still figuring things out at 37, and that I had better things to worry about. Like my sister. It had been nice, knowing and learning on that week-long road trip that I didn’t just have Luke in my corner, and that Denny was someone who was like a friend, a best friend if I’m being honest. I wish I’d known it sooner.

As I crash in Chris and Maya’s guest bedroom (I had to start looking for places in New York now if I wanted to move ASAP), I hear a beep from my phone, and see a text from Denny- You awake?

I type back- Yep.

I’m so glad to know that you’re going to make it this weekend- so are Luke and Lorelai. I take it that life’s been busy, huh?

I type back- Just because I’ve been busy, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you. I open the Instagram video meme that Lily sent me a while back as a gag, and I forward it to Denny with a simple- Here’s proof.

[Video attached]

After a minute, Denny types back: ROFL 😂😂😂. And I chuckle and immediately stop myself, in order to not wake my hosts up. I look down and see Denny with another text- You’re sure you and Lorelai aren’t going to engage in barbarian wars, right? I don’t want to start having to call one of you Attila.

I chuckle and type back- I’ve managed handling myself around Lorelai. Don’t worry. And then- I’ll see you soon, okay? Now go to sleep. It’s late!

She types back- Just had to fine-comb through potential damage control. And besides, I won’t be able to sleep for the next few hours for reasons that I won’t disclose on text.

5 seconds later, comes the last text- I’ll see you soon. Goodnight. 😘😘😘

And I type back- Goodnight ☺️. And put away my phone.

Sleep comes easier after that. And for the first time, I look forward to this coming weekend in Stars Hollow.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (3)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.2k warnings: none �� series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky stared down at the fresh coffee stained on the sidewalk; a caramel puddle nestling into the cracks and stretching along the lines until it spilled out into the street. He could smell the bitterness and the sweetness in the cream, the steam of it still warm as it filtered up into the cold, autumn air. He cursed at himself under his breath.  

You’d looked so beautiful, even with your eyes wide in shock and lips parted in a gasp as coffee spilled to your shoes. Dressed under an army green overcoat, a sliver of a burnt orange sweater peaked out from underneath. He’d seen that particular shade before, cast over a forest of evergreens and reflecting into the clouds, just above the sun as it set over the tree line.  

But he’d made a fool of himself in front of you and he could still feel the burning in his ears. He felt hot under his jacket and he found himself glancing down the street, wondering if he could make a run for it. Only, you were waiting for him inside and Bucky couldn’t stand the idea of disappointing you.

Gathering what remained of his courage, Bucky parted the double doors and stepped inside. It took a minute to let his eyes adjust, but when the dim lighting came into view, he noticed you were standing by the entrance waiting for him like you’d known he’d decide to follow. You beamed as he caught sight of you and his stomach twisted straight to knots. You were still clutching the donut box to your chest, almost as if you were afraid he’d knock that out of your hands, too.  

“Come on, you can help me set up.” You gestured down the hall to the room he met you in a few days prior. The library with no books on the shelves and cobwebs in the corners. “We’ve got to get you a book before the others show up.”

Bucky nodded, though he didn’t say anything as he followed you. It was pretty quiet without so many people lingering around, but everyone seemed to smile as you approached; perking up from under their clouds and called out your name until you waved back at them. It was like you carried sunshine in your pockets and comfort in your presence, breaking away stormy skies as you passed by.  

Before you could reach the library door, Bucky rushed out ahead of you and grabbed a hold of the knob. You paused, eyes catching his for a moment and a pink filtered into his cheeks. He cleared his throat.  

“Figured I could do one decent thing today after I ruined your shoes,” he explained, pulling open the door for you.  

“You showed up, didn’t you?” you added with a wink. “I count two decent things today, James Barnes.”

He chuckled at that, nodding. “Y-Yeah, okay.”  

You set the donuts on the coffee table and began to push the furniture around into a circle. You shouldered most of your weight into the couch to get it to budge and Bucky couldn’t help the smile that formed on his lips just watching you. Concentrated frown on your face, determination in your eyes, staring down the couch as if it were your sworn enemy.  

“You need help with that?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the couch that barely moved a few inches while you were out of breath.  

You glanced up at him over the spine of the couch, nodding gratefully. “This one always gives me trouble.”

“I’m sure if you waited for the others to show up, they’d help you move these around,” Bucky said as he placed his right hand on the back of the armrest, his knee digging into the center of the back. You stood next to him, hands on the frame to help push despite the fact that Bucky was strong enough, even without his left arm, to move the couch on his own. But he liked the idea of you beside him, so he didn’t say anything.  

“Oh, I’m sure they would,” you exhaled as they couch slid perfectly into place within the circle. “They all work so hard though, you know? It’s nice to have them just walk in and sit down for a change. Don’t need them thinking I’m expecting work out of them, too.”

“Ah, so that's why I’m here, then...”  

He was surprised by the teasing in his own voice. When was the last time he made a joke? He couldn’t even remember. But you started to smile, that brightness shining right up into your eyes, and it didn’t matter anymore. He’d make a thousand jokes if you would keep looking at him like that.  

“Careful now,” you warned, a glimmer in your eye. “I might need you to help move this couch every week...”

“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it?”  

He didn’t know where this was coming from or how it slipped off his tongue so easily, but he liked the way it seemed to catch your off guard. You stilled for a second, a nervous laugh under your breath as you quickly tucked away a few strands of fallen hair. You were flustered. Shit. He was done for.  

“Haven't even seen one meeting and you’re offering to move couches for me on a weekly basis? Consider me eternally grateful, James Barnes.” You plopped down on the couch, reaching for the strap of your bag, though it was a few inches out of reach.  

Bucky leaned down and picked up the bag, surprised to find it as heavy as it was, and gently set it in your lap. He took a seat on the couch on your left, though he left considerable room between you. You started digging through the bag, pulling out book after book and setting them on the table.  

“We’ve got to pick your book of choice,” you explained, smiling at him and clearly eager to see what he would select. “Anything you want. I can get something else from the library for next week if you’re not interested in these. I’ve got some guys reading Harry Potter for the first time. Lang’s on the second Twilight book. Romanoff is halfway through The Odyssey. Barton’s about a few pages to the end of a murder mystery he guessed the plot twist of within the first ten pages, which is just downright infuriating...”

Your nose was all scrunched up and it was the damn near cutest thing Bucky had ever seen. He must have been staring for too long though, because you raised a brow at him.  

Bucky cleared this throat, quickly looking away. He scratched nervously at the back of his neck and tried to steer the conversation strictly away from how adorable he found you.  

“Isn’t the point of a book club to read the same book?”

“I suppose,” you shrugged, “but not my book club. The whole point is just to help these guys feel comfortable, give them a moment of peace, even if it’s for an hour once a week. Sometimes we’ll sit around the circle and talk about what we’re reading. Lang’s working really hard to sell the Twilight books to the rest of the group despite being about a decade late to the game. Most times though, we just read, listen to some music. It’s quite nice, actually.”

So that was what Sam meant by unconventional.

“I don’t know the last time I read anything,” Bucky admitted slowly. He could barely get himself to concentrate on a single newspaper article these days, let alone an entire book. He often caught himself staring at the TV and realizing an episode later that he didn’t have a clue what had happened.  

“A lot of the guys take breaks,” you offered, seemingly reading his mind. “That’s what the donuts are for. Oh, and the coffee, of course.”

You jumped up, making your way over to the pots sitting on the table lining the wall. The pots were already filled and he wondered who took the time to do that for you before you even arrived. You were so well liked around here, Bucky found himself wondering if he wasn’t the only one who felt like you could tell him to do just about anything and he’d oblige without question.

“You want some?” you asked, holding up an empty cup, but Bucky shook his head. He was already starting to get warm and adding coffee to the mix wouldn’t help things.  

You didn’t seem to mind as you shrugged off your jacket and draped it by the door. The orange sweater he’d caught a glimpse of under your jacket turned out to be a cardigan. It flowed long down by your thighs, draped over a simple, white tank top and black jeans. Gold jewelry sat over your collarbone and you had a sudden glow about you, like that hour just before sunset.

Golden hour, he realized. That’s what you reminded him of.  

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” you asked, fanning yourself as you set the coffee on the table. “It’s not just me?”

It’s definitely you, Bucky thought. He’d never met anyone who carried such a presence as to melt the icy cold shards planted defensively around his chest. You were the epitome of warmth and kindness and the sweetest damn thing he’d ever seen... but a trail of sweat lined his hairline and he could feel the heat trapped under his jacket.  

“Not you,” Bucky confirmed, brushing at his brow. “It’s hot.”

“Here,” you stood up, holding out a hand to him, “I can take your jacket for you.”

Bucky froze, jaw clenched. He became painfully aware of the empty sleeve on his left side. He wasn’t a complete fool. He knew you must have noticed by now, but taking the jacket off made it obvious that a piece of him was missing, the stub at his shoulder the only thing left in place of an arm he could still feel most days.  

“I’m, uh, I’m okay,” he stuttered out, his eyes falling to the ground, hoping you didn’t notice the flush in his cheeks. He could feel your eyes on him and he was almost certain that if he dared to look up at you, you’d be fixated on his empty sleeve.  

Shame started to burn hot in his chest when suddenly he felt a cool breeze on the back of his neck. When he looked in search of you, he found you setting up a fan at the edge of the room, angling it just enough so that it was sure to reach him on every rotation.  

He swallowed as he watched you. You didn’t ask questions or push him to take the jacket off despite being clearly too warm to keep it on. Instead, you offered him a short smile as you sat back on the couch beside him, a little closer this time.  

“Any better?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s, uh, that's really nice. Thanks.”

You smiled for him and he wondered if he could stay inside that moment forever.  

***

Bucky selected The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Gilman from the stack of books on the table. It surprised you as his hand ghosted over the cover before flipping it over in his palm, a curious look on his features. It was one of your favorites, one not many would choose to pick up in fear of the publishing date in the late 1800s, but it was a short story, one he could finish within the span of the meeting today.  

As he stared down at the unusual yellow pattern on the cover, a frown pushed at his lips as he started to see the strange images hidden under the surface. You found yourself struggling to tear your gaze away from him. With such a reaction to the cover, you couldn’t wait for the end of the meeting just to hear what he thought of the story.  

Soon, the usuals started filtering into the room and you noticed that Bucky had barely said a word as the low hum of small talk and chatter filled the empty space. He kept to himself, perched on the very edge of the couch cushion like he might run at any second as you talked with one of the oldest VA members by the door.  

Upon sensing his discomfort, you quickly made your way back to the couch and you were surprised when you felt the cushion dip a little as he leaned in your direction as if he was using you as anchor; something familiar amongst an unknown. You tried to suppress a smile when he looked at you, but you really liked the idea of being something familiar to him.  

“I’m glad you decided to stay,” you told him quietly, nudging his side playfully with your shoulder. It drew a soft laugh from under his breath and he nodded, gripping tight to the book.  

“Yeah, me too.” He sank back into the couch and relaxed the tension in his body.  

Six on the dot. You turned to the group.  

Tony Stark sat in his usual throne, legs draped over the arm rest, sitting sprawled out over the single chair. Heir to Stark Industries, he’d enlisted himself in rebellion against his own father. He’d ended up in the Air Force for three tours and prided himself on the tattoo on his chest he’d gotten drunkenly off base in his early twenties.  

Natasha Romanoff found her place sitting cross legged on the floor, leaning up against the seat of Tony’s chair. She was a sort of a mystery to you, never spoke a word about her position within the military and how long she served, but she was exceptionally perceptive. Part of you wondered if she was some sort of super spy. Despite becoming a close friend, there was still so little you knew about her history. She rested a pillow in her lap.

Then, there was Scott Lang. He’d found himself in some trouble after his discharge, but he was turning his life around. He had a little girl to stick around for and he was trying desperately to find a job. You suspected his fascination with the Twilight books stemmed more from an unbreakable bond with his daughter than anything else. He took his place on the bean bag chair.  

Clint Barton sat on the table outside the circle. He was a sharp shooter in his time and found more comfort in the distance. He kept to himself and had an exceptionally entertaining habit of making quick remarks under his breath few were fortunate to hear. You were determined to hand him a book with a plot twist not even he could see coming. You resided to put Defending Jacob by William Landay on hold.  

A few others filled out the circle; familiar faces of men and women most would look past on the streets. Dark circles under their eyes, a hardened look about them. Some with tattoos and long beards, other’s draped in leather. Some, you could see the ghost of their former selves in their eyes, but they all seemed to lighten as they sat around the circle.  

A moment of peace. It’s all you could offer and they took it gladly.  

“Hey everyone. We’ve got a newbie in today.” You gestured to Bucky and he slowly lifted his hand in an awkward wave. “This is Bucky. Bucky, this is the group. Play nice.”

“What’s your rank, soldier?” Tony quipped from his chair; legs kicked out over the side. He never had much of a filter, or a sense of restraint. You shot him a glare he didn’t seem to notice, or rather he didn’t care.  

“Sergeant,” Bucky clarified, though you could hear the strain in his voice. He said it as though it burned him, like the very act of the title was painful just to speak.  

“Where’d you serve?”

“Tony, we’re not grilling the new kid today,” you warned, but Bucky cleared his throat.

“Afghanistan mostly.” He curled his hand into a fist, pinching at the pages of The Yellow Wallpaper in his grip. A hardness had swept over most of his features, almost in a protective layer, and you wanted to whack Tony upside the head for stealing the soft undertones in his expression.  

“And the rest?”

Bucky paused, releasing his fist. “Classified.”  

Tony pursed his lips, staring Bucky down over the top lens of his thick rimmed glasses. A testament of wills. A challenge. Then, he nodded, satisfied.  

“Great,” you groaned, rolling your eyes playfully. “Now that Tony here has finished interrogating our newest member, we can get started.”

“Hey, consider it my welcome to the group!” Tony hands thrown defensively in the air. Scott nodded from his couch, remembering his own initiation the day Tony demanded to know the extent of his robbery charges following his discharge.  

You shook your head, smiling spreading back to your lips and you were thankful to find that Bucky had sat back into the couch, relaxing as the attention moved back to you.  

“I think we’ll just spend today reading,” you said. “I’ll put on the playlist Tony recommended – and don’t worry, I did browse through to make sure he didn’t slip any rock anthems in again. We don’t need to give Dr. Selvig down the hall another heart attack when Back in Black starts blaring directly after Yiruma.”

The room laughed and you were purposeful in glancing over at Bucky to see if a smile caught on his lips. It was small, a little uncomfortable as his eyes flickered around the room at the other group members, but he seemed to soften as he landed on you again. You nodded at him.  

“Alright kids, hush up now.” You pressed play and the gentle strokes of a piano began to fill the room. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

You waited until everyone settled in and opened their books. One of the older gentlemen in the back with a long and burly white beard and a leather vest draped over his shoulders set the open novel on his chest and promptly closed his eyes for his weekly nap. You smiled to yourself as you watched the heavy rise and fall of his chest – the man deserved one decent hour of rest a week, anyway.  

By the time you made your way back to the couch, you noticed Bucky had tensed up again. He was staring down at the book, harsh breaths pressing through his nose as he tried to keep the book propped open with on hand, losing his place as he tried to turn the page. His jaw was clenched so tight you wondered if he’d bite it clean off.  

He didn’t dare ask for help or so much as look in your direction, but it was a determination you’d come to expect from the people you met in these halls. It didn’t mean you couldn’t offer it anyway.  

You quietly opened a drawer at the edge of the room, pushing aside knick knacks and old ketchup packets until you came across a small wooden clip. One of the older members had used it when he was going through extensive PT for his hand and couldn’t pinch his fingers enough to grip the thin slip of the page. You pulled it from the drawer and quickly skirted your way back to the couch beside Bucky.

“Here,” you offered, extending the clip to him as the book fell closed on his lap for the fourth time. He looked up at you, confused. You wondered if he realized how cute he looked when his brows pinched together like that; made him look about ten years younger and wiped the evidence of the war clean off his face.  

You smiled at him. “It holds the pages down for you. Look.”

Gently pulling the book from his lip, you opened to the first page and set the clip at the bottom of the binding. When you released it, the pages stayed open, giving him free range of motion to turn the page without losing his place.  

He blinked a few times as he stared down at the book. It was clear he’d never considered a tool like this and you wondered how many times he had sat down with the intention of reading only to find he couldn’t even turn past the first page. He might have been able to figure out the skill in it if he’d had the patience, but you imagined his own frustration got in the way of that. He seemed to have little patience for himself, as soldiers returning home often did. 

There was a brief moment when the tips of his fingers brushed over yours as you pulled away. His hands were warm, almost feverish in comparison to the chill in your own. A blush warmed his cheeks and his eyes quickly darted down to the pages. Your stomach was in pleasant knots.  

“Thanks,” he replied quietly, a soft semblance of a smile rising sweetly at the edges of his lips.  

You nodded, settling in on the couch beside him and pulling your own book up into your lap. You listened to the gentle strokes of the piano carrying softly through the room until a page turned on your left and then, you let yourself sink into the bindings of the book perched upon your lap.  

***

“So! What did you think?!”

It was the first thing you said as the final group member exited the room. Barely even a footstep out the door and you were already anxiously awaiting his reaction. Bucky was busy pushing the couch back into its original position and he glanced back at you to see you biting nervously on your lip, hands wringing out in front of you. You were swaying onto your tip toes like a kid hyped up on sugar. It was the cutest damn thing he’d ever seen.  

“It was... a little creepy at the end?” Bucky chuckled, glancing down at The Yellow Wallpaper as it sat on the coffee table. “The woman went completely mad.”

You nodded vigorously, the smile on your face beaming and he had to watch himself to keep from mirroring your excitement.  

"It’s a critique on how women’s mental health was perceived in the nineteenth century!” you explained with that giddy look on your face, reaching down for the book and flipping the pages through your fingers, the soft brush of wrinkled paper touching over each thumbprint. “Women were believed to be weak minded and frail, unable to handle more than two hours of mental stimulation. The woman in the story was prescribed ‘rest’ by her physician to treat her depression, essentially restricting her to little more than staring at the walls.”  

You rolled your eyes, groaning dramatically, and drawing a smile to Bucky’s face that ached into his cheeks. “Slowly, it drove her to seek stimulation in impossible places, like the image of a woman she saw in the wallpaper! By the end of the story, that’s who she became. Wild, right?”

You shook your head, seemingly lost in astonishment. There was a slight crinkle in your nose when you smiled that wide, Bucky realized, like even the features on your face couldn’t hope to contain the joy bursting from your smile. Radiated like the fucking sun. Bucky was helpless in his stance, frozen, as he listened to you.  

“You know the author once said, ‘it’s not intended to drive people crazy, but to save people from being driven crazy,’” you continued, setting the book down with such a gentle touch, almost as if it were a living, breathing thing. You handled it with such care and Bucky began to wonder if you’d ever touch him like that – if he was worth such tenderness.  

The thought startled him and he quickly swallowed it back. Jaw clenched, right hand pressed to a fist in the pocket of his jacket. Stone cold expression. And yet – you were still talking about that book, all starry eyed and adorable, and a smile managed to crack through his lips. It was his new favorite book, he decided. Whatever could make you smile like that was his favorite. He’d sit there and read the fucking phone book if you asked him to.  

“She wrote it in retaliation of her own experience of a physician disregarding her depression. It's actually quite remarkable when you think about it. It's one of the earliest American Feminist works of it’s– ” You froze suddenly, hand clamping over your mouth. You winced at him, slowly pealing your palm away. “Oh God, I’m rambling. I tend to get a little excited about these things... You must be so bored right now.”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile as it rose in his cheeks. He liked seeing you so flustered, caught up in a passion he so rarely saw these days. He didn’t know the last time he cared about anything as much as you cared for books. He could have easily listened to you talk like that for hours without interruption.  

“No, no, not bored at all,” he reassured you and you visibly relaxed, relief sweeping through your shoulders. You started to fold up the chairs when Bucky cleared his throat, drawing your attention back. “I, uh, I did like the story, though. Has a lot of relevance today. I see why you like it.”

If he thought you were going to burst before, he should have waited to see how you were looking at him now. Chewing on the inside of your cheek in hopes of suppressing it, though it clearly did little use.  You planted your hands on your hips.  

“Watch what you say, Barnes. I’ll talk your ear off.”

Bucky shrugged. “I’m already down an arm, what’s an ear, too?”

The second the words left his lips, it felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head; drenching his clothes, goosebumps on his ice, sinking into his veins and freezing him to stone. He woken up from a pleasant dream by the harsh ringing of an alarm. He'd been pushed off a cliff, stomach churning in the freefall.  

You knew. Obviously, you knew.  

You weren’t blind and he was certain you could tell there was a startling absence where his left arm should be, even with the poorly camouflaged sleeve hanging off his side. It wasn’t fooling strangers on the street and it certainly didn’t fool you either, even if it gave him an ounce of peace, like maybe he could pretend he was whole again.

But you’d brought him that book clip for a reason.  

You knew.  

At yet, this was the first time he mentioned it aloud. Actually said the words. Drew attention to the fact that he was a broken mess of who he used to be and now he was waiting for you to flinch, for the familiar shades of pity and embarrassment to cloud over your starry eyes, but he waited and waited and – it never came.  

Instead, you started to laugh.  

It filled the room and washed away whatever panic was surging inside of him within a matter of seconds. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard and he wished you didn’t shield your hand over your lips in an effort to contain it because – God – he could have spent his whole life sitting in that moment. Tears in your eyes, a smile on your face, looking at him like he was the man he was before the war, like he was something worth looking at.  

“You’re funny, James Barnes,” you said after you caught your breath again, a whisper of a laugh still lingering in your voice. You brushed the tears from your eyes.  

Bucky’s chest felt instantly lighter. His right hand was swinging down at his side and he brought it up to his hair to brush it from his face.  

“I could use a new book for next week,” he started, a little surprised at himself, and judging by the look in your eyes, it surprised you too. But you were smiling at him and it gave him the courage to continue. “Thought maybe you could help me find something?”

“Really?” you asked, practically glowing. “You’ll come back next week?”

He’d do anything if you kept looking at him like that.  

“Yeah,” was all he said, but you looked as though he told you he’d just told you he won the lottery. Maybe he had.  

“Well then, I’d be happy to! Just, um, hold on a second,” you scrambled around the room, looking for a pen and paper. You clicked a pen a few times before doodling in the corner to get the ink moving. When you were finished, you handed it to him. “These are my hours at the library. Come by anytime, okay? If I’m not up front, ask Mrs. Jefferson to page me. She’ll know who you are.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, staring down at the scribbled numbers. Did you talk about him at work? Butterflies swarmed in his stomach at the thought. He wondered what kinds of things you would say about him.  

“Walk me out?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the rack and gesturing to the door. Bucky looked up, not even realizing the room was already set back in its original formation, the empty box of donuts discarded.  

He nodded, following you to the door.  

“You know, I’m really happy you decided to come today,” you said as you passed into the hallway. Bucky kept an even pace at your side and tried not to let the butterflies in his stomach escape to where you could see.  

“Almost didn’t,” he admitted with a tired chuckle.  

“Figured by the staring contest you were having with the building before the coffee incident.”

Bucky winced, but you were smiling as he looked over at you and he felt the tension slip from his muscles instantly. “I am sorry about that...”

“Maybe you can just owe me a coffee,” you suggested casually, as if the prospect of spending time together, just the two of you didn’t make the butterflies crawl a little further up into his chest. “A real one. Not the shitty stuff we serve at the VA.”

Bucky swallowed, pushing the creatures back into his stomach. His throat was dry. “I can do that.”  

He pictured sitting across from you at a café, watching your hands curl around the outside of a mug, the steam of it brushing on your nose. Glistening in the reflection of the sunlight peaking through the windows, draped in the glow of the sunset. He’d buy you a thousand coffees.  

“Okay, well, I’ll see you soon then?”

Bucky looked around and realized suddenly that he was standing outside. The cold breeze had turned into a frigid autumn chill with the sun nearly set behind the skyline. Peaks of orange remained at the horizon, mimicking the colors in your sweater. When he looked down, he could still see the stain of coffee on the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, determined to push past whatever doubt etched into his way. It faded in an instant as he saw your lips curve up high into your cheeks. “I’ll see you soon.”

[normanblowup]

Hardly Living & Not-Yet Dead

Mtl OC Lillie Ann x Charles Offdensen

Summary: Lillie finishes his newest novel, but the toll of the damned sits heavily on his shoulders. Charles meets his favorite author, oblivious to the dark truth behind his writing.

Warnings: paranoia-inducing, suicidal ideation, hallucinations/unreality, Lillie is quite the pessimist, he's also incredibly dramatic.

Words: 1,042

A/n: thanks to @aggravatetheaxe for proof reading/editing!! it means a lot to me :) also if you’d like this to be a series pls tell me!!

—

The words in my head swirl and foam at the mouth, eating away at my skull and pulling me further into myself. There's no stopping me as pages upon pages are written and set aside. The black, smokey hands grab at my collar, my sleeves, and my neck.

They bind me to this chair, to these dreams and stories waiting to be told. My heart is pounding so hard I can’t tell when one beat stops and another starts. I hear floorboards creak and dust settle on the window sill. I can’t feel when my fingers start to bleed; ever-persistent, I continue pressing them down with fervent intent.

The shadow's eyes burn holes into my head, bring chills up my spine, and make the wind blow outside. They stare with contempt, waiting for my deft hands to finish their long-dead story. They’ve been waiting so long, so impatiently for someone to remember them.

Sometimes, I think maybe they’re real. Maybe these voices, voices connected to hands and eyes, maybe they really are in the room with me. Maybe they’re possessing me. Using me as a tool, a tool to be used and forgotten. I bring them peace when they otherwise would have never known it, these poor souls.

They scream and cry as my hand pulls the carriage return one last time. The souls wither in glee and fade from my sight. I fall back into my chair and clutch my chest. I start to fear that my breath might never return. As I look outside, I see the sun start to rise over the hills. I’ve finally completed my next novel. A novel of a man lost at sea, waiting for the ocean to swallow him whole.

My assistant knocks at the door of my office. I can hear his small, veiny little hands shaking as he does so. His heart beats wildly. He knows how long I've been holed up here, and if he were to interrupt my writing process, I’d have no choice but to fire him. I call out to him with my newly found breath. “Come in,” I say.

His wide eyes meet my hectic gaze as he steps into the pitch-black room lit only by the evergrowing sun. My feral look must stun him; he gasps but quickly covers it while clearing his throat.

“Mr. Ann, your book signing is today, at noon. I-Is there anything you might need before then? Some food or … or maybe a hairdresser?” He laughs lightly, but I can only glance at him with empty, hollow eyes.

“I can take care of myself,” I mutter, standing to my full height. Although that is a mere four feet and eleven inches, the man before me still cowers in shame and shrinks back into the hallway. “I'll be there.”

The day wears on and my heart grows ever weary. I feel as though there's nothing left of me, that the only time I am alive is when I write. I cannot continue for much longer. There's no room left in my head for living. There's nothing but darkness swirling in my heart, and I fear one day it will all come spilling out.

I open the door to the minuscule, quaint bookshop that I’ll be rotting in for the next hour or two. It smells of old paper and books dying to be read but only left sitting on shelves to waste away—as I do now, sitting behind a table, clutching a Sharpie in my right hand and waiting for some middle-aged woman to come up and say her son loves my novels. If only he knew just where they come from, maybe he wouldn't meddle with such dark forces.

After an hour or two, a man in a black suit walks up. His step is graceful and full of tact; there's a black, luxurious car waiting for him outside the front door. He hands me a book of mine. It's a copy he's unmistakably loved for quite some time. The pages are lightly frayed, not from improper care but from being read so very often. The man's tie is a bloody cherry red, and his warmed cheeks almost rival the color. His gentle, skillful hands touch the hardcover book with reverence.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, would deeply enjoy it if you made this out to a—um, Charles Foster Offdensen. I've, uh, been reading your books for quite some time. I don't often have very much free time, but your writing flows so, uh, gracefully that I just can't ever seem to put them down.” He reaches up and straightens out his tie.

I thank him quietly, but I can't help myself from wondering just what this man does for a living. There are guards in hoods standing outside the car.

The other patrons in the store are staring at the car with awe, so I assume maybe he's some sort of celebrity. I don't get out very often, and I sure as hell don't watch TV.

As I sign my name and hand the book back to him, his eyes catch mine. He looks at me in such a peculiar way that it freezes me to my core. His hazel eyes are full of fire and determination. I can feel the creeping shadows of souls long past. They whisper to me of a prophecy—a prophecy of a man, a Dead Man, with such a heavy burden. I can't look at him much longer. He seems almost disappointed.

He turns and leaves through the glass front door, and I am suddenly so alone. It was like the room was caving in on me and him, like there was nothing else.

Like I was finally alive.

Watching as he drives away, I stand, and for a few moments I'm a normal man. There is no one talking to me, no one whispering stories and legends in my ear. No black shadowy tendrils creeping along my neck.

As I wonder what could've possibly been hiding behind those hazel eyes, I'm at peace.

[wind-becomes-lightning]

So long, good luck, goodbye

Sad girl hours today made me think of an AU with my OC when she does not leave the village after Obito dies and instead stays and dies in the Uchiha massacre. Kakashi finds her dead.

Kakashi found her on the steps of her family home. Somebody had covered her head with a white towel and carefully placed her down, both arms straight down her sides. It was completely different to the other dead that lay scattered throughout the Uchiha compound. For some reason, whoever killed her, had made an effort for her. 

He fell onto his knees right beside her, fingers grabbing and clutching a still, cold hand. Just yesterday he had seen her briefly, walking by on her way to the academy. She was supposed to be an instructor soon at first only at the school and then eventually with her own team. She had joked about the book series he had recently started reading - a series of romance novels- and he had told her off. Now she was dead. Slaughtered on the steps of her own house.

Too late again, he thought. Too damn late. The red string through Kakashi’s life had always been his failure to protect the ones he cared about. Obito, Rin, Minato, his father and now Sayuri too. A row of dead corpses at his feet. 

Her wounds were visible all over her arms. Clearly she had defended herself against something heavy and made of metal. Maybe chains. Kakashi ran his fingers over the bruises. Sayuri would have never gone down without a tough fight. She probably fought tooth and nail against her attacker.

Now that he moved her the towel stlipped from her head exposing her wide opened, dead black eyes. Her hair was unbraided and spread out under her back. Maybe she’d just come out of the bath when the attacker came to their house and she had no time to braid it. He picked up a strand of her hair, spinning it around his finger, the way he had done sometimes, but it felt empty and hollow.

He could feel his head spinning at the look of her. A sharp pain stabbing at his heart, choking him up until he felt like he was drowning without any water. There was no air to breathe. The pain was strangling him to death. An ache he was too familiar with. He’d felt it too many times.

Memories started flooding his mind like a sudden rainfall. The anger in her eyes when he had told her that Obito had died. The night they had spent sleeping next to each other after what had happened to Rin. The worried look on her face when he became ANBU. “Are you sure this is for you?” The day of the fox attack when she’d been with Gai and him, unable to help the village. When she cried at Minato’s funeral for him because she knew he couldn’t himself.

The many nights she had stayed at his place, face next to his feet in his bed, when her family became too much or his nightmares kept him awake. That time he’d first noticed that she’d grown up. Curves and hair and that wild look on her face. “That Tenzo one is in love with you, you know that right?” Maybe they’d been something, someday, in a different time and place. But not this one.

If only Sayuri had been with him last night. If he had invited her over for ramen and a beer, she might still be alive. It would have been so easy to call her in, keep her safe. Now he had broken all his promises to Obito. Neither Rin nor Sayuri had survived. 

He wanted to cry. Grief pulling and ripping him apart from the inside out, but he couldn’t. Kakashi had been here before. Crouched next to the dead corpse of a person he loved. Too late to help. He’d cried himself empty in younger years.

“Senpai”, a soft hand placed itself on his shoulder. He almost jerked away from it. “Tenzo”, Kakashi breathed without looking around. “I think you should let her go now”, Tenzo said, softly stroking his fingers over Kakashi’s shoulder. “ANBU operatives are collecting the corpses to prepare them for a funeral.”

Kakashi clutched Sayuri's hand even tighter to himself. “Why was ANBU not called?” he asked, feeling anger bubble up from his core. “I thought they had eyes on the Uchiha clan at all times.” He moved his eyes back to look at hers. Void of everything he had liked about them. No longer wild, angry or worried, just a lightless hole. “I think you know why,” Tenzo said finally.

“So I will not give her over to them, I will do it myself.” He got up, pulling her lifeless body up. Her head tilted back, spreading her hair all over his arms. He strained his muscles against her.  “I’m not going to let Danzo have her eyes.”

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #9: sweet night (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- must read first!

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: After a series of miscommunications and immaturity that lead to a rip through both your friendship and ambiguous relationship, this last turn of events could be the deciding factor of whether or not you’ve lost each other from your lives forever.

Genre: angst, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: SO much angst and feels, slight slow burner and a lot of build up, unprotected sex, hot tub, oral (m&f), food play, crying, i don’t want to give too much away eeee

Word count: 23.8k a monster i know ;-;

A/N: The end is finally here!! It’s late but trust me when I say I worked all day on this and did not do an ounce of revision today because I wanted to get this done. I’ve been writing this series, and this ending in particular, for so long and have been so nervous about getting this perfect. So please enjoy~

(quite a few ppl also couldn’t be tagged from the taglist and it’s 3am so i honestly dk how to fix it ;-;)

.

You used to think heartbreak was for the weak, after all you can only hurt as much as you let yourself be hurt. So... maybe you are weak. Because that ever-constricting ache in your chest has not diminished even a bit since that day you left him.

Four weeks. Not a word to each other.

It’s a hollowing feeling - someone you’ve had in your life every day for the past few years, a constant companion, suddenly completely absent in a blink of an eye. You don’t think you could put it into words even if you tried how this affected you. Life feels so foreign, your personality dulls.

The anger you felt for him dissipated quicker than you’d anticipated, but the anger at yourself only grew. No matter how you look at it now, you can only see it as being your fault.

But the decision to part ways was for the best, you have to keep reminding yourself. You shouldn’t be around each other anymore.

Whenever you see him around campus, you spin around and speed off the other way, hoping that he doesn’t see you too. Okay, you are weak, okay. But your heart twists at the sign of him, not just squeezes but twists into thorned knots. It’s the sort of pain that takes from you, makes you a different person unrecognisable to yourself.

You had moved in with Lotta. When she asked you what happened, all you had said was that you two had a massive fight and fell out. She knew better than to prod further from the telltale signs that you were close to tears from a simple question: the trembling throat, pursed lips, uncharacteristically quiet voice. And you were grateful because you knew you couldn’t afford to be asked about him without breaking.

The bed feels awfully cold in the nights of early February. And every night, you stare at his name on the screen of your phone, contemplating. One tap and you can hear his voice. One tap and your longing could be absolved. You always almost give in to this overpowering urge itching within your fingers. But you wouldn’t even know what to say to him.

Hi. How are you. I miss you like crazy and I think about you everyday but I know we should keep our distance but I’m just so sorry for everything.

You liked to think that maybe this break is just temporary, you both need space from each other because the toxicity built up so quickly that neither of you could think or breathe. But the longer time is spent away from him, the more you convince yourself that it wasn’t meant to be. It was never going to work; you knew this from the start but had been too optimistic.

And the mistakes you both made… You can’t forget them and the scars you’ve left on each other; you don’t think he’d be able to forgive you, not any time soon anyway.

You wonder if he’s doing the same, if he too is agonising over every wrong step he took to lead you two to this state, or if he’s cursing you for destroying everything. For his sake, you hope he’s moving on. Because that, for some reason, feels so much better than knowing that he’s crying over you.

The strange thing is that you had been the one to break things off. The look of lostness in his red-rimmed eyes laced with an unmissable reluctance will always be an enigma to you. Because he was furious, distraught. So why was he shocked by your ending? How was he not done with you?

That day you left, he wordlessly stood next to you as you packed your things. When you handed him his grey hoodie, the one you had gradually claimed as your own under mutual tacit agreement over your months together, it had truly felt like the end.

“Are... Are you sure? I don’t mind if you keep it.” He had said, voice raw from the arguing but also the tears he was fighting back.

You couldn’t look at him, you knew you would fall apart if you did. “I think it’s best if you take it back.” Why did he want you to keep it anyway?

Something was missing in both your voices when you spoke to each other, reflective of the heart-shaped void you had carved into the other. Everytime you think back to that moment, you want to kick yourself. You could have at least kept the hoodie - that way you could at least have a piece of him to cling onto in your lonely desperate nights.

Because now you have nothing. Nothing of his in your life, no reminder at all that he ever existed with you except the memories embedded so deeply in your heart that it hurts.

No one ever mentions him to you; you think they got the hint from Lotta not to. He’s a ghost.

Haunting you with his heartbroken eyes that shattered at the sight of Jimin. You’ll never forget that.

Sometimes, you’ll just be having dinner with her, and you’ll be crushed with this suffocating wave of missing him. It knocks the breath out of you. Because you can momentarily forget that it’s over, and mistaken Lotta as him. So when you look up and realise that it isn’t him, he’s not here, it’s as if someone is digging their nails into your scabbing wound and releasing the blood of your heartache once more.

And Lotta would look up and ask you, “What? Is the rice overcooked?” And you would want to cry because he would always overcook the rice.

And sometimes, you would just want to blurt it all out to her, right then and there. Tell her everything that had happened with you and him, because - god - keeping it inside is exhausting. But the words get trapped at your throat, unable to be enunciated. Which is just your forte, isn’t it? Not being able to say how you feel...

You are a competitive person, that has never been a secret. You are used to winning at everything you wish to win at, it is in your nature.

So losing Taehyung has been the biggest loss of your life. It had been a gamble from the start, whether it would work or not. There were so many signs pointing in the direction of yes, this is going to work, you love each other so much. Because still to this day, you believe that you are soulmates, and you were one step, three words, away from a happy ending. But then, caught up in this game you played, you hadn’t realised that he had been yours from the very start if you had only just accepted him. And that was your downfall: your failure to see his love for you in the form of his actions, rather than the words of validation you were seeking.

And thus, you had lost your lover, your best friend, your other half, completely of your own doing.

The realisation haunts you every night.

.

It’s Galentine’s Day. In this household, you don’t say the V word.

Lotta has booked a weekend trip to celebrate your mutual [forever alone] relationship status. Some strawberry farm in the countryside for friends to pick berries and make jam and bond over their mutual loneliness. Apparently that’s a thing nowadays.

It would have excited you before, a trip like this. The idea sounds much like a sweet attempt from her to cheer you up, (you haven’t been trying to hide how down you’ve been), so as much as you wanted to just wallow on this shitty holiday, you agreed to go with her.

And to be honest, this might be exactly what you need. A weekend away with your best friend away from the city could heal you. Best friend? Should you call her that? You’re not sure because that title has always referred to someone else previously, someone you shouldn’t be thinking about.

To your credit, you’ve been doing better. You think about him less and less each day; you stopped crying after the first week. You’ve always been a progressor with astounding growth. It’s not to say that you’re doing fine - that would be a reach - because small things such as a cup of hot chocolate would still remind you of him and the string of memories that come with it. But you think your heart is finally slowly starting to stitch itself back together.

Galentine’s weekend just so happened to fall on the weekend of Lotta’s Geophysics trip to Barcelona, as inconvenient as it is. But, rather than letting this disrupt her plans, Lotta had been adamant about going.

“My flight lands at 7am. That’s two hours before we are supposed to meet and depart from the coach station. That’s plenty of time.” She had waved away your concern when this topic of discussion came up last week.

“You never know with flight timings. We could just blow it off and have just as nice of a weekend at home watching movies.” Strawberry picking sounds great for the soul, but so does Netflix and ice cream. “We could have a Saw marathon like we’ve been wanting to.”

“Saw marathon on Valentine’s day?” Lotta scoffed at your suggestion

You blinked. “What’s wrong with that? We love scary films, it’s our thing.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve already paid for the trip and it’s non-refundable.”

“I’ll subsidise the cost, there’s no point forcing this trip if it won’t work with your schedule. You haven’t even let me pay you back for my half of the trip yet.” Lotta is like that with money, overly generous when completely unasked for. If you don’t mention paying her back, she would never have asked you to.

“It’s my treat to you, shut up. Just trust me, Y/N, I’ll make it to the coach on time, I always make it on time.” She shook you by the shoulders. “We’ll make our separate ways to the meeting point Saturday morning and everything else will go smoothly. There’s no reason to cancel the trip. Plus, V day is on Sunday, so do you really want to see all those shitty ass rom-com Netflix suggestions or would you rather be enjoying the great outdoors? Trust, we need a break in the countryside. It’s going to be an amazing weekend, you’ll thank me later.”

Right now, as you make a final check through your lightly-packed bag before you leave the house, you find yourself agreeing. You do need the fresh naturally strawberry-scented air to expel all these negativity from you. You want to feel yourself again, be happy and loud and excitable.

Collecting for your trip ticket that Lotta had left on your desk before she went to Barcelona, you decide right now that: yes, this will be an amazing weekend. Law of attraction and power of manifestation. Lotta’s flight will be punctual and you will make some fond memories together.

You’ll be okay.

You arrive at the meeting spot twenty minutes early because you are known to be prone to tardiness. The tour guide welcomes you keenly. He is a young, twenty-something you reckon, tall man, graced with dimples and honey skin. You think you would find him attractive in different circumstances, but you haven’t gotten to the stage of feeling attraction for anyone else yet.

“Your ticket with the barcode, miss?” His smile is charming, you guess. It’s more an observation than an enticing quality. You hand it over to him wordlessly and watch him scan the creased piece of paper. “Great, that’s perfect. And your partner?”

“Partner?” You frown, but realise what he means. This is a Galentine’s programme, of course he expects you not to be alone. “Oh, she should be coming, we came separately because she’s just getting off a flight right now.”

“Oh! That’s very sweet of her to rush back to spend this weekend with you.” The endearment in his smile heightens.

“Yeah… She’s the best.” There’s no particular reason for your awkwardness. You’ve always been a social butterfly, yet lately, you’re keeping more to yourself, avoiding unnecessary conversations because your mind is always too preoccupied.

“I am Jae, by the way, and I’ll be your guide for the weekend. I hope you have a wonderful time with us this Valentine's day. Hop on board.” Giving him a polite nod, you climb onto the empty bus, noting the swirly hearts beside the large red words ‘STRAWBERRY LOVE’ on the side of the big white vehicle. Kind of tacky, but the idea of this programme is kind of cute so you guess it’s suiting. After assessing row after row, you plop down at a window seat you deem worthy and settle your bag on the seat beside you, head leaning on the glass as you await your partner.

Dear partner, please don’t be late, you text her.

Soon, other participants of this trip start arriving, filing a crooked queue in front of the tour guide to register. You don’t pay much attention to them except to examine for Lotta’s face. The coach is set to leave at 9:00 on the dot in order to arrive at the farm at noon, it is now 8:56 and Lotta is still not here. You don’t want to lose faith in manifestation magic, but worry is settling in. If it comes down to it, you will beg Jae to wait for you. With your texts unread, you decide to phone her.

Come on… Just let this one weekend go smoothly for you.

Nervously playing with the ends of your hair, you exhale in relief when she picks up. “Oh thank god, Lotta. Where are you? The coach is leaving in like two minutes. You’ve landed right? I’m not sure if I can convince the people to wait for you that long but worse comes to worse, I could ask for the address of the farm and you can commute there yourself. ” A silence replies after your slur of panicked words. “Hello? Dude, hurry.”

“Wait, so he’s not there yet?” She asks hesitantly.

“Who? The tour guide? No, he’s here. Where are you?” Just then you hear a thunder of running footsteps. Expectantly, you look out the bus window for your friend’s arrival, only to find…

“Wait, Lotta… What the fuck did you do?” Something drops in your stomach.

“Look Y/N, don’t be mad. This is for your own good, you need this.” You can practically hear her stealthy smile through the phone.

An icy chill strikes down your spine. You simply cannot believe what you are seeing out the window. She-

“Lotta…”

“Trust me, okay? You have been so fucking depressed the past month. You need to fix this problem, please. I hate seeing you like this, so if not for yourself, then do it for me.” There’s some guilt in her tone, you’ll give her that. But you are in a state of utter disbelief, borderline shell-shocked, the groves of your brain tangled in itself.

“Lotta, where are you? Are you even fucking coming?” Absolute mortification fills your chest to the brim at your gradual realisation of her ploy.

This can’t be happening.

“I promise, this is all for your own good. Please have a great weekend. I love you. Bye!” And with that she hangs up, leaving you wide-eyed, jaw-dropped, staring out the window...

At a panting, slightly sweat-beaded Taehyung handing his crumpled ticket to Jae.

“Made it just in time, mate.” You can just about make out Jae’s words from the shape of his mouth as he greets Taehyung and proceeds to recite his ‘I’m your tour guide for the trip’ speech. Taehyung nods interestedly, reciprocating with that sheepish smile of his as he scratches the back of his bedhead.

What did your best friend do? Did she just… set you up…? As you hear his loud unmissable steps stomping up onto the coach, you know you’re doomed. It’s over for you. You might as well fling yourself off a cliff.

Looking around the bus, you realise that it of course is completely full except for the seat beside you.

The power of manifestation is fucking bullshit. You’re stuck with this bad luck for the rest of your life.

And this weekend, you’re going to die.

You see him as a blur at the start of the aisleway, a mere figure in swatches of peach and brown and black. You hear pounding, a booming pulse in your ear.

It’s Taehyung. Taehyung. Your, but also not your, Taehyung.

Each step he takes approaching the only available seat he sees, you shrink lower in yours and keep your eyes pressed shut, but for what reason you’re not entirely sure. There’s no hiding now.

Your confrontation is inevitable, a few steps away. Then he finally sees you.

“Y-Y/N?”

Your heart soars to your throat at the sound of his voice as everything around you vanishes. This can’t be real.

Slowly, you turn up to face him. When your eyes meet, it’s like someone has driven a sharp object into your chest and twisted. His face is exactly how you remember, but also not quite. His big brown eyes are wide with surprise in a pitiful expression of bewilderment. His sleep rumpled hair, grown out to almost cover his eyes, yet still very much permed in the style you loved. His lips are jutting out, slightly parted in confusion at your unexpected presence that reminds you of how it felt to kiss him.

And the look of disgust that you had expected - absent.

You want to throw your arms around him. There is always a warmth emitting from Taehyung - the kind of warmth you feel when you enter your house on a snow ridden day and the gust of heat accompanied by the smell of home simply swallows you like a wave. But there is also something different, unfamiliar almost, about him. He is rougher round the edges, hints of facial hair dotted below his nose, dressed in slacks that he only usually wore strictly as pyjamas and never to go outside in.

As your eyes fall to the rest of him, you notice his fists tighten around the straps of his backpack, the balls of his knuckles whitening.

“Taehyung-” Saying his name feels like a release. A rush of satisfaction at the way the syllables roll off your tongue so naturally, then a flood of emotion that comes with all the memories his name invokes.

Then you’re at a loss for words again. You are so utterly unprepared for this situation because you didn’t think you would meet him again so soon, not until you’ve moved on. You’re not ready to face him.

What do you say? How are you meant to act around him?

He looks equally as lost, though you read him easily. There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, the same that you’re sure you had. But it dissolves much quicker with him, almost into relief and content as if he’s glad to see you.

You know from the slight downward angle his brows are pointing that he has definitely missed you. Perhaps in a completely different way from you missing him, but he’s missed you.

“If I could just have everybody's attention!” Jae’s voice booms from the speaker, startling every passenger. “Young man over there, please be seated.” You quickly snatch your bag into your lap to let Taehyung sit next to you. The seats aren’t the most spacious; despite pressing your side against the window as much as you can, Taehyung’s shoulder comes brushing past yours as he settles into his own seat. Your heart flutters. “As all our participants are now present, our ride will begin immediately. The duration of the ride will be three hours, but a pitstop will be made at around halfway for a quick snack or toilet break. Please ensure all seatbelts are fastened during the entirety of our journey...” He drones on.

Three hours, you bristle. Everything is happening all at once and your mind can’t catch up. You’re going to be stuck on this coach for three hours next to Taehyung. No, worse. You’re stuck with Taehyung for this whole weekend in a strawberry farm.

Glancing over, his lips are pressed into a thin line, no doubt with the same chaotic thoughts racing through his mind. There isn’t much leg room, and though his thighs are purposely clamped together to avoid touching you, you know he can’t keep them clamped this tightly for three hours without cramping. Your legs are going to touch at some point.

God, why are you even losing your mind over something so juvenile? You’ve been reduced to a pre-teen girl so easily flustered by the thought of touching thighs amidst this turn of events.

Everything is gonna be okay, you tell yourself. This is gonna be fine. You don’t have to speak to each other. Just put in your earphones and fall asleep against the window.

But you have so many questions, for Lotta, for Taehyung. Did she plan this? How did she know that he’d be here? Hell, did he know you’d be here? No, there’s no way. The shock on his face was genuine.

He stares ahead, though visibly extremely puzzled. You suppress the urge to glance over at him every second to check that it’s really him.

“Thank you everyone for joining us so promptly. As you already know, I am Jae and I will be the guide to your trip to our beautiful strawberry farm over this Valentine’s weekend.” You pause. Right, this is a Valentine’s weekend trip, you had momentarily forgotten. And you’re stuck with Taehyung here. Two days, two nights. You’re not sure if you could withstand his presence for that long. Will you ignore each other for the entirety of this trip? You would be fine with that, and in all honesty, you think you might prefer it over speaking to him because that would only sprinkle salt on your wound.

A sharp pain in your palm reminds you that you’ve been gripping onto the programme leaflet that was handed to you. You smooth out the creases of the paper and flip it open to skim through what you have to tackle ahead of you.

Day 1: Go strawberry picking with your partner at our scenic farm in the lovely spring weather while the sun is out. A heavenly spa awaits you afterwards to wind down and indulge together. For an amorous evening, go stargazing under our cloudless skies...

Alarm bells start ringing immediately, from the cursive font of the strangely-worded phrases, to the shades of reds and pinks of the background. You skim further down the page, the kernel of anxiety growing exponentially at your throat.

Day 2: Make delicious strawberry jam and learn our signature recipe for a splendid strawberry tart. When dusk falls, enjoy a romantic candlelit dinner with your partner amidst the symphonies of our string quartet.

Fuck. Wait, what the fuck.

You flip back to the front page.

Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend

Strawberry… Love…

“What the fucking shit?” You can’t help but cry out loud. Lotta- She-

The passengers of the bus all turn to shoot you at look of concern at your outburst, Taehyung included. His eyes dart around the features of your face to search for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong… What’s wrong…? What isn’t wrong at this point?

You feel defeated, absolutely fucking defeated that you don’t even have it in your to be shocked or angry. There is no way you can ignore him for the whole weekend when the programme of your trip - a couple’s Valentine’s trip - obligates you to spend time with him. The thought of making stupid little strawberry tarts with Taehyung… Your blood can’t even boil, you’re just fucking speechless.

Lotta, that conniving genius that is your best friend. How did she manage to pull this all off? Galentine’s trip your fucking ass. She tricked you into a romantic holiday with Taehyung, fucking hell...

But that means - she knows. The mortification hammers into your stomach. There’s no reason for her to do this other than for the purpose of getting you two to make up. Lotta fucking knew about you and Taehyung.

How? For how long? And why does she think that this will benefit you in any way? You and Taehyung are over and you were slowly (fine, excruciatingly slowly) moving on. Until now.

Letting out a huff of your frustration, you turn to look at Taehyung, properly look him in the eye for the first time. You can’t stop your chest from constricting. He regards you with that confused expression of his, eyes holding your glare but barely just, bashful from your sudden undivided attention channeled towards him. “I need to know what you’re doing here first.” It comes out harsher than you mean for it to, but it stems from your desperation to stay inert while your emotional sanity is precariously threatened right now.

“Me? I… Well, Lotta told me that she had a ticket for this weekend-trip to a strawberry farm type thing that she couldn’t go to anymore, so she asked if I wanted to go in her place because she knows that I like strawberries.” He furrows his brows. “Okay, that sounds really stupid out loud but I swear I didn’t know that you were gonna be here.” He throws his hands up, nothing but honesty flooding his chocolate eyes.

But of course, Taehyung doesn’t lie, you are sure from the times you’ve witnessed him not being able to muster up an excuse to get rid of an annoying relative on the phone. What’s more convincing of his truth is that he would not be the most difficult person to fall victim to Lotta’s scheme - drizzle in mentions of food and he is completely your pawn. You almost feel bad for this unsuspecting fool; he still has no idea.

But Lotta, that sly bitch… You are going to wrangle her when you get back.

“Taehyung… She lied to you.” You sigh, watching his features slowly contort in deeper confusion.

“Wait what? So we’re not going to a strawberry farm?” He sits up in alarm, looking around the bus as if that would grant him any insight whatsoever. You almost laugh at his naivety because as much as you want to uphold your cold exterior, something about him, his ever present innocent boyishness maybe, never fails to penetrate through to you.

“No, that’s not what I meant. She lied to me too; she told me that this would be a girl’s trip because we’re both single and bitter for Valentine’s. Get it? It was just a setup. For you and me.”  As the clockwork finally turns as he processes your words, a visibly distressed grimace forms. “Look at the programme, Taehyung, it freaking says: Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend!”

As those words resonate from your mouth and the realisation finally dawns on him, dread settles itself in the pit of your stomach, cold, dry and coarse. Saying it aloud somehow finalises it - this is actually happening, you’re going to have to spend this weekend with the one person you’d least like to be stranded with right now.

“Lotta… But why would she…?” Deep red roses effloresce across the apples of his cheeks, and you feel yourself unconsciously mirroring his reaction as your mind flashes back to the planned activities of this tour. You’ll be made to pick berries and bake pastries together. And the romantic candlelit dinner… You can’t even finish that thought. Because even now, you find your eyes roaming every inch of his face, trying to memorise his details because it’s been so long.

This isn’t healthy for your heart. You were on a path of recovery, a path of forgetting him and forgiving yourself, and now you’ve been flung back to square one.

The bus jolts. His leg lightly knocks into yours and both your attentions momentarily divert to the touch, glaring at where the thick grey material of his joggers meets the thin cotton of your trousers. A long second passes before Taehyung lifts it away from you.

“I don’t know why she’d do this. All I told her was that we had a massive falling out.” You mutter. Except you do know, you know her very well. This was no mistake, but the result of careful planning. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“So maybe she’s trying to get us to reconcile?”

As soon as those words come out, you both seem to freeze in your spots, blinking in bewilderment at the slightest mention of the elephant in the room. It might be wishful thinking but you hear a sliver of hope in his question, and you think he hears how it came out too.

Reconcile.

Could the two of you reconcile after everything you put each other through in your last few days together? The thought tears you apart emotionally. Of course you want to reconcile, of course you want to be with him. But haven’t you proven enough that what you had didn’t work? Afterall, everything you had together came crumbling down at the smallest hitch in your path. What is there to reconcile but a dysfunctional relationship?

And how could either of you forget the torment you endured? The noises of Taehyung with another woman through the thin walls, your betrayal of his heart when you mistakenly slept with Jimin.

Reconciliation doesn’t seem possible in the foreseeable future.

“N-not reconcile in that way, I mean, like, for us to make up.” Taehyung stammers, hand waving about in his nervous state. “I mean- no, not make up, but like… make… peace. Yeah, make peace. Sorry.” He winces timorously at his spectacular fumble of words. It’s surprising how nervous and timid he is acting. He should be brutish to you, savage and hostile. But he isn’t.

“Yeah, I got what you mean… Don’t worry.” You can’t stop the corners of your lips from turning up, just a fraction. “But yeah, I think she wants us to make peace.” You conveniently do not bring up how you’re certain that she knows about your history and that this holiday she booked for you and Taehyung is most definitely for the purpose of reconciliation in that way.

“Right.” His bottom lip pinched between his teeth in a manner that makes it feel as though it’s a sight you shouldn’t be looking at, Taehyung’s attention shifts down to avoid your eye. Though, there’s a clear glimmer of expectation as he asks, “So… do you want to talk it out?”

The bus bounces, violently this time, as it drives over what must be a pebble. It rattles your thoughts so physically that you have to grip onto your trousers for support.

This is the deciding moment. Now is when you can choose how you go about this which will determine the rest of your weekend together.

Do you want to talk it out?

The painful memory of the last time you had tried to “talk it out” rakes its claws down your back. All the yelling, the hurtful accusations hurled both ways, the reluctance to accept blame… It haunts you so much so that your voices still ring in your mind, echoes embedding the misery you had both felt and inflicted deep in your bones.

The three stages of your fight painted clairvoyantly in your mind.

One: The Hurting Each Other.

You fuck guys without learning their names.

Two: The Guilt-Tripping.

I didn’t sleep with her. I couldn’t even kiss her for more than a minute on her bed because it felt so wrong it made me fucking sick. I stayed on her couch and thought about you all fucking night. Happy?

Three: The Falling Apart

I… I thought it was clear how I felt…

Always replaying in a loop.

“I’m not sure what there is to talk out.” You say, hating how callous you sound but knowing that it’s a necessary evil to convey your intent. That was in the past. Taehyung is your past. Talking about it would only drag you back into that perpetual cycle and there’s not much left in you to afford that. You look out the window at the open plains of grassland to avoid the hurt you know he can’t hide on his face. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance as much as possible and not make it difficult for ourselves.”

“Okay.” You hear him reply, but only a quiet mumble. From the faint reflection of the window, you see him tighten his jaw and fit his Airpods into his ears. The monster that is your guilt and bitterness sinking its fangs into your throat.

It’s better this way.

And so the bus continues to speed off to the countryside, driving you further and further from civilization and your chance of escape from this doomed weekend with the boy you’re trying to stop loving.

.

You wake up to someone gently shaking your shoulders. “Miss…” You jolt upright.

The first thing that elucidates in your sleep-fogged vision is your tour guide’s kind face smiling down at you. The second, when you come to your senses, is that you are leaning against Taehyung’s frame, his shoulders much harder than you remember them to be. The boy himself is fast asleep beside you, arm loosely linked with yours because you know he has a habit of holding things in his sleep. You hastily pull away.

“We’ve arrived, Miss.” Jae says politely, that humoured glow in his pupils eliciting a bashful blush from you.

“Oh right.” You look around to find the coach empty except for the three of you. “That’s embarrassing, I’m sorry.” The last thing you remember was the angry texts you spammed Lotta with before the songs in your playlist all blurred into one.

“No worries. Forgive me, I’m still learning names.” The heat of the sun is seeping through the glass of the windowpane, licking tenderly at your skin to rouse you awake. “I’ve tried to wake your partner, but it seems...”

“I’m Y/N. And don’t worry, he’s impossible to wake up.” You pause. There is a chance for you to rectify his misconception that you and Taehyung are a couple, except it would probably require some explaining or white-lying and now is not a great time if you’re holding up the whole group. “I’ll do it.”

Despite the conversation being had right over him, Taehyung shows no sign of his slumber being disturbed. His head is tipped back, mouth hanging open with a small dribble of drool beading at the corner of his mouth. Still the same deep-sleeping idiot.

“Oi.” You nudge his ribcage, scaring Jae with your coarseness. “Wake up, Taehyung.”

Nothing but heavy breathing.

“Dude, we’re here.” You grab his face between your harsh fingers and begin shaking vigorously.

Not even a stir. You remember how you used to like to joke that Taehyung could sleep through a burglary, and just to prove your point, you woke up in the middle of the night one time and screamed at the top of your lungs. He did not even move a toe.

“Uh-” There is a hint of worry in Jae’s face; perhaps he thinks that Taehyung has a health condition.

“It’s okay, I’ve got the trick.” This time, you pinch his nose with considerable force and clamp your palm over his mouth, ignoring the smoothness of his skin under your touch and the feeling of his lips skimming your palm. You glance up to find Jae’s eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, swaying uneasily at your method to wake him. “Don’t worry, it works every time.”

But true to your word, in a few seconds, Taehyung is sputtering for breath, eyes flying open in befuddlement, scrambling to sit up. You let go of his nose and smile at your tour guide only to find him petrified.

“What?” In disarray, Taehyung wipes at the corner of his mouth and pats his hair back down from its messy temperment. His heavy body no longer slumped against yours, you feel a weight lifted off your chest, though the fact that you had fallen asleep on each other plays at your mind, lingering to taunt you.

“We’ve arrived.” Jae winces.

You stare at the patterned seats of the coach, trying not to pay attention to Taehyung’s embarrassed apology and explanation on what a deep sleeper he is. You’re not going to think about Taehyung and sleeping. Mindlessly, you trail behind the banter men off the vehicle. You’re not going to think about how good it feels to sleep beside him.

The sun greeting you when you step foot onto ground instantly refreshes your mood, banishing away those thoughts that were slipping through the cracks. There’s something so healing about the air of the countryside, fresh and unpolluted and full of the pleasant crisp scent that one would associate with green and yellow. Staring back at you is a seemingly endless field of bushes dotted with red, the sweet berry smell already perfusing into your nose.

You ignore the crunch of gravel sounding from Taehyung’s steps not far from you and proceed to join the waiting crowd, their phones out to capture the stunning scenery.

As everyone gathers, it’s difficult to concentrate on Jae’s briefing of the weekend planned ahead, starting with an introduction to the farm which you frankly do not care to learn about. You try not to glance over at Taehyung at the corner of your eye, at how his hair is still sticking out awkwardly in the back, his eyes slightly swollen from sleep. You try not to notice his hesitancy, standing a distance from you despite everyone else standing in their couples.

It’s like a buzzing in the back of your mind, a constant tug at your consciousness, not allowing you to relax as much as you want to in this serene environment. You want to stop thinking about him but you can’t.

“In February, the weather is set to be nice and warm during the day and slightly chilly in the evenings, so I do hope that you have packed sufficiently as stated in the email. Now, if you look to your left...” Jae’s monologue drones on like white noise, because all you can focus on is not focusing on Taehyung.

Lotta has not replied to your hounding messages with anything of use, no answers to your plethora of questions. Just relax. Stop making such a big deal out of it, grow up and make up with him because you clearly aren’t over him. You wanted to tell her that things are not that simple, she doesn’t know how badly you both fucked up. Yet, you know her response would only be some pretentiously worded reply full of the condescending wisdom it always contains when she’s telling you off.

You’ll admit it, as stubborn as you are, Lotta’s advice is right 9 times out of 10. She was right when she said you shouldn’t have gone with Taehyung to Mykonos within two weeks of knowing him because he could have been a killer or psychopath. She was right when she pointed out that you act like Taehyung annoys the living shit out of you but you secretly care deeply for him.

But she’s definitely not right this time, you are adamant about it. It would be a miracle if you and Taehyung could even be friends within the next six months, let alone… And if anything were to happen, setting you two up on a romantic holiday together is certainly the wrong way to go about it. It feels so inorganic, like you’re forced to spend time with each other.

Out of habit, you steal a glance at him. It’s not a surprise to find him not paying an ounce of attention to Jae either. Taehyung is staring off into the strawberry field, face angled away from you such that the sunlight is hitting his skin in all the right places to glaze a golden aura over him.

It’s strange to see such a permanent sadness in his eyes, a melancholic nostalgia. You hate yourself - you did this to him, you broke him. Does he hate you? Resent you? You think you’d rather he did.

Soon, the group of you are whisked away down a pebbly path to a rustic looking hotel beside the farm where you will all stay in. It’s not the old run-down type of rustic, but more the luxurious kind that very evidently serves an aesthetic purpose. And that’s when you begin to notice, this “farm” is not really a farm at all, but more a boujee farm-themed resort. This trip could certainly not have been cheap. As much as you are here against your will, you can’t help but feel immense gratitude to Lotta for her willingness to spend such money on you.

You are stopped at a grand lobby, the style of which resembling a small piazza of Southern Italy - warm neutral-toned Roman concrete walls with a green flourish of vines and bushes. It’s absolutely stunning, a surreal setting that you only see in movies. It’s impossible not to feel the air of romance circulating this architecture. You glance over to find him, stood an awkwardly respectful distance away from you, gaping around at the interior of the building in awe. He is a sucker for art, especially architecture. You almost wish you were friends again only to hear him gush about the beauty of this place.

When Jae begins to hand out room keys, it suddenly occurs to you, perhaps the worst aspect of your predicament this weekend - you are sharing a room with Taehyung.

You are sharing a…

Heart sinking, you look over again to see if the same thought has dawned on him. It has. His eyes are fixed on Jae in an eerily blank way, his jaw tense, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of his forehead which you will excuse as the heat.

When Jae approaches you, Taehyung automatically joins your side in a dazed worry. Eye contact made was brief, not enough for you two to communicate whether or not you tell Jae that this was all a mistake and you would much rather be apart.

“Here you go, Y/N.” Your guide flashes you that charming grin of his as he waves your keycards before you. Instinctively, you receive it in your palm. “You guys have got the deluxe suite - wonderful choice.”

“We-” You begin, but he doesn’t seem to take notice. You’re starting to notice that he perhaps likes the sound of his own voice a bit too much.

“As I said, strawberry-picking will start at half past so that gives you a bit of time to drop off your luggage and freshen up after the long ride.” He continues. This will probably be the only chance you get to tell him that you and Taehyung aren’t a couple before it becomes too late, and you’re going to miss this opportunity because of another one of his monologues. The desperate itch in your chest grows an uncomfortable size. “Please meet here at the reception on time. And as for your luggage - oh, I see you two are lightly-packed. Low maintenance, my favourite type of people. In that case, your room is on the ground floor, if you follow that lovely couple down that corridor over there.”

And just like that, he smiles, retracts his extended arm pointing towards the direction of your room and turns to guide another couple.

“Wai-” You call after him weakly, but he has once again launched into the same speech he’d recited to you to a new audience.

And there goes your chance of rectifying this weekend.

You stand there for a good minute, mind trying to piece together how, just how, you will manage to survive this weekend. Taehyung is quiet beside you, equally as baffled at what to do.

“Should we head to our room then…” He mutters after too long a moment of unmoving stature. “I kinda want to change into some lighter clothes and we don’t have that long.”

You nod without looking at him. Because you can’t stand looking at his face right now, the face that you’ll be stuck with for these two days, the face that you love.

Silence between you now grows more familiar as you walk wordlessly to your room, the round corner of the plastic keycard digging hard into your palm. It’s painfully awkward. Your echoing steps provide the only stable rhythm against the storm between you.

Beep. The door opens at your will with a swipe of the card.

You weren’t prepared for what exactly the deluxe room entails. Its size could easily be a tiny studio apartment: a small seating area consisting of a pearly white sofa and a glass coffee table so delicately built that you would not trust yourself near; a mini-kitchen on the left side of the room accompanied by a generously stocked beverage bar; a king-sized bed in the far right wine-red in colour and excessively buried in frivolous cushions. But the belle of the ball is really the glass panelled-wall at the back of the room that you face as you enter, spanning from ceiling to floor, opening up to the patio hand-plucked out of your dreams. Rose bushes, circular beige woven garden daybed, and not to mention the hot tub.

You are completely in awe. Your mind instantly flashes to Mykonos. This luxury is the furthest from a farm experience whatsoever. It really explains how every couple on this trip looks like the child of a wealthy politician with their finely manicured hands and sickly cologne.

“Woah.” An octave deeper than usual, Taehyung expresses his wonder as he surveys the extravagance that is your room. “This… How much must this have cost?”

“I have no idea.” You whisper, still in your state of near speechlessness while your feet take you to the glass wall.

This is a place of romantic films, a place for honeymoons. Everything is in a rose-gold tint, glistening almost mockingly under the soft February sun. Why are you here? You almost hear the slabs of sandstone ask.

Behind you, you hear him huff out the marvel that he is submerged in. His backpack slides off his shoulder, swung carelessly towards the loveseat. And plop he goes, starfished onto the bed.

Then the fear returns, reclaims its usual residence in your throat. As you pry your eyes away from the opulence of the veranda to look at Taehyung, his head lifts up at the same moment. The short-lived mist that clouded over your reality finally disperses.

You blink again at his sprawled out limbs. He blinks back.

It is as if a switch has flipped, the speed at which he jumps back onto his two feet, fright jarring his mouth agape. “I’llsleeponthesofa.” The slur of his words are unintelligible to your ears, but his display of alarm is almost comical, threatening a smile from the corners of your lips at the hysteria of your situation despite the same alarm you are experiencing.

“What?”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” His voice is firmer the second time he says it, tilting his chin up as if to reassure you of his confidence.

“It’s okay, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” You sigh because you know how much Taehyung is bursting to sleep in a king-sized bed. It was his first time in Mykonos, and you had not heard the end of how it was the best sleep he’s had in his lifetime. So imagine him now.

He bristles, a genuine look of offence fleets. “Of course not, I can’t allow that.”

“Why not?” Your tone with him is foreign, lacking the playfulness it once had - just an aloof callousness.

“‘Coz! I’m not gonna let you take the couch while I sleep on this massive bed.” He gestures at the couch for emphasis, letting his arm dangle afterwards. He is less different with you than you are with him, you note.

“You just answered my question with the very statement I was questioning you on.” You cross your arms and lean against the glass, allowing the warmth to bask through your shirt.

Taehyung frowns and mirrors your action, the muscle of his bicep flexing more than usual from the agitation in his motion. “‘Coz you’re a light sleeper. Just stop being stubborn and take the bed.”

You’re not quite sure why, of all things, ‘you’re a light sleeper’ is what moves you. The consideration he still holds for you inhibits any protest you wish to sound.

He cares about you, he clearly still does. Just like how you would willingly give up the bed for him.

God, you don’t want to fucking be here. You wish it didn’t have to be so painful, every single little interaction between you just reminding you again and again of how much you loved and hurt each other.

Taehyung takes your silence as compliance and begins to unpack, ruffling through his bag for a change of cooler clothes with his shoulders tense in discomfort. You know what the mature person in you should say: we can just share the bed. But you can’t think of a single reason why that would be a good idea.

With this Valentine’s trip completely planned for you two, it feels like the universe presenting you with an undeniable temptation. Everything around you is telling you to just get back with him, to give in to your inhibitions and fall back into him. You’ve got the champagne in the cooler, hot tub in the patio, rose petalled bed all laid out in front of you at your disposal. An inner voice chanting make up, make up, make up. Because what’s stopping you?

What’s stopping you is that look on his face when he saw Jimin fixing the back of his shoe beside you as you were walking him out. What’s stopping you is the sound of another girl moaning his name right down the hall from you.

So maybe some could see it as strength for resisting the yearning, for being able to put up a front and speak to him so indifferently. But you see it as weakness, because you still cannot move on.

.

Despite the sun blazing down your back, the cool gust of spring weather eases what otherwise would have been scorching heat. Never would you anticipate that you would be spending this weekend sifting through strawberry bushes to find large red ripe summer fruit, yet here you are. You don’t even think it’s strawberry season.

You’ve never been a country girl, but the dirt feels strangely comforting under your nails. Well, comforting is perhaps not the best word to describe your state of mind right now. As much tranquility as this farm is bringing you, with Taehyung always no more than two metres away from you, you don’t think you could ever relax.

In black sports shorts, plucking his own berries on the other side of the same very row of bushes, sweat trickling along the veins of his neck… Of course your attention is scattered.

Not to mention, you keep catching his shifting eyes. You thought you ought to say something, but what exactly? The awkwardness is prominent as it is.

A heavy exhale. You find a particularly large berry, leaves curling upwards to indicate its ripeness as the strawberry expert (yes, strawberry expert) had taught you. Pluck. And off it goes into your basket.

This is definitely therapeutic. You imagine every strawberry to be your feelings for Taehyung. This one over here shall symbolise his musky scent that you fall asleep to. Pluck. This one, his stupidly attractive perm, so long that even you would tell him to trim it because it’s covering his eyes. Pluck. His eyes… Especially when he’s confused as he makes that wide-eyed puppy dog face, which is very often. Pluck.

You glance up, you can’t help it.

And he’s already looking at you. Caught red-handed, literally red-handed because his hands are somehow stained with strawberry juice. Instantly he whips his head back down at his basket that is rested by his crouching knees, though there is not much in there for him to look at.

“Stop making this weirder than it already is.” He almost jumps when you speak, clearly not expecting any sort of interaction from your end.

Slowly, he glances back up at you, dark wavy fringe swaying from the slow tilt of his head. “I- Sorry, I wasn’t- Um, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

There’s something quite breathtaking about Taehyung under the sun, the way the rays reflect off his honey-tan skin to give an effulgent finish like a marble statue of some Ancient Roman God worshipped by priests and maidens. The coat of sweat gathered at his cupid’s bow could possibly be your undoing.

You love him, despite all the strawberries symbolic of his traits that you were picking.

And you hate yourself for that. You don’t want to feel like this anymore. You’re so sick of this heavily-hearted feeling of being dragged down by your emotions all the fucking time. You want to be able to look at him and feel nothing, look at him and not be intruded by the echoes of that night.

It makes you sick, the thought of him inside someone else. Physically sick to the core.

“Well, you are. So stop looking at me.” You state coldly. You just want to forget everything and let go of him, but his presence is not letting you do so. If being a bitch is what it takes, you’ll gladly be a bitch

“No, you have dirt on your face.”

Embarrassment slams into you like a wave, wielding you to shut your eyes and take a deep breath of humiliation. It’s instant karma for being a bitch. “Oh.” You say, carelessly wiping all over your cheeks with the back of your wrist, more with the intention of hiding the rush of blood to your face than to actually clean. You keep your eyes trained on a tiny pale berry in the bush, hoping that he’ll look away from you.

But he doesn’t. “You’re smearing it.” You look up to find his lips drawn in a tight line in attempt to hide his amusement. Everything is just working out wonderfully for you, isn’t it? Yet before your mind can process it, he rises from his crouch and leans over the short bushes.

When his thumb meets your cheek, it almost sears you. As his eyes are focused on the dirt on your face he’s brushing away, yours are locked on his gaze - gentle, warm, familiar. The collar of his shirt droops low, exposing his chiseled collar bones, protruding so enticingly as if for the sole purpose to catch your attention and remind you that it was one of your favourite places to bury your nose in.

Taehyung’s touch is heartbreakingly gentle; the rest of his fingers come under the side of your jaw for support, though only fleetingly. The whole exchange is brief, the dirt brushed away as swiftly as your relationship had crumpled.

You feel it in your nose first, that overwhelming wave of sadness, and then behind your eyes. You want to cry. You want to cry as he pulls away, as he realises that he has unconsciously acted out of familiarity, as a shyness reaches his eyes when he meets your glare.

It was only a mindless sweep of his thumb on your face, yet its impact is explosive under your skin, reminiscent of a time when such a touch had different implications, elicited a different response.

You quickly blink it away - the tears, but not the heartache. That wretched feeling in your throat does not permit you to thank him, so you just stare at each other, the world around you a mere blur of blues and greens. You watch his chest rise as he sucks in for air, wondering if the same memories are now visiting, no, haunting, him.

You can’t do this because you’re not strong enough. For you whole act of indifference in front of him, your constant resisting against the urge to fall back into him, you’re still not strong enough.

But to your surprise, or perhaps even gratitude, he’s the one who picks up his basket and paces away without another word. You watch the back of his calves, the slosh of his overgrown hair, as he walks away.

.

You stare out the glass door at the patio. It’s dark, you can scarcely see a thing with the lights outside switched off. It acts as a perfect canvas for your imagination, for scenes of your past together to materialise before you.

It’s not been a full day yet, and you already feel so drained. This is impossible. You want to call Lotta to pick you up, but upon deeper consideration, you don’t think you have the heart to. This must have cost her a considerable amount of money to book. She had the full intention that this will bring you and Taehyung back together, yet it is doing everything but. You don’t want to imagine her disappointment when you return in streams of tears.

After the session of strawberry-picking, your baskets were handed over for your fruits to be washed and prepared for your baking class tomorrow. Following that is your free time, when you are left to your own devices, at liberty to roam around the farm, dine at their organic restaurant by the hotel. Taehyung had taken Jae’s recommendation of visiting the spa; you opted to stroll (sulk) about, as far away from him as possible.

It’s unhealthy, this continuous bombardment of thoughts of him. Your month’s worth of progress has reduced to ashes.

Maybe you don’t even actually have feelings for him anymore. It could purely be a deception of the closeness you’ve developed for each other that you mistaken for love. You had spent almost every single day of the past two and a half years together, under the same roof, sharing a bed towards the last few months. It’s the safety and intimacy that your brain associates him with that forbids you from moving on.

Maybe you’re actually over him romantically. But the wanting, the missing him as your best friend still lingers.

The door to your room opens abruptly. Hair damp, Taehyung strolls inside in a white bathrobe and slippers, his clothes bunched up under his arm. Tiny beads of moisture dot the sparse view of his chest you have.

“Oh, you’re here.” He says, his step faltering at your clearly unanticipated presence. Or perhaps the sight of you, staring out into the dark, completely alone in this room is just awfully strange. “I thought you’d be eating at this time.” Eyes dropping to the ground as the door shuts behind him, his movements are clearly timid and weary, an rare expression on Taehyung.

“Not that hungry.” You mutter. “How was…” You ask out of habit, but immediately catch yourself. Quick eye contact before you both look away like docile animals. It’s too late for you to take back the question now anyway. “How was the spa?” And to make it appear that you don’t really care and was just asking out of courtesy, you turn back around to face out to the patio.

Completely unnecessary and petty move, whatever.

Except you see his reflection on the glass from the illuminated room all too well. Visibly easing that you’ve looked away, he plops his clothes down at the end of the bed and trails into the bathroom to fetch a towel for his hair. “Was really nice, they give good massages. You should give it a go at some point.”

“Okay.” He gives his head a good shake before drying with the towel. It feels creepy that he doesn’t know you are watching his reflection, so your eyes drop to your feet. You wonder if his masseuse was female. Not that it matters at all.

“What time are we meant to meet them for stargazing again?” He is speaking a lot - well, relatively. It saddens you that his usual tone of endearment when he would speak to you is now missing. It’s like speaking to a stranger, but worse, a stranger who takes a stab at your heart after every word.

“At 9, so that’s in…” You raise your wrist to find your watch absent from where it usually sits on your wrist. Right, you had removed it before strawberry-picking so it doesn’t get dirty and left it on the coffee table. Just as you turn around to retrieve it, you are met with Taehyung slipping his robe off. Your eyes widen.

The fluffy material glides down his shoulders like he’s made of gold, revealing the sculpture of his upper body that you scarcely recognise because he never used to be this toned. You thank any higher power there is that he is wearing his boxers, but they do nothing to conceal the faintest V at his hips and the bulk of his thighs. He isn’t bursting with muscle, but body definitely more well-defined than you remember.

“Have you been working out?” It just slips out. You wish, as the heat floods to dizzy your mind, that you had the capability of holding your tongue for once in your life.

Taehyung hesitates, Adam’s apple bobbing at his jugular. That shy awkwardness returns when your eyes meet. “Yeah. I mean a little, here and there…” Self-consciously, he brings his arm across his chest to rub at his bicep, but the gesture only flexes the muscle he has gained.

Your knees feel slightly weak. It’s the lack of dinner, you tell yourself. It’s not just your knees that feel weak though, your heart is thumping haphazardly into arrhythmia.

“But you hate exercise.” The stability in your voice surprises you.

“Yeah I did, but Seojoon said it’d help me take my mind off… things.” Lip between his teeth, Taehyung searches around for a top. Sheepishness in the form of a soft pink tint on his round cheeks turns you soft.

‘Things’, meaning you.

When you realise you’ve been staring, you immediately look down, fingers fiddling with each other like you’re some virgin freshly exposed to the spectacle of the male body. You’re anything but yourself, and so is he. Taehyung exercising? You almost scoff.

“You don’t have to… You’ve seen me naked, you know.” Taehyung mumbles, finally locating the sweatshirt he intends to wear. When you hear him pull it over himself, you sag in relief, the immense weight that his starkness strangely bestowed on you finally alleviated.

“Yeah, but it’s different now.” Now that we’re not together anymore. Not that we were ever together.

You know he feels it too, the sting of those words. The hurt in his eyes fill you with a sort of bitter self-resentment that you cannot wrap your head around. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me feel like a bitch. Just stop hurting me.

“Yeah, it is.” But for some reason, it stings even more when he says it. His agreement should be a triumph, yet it feels more like the acknowledgement of the broken bridges between you.

When it comes from your mouth, it’s you convincing yourself more than anything. When it comes from his, it sounds like the truth.

.

Of the many things that are slowly killing Taehyung this weekend, the painfully awkward silence is among the most unbearable. It’s the loud kind of silence that he hates where there is clearly so much to say to each other yet none of it is coming out. There’s a vast ocean between you, roaring waves engulfing any sort of message he wishes to communicate.

This has to be one of the strangest experiences of his life - being set up by your friend on a couple’s trip to a resort disguised as a strawberry farm for Valentine’s day with you - and he has experienced a lot of weird shit in his life.

To be honest, he hasn’t been doing so great the past few weeks.

All the anger and bitterness had taken two days to melt away into miserable wretchedness. Two days, that’s all it took for him to not be angry with you anymore because there was one person he was angrier at - himself.

Because Taehyung was quick to realise that losing you is miles, miles, worse than what you had done to him. It was a sudden sort of realisation, the kind that hits you in the middle of doing something. What had he done?

The way he yelled at you, the things he said. His chest always sinks at the rememberance.

You didn’t know it was Jimin, you truly didn’t. But he exploded on you nonetheless, impermeable to your explanation. That wasn’t him. That raging bellowing man wasn’t him. If only he had just calmed down and talked it through with you, maybe he wouldn’t have been sleeping alone in your bed that your scent still clung on to.

And when he thinks about how you had heard him with that girl from the club, the bar, wherever his inebriated state took him that he doesn’t even remember…

Taehyung regrets everything.

How you got to this point was so extremely stupid. He should have just confessed to you, simple and easy, no complications needed. You are a commitment-phobe, he always knew he’d have to be the one to say it first. So why didn’t he? What the fuck was holding him back?

All he had to say was to not go on that date with Junho. That’s all you wanted. Why why why didn’t he just say how he felt?

Taehyung never knew himself to be a crier before this. He had shed a tear or two when he found out about Ryujin’s cheating and his friends’ betrayal; that was a stab in the back that left him gutted from the inside. Yet still, he got by, he survived because he found you. And he had naively thought, I managed to bear through this so nothing can really be worse than this now can it?

It can, and it did.

Once it starts, it won’t stop. The tears. A great tempest swallowing him whole and dragging him under until all he could hear was his own pounding heart. It is always before bed, when he would have the time to himself to truly think and reflect. But sometimes it comes during the day as well. He will be doing something as mundane as washing his hair in the shower, and he would suddenly break down because you had left him your shampoo that you would always get annoyed at him for using.

The house just feels empty. The absence of your voice, your warmth, your lips pressed on his neck every morning before his eyes even fully opened. Gone.

Yet, every corner is etched with the memories you share, your ghost lingering by the sofa that you adore whenever he’s watching TV, or curled up beside him every night in bed. It’s impossible to forget you.

Even as Seojoon moved in to fill your vacated room and help with the rent, the place was cold. It will never be the same because nothing could ever replace you. Everything he had and cherished - swept away just like that by none other than his own mistakes.

Yes, you had hurt him a lot. At the time, that pain felt insurmountable, like the worst thing you could ever do to him. But ultimately, upon the endless nights of thinking, he has realised that what hurt him the most was not you, but losing you. Not Jimin, not Junho, but how what could have been between you two fell apart so quickly by the poor choices you both made.

“Now if you look up to your left, you might be able to see one of our February constellations, the Pictor.” Jae announces, voice full of an enthusiasm that Taehyung could only envy as he guides the tour group towards the centre of a large plain field behind the hotel where you will all be stargazing. It is a lovely, breezy, cloudless night. You are several paces ahead of Taehyung, keenly reading the constellation manual leaflet lit up by your phone; he knows just how much of an astronomy geek you are. “It consists of four stars, as shown on your Star Guide, that are actually very dim and usually not easily spotted. The name Pictor means the Painter’s easel.”

Taehyung stops. Despite the darkness, he sees your shoulders tense too.

The easel you had gifted him on his birthday sits in his closet, stowed away from being a constant reminder of how much you loved him and how much he should have held on. It just sits there, collecting dust, untouched since the day you left.

The halt in Jae’s walking indicates your arrival to the intended location. “Here we are. Let’s settle down, love birds. I’ll set up this gorgeous telescope for anyone who wants to explore the sky in greater focus which I highly recommend.”

Spreading across the field, the group unrolls the picnic blankets you’ve all been given, dropping down to rest atop the covered grass.

No time is wasted from everyone else to snuggle up to their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives. The atmosphere is sickly, even for Taehyung. The couples around him have done little to hide their affection for each other since the beginning of the trip. It is a romantic vacation after all, but is it really so necessary to display your love so publicly?

You stand static and poker-faced on the other side of the mat, clear signs of reluctance to participate plastered all over you.

Taehyung has never stargazed before, let alone in this context. The stiffness in your movement as you sink down onto your knees and lie down in discomfort makes him wince. He realises now that neither of you have a choice but to put away any ill feelings and lay beside each other.

As he gets down next to you, his head nearly tumbles out his chest at the sudden proximity that he has grown so unused to. In the dark, your scent washes up to him like a timid tide lapping at the shore, hair swaying off your shoulders as you get onto your back. The size of the mat does not permit him elsewhere other than immediately beside you, no more than five inches from touching shoulders. Five inches from touching.

Truthbetold, Taehyung feels himself going insane. It started from the moment he saw you on the bus, your wide eyes, parted lips, so pretty despite the look of terror you wore. He didn’t think he would have the chance to see you any time soon. He hadn’t truly comprehended the magnitude at which he missed you until he saw you again.

And he has been spiralling since. Every gesture making his senses scream in agony, the desire to just talk to you mangling at him. He misses you like crazy. Not necessarily in that way, but just your presence, your funny comments, your feign annoyance when he annoys you. He misses the companionship.

You are both on your back now, the blanket feeling either slightly damp or too cold for comfort. The star-speckled sky hanging above you both is endless, a panoramic painting from east to west. You stare at the sky like it’s your lover, so Taehyung does the same. Astronomy doesn’t interest him as much as the meaning and purpose behind the act of stargazing. The people he’s with and the memories he makes.

Wordless, you stare at the sky, ignorant to his presence. The soft hum of everyone else’s whispers accentuates that frustrating silence between you. Taehyung is so fucking tired of the silence because he’s bursting with things to say to you, to ask you.

“Are we just not going to speak?”

His question startles you for you almost, almost, turn to look at him. The slight angling of your head before you catch yourself does not go unmissed by him.

“What do you want to speak about?” Taehyung hates the coldness in your voice. The unfeeling sounds so real. Why are you being this way? Do you seriously want nothing to do with him? That possibility scares him above all else.

Someone giggles a few yards from you two. On this large grassland, the couples are dispersed in their own little bubble of sweet affection, but not enough for his ears to not pick up these little sounds that send courses of envy through his vessel.

“What do you think?” The four weeks you spent apart were four weeks of lamenting over all the things he should have said, and all that he shouldn’t. And Taehyung’s is done with regretting unspoken words. He just wants to get everything out in the open, out of his system, so he can move on.

“I mean-”

“Look, Y/N. This is stupid, the whole ignoring each other thing. Don’t you just want to say your piece and get that weight off your chest?” In the distance, crickets chirp faintly. The discomfort shuddering in the five-inch area between your shoulders is screaming volumes. Taehyung doesn’t turn away from the sky for the fear of the expression he would see you wear.

He expects a note of irritation in your voice, for you to start arguing with him which he truthfully doesn’t mind because that is at least progress. But instead he gets a quiet defeat. “I don’t want to reopen wounds that are already ripping open, Taehyung.”

It wrenches his soul, truly. He doesn’t recognise you when you speak anymore, both with the things you say, and the way you say it. “Talking will help it heal.” Because that’s both your final goals here - to heal, to be cured of the ailment that is heartbreak.

“How exactly is it going to change anything?”

“I don’t know. We’ve had time to calm down and think and I think we should have some closure so we end on a good note.”

It’s funny now, how Taehyung is the one pleading to speak to you when he should be the one who’s angry at you because you were the one to commit the last and biggest fault. He doesn’t see it like that though, that’s all in the past. To be friends with you again, that’s all he wishes for, he doesn’t care about anything else at this point.

“So this is about amicability to you? You want to end on good terms.” Neither of you still dare to look at the other, eyes locked on the stars but somewhere distant.

“Well, yeah. Do you not?” He asks. He hadn’t expected you to be this uneasy, he thought you would have liked the idea of peace amongst you. “Everything towards the end happened so quickly, wouldn’t you like some closure?

“I would rather take my time and heal in my own way. To be honest, I don’t have anything to say to you about that topic except that I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that. It’s pointless.”

You’re coping with this differently, Taehyung understands. But it doesn’t take much effort to be pleasant towards each other, to smile and greet each other like normal people instead of scrambling away from every eye contact. How do you suppose you’d be able to move on like that?

“So not even friends right now?” He tries one last time. A soft breeze washes over you, wafting your scent towards him.

“No, I don’t want to be friends right now.”

Your bluntness stings. Taehyung finally gives in and turns to face you. Your striking profile greets him, your eyes still stubbornly glued to the sky. Your unwillingness to budge or compromise even a little bit is frustrating.

“We were best friends for the past two and a half years. More than best friends, we were literally two peas in a pod; we lived together, ate together, studied together, slept together. And now we don’t even talk. You’re okay with losing that? You’re telling me that I’m the only one who misses it more than anything else?” His angry whisper sounds ridiculous as he tries to keep his volume down, conscious of the setting he’s in.

But then he sees you blink, hard. Then blink again. Your pursed lip trembles. Another two consecutive blinks. When you look at him, your eyes are so glassy that they reflect the entirety of the galaxy above. “How am I supposed to be your friend right now when I can’t even look at you without feeling this great pang of sadness every time?” Taehyung immediately wishes he hadn’t pushed you.

“I… just would rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you at all.” His voice softens to a tone more apologetic. He is the reason for the tears you’re holding back right now and he despises it.

“I would rather not have you in my life at all while I slowly get over you than have you as just a friend because my heart can’t take this constant torture. I just want to be over you but I can’t do that if I have to pretend to be okay around you. And I just don’t get it Taehyung. How are you so willing to be friends again? After what I did, how could you look at me and not hate me?”

Taehyung frowns at you because he doesn’t see how you can’t understand it’s not about that anymore. It’s not about the blame, the who did what to who. He doesn’t care anymore but the fact that you do is alarming. You still can’t let it go.

“Okay, so is this about you not forgiving yourself?” He prods, and watches the brief flash of confusion on your face.

“I-” You’re quick to dispute but stop. Because it’s the truth.

A long silence ensures. You stare at the collar of his sweatshirt, zoned out. Taehyung knows you’re in deep contemplation, you know his points have strong grounds. There is no reason for hostility or callousness between you because it would only hurt each other more.

“Look,” He takes a deep breath. “I just think that it’s unhealthy for you to act like this. You’re burying and burying what you’re feeling without actually facing it. Trying to be friends is a good first step in accepting that we’re not together anymore; being cold to each other isn’t. Think about it.”

Another long pause. He watches you blink, watches your chest rise and fall at every breath.

“I understand your point, I know my coping mechanism isn’t healthy but it’s all that I know right now. We’re different, we’re hurting differently and healing differently. I’m sorry for acting out on you when it’s myself who I want to punish. But I seriously don’t have the strength to be your friend right now, I wish I did but I really don’t. Just give me time.” The fact that you’re not arguing with him says a lot; you have both matured from this experience. It’s sad that this is what it took for you to do so.

“Okay. I respect that.” Taehyung says. “I’m sorry for pushing this onto you, it’s selfish of me, sorry. I just… I don’t know, I guess I’m pathetic. You were my best friend and I want to salvage it as much as I can. I just miss you, that’s all.”

You don’t say anything, but Taehyung is okay with that. Because he knows you miss him too, you miss the friendship, the having each other to lean on.

The difference between you and him is that you can’t compartmentalise your lingering feelings for him and put that aside right now, whereas he can. You need to rid those feelings before you can be his friend, and he���s okay with that.

He stares at Pictor, it’s four weak stars that dim beside much brighter constellations yet somehow call to him. And he almost smiles.

.

You stare at your own reflection in the mirror.

That conversation with Taehyung resonates with you more than you’d care to let on. You let every single word he said sink in, your inner turmoil contemplating the points he made. Because he definitely has a point.

What resonates with you most is the word closure.

He’s right, everything between you ended so quickly that there was no time to process and accept it until it was already over. Maybe that’s why you’re finding it so hard to let go. If you were to be friends again, you could at least normalise his presence and gradually move past this.

Twisting the faucet on, you splash some water on your face to clear this dilemma from your head. And after wiping yourself dry, you exit the bathroom into your room with a great sigh.

Taehyung is wearing the grey hoodie - that’s the first thing you notice. As in the grey hoodie you would always claim as your own because of how soft its material is. The grey hoodie that you regret giving back to him. The grey hoodie that he would always wear when you guys gamed at midnight and it would always end with you on his lap, his locks tangled in your fingers while his mouth explored yours.

You take it back, fuck being friends, you’re back to square one.

He glances up in the dark, eyes surveying your silhouette from head to toe as he places a pillow on one end of the couch. Ever since that conversation, there’s the most subtle difference in his permanent expression - his lips look inclined to smile, his eyes hold an understanding for you that makes you feel vulnerable.

And, god, it makes you want to try. He deserves it, to have his best friend back in his life even if that best friend is you, the person he trusted the most in the world only to turn around and impale him in the chest with those stupid decisions of yours.

The omnipresence of your awkwardness hasn’t faltered though. “Taehyung, I said I would take the couch.” You protest, though you’re starting to see that it’s futile. You may be the more stubborn one between the pair, but there are certain things that Taehyung would never back down from.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Y/N.” The corner of his lip turns up properly now, like he’s silently snickering at a joke he thought of. “That’s just - not gonna happen.”

“What’s so funny?” Switching the bathroom lights off behind you, you ask. You hadn’t packed well for this trip, you are only in a flimsy camisole and a pair of sweats, the cold air coaxes goosebumps on your skin. His gaze follows you as you draw the curtains shut over the glass wall, leaving only a strip of moonlight streaming in.

“Nothing.” Taehyung places both hands on the top of his head, an action that causes his hoodie to slightly ride up his torso. You fix your eyes on the floor as you approach him and the sofa. “It’s just funny how you think I’d ever let you sleep on the couch while I sleep on the bed.”

There is a dead end down this path you’re going, neither of you would let the other win. So you simply ignore him and situate yourself on the couch, stretching your legs to span it wholly. “Good night.” Fixing the pillow he had placed, you shut your eyes.

“What, no.” You can hear the smile wipe off his face, almost making you chuckle out loud. “Y/N, get up.” Hastily he hovers over you. But when you show no sign of acknowledgement, he shuffles away. A moment later, you feel a great gust of air, then the softest silkiest duvet landing over you.

Your eyes fly open. And there Taehyung stands with his arms crossed smugly. “If you take the couch, you also take the covers.”

“No! You’ll be cold.”

“You’ll be cold. You’re not wearing enough.”

You give up. “Oh, for god’s sake, Taehyung. Fine. Let’s both sleep on the bed, okay?” His entire expression dilates. He doesn’t even blink as you get off the couch and cross your arms back at him. “Problem solved.”

Taking his wrist in one hand, dragging the plush duvet in the other, you walk to the bed and sit him down. No noise of protest emits from him, so you go back to retrieve the pillow from the couch in a huff.

“Are you sure?” His voice is suddenly timid, unsure. And he’s right to be so, because you’re quaking on the inside as well at the prospect of sleeping beside him.

It’s not going to be good for your heart, you know that definitely. But like he said, you need to face this. If you touch a paper cut enough times, it stops hurting. “It’s just sleeping, it’s no big deal.” You lie. “You want to be friends right? Well let’s start with this. Let’s stop being stupid and childish.” You can’t look him in the eye as you rearrange the bedding back to its original state before Taehyung messed it up.

His reply merely a quiet yeah… before you both hesitantly crawl under the covers and tuck in. Heat flushes to your face as you do so because the action feels so familiar, yet everything about it is different.

Absolute silence. Backs facing each other. An arm's length or two between you but it feels like more. You don’t even shut your eyes because why pretend that you’ll fall asleep?

Your own palpitation is so vigorous that it’s audible. The thoughts whizzing around in your head are unstoppable, a persistent prodding at your skull. His scent is strong, that sweet honey musk that used to seduce you to sleep now the very thing that’s keeping you up.

It must be, what, ten? twenty minutes? of just laying there as you ponder your future with Taehyung, if you want a future at all. He’s right, you miss his friendship above all else. As much as you love Lotta, there is an intangible quality missing between you, that extra spark that existed between Taehyung which boosted your dynamic up to an incomparable level. You understood each other without having to speak, care about each other more than yourselves - that love was almost familial. Losing that has been too much.

Then you hear Taehyung shift onto his back. “Y/N?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?” You answer after a pause, mind racing through all the possibilities of what he could say. You hate this permanent uncertainty of what he’s thinking.

Silence follows for a short while, the endless possibility of what he’s going to say flooding your mind. Then, “You know how I can’t sleep without holding something?”

You stop breathing.

Because you see very clearly where this is going, and it’s down a road that you don’t know if you can withstand.

He can’t sleep without holding you. Holding you.

You take a deep breath and clamp down on your lip, grateful that your back is facing him so he can’t see the pathetic weakness on your face. Can you do this?

Can you do this without wanting to cry? Can you do this without succumbing to your momentary desire to just turn around and kiss him because you won’t be able to think straight with his arms around you? You’re really not sure.

“Yes…?”

“Can I…” Something rustles the covers, perhaps his arm, or maybe he’s inching closer. In the pitch black night, every movement feels amplified, more impactful. “You know…”

“Can you what?” You’re not being difficult, you’re giving him the chance to take back on this request. To just say nevermind and turn back around. Because you’re not equipped for his touch; you don’t want it, you don’t want the pain that comes with it.

Another pause. Take the chance, please. But his deep hesitant voice sounds in the dark, “Can I hold you please?”

You shut your eyes. That feeling in your nose again, that rush. Hold it in, don’t cry, stupid emotional bitch, don’t cry. What’s there to cry about? You wonder if this torment will end, and you wonder if you could ever stop feeling this much for him.

“I swear I’m not trying anything, I genuinely can’t sleep.” His voice has a way of penetrating deep into your bones, begging you even if it’s not his intention to.

You could say no, right? Just say no.

But that isn’t facing it, that isn’t overcoming your heartbreak. If your goal of this trip is to come out of this weekend completely devoid of feelings for him, then you need to let him stop affecting you.

“Okay. Please don’t make it weird.” You whisper, not daring to move a muscle.

Taehyung sags in relief, the bed dipping with his weight. “I won’t, I promise.” The sound of him shuffling closer to you constricts your throat. You close your eyes, awaiting the warmth of his front to meet your back, counting down in your head for that dreaded moment to come. “Come closer.” He murmurs.

When his hand fits around your waist, you know it’s an act of unconscious habit rather than intent. Slowly, he drags you into the enclosure of his chest, his scent and heat enshrouding you until you are completely engulfed by him.

He exhales, the fingertips of his breath caressing your hair ever so gently.

Every fibre in your body is tensing, eyes firmly shut and toes curled inwards. His hand feels enormous on your waist, holding you the only way he has ever known how to. With a unique type of affection that is so pure and devoted, yet also with a hint of protectiveness and possession.

Taehyung lets go of your waist only to encircle his arms around you entirely, his legs curling up under yours until you’re both cocooned together.

“You okay?” The back of your neck feels tender, sensual even, from the tickling heat of his breath. You’re too keenly aware of how close your heads are positioned, of the searing sensations that his hands are causing.

No, you’re not okay. Your skin has been lit on fire. Memories that you’ve long since tried to bury are surging back at full force, slamming into you one after the other. He’s too close, he’s everywhere. There is no distance separating you right now, yet you still feel miles away from him; you can’t comprehend his intentions nor decipher his thoughts. The fit of the crook of your back into his chest is perfect, a heartbreaking kind of perfect. This feels so so familiar. This is exactly what you had yearned and dreamt for every night for the past month - to be in his arms again. So why does it hurt even more than being alone?

Instead, you nod, “Mmm, yeah.”

A compulsion is yanking at you to lean back into him.

Taehyung exhales again and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder where he always used to perch. If you were naked right now, he would be speckling this shoulder with soft dainty petal kisses. You hate that there is still a part of you, and mind you a very significant part, that wants it.

Your hands are inches away from touching each other; just one lift of your wrist and your fingers can clasp. The urge indunates you.

It would be so easy right now to just succumb - let your hand crawl into his because you know he would hold it, turn around and start kissing up his jaw until your tongues are tangled. You think it’s purely physical, these impulses, at least that’s what you want them to be. You just miss the intimacy, that’s all. But then why does it feel like you’ve swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies? Except their wings are made of glass, and everytime they flutter, you feel the shards scratch along your insides. There is desire laced in the pain. You don’t know which one is worse.

What baffles you the most is how he is alright with this, how he initiated this. He said he wants to at least be your friend, but this surely feels like a breach of friendship to anyone. Holding each other in bed is not being friends. But then again, you both have always had a warped perception of what friends should be doing.

You don’t understand how it’s so different for him. How the areas where you are touching, even if separated by layers of clothes, doesn’t tear through his sanity. If he doesn’t feel the same crack in his heart, then what does he feel?

With every heavy breath he takes, you take a silent one, eyes shut and praying to be swept away by the sleep that you don’t believe will reach you. You haven’t slept well since that night. Taehyung, on the other hand, you know is instantly sound asleep. It never used to take him more than five minutes as long as you were in his clutch.

But then, maybe there is a soothing essence in his presence with his overwhelming pleasant scent and rhythmic breathing, or maybe you’ve just exhausted your body with constant overthinking, a hazy fog drifts over your consciousness. You’re so tired, physically and mentally drained... And Taehyung feels so warm and snug around you...

The last thought you have before you drift off into reverie is that you feel his fingers slide between yours, holding not firmly but with intent. And you don’t know if it was you or him who moved it so.

You wake up from the damp heat gathered in all your crevices, the thin coat of sweat mildly irritating your skin. You are facing the glass door to the patio, and though the curtains conceal much of the windows, strips of sunlight topple past the cracks and unfurl into your room.

Taehyung’s arm is around you. Still.

After these years of living together, you know everything about Taehyung like that back of your hand. You can tell whether he’s awake or not from his breathing. And he’s most definitely asleep, though only lightly.

You look down and examine your position. In the course of the night, his forearm has travelled progressively higher until it is just about cradling your breasts. One of his legs is thrown over yours, entrapping you in his embrace. In his tangle of limbs, you slowly try to twist onto your back while prying him off.

He stirs, pulls you in tighter.

Which lands your rear in the unfortunate position of right atop his crotch. His crotch that is very much awake and way too excited.

Lethargy immediately expelled, your eyes open wide.

Morning wood is a usual occurrence for Taehyung, especially after a night of merciless teasing, but randomly a lot of the times. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, nor aroused. He has mentioned before how uncomfortable it can be, a blaring hard presence, a sore tension waking him up in an unforgiving manner. Which means that he can precariously wake any second n-

“Mmmm.” Voice an octave deeper than its norm, he hums, announcing his returning consciousness.

Taehyung’s morning wood and morning voice. You are being tested right now.

Your concupiscence has been gradually building up in the last few weeks from the lack of any sexual activity save for your own fingers and toys. It’s human nature, and completely goes against your will - but you feel the old friend that goes by the name lust stirring at the pit of your stomach.

At your proximity, the tip of his member digs deep between your cheeks, prodding at your entrance incontestably. Your whole body stiffens as the slowly waking Taehyung nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck habitually, arm tensing around you. Ever so slowly, you look back to steal a glance. His wildly curly hair falls over his forehead gracefully, lashes fanned out from his closed lids. He’s too beautiful for his own good.

Your core dampens and you quickly turn back around.

Fuck, please, no. You can’t be thinking about him like that. It’s so wrong. But his erection burrowed between your ass is banishing any clarity or sense from your head.

But God, you fucking miss this.

You’re going mad from deprivation. The dry spell of the past month had been voluntary, on the basis that you knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism because you would only picture Taehyung over the faces of those nameless men. And because you knew no one knows you as well as he does, thus no one will succeed in satisfying you as well as him. Your sex drive was non-existent right after the break-up; sex simply didn’t cross your mind once while you were nursing your broken heart. And then it came ebbing back, though faintly and infrequently, you regained your libido and would find yourself fantasising on some lonesome nights.

But now, the situation at hand is that: you’ve allowed Taehyung to cuddle you in his sleep and you’ve consequently woken up to his undeniably hard cock poking between your legs. And he is seconds away from fully waking up as well.

So what now?

“Taehyung.” You say firmly, pushing his arm away from your breasts. It’s best if you call him out for it now rather than let it hang awkwardly in the air unsaid.

“Hmmmm..?” He rumbles sleepily. You don’t have to turn around to be able to envision his face, eyes slowly blinking open but reluctant as ever, true to his deep sleeper title.

“Taehyung.” This time you nudge back gently for emphasis. What it achieves is additional friction. Your whole lower half achse to grind back onto him, to slide over his hardened cock, to reach back and pump it in your hands.

Fuck.

You can’t.

You could, so easily, but you shouldn’t. You and Taehyung are completely over in every sense of your relationship. You can’t let this moment of weakness strip away all your efforts in moving on.

“Wha…” He mumbles, finally peeling his arm off you to stretch out. A loud yawn ensues. You take the opportunity of his loosened hold around you to twist back and pin him with a glare, hoping that your thirst is masked.

“You’re hard.”

Eyes still puffy, he stops mid-stretch at those two words. And looks down.

Did he… not notice? Or did he, in his morning hazy, momentarily get the situation confused and forget that you weren’t together?

Taehyung scrambles away from you so abruptly that he almost falls off the bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t- It just- I can’t control it, Y/N, you know I can’t.” His stammering is followed by his jerky movements to readjust his bulge as discreetly as one can allow in such situation. The detonation of terror on his face exacerbates your embarrassment. Because you simply don’t know what to do with yourself - with your core tingling in arousal simultaneously as your brow twitches in annoyance. When your vexed eyes meet his, you see another wave of panic crash onto him.

How did you get in this situation in the first place? If only you had just slept on the couch last night…

“Yeah, I know, stop reacting like that. Don’t make it weirder than it already is.” You berate, yanking the covers with all your strength over your shoulder and roll away from him. The distance is more for your own good. You can’t be near him right now, you can’t think about his fucking cock slipping into you.

You want to fuck. You want to fuck Taehy-

Stop that fucking thought.

“I’m sorry.” His morning voice, oh god. Burying your face into the pillow does little against the fluid pooling in your panties.

“Can you go to the toilet and… fix yourself.” When the words leave your mouth, the imagery of him fixing himself flashes before your eyes. And something pulses violently down there. Fucking fuck.

“Um, okay, sorry.” You try to not peek at him as he gets up from the bed, slightly limping as he makes his way to the toilet. But you succumb nonetheless.

His cheeks are scarlet, veins bulging on the side of his forehead, and you’re not sure if it’s from his embarrassment or the discomfort of the boner. Your eyes drop from his profile because his morning face has always been one of your weaknesses, except unfortunately for you, your eyes land on his bulge.

Another pulse down there.

You hate yourself. You feel dirty for even thinking about him like that because it’s so wrong. But then again, he’s probably thinking about you like that as well, hence the raging erection.

When the bathroom door shuts behind him, you let out a sigh. You don’t know how long you can keep hold of your sanity for like this. You’re swimming in a sea of confusing emotions: the constant melancholy you have of missing him and missing the way things were before you had fucked it up; the desperation to move on and understand that he was only a chapter of your life that is now closed; the bitter resentment that you have for yourself as a consequence of not being able to do so; and now the inescapable desire aching between your thighs because of how inherent these memories are of how he would fuck you until you cry like nobody else could.

What doesn’t help is the hint of a slow pumping rhythm from the toilet, and Taehyung’s ragged breathing.

Fuck.

You don’t want to think about how he’s jerking off on the other side of the wall right now, gripping his cock as he leans against the sink, head thrown back. But that’s exactly what you’re thinking about.

Is he thinking of you as he’s doing it? You’re not sure if you want him to, because while you wish he wouldn’t, you also hope that this lust you feel is reciprocated still, that you’re not the only one going crazy with arousal.

Your hand almost trails down to your core when his pace quickens, but his sharp inhale strikes at your inner righteousness. You stop, sit up and rush out to the patio for some fresh air.

Happy Valentine’s Sunday indeed.

.

The dough feels sticky in your hand despite the layers of flour you’ve doused your fingertips in. Baking has never been your forte, you simply don’t have the patience or precision for such a crafty hobby. You glance over to check on Taehyung’s progress at the other half of the counter.

He has the easy job. Of course, when it came to allocating roles between the pair of you in this baking session, the jam-making landed on him because there’s no way he would succeed in making the strawberry tart.

You can’t help but smile at the way his lips are puckered and brows drawn in concentration as he chops the berries as finely as he could. But the way the top half of his hair is pulled back into a little sprout of a ponytail… You gulp.

Neither of you have spoken a word of this morning’s awkward event; it had been a tacit agreement not to as soon as you made eye contact when he stepped out of the bathroom. It has set a lewd tone for the rest of your day. At every blank moment where your mind isn’t preoccupied, especially when you’re doing something as frivolous and kneading dough, your thoughts would wander to the memories of his warm rigid-

You stop yourself. You’re in public and he’s chopping strawberries right next to you.

You’ve noticed how, every time you’d have those sinful thoughts, your mood would lighten a little. The pang in your heart that used to always plague you would profoundly diminish. Of all things, of course sex is what eases your sadness the most, that’s just so characterisitic of you isn’t it?

“Is everything going well?” One of the baking assistants comes over to your counter for the seventh time now (yes you’re counting). She is a petite, rather pretty, pleasant looking girl. And you have not failed to notice how every time she checks up on you two, her attention is always solely on Taehyung. Here you are struggling with your asscheek of dough yet she only cares to ask how Taehyung, the strawberry chopper, fares?

“Yup.” Taehyung spares her a brief glance before dumping the diced pieces of fruit into the saucepan.

“Would you like some more flour?” You almost scoff out loud. You’re the one working with flour over here! Why is she asking him?

“No, thanks.” He doesn’t look up this time.

The assistant smiles to herself as if he’d said something particularly sweet to her. Until her eyes land on you. “Uh- What about you, ma’am?”

“All.” You land a punch on the buttery dough, death glare and all. “Good.” Another punch. Eyes not once wavering. She has the brains to scramble away.

You don’t have the right to assert this sort of possessiveness over Taehyung. But it’s the principle. This is a couple’s romantic holiday; she must be under the presumption that you and Taehyung are together, so how does she still dare to ogle over him like that?

“She’s flirting with you.” You rumble when she’s out of earshot.

Taehyung looks up at you from stirring his jam mixture, his lips still slightly pouted from his focus. “What? Who?”

“That baking assistant who came over just now.” You grit, trying to suppress this irrational vexation.

“Oh. Really?” Clueless, he scans across the room. “Was that the blonde or the brunette one?”

It’s a relief how truly oblivious he is that you don’t bother answering his question. It’s also completely unlike him. Since when did Kim Taehyung not notice when a girl takes interest in him? How fascinating must those strawberries be to capture his undivided attention like that?

“Would you like some flour?” You mimic, batting your lashes at him.

A wide grin spreads across his cheeks. To be honest, you don’t know what prompted you to display such friendliness to him all of a sudden. Perhaps what happened this morning, or even the fact that you slept on the same bed last night, breached one of the walls towering between you. It’s progress.

“You’ve got flour on your face.”

Fuck, again? You need to stop handling stuff like dirt and flour because they keep ending up on your face. “Ugh.” You huff, trying to let the embarrassment brush off. “Where?”

From the mischievous smirk that his grin morphed into, you should’ve known. Before you could suspect, Taehyung dabs one of his fingers into a small pile of flour and smears it down your cheek. “There.”

“You-!” You gasp, your own finger already caked in flour flying for a counter attack at his face.

But his reflexes are fast as he catches your wrist in lightning speed and tugs you towards him, his other hand simultaneously slathering another streak of white down the bridge of your nose. You tumble into him, foolish grin on your face as you twist your wrist out of his grip and manage to smear your floury thumb onto his chin.

Taehyung catches you before you could trip over your feet, smiling so wide for the first time this weekend that you can’t help but giggle. His grip on your waist feels warm. You’re close enough that you have to crane your neck to see him, close enough to see the individual hairs of his brows.

Yes, something has definitely shifted since last night.

The desire is a flame, devouring all your other senses until all you can focus on is his touch, his molten chocolate eyes, his tongue swiping out to wet his lips. You just want to…

Kiss him.

You admit it, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

Ignition in his eyes, he stares at your lips too, smile slowly faltering. The hammering of your spastic heart cancels out all other noise in the room; you don’t see anything else except him. He doesn’t move, and neither do you. That lustful monster in your mind screams, Damn the consequences. Just kiss. Fuck being friends and fuck being strangers. Kiss him.

“Alright, lovebirds over there. These pastries won’t make themselves. Let’s get cracking!” Both of you jump and the sound of the head chef calling.

A bucket of ice cold water showers over you, extinguishing that prosperous flame. And reality materialises once again around you.

Not just the physical reality, but the reality of your situation as well - you can’t, you shouldn’t be acting like this around each other. There’s being friends, and then there’s this. The line is fine, it has always been.

It’s difficult to separate the weeds of these conglomerated emotions. You miss each other, want to kiss each other. You want the hurting to end, he wants to be friends. Your break up had been too messy for either of you to have a clear vision of what you need to do to overcome this.

Except maybe there is a cure-all solution to this.

You return to your ball of dough as Taehyung goes back to stirring his boiling jam. Yet your attention is now scattered, because a seed of an idea, most probably a very bad one, has been sown in your head.

.

It is most definitely a reckless idea, one that has the potential of going very south.

You bring it up during dinner, the supposed “romantic candlelit dinner with a string quartet” which neither of you are remotely dressed well enough for. “Taehyung, you know how you talked about closure and all that yesterday?”

Taehyung pauses, forkful of tenderloin steak stopped in midair. “Yeah..?” The hope in his voice is infused with an uncertain hesitation.

“I think we should have sex. One last time. For closure.”

The violin strikes a particularly high pitch in the background. Taehyung doesn’t move a hair for at least a good ten seconds before he blinks at you. This was definitely not what he’d anticipated from you, you can tell. But well, of course it isn’t. The idea surprised yourself.

“What? I think I heard something else, say that again?”

Oh boy. “No, you heard it right. I said I think we should sleep together for closure.” You sound unsteady to your own ears. “Release all this pent up sexual frustration we have for each other one last time and then be done with this. You said you want to be friends, right? I actually think it’s going to work for me, I’ll be able to move on afterwards, I’m almost certain.”

Frowning, Taehyung puts his fork down. “Really…? You want to have sex?”

“Yes.” You’re not even going to be shy about it at this point. You weren’t sure how this scene was going to play out but you’d envisioned it to go much smoother than this. “Do you want to?”

“I mean…” Colour of wine stains his cheeks. “Yeah… But are you sure? You were just saying last night how you can’t look at me without hurting. Do you understand why this is confusing for me?”

“I know it sounds contradictory and counterproductive, but-” You halt when you realise that there is no but. You don’t know how to verbalise the explanation that convinced you in your head. “Look at it as break up sex. It’s a common thing because it works. Like you said, we ended so quickly, in a blink of an eye. Just see this as the closing chapter of our relationship. If you don’t want to do it, just say it. I just had to throw it out there.”

Worry drips down your throat when his blank expression remains unchanged - worry that you’ve made a fatally wrong move to make things irreparably awkward now, if he so wishes not to follow through with your suggestion.

But then he nods, ponderously and maybe not entirely convinced, but you’ll take it. “I think you have a point… The thing about closure and ending this better than we did the first time round.”

“So… You’re down.”

“Down.”

So, the rest of dinner flies by with the two of you wolfing down your meal as hastily as you can. The entire time, your mind is buzzing with a strange sort of excitement for you are confident that this is necessary in accelerating your process of recovery.

You and Taehyung started with sex, so naturally, you should end with sex.

If you are eating cookies from a jar and that jar is suddenly taken away from you, you would be overcome with a surge of anger and unjust. You will always remember that awful person who took it from you. But if you are told that the jar will be taken away and the cookie in your hand is the last one you can ever have, you will cherish this last cookie and take your time eating it. It would taste different from all the other cookies you’ve had in the past - better, sweeter, because you know that it’s the last one.

Taehyung is quiet, indecipherable as you stroll back to the room. You understand his doubt, you really do. Because a night ago, if he’d have offered you the same suggestion, you would’ve thought he’s insane. But after the incident this morning, and the sparse flirtation throughout the day, there is a clear indication of unresolved sexual tension on both ends.

End this once and for all with a bang.

“Are you really up for it, Taehyung?” You check one last time, swiping the keycard at the door. “If you’re not comfortable, then we shouldn’t.”

When you look back as you push open the door, you catch his eyes, filled with purpose and trust. “No, you’re right. We need the closure.”

As the door closes behind you after you enter, it feels final - your fate is sealed, this is happening. You both stop in the middle of the room, facing each other. Shoulders tense and fists clenched. The bed has been made from this morning, a strawberry gift basket sitting on the coffee table in the corner of your eye.

Your breath feels shaky.

“So…”

“So…”

His throat is trembling too.

You break into a smile at how pathetic you’ve both become around each other, and once you do, Taehyung observably loosens up. “What are we being so nervous for?”

He smiles too, and takes a step towards you. “I don’t know.”

Bittersweet. It’s the best way to describe how you feel right now. Because this is it.

“Do you want to get in the hot tub? It feels like a waste if we don’t use it before we go. It’s our last night here.” The buzzing beneath your skin grows as you ask, and a spark lights up in his eyes at your idea.

“Say no more.” He presses a kiss on your forehead. It’s utterly out of the blue and fleeting, but enough to make your heart leap, both from the bewilderment and the knowledge that this will be one of your last acts of affection.

Taehyung walks past you towards the glass door, peeling off his shirt in the meantime to reveal the new tone of muscle on his back that he’s acquired in the past month. “I’m going to get some alcohol.” You maunder.

Your fingers are shaking as you rummage through the wine cooled for the drink you best see suitable. A strawberry champagne catches your eye. How fitting.

You can’t explain how jittery you feel as you completely strip off your clothes. This is the last time with Taehyung. The profound significance, the pressure, the emotions, tide after tide hitting you.

Two glasses of champagne in your hand, you inhale sharply, and let it all out.

This is it. This is the conclusive ending you asked for.

Warm water bubbling up to his chest, you find him seated in the hot tub awaiting you. The boxers discarded by the side implies that it was a last minute decision of his to go completely naked. And when he notices your nude form strutting out to the patio to join him, he sucks in. The way his eyes rake down your body then back up to your face sends flutters to you core, but also a nostalgic pang.

Eye contact does not break for a second as you climb into the hot tub and sit yourself adjacent to him. The chilly evening breeze with the heated effervescing water provides the perfect ambient temperature. Taehyung accepts the champagne you hand him, finger brushing over yours in a way that could only be intentional. He’s savouring every touch.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” You toast. The lump in your throat almost doesn’t permit the words to be said.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” He repeats after you. Clink. And down the drink goes.

A sigh, from both of you. The champagne is bittersweet, too. And you feel that surge behind your nose again, the sting behind your eyes.

“Isn’t it funny how the universe plays out?” Taehyung says, gaze falling to your lips, then your neck, then collar. He slides closer to you. “The first time we kissed was in water, the Mediterranean Sea. And now, the last time will be in water too.”

You don’t say anything for you need a moment to collect the tears. Then you place your glass on the edge of the tub and waddle through the water until you are perched on his lap. He receives you like you’re made of glass, gentle hands coming around your bare back to pull you down onto him. You brush away his dark untamed curls from his face, appreciating the thickness of his hair between your fingers because you don’t think you’ll get to touch it again. His hands trail low to the small of your back; you feel yourself brush up against his member, already hard and poised.

You want to tell him that you love him, that you will always always love him. But you know you would break if you say it.

So you just lean down to kiss him.

People like to describe their kisses like electricity, fire, a bolt of lightning striking down their spine. But for you, it really isn’t like that at all. When your lips meet, it feels like your first sip of cocoa on the first day of winter warm but not hot enough to burn, feels as though you’re interlocking fingers in a crowd of busy bodies and his thumb brushes over yours to tell you it’s okay, I’m right here and I won’t let go.

And you both pull away at the same time, a string of saliva between your mouths.

Because you both feel it, and it’s too much.

But this is the last time, you remind yourselves. Last time.

So your lips fall back onto him, fuelled by a passion you’ve never felt before. His mouth is velvet, fitting over yours so perfectly that it hurts. His hand finds your face, wet from being submerged, and he holds you more tenderly than he would an infant. Your chest is imploding from every ragged breath you take between hot kisses and you just let it.

Arousal pulling at your strings, your hand snakes down his front, dips into the water and wraps around his cock. “Ah…” Taehyung groans into your mouth. Your touch swipes across his tip. “Fuck, baby.”

Baby.

That is your undoing.

His teeth find your breasts, taking your nipple and teasing it until you’re whimpering in need. The roughness of his tongue tingles your sensitive bud so much that your eyes roll back and your vision is black and dotted with stars. The water providing you with a newfound ease, you pump him relentlessly, sitting up so you can slide his tip over your clit and along your folds. Because neither of you can wait, you’re cutting to the chase. Anything else can wait until subsequent rounds.

Every time his head brushes past your clit, a convulsion shoots up you. Your thighs quiver around him as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. And when you inch by inch sink down onto his cock, the euphoric stretch in your walls numbs all other sensation.

You have missed this so much. It’s been so long.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Taehyung’s voice is shaky, breath hitched.

“It’s ‘coz I haven’t…”

You don’t have to finish the sentence for him to understand and reply, “Me neither.”

The boost of reassurance and confidence that it grants you makes you roll your hips over his. From the absence of sex the past month, your cunt has grown unaccustomed to his size. Your entire core aches, but in the best way you could ask for. The water sloshes as you gain a steady rhythm. You have to bite down onto his ear to stop the volume at which you want to cry out because you remember that you are outdoors.

Taehyung’s face burrows into your neck, panting hard, but thrusting harder. You think back to every single one of your times together, from beginning to now. Your arms encircle tighter around him as you kiss the shell of his ear.

The initial pain in your walls is beginning to trickle away, leaving in its wake the claws of pleasure running up and down your body. Taehyung’s cock performs wonders on you that no one else can - it’s just a fact that you have to accept now. Nothing will compare.

Yet you can come to terms with it. You can gladly accept that Taehyung will be the best thing you’ll ever have.

But then you feel the dampness. At first, you mistaken it as droplets of water splattering onto you so you ignore it. And amidst you bouncing onto him, you don’t notice how Taehyung’s shoulders are shuddering.

You stop.

And feel the streaks of his tears running down your neck from where his face is pressed onto.

You can’t describe the shattering in your heart when you look down to find him crying into you. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t even cry back at him.

It leaves you in wreckages, how he’s holding you close to him still, clinging on despite your how you’ve stopped, muffled sobs cracking out of this throat.

It takes a while for you to regain your voice, but his tears are still ceaseless. “Taehyung…”

When he looks up, you’re struck with another ammunition of distraught. The redness of his eyes, the sad distortion of his beautiful features, the endless endless tears...

“Y/N, I can’t. I really can’t.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been screaming silently.

“I-I’m sorry, you should’ve said. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise.” You’re stupefied from the horrendous sight of a completely broken Taehyung underneath you. You immediately climb off him.

“I-” He sniffs. “I love you so fucking much. I love you more than I love myself and I can only ever love you more each day.” You feel it again, the surge in your nose, the sting behind your eyes. You’re choked up, speechless, resenting yourself for putting him through this. You want to bury your head in the water and cry until you pass out. 

“Y/N, I didn’t ever want to lose you because I know I would lose myself. But then I lost you. And I lost myself.” His sobs strangle you by the throat.

“Taehyung, I’m sorry. About everything I’ve done. It’s all my fault and I will always hate myself for hurting you so much.” A single tear rolls down your face, you can’t hold it in anymore. Then a second, third. At the unstoppable oceans pouring from his eyes, you feel destroyed.

“I don’t even care about that! I’m not hurt by Junho or Jimin, I don’t care. Having to wake up every day knowing that you’re not beside me has been the most painful thing I’ve had to deal with. You are my home, Y/N. I don’t want to live in a life that you’re not a part of. I just can’t live without you and I can’t stand it. I can’t- I can’t...”

“Then don’t.”

Confusion draws his browns into a frown. “What?” His face is still warped in pain. You can’t stand it anymore either.

“Then don’t live without me.”

Your teeth dig into your lip to stop your own bawling.

All this conflict back and forth has taken such a toll on you and what for? At the end of the day, one unwavering fact stands true and untested: you love each other no matte what. So why should you let mistakes of the past keep you apart?

“What?” He says again, though understanding starts to seep through.

“I love you, Taehyung. I can’t not love you. I’m not myself if I don’t. So let’s stop this bullshit. I can’t live without you and you can’t live without me. So then let’s not leave each other again.”

You stare at each other, on this cool February night, warm water gurgling up to your collars, the cloudless night sky flaunting it’s collection of stars. And you promise to stay by each other for as long as you live.

“Okay.” That’s all Taehyung can muster.

“I’m yours, Taehyung. My heart is completely yours forever.” His violent flow of tears subside into gentle trickles.

“Okay.” He stands up in the tub, and you mirror his action. Water weeps off your skin, inviting the cold to infiltrate.

Nothing more needs to be said. Your mouths find each other the way they always do, the crashing of your lips, scraping of your teeth. A new tear rolls off Taehyung’s face and onto your fused lips, but it’s different this time. They’re tears of insuppressable joy, knowing that the taste of your tongue is entirely his, the porcelain of your skin is entirely his. You’re shivering from the temperature of the night, but you don’t feel the cold.

His hands come behind your thighs and lift you up to his face level, wrapping your legs around your torso the way he did in Mykonos. With careful steps, he carries you back into the room, past the bed, that poor couch that was collateral damage to your mutual pining, and sets you down onto the bathroom countertop.

When he finally breaks away from the kiss and takes in your beauty under the bright light of the room, there is no less than absolute adoration in his eyes. Never anything less. “I love you and I’m yours.”

Taehyung wraps the only massive white towel he can find around your wet naked body, disregarding the cold attacking his own. You frown at him, hooking him between your legs so you can fling the towel over his shoulders as well.

“I love you and I’m yours.” You say back, blotting his body dry. It’s such a simple statement, yet the meaning it holds for the two of you is so heavy. They’re the very words that you have never found the strength to say to each other, until now.

“Say that again.” You melt under his smile, not a single trace of worry to be found in your brain.

“I love you. And I’m yours.”

You twist your neck back to follow his glare at reflection in the mirror of your huddled bodies under the towel. Cheeks pushed up from glee, heads leaning against each other, and just like that - all your heartache vanishes without a trace.

“Mine?” Taehyung pecks your brow, still smiling.

“Yours.” Legs clamping around him tighter, you turn to face him. “And how are you this hard again already?” His cock’s ability to stay erect is astounding, truly.

“Don’t you know? You could breathe and my cock would be hard.” Laughter erupts both your chests and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Allowing the towel to drop around you, your hand slips between your bodies to clutch onto his length. Responsiveness ripples through his toned abdomen. “I want to suck…” You nuzzle your nose to his, your breaths amalgamating.

Taehyung sighs into your mouth. “But I want to-” Your grip tightens around him as you drag out a pump, eyes wide with feign innocence. “Okay, what the fuck, that’s not fair.”

“You’ll get to do whatever you want to me after.” You trail your mouth along his jaw.

“F-Fine.”

He lets you slide off the marble counter with the skin of his neck pinched between your teeth. When he realises that you’re marking him in clouds of purple, his head falls back and gives himself up as your canvas. You understand the appeal of hickeys now. For you two, it’s an agreement, a promise, an exchange of trust. You continue down his front, teeth grazing his nipples, lower and lower, kissing along the protrusion of his pelvic bone. Until you arrive at his cock.

“Do you remember the whole ice cube thing during the heatwave?” You run your finger up his length, over his oozing slit. The heatwave feels like an eon ago, but also like just yesterday.

Stiffening, Taehyung looks down. “Yes…”

“How about I pay you back for that one?” You take his shut eyes and sparse nod as compliance because you know he’s not capable of words right now.

You dash away to collect a glass of ice from the drink cooler, but on your way find something even better. Something you’ve always wanted to try.

Taehyung is slowly touching himself when you return, mildly surprised by the second item you brought back with you. “Whipped cream? Isn’t that from the gift basket?”

“You up for it?” A smirk stretches.

“Very up and very hard.” He lets go of his member and watches you drop to your knees.

To moisten him first, you slowly lap circles around his head, applying considerable pressure and letting the tip of your tongue tease at his sensitive opening. You look up when he moans, and takes his girth into your mouth, sliding his cock further and further down your throat until he pokes the back. Then you pull up with a pop, echoing within the walls of the bathroom.

You take two ice cubes from the glass, one placed between your lips, and the other to massage over your clit. The icy sensation strikes a numbing sensation into your core when it touches your bud of nerves. The cube in your mouth, you begin to trace slowly from the base of his shaft all the way up.

A string of profanities leaves Taehyung at the temperature, and seeds a satisfaction between your legs.

The ice is melting quickly from the heat of your mouth so you waste no time to guide it down to his scrotum resting on your palm. “Fuck.” He whines, his whole length twitching.

When this cube dissolves into nothing but a puddle of your tongue, you take another, ruthlessly educing those curses from him. His tip is the most sensitive part of him, so that’s where you focus on, smearing the edges of the cube around the curve of his head. His thighs tense in euphoric spasms.

The whipped cream comes next. With a few shakes of the canister, you hold his cock pointed towards yourself and view the spiral of white untainted cream unfold onto his head.

“Ah!” Taehyung yelps.

“You good?” You glance up to check that he still has a rein on his sanity.

“It just scared me.” You chuckle and place a kiss on his shaft.

“You should be scared.”

Eyes lock on his, you watch him watch you vulgarly smear the cream all over his cock with your lips. Its sweetness oozes into your mouth and sinks into your tongue. “Mmm.” You hum at the pleasant taste. Then you start to suck, the cream providing you with a lubrication that your spit has never been able to replicate. His cock glides into your mouth with such little resistance that you gag around him.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good.” He can’t look away from you, your hollowed out cheeks and large eyes as you bob your head deeper and deeper. Ribald wet sloppy noises squeaking from your mouth. “Uh fuck.”

Taehyung’s fingers entangle in your hair, guiding your motion in and out. The cream swirls in your mouth, the taste prompting you to suck harder until your mouth adheres like a second skin to his cock. He’s soon panting, even as you come up for air and to spray more cream on him.

“Yeah, keep going. Can I come in your mouth?” His eyes are almost screwed shut, but still open to keep watching. The rise and fall of his chest, and the bulging vein down the side of his cock - he’s close.

You keep sucking, relishing in the taste of the cream, the ease at which his tip glides along your throat, your own fluid dripping from your cunt.

“Fuc- Ah!” Gripping your hair tight, he thrusts hard into you as he cums, ribbons of his own cream mixing in your mouth. Taehyung’s dick pulses violently at the shaft. You watch his jaw fall open, brows pinch together, as the liquid dribbles down your throat.

You pull his length out of you with a great gasp and swallow all the remnants. “Shit. How was that?” Out of breath, you wipe the mess around your mouth with the dropped towel.

“Give me a second to recover from that, baby.” Arms on the countertop to support him, Taehyung lets his head droop back so far that his hair touches his elbows. You wet the towel at the sink and clean his slowly limping member. “Fuck that was…”

When his eyes open again, there is a fury that you know to be afraid of. He hauls you up onto your two feet and latch onto your lips, not caring about the filthy things they’ve just done to him.

“I need to be inside you.” He grumbles. “Give me five, ten minutes and I'll be ready again.”

“Hmm.” Arms sliding around his neck, you let him walk you onto the bed, hovering over you while his hands fondle your breasts that have become lonely. The insides of your thighs are slick with your arousal - that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Scissoring your folds open with his long digits, this thumb finds your clit, bulging and throbbing with desire. The vibrations coursing into you as he starts to rub compels you to arch back. You are really just a plaything when under his touch, as malleable as dough.

“Taehyung!” And for some reason, you calling out his name flips an animalistic switch in him.

With your neck fully exposed, he ceases the opportunity to nibble all over your unmarred skin, leaving angry blotches in return of your marks on him. This thumb is working quickly, the pressure at your clit superimposing second by second.

“Wait.” He lifts his head up abruptly, though fingers still going. “Do you want to sit on my face?”

Your heart jolts in excitement at the mere mention of it. “Didn’t even have to ask.” It has always been something you’ve wanted to try but never gotten around to.

Swapping positions, Taehyung reclines onto his back while you situate your knees on either side of his face. His hands grip onto your waist, guiding your descent onto his thrill-teeming face.

An incredible shock of pleasure fires up your spine when he takes your clit between his lips and sucks. This position grants him an unobstructed access to your pussy, no awkward angle, no cramping neck. So the assail he commences is totally, and unfortunately for your lucidity, merciless. His hands grapple onto your freely hanging breasts, rolling your nipples between fingertips.

Crying aloud from the ecstatic twisting sensation, you feel your eyes water. It’s almost too much, the mind warping accumulation of tension in your cunt. “Like that, Taehyung.”

One of his hands leaves your breast only to insert his digits into your dripping slit. Your thighs are aching, close to giving way; you don’t think you can withstand this tremendous stimulation.

His tongue doesn’t stop and neither do his fingers. Breathing through his nose heavily, he continues to coil your core into loops and loops of hypertension

You’re so close, so close.

And you’re there.

The pulsing waves of your orgasm sweep you away. You don’t even hear your own moans, just the roaring of your blood in your ears. Your whole body writhes above Taehyung, but your muscles don’t permit you to move off him while so ransacked by this high.

It last long, nearing half a minute before your senses come back to you.

And finally, you sag and topple over, trusting Taehyung to catch you and roll you onto your back.

“What the fuck.” You pant, low frequency pulsations still resonating down your legs, in awe of how he never fails to tip you over the edge. And the striking difference between the male and female orgasm is that, unlike Taehyung, you immediately want more when you’re done. “Taehyung, please, I need you to fuck me.”

His reply startles you. “No.” You open your eyes and find him regarding you with such reverence that only confuses you more.

“No?”

Cupping your face in his palm as he props himself on his elbow over you, Taehyung leans down and kisses your nose. Then your mouth. “Y/N.” Your temple. “I want to.” Your ear. “Make love to you.”

He paints a constellation of wet kisses all over you.

“How does that sound, baby?”

You immediately pull him back onto your own lips, a desperate craving as you kiss him back hard. “I love you.” You really do. It’s the one thing you’re the most certain about in this world.

“Ahhh.” Readjusting over you yet still keeping the close distance between your faces, he takes his cock in his hand and pumps. “You know you do to me when you say those words?” He kisses you again, so softly that his lips feel like rose petals. As he lines his tips along your entrance, you shut your eyes and prepare for it.

“I love you.” You repeat. And he sinks in.

It feels different, so entirely different from the previous time tonight. There is not an ounce of concern, of doubt, of hesitancy. You feel safe underneath him, secure.

His tender moans unravelling into songs of vulnerability. “I love you, too.” He whispers into your ear, and you understand what he means by how much these three words have an effect because them alone are almost enough to capsize you again.

His thrust, though lacking its usual roughness, does not lack in anything else. Every time he plummets into you, his mouth finds yours. Your hands are interlocked, pinned down onto the pillow. The surprising intimacy of that act overflowing to the brim. And you swear you could see heaven right then and there.

You feel nothing but love and devotion throughout.

He makes love to you over and over again this night, Valentine’s night. And despite your usual preferences, the sensations between your legs, in your chest, in your mind, are unrivaled.

Transcendental.

When it’s all over, when you’re nothing more than sweaty skin, damp hair, and hearts full of love for each other, you spend your time taking in each other’s details. His unblemished complexion. The beauty mark under the lashes of his right eye. The perfect shape of his cupid's bow that doesn’t seem humanly possible. Everything.

“What we had didn’t work, but we’re not going to repeat those mistakes again, I won’t hurt you again, I promise.” You whisper softly as you caress his cheek. “It’s all or nothing. And you have all of me.”

The glaze over his sincere eyes hasn’t left yet, though you don’t suppose your eyes are completely dry either.

You continue, “Seeing you break down like that today was… the hardest thing for me to witness. So much worse that our stupid pointless fights, and the nights where I would cry myself to sleep. And I can’t apologise enough for causing you that much pain.”

Taehyung’s eyes trailing down bashfully, and you almost worry that he’d cry again.. “I… I can’t believe the day finally came where I cried during sex…” You let out a round of laughter at what he chooses to dwell on.

“I love you so much that it makes me sick. I’m honestly disgusted and mortified by myself.” You snicker in his hair.

“Look, what about me? I love you so much that I cried during sex. Not even just a tear either. Full on sobs. I think I’m the bigger loser here.” The fact that he can joke about the situation reassures you that he’s over it. The mood once again lightens.

“All this just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants during a heatwave.”

He pulls you closer into his rumbling chest, laughing to himself as he toys with your earlobe between his teeth.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, for the first time as each other’s lovers. And for the rest of the nights that come after.

.

A/N: Alexa, play ‘Fuck it I love you’ by Lana Del Rey.

Thank you everyone for the incredible love and support you’ve unfailingly shown Heatwave. As my first fic, I am of course so very attached to these characters and ending this series is such a bittersweet feeling. It’s been such a lovely journey to write this couple and although I don’t plan on writing anything for them in the next few months, I won’t close off that possibility completely.

Love you!

- Kristy

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27/04/20

© Copyright 2020

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[ageoldamateur]

Introduction to my OC (Full story release!)

I think I should at least try to post the entire story now that I finished writing it.

While this is my first story posted here and my very first G/T story I have ever written, I have to apologize anyway for the way this story is set out as I do not know enough about Tumblr to formulate them into the same style as other writers here (Canadian policy, I must apologize to keep my citizenship). I don’t know how to bold letters or put symbols up, so I will just write as I would normally.

Also, while this is the first introduction of my Tinysona until Pixie draws me, this does not mean that I will not change anything later when I grow more comfortable with my Tinysona.

TW: Pre-vore, Safe/Soft Vore

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I guess I need to introduce myself, should I?

You can call me Spartan and 2 months ago, I was a normal person. Just about to turn 22, I was thin and healthy and should have been happy with my life.Then I meddled with magic and ended up as small as the average finger. However, that spell also granted me strength, agility, and endurance many times that of my previous self, which I believe is a good enough trade off. Still, I needed food and safety, so I went looking for a place before getting taken in by Rose, another human who seemed to be completely fine with having a tiny living with her. I will later find out why later...

Rose sat at the table, a large hardcover book sitting in front of her. One hand held her chin while the other lightly wrapped around Spartan, who was using her fingers as hand holds so that he could see the pages. This was the third book of the series and both of them were concentrating, leaving the air still in the morning rays.

Standing on Rose’s shoulder with one of her fingers pressing against his collarbone, Spartan finished the page and set his head down on the finger. He had only known Rose for 2 months now, but it felt like a lifetime. He only had to live a life alone and shrunken for a few days before he found comfort in Rose. Of course, he had scared the daylights out of her when he first got her attention, but the bruise faded the next day and he was able to talk to her as an equal after that.

Now, they lived as a couple, or as much as you can when one of the people was the size of a finger and thus couldn’t work a job or around the house. It infuriated him, but Spartan tried to make it up by working on her computer and organizing everything there while Rose did her job. There were only sparse moments where she would read with him, so he treasured them and hoped that she didn’t mind that he couldn’t handle the books she owned.

Spartan spared a glance towards Rose, her green eyes steadily following each line on the page. If he was regular size, he highly doubted he would have landed anyone like her and even now still wondered why she let him stay. Sure, he did some tasks around the house, but nothing she couldn’t do faster and more effectively than him. Maybe there was something he wasn’t seeing.

Looking back down, his eyes focused on the finger that was closest to his head. Spartan was no stranger to the weird impulses that he got (autism never made anyone normal), but he took some time to ponder what the impulse was before acting on it.

Rose just finished the last paragraph of the page when she felt a soft pressure on her finger that held Spartan. Confused, she glanced down, using her freed hand (the one not holding Spartan) to brush aside her hair. Sure enough, Spartan was gently biting the side of her finger; in no way close to hurt, but much life how a dog holds something in his mouth. Rose was close enough to notice how Spartan’s eyes were unfocused, a sign that he was dissociated from the world around him.

“Are you biting me?” Rose asked skeptically. Snapping back into the real world, Spartan quickly let go.

“No! No, I wasn't biting you. I was just resting my mouth on …” His excuse died on his lips as he realized that he really did not have one other than an impulse, which sounded as hollow as the one he just said. Rose just stared at him for a moment longer, Spartan blushing and looking away, then slightly shrugged and turned the page.

***later that same day***

Spartan woke up the phone and checked the time.

7:37. He still has over half an hour until he expects Rose to leave work. Perfect.

Spartan quickly unlocked it and picked his playlist: a collection of sea shanties and folk songs. While Rose knew about the playlist, he never played it for her; different music tastes were perfectly fine in a relationship as long as they understood what the other wanted to listen to. Spartan usually listened to the playlist while working or in this case when he was finished and wanted to belt out songs.

As he picked out a song to start the playlist on, he mentally checked the list again, even though the physical copy was lying on the table in the kitchen, marked by himself. He did all the preparations for Rose’s taxes, organized the cabinet and the food within, and made sure Rose’s makeup was up to date. He had also given Chilly some exercise even though that wasn’t part of his list; though the cat understood Spartan’s place in the household, it still didn’t stop the kitten from chasing him around the house whenever she got the zoomies.

Spartan finally settled on a classic; “Home Boys Home,” by the Skullduggers. Pressing play, the music blared out of the bluetooth speakers; not loud enough to cause a noise complaint, but probably too loud for his ears health. Spartan sprang onto the coffee table and began to sing at the same level of the music, arms singing by his side as he paced around and followed the music.

As the song changed, Spartan would take a moment to recall the lyrics, then bounced to the beat. He didn’t know how long he sang for (he knew almost all of them by heart), but he had eventually grown tired enough to sit on the table, hands behind him and legs outstretched. He couldn’t see the clock, but suspected Rose to arrive home at any moment. When he heard the door open, he would turn off his music.

Spartan felt the warmth before the teeth met his chest. He flinched out of fear, letting out a manly squeak as they gripped his torso and lifted him off the table. Rose held Spartan sideways in her mouth much like a cat would a fish she caught and flopped down on the couch, turning off the music with a tap on the phone.

“Jeepers, Rose! I didn’t hear you come home!” Spartan said, his free left arm keeping Rose’s lips from suffocating him. He wasn’t necessarily stuck, he was much stronger than he appeared to be, but he still didn’t know how much his augmented endurance could endure should Rose bite down. “When did you arrive?”

Rose loosened her mouth, letting go of Spartan so that he tumbled off her chin and landed on her chest. “About an hour ago, before you began to sing your songs. I had a short day today, but decided to climb in through the window cause I didn’t want to deal with Gabe’s smoking in the hallway again.

“You really didn’t notice me gathering snacks and getting ready for movie night?” She asked. Spartan blushed, noticing now that Rose’s arms and hands were full of treats. That would explain why he ended up in her mouth, though the way she did grab him (sideways so that his head wasn’t in her mouth) meant she would have had to have craned her neck at an awkward angle in order to grab him.

“Sorry Rose, I guess I was quite invested in my music.” Spartan said, stepping a little closer to her collarbone, if only to get away from the potential awkwardness of being sandwiched in her breasts. “What movie did you pick?”

Rose grinned and pointed towards the TV where the DVD was sitting. Spartan bounded over and took a glance. “A Sizable Matter”, directed by Rogers Phill <fictional, don’t need to look it up>. It was advertised as ‘safe and fun for the whole family with stunning action and a romance of unusual proportions’. Ratings appeared good, but Spartan knew not to trust those. Before he shrunk, he had seen the critically acclaimed “5th Element” and thought it was terrible and sexist in a modern standard.

But, this was another one of those times where he could hang out with Rose, so he popped it out and slid it into the player. He hopped back as Rose began working on some gummies. Spartan chose one for himself and began munching; he wasn’t much into sweets on the regular but hey, he could treat himself if he wanted to.

The movie was actually really good, alternating perspectives between the race of Giants and humans. The main character was known as a Shifter, which meant they could alternate between the size of a giant or a human. It was their duty to solve the conflict between the two races with the help of several side characters.

Both Spartan and Rose were invested, Spartan resting on Rose’s throat, only slightly distracted by her swallowing. Eventually, the movie reached a close, the Shifter and their friends having almost finalized a treaty before a full fledged war happened. However, the main villain triggered a trap that sparked the war to happen in earnest. Just as the Shifter and their allies were about to head off again, the movie ended.

“Oh, are you kidding me?!” Spartan shouted, falling off of Rose in the process of reacting to the abrupt ending of the movie. Rose didn’t react to the same effect, she wasn't as invested in films like Spartan; yet she did utter a grunt of annoyance.

Rose watched as Spartan fell off the couch, thudding onto the ground and lying there splayed right beside some fallen Gummy bears. “I don’t know about you, I really enjoyed the movie.”

“Same here, but my goodness, there needs to be a sequel made immediately!” Spartan said, grabbing one of the gummies and hugging it to his chest. “The Shifter was the best character! They were so wholesome and adorable; the moments where the movie decides to slow down and let us watch them just cuddle their friends were perfect breaks in between all of the combat scenes!”

“I agree,” Rose said, reaching down to grab the gummies around Spartan, “they were the ideal hero. Though if I am to be honest, I grabbed the movie because of one scene shown in the trailer.”

“What scene was that?” Spartan extended his arms towards Rose with the Gummy in hand.

Rose smiled. From the floor, Spartan suddenly got worried as he saw his friend from a very different perspective. “This one.” She said.

Her fingers reached past the extended Gummy and grabbed Spartan’s chest, wrapping gently around him. Popping the other Gummy bears into her mouth, she raised Spartan over her head and gave him a good view of the inside of throat. She swallows, Spartan watching as they disappear down her gullet. He dropped the one he was holding, it landing on her tongue and then joining the others in her stomach.

Spartan knew the scene of which she was referring to. A giant monster had nearly eaten one of the Shifters' friends much like the predicament he was in currently. However, Spartan assumed that no hero was going to be saving him from this maw.

With no more gummies to eat in her mouth, Rose closed her mouth and locked eyes with Spartan. She smiled at him and Spartan returned it, though a bit confused as to what was happening. She lowered him down towards her mouth, still smiling. Spartan closed his eyes.

And Rose gave him a kiss, her lips almost sucking his face off before she pulled him back. “Oh, don’t worry yourself, I won’t be doing anything to you. After all, you are the only man who has ever cared about me.” She set him down on the coffee table and let her arm hang off the couch.

Spartan, still a little confused at the sequence of events that had just happened, sat up and watched Rose settle down and cover her eyes with her right hand. He crossed his legs and listened as Rose spoke.

“Before you scared the living daylights out of me, I hated my life. My job felt like it was draining me of energy and there was only Chilly at my home which felt more like a burden than a blessing. I had no one who I felt like cared about my interests, checked to make sure I ate, and accompanied me when I went out. I honestly felt like there was no reason for my life.

“Then you appeared, asking for my help. And once I got over my shock of your appearance, I realized that I could help you, I had a purpose again. Now whenever I get home, I can look forward to hanging out with you to read my favourite book or play chess or just talk and chill. It was like having a boyfriend that never demanded sex or asked for favors. It was like a dream come true.

“In more ways than one…” Rose mumbled.

“You are into vore?”

Judging by the silence of Rose, Spartan thought right, though her example kind of gave it away as well. Spartan stood up and hopped back onto the couch, crawling onto Rose’s stomach. Rose raised her arm to look at him.

“Rose, I have been so blessed to have been able to meet you. It boggles me to think that if I didn’t cast this spell I would not have met you or even be able to get to know you. I wouldn’t have been able to know that you enjoy mystery and steampunk stories, or that your favourite colour to wear is red because it reminds you of Autumn. I wouldn’t know that you were mistaken for a boy all the way up till grade 11 and you learned how to cook from your older brother.” Spartan said, walking up towards her head.

“You said your life got a purpose once I entered it. Well, I didn’t know what I was missing until I began to live with you. I found that I was capable of love and was worthy of affection. I was allowed to be weird and helpful and now that I have learned that I have helped you? I feel like I have actually done something for you now.” Spartan allowed himself to fall forward onto Rose’s cheek, giving his giant friend a hug to the best of his abilities.

Rose closed her eyes, feeling the closure of her tiny friend. She allowed her mind to wander and thought about a scenario where she could have met Spartan when he was the same size as her. Rose probably would not have spared him a second glance at a man just going through the motions. But because of a happy little accident, she had a person who shared feelings with her sitting on her face.

“Soooo… this vore thing.”

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing! Forget about it!” Rose said quickly, picking up Spartan and setting him down on the couch, sitting up as well.

“No, no, I am sorry if it is too awkward to talk about it!” Spartan said as he was set down. ‘It’s just… I also might be into it.”

Rose froze, mouth slightly opened. Spartan continued, “Of course, I have only used my imagination, so I have no clue if I would actually enjoy being swallowed, feeling the warmth of someone I love surrounding me.”

Spartan looked up at Rose, a flush creeping across his cheeks. “I never thought there would be a chance for me to make it a reality. Actually, that sounds quite selfish. I never thought I would be given the opportunity to experience it. Er, or that you would offer. Wait, you didn’t offer, I was just rambling, or am rambling, or just talking to myself-”

Rose poked him in the chest, pinning him down with her hand and her finger covering his mouth. It covered most of his face, leaving just one eye to lock in on hers as she leaned down towards him.

“You’re so lucky you are cute,” Rose said softly, “or else I would never be able to stand you.” Rose smiled and Spartan could see the warmth in it; despite the teasing, she really did care for him. Adjusting her grip, she picked up Spartan, holding him up towards her face.

She sighed, “I am actually going to do this, aren’t I?” she said more to herself, looking Spartan up and down. “Do you consent to being swallowed up by a hot and beautiful girl?”

Spartan looked around. “I don’t see one around, is she hiding?” He smiled at his joke as Rose scoffed. “I consent to be swallowed up by a hot, beautiful, intelligent, and amazing girl.” Spartan said slowly and clearly, locking eyes with Rose.

“Well, since I’m the only girl in the room, I hope that means me.” Rose said nonchalantly. Taking a steadying breath, she put Spartan into her mouth feet first. He fit without too much difficulty, squishing comfortably past her teeth as he was pushed all the way in.

Rose didn’t know what she expected to taste, but it certainly didn’t taste as exhilarating as the fics she had read led her to believe. Also, he was quite large now that he was in her mouth; normally she wouldn’t notice but because she didn’t dare chew, all she really did was move Spartan back and forth in her mouth.

Spartan was holding his breath just in case he realized that he couldn’t breath in there. Other than that, he absolutely enjoyed his time, rolling over and over again across the sticky surface, occasionally bumping into the teeth. He could feel that Rose was trying her best to get comfortable with him, but was struggling.

“Ugh, ‘ow ‘o ‘hey ‘ake it ‘ook so easy?” Rose said, opening her mouth to speak and give Spartan some fresh air. She let her tongue rest and felt her throat relax as well. Getting a spike of courage, she started to tilt her head back.

“That’s the same question I would expect some newly weds would ask.” Spartan said, his voice barely making it out of her mouth.

Rose snorted, then gagged as Spartan’s bare feet hit her tonsils. Still chuckling and coughing, Rose spat out Spartan into her hand and turned away to cough into her elbow. Spartan sat on Rose’s hand, curled up with his knees to his chest now that he was out of the warm environment.

“*cough* You really said that at the *cough* worst time, Spartan.” Rose said, starting to recover. She looked back at Spartan sitting in her hand, worrying that she had hurt him when she convulsed. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine, though I feel like I just got out of a nice warm hot tub.” Spartan said honestly. “I don’t know if you are comfortable with this yet, though. I might be too big for you to go all the way with, no offence.”

Spartan stood up on Rose’s hand, eyes towards the ground to hide his disappointment. “I did enjoy being in your mouth, though. It was exactly as I imagined it to be; warm, comfortable, and the closest I’ve been to you bef-”

Rose, in a surge of frustration, shoved Spartan not too gently up and then down, effectively overriding her natural gag reflex through sheer speed. She swallowed hard, feeling Spartan slide down with ease before catching her breath. Then she realized what she had just done.

“Oh heck… I really did just eat him,” Rose said softly, looking down at her stomach. She jumped up, rushing over towards the bathroom. Just as she opened the door, she heard Spartan.

“Rose? You sound panicked, is everything okay?” His voice was muffled, but clear enough to understand. The voice was definitely coming from her stomach and Rose could feel Spartan shifting around to get comfortable. Rose sighed, leaning up against the sink and looking at herself in the mirror.

“Yeah, I am feeling better now that I can hear you.” Rose paused. “How do you feel?”

Silence. “Like I am safe and secure. I feel like I am getting a full body hug. Though, the Gummy bears in here kind of ruin the moment…” Spartan said.

Rose laughed. “Sorry about that. Next time, I will make sure your cuddle buddies aren’t as sticky and sweet. I wasn’t exactly planning for this when I got home from work today.”

Rose closed her eyes, feeling Spartan’s movements and a surge of parental protection. She could feel his limbs against her abs and could picture him in her stomach. She had been looking at the entire idea of vore the wrong way; She felt more protector than predator and it was amazing.

“As much as I would love to stay like this forever, I feel like we should think about how I will be getting out; I don’t know how safe this is. I think it’s because of my heightened endurance from the spell that has allowed me to breath so far, but I don’t want to press it.”

“Well, I think there is only one way for you to exit,” Rose stated, leaning back over the sink.

“Technically, there are two…”

“Shut up.” Rose said, then tried to trigger her gag reflex. After a while of trying, Rose felt Spartan shift around and reach up and suddenly it became a lot easier. She deposited Spartan into the sink and turned on the faucet for him.

“That was an amazing experience, Rose,” Spartan said, sticking his head in the water. “I just hope that you enjoyed it as well.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Just got out of me and already jumped to the initiative in taking care of me.” She reached into the drawer beside the sink and pulled out a washcloth. She set it down next to Spartan, then stepped out of the room to give him some privacy.

“Well, did you? You asked me how I felt when I was in you.” Spartan said. There was a moment of silence as Rose thought about her answer. “I just realized how much of an innuendo this can be seen as. Should we pick a name for this experience? Something tamer?” Spartan added.

“Maybe later,” Rose sighed, putting her back on the wall and letting herself slide down until she was sitting on the floor. She rubbed her eyes, the memory of the experience still quite vivid in her mind. “To answer your question, I don’t really know yet.

“I went into it with an expectation, as most people do, and had those expectations quite subverted by reality. It was scary and surprising, but after I committed to it, it felt… comforting. I liked the feeling you gave me; it was as if I had hidden you away from the entirety of the world, all of the harm and hardships couldn’t reach you anymore.”

Rose rested her hands on her stomach, remembering Spartan cradled within her. “I already miss it, even though it hasn’t even been 2 minutes since you were there.”

“Well, you can always look forward to the next time those cravings hit.” Spartan said, strolling past the door wrapped up in the washcloth and viciously rubbing his hair. “Though, maybe without having eaten a ton of gummies beforehand. I think I have turned permanently sticky!”

Rose laughed, then scooped him up. “Come on, sticky boy, it’s almost 12. I need to get to sleep so that I can make it to work tomorrow.” She put him in his alcove, then disappeared into her room with Chilly.

Spartan got settled down and thought back on his day. He smiled. It was a pretty good day.

--------------

I think I need a break from vore, I don't know how I will top this for a while. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed my… interesting writing style compared to the other writers on this website.

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (pt 14)

A/N: Sorry for the delay! I’m back at college but the next, and final 2 (!!) parts will be up within two weeks! AH! Thank you all so much for reading xoxo

Word count: 6.7k

Tw: angst, cursing, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

“When I got home from Florida the house was even emptier. During the four days I was stuck in a hotel room drowning in my own tears and the minibar, you packed up the rest of your stuff and left. At that point, most of your things were in your apartment, all you had to get was some clothes and books. I wonder how long it took you to pack it all up, pack your life with me up. Did you stare at the walls and cry? The same way I did when I packed today? Did you take your time, go through each room and remember everything we did? Did you take it all in? Admire what we could have been? Were you even a little bit sad about leaving the life we tried and failed to build together? Or were you in and out in ten minutes? Did you shove your clothes in a suitcase, the same way you did in Florida, and walk out like it was nothing? Was it easy? Was it a relief? Were you happy to leave the key, lock the door, and never have to come back? 

I know I was devastated when I found it. 

It was in the dish we used to put our car keys and ID tags in. It was right by the front door. It was the first thing I saw when I got home. I walked in and dropped my own keys in the dish, and to my surprise I heard them clink as they hit into yours. At first I thought that meant you were there, waiting for me. I thought you were going to emerge from the kitchen with a wide smile and I’d run into your arms. So, I called out for you, yelling like an idiot in the front doorway, but I was only met with silence. The silence that signified the absence of you. The silence I had grown comfortable floating in. 

I stared at the key for a while, trying and failing to remember when I gave it to you. I feel like I gave you it pretty early on; you definitely had one before Jacksonville. But I cannot for the life of me pinpoint what day I handed you the key, with the hope that you’d always have it. The hope that my home would always be your home because we only felt at home when we were together. 

That damn key, sitting in a dish from Target was your way of saying that your home was no longer my home. It was your way of saying that you were done too, and the storm I had tried to control became a full on hurricane. I was sobbing, sitting against the front door and holding onto your key like it was the life raft that could stop me from drowning.

I’d give you this key as your momento, but I had to give it back to my landlord this morning. And now I have a new set of keys waiting for me in Seattle. Keys to a home that isn’t yours; only mine.”

Spencer sat on the couch now, appreciating the softness of it in comparison to the harshness of the dishwasher and kitchen floor. The boarding pass was burning into the kitchen table, his hands sweaty and trembling as he read and remembered. 

He remembered every moment after the breakup more vividly than he normally did. Usually his memories were like film strips that he had stored on a shelf in the corner of his mind. He could pick the one he needed out, kick his feet up in the theater of his mind and watch them back, popcorn in hand. But these memories were different. Memories of you were burned in. His brain was branded with them. It wasn’t a movie he could choose to play or not, it was constant, like a sad song stuck in his head, driving him insane. He never stopped thinking about it, replaying every word, regretting every moment, every yell, every item shoved in a suitcase, every raindrop, every tear stained sleeve. 

He hated himself for walking out. He hated that he could leave so easily, after his whole life was plagued with people leaving him too easily. He never wanted to be that man, especially to you. He surprised himself when he grabbed the suitcase, held you tightly one last time, and got in the elevator. He was ashamed to admit that the second those steel doors closed and he could no longer see you crying in the hallway, the first thing he felt was relief. He was finally alone again.

But then he realized he was actually alone. All alone. You weren’t there waiting for him to come back anymore. You were gone, and he was alone. 

The whole flight home didn’t feel real, it was like an out of body experience. He felt like a shell of a person, a hollow body merely going through the motions as the events of the last three years played in his mind. How did those people who danced in the kitchen in the daybreak’s sunlight end up here? One of you on a plane to escape the other, who was no doubt drowning themselves in mini tequila bottles and crappy room service food. How did the people who swore  to love each other through everything, end up as two lonely hearts wondering why promises and hearts are so damn easy to break.

The numbness first started up there in the sky, with nothing but gray stratus clouds to keep him company. The realization hit him up there. He was wrong. He couldn’t do this alone. He couldn’t be alone. He needed you; you needed each other. He thought about asking the pilot to turn around, take him back to that island so he could save this. He could pull the blue velvet ring box out of his bag and fix everything with just a few words. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead, he ate airplane peanuts and tried not to cry. When they landed and took the subway out as far as it would go and walked to your house. He hadn’t even intended to go there, it just happened. He started walking and his feet brought him there without his brain having any say. He stared at the front of the house, remembering the countless times he carried you over the threshold because you couldn’t stand. He remembered how he’d decorate for Halloween in September and how the day after Thanksgiving, you’d beg him to take out the boxes of Christmas decorations. He remembered how you insisted on listening to ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas,’ as he strung lights around the front porch and you made him hot chocolate.  

The house he saw now was bare. There were no Christmas lights strung on the front step, like they usually would have been by December fourth. There were no statues of snowmen and no wreath. It was just a house that was so clearly devoid of any and all love. 

He hadn’t thought about how the weather would be different there than in Florida, but the cold was comforting in a way. He didn’t bother changing. He stood in front of the house he no longer had any right to call his own, in flip flops, shorts, and a dress shirt. He allowed the cold air to bite at his skin until he was as numb on the outside as he was on the inside. 

He unlocked the door with his key, and took his time moving around. He started at the front door, where he saw the picture of the two of you at Rossi’s and his hatred for the four walls he used to call home came back. You hadn’t changed much of the place. The ultrasound was still pinned to the fridge with a smiley face magnet. Old flowers were hanging from the wall, case files littered the table. It looked like home, it just didn’t feel like home. 

He went through everything slowly, over several days. He started in the living room, where he saw the cave of blankets you’d no doubt been living in and the crack in his heart became a canyon. He should’ve been laying in those blankets with you, staring at the TV and listening to you drone on and on about how much you love Nick Miller. He hated that he wasn’t there with you. He climbed inside, in an attempt to make up for all the times he missed, and allowed the smell of you to envelope him. He dreamt of you. 

When he woke up the next morning, he smelled you again and instinctively reached out to pull you close to him, but when he did his hands were met by a mass of blankets rather than your warm skin. He sighed, and went into the kitchen. There he grabbed his favorite mug from the cabinet, filled it up, and sat at the table as he read the newspaper. He imagined you next to him, bringing him the sugar bowl and laughing at the name of the obscure town on the top of the page. 

“Where is Biwabik?” You’d say, pushing the sugar bowl over to him as he took two more spoonfuls.

“Minnesota,” he’d say plainly, reading about their local fireman’s bazaar.

“Oh, yeah, Biwabik, Minnesota,” You’d laugh and kiss his forehead before going upstairs to take a shower. 

He finished his coffee while staring at the gray sky. He hoped it would snow, so when you came home you’d be greeted by your favorite weather. 

He took a blisteringly hot shower and opened up your body wash just so he could memorize what it smelled like, just in case he never got to smell it again. The hot water defrosted his inner and outer numbness, allowing all his feelings to come to the top. The water mixed with his tears, the same way yours had with the rain. He was waiting for the day dream to end, all he wanted was to hear the sound of you opening the shower curtain, poking your head and asking, “Can I join?”

But that soothing sound never came. 

He stood under the hot water until it went cold, and moved into the bedroom. He stared at the bed he used to curl up next to you in. He found it hard to even look at, considering the last time he slept in it he woke up to the sheets being stained in blood. He moved to sit on the bed, trying not to disturb the specific way you made it. He looked at the sticky note you had placed next to you. It was from him, saying ‘I went in a little early today, didn’t want to disturb you on your day off. I can’t wait to see you at 6. I love you, Love.’ He smiled, knowing you placed it there so it was the first thing that you saw when you woke up each morning. But then he remembered that you put it there because each morning you weren’t waking up next to him. This note was as close as you could get. 

He looked through your drawers, smiling at the CalTech hoodie folded neatly on top. He decided to leave that one in the drawer. That way you’d always have a physical piece of him, even though you’d always have his heart. 

He moved from there into the nursery. It was empty. A regular person would just think it was a green spare bedroom, but he knew. He knew which wall the crib was going to go on. He knew that the hook from the ceiling was meant for the mobile Penelope had made. He knew what should’ve been there. 

Spencer spent three entire days in the house. He ate there, slept there, cried there. He felt all the feelings he’d been running from, and regretted that he hadn’t stayed with you to feel them together. 

Rossi was right, the only way through this was to lean on each other. Spencer hadn’t. He leaned as far away from you as he could. He realized just how lonely that two-bedroom could feel, and he understood how you’d nearly gone crazy in there. He was there for three entire days, and felt like he aged fifty years. Somehow, he felt closer to you than he had in months, even though you were 1,074.6 miles away in a hotel room he should’ve been in too. 

He talked to the moon each night, begging it to answer him. He didn’t know what to do. Should he let you go? Isn’t that the saying? ‘If you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back it was never yours in the first place’? Would you ever come back? Were you ever his? Was he ever really yours? Should he honor your wishes to break up? Should he pack this life up and leave without any closure? Without a proper goodbye? Or should he wait for you there? Kiss you the second you walked in the door and tell you that he was a fool, an idiot, that no one ever meant as much to him as you do? Should he fight for you?

But then he heard your voice ringing in his ears, “Don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Don’t bother.”

And he didn’t. He packed his few things up, took one long, final look around with tears in his eyes, dropped his spare key in a dish, and walked home alone. 

“You forgot a few things, of course. You forgot the watch. You forgot the CalTech hoodie. You forgot your favorite mug. You can tell it’s well used and well loved because there’s a permanent coffee stain in the porcelain around the top where you always let it sit because it was too hot to drink. 

I gave you the mug my first day back to work. I couldn’t stand looking at it every time I opened the cupboard. I decided to be nice, give it to you as a peace offering before we started onto the uphill battle that was working together. I’d also like to consider this whole box a peace offering. I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you. It’s the complete opposite, Spence. I love you too much to just watch you and not be with you. 

Three weeks after Florida, Hotch called me in for another mandatory evaluation. And I passed. I passed because I went to the counselor. I talked to Dr. Stevens for an hour and a half every Thursday and Sunday morning. I’d go in and he’d give me a glass of water and we’d chat. Sometimes it was about work, turns out I have a lot of pent up grief from all the things I’ve seen, but usually it was about us. I think I spent at least an hour and fifteen minutes each week talking about us. I told Dr. Stevens about every memory I’ve included in these letters. I told him about all of it, from the day I realized I love you, to the day I realized that I couldn’t anymore.

It was hard, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I had to pour my heart out to someone who didn’t know me. I had to pour my heart out to someone who wasn’t you. I had to grieve the loss of a child and of a lover at once. But to my surprise, he helped. In a weird way, he seemed to understand. I know that’s just because it’s his job, he is literally trained to understand and help people with their grief, but I feel like he knew me. Not nearly the way that you did, but he knew me.”

A dark green monster formed in Spencer’s chest. The thought of another man learning about you in the way he had was enough to make his mouth taste sour. You let this other man into the most intimate parts of your brain, places only Spencer had ever gotten to go before. Did Dr. Stevens know you better than him? He couldn’t help the envy blooming in his chest at the idea. He wanted to be the person you poured yourself out to, and he had been. He wanted that back. 

“I’m doing better. That’s how I passed the eval. A male grief counselor helped me through my grief, which you said wouldn’t work. And you were wrong. I must admit it gives me a little bit of joy to tell you that. For once, Spencer Reid, you were wrong. And maybe if you had just agreed to go with me, you would feel better too. If you had just agreed, we never would have had that fight. You never would have packed a suitcase and gone down an elevator alone. 

I was right. For once in our lives, I was right, and you were wrong. I just wish it was about something more trivial than this. 

My first day back was a Wednesday, about a month and a half ago. I was terrified. I hadn’t seen you since Florida and everyone knew what had happened. Hell, my first day back in DC after the breakup, Derek sat me down with a bottle of tequila and let me cry until the couch was underwater. I just knew it would be awkward and painful and sad. I knew that our friends would stare at us and ‘pick sides’ as if we had suddenly become enemies. I was scared to sit at my desk across from yours and have to look at you. I was scared of the feelings. I was scared of all the progress I’d made in counseling going down the toilet the second I laid eyes on you, and I was right.

I showed up that morning in my best pencil skirt and blouse and pretty red heels. I did my hair. I put on makeup. I tried to make myself look good, so then I’d feel good. I had to fake it, so you wouldn’t be able to see the real me. I caked on makeup to cover up the bags under my eyes from crying over you for weeks. I brushed my hair and strands kept falling out because my hormones changed and I couldn’t eat most nights. I wore black tights so you wouldn’t be able to see the bruises on my knees from the nights I drank and cried and ended up with my head in a toilet, knees bumping the cold tile floor; desperately wishing it was morning sickness, so you’d be close behind me, rubbing my back and taking care of me.

When I exited the elevator, everyone greeted me as usual. I got hugs from the whole team, but you didn’t budge from your desk. You were staring at a book that I know you weren’t reading because you weren’t turning the pages. You were listening to me say hi to Rossi, tell him I missed him, and I could swear eyes flicked towards me a few times when I hugged Derek. That’s probably just wishful thinking, because I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to see me, see that I was “fine.” I wanted you to look at me because I couldn’t stop looking at you. You, who I fell in love with over these same BAU desk partitions. I saw the ghosts of me and you three years ago, young and happy, your hair curling over your eyebrow, your pursed lips, the way your tie was just slightly crooked. I saw the you I wanted. I saw the man I stared at with lovesick stars in my eyes as we filled out Hotch’s paperwork. I saw me and you and Jacksonville and Meridian Hill Park and everything that we could have been.

And I cracked.

You didn’t even have to speak to me, Spencer, and I cracked.

I dropped my bag on the floor next to my desk and ran to the bathroom to cry off the makeup. Seeing you felt like I was drowning but on fire at the same time. I swear time stopped for a moment when I exited Garcia’s hug and saw you across the BAU. And suddenly I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t remember a single coping mechanism Dr. Stevens showed me. I just stood there. Frozen. Trepidation. Regret.

I stared at myself in the shitty flourescent lights of the bathroom, tears washing away my concealer and exposing the dark bags that matched my blood shot eyes. I stared at the way my cheek bones hollowed out since I’d lost over twenty pounds. I stared at a person I didn’t recognize, and that’s when I realized that I wasn’t the same person you fell in love with over the BAU partition either. I wasn’t the chirpy girl helping you jump start your car anymore. I wasn’t the same girl who bought your mother’s favorite book just to try and impress her. I wasn’t me. You weren’t you. So how could we possibly be us?”

Hotch had called Spencer into his office that morning to tell him you would be coming back.

“Is this going to be an issue?” He said, Spencer fiddling with his thumbs in an attempt to hide from Hotch’s stare.

“No, no problem.”

Hotch knew he was lying, and Spencer knew Hotch knew he was lying, but he was nice enough to let it go.

He sat at his desk and opened that book on epicureanism with the full intention of reading it. He was going to immerse himself in that in an attempt to avoid you. But when he opened the cover, the letters all jumbled together like alphabet soup on the page. Then he heard the familiar clack of your heels, and he looked up, just for a second. He noticed how beautiful you looked, but he recognized the sadness in your body. It was the same sadness he saw in his own every morning as he struggled to find the will to move from his position in bed.

He hadn’t gone to a counselor and learned coping mechanisms, the only one he knew was avoidance, but how could he avoid you? How could he avoid the way your smell lingered even after you dropped your bag and bolted to the bathroom? How could he avoid staring at the way Derek wrapped his arms around you, wishing they were his instead? How could he avoid the persistent, twisted, aching heart in his chest? How had he managed to avoid you for so long? He saw you up close, in the place you fell in love, for just a moment and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to kiss you. 

“When I got back from the bathroom, I knew you could see me. You could see the real me, the me you didn’t want. 

I decided I wasn’t going to make this as painful for everyone else as it was for us, so I grabbed my bag, took the mug out and handed it to you. 

“I, uh, I found this in the cabinet,” I said weakly, and you grabbed it, our fingertips just brushing each other, an action that usually sent lightning down my spine, “I know it’s your favorite one so I wanted you to have it back.”

“T-Thanks,” You cleared your throat, “I’ll go fill it up with coffee. Want one?”

I smiled through the pain, proud of myself that our first interaction went well, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You brought me a coffee, made correctly. Cream and one sugar. I took it from you with a fake smile, trying to force back the pain in my chest.

Derek watched that entire painfully awkward interaction, and he pulled me into his office after.

”You good? That was a lot back there.”

 I whined, “No. I’m not good. I’m actually very bad.”

He sighed and pulled me in for a hug, “You’ve got this. You and Reid can handle it. We all know you still love each other.”

I started to cry into his chest, just softly. I didn’t need anyone else seeing how broken I was.

“Why did I think I could do it? I should just transfer.”

That was the first time I considered it out loud. The thought had been rattling around in my head for a bit, but saying it made it real.

Derek argued, “No, you don’t need to transfer.”

“Yes I do! Hotch said as much three years ago.”

“Just focus on getting through today, okay?”

I nodded, taking three deep breaths with Derek’s arms on my shoulders, keeping me grounded.

That’s when Penelope opened the door, poking her head in and telling us it was wheels up in twenty.

“You can stay here with me,” She said, coming over to hug me.

I shook my head, wiping away my last few stray tears, “No, I’ve been gone for far too long. I’m coming back.”

She smiled, “I’m so glad you are.”

We all went on the jet, Hotch insisting he’d brief us in the air. I sat at a window seat, next to Derek and across from Hotch and Rossi. You, Alex, and JJ sat opposite from us. I could feel the tension, the passing glances, the sides being chosen, the hushed voice you spoke in so I wouldn’t hear you or even look at you. I felt like an outcast in a plane full of my favorite people.

The case was in Las Vegas. Of course my first case back had to be in your hometown. Of course it had to be in a place that felt like a second home for me. 

“Morgan, Y/N, take the latest crime scene,” Hotch ordered me, and I let out a nervous sigh that was much louder than I intended. You all turned to look at me, expressions varied from pity from Hotch to annoyance from you.

Hotch looked me up and down, “Actually, Y/N come with me to the precinct.”

“I-uh-okay?” I said, feeling embarrassed and small and useless and worthless. Because while you got to look at the bodies, I got to look at sweaty Vegas cops.

He didn’t think I could handle it. No one did. None of you thought I could, and guess what? You were right.

I fell apart. That entire case I was a wreck. My brain didn’t work right. I couldn’t profile, crime scene photos made me want to cry, I could barely even look at the family members.

I was actually useless there. I was useless because of you. Because the way the files smelled reminded me of you and I had to watch you talk to Alex and JJ and not talk to me and I had to watch the way you scrunch up your nose and the way your hair falls in your eyes and you brush it away. Because you had all the answers and I had none. Because you were always everything, and I merely accompanied you. Because you’re more of an asset to them than five of me would be.

And that’s why I left.

I left because after that case you stayed back for a day and saw your mom, and usually I would’ve been there with you. I left because that flight home was empty without you, even though you weren’t even looking at me. I left because I don’t know what’d I’d do if you ever got hurt and I wasn't the one sleeping in your hospital bed with you. I left because I cannot live in a life that I shared with you anymore. I left because I love you too much to stay.

When we landed in Quantico that day, I went to the bathroom again to cry. Derek followed me but I shoved him off. I locked myself in a stall and screamed one of those silent screams when you’re too angry and frustrated to even make a noise.

I stared at myself in the mirror again. I wasn’t okay. I hadn’t accepted that part yet. I’d accepted everything else except for the fact that I was broken, and no amount of hugs from Penelope or stolen glances at you were going to fix it. The only thing that would fix it was going as far away from you as possible.

I got my transfer papers from Hotch the next day.

He argued, told me to rethink, told me to take more days off, told me that it would all get better with time.

“Reid’s reasonable,” He said, “And if it’s time–”

“No, I know that I want to transfer. You said so yourself. If it got too hard, I’d have to go. Well it’s too hard, Aaron. I have to go.”

He sighed, “What unit? I can get you a place almost anywhere. Sex crimes? Back in organized?”

I twiddled my thumbs and sighed, “LA?”

“LA?,” He shook his head and gestured for me to sit down, “Sit Y/N. We need to talk about this.”

He went on a very convincing lecture then. He almost got me to stay, but the only person who actually could’ve gotten me to stay was you. At the end he reluctantly gave me the paperwork and told me, “I hope you don’t regret this.”

I really, really, hope I don’t.

The papers sat in a file folder on my desk for three weeks, taunting me. I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to fill them out yet. I’m not sure what I was waiting for. I think maybe I was waiting for you, or maybe I was waiting for it to get better. Waiting for it to not hurt every time I looked over at you or heard you laugh with JJ. But after three weeks, I realized that was never going to happen. It was never going to stop hurting me or stop hurting you, so I filled out the papers last  Thursday, and five days later Hotch told me about Seattle. I immediately accepted, and packed up my desk.

Except for this, your item for this letter, my name plate. “Y/N Y/L/N Supervisory Special Agent- Behavioral Analysis Unit” doesn’t really belong on my new desk. The nameplate reminds me of pining over you across the round table and Emily poking my shoulder and telling me ‘just go for it!’ It reminds me of sneaking into your hotel room on cases and double-cheek kisses from Rossi. It reminds me of filling out paperwork to declare our relationship, and filling out paperwork to get away from it. It reminds me of us, all of us. It reminds me of my old life. The life I’d like to leave behind, so it’s yours.”

Spencer’s fingers traced the engraved letters of your name, one by one, his mind far away recalling that case and the few days when he stayed back in Las Vegas. He saw his mom for the first time since everything happened. 

The first day he visited and the nurses told him it was a good day, one of her best days in recent history. He smiled sadly, knowing that what he was about to share would make it one of the worst.

He walked into her room, every muscle tensed. Diana smiled, wrapped her arms around him warmly and the first thing she did was ask for you. 

“When I heard I was getting a visit I was thrilled! Where’s Y/N? Gosh she must be big by now.”

He avoided her gaze, as if he was a child avoiding being scolded, “Y/N isn’t coming.”

“She’s not?” She asked, and Spencer immediately regretted not telling her about the last two months sooner. He kept putting it off, not quite knowing how to break his mother's heart while dealing with his own. 

“No, mom, and I think you should sit down.”

“Sit? Spencer, sweetheart, what is it? You’re worrying me.”

He sat down, knee bouncing and hands fidgeting just to release some of the pent up energy inside of him, “Y/N and I, we–we broke up.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, just as his always did, lips pressed into a line, “Spencer Reid you left a pregnant girl? I raised you better than that!”

He bit his lips, not knowing exactly how to say the words that came next, “Mom, Y/N, she–“ He stopped himself, correcting himself for once, “We lost her.”

Diana’s mouth fell open slightly, “Lost the baby?”

Spencer couldn’t do much but nod, the tears he had been forcing back for weeks flooding his eyes and running over like a waterfall. His eyes were shut, the shame of it all overcoming him. 

The next thing he felt were her arms around him, pulling him close as he fell apart. 

“Th-there was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do,” he choked out between ragged breaths, “I-I should’ve been able to do something! I should’ve been able to protect her and I didn’t and now—”

She cut him off, her cold hands rubbing the tears off his hot cheeks, “Sometimes things just, well they just happen.”

He nodded, “And then Y/N…”

“Spencer, how’d you let her go?”

He shrugged, wiping at his nose, “I-I don’t know. I can’t believe I left. I just—“

His voice was getting rushed and his breath was getting quick, like he was drowning in tears and regret. 

“Shh, stop,” She said, hands running through his hair the same way they did when he was a boy, “You’ve already lost so much, don’t lose her too.”

When he left his mother that day he took her words to heart. He wasn’t going to lose you too, he was going to make up for those two months. When he arrived back in DC, his first stop was your house. He knocked on the door, go-bag on his shoulder. There was no answer. He knocked again. And again. And again. 

You never opened up.

He was expecting you to open the door and smile at him and invite him inside, but the door stayed locked, his key to it being inside. That night he stayed on the step until one in the morning, when he begrudgingly got in his car and drove away. The next night he came back, and the next, and the next, and the next, the door always staying shut. He left each time feeling more and more defeated.

He knew you were in there, he could see your shadow appear and disappear, and every night he’d stay until the January air became too much to bear. He swore he could hear you slide down the door a few times, sitting as close back to back with him as possible. 

He went every night until one day, when he was laying against the cold door, half asleep and frostbitten, Derek appeared in front of him.

“Reid,” He whispered, voice sympathetic but also stern, “You gotta stop doing this. This isn’t healthy.”

Spencer stood up, his breath visible as he spoke, “I know.”

“She isn’t going to let you in.”

“I know,” he mumbled, fixing his wool coat and starting to walk away. Derek watched him as he made his way across the snow-covered yard. He turned around and called to him.

“Morgan! Just, just tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I miss her.”

Derek nodded, opening your front door and entering the place Spencer wished he could be: with you. 

“I don’t know what happened to you in Vegas, but when you came back, you were different. At work you still avoided me like I was a rat with the plague, but then every night I’d hear you knocking on my door, begging to be let in.

“I love you,” you’d say, “I take it all back.” As if you ever could. 

I’d sit on the stairs that face the door, head in my hands, trying to find the willpower to keep the door closed. Then I’d see your key, sitting in the dish you put it in, and it was easy to keep the door closed, because you’re the one who shut it.

You came almost nightly for a week. I’d always look through the peephole. I’d sit with my back to the door the same way yours was. I’d wrap myself in a blanket and sleep there, as close to you as I could, but I kept the door shut.

I know it’s terrible, but part of me wishes that we never met. That instead I stayed making espresso shots in Connecticut and never went back to this life. In this wish, Dave never called me. I never saw your dopey smile and immediately fell in love. Maybe then you wouldn’t be all I think about. Maybe then you’d get out of my head, because as long as I know you, I’ll never love anyone else.

But that way of thinking is behind me. Now, I see you as a lesson I had to be taught. I learned how to love, and how I deserve to be loved. I learned how to smile and laugh and really care about someone other than myself. I learned how to grieve and appreciate my life and I learned what real, true love is. I learned about soulmates and science and how to smile so hard my cheeks hurt. I learned how to let go.

But I learned hard lessons too; like that the Beatles were wrong, love isn’t all you need. You need passion and commitment and happiness and compromise. I learned that sadness can be a greater emotion than love. I learned that heartbreak is real and sometimes the people you love more than anything in this world can hurt you. And I’m grateful to you, for every lesson you ever taught me. I’m grateful for every single second I spent with you. I’m grateful for you, Spencer Reid.

Thank you.”

“Thank you”

He could practically hear you whisper it to him.

He found it funny that you were thanking him for breaking your heart, time and time again, because all he felt was regret.

He glanced up at the clock, realizing that he needed to leave now if he had any chance of making the flight to you. He haphazardly collected the letters and all the objects you gave him from where he placed them around the apartment. He grabbed a duffle bag, stuffing it with clothes and whatever things he thought he may need. He grabbed the ring box, debating for a moment whether or not it was too much, too soon. He decided to throw caution to the wind.

What is it Morgan says? Go big or go home?

Spencer was going big, and you were coming home. 

He kicked the front door closed as he left, box overflowing with papers and the ring box burning in his back pocket.

Letter fifteen would have to wait.

Part 15!

 —————————

Taglist

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[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go... 

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

         “Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

        “Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

        “So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

         “Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

         “And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister—Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

         “Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

        “I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

        “Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

        Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

        She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

        “Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

         Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

        Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

        Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

        She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

        Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

        Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

        “Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

        “Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

        Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

        “If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

        “But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

        “You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

        Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

        Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

        For better or worse, they were sisters.

        Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

        “Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

         “Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

        “John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

        She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

        This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

        Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

        “Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

        “Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

        “Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

        Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

        Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

        Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

        Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

        “Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

        “So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

        “Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

        Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

        “Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

        “How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

        “Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

        “Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn​

[ttttaehyungie]

sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 3

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sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

genre | angst, exes au

summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

word count | 3.9k

chapter rating | PG-13

warnings | none

a/n | here we gooooo!! part threeeee c: can’t believe I actually churned this out when my life has been in c h a o s also this is barely edited im so sorry

Percussive knocks rap crisply on your apartment door. You fling the door open and your heart leaps in your chest at the sight. There he stands.

Up and rising dance instructor. Groove personified. Ball of literal sunshine.

And in your experience, the best big brother on the planet.

The overnight bag hits the wooden floor with a hollow thud as he abandons it in favor of yanking you into a tight embrace. A grin widens on your face that you're certain mirrors his.

"Hoseok," you breathe into his chest, your face smushed against his oversized yellow shirt. The enveloping warmth of his arms around you has you melting. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you more. Let me take a good look at you." He puts you at arm's length. "You've grown so much in the time we've been apart."

"Hoseok." You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face doesn’t falter. "It's only been a month."

"Hey. A lot happens in a month."

The truth of his words, unknown to him but oddly relevant nonetheless, has you biting your lip before you can stop yourself.

"Here, I'll help you with your bag," you say, hauling the duffel bag off the ground, giving you something else to look at. You can only hope that Hoseok hasn't already picked up on the nervous blips. "It's been a long ride for you."

"And they say chivalry is dead," he jokes, but follows after you without further comment. Guess you're in the clear.

But you steer the conversation to a topic that you know will engross him for sure. Y’know. Just in case.

"So, what classes did you sign up for this weekend?" you ask over your shoulder, managing a tone so casual that you celebrate internally.

"You'll never believe it.” The words come tumbling out, voice shimmering with excitement. Even without turning to look at him, you can picture the way his eyes are surely set alight. You know this tone, and it has you hooked now, the anticipation of amazing news builds in your chest. "Y'know that choreographer, Jo? The one that's completely booked out every single weekend?”

You nod quickly, turning to look at him with wide eyes.

“Well.” The smugness in his tone is thick. “Guess who got a slot for her class!”

Genuine surprise elicits a gasp from you. "No way! How'd you even manage that?"

"Hard work and sheer determination.” A fist pump punctuates his words. “I camped on the booking site on multiple devices with multiple accounts so I could snag a spot the moment the slots open."

You snort at his antics.

"I can't believe I'm going to be learning from such a giant in the industry," he says, unable to resist breaking into a little dance as he pushes the door to the study cum guest room open. "It feels like I've won the freaking lottery."

The effervescent excitement is uncontainable. Even the task of unpacking can’t interrupt his rave about the choreographer who shot to cyber fame with her fluid movements. You let him let it loose, leaning against the doorway, watching him.

"Ok," he says, putting his hands on his hips. "That's enough about me. How did your lecture go today?"

The breath catches in your lungs, the shock of seeing Namjoon coming back in a second wave.

“It was alright,” you attempt to mask it in the same casual tone you mustered up just minutes ago. But there’s an unmistakable tightness to your words.

Hoseok’s eyes bore into you. Damn. There’s no escaping now.

“____?” he probes, his tone laced with the same concern lying in his gaze.

"Hey, um," you rub at your arms, "we have an unexpected dinner guest tonight. Is that ok with you?"

“____,” he repeats, firmer this time. “What happened?"

You exhale heavily, grounding yourself with the feel of the carpet underneath your scrunched up toes as you tell him, "I bumped into Joon today. At the lecture."

Chancing a glance at him to gauge his reaction, you watch as he schools his features into an expressionless mask. But his eyes widen by just a fraction, betraying his surprise as he processes the information.

After a second, he nods stiffly, and turns back to the duffel bag on the bed to take the last of his belongings out. His tone is measured and even as he asks, "How was it?"

The plush mattress provides you marginal comfort as you plop onto the bed next to him.

"Honestly? Like a punch in the gut." The laugh that escapes you is bitter. "When will I stop being winded just by the mere sight of him, Hobi?"

The smile he shoots you is empathetic but sad. He reaches over to muss up your hair, the action tender and fond. "It'll happen in time," he promises.

The restrictive tightness in your chest is uncomfortable and you attempt to expel it in a sigh as you lean backwards, propped up by the elbow. Staring at your toes as if they’re a source of endless fascination gives you an excuse not to look your brother in the eye.

“But would you care to explain what convinced you to invite him to dinner?”

“Hobi… I just…” Your back hits the mattress as you flop back entirely, groaning up at the ceiling. No choice but to spit the truth out now. “His eyes, they just do things to me.”

Craning your neck to look at him, regret hits you when you catch sight of his frown. You drop your head back down. The ceiling's a much better option to look at.

“You have a soft spot for him.” It’s less a question and more a statement. A statement that you assent to with a strangled noise.

“Look. I get it. It’s just, I worry for you. The state you were in when you came back that night…” This time, he lets out a sigh of his own. The bed shifts, accommodating his weight where he takes a seat next to you. "You were a wreck, ____.” He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. “I don't want to have to relive those days.”

He’s not speaking out of turn. Guilt gnaws at you and you turn your head to face the wall. Bringing Namjoon back into your life implicated Hoseok too. Your brokenness had not been yours to bear alone. On the nights when you felt like you were falling apart, it was your brother who’d held you as you sobbed damp spot after damp spot into his t-shirts.

“Do you think it's too soon?” Your voice sounds small even in your ears. “Even though it's been years?”

“I can’t answer that for you, ____.”

You remain quiet, still staring at the blank wall.

“Well." He slaps his hands on his thighs and hauls himself off the bed, breaking the silence. "I owe him a long overdue meet-up anyway. He's been bugging me to have a meal together with him for the longest time now- which is next to impossible, y’know, with the way the studio just keeps getting busier and busier.”

A hand enters your field of vision, outstretched and waiting. "Dinner?"

You grasp it and he pulls you up. His grip is a firm anchor, both physically and emotionally.

"Dinner," you echo. "I can do this."

You can’t do this.

Whatever idealism you had possessed an hour ago within the safe confines of your apartment was gone now, mellowed out and boiled down to unforgiving reality.

At least you have Hoseok.

Despite your earlier hesitation to tell your brother about the events that had transpired through the day, you're now relieved you did and infinitely thankful for his presence. If any iciness remains from whatever lingering unsaid tension that exists between you and Namjoon, it quickly melts away under the warmth that is Hoseok's affability.

It was awkward at first, no doubt. As you slid into the booth to sit across Namjoon, it definitely didn’t escape your attention how he was unable to keep eye contact with you, his shifty eyes stoking the nervousness that simmered in the pit of your stomach.

The conversation had been polite but stiff, filled with small talk about each other’s jobs. As if you didn’t already know all about how he’d made it as a published author from all the times you eavesdropped on Hobi’s phone calls. He was in the middle of narrating his book’s main plot when your mind’s eye jumped, involuntarily, to the books guiltily buried away in the corner of your closet underneath a bunch of t-shirts. It was an impulse buy, you lie to yourself.

Yes, you’ve read his books. Multiple times. Pored over every word and analyzed every character in search of snippets of yourself. Hoping to know whether he’s forgotten you and moved on from you or whether he’s still affected by the breakup in the same way you don’t dare to admit that you are.

But that’s just in your times of weakness. Everyone has those, you reason, and you’re allowed to too.

Make no mistake- you did get over Namjoon. The box of letters sits in your desk drawer as the fruits of that. There’s a reason why you can’t bring yourself to dump those letters out after all these years. They’re unfiltered and ugly and raw, but they’re an archive of the journey you went through. You’re over it.

Or you were over it. Being in this city and seeing him triggers something in you and seems to throw you back a couple of steps somehow.

Maneuvering your way through the exchange, carefully feigning ignorance about the plot of his novels, you were walking a tightrope. But thankfully, before you could get caught in your self-spun web of lies, the conversation takes a sharp left.

In a sudden outburst of, “Why are we speaking as if we’re at some corporate networking event?!” accompanied by a smack on the table, Hoseok shattered the cordial but fake and, frankly, uncomfortable atmosphere that had settled over the booth. The three of you broke into genuine laughter for the first time in the evening. And finally, the dinner conversation took a more casual and informal turn.

In spite of your wariness, the pull that Hoseok’s words exerted was irresistible and you found yourself gradually loosening up. It began with unbidden smiles that progressed to quiet giggles- not unlike the one that followed Hoseok’s earlier outburst- that quickly gave way to carefree and unfiltered laughter.

And now?

"Remember when you broke the swingset at our house?" Hoseok jabs his fork at Namjoon who sits across from him at the table.

"That was not on me,” he quips. “That swingset was rickety before I sat on it."

Your throat constricts around your food slightly painfully with the way you gulp down your food to interject, "No way, Joon. We only had that swingset for two weeks before you broke it."

Hoseok nods in corroboration, his features colored in a grave seriousness. “She’s right. I remember my joy on that swingset being extremely short-lived.”

"Can't believe you care more about that swingset than me." Namjoon pouts. "My butt was bruised for at least a week from that accident."

But Hoseok dismisses this with a wave of his hand. "Bruises heal. Swingsets don't."

You smile around the rim of your glass, taking a swig. Cheeks sore with how much you’ve been smiling, you think, you really can’t do this.

You've missed this. You’ve missed the days filled with this innocent and untroubled feeling of happiness. When it was just this pair of best friends and you were the little sister that just tagged along at first, but got pulled in as a real member of the trio. You were the little sister that Hobi adored, and the little sister that Joon had always wished he'd had, and you looked up to both of them so much.

The playful teasing between mouthfuls of food and the easy laughter shared as all three of you let loose over a couple drinks has you warming up in a way that's not just from the alcohol.

You’ve missed this. But you can’t.

You glance upwards and the softness in Namjoon’s eyes all crinkled up by his beaming smile has you realizing just how much you’ve missed him. But you can’t, you can’t, you ca-

Next to you, Hoseok’s movements interrupt your internal self-admonishment. He sets his utensils down with a clang on his empty plate. "Hey, I’ll go pick up the bill."

"Let me." Namjoon fumbles for his wallet as he gets on his feet. But Hoseok puts a hand on his shoulder to sit him back down.

"Nah man, you paid the last time and I've been meaning to give ____ a treat too. This one's on me."

Hoseok disappears off to settle the bill, leaving just you and Namjoon. In stark contrast to his earlier inability to maintain eye contact, he’s now staring intently at you. The intensity of his gaze has your cheeks growing warm.

It’s your turn to struggle with eye contact. Unsure what to do with your hands or where to look, you're just about to succumb to the urge to start fidgeting when Namjoon sighs, inciting a stolen glance at him. His gaze is on his hands now where they sit on the table, a gentle smile gracing his features.

"I've missed this,” he says softly.

You can’t, you can’t, you can’t.

"Me too," you admit. You’re weak.

His gaze darts back upwards to look you in the eyes, and your heart rate picks up.

“I've missed you.”

It’s shy. It’s barely audible. But you catch it. It startles your heart into a racing pulse, pounding in your ribcage.

"Namjoon.” You don’t miss the way his face falls slightly at how you revert to his full name. “You can't-"

He leans forward as he shakes his head. "I'm not... I..." He cuts himself off with a huff of frustration. His long fingers tap rapidly on the table the way they always do when he’s collecting his thoughts.

"I'm really sorry for what happened, ____.” His eyes bore into yours with a pleading sincerity that has your hands fidgeting under the table and out of sight. “I'm really sorry that things ended the way they did. And I know I don't deserve to be asking this, ____. But I've really missed... all this." He gestures to the booth, to your trio. "And I guess what I'm asking is, will you forgive me? And... will it be okay to see you again? Just as friends. Nothing more."

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

You fold your hands in your lap, still hidden away from sight so he can’t see the nervous energy they exude as you deliberate your next words carefully.

"Joon, you really hurt me the last time. Really deeply.” The temptation to avert your gaze is immense, but you power through. But that leaves you to witness the flicker of guilt in his eyes. “And as nice as tonight was, I'm just not sure if I'm ready to have you back in my life completely yet."

“Ok, I understand. That's fair. I have no rights to make any demands on you when things ended the way they did.”

His eyes are downcast and he trails off into silence.

But just as you’re about to heave a sigh of relief, thinking he’s dropped it, he starts again, the hesitation clear in his shaky voice, "Can I give you my number? So you can think it over and text me if you ever want to be friends again. Like what you said, tonight was really nice."

His hand hovers over where your phone sits on the table, tentative without your go-ahead.

“Or you can just decide to throw it out and delete me from your life forever,” he begins rambling nervously. “I'll respect that too. I just can't leave things the way they are without doing anything I can to attempt to make reconciliation happen.”

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

That’s when you make the fatal mistake of looking him in the eye. The way he's looking at you…

You can’t. Or can you?

Like what you told Hoseok, you’re close to powerless when Namjoon looks at you like that.

Relenting, you flip his hand around and place your phone into his waiting palm.

"Okay. Fine. I'll think about it."

"Thank you,” he says breathily. His dimpled smile and eyes aglow send your heartbeat stuttering.

As Namjoon's keying his phone number into your phone, Hoseok returns. The action doesn't go unnoticed by him, and the way he eyes your phone in Namjoon's hands has you squirming in your seat slightly. But Namjoon, gleeful with the hope of possible reconciliation, is none the wiser.

You, meanwhile, know that you’re in for a lot of explaining.

“It’s just a number, Hoseok,” you say the moment the subway pulls out of the station and away from Namjoon’s waving figure. It’s been sitting heavy on your tongue ever since the restaurant, and you take the first chance you get to spit it out. Never has the walk from the diner to the station felt so long.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah,” you fold your arms, stumbling slightly on the rickety carriage, but you maintain your indignant expression, “but your look said everything.”

You exhale heavily as you grip back onto the grab pole. You continue, softer this time, “He’s just asking to be friends.”

Hoseok purses his lips and the silence sits for a moment.

“What are you thinking?” he eventually asks.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “It’s just… a lot. What happened between us was a lot.”

You clear your throat and continue, “But the years of friendship in our little trio were a lot too. And tonight was a huge reminder of how good things used to be… of how good things could be.”

“So, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know.” You repeat, looking back at Hoseok now. “What should I do?”

“I can’t decide that for you.”

What a classic Hoseok response. Why did you even ask?

“He’s genuinely sorry,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to your brother.

“He is,” Hoseok affirms, his eyes softening now as he nods in agreement.

“And it’ll be just friends, nothing more.” Again, you’re not entirely sure of whether your words are meant to be consoling your brother or yourself.

“Do you want that? Being friends with him again and having him in your life again?”

Do you?

You try to consider it rationally, you really do.

But the emotions overtake you. Perhaps it’s from tonight’s dinner, a sampling of what it’d be like to have him as a friend again. Perhaps it’s the recognition of how wasteful it truly is to dump decades of friendship out the window.

Or perhaps it’s the revelation that you could never be angry with Namjoon, as much as you want to be. And you really want to be. He deserves it. After the way he let your relationship end without putting up a fight, after he left you shattered and the way you had to piece yourself back together shard by shard in the aftermath, he deserves your wrath.

But you can’t do it.

Especially not now when his repentance is so sincere. Not when he’s earnestly trying to make things right.

So do you want him back in your life? It’s irrational, it’s dumb, it’s risky, but you honestly could never help yourself when it comes to Namjoon.

“Yes,” you decide. “I’ve missed him, Hobi. I know it’s dumb to miss him after all these years and after what he did, but I still do.”

Hoseok slings an arm around you and pulls you into his chest. “Yeah, it’s pretty dumb,” he says, and you snort as you swat at his chest. “But if that’s how you feel, then that’s how you feel.”

“It’s been so strange,” comes your quiet admission. “He’s just always been there, y’know? And not having him around feels like having a limb missing.”

“Mmhm.” It’s barely a sound, but you know it’s Hoseok’s way of saying he understands, and it fills you with a deep sense of assurance and validation.

The train pulls to a stop, and you realize with a jolt that it’s your station. Reluctantly, you pull away from the hug and tug Hoseok out the doors. “C’mon.”

The apartment is just a few streets down from the station and, with your hands stuffed into the pockets of your jacket, your fists rubbing against the rough denim, you walk along silently. The sound of Hoseok’s footsteps beside you fades into rhythmical ambient noise the deeper you fall into thought.

It’s when you’re unlocking the door to your apartment, keys jangling, that Hoseok asks the very same question that you’ve been mulling over on the walk back.

“Can you forgive him?”

It’s surprising. Even to you. You always imagined it’d play out in either one of two ways- cutting words or punishing silence. But now that the moment has really arrived, you realize just how willing you are to extend forgiveness to him.

“I think I have to,” you begin slowly. “Not for him, but for me, y’know?” You nod, your certainty growing as you verbalize your thoughts. “Yeah. I have to do this. It’s getting tiring carrying all this resentment and bitterness around.”

The lock clicks open and you move to enter the apartment.

“Hey,” Hoseok says, placing a hand on your shoulder gently that has you pausing. “Whatever decision you make, just know that I support you.”

You wrap your brother in a quick side-hug. “Thanks, Hobi. That means a lot to me.”

Rolling over to switch your alarm off, you nestle back under the covers to catch a few more winks.

That’s when it all comes rushing back to you, and your initial plan to snooze is screwed. Did all that really happen? Did you really sit down to have dinner with Namjoon?

And did you really not reject his attempt at a peace offering? Young ____ would be so disappointed.

It feels a little unbelievable. I mean, sure, you’ve run into him more than a couple of times now. But never would you have imagined you would have him truly in your life again.

That is- if you would let him in. You haven’t replied to him, wanting to sleep on your decision for extra clarity.

Clarity, your ass. Through the thick fog of heavy sleep, it all feels like it could be nothing more than a fever dream.

But you can hear Hoseok’s snoring coming from the next room. And the memories of last night- the yellow lighting of the diner, the overly salty fries you kept picking at regardless, the jab of Hobi’s elbow into your side as he teased you, the way your sides ached from laughing so hard, the way those obsidian eyes pulled you in as they set on you from across the table- they’re too vivid to be made up.

And the one thing that will conclusively prove it- you prop yourself up to scroll through your contacts list. There. Sitting in your contacts is his name. The name you’d deleted off your phone all those years ago in a fit of anger, but now restored to its rightful place.

[8.03am] ____: hey joon, it’s ____.

You chew on your lip as you type and delete and re-type and repeat.

[8.07am] ____: do you have any plans for today? wanna do something?

[flowersandskeletons526]

“The Harshest Future We Could Have Imagined” - Lumity Future AU Fanfic Part 2

Here’s chapter two! Luz and Amity finally get their reunion and get a short chance to catch up. 

----

Luz tackled Amity in a hug. 

"I missed you guys so much!" she exclaimed, laughing past the tears in her eyes. "I'm so happy I get to see you again!"

Amity hesitated, eyes wide and watery, before finally putting her arms around Luz. The human winced as Amity's nails dug into her back but didn't let go. "Tell me I'm not dreaming," she gasped, clinging to Luz. "Tell me you're here."

"I am here," Luz whispered. "I'm sorry I was gone so long." 

Forcing herself to pull back, Amity beckoned to Willow and Gus. Both grinned and jumped on their friends, locking them in a tight hug. Eda, Lilith, and King followed. Luz laughed under the smothering hugs and held her family tighter. She somehow managed to keep from crying as Amity buried her face against her neck, talons still locked in her back.

"I missed you, Luz," she whispered in her ear.

"I missed you too, Ami." 

They all stayed like that for longer than any could tell, until Eda released them with, "Alright, enough with the parallel arms thing." 

Everyone broke apart laughing. Luz stayed close to Amity, pressing their arms together as Amity wiped at her eyes. Willow shot Luz that old knowing smile over Amity's head. 

Luz grinned at everyone. "Okay, you guys have to tell me everything that's happened while I was gone," she said. Every smile in the room disappeared. She frowned. "Guys?"

Eda sighed. "Come sit down, kid. Amity, Willow, why don't you explain?" 

Luz looked around with a concerned frown as Willow led her to the table. She sat beside Luz while Amity hovered behind them, tying the long part of her undercut into a messy bun. Luz watched her for a moment before Willow tapped the table to get her attention. 

Only then did she notice the scar on Willow’s face. Deep and ragged, it curled down the side of her face, revealed by her much shorter hair. Glancing back at Amity, Luz noticed the scars that littered her pale skin, as well. She noticed the dark shadows and creases beneath everyone’s eyes, their cuts and bruises, the fresh blood and dirt that covered them. They were her age; logically, she knew that, but looking at them now, it seemed that far more years had passed for them than had for her. Even Gus, though still short, had grown into hardened features and haunted eyes. Luz swallowed hard and looked to Willow.

“After you left,” the witch began, “things started to get bad.”

Her voice was somber and hollow. Luz’s stomach dropped.

“Belos started recruiting more members into the Emperor’s coven, powerful magic users and foot soldiers. They stopped allowing study of different tracks and anyone caught practicing outside a coven was arrested. The multi-track at Hexside was outlawed. Using glyphs was grounds for immediate arrest.” 

Luz felt for the pad of paper in her pocket and took a deep breath.

Willow went on. “Remember how Gus was digging tunnels beneath school?”

“It was just supposed to be one at first,” Gus interjected. 

“Well, he finished them. There’s a massive network under there now that we used to meet in to discuss plans, mostly on keeping them away from the Owl House and Eda while they tried to fix the portal. After that speech I made during the petrification, after people found out we stole the portal back, everyone started getting angrier with the entire idea of the coven system.”

“Most people,” Amity said bitterly.

Willow sighed and reached out to squeeze her hand. “Most people. Anyway, once all that started, Belos put us in martial law and put everything under complete jurisdiction of the Emperor’s coven and their leader. Alador Blight.”

“Blight? You mean…?”

“My father.” Amity gripped her staff harshly. “And now my brother.”

“Edric?” 

“What about him, Amity?” Eda asked. 

“He’s Belos’ new commander. We ran into him today at the fight in town. Eda, we’re going to need to set up more security for a while and try to keep him away as long as possible. He knows too much about us.” 

“So, you’re all fighting the Emperor’s coven now?” Luz asked. 

“We are,” said Willow. “Belos, specifically. Eventually he started petrifying people and spouting all that Titan’s will bullshit, so we got angry, and we snuck into his castle a year ago and tried to kill him.”

“You what?”

“Willow did,” Gus said. 

Willow smirked and tapped her scar. “That’s what this is from.”

“You’re kidding,” Luz murmured. “Really, Willow? That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Maybe when we were younger, Luz. A lot has changed since you left.”

“I guess so.” Luz rubbed the back of her neck. “What’s going on now?”

“War. Amity and I lead the rebellion. We’re doing our best to just take him down and destroy the coven system. We’re trying but it’s been awful.”

“Once it’s calmed down again, we should bring Luz through the Isles,” Gus suggested. 

“I’m not sure if that is such a good idea,” Lilith said.

Eda shook her head. “No, she should. She’s back with us now and she needs to know what’s been happening.”

“Tomorrow we’ll go on a stealth mission through town so she can see what’s been happening,” Amity decided. She touched Willow’s shoulder. “Does that work?”

“That works.” Willow stood. Luz stood as well, seized by a sudden sense of respect for the newly realized leader in her old friend. “Gus and I have to go. We have to make sure the base is secure before heading home. All our dads are waiting for us.”

“Your dads are part of the rebellion?” Luz asked.

“My dads help with the healers and Gus’ dad circulates our messages and newsletters.”

“Wowza.” 

“I’ll come with you,” Amity said.

“No, Amity, stay here,” Willow ordered gently. “We’ll be fine. We need you here.” 

“Okay.” 

Willow and Gus pulled Luz into a tight hug. “We’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’m sorry we couldn’t stay long right now. It’s been an awful day.”

“It looks like it,” Luz said. “I’m sorry.”

“Tomorrow we’ll take you through the new Isles,” Gus said. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, guys.”

“Bye, Luz.” 

Luz sank back down in her chair as Willow and Gus left, staring at her hands in her lap. “What did I do when I left?” she whispered. 

“It wasn’t you, Luz,” Eda said. “This has been a long time coming. It was just bad timing. Amity, why don’t you and Luz go set up her bed with you upstairs for now?”

“Okay.” 

Amity grabbed Luz’s backpack and nodded to the stairs. Luz caught Amity’s hand, making Amity blush, and followed along beside her. 

Upstairs, Luz’s room - now Amity’s - hadn’t changed much. Eda’s clutter still bordered the room. The old, weathered Azura poster hung in its place on the wall, with the entire series stacked beneath it beside King’s bed. Along with the string lights hung up, multiple glowing orbs hung in the air. Sitting in the corner was a writing pad and pencil with multiple different glyphs scattered around it, including several light glyphs. A little keepsake box with an A on it sat on the windowsill.

Luz stopped in the doorway as Amity nudged her bed to the side. She grabbed another mat and sleeping bag from a chest on the side of the room as Luz looked around. 

“You didn’t change much, did you?” she asked.

“Not really. I was planning on you coming back soon so I didn’t want to move anything, and when you didn’t, well…” Amity shrugged. “It made me think of you. I used to read Azura sitting with King beneath the poster.”

Luz nodded. Forcing a smile, she tried at their old joke. “Did you miss me that much, Blight?”

“Yes, actually.” Amity paused. “And it’s Clawthorne now.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Amity Clawthorne.” 

“Oh. Since when?”

“Six months after you left, I think? I got into a fight with my mother because she found out I was hanging around the Owl House. She told me she was my mother so I had to listen to her, I told her I didn’t care, and she said fine. Then I must not care that I’m a Blight, either. She threw me out, I came here, and I shaved my head the next day. Eda and Lilith agreed to let me take the Clawthorne name a little after, and that was that. I was going to look for a bird palisman too, like them, but Raja came along and changed my mind."

“Oh, geez, Amity, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I ended up better than I ever would have been if I stayed in the manor. Better than what happened with Edric, anyway.” 

A hush fell over the room. Luz sighed and took Amity’s hand. Amity glanced at her. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back here,” she murmured. “Believe it or not, the human world doesn’t have many how-to books on fixing portals.”

Amity laughed sadly. “Well, we weren’t exactly quick on our side, either. I’m just glad you’re back now.”

“Me, too.” 

King scurried into the room. “Luz! Amity! I demand cuddles!”

Amity laughed and sat on her bed. King jumped into her lap, curling up as she scratched his back. Chuckling to herself, Luz sat with Amity and patted King’s head. King closed his eyes and snuggled into them.

“You two get along now?” Luz asked.

“She gave me a cupcake!” King chirped. 

Luz raised an eyebrow. 

“I came by with peace offerings a few weeks after you left,” Amity explained. “I wanted to make up for being an asshole before we became friends.” 

“I’m glad you get along with everyone now.”

“It was touch and go for a little bit, but we got there. Eda really trusts me now, especially after everything started getting bad.”

“That’s good! I still remember the whole burning memory thing.”

Amity groaned, grinning as she went red and shook her head. “Titan, Eda did not like me back then. I was such an idiot when we were younger.” 

“Only a little.” 

The conversation drifted off. They smiled at each other, King sleeping between them, quiet in the fading light coming in through the window. 

Luz cleared her throat. “I really like your hair, by the way.”

Amity blushed and touched the shaved part of her hair. “Really?”

“Yeah. The brown looks nice. And you look, I don’t know, happier, now, even with everything you’ve told me about.”

Amity pulled her knees to her chest. “A little. It’s mostly because you’re back.” 

Without warning, Amity jumped into Luz’s arms, scaring King off her lap. Luz stuck one arm back to keep them both upright. She wrapped the other around Amity’s waist as the witch hid her face against Luz’s shoulder. Luz nuzzled against Amity, smiling as her pointed ear flicked and turned backwards, holding her tight. Amity let go of a long breath and relaxed in Luz’s embrace.

“I missed you so much,” she said. Hot tears dripped onto Luz’s shoulder. “I didn’t know if you were ever going to come back. So many years went by and we weren’t able to do anything and I didn’t think we would ever be able to fix it.”

“I know. I was scared, too.” Luz sighed and adjusted to put both her arms around Amity. She shot King a look. He nodded, taking the hint and bolting downstairs. “I only thought about you and the others when I was in the human world. God, Amity, my mom was so mad at me.”

“She thought you were at a camp, right?”

“Yeah. And when I finally told her where I really was, she thought I was crazy. She tried to send me to another camp.” Luz shuddered, thinking of the therapist’s office and all the brochures that woman showed Camila. “Well, not really a camp, but, something like it. She thought it was going to help me. I got out of it though, after a lot of talks and convincing. I’m still not sure she totally believes me, but I think she just finally, I don’t know, accepted it, I guess? I think she thought that most of my pictures were photoshopped, too.”

“Photoshopped?”

“It’s a way to edit pictures in the human world. Anyway, I showed her pictures of you and everyone else and all the weird things on the Isles, and I don’t know if she gave up or actually believed me, but she stopped trying to fix me. I think she was just glad I finally started acting normal in public, Isles aside.”

Amity pulled back, still leaning on Luz and only inches away from her face. “You told me you hated how everyone acted in the human world.” 

“I did. I do. But I knew that if I started acting the way she wanted me to, I could focus on finding a way to get back to you.” Luz turned aside and cleared her throat. “Um, all of you, I mean. Get back to all of you and get back to the Isles.” 

“Right.” 

Amity glanced down and went red in the face. Pursing her lips, she sat back away from Luz. The human smiled sadly and pulled one knee up to her chest. 

“So,” she said, “how is it being a Clawthorne?”

“It’s… fine. Eda and Lilith care about me, at least.”

“Are they still getting along?”

“They are, which is more than I can say for my own siblings.”

“Is Emira part of the rebellion?” 

“She is. She usually fights with my squad, but sometimes she gets put with the old detention kids.” 

“Viney, Jerbo, and Barcus?”

“Mmhm.”

“What about everyone else from school?”

“I haven’t heard anything from Skara and her friends. That little jerk from the construction track joined the Emperor’s coven, and we’ve seen him a few times on patrol, but not much. Last I heard of Boscha, she just stayed away from everything.”

“Huh. Knowing her, I would’ve expected her to join the coven.”

“She almost did. She got sick of the idea of being told what to do and dropped off the map. No one has seen her since then.” 

Luz nodded. She looked outside at the purple sky, watching the stars light up like the light orbs glowing in the room above them. 

“So much has changed since I left.”

Amity sighed. “It’s been hard. I won’t lie. But, we’re trying.”

“I’m glad I’m here to help now.”

“So am I.” Climbing to her feet, Amity dragged a hand down her face. “I’m going to go take a shower. You should get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow sneaking through the Isles.” 

Luz laid out her sleeping bag beside Amity’s and stretched out. Staring out the window, she took a deep breath and fished out her paper and pencil. She drew a light glyph and sent it into the air besides Amity’s pink-tinged lights. She sighed and allowed herself a tiny smile, the lights dancing in her eyes. Some things didn’t change.

Amity turned after a while, dressed in torn pajamas with her hair down. Luz turned over to look at her and froze. Her heart jumped into her throat. Amity was always pretty to her when they were younger, but now it suddenly hit her how beautiful she really was. She flashed Luz a little smile and lied down beside her. 

They faced each other, barely a foot apart. Luz held out a hand that Amity took. With hands clasped between them, they closed their eyes, finally at peace with the other beside them again.

****

Luz crouched behind Willow. Hexside stood before them, reduced from its former glory to a smoldering, pitted, burnt out husk. A picture of Belos’s mask with a red X through it was graffitied across the mighty tower in front. All the trees surrounding the campus were cut or burned down, leaving only stumps behind. The top of the tower and the eye inside were blasted away. Her heart sank at the sight. She clutched Willow’s hand, unable to look away from the ruined school. 

Willow lowered her head a touch. “That’s Hexside,” she said quietly. “When they found out we were meeting in the tunnels and using Viney’s passages, they sent in squads and destroyed the place. They wouldn’t let anyone fix it, either, even to continue using it as a school.” 

Luz grimaced. “Do I even want to see Bonesborough after this?” 

“Probably not, but you should.”

Willow ushered her along. 

The town looked no better. Little fires burned everywhere. Most buildings were scorched in places or had holes busted through the walls. Doors were torn off their hinges and windows were cracked and shattered. The normally busy town was deserted by its citizens, replaced by white robed soldiers and little flying creatures. The soldiers shouted at anyone wandering the streets. Some were forced back into buildings. Others were clubbed and forced into chains before being carted away. 

Propagandic pictures of Belos’ proud visage were plastered on every wall, alongside wanted posters of Willow and Amity’s dangerous caricatures. Luz was reminded of Eda’s old posters displayed everywhere. 

Hiding on a hill overlooking the town, the crew watched as a new patrol squad marched through the streets. Their leader stepped out in front of his soldiers and took off his mask. 

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (2)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, hella nervous!bucky, dangerously sweet!y/n  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“What the hell do you mean ‘you’re not going’?”

Bucky shrugged, taking a bite of the bagel Steve picked up on his way to the apartment. He flinched as Steve flung open the curtains, expelling a cloud of dust as the sunlight invaded the living room, illuminating over months of untouched mail on the coffee table and crumbs in the carpet.  

Sam kept his eyes burning on Bucky from the other end of the table. “You can’t back out now, Barnes. She’s expecting you!”

“What’s this about again?” Steve asked as he slid into the chair beside Bucky.  

“Book club. Y/n. Barnes is being a coward again,” Sam explained a little too nonchalantly for Bucky's taste.  

“I’m not being a coward,” Bucky grumbled, avoiding Sam’s eyes and very much proving his friend’s point. “I’ve just— I’ve got better things to do.”

He regretted it the moment it left his lips because both Sam and Steve exchanged a less than subtle, irritatingly familiar glance.  

“Yeah, like what?” Steve scoffed. He extended his arms out to gesture to the empty apartment. “You got tons of plans this week? Think you might see sunlight again or did someone hang garlic in the hallway?”

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes. It had been a few days since he’d ventured out to the VA for the first time and it was more than he’d done in weeks. It should have been enough for these two, but it never was. They always wanted more out of him. They couldn’t just leave him to rot in his apartment, could they?

“It’s Sunday, you know,” Sam said, devilish smirk rising on his face.  

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”  

“Come on, man!” Sam groaned, slamming his hand on the table enough to cause a ripple in the coffee mugs. “I saw the way you were looking at her. You can’t tell me seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go...”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed red. They burned hot on his skin and it only seemed to make it worse. He’d never been like this before he was discharged – flustered and easily embarrassed. He supposed before he came home with one less limb and baggage the size of his living room, he didn’t have much to be embarrassed about. He was a flirt, a bit shameless about it, too. He’d had girlfriends and hookups and never thought much about it.  

But now? The vague idea of even presuming to be interested in a woman was borderline laughable. What chance could he possibly have? He was washed up and broken, missing a few pieces, and half off his rocker. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d go for a guy like him. It was easier to just pretend like he didn’t care, give into the empty void he believed his heart to be, and waste away.  

“Seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go,” Bucky said flatly, much to Sam’s annoyance. It was a bold-faced lie, one all three of them were well aware of, but it didn’t mean Bucky needed to give them the satisfaction of admitting it.  

He thought of you in that sunset red sweater, holding a book tight to your chest with that sort of bright starlight look in your eyes as you listened intently to a retired vet go on and on about his personal connection to some corny book. He’d only met you for maybe a span of a few minutes, and still, he could somehow still picture your smile. He wanted to see it again.  

But there was a sharp pain in his left arm; it burned, enough for Bucky to reach across his chest and try to put pressure on it, only to slip through thin air and land against his ribs. The pain remained, like an extension of himself, on an arm that was no longer apart of him. There and not there all at once. He groaned.  

“It’s not a good enough reason, Sam,” Bucky repeated. “I’m not going. She probably won’t even notice.”

Another lie.  

Sam shook his head, the smile quickly leaving his face in favor of one Bucky knew all too well. Disappointment. Frustration. The thing was, it didn’t hurt as much when Bucky was purposeful in creating it.  

“I thought you liked her?” Steve asked cautiously, eyes catching Sam’s for only a moment before he turned back to Bucky. They’d been talking about him. He hated when they did that.  

“I don’t even know her, Steve,” Bucky shot back. He shouldn’t be getting angry with them. They were only trying to help. And yet here he was – pushing away the only two people left in his life that still managed to tolerate him. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, trying to push past it. “She’s nice, okay? She’s pretty. Is that what you want me to say?”

Steve sat back in his chair, exhausted. “I want you to be happy, Buck.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, well, shoulda thought of that before I got myself blown up.”

“Bucky--”

“Let it go, man,” Sam sighed, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  

Bucky felt like he could sink straight into his chair. Why did he always do this?

“I hope you change your mind,” Sam said simply, gathering up his things as he and Steve started to make their way to the door. “It could be good for you.”

Bucky knew what he meant by that, the underlaying message hidden just beneath the surface: she could be good for you.  

Right on cue, the pain started up again in his arm that was both there and not there, and Bucky tried to grit his teeth through it, though Sam could spot the tells almost immediately: his right-hand gripping to the arm rest, the flinch in his jaw, the short tense breaths.  

Sam sighed, pausing in the door frame. “We’ll be back in a few days. Try to clean up the place, will you? It’s a shithole in here.”

“Ma said she’d bake you cobbler if you promise to eat it,” Steve offered, too hopeful for his own good. It had been Bucky’s favorite once; the sort of dessert he talked about on desert nights when the mess hall served day old meatloaf and bland potatoes. He didn’t have much of an appetite these days.  

Bucky forced out a smile for his friend’s sake and nodded.  

A familiar silence swept over the apartment as the door closed behind them. It had been a comfort once; a darkness that swept around his shoulders like a blanket. It kept him isolated and suffocated and still, safe.  

Now, it mocked him.

He stared at the knob on the door, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. He’d done this about a dozen times before, trying to convince himself to do something more with his days than waste away in an expensive one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.  

Steve was right. What the hell else was he going to do today? Stare at the wall for a few hours? Pretend to watch TV and not catch a single word of dialogue? Make a meal he wouldn’t eat?

He thought of you again. How you might scan the room in search of him and a frown might pull at the corner of your lips to not find him amongst the crowd. He wondered if you’d be dressed in yellow or orange or if you’d resemble a cloudless sky as the sun touched over the peaks of the city in soft pinks and purples.

He wanted to know so badly it was killing him.  

“Fuck.”  

He dragged his feet to the bedroom to find something half decent to wear.  

***

It had been a less than ideal start to your day.  

The children’s reading presentation at the library got a little out of hand when the speaker – a local theater student – got caught up in the voices and scared half of the toddlers to tears as he took some interesting liberties with The Cat in the Hat.

Then, a rather unpleasant woman yelled at you for twenty minutes about a man sleeping on the bench outside the near the entrance as if it were a personal affront that this man, a little down on his luck, dared to catch a few minutes of sleep in a public place.  

The internet was shotty all day, leaving a few college students red in the face and with fat tears matching those of the toddlers in the next room over when hours' worth of work had suddenly disappeared in front of their eyes.  

And of course – the teenagers. A band of four boys who hid under the brim of baseball caps with skateboards tucked under their arms, who found it rather amusing to stalk out the adult section and flip through the sorts of novels with bare chested men on the cover until their snickering could be heard from the floor below.  

It warranted a coffee, at least.  

The only solace was that it was Sunday. Your favorite day of the week. It meant a few hours at the VA and catching up with the guys. You hadn’t seen Natasha in a while and you were hoping to see how her new job at the security firm had gone. She was exceptionally qualified and you were almost certain you had her interview answers memorized by the time you’d finished practicing together.  

But there was something different about this Sunday, something that left a few butterflies in your stomach where an easy contentment usually belonged. You were nervous, but there was an excitement, too.  

There’d be a new face in attendance.  

A beautiful face.  

A face that you imagined required a double take were you to see it for the first time on a busy street.  

“You’re smiling again there, darling.”

You looked up to find Mrs. Jefferson keeping a careful eye on you from over the top of her reading glasses. She wore a smile upon her face, one that blended into the laugh lines by her eyes. Her hand trembled with a familiar quiver as she reached up and slid the glasses off her nose. They rested comfortably on a purple beaded chain as they hung around her neck.  

“You always have so much going on inside that head of yours,” she quipped, chuckling to herself. She was a slow mover as she turned to the computer to begin typing in her code. “Have you checked out the books for the VA yet?”

“Already done,” you confirmed, your mind still a little in the clouds. Coffee would definitely need to be a requirement before you stepped foot in the VA.  

“Get a move on then,” Mrs. Jefferson said, gesturing to the door with a trembling hand. “I know you like to get donuts for the kids.”

You still had a few minutes left on shift, but Mrs. Jefferson was always so understanding. She had a son who was in the military once who saw about four tours. Always had a habit of going back, she’d said, like he was testing his luck. You weren’t sure how he’d died, but you knew he didn’t have the chance to go back for a fifth.  

She was a part of a group no one wanted to be in: those who have lost someone to war. Membership cost was steep and there was no going back once it was paid. It was a lonely group, one far too many people occupied. Your own membership card was heavy in your pocket.  

You glanced toward the door. The sun was shining bright on the pavement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course, dear. Tell the boys I said hello.”

“Yes, ma’am!” you called as you gathered your things and the shoulder bag stuffed with books and quickly scurried out the door before another disaster could reel you back inside.  

The sun was warm on your skin and you took a minute to savor it before shoulders started to bump into you, forcing you off balance. You could see your breath in the autumn air, and still, the sun touched your cheeks and left behind a comfort there. Smile on your face, heavy bag draped over your shoulder, you resided to grab coffee and donuts at a café close to the VA before book club started.  

It was one you visited a few times before, right across the street from a painfully busy Starbucks. The quaint coffee shop was often empty inside, save for a few college students with headphones in, typing away at their laptops, and a regular you often saw nursing a black coffee by the front windows, watching the people as they walked by.  

It smelled of coffee beans as you stepped inside. Fresh. Aromatic. You took in a deep breath.  

“Ah, Y/n!” a voice called from the back in a thick Colombian accent. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Hi, Luciana,” you laughed as the woman who owned the shop rounded the corner behind the counter and ran out to give you a hug. She was a tiny woman, short and shout, but her hugs could render even a giant of a man to a puddle.  

“Donuts for your friends down at the VA again?” she asked, releasing you from her embrace, though she still managed to pinch your cheek on the way out.  

“Yes, please!”

“And coffee for yourself?”  

She knew you too well.  

“I could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” you admitted. She knew your order by heart.  

“You should see if that Sam wants to have some good coffee for a change at his next event instead of the bean water he serves our veterans now,” Luciana inquired as she pulled on a pair of gloves and began to stack your box with assorted donuts. She had that smile on her face you recognized well. She asked about Sam a lot.  

“I’ll be sure to get his thoughts,” you replied, trying to stifled a smile.  

“Have him come by,” she offered rather smoothly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen his pretty face and I could use a little pick-me-up myself.”

She winked at you and set the box of donuts on the counter. Then, your coffee; lid pressed on top, cardboard around the edges to protect from heat. You reached for your wallet but she snuck her hand over the counter and grabbed your wrist.  

“No, no, not today, my dear. My treat.”

You parted your lips to protest but she shook her again.  

“Tell those kids to come visit me every once in a while, okay? I’ve got a discount for ‘em,” she offered, bright smile over painted red lips. She waved you off and you knew there was no arguing with her.  

“That’s very kind of you, Luciana. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”  

“So will my business, dear.” There was that wink again.  

You laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll see you next week!”

The bell rang on your way out.  

The VA wasn’t more than a few blocks from Luciana’s, but the bag piled high with books was starting to weigh on your shoulder. It didn’t help that you had to weave expertly between the pedestrians to balance your coffee and the donut box, too; tourists walking about 10 mph too slow and locals stuck in their path with no qualms of shoving you out of their way if you managed to jump in their trajectory.  

As you approached the VA, the crowd began to disperse. There weren’t too many people who frequented this street as there was little more than the VA building itself to occupy the tourists. You were surprised to find a man standing in front of the doors, staring up at the building as if it offended him in some way.  

Dark brown hair tucked under a baseball cap, just barely peeking out at the nape of his neck. Right hand tucked deep into his pocket, rigid in his stance as he stared down the double doors. He was talking to himself, you realized, judging by the soft clouds of chilled air by his mouth.  

James Barnes.

Bucky.

A smile suddenly took over your face, enough that you had to bite down on the edge of your lip in an effort to suppress it. You’d hoped he would come, but Sam had talked about his friend Bucky long before you met him in the empty library of the VA a few days prior. He didn’t say ‘yes’ to much of anything and he seemed to be the sort of soldier that got left behind by the system when he returned home.  

But he was sweet. You could tell that just from the small interaction you’d had. Quiet. A little flustered. Maybe reserved. But he had beautiful eyes; blue, like they could capture even the faintest colors in the sky and the sweep of a current in the Mediterranean. He’d only barely lifted the corner of his lips to a smile that day and it left you wondering how lovely he was when it touched his eyes.  

“Bucky!” you called, moving a little quicker now as you approached, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Still focused on his staring match with the building, it seemed. For a moment, it seemed as though he might be turning to leave and your stomach twisted.  

You were nearly at his side, a little out of breath when you called his name again and it registered this time. Only, it must have startled him because an arm jutted out in your direction, knocking the coffee from your hands. You were too stunned to do much of anything about it as they coffee flung itself to the pavement, the contents spilling to the ground and over your sneakers. You clutched the box of donuts tight to your chest.  

Bucky froze, almost as still as a statue, his eyes focused on the coffee spilled on the sidewalk. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch and slowly, his eyes drew up to meet yours. He stared at you for a moment, mouth falling agape. His ears were burning red.  

Then, he seemed to come back to reality as he blinked a few times, his eyes darting from the shock on your face to the coffee on the sidewalk.  

“Y/n! Shit—fuck! I am—so sorry,” he started to ramble, his hand reaching out, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “I didn’t realize you were-- fuck—”

“It’s alright, Bucky,” you tried to ease him, a laugh in your voice. “Don’t worry about it. Probably didn’t need the caffeine anyway.”  

“I should, um,” he looked around desperately, scanning the street for the nearest coffee shop, his hand clenching and releasing at his side in a repetitive squeeze. It was really sort of sweet. “Let me buy you a new one.”

You smiled at him and he softened a bit. “That’s really not necessary.”  

He gritted his teeth as you bent down to pick up the empty cup and shook the excess coffee off your shoes. They were old sneakers anyway and you were looking for a halfway decent excuse to get new ones. Then came a shy ex-soldier barreling in from the sky with a strong aversion to your coffee.  

“I knew this was a bad idea...”  

He was talking to himself, grumbling under his breath, and you realized why he was staring at the building for so long. You took a step closer to him, studying the way his chewed on the inside of his cheek and shoved his right hand into his pocket.  

“Is it?” you asked.

Blue eyes flickered to yours, brows furrowed. He didn’t think you’d heard him. “Sorry?”

You just smiled at him, shaking your head. You’d been working at the VA long enough to recognize the man behind the soldier; one who’d been beaten and bruised and left to waste the second he was dropped back on American soil. Constantly beating himself up, constantly wondering if he was doing the wrong thing and struggling to be the version of himself he was before the war.

“So, James Barnes,” you grinned, “you decide if you’re coming in or not? It’s a little chilly out here. Don’t want you catching a cold.”  

Bucky stared back at you, unsure. But you could see the tension easing off his shoulders. His right hand was hanging back at his side again as his eyes flickered up to the doors again.  

“Come on.” You smiled at him again and you noticed pretty quickly that he softened when you did that. It made your stomach flutter. You took a step forward, hoping he’d follow behind. “There’s shitty coffee inside we can share before book club starts.”  

“I don’t even know what you’re reading,” he admitted, that sweet nervousness taking over again.  

“You don’t need to,” you shrugged and his brow scrunched up again, confused. You glanced back at the doors. “Well, I’m going inside. I hope I see you there.”

With that, you turned and shouldered your way through the doors, donut box clutched tight to your chest. You waited by the entrance until you heard the soft grumble of a graveled voice outside, and then, footsteps as they approached the door.

You smiled.

[hoe-doroki]

hollow victory ch2

A part of the ‘A Spare Heart’ series.

pairing: none–eventual Shouto x Reader later in the series.

wc: 3.9k

genre: gen

summary: You transferred to U.A. from America two weeks ago. You’ve trained, studied, and observed alongside your classmates, but no one has found out your quirk yet. Today, they’re going be meeting it head on. You don’t have as much combat experience as any of them, but you have the advantage: surprise. Because none of them are prepared for what you have coming for them.

a/n: 2nd of 2 chapters! Make sure to read chapter 1 first! American!fem!Reader.

As you watched Todoroki retreat slowly to the stands, rejoining Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka, you remembered all the things people used to say about your quirk back in America. You looked at everyone back together on one set of cement bleachers while you remained on the ground, and saw in their faces that they now knew.

You fell to the ground, groaning, “God” in English, only partially because of the fresh pain. You’d been hit just about everywhere and, despite all the work you’d been doing to build muscle for the past few months, you’d definitely pushed past your limit. You were drenched in sweat and probably in need of a lot more water, despite all you’d gulped down from Aizawa. Still, that wasn’t what hurt the most.

What was coming next would be.

“Alright,” Aizawa said as he handed you another water and Cementoss formed a chair for you to sit in, facing the rest of your peers. “Does everyone have a good idea of what Y/N’s quirk is?”

There were nods and murmurs among the group and more than a few faces were looking at you warily. Your heart sank at the familiarity of it. Yaoyorozu’s hand shot up and Aizawa called on her.

“She has the ability to manipulate emotions in others. She doesn’t appear to need any eye or physical contact, although it’s unknown if any other information is needed. She has fine-honed the kinds of emotions she can use and has some mastery over nuance. Endurance seems to be a moderate factor.”

Aizawa nodded, looking at you for approval that Yaoyorozu had gotten it right, although you knew she had. “Anything to add?” he asked.

You sighed heavily, but began the old spiel anyway, talking slowly as you tried to fit everything into Japanese. “There is some range factored into it, so it only works if I’m close by a person, and the connection gets faint before severing the farther away someone is. I have some control over how long the emotions last, but they’ll naturally fade without my intervention. Um, I can’t read minds or anything like that, so I just have to intuit how people are feeling. The emotion sticks better if it’s something that someone is already feeling in some way, like if someone is feeling a little lazy, it’s easy for me to strengthen that, but it won’t really work if I try to put an emotion on someone that they’re already strongly feeling. Like making someone who’s already angry more angry. If that all makes sense. Yaoyorozu is right that the first emotion I hit someone with is the strongest and subsequent ones don’t hit as well, because then they start to blur a little.”

You were surprised you’d managed to get all of that out. Your Japanese must have gotten a lot better in your last two weeks  here. You almost smiled, but then you remembered what you were talking about and you stopped. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure you’d described the extent of it, since there were still things you didn’t know. This was the most varied use of your quirk that you’d ever pulled off, which should have felt momentous. And it did, a little, but that feeling was shadowed by the way some of your peers had looked at you. Todoroki, Bakugou, Kaminari. You couldn’t enjoy what you’d done to them.

“What’s your quirk called?” Midoriya asked as he frantically scribbled in his notebook.

For a moment, you didn’t answer. But there was no point in hiding it, so you said, “Legally, it’s called gaslighting. I think that gives the wrong idea, though.” You mumbled the last part under your breath, but it seemed your peers heard you anyway. Sound really did travel well with all the cement.

“Why’s that?” Tsu asked.

“Because gaslighting is a way people abuse others by telling lies in order to distort their sense of reality,” you spat out. “And, yeah, okay, my quirk distorts someone’s sense of reality so they’re feeling an emotion that they wouldn’t otherwise, but it’s not the same. It’s more like projecting or, I don’t know, just creating emotion, but the quirk was already on the books, so that’s the name I was stuck with.”

“But you were able to totally freeze some people like Bakugou and Todoroki,” Hagakure said. “How was your quirk able to do that?”

Todoroki hadn’t had the chance to share his experience with your quirk with the group yet and you were willing to bet that Bakugou hadn’t been in the mood to tell anyone his. So it was no wonder she was confused about how you’d taken down two of the strongest fighters in your class so easily.

“I came up with strategies for everyone, based on what I’ve observed of you for the past couple weeks and what was available online,” you explained. “Then I discussed the strategies with Aizawa-sensei to see if they made sense and alter them a bit. I’m sure you know by now that most of you got a different emotion based on what I thought would slow you down or make you give up. Since I can’t defeat most of you physically, especially with quirks at play, that’s what I have to do.”

“So…what did you use on everyone?” Ashido asked, looking almost giddy as she eyed her fellow classmates.

You’d known that there would be a lot of questions for you after your quirk was revealed, as had Aizawa. But still, he took a step forward and put his hand up. “Y/N is exhausted. She just fought twenty of you with only very short breaks in between. And yet she only lost four times and Midoriya is the only one who managed to guess her quirk before the battle. She’s going to Recovery Girl and you can all go see her at lunch. For now, Todoroki, Bakugou, melt the ice and everyone else can spar, quirks included.”

Everyone looked excited at the prospect of being able to spar freely with quirks, something they hadn’t been able to do in class since your arrival. Of course, it wasn’t lost on you that you were going to miss it, but at least you’d be able to take part next time.

If anyone would be willing to partner with you.

Cementoss walked you to the nurse’s office and stayed as you endured your first kiss from Recovery Girl. She didn’t give you a hard time as you knew she did for students sometimes, since all you had were minor injuries. A lot of them—your body was covered with bruises not to mention a few small scratches and muscles that would soon be wound as a rubber band ball regardless of what she did. It all added up and, despite the fact that she put you just short of ‘good as new’ you were exhausted at the end. Although, you’d been exhausted to begin with.

“Why don’t you take a nap on the cot until the end of your class and I’ll wake you when it’s time to head to lunch?”

You’d resigned yourself to missing the rest of class as soon as you’d left Gym Gamma, and you were hardly in a position to argue. You were out as soon as you closed your eyes.

It seemed hardly a minute had passed when Recovery Girl was in your ear, Cementoss having left the room sometime during your nap. Which, apparently, had been about a half an hour.

You pushed yourself up and found that a lot of the aches and pains you’d walked into the room with were nothing but phantoms now, although the stiffness you’d expected tomorrow morning was already beginning to hit. Your quads and hamstrings were so tight you couldn’t walk without limping.

“Take these with lunch,” Recovery Girl said as she handed you a couple muscle-relaxing pain relievers.

Usually you didn’t like to take those and preferred to know where you were feeling more tender, but you grabbed them gratefully this time. You’d have to take a truck full of painkillers for your pain to go away that easily.

You walked by yourself to the Lunch Rush cafeteria, keeping an eye on landmarks as you did so. After two weeks, you generally knew how to get from place to place—especially somewhere as vital as the cafeteria—but the reminders reassured you since you couldn’t read any of the classroom signs pointing the way.

When you made it to the cafeteria, the rest of your class was already there, and some of them were waving you over. For the past two weeks, only the likes of Iida, Midoriya, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Ashido had done so, quickly representing themselves as the most welcoming members of class 2-A, even if Iida was doing it mostly out of duty.

Everyone, save Aoyama, was sitting together taking up two whole tables, minus one seat between Ashido and Yaoyorazu. There was a simple noodle dish in that spot and you pointed to it and asked, “Is that for me?”

“Sure is!” Ashido said, patting the seat. “Hope it’s okay. We didn’t weren’t sure what you like, with your American tastes and everything.”

“Honestly, anything looks good right now,” you said as you sat down. All of the food smells were making you ravenous.

“How are you feeling?” Yaoyorazu asked as you took your first bit of noodles. Someone had set you up with a fork instead of chopsticks, and you were grateful for that. You could manage with chopsticks, but there was nothing quite like a fork for shoveling food down your gullet.

You nodded as you chewed, swallowing the big bite as you said, “Much better, thanks. Pretty sore, but no bad injuries.”

“That’s a relief,” Midoriya said. He’d hit you the hardest out of everyone except for maybe Shouji, so it made sense that he’d be the most concerned about you. You smiled at him through another bite of food.

“So…” Ashido drawled, looking at you expectantly. You just raised your eyebrows up at her, bowl up to your chin as you kept eating. “Are you gonna tell us what you did to everyone?”

You looked around at the group to see if everyone had the same enthusiasm that Ashido did. There were a few looks of casual curiosity and more than a few who seemed to be purposefully looking away. But only Tsu, Yaoyorozu, and Sero looked equally intrigued about the emotions you had used against them and their friends.

“Well,” you started, taking gulp of water, “Ashido, I tried all kinds of things against you. But it seems you roll with the punches pretty well, because even though I could see you taking on all the emotions, none of them actually slowed you down. Happy, sad, angry, whatever. Your intention was strong regardless. That’s really good.”

“Oh, that explains the emotional roller coaster!” Ashido said. “I thought I was just having funky endorphins or something.”

You shrugged. “Maybe that’s part of how my quirk works. I don’t really know.”

“Wait, you said intention,” Midoriya said, looking up from where he was scribbling in his notebook. “Is that how you fight back against it? Intention?”

“Is that what you felt?” you asked back.

You’d never seen someone overpower your quirk before, although you hadn’t used it offensively very much in your life thus far either. The most you’d used it had been on people who were accepting your quirk voluntarily, so naturally they wouldn’t be fighting back.

“Hmm,” Midoriya paused, looking up at the ceiling. “I…well, the feeling that I think you used on me was something like total disinterest. I was coming at you and suddenly I was asking myself, ‘why bother?’ ‘Why even do this?’ And that made me give up a little bit. But I was still in control of my thoughts and was able to tell myself that we were fighting and was able to come back to myself, only to start feeling indifferent again.”

“Yeah, so I was thinking ‘boredom’ for you,” you explained, finally beginning to slow down on the noodles. “You clearly have so much passion and ambition, that going in the opposite direction of that seemed like something that would inhibit you. But since that’s probably something that you never feel, especially in combat, your mind was able to fight against it easier than emotion that’s more normal for you.”

“Okay,” Midoriya said, writing frantically. “That still doesn’t explain how someone would fight back. Especially if it is a feeling that would stick better.”

You shrugged. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, to be honest. I’ve never had this quirk used on me before, so there’s no way for me to know.”

“That makes sense…” Midoriya mumbled to himself as he continued scribbling.

“What did you use on me?” Jirou asked. She was barely making eye contact with you and you saw a bit of the distrust you’d seen on her, amongst others, after you’d revealed your quirk. She probably felt like her psyche had been invaded. Which, after all, it had.

“Embarrassment,” you admitted. “A bit of shame and anxiety and stress and you started to lose confidence in yourself. But you’re good at using your quirk, so you should have better confidence then that.”

Your cheeks felt hot as you said the words, already knowing that they probably wouldn’t be received well. There you were, having only been with these people for a couple weeks and the first way you were making yourself known was by diagnosing their emotional issues. Jirou gave a little huff and a nod, saying “Okay,” before turning back to her food.

“Ah, I see, so this is also an opportunity for us to learn how someone who knows us a little bit perceives us,” Iida said, putting a hand forward. “Not to mention a bit of insight as to what Aizawa-sensei thinks our shortcomings still are. This is an excellent lesson.”

“Well, your shortcoming is obviously that you’re too polite,” Tsu said.

Iida turned to Tsu, full of offense. “I don’t see how that’s a shortcoming,” he defended.

“Well, Tsu’s kind of right,” you said. “I did take advantage of your chivalry. But I’m not sure that kind of thing would have worked on you against a real villain, and without the heightened emotion.”

Iida shook his head. “I don’t want the technicalities of a training exercise in my favor. This is something I must work on to be a pro hero. So, tell me, what emotion did you use on me?”

“Shame,” you answered. “Different from Jirou, though. For you, obviously you pride honor so much that I was able to give you that emotion whilst acting as though you’d injured me so that the emotion would stick better. I did similar things to Ojiro and Satou and used regret just to slow them down a bit.”

“Ah, so acting out the scenario helps…” Midoriya muttered.

“Those are strong emotions,” Yaoyorozu commented. “Stronger than boredom, like you used on Midoriya. Does that have something to do with the power of your quirk as well?”

“Definitely,” you said. “I forgot to mention that before. It’s a bit of a person to person thing but, generally, yeah. An emotion like anger is always going to be stronger than, say, calmness or peacefulness.”

“A tragedy of the human condition,” Tokoyami said to himself.

You ended up going through everyone else one by one as they asked, sometimes struggling for the exact nuance of the word you were intending, occasionally reverting to English. You told them how you’d used anger against Tsu’s even-keeled nature, something she’d been able to guess, doubt against Yaoyorozu, which seemed to hit hard, and fear against Kouda.

“Okay, I don’t understand what she might have used against me,” Kaminari bemoaned. “All I could think once the match started was that she was really pretty and I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“Dude, you were horny,” Kirishima exclaimed, patting his friend on the back. “Y/N, tell me I’m wrong. You made him horny, right?”

“Um…” you started awkwardly and both Kirishima and Mineta gave hoots of laughter. “Well, lust, really. But hey, the good news is that means you’re not a sadist?”

There were more laughs from some of the boys and you might have joined in for the good humor, but it was still embarrassing. You could see a slight blush on Kaminari’s face and your cheeks were warm as well. And when Mineta’s leering eyes turned to you, you couldn’t help but tug up your uniform’s zipper a bit.

“Wow, she could be just like a Viagra,” Mineta murmured.

“I don’t need that,” Kaminari insisted. “I don’t need any of that.”

He looked at you as he said it, and you couldn’t help but hear, “I don’t need any of you,” instead. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. It always did.

Soon, your bowl was empty of noodles and Bakugou and Todoroki were the only ones who hadn’t asked how you’d manipulated them. And it didn’t seem as though either of them were going to. Of course, Bakugou’s friends couldn’t let that lie, so Kirishima came forward and asked. “So what did you do to poor Bakugou to make him fall to his knees?”

“I have an idea,” Mineta said, but everyone ignored him.

You looked at Bakugou, not wanting to say unless he was okay with it. He was glaring powerfully at you, but he didn’t tell you or Kirishima to shut up, as you’d so often heard him growl in your time at U.A. already. That must have meant that he was at least a little curious too.

“His was a bit harder to form in my mind,” you admitted, “but one of the simpler ones to plan. I was going for a sense of defeat. Some sadness, some hopelessness, despair, shame. He seems to run so much on anger—anger and a need to win, really—that if those aren’t at the forefront, he’s toast.”

That brought a growl out of Bakugou, but you continued.

“I’m sure that he could have broken through it like Midoriya did, since those emotions probably aren’t common for you,” you said, turning your gaze to Bakugou’s despite how it made you feel like he was going to pounce and tear you limb from limb at any moment. “But I think that that also made them really surprising for you to feel, especially since you were first, and that gave me just enough time to end the match quickly. But if something more time consuming than capture tape had been involved…I don’t know.”

Some people might have heard a compliment somewhere in your words, but as soon as you’d said Midoriya’s name, he’d snarled, closing him off from hearing anything good in your words. From what you’d observed so far, you weren’t surprised.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the newest member of class 2-A,” a blond boy said from behind you. He was looking down his nose at you, a wicked grin on his lips. “I hear you’ve got a freaky quirk that messes with people’s minds. Just what 2-A needed to round them out, since we have a new one too.”

You were frozen, unable to respond. How had word already gotten out? Only the class, Cementoss, and Aizawa had been in Gym Gamma and you’d assumed that they hadn’t blabbed to anyone else on the way to the cafeteria. Although, there wasn’t anything stopping them if that’s what they wanted to do. But maybe other students had just overheard the nature of the discussion you all had been having and had been able to put the pieces together based on the questions and answers you’d given.

“So, tell me? Can you force people to like you? Force everyone in this pathetic, little class to enjoy spending time around you until you turn around and convince them to give up in battles so you can rise to the top of the famous 2-A class? Pretty smart strategy if you ask—”

“Nobody did ask you, Monoma,” a girl with orange hair said as her fist ballooned and closed around the boy. “Sorry he’s your introduction to us. He’s barely house trained.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” you assured her. It wasn’t the worst you’d ever heard.

“Still,” she continued. “On behalf of class 2-B, I wish you luck. Enjoy your lunch.”

The girl carried the blond away, seemingly unbothered by the weight of an entire human person that she was now carrying. Once they were gone, you turned to your empty tray and picked it up.

“I’m still pretty tired from Recovery Girl,” you said, forcing a bit of cheer into your voice as you stared at the thin sauce coating the bottom of your bowl. “I’m going to rest a bit and see you all back in class.”

You only made it a few steps toward the dish station when you felt someone coming up behind you. You glanced back to see Todoroki, following you with his own empty tray.

“Can I ask you what emotion you used on me?” he asked quietly, coming up to your side.

You take a breath, seeing the defeated look he’d had on his face, even after you’d pulled the influence of your quirk back from him again. “Sadness. Maybe a bit of regret. No anger.”

“I see,” Todoroki said.

With that, he brushed past you and placed his dishes on the rack, then returned to his friends. You did the same with your dishes, and then went to the exit. When you pushed open the doors, there was someone standing with his arms crossed, looking at you as though he’d been waiting. You didn’t think you’d ever had so many people who wanted to speak to you before.

This boy had indigo hair and looked as tired as you felt. Actually, probably as tired as you looked too. He surprised you when he gave a small, uncertain smile. “Hi, I’m Shinsou. What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/N. It’s my given name, but I’m more comfortable if you call me that.” It was what you said every time you introduced yourself here in Japan. Another thing keeping you just a little bit othered.

“Okay, Y/N,” Shinsou said. “It’s nice to meet you. I…I heard that you have a quirk that lets you influence people’s emotions?”

You sighed. You could already hear it. This guy was going to ask you to make him feel happier or, judging by his face, more energetic or something like that. Sometimes you hated these guys even more than people like that Monoma fellow.

“No, I—” Shinsou started, seeming to catch onto the way your face fell, “I just wanted to say that my quirk lets me control other people in a way too, and sometimes—often, actually—people make assumptions about me that hurt. So I don’t know if you feel like that, but if so,” he shrugged, “I understand.”

You didn’t smile. You couldn’t say you felt happy, but as a breath whooshed out of you and your whole body sagged, despite the stiffness fisting every muscle, you could only think of one emotion.

Relief.

[btsslowburnfic]

Chthonic Love Chapter 5

A Greek Mythology AU featuring Yoongi/Suga as Hades and reader as Persephone

Previous Chapter: Chapter 4

Olympian ruler Namjoon has delivered you, Persephone, as a gift for his brother, lord of Death, Yoongi. You wake up from your first night in the Obsidian Palace ready to explore and maybe get to know more about how you ended up here

_______________________

You slept much later than you had intended, judging by how well-rested you felt. You cursed, wishing there was a way to distinguish time. The sky was always the same. You dressed yourself in the most basic dress that had been placed in your closet, a deep purple dress, but it was still beautiful.

You gently pushed open the door and headed out into the castle. There was no one in the great hall, and no one in the throne room. You didn’t want to bother Yoongi straight away, you decided you would try to catch him as he went out to the Sea.

You turned and went down a passage you hadn’t been down yet. You were surprised to see that there was a door in the middle of this hallway that appeared to lead to the outside. You turned the handle, walked down a few steps, and found yourself in a circle, about 15 meters in diameter. The Underworld sky shone above you, the walls of the castle surrounded you on all sides. It was an empty space full with black gravel covering the ground.

This could use some improvement you thought as you stretched your fingers out, allowing green energy to flow freely. You began by creating lush grass beneath your feet. You waved your hands, creating hedges in a circle configuration with space for a path. You next added some lilies and an archway above the space. You continued to add more bushes and lilies throughout. When you arrived at the middle you created a large purple Chrysanthemum bush.

You smiled, satisfied with the garden so far. You next added some ivy running up the Palace walls.

“Oh my word. That’s stunning!” you heard a voice call out. You turned toward the door and saw Lethe standing there.

“Thank you. I do love creating a new garden from scratch,” you replied, brushing your hands together.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw something green.” Lethe responds, her mouth slightly open in awe. She walked down the steps and into the garden. “This is amazing.”

You smiled proudly.

“I was out looking for you. Is there anything I can get for you today?”

“Is there any way to tell time around here? The sky never changes,” you asked as you look up.

Lethe thinks for a moment. “I can never tell time here, but I know Lord Yoongi uses a special hourglass. Maybe he could teach you how to read it.” she shrugged. “I just do the same thing every day and count the times he leaves. He’s left once. So it’s after morning but not very late in the afternoon.”

“I suppose it really doesn’t matter all that much,” you sighed, sitting down on the ground and hugging your knees to your chest.

“M’lady surely we can bring you a bench or something to sit on out here.”

You looked up at Lethe and gave her a lopsided grin,“I’m not quite the Goddess you expected am I?”

“Oh no, you’re much nicer than any of the Goddesses from the Athenian Palace.” She immediately threw her hands up to her mouth, “Forgive me. Please forget I said that.”

“No, you’re fine. I’m a nature Goddess, not an Olypian. You are all treating me too well here. I don’t live in a palace in the mortal realm so this,“ you gestured to your dress and to the walls around you, “would definitely be seen as an upgrade.”

“I thought all Gods and Goddesses had courts and palaces?” Lethe responded as she ran a hand along one of the hedges.

“My brother keeps a palace and a court. I visit from time to time and have a room there. But, I mostly wander around nature. I sleep in caves. I find quiet coves near the ocean. Hollowed out trees. I think I might have one pair of shoes that I keep in my room at the Spring Court. Really. I am not some fancy lady,” you stood up. “What’s your favorite flower Lethe?”

“Gladiolus.” she said quietly.

You spread out your fingers and then a small bush appeared, it’s pinkish-purple blooms appearing within seconds.

“You might not be a fancy lady, but you are a great one,” Lethe said, her eyes growing wet with tears.

You decided it would be best to give her a moment, “I’m heading to the Library. Can you please let me know the next time Lord Yoongi is leaving for the Sea?”

“Of course,” you heard her say as you began your walk back to the Southern part of the castle.

----------------------------------

Yoongi walked back from his first reaping of the day. Charon had delivered the letter to Apollo and now all you two could do is wait. He shook his hair out of his face as he entered his office. He was surprised to see the flowers from the previous night were still blooming on his desk. He smiled and moved them over to one side, next to the glass orb you had arrived in.

He found himself feeling lighter than he had in centuries and wondered what he had done last night to feel so well-rested today. He walked over to the bookshelves and scanned them for a moment. Settling on one of his many notebooks he took it out and began writing. Writing music was something he had started to do as a way to break up the monotony of the Underworld. He began playing on the harpsichord, testing the notes he had envisioned during his walk earlier.

Satisfied, he moved on to lyrics. This part was more difficult. He could write music. He could write lyrics. Matching the two up for an actual song was always a series of trial and error. He poked his tongue out and found himself wondering what you were doing today. He scribbled a few lines down and decided to go and see.

He wandered through the Great Hall and saw Penthos. “Penthos, have you seen Lady Persephone today?” he asked, running his fingers through his black hair.

“I haven’t. Lethe left a while ago to see if she needed anything and hasn’t returned yet. Is there anything you need from me today m’Lord?”

“Holly’s food is getting low, please take care of that.” Yoongi put his hands on his hips as he looked around the great hall, appraising it for the first time in years.

“Yes m’lord. Anything else?”

“No,” he responded and went back into the main hallway.

He walked down the hallway and up to the quicksilver door and knocked. He suddenly felt very nervous and wondered what exactly he was going to say to you. To his slight relief and also disappointment there was no response. He continued down the Eastern corridor and was surprised to see the door to the small courtyard open. He practiced in his head Good afternoon Persephone did you sleep well? Did you like the dresses. No. Too weird. Ugh He walked over and was shocked to see a fully in bloom garden there. Well you had definitely been here. He carefully walked down, afraid he would harm even the grass that was freshly created. He hadn’t visited the mortal realm in centuries and other than the flowers last night, he hadn’t seen anything like this in forever. He gently touched one of the white flowers, afraid his touch might cause it to wither and die like the mortals said. To his pleasant surprise, the flower remained. He let out a breath, he wasn’t a monster. He wandered through the rest of the small area admiring the blooms and the pleasant fragrance in the air.

He walked back over to the hallway and closed the door behind him. He heard footsteps approaching as Lethe rounded the corner.

“Lord Yoongi.”

“Good day Lethe. Have you seen Lady Persephone?”

“Yes, I just left her in the library. Shall I go fetch her?” Lethe asked, beginning to turn around.

“No, no. Thank you.” he started walking over that way.

He pushed open the black glass doors to the library, his footsteps echoed off the stone walls. Much like the Quicksilver room and the Throne room, the shelves and benches in here were carved into the very Obsidian with which they were made.

Yoongi walked over and saw you gently levitating some books on the second floor, dusting them off with a breeze, and sending dust out the window. The dress Arachne had made fit you perfectly, he admired from the library entrance.

You turned and looked down at him, “Just doing some Spring cleaning.” you grinned. “Get it? Because I’m Spring,” you laughed at your own terrible pun.

For a minute he just stood there looking confused, and then a small gummy smile crept across his face. And then he started to laugh as well

.

“I know, I know, I am hilarious.” you put that stack of books back and summoned another one. Satisfied with that finished row you turned towards Yoongi. “How are you today?”

“Surprisingly refreshed.” he responded and walked up a few steps so he was on the same level as you. He walked over to the open window. “Did you sleep well?” he asks, fidgeting with his black shirt sleeve.

“I did. Thank you for the clothes. I’d love to give the seamstress my compliments. The material is so soft and well made.”

“I’ll let her know,” Yoogi smirked as he turned back towards the window. Making eye contact was always difficult for him.

“I wouldn’t mind doing so myself.” you responded, walking closer.

Yoongi clicked his tongue, “Maybe another time. She’s uh...not quite human and very much a creature of the Underworld. But I’ll let her know.”

You walked over and sat in the window seat next to where he was standing.

He looked over at your face, and even though he’d only known you for around twenty-four hours, he could detect something was wrong; the air of cheerfulness gone from you. And he couldn’t explain why he cared so much that you seemed unhappy. “Is something bothering you Persephone?”

You let out a sigh. “Not really bothering me per say but there are a few things I would like to ask you.”

Yoongi felt his heart rate beginning to pick up. He had lied to himself thinking you were happy here. You were going to demand that he return you immediately. His breathing became more shallow.

You looked over and noticed his eyes were suddenly pinched shut and he wasn't breathing. You reached out and took his hand, shaking it slightly “Hey. Are you ok?”

He looked down at where the two of you were connected and he was suddenly pulled out of his own self-destructive thoughts. He pulled his hand away gently, “Of course. What did you want to ask me?”

“Ok, first: how do you tell time down here?” you ask exasperated.

Yoongi laughed, suddenly feeling like an idiot for his almost meltdown a few seconds ago,

“That’s what you wanted to ask me? The most important thing?” he turned and smiled at you.

“Yes. It’s the most important thing ever. Ever. I can deal with being kidnapped but I really just need to know the time of day,” you say dramatically. “Seriously though. It’s very disorienting.

You probably don’t even notice it because you’ve lived here for so long, but not having morning, midday, and night is really confusing.”

He ran a hand along his jaw, “I suppose that’s true. I just go down to the shore three times a day. If there are even 24 hours in a day here,” he seemed to think this over thoughtfully.

“So you don’t really know either?” you smirked.

Yoongi pressed his lips together in a way that looked almost like a duck making you giggle.

“Alright. So time doesn’t matter here in the Underworld. Got it.” you throw up your hand, holding up two fingers, “Next question: Why did Namjoon bring me here specifically?”

“Ah, a real concern.” Yoongi stated quietly.

“More of a question than a concern really. I’d much rather be with you than anywhere with Namjoon,” you stated as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

You’d be the first Yoongi thought but he was so surprised and happy at what you said, a blush started to form on his face and he forgot what you had asked him exactly.

“Yoongi, you don’t have to tell me, but if you know I’d really appreciate it,” you said quietly, looking out the window.

“Aish, sorry. It’s um. Embarrassing it all. He uhh….thought I could use some company.” he looked down at his feet. “He thinks I must be lonely down here.” he added quietly.

“Were you?” you asked looking over your shoulder.

His gaze remained at the floor and he shrugged his shoulders. Yes. Gods yes. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” Liar

The two of you stay there for an indeterminate amount of time before you ask, “What are those called?”

“Pardon?” he walked over to the window, leaning over behind you to see what you were gesturing to. “Those are called, those mountains over there, North of the Castle.” he laughed, you could feel his breath on your neck.

You scrunched up your nose and turned to face him, “That is a truly unimaginative name.”

“Add it to the list. You’ve got a cave and a mountain range to name.”

“So much responsibility.” you pretended to whine.

Yoongi smiled at you and made the mistake of looking into your eyes because he suddenly became very aware of how close the two of you were and took a few steps back. He rubbed his hands together. “Well it’s about time to go collect some more dead people.”

“Wow, when you put it like that it sounds much less interesting.” you mused.

“Will you be joining me?” he asked, trying to not sound too eager.

You looked around the library. Your cleaning could wait until later even though you felt slightly compelled to finish what you had started. “I’d love to.” NEXT CHAPTER