#i’m always wrong lately i feel like a printer

[daisychainsandbowties]

also fierce grape is nasty if you're going for grape flavour in a sports drink you gotta go with powerade instead

i haven’t had a grape flavour drink before (says the guy who has never and now will never have a donut) but i trust you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unorthodox 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Conrad kisses your hand before you go. It’s enough to make you roll your eyes but you maintain your veneer. As it is, you’re more worried about your boss. Sy hasn’t quit huffing and puffing all night. Usually, a good meal puts him in a good mood but not this time. 

“So,” you open the folder Conrad handed over. “I think it’s a good deal. Almost a partnership, which you know, we could use some consistency.” 

Sy grumbles but doesn’t answer as you head down the hall. He drags his feet as the caftan flaps around your hips. The sleek fabric sends chills through you. You stop at the first corner. 

“Wanna point me in the direction?” You prompt. He points, head down, and traipses beside you. You frown. “Sy, what’s going on?” 

He growls and shakes his head. He sniffs and rubs his nose, “nothin’.” 

“Right.” You accept dryly, “I’ll give it a look over tonight, you should too--” 

“You know, I think you look good.” He says abruptly. “In that dress thingy you got on. Wasn’t meanin’ it earlier, just playin’, you know?” 

You arch a brow at him as you slow. You glance around again. You’re really lost in this maze of hallways. “Alright, Sy,” you chuckle, “it’s fine. It’s not exactly my style.” 

“Just wanted you to know, Iz.” 

“Mhm, got it.” 

“He talks a lot.” Sy stops and taps a door. You think it’s yours? “Worked together back in the service days. He always had some local gal on the hook. Interpreter. He could chatter all night. And he did.” 

You eye him and giggle. You can’t believe him. Does he really think so little of you? 

“This is business. I’m working, right now, Sy. I have no interest in Conrad. Not beyond this.” You wave the folder. 

“Well, I know that.” He rubs his neck and looks away bashfully. “Wouldn’t expect that of ya, just warnin’ ya. He can be convincin’.” 

“I thought he was an old friend.” 

“He is, but don’t mean I agree with all his ways.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. 

You hug the folder, “thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I need to lay down. I’m exhausted.” 

“Yeah, me too.”  

He turns and opens the door. He pushes it inward and waves you in. You enter and stifle a yawn, your eyes wetting at the corners. You lay the file down and a shadow moves along the edge of your vision. 

The door shuts behind Sy. On the wrong side. 

“What are you doing?” You scoff. 

“Oh, uh... habit. We usually share, don’t we?” 

“Yeah, when all we got is a backseat. Not to be rude, but you snore like a hog.” You snip. 

“Ah, yeah, well, I told ya to poke me.” 

“Yeah, I tried that. Sy, please.” You put your palms out. “We could both use a good night’s sleep.” 

“Sorry, I... I’m tired. Wasn’t thinkin’ straight,” he chuckles. A grizzly noise. “See ya in the mornin’ then.” 

“You too,” you nearly sigh in relief. 

You wait for him to go before you can relax. You sit down at the small table and resume your review. You should just lay down but you don’t know what he has in mind for tomorrow. Could be another plane ride, could be nothing. 

When at last you sleep, it’s deep and undisturbed by the bump of the axel or the rumble of a snoring beast. You dream of your old office job and angry printers. You even dream that you’re late for a boardroom meeting only to be awoken by a pounding at the door. 

“Izzie!” Sy’s roar shakes you awake.  

You nearly fall out of bed in your scramble. Your vision is bleary and your head is heavy. Your bearings are all scattered as you stumble across the room. You pull open the door to find your boss on the other side. 

“Brrg, what time is it?” Your tongue is uncooperative as you speak. Maybe you had a bit more wine than you thought. 

“Huh, uh,” Sy’s face turns red and he runs his hand over his beard and coughs. His eyes flick down then side-to-side. “Uh, it’s... it’s only nine. I—I—Iz.”  

He points down and you look at your body. Shit. You only remember stripping off the caftan and falling face first into the bed. No bother for your sports bra or boy shorts. Thank god you didn’t get that comfortable. 

“Ah damn, sorry, Sy.” You close the door and retreat. 

You pull open your bag and fish out your usual; leggings and long-sleeved tee, a zip-up to go over it. You roll your socks on and tie your boots, snatching up your vest as you breeze back to the door. As you pull it inward, Sy sways and peers in shyly. 

“Got everything?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you loop the vest on one arm as you tie a bandana around your hair. “I was passed out. Sorry. Haven’t slept like that in years.” 

“Ain’t no worry.” His cheeks are still pink. His eyes keep scouring up and down. 

“Stop that.” You punch his arm as you step into the hall. “Oh, wait.” 

“Shouldn’t need your vest,” he says. 

“Oh,” you toss it on the bed as you swipe up the folder. “Well, got my notes.” 

You come back out and nearly collide with him. He moves around you awkwardly. He hovers like your shadow and you grab his arm to guide him. 

“Sy, what’s up?” You chide. 

“N-nothing. I just--” He huffs out through his nose. “Was worried ‘bout ya. You’re usually gettin’ me up, is all.” 

[wo8ngs]

⟢　　﹒ 　　CASE OF THE FIRST DAY JITTERS ..　۫　　◞

synopsis ⤷ first days can always be just a bit nerve-wracking, especially when you're interning at one of the most prestigious law firms in america. but why should you have nerves when only a few were even chosen for an interview, especially when you were the perfect fit? wait, you're interning at wong & associates, under THE ada wong? it's not like she could scrutinize your every move, right? wrong.

pairing: intern!reader x lawyer!ada wong

you were the perfect fit for the job, how could you not be?

you were at the top of all your classes. you have never missed a deadline—your ambition won’t allow it. you were always the first one to arrive and the last one to leave the building, and you push yourself past your limit because, for you, anything less than perfection is not good enough.

and if it wasn’t enough to just have the grades and the best recommendations from former professors and co-workers—you had to prove yourself. ada wong herself, famously known for her ruthlessness and high standards, personally interviewed you. she wanted to see the drive behind the résumé, to make sure you weren’t just another ambitious intern, but someone with the precision and dedication to match her own.

you impressed her, of course. how could you not? after all, you weren't just another candidate—you were the ideal one. you were the perfect fit for the role.

but now, as you stand in front of the mirror, clad in your signature mary janes, knee socks, and black mini-skirt, a wave of nerves wash over you. you can’t shake that fluttering anxiety in your stomach, as you adjust your hair for the tenth time. the reflection staring back at you looks polished to perfection, and put together, yet you can’t help but feel the weight of expectations pressing down on your shoulders.

what if you trip on your way in? what if your voice wavers during the morning brief? are you even supposed to talk as the intern on your first day? the very thought of it sends a shiver down your spine. you remind yourself of all the hours spent studying, the late nights you sacrificed, and that determination of yours that had brought you to the position you saw yourself in today. yet, standing there, it feels like its all on hinges on this moment, on how you present yourself. because, first impressions matter.

as you take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, you force a smile at yourself through the mirror. you know you’re more than capable; you’ve earned this opportunity. but the nerves are relentless, the doubts still stuck in the forefront of your mind.

‘what if you’re not good enough?’

‘what if they think i’m inexperienced?’

‘what if they judge me before i even get a chance to prove myself?’

‘what if—?’

as soon as you blink, you’re standing in the large building at the top floor where ‘wong & associates’ is located. the moment you step through the glass doors, the energy of the office instantly envelops you. people are moving around the open space, files clutched in their hands, their eyes focused on the task at hand. the rhythmic clicking of keyboard fills in the air.

the scent of coffee waffs through the air, mingling with the subtle hum of conversations and the sound of printers whirring. it feels like one of those well-oiled machines, and it makes you feel intimidated to be apart of it.

you take a moment to soak it all in, feeling both exhilarated and overwhelmed at the same time. as you adjust your grip on your notebook, you can’t help but feel that flutter of nerves coming back in your stomach. you glance around, spotting a few familiar faces from your interview, their expressions serious and focused as they navigate their tasks.

suddenly, the door to ada’s office swings open, a young women stepping out of it, her expression one of clear distress. her brow is furrowed, and her lips press into a tight line, as if her emotions were rolling off of the surface. she glances over her shoulder, as if expecting ada to follow her with more criticism or a command, before hastily making her way back to her desk. her movements are frantic, a stark contrast to the usual composed demeanor expected in this office. papers flutter from her hands as she rushes, and you can’t help but notice the way her shoulders tense with each step.

and then ada emerges behind her, the door clicking shut with a sense of finality. her face is cold and unreadable, her sharp features set in a stoic expression that rarely ever reveals any hint of emotion. she surveys the scene, her eyes narrowing as she scans the bustling office floor.

you can’t help but feel a chill run down your spine as you observe her demeanor.

she's a force to be reckoned with, and everyone knows it.

with her hands resting firmly on her hips, ada stands tall and imposing. there’s tension in the room, a silent acknowledgment of the pressure that comes with working under someone like ada. her gaze remains steady and piercing, as if she’s assessing not only the situation but the very people involved. you can sense the unease that settles over the office as colleagues glance furtively at each other, trying to gauge ada’s reaction.

from your vantage point by the front door, you can’t help but feel a little bad for the women who had exited the office. the tension is almost tangible, a thick fog of anxiety that hangs in the air. you watch as the young woman attempts to collect herself, desperately shuffling through her papers in a bid to regain some semblance of control, her hands trembling slightly.

ada’s sharp eyes finally catch sight of you standing near the entrance, and she squints, scrutinizing your presence. the moment stretches, and you feel your heart race under her gaze, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.

were you already making a bad impression? especially on the person who is your boss?

her expression shifts slightly, though it remains inscrutable, and you can’t quite tell if she’s annoyed by your presence or simply assessing who you are.

you feel like you’re going to be sick. ada’s gaze remains locked on you as she begins to make her way over, each step purposeful and measured.

the rhythm of her heels clicking against the polished floor resonates through the office. colleagues momentarily pause their conversations, glancing up as she approaches. everyone was in understanding that ada’s presence isn’t something to be taken lightly.

as she closes the distance between you, her expression shifts from one of cold assessment to something more nuanced. her eyes, sharp and calculating, scan your face, searching for any signs of weakness or uncertainty. you can feel your heart rate quicken under her scrutiny.

when she finally reaches you, ada pauses for a moment, her gaze unwavering, as if she’s trying to gauge your reaction to her proximity. you can’t help but feel small under her scrutiny, like a deer caught in headlights.

"are you lost?" she asks.

the question is blunt, cutting through the tension in the air, leaving no room for ambiguity. it was as if she’s daring you to prove your worth in this high-stakes environment. there’s an intensity in her gaze that makes you acutely aware of every detail—how you stand, how you respond, and what you choose to say.

because be careful with what you say.

you’re about to say something, but you feel an unexpected tightness in your throat. the words you rehearsed in your mind suddenly seem to vanish, leaving you with a jumble of thoughts that struggle to break free. you open your mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a slight stutter, a nervous breath that does nothing to convey the impression you wish to convey.

ada tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing just a bit, as if she’s peeling back the layers of your hesitation, trying to read what lies beneath your thoughts. the silence stretches between you, heavy and almost palpable, and you can feel your cheeks warm under her unwavering gaze. it’s as if time has slowed down, and the bustling office around you fades into a distant hum.

why was nothing coming out? you were desperate to articulate your thoughts while grappling with the overwhelming presence of the woman standing in front of you. you can see the slight twitch at the corner of ada’s mouth, a hint of amusement there, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. she remains steadfast, as she waits for you to gather your thoughts.

“um... i—” you begin, but the syllables falter before they can fully form. and in this moment, all you can do is clear your throat, willing yourself to sound more assured, but the sound only serves to amplify your nervousness.

before you can even finish constructing a full sentence, ada nods slightly, her expression shifting as if she’s already processed everything she needs to know from your brief attempt at a response. there’s an almost imperceptible spark of recognition in her eyes, as if she’s made a mental note about you—your hesitation, your ambition, the way you stand beneath her scrutiny. in that moment, you realize she’s not just assessing your words; she’s evaluating your potential.

with a smooth, authoritative motion, ada turns her attention away from you and calls out to the project manager, “jenna,” she says, her tone firm yet clear, slicing through the office chatter. you watch as a woman in her mid-thirties, dressed in a tailored suit that mirrors ada’s own style, glances up from her desk, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“come here for a moment,” ada instructs, and jenna rises to her feet, striding over with a confident gait that reflects her own position of authority. as she approaches, you can feel the tension in the air shift again, this time mingled with a sense of anticipation. you can’t help but feel the weight of ada’s gaze shifting back to you, her once again expression unreadable.

“this is the intern i mentioned,” ada states matter-of-factly, gesturing toward you with a flick of her wrist. “she’ll be working for me this fall term.” the way she introduces you carries a weight that sends a shiver down your spine; her words like a seal-of-approval. the significance of that statement sinks in, and you feel a rush of pride mixed with anxiety at the prospect of working under such a formidable figure.

THE ada wong.

jenna turns to you, her demeanor warm yet professional, and offers a friendly smile. “nice to meet you! i’ve heard great things about you already,” she says, extending her hand in greeting. as you shake jenna’s hand, as ada watches closely, her eyes assessing your response.

ada’s gaze shifts from jenna back to you, and she takes a moment to eye you up and down, slow and deliberate. her expression is inscrutable, making it hard to gauge what she’s thinking as she appraises every detail—from the way you stand to the way you’re dressed in your carefully chosen outfit. you can feel the weight of her scrutiny; it’s both intimidating and oddly exhilarating, making your heart race.

after a moment that stretches on for what feels like an eternity, ada finally breaks her inspection and turns on her heel, striding confidently back toward her office. the click of her heels against the polished floor resonates in the now-quiet space as she moves away. you can’t help but watch her, captivated.

as she reaches the threshold of her office, she pauses and glances over her shoulder one last time, her piercing gaze locking onto yours. there’s something almost inscrutable in her expression—perhaps it’s approval, or maybe it’s a silent warning to stay on your toes. you can feel your breath catch in your throat again.

with a slight tilt of her head, she seems to convey a message that says;

‘i’m watching you’.

then, in one fluid motion, she steps into her office and closes the door behind her. the click of the latch resonates in the stillness of the hallway. the sound reverberates through you, a reminder of her presence even as she disappears from view.

in ada’s own kind of way, she had acknowledged you on the first day of your orientation. and that doesn’t happen to a lot of interns on their first day.

consider yourself grateful, intern. your new internship is going to be interesting, to say the least.

© wo8ngs / do not repost, copy, steal, etc., any of my work and claim it as your own.

[izloveshorses]

Let Your Heart Be Light

holiday modern au, 1.7k. when anya gets to be the grump this time dmitry has to cheer her up <3

Anya huffed as she slammed the door behind her. She fumbled with her scarf, hat, gloves, coat, tripped from her boots, and left it all in a wet, dripping heap on the floor. 

She hadn’t called her boyfriend before coming over, but had let herself in his apartment anyway, since he’d given her a key and everything, so she made herself comfortable on his couch without saying a word. 

Minutes later, there was the noise of the lock turning and Dmitry was stomping his shoes dry. “Anya?” he called, perhaps confused by the sight of her coat in a heap at the door. “You here?” 

“In the living room,” she answered without much more elaboration. 

He made his way around the couch and he finally found her on her side with her head on the armrest. “Hey,” Dmitry’s smile melted her heart, just a little. On a good day he could put the sun to shame. His hair was disheveled from the walk home, cheeks flushed from the cold, his hoodie a little crooked, his smile moreso, smelling like snow and clove. “This is a surprise.” He settled on the couch behind her, their usual cuddle spot after a long day. She did her best to maintain her fowl mood she was determined to cling onto. But he was rather warm. Perhaps she could snuggle a little closer to him. “To what do I owe this occasion?”

Anya sighed. “I’ve officially broken up with Christmas.”

He snorted. “Oh no!”

“I’m serious. We’re so over. I’ve decided I hate the cold, and the music, and the crowds. Everyone is too cheerful.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “It was just a really bad day.”

“I don’t think one bad day warrants such extreme actions,” he reasoned, tone playful. Teasing was usually the trick that cheered her up, but she wasn’t in the mood right now. “Especially something you’ve adored since before I’ve known you.”

It was true. She was Hallmark Movie Crazy about the holiday season, always had been. She loved buying gifts for everyone, watching the Christmas classics, going ice skating in the park, baking for her neighbors. Basically every cliche you could think of, Anya participated in. She never understood why anyone could be grumpy at this time of year. Until today. 

Dmitry’s fingers dug into her side in an attempt to tickle, another trick that normally lightened her mood, but she smacked his hand away. “Watch it, Sudayev.” 

“Sorry,” he said, but he was still laughing. “But seriously. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Anya took a deep breath. “Nothing big, but like— you know how when all the little things just add up? And make the day terrible? And you feel like a toddler about to dissolve into a tantrum?” 

“Yeah. That’s always rough.”

“Right. Like— I spilled my coffee and didn’t have time to change or buy a new one, so there goes five bucks.”

“Oof.”

“And then I was late getting to work anyway, which is never a good way to start the day. And we had all these meetings so I didn’t get to finish my work before I had to leave, and the printer was broken, and my lunch box leaked, and someone sent me a rude email again—”

“Was it that one guy from sales?”

“Yeah, the same guy.”

“I hate him. Want me to fight him for you?”

“I might fight him if he writes ‘as previously stated’ one more time.”

That made Dmitry laugh. His cheek was cold against her neck, but his body was so irresistibly warm she wondered if his mere presence would lull her to sleep. “Geez. You can’t catch a break.”

“And then! My usual metro line was down again, so I had to take a bus, but there was so much traffic from holiday shoppers that it took twice as long to get uptown, and I lost a glove, and at that point I didn’t even want to go to the store and cook dinner anymore.”

Dmitry was rubbing soothing circles on her shoulder. “And then you came here.”

“Because I didn’t want to go home to my empty apartment and get all mad again.”

“Did you want me to cheer you up?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. I just kinda feel like eating in and watching TV.”

“Fair.” He was quiet for a minute. He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping away, and Anya assumed the conversation was over. Maybe she might actually fall asleep. Until, “I know what will make you feel better. Come on,” Dmitry stood abruptly, stretching, and she was immediately annoyed by the lack of his warm body against her back. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Somewhere fun.”

Anya refused to get up. “If it involves going out there again,” she pointed to the door, “you’re going to have to pay me.”

“You’ll love it.”

“No.” 

Dmitry sat again, now at her feet, still trying. “They opened the Tuileries winter market today. They’re selling warm drinks and everything. Don’t you want to go see the pretty lights? Do something a little Christmas-y?”

Anya knew she was being stubborn. That was the thing— stubbornness wasn’t exactly a pleasant trait, but, unlike others who suffered from this gene, she was aware of the flaw. Her self awareness made this at least a little more tolerable. And, frankly, she earned the right to not want to get up from this old couch after such a day. Even if she knew she was being difficult to her very lovely and very patient boyfriend. “Christmas lights can’t erase today. I’m forever jaded.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

She sat up, really looking at him, trying to figure out the angle he was playing. “I thought you hated that kind of stuff.”

“Hate’s a strong word. I’m no Scrooge.”

It wasn’t like he was never cheerful, but Dmitry wasn’t exactly the jolly type, either. Anya was usually the one dragging him to holiday events. He happily joined her, of course, but she could tell he only played along just for her sake. Anya jumped at any chance to celebrate the season, from a themed party at their favorite bar to her grandmother’s Christmas dinner to shopping in the holiday section at the bookstore. Dmitry would choose to stay comfortable at home with just the two of them any day. Not that that was a bad thing, of course. So this behavior— him being the one to actively search for a not-cheap Christmas activity in town to participate in— was rather suspicious. “But you always say they overcharge.”

“They do, but,” he bent down and kissed her cheek, “you like these things. And I like you. And I hate seeing you so glum more than I hate spending money.”

That made her smile. “How romantic.” 

He mirrored her, kissing her nose. “Come on, Anya. It’ll be good for you to do something cheery and out of your usual routine. If you’re too tired and cold after an hour, we can come back here, and I’ll make us dinner and some boozy hot chocolates, I promise. Scout’s honor.”

“You weren’t a scout.”

He just tilted his head, playfully and patiently exasperated. 

“Fine.” His grin widened, but she held up a finger. “You get one hour. And I get to complain about the snow and the commute as much as I want.”

He kissed her then. “That’s my girl.”

They bundled up and braved the December weather, and as promised, Anya grumbled the whole way, and to her frustration Dmitry only smiled and gave her a spare pair of gloves and zipped her coat up to her chin. The ride to the park wasn’t very long so they arrived just as the sun was setting. Dmitry paid for their steaming cups of mulled wine without a fuss and they made their way through the gate, weaving through vendors and children running around, until they found a path of twinkling string lights to walk through. 

With Dmitry’s hand in hers and a warm beverage in the other, it wasn’t so bad. The snowfall was less icy and bitter and more fluffy and sweet, Anya admitted to herself, and the lights were rather pretty. It was hard to focus on the frustrations of her day when there were so many delighted smiles walking around and the cheerful carols in the air. Dmitry was rambling mindlessly about his own day at work, talking about the technicalities of this new recipe he got to try, how maybe the head chef might let him take the lead on a dish for a critic tomorrow. And then he would whisper something funny against her cheek, earning a laugh, and. Okay. Maybe today wasn’t all bad. 

“Could you take our picture?” he asked one stranger, offering his phone, just before they were about to step under a canopy of lights. 

Anya raised her eyebrows up at him, surprised. He grinned as he adjusted his beanie, like he knew he was behaving a bit strange. But they posed and smiled, and when he kissed her cheek she laughed, and they carried on with their walk. 

“You’re being a little gross today,” she commented, earning a laugh from him. 

“Just trying to cheer you up.” 

She tilted her head up at him. 

“Is it working?” 

She shrugged. “Maybe.” 

He turned to face her. Checking. Showing his hand. His smile was still playful, but his eyes shifted into something softer, something a little more serious. “You ready to head back?” 

She looked around, taking in the scene around them. “In a few more minutes.” 

His eyes searched hers for a minute, studying, making sure. “Okay.” His hands ran up and down her arms as if to warm her up. Always taking care of her, subconsciously or not. “I just hate to see you and your favorite holiday in a fight after just one lousy day.” 

She ducked her head. “I think we’re on good terms now,” she admitted, meeting his eye again. “Thanks to you.” 

The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Good.” 

She stood on her toes to kiss him and he met her halfway, his nose cold against her cheek, all smiles and snow and clove and cinnamon. 

Not a bad day. Maybe even a good one.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Silent breakup (part 3) | Jess Mariano x Reader

Summary: After some thinking, you drive up to Philadelphia to see Jess

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Taylor Swift bingo square: Invisible string

-

As silly as it sounded, something was tying you to Jess. You could feel it with your heart.

Perhaps it had something to do with this ancient Chinese folklore myth you had read about the other day, the one about a red thread of fate tying two people together. The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.

The weeks following Alexander's proposal, you did a lot of thinking. It brought you back to the same question.

''Do you think Jess and I could have a future together?''

Rory was taken aback by your question. Lane, who was sitting across from you on the couch, was completely lost.

''Since when is Jess back in the picture?'' she asked, looking between you and Rory for explanations. ''Wow, I leave on my honeymoon and when I come back, I feel like I missed a whole year of news. I was only gone for two weeks.''

''You want to try again with Jess?''

It was undeniable that you still had feelings for Jess. Feelings as strong as those never really go away. When your heart healed, it stored them in a box in the corner of your heart, safely kept.

Would re-opening this box be worth the risk of re-opening an old wound?

You slumped your shoulders. ''I don't know.''

You always thought love and relationships would get easier as you get older. What a fool you were! If anything, it got more complicated.

''I think you and Jess were a right-person-wrong-time type of situation,'' Rory said. ''You were both young - and so in love -, but poor decisions caused your downfall.''

''I think 'poor decisions' is small to describe what Jess did to Y/N,'' Lane argued. ''He acted like a coward. He could've talked to you, but no, he packed his bag and left.'' She huffed and stabbed a piece of her food, still holding a grudge against Jess. Looking at her, she was more mad at him than you were.

''What should I do?''

.

You knew it was impulsive and crazy to drive up to Philadelphia this late, but your mind was made and you had to see him. Now.

You arrived at Truncheon Books a little before 9pm, just in time for closure. You walked in, looking around the desks for Jess, but he wasn't there. In fact, there was only one person on the floor, which you recognized as Chris, one of Jess' bosses.

''I'm sorry Miss, but we're about to close-''

''Is Jess here?'' you interrupted with an emergency in your tone. ''I got to talk to him.''

Chris gave you an apologetic look. ''He isn't here at the moment. Are you a client of his?''

''Eh, no. I'm...an old friend.''

An old friend. That was one way to explain your history with Jess. There was so much more between the two of you, but you didn't feel like airing your - and Jess' - past to his boss. Jess was a private person and you doubted he would've wanted Chris to know about his teenage past.

''You're the girl from the book, aren't you?''

A frown creased on your face. ''What?'' you said, not really knowing what he was talking about.

Chris held a finger. He walked over to one of the desks and picked up a copy of The Subsect. ''I dedicate this book to the girl I hurt the most. Without you, this book wouldn't be,'' he read. ''It's you.''

You didn't know what to say. The girl he hurt most was undoubtedly you. But, why? Why had Jess dedicated his book to you? He wrote it long after you broke up.

Behind you, the door opened and there he was, standing in a leather jacket and a load of papers in his hands.

''Next time one of you breaks the printer, I'm gonna kick your ass. The copy shop was closed, but the lady of the library fell for my charm and let me use their printer- What are you doing here.''

This moment felt like deja vu as you turned around and his shoulders stiffened. ''Hi, Jess.''

Chris excused himself, sensing that a private matter had to be discussed between you and Jess. ''I'm gonna go and see if Matthew needs my help upstairs. Can't have that idiot burn the place down.'' He bolted upstairs where the apartment was.

''What are you doing here, Y/N?'' Jess repeated, going over to his desk and putting down the papers he was carrying.

''I came to talk to you.''

He raised an eyebrow. ''At 9pm on a Thursday?''

''Is it wrong timing?'' you asked, suddenly have doubts. Perhaps you shouldn't have come.

Jess shook his head. ''I'm just surprised, that's all. Do you want to sit?''

You nodded, following Jess to a small reading nook with a dark yellow couch and small table. The couch clashed with the vintage carpet, but it somehow worked with the table.

''So, what brought you to Philly?''

''The guy I was dating proposed to me.''

Shock was back on Jess' face. ''Eh, congratulation?'' He faked a smile, trying to be happy for you. If only he had glanced at your left hand, he would've seen the absence of a ring on your ring finger.

''He got down on one knee and proposed to me with this beautiful ring,'' you said with a smile, ''but I said no because he isn't the one that's holding the other end of my string.''

''You know explanations are supposed to make thing clearer?''

''Have you ever heard of the Red String of Fate? The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.'' You searched for his eyes before saying your next words. ''Jess, I think you're the one that's holding the other end of my string.''

His mouth was on yours before he knew what he was doing. Your heart leaped for a second and you kissed him back, pulling Jess by the back of the neck and slipping your tongue into his mouth, tasting familiarity of your ex-lover's lips.

No words could explain how much you had missed this, missed him.

''Jess,'' you breathed, breaking contact.

His eyes opened slowly, a smile curving his lips. ''You drove four hours to tell me this?'' Jess let out a short laugh. ''I can't say if it's crazy or romantic.''

You joined in on the laugh. Looking back, impulsively driving to Philadelphia when classes in the morning was crazy, but don’t we all do crazy things out of love?

[malum-forev]

Try Anything Once

BuckyBarnes x Reader

Bucky finds himself at the worse place, the doctor’s office. But maybe it isn’t as bad as he thought.

Word Count: 2.6k

There were many things that brought James Buchanan Barnes rage, but at the top of his list was his mechanical arm. It was bad enough that it was a constant reminder of who he was, who he was created to be, but now due to a technical failure, it was even more of an inconvenience.

“I already told you that it’s fine.” He muttered at Sam, trying to open and close his palm, with no avail.

“Yeah, and if I were blind, I would believe that. You need to get that thing fixed. Maybe it just needs some motor oil.” He said followed by a loud laugh, only making Bucky’s eyes roll. “I already reported it to the medical department, anyways.”

“What are doctors going to tell me about this thing, it’s not flesh. They don’t know anything about it.”

“Well, I mean, we do have the best doctors in the world. I think they know something about that contraption.” Sam replied, standing up from his position and traveling to the front of the airplane to see how long it would take them to get back to the compound.

Bucky closed his eyes, trying to calm the bubbling anger that was filling him up, almost to the point of explosion. It was supposed to be the best, why would it be giving him trouble. Subsiding his anger, he thought that maybe he would have to go to Wakanda to get it fixed. Maybe he would even have to stay there for some time, he could only dream of that. In the past 80 years, that was the only time he felt something close to peace. Forcing his eyes to open, he realized that the plane was descending. Looking out the window, he saw what he dreaded the most. A team of people in white bathrobes.

“Doctors.” Bucky huffed in annoyance.

As he made his way through the white corridors with fluorescent lighting, he could hear at least three pairs of feet shuffling behind him. He could almost sense they were too nervous to ask him any questions. He stopped at the end of the hallway and waited for three seconds before turning around to face them.

“Well? Are you going to open this stupid door, or do I have to break it to get this thing fixed?” He yelled, not feeling anything as he saw the three young doctors shake and vigorously nod their heads. The tallest one, she couldn’t be a day older than 25, quickly entered the access code and opened the door. Revealing a large waiting room with one assistant behind a desk. He heard the elevator music first, after that came a whiff of something. Some kind of flower Bucky couldn’t recognize.

“I have an appointment.” Was the only thing he said as the assistant moved his eyes away from the computer and saw the former Winter Soldier. He was different, he wasn’t scared of Bucky.

“Name and date of birth please.” He asked kindly as he faced back to the computer.

“This must be a joke.” Bucky said, as he watched the assistant’s motionless expression, he realized it wasn’t. “James Buchanan Barnes, March 10th, 1917.”

“Thank you, Dr. (y/l/n) will be with you shortly. Would you like anything to drink while you wait?” He smiled again, only enraging Bucky even more. He decided no answer was needed. After about two minutes, he saw the door swing open and a field agent came out first.

“Thank you so much Doc.” She smiled, Bucky had seen her before if he remembers well, she even introduced herself. But like always, he never remembered anyone’s name. She smiled as she passed him, and he just nodded back. After the agent, a woman in that dreaded white bathrobe came out. Average build, fragile looking, late twenties, it would take me less than two seconds to knock her off the ground. Bucky thought, immediately erasing the thought from his mind, something his therapist had taught him to do.

“Mr. Barnes, please come inside.” She said, her voice was extremely peaceful and calm. Everything about her seemed that way. It was as if one of those singing birds from Snow White had come out of the storybook and became a human. Bucky followed her into her office and sat down, looking at the pendulum sitting on top of her neatly organized desk. Swinging back and forth infinitely. “You’re here because your arm is giving you trouble?”

“The metal one.” Was the only thing he said, she just nodded and motioned him to sit on the exam table, “I’m not laying on that. I’m not five.”

“You’re obviously not five, you were born in 1917.” She quickly replied. “If anything, I should have you sitting on a wheelchair, or one of those reclining chairs they have elderly people in. I need you to lay down here to check your prosthetic. I also need you to remove your jacket, and anything that would obstruct me from performing my analysis.”

With a quick glare, he followed her instructions. He took his jacket off and without thinking twice, ripped the sleeve from his t-shirt.

Laughing a bit, the doctor started contorting his arm in different directions. “You superheroes really have a passion for all things dramatic. You could have taken off your shirt.”

“This was easier.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” she said before pressing on a disk near the arm’s wrist. Gaining a hiss from the former assassin.

“Could you just stop.” He said in an annoyed tone. “I’m just here because your people were waiting for me once I got off the damn plane. Now stop messing with it before you break my arm.”

With one swoop motion, he was back on his feet. “This is made from an incredible rare material. Something that they probably didn’t even know existed at whatever school you got your degree from. Which one was it?” Bucky said, getting more and more angry as he saw the doctor didn’t even flinch at what he was saying. He started looking around the walls to see where she had that paper framed. The one every doctor likes to display, as if it was some sort of badge.

“I don’t have a medical degree. You can say this comes,” Dr. (y/l/n) took a pause. “Naturally to me.”

Bucky let out a small laugh. “I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t, I’m not going to have some random person who couldn’t even finish med school looking at my arm. It’s probably more expensive than everything you own.

Dr. (y/l/n)’s expression didn’t change, the small smile still on her mouth. “Pepper’s team warned me about you, Mr. Barnes. They said you were, difficult.”

“Difficult.” Bucky scoffed as he leaned on the medical table, he watched the doctor move back behind her desk. Typing something on her computer, the printer slowly coming to life, sending out a small piece of paper.

“Well, they actually said you were a huge pain. Difficult is just the word I choose to use.” She adjusted her glasses and read what was on the paper, taking out a pen and signing it.

“It really shows that after Steve left, this place started hiring just about anybody. Their whole system is going to fall apart if they keep uncredited people here.” Bucky spat out, aggravated at the mere thought that Sam would have sent you here with her.

“You’re not completely wrong with that statement. But I don’t think it was after Steve, it was before that. At one point they even recruited brain washed assassins.” The doctor replied with a grin on her face, only making Bucky’s blood boil even more. “Try this, it will help with regaining mobility.”

Bucky ripped the paper out of the doctor’s hand, crumpling it up and shoving it in his back pocket. Turning around to leave the office.

“Oh and Mr. Barnes, you have to come back to finish the assessment before you can go back into the field. Those are the orders stated by Mr. Wilson.” Again, that smug smile adorning her face. Does she always have something to say? Bucky thought as he stormed out of the medical building, heading straight to Sam’s room. He was going to hear what Bucky had to say about that know-nothing fake doctor.

Bucky heard Sam’s laugh before he actually saw him, as the automatic doors opened, he saw that the laughter was directed towards him.

“I’m guessing by your angrier than usual glare, you saw (y/n).” Sam said with a gigantic smile.

“Was that some sort of prank? You hired a fake doctor only for me to go and waste my time?” Bucky asked as he strode past him walking straight into the kitchen.

“What did you have planned for the rest of the day? Sitting on the corner of your bed at three pm, standing in a corner at four and do your hair at five? I know you do your hair, it’s impossible for it to always be perfectly imperfect.” Sam said shooting Bucky a questioning gaze, but he just rolled his eyes and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “And what are you talking about fake doctor? Please tell me you let her do her job, if not I can’t let you come on the mission tomorrow.”

“Of course I didn’t, tomorrow I’m going to see an actual doctor to get a stupid note that says I’m fine! Even though I’m telling you right now that I’M FINE.” He yelled as he smashed down the bottle, making it as flat as a piece of paper.

It was at this specific moment that F.R.I.D.A.Y. said: “Bucky Barnes, you have an appointment with your therapist tomorrow at 11:30 am. If you were to miss this appointment, you will be sanctioned and will not be able to assist on missions.”

This obviously sent Sam on a fit of laughter. “That message couldn’t have come at a better time. Anyways, you need to get your appointments aligned. I suggest you go to the Doc’s office tomorrow morning to see if she has anything available.”

“Just send me the actual doctor’s office and I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Bucky, I don’t know who got it into your head but, (y/n) is an actual doctor. That why she’s Dr. (y/l/n) and not just (y/n).”

“She was the one who told me she’s not credited. She doesn’t even have a medical degree, let alone know anything about vibranium!” Bucky said throwing his hands up in the air.

“You don’t have a degree but that doesn’t mean you’re not capable of being an ass. And an annoying one too!” Sam said, getting frustrated with the conversation. “Look, Dr. (y/n) has been here for a long time, she knows what she’s doing. Maybe you don’t know anything about her because you were frozen for half of your life and the other half you spent being a cyborg assassin. Also, she was one of the first people to handle vibranium when it was found in Wakanda, so I think she knows something about that. She even spent some time in a hut over there, just like you! You have more things in common than you think. So, tomorrow you’re gonna get her some coffee, go to her office, apologize for being, well, you; and get that arm fixed. In the meantime, you can look up some things about her. You do remember how to google things right?”

“Of course I remember. Could you just help me get on the net?” Bucky said while holding out his phone, it was now Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.

--------

The next morning, Bucky reluctantly made his way back to the medical building. The two disposable coffee cups were almost knocked out of his hands when the doors swung open.

“Back already Mr. Barnes?” he heard Dr. (y/l/n) say, it surprised him that she would talk so casually with him, given that yesterday he was, difficult. “Should I put down extra thirsty as a side effect on your chart?” She asked pointing to both of the cups.

“Actually Doctor, one of them is for you. I didn’t know what you drank so one is a black coffee and the other one has a splash of milk and sugar. Sam told me you would accept coffee as an apology, some sort of olive branch.” Bucky said, shoving both of the cups near her for her to choose.

“You can take me to get coffee instead. Judging by the stale smell, this is day old coffee. Plus, I don’t think you have tried oat milk lattes.” She smiled as she guided him to the restaurant inside the compound.

“Oat milk wasn’t a thing in the 40’s.” Was all that Bucky replied. “I wanted to formally apologize. It’s something new to me, my therapist says I should externalize my feelings more. I did not know your past; you know with the whole regenerative thing.”

This was the first time he saw her not smile. She looked away for a moment and asked “Did you try what I told you. It’s a type of oil that seeps into the smallest indentations in vibranium, creating a protective layer. With that, and some rehabilitation exercises, you will feel as good as new.”

Bucky just shook his head, not wanting to talk about his less than normal extremity. He opened his mouth to ask her, but she interrupted. “I know what you’re going to ask me. I may not be able to read minds but this profession has taught me many things, one of them being how to read people’s expressions.”

“Can you still do it?” He pressed on, if what he had read was true, then she was probably one of the only people that could understand what he was feeling.

“Yes, of course I can. As a supersoldier I would think you understood. It’s not something that you can just turn off, it’s here forever.” She said pointing to her whole body. “I didn’t want this; I didn’t ask to be able to regenerate. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and with the wrong people.”

“I researched you last night.” Bucky admitted shooting her a shy smile.

“Didn’t think you were tech-savvy.” She said, taking a sip of her coffee. “That was a long time ago, she’s long gone. I thought what I was doing was the right thing. And he, he convinced me that it was. But alas, I was only some sort of protection. Receiving the bullets that would wound him and healing the cuts that would kill him. But after I realized all the damage, we were actually doing I, I found this place. And from there on I decided I was going to heal other people. Even if they couldn’t regenerate.”

“I can relate.” Bucky said, slouching back on the bench they were sitting on, a weird feeling appearing inside of him. Something that he wasn’t used to, relaxation and peace. “I appreciate you not flipping out yesterday, I was out of line.”

“I’ve dealt with worse people here.” She laughed. “I looked at your videos fighting. You need to take better care of that arm of yours.”

“I didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me Doc, had I known I would have smiled at the camera.” Bucky said shooting her a smile, it was the first time she had seen him actually do that.

“It’s my job to check my patient’s whole file.” She explained but couldn’t resist to smile back. “And you can call me (y/n) by the way.”

“In that case, call me Bucky.”

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stressed Out ~ MYG [Request]

WORD COUNT:1.4K

PAIRING: Yoongi x Stressed!Reader

GENRE: Short fic, established-relationship, fluffy yoongi, stressed out reader who snaps at him

A/N: You’re totally going to kill me when you find out I wrote this while I was supposed to be on my break but sdfghjkl; I love you 

The whole day yesterday everything that could have gone wrong...Went wrong. It felt as though the entire universe was out to get you or something. First, you were late to work because of the rain, then you spilt coffee on the floor, then the toner in the printer exploded all over you and to top it all off you ran into your boss chest first getting ink down his new suit, which you had to pay for. It seemed ridiculous in making you pay for his suit when he could quite clearly do it himself or pay someone else to clean it. 

Heading home hadn't been a walk in the park either, you'd managed to run out of gas on the motorway before blowing a tired after pulling out of a garage. It was as if the world was giving you a big, "Fuck you Y/n," right in the face and it appeared as though it wasn't over yet. Staring down at the piece of paper your eyes read the same number over and over again trying to see if you had made some kind of mistake. 

"Who the fuck spends $3K on a suit," You mumbled as you stared down at the invoice that had been given to you yesterday, it was the first time you'd opened it. The night before you'd gone home, gotten straight into bed and ignored the whole world.

It had to be some kind of joke he was making but no, the suit was really $3K. No one you knew spent that on something to wear not even the boys who were famous and went to award shows all of the time.

"Fuck," You groaned to yourself laying back down on the pillows as you stared up at the ceiling. A part of you wished that something great would happen but knowing your luck the ceiling would probably crack and fall on you. Deciding to sit up again you looked at the invoice, screaming out loud as you looked at it once again, luckily for you, the house was empty so you wouldn't have to justify having a day off or screaming the way you did to your husband. Not that Yoong would have minded, he wasn't bothered if you worked or not but you needed something to do in the day though looking back on it now you wish you didn't go yesterday.

Getting out of the car Yoongi smiled as he looked around the streets, it was sunny and warm. Not to warm to the point where he wanted to take off layers of his skin but just warm enough that it was nice out. Kicking off his shoes as he got in he was excited for a day of working from home, he was going to surprise you with dinner that night for when you came home from work. It seemed as though you'd had a bad day the day before and he hadn't been able to do anything to help. As he was about to walk into the living room he heard a loud scream of mental anguish from the bedroom. 

"Babe?!" Panicked he began rushing up the stairs to see what was wrong, it could have been anything from seeing a spider to something happening on TV. He was too busy worrying about you he hadn't stopped to think about what you were doing home at this time of day. Panting as he reached the door he frowned as he saw you holding a sheet of paper in one hand and your head in the other. 

Turning to look at the bedroom door you saw Yoongi standing there with a smile on his face, normally that would have been enough to brighten your day and wash away everything bad that had happened but apparently it wasn't working.

"Did you finish early?" He questioned as he got onto the bed behind you, putting his long legs on either side of your body and smiling even more. He appeared more smiley than usual and it was a little unsettling, he was only like this if he was hiding something about his music. But damn that smile you wanted to wipe it off his face, make him feel as bad as you did right then. How was it that even Yoongi could make you feel annoyed by standing there. Frustration was just bubbling up inside of you and all you wanted to do was be left alone. 

"Baby? What's this?" He picked up the invoice and whistled as he saw the price of the suit, even his wedding suit didn't cost that much. When you said nothing Yoongi continued to talk and talk and talk trying to get you to say something, he could sense that something was bothering you and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

"Your boss sending you on shopping trips for him?" He laughed loudly which normally would make your heart skip and you could smile brightly with him, his voice alone made you feel as though you could take on the while but today...Today was different. His laugh went through you like nails on a chalkboard and the longer he spoke the more you began to grow annoyed.

"You're being so quiet, that's not like-"

"Shut up! Please just shut up!" You called out to him as he stared back at you shocked, his face turning red as he felt embarrassed. It was the first time he'd ever heard you yell like that at something other than traffic or some idiot driving like a manic on the roads. 

"Babe-" He tried to apologise but you shook your head at him, snatching the paper from his hand, 

"Leave me alone," You mumbled getting up from the bed and heading for the staircase, Yoongi waited for a couple of minutes trying to do as you had wished but it was hard knowing that his wife was clearly upset about something. Causing her to lash out at those around her, he wasn't going to hold it against you. 

As he sat there his mind wandered to what you were doing, it had been silent since you went downstairs. He was about to lay down when he heard you scream out in frustration and something clattering against the floor. 

"Y/n?! What happened?!" He practically sprinted down the stairs to find you on the floor, back against the back door with your knees pressed tightly against your chest. Sobbing into your knees as you mumbled something to him that he didn’t understand, 

"Come again?" Yoongi questioned about to walk into the room when he noticed the ice cream that was leaking down the floor, a spoon that had been the cause of the clattering. 

"I can't do anything right, I'm always spilling things, dropping things and making a mess." You sobbed uncontrollably into your knees again, taking in large breaths as you tried not to hyperventilate yourself. 

"Hey baby, shhh, shhh." Yoong stepped over the ice cream reminding himself to clean it when he'd calmed you down, all he did was sit beside you. Taking your hand in his own just to let you know that he was there. He'd seen this before and not just with you but with the boys when your mind and body had been so worn down you just broke down snapping at anything and everything around you. It would be one small insignificant thing like ice cream falling to the floor that could tip someone over the edge. 

"Come on." He grunted as he stood up, picking you up carefully so he could go and get you into bed for the day. 

"What are we doing, it's almost 11 am." You sniffled as he walked towards the staircase, he simply shook his head at you. 

"It's one of those days. We will just lay in bed together, order food...Watch movies or TV...We'll do anything except what we're supposed to be doing." He told you as he began climbing the stairs, your head resting on his shoulder as he carefully made his way to the bedroom. 

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," You mumbled as he laid you down in the bed, grabbing a t-shirt from the closet to give to you. 

"It's fine. Get changed while I clean up and grab the menus...Find something for us to watch, anything you want-"

"Including Full House?!" You asked excitedly as you stared at him, sighing to himself he nodded. Despite seeing the show a total of almost 12 times he was willing to watch it again just for you. 

Tagline: @lyoongx​ @mitzwinchester​ @rjsmochii​ @taestannie​ @sw33tnight​ @inner​ @sweeneyblue1​ @jin-from-the-block​ @acciocriativity​ @mwitsmejk​ @taeechwitaa​ @justbangtanthingz​

[thekingslover]

Jetski For Sale (Lokius fic)

He stops riding the jetski.

He keeps it on the small trailer at the end of his driveway beside his modest split-level home and covers it with a blue tarp.

Every morning, in his brown button-up pajamas and a bathrobe, he walks to the end of the driveway and collects the morning paper. He’s careful to hold his coffee mug steady as he leans down, but he always manages to spill a drop or two. His slippers are covered in tiny coffee spots.

He tucks the newspaper under his arm and turns back toward his house. He left the television on; through the window, the screen flashes with the bright white letters, Breaking News! Two houses down, his neighbor is already out mowing the lawn. Further away, a dog barks.

Though he lives alone, it’s a perfect life. Everything’s simple. His mortgage is affordable. His brown sedan is paid off. And the jetski...

He doesn’t remember buying it. He always wanted one, dreamed of it. He had a savings set aside for someday. Yet... his savings is still there, and he still has this jetski.

He looks at it now, at the way it bulges under the tarp. A shame to leave it like that. He should take it out again. But the last time he did that...

Shaking his head, he walks back to the house. He drinks his coffee and reads his newspaper. He goes to work, comes home, goes to sleep, and does it all again the next day.

“Something’s different about you,” his sister says on the phone, their weekly call. “You sound different.”

“Same old me.” He’s good at keeping back his feelings and pushing forward the cheer.

She knows, though. Older sisters always seem to. “Are you sure you haven’t been seeing anyone lately?”

This sends him laughing. “A secret boyfriend? Come on, you have quite an imagination on you.”

“Laugh all you want,” she says, stern. She’s not backing down, though her voice does soften as she adds, “It’s only that you... Well, you sound... heartbroken.”

“That’s...” He should deny it. He hasn’t dated anyone in a good long while, but, well, now that she mentions it... He’s had his heart broken before, long ago, and it felt a little something like this. Like something crucial is suddenly missing. Like you spent so much time learning someone and adapting to them, shaping whole parts of your life around them, and then they are just... gone.

There’s a person-sized hole in his life now, but he can’t quite remember their shape.

No, that can’t be.

“That’s crazy,” he says, thinking, maybe I’m crazy.

“Why don’t you come visit us for a while?” she says. “The kids would love to see you.”

“Yeah,” he says, shaky. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. Tell them I love them. Love you too.” Then he hangs up.

*

That night, he lays on his back in bed and stares at the ceiling, afraid to look to his right. He used to sleep sprawled across the entire width of the bed, a true bachelor enjoying his bachelorhood. When did he start picking one side?

He turns over, facing away from the barren expanse of the rest of the mattress, but the bookshelf offers little comfort. Most of his books are about history, biographies on interesting characters from the past. There’s a couple of jetski magazines wedged in, too. But what catches his eye... He remembers buying it, knows he did, the morning after watching a documentary on the perception of time and space. The documentarian had written a book. The Mobius Strip.

Frowning, he doesn’t find any sleep that night, no matter how many long minutes he closes his eyes, or how many sheep he tries to count in his head.

Mobius.

It’s a mathematical theory. Not a name. But it wedges between his ribs and stays buried behind them.

He’s not even a maths guy! But he can’t shake it. It feels heavy, too important.

He tosses and turns. He reaches out to the other side of the bed, realizes its empty, and snaps upright, dread overtaking him for one sharp moment before he remembers that its supposed to be empty.

This is normal. This is his perfect little life.

He flops back into bed and runs a hand down his face. Maybe he should go visit his sister, before he fully loses his mind.

*

His hands shake the next morning when he walks out to get the newspaper at the end of the driveway. Half his coffee spills when he leans to pick it up, but its fine. Maybe he should give up coffee entirely. Maybe too much caffeine is his problem.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

Turning towards the house, he spots the jetski, there under the blue tarp. The mysterious jetski that he doesn’t remember buying. The one, when he’s out on it, he sits too far forward, like he’s making space for someone behind him. But there’s no one there. There’s never anyone there.

The jetski, he decides, was the start of his problems. Maybe if he... If he...

Storming back into the house, he leaves what’s left of his coffee in the sink and the newspaper forgotten on the counter, and hurries into the office. He rips off a long sheet of dot matrix printer paper. Biting off the cap of his pen, he scribbles on it in large block letters, all caps, FOR SALE.

Back in the driveway, he removes the chocks from behind the wheels of the trailer, and flips off the tarp. He wheels the trailer and the jetski to the end of the driveway, right up against the road.

He must look like a mad man, out there in his brown button-up pajamas and coffee-stained slippers. The neighbor’s mowing the lawn. The dog’s barking further away. Everything’s perfect in this perfect little neighborhood, this perfect little life. But he feels like he is going insane.

He slaps the for sale sign on the front of the jetski, and starts back for the house. The sooner that thing is out of his life... Maybe... Maybe things would go back to normal.

His heart pangs in a way he doesn’t understand. Heartache. So much heartache. Why?

Does he even want normal?

But if not that, then what? What is he missing?

He’s at his front door, hand on the doorknob, when someone politely coughs behind him. He pauses a moment, there’s no way someone is there... But when he glances over his shoulder - yeah. Someone’s behind him, only a few feet away.

Not just someone. The most gorgeous person he has ever seen, wearing a sleek black suit and a pair of sunglasses. Long dark hair is slicked back and pushed behind their ears.

He should probably feel self-conscious, standing there in his brown pajamas in front of this god of a person - probably a model - but he doesn’t. Strangely, he feels more at ease now than he has in weeks. His whole body relaxes like he finally exhaled a held breath.

But that doesn’t make sense. They’ve never met. He would remember.

He would never forget a face like that.

“Hello,” the person says, and the word tremors slightly.

“Hello.” It tremors when he says it too.

There’s no car on the road. No bicycle on the sidewalk. However this person got here, it’s like they dropped down from the sky.

The person clears their throat. “You’re selling the jetski?”

“You...” He blinks. He knew jetskis were popular - hell, they are the best - but he hadn’t expected an offer before he even got his pants on. “Yeah. You interested?”

“Yes, I...” They drop their head a moment, taking their time to think. When they lift their head again, their shoulders lift too, like they are preparing for a battle.

He supposes negotiations can be seen as a battle, but he can’t bring himself to match the person’s pose. He’s ready to give up the jetski for free at this point. Whatever gets it gone.

The person asks, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it. It runs like a dream.”

“Then why get rid of it?”

His heart hurts, so he laughs through the pain. It’s silly, but he can’t help feel his sister was right. This person wouldn’t know either way, so he finds himself telling them, “I’m heartbroken.”

The person goes very still. Their mouth opens and they take in a shaky, noisy breath. When they say, “What?” the word is bone dry and crumbling.

“It’s something we did together... I think.” He’s making it up, but it feels right. So he keeps talking. “And now. Well. It kinda reminds me of... I’m pretty sure I forgot a lot of things, but I can’t forget that. There’s supposed to be someone else. And I can’t... I can’t...”

He’s not making any sense, but the person is hanging on every single word.

“Anyway,” he says. “I’ll let it go cheap. Too many memories... or... I don’t know, feelings?” He sighs. “Just make me an offer, okay? I have to get ready for work.”

He wants nothing more than to keep this beautiful person on his doorstep, but... well, life isn’t always about getting what you want. This person wants a jetski, he has one. A transaction will occur, and this person will move forward like he never existed.

He’ll be left behind again.

Again?

Now, he’s the one to stand a little straighter. “Do you ever get deja vu?”

“Deja vu?”

“You know, where you feel like you’ve lived an exact moment already, once before. I’ve been reading this book about mobius strips and...” There’s that pang again, in his chest. A subtle ache that is swelling. He wants to ignore it, like he always has, but he’s finding he can’t really anymore. “Don’t you think that’d be a cool name? Mobius. Mobius M. Mobius.” He laughs, and it hurts. It hurts.

The person doesn’t laugh. Instead, they take a small step back. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

His laughter dies quickly. It wasn’t real anyway. “You don’t want the jetski?”

“I do,” the person says with naked longing. “More than anything.”

“Then its yours.” He shrugs. “You know, it kinda feels like it was already yours? Like, maybe its just been waiting around for you to show up and claim it.”

The person shakes their head. “It’s better off without me. It finally has a chance to... to... live the way you - it deserves...”

“I mean, that’s a nice thought. But in practice... wouldn’t it be better for jetskis to decide for themselves the kind of lives they want? Whose to say that their life before was all that great? Because let me tell you, this perfect little normal life I’m living? Kinda sucks.” He doesn’t really understand what he’s saying, but the words still fall out of him, like ripping a scab off an old wound and all the blood starts running again.

The person takes another step back, but this time, he follows, taking a step forward. Somehow, it feels crucial that he not let this person leave him behind again.

There, another again. What is he not remembering?

“There’s something terribly wrong with all this,” he says. “I’m forgetting something important, but whatever it is - whoever - I don’t think I can be happy without them. Not really. Not in any way that matters.”

“Mobius...” the person says, soft, under their breath. Stronger, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

And the dam breaks.

“I know exactly what I’m saying, Loki.” The name, that name. How could he forget that name?

The person - Loki - exhales again, watery this time.

“Maybe if we never met, this would be enough. Maybe it was once. But not anymore. Never again. Not since you. And not even your little mind hocus pocus could change that.”

Mobius takes another step forward. This time, Loki does not move back. They stay just as they are and let Mobius close the distance. Mobius lifts his hands to Loki’s face and slowly removes those sunglasses. Loki’s eyes have always been the most expressive - the easiest to read. No wonder they would try to hide them. Because now they shine with sorrow and regret and... love. So much love.

And that, Mobius knows, is exactly what he’s been looking for when he reaches out to the empty space beside him on the bed. When he sits in his kitchen and stares at the pulled-out chair across the table. When he rides his jetski and turns, ready to laugh with the missing person behind him.

“I’m not angry,” Mobius says, tossing the sunglasses aside. He takes one of Loki’s hands in his. Loki grips hard onto his fingers. “I understand why you did it. It’s kind of flattering really, to know you’d give up your own happiness to try to give me mine. But there was a very big problem with this latest Loki scheme.”

“What’s that?” Loki asks in a whisper.

Mobius gives them a smile. The first real one since they parted. “You’re unforgettable.”

Loki laughs once, a burst, like they’ve been holding something in and now its escaping. The hard lines of their face smooth out. And they look less like a frightened, broken shadow and more like themselves, god of mischief, with a small but growing smirk. “Of course. I suppose I should have considered that.”

“Big flaw. Ruined the whole thing, to be honest.”

Loki leans closer. “I hate to admit to fault, but I fear there was a second issue that I had not considered.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“Your absolute stubbornness.”

“Stubborn? Me? You should look in the mirror, pal.”

Loki closes their eyes a moment. Mobius studies the planes of their perfect face, and wonders how, in all the infinite timelines, he ever forgot it. 

“Loki,” Mobius says. “Do me a favor, though, huh? Don’t do this again. I... uh, well. It wasn’t the most fun for me.”

“Me, either.” Loki presses their forehead to Mobius’s. “I regretted every moment, but I... The TVA stole you from your life. I wanted to -”

“I know, I get it. I’m not mad. But communication is key to a relationship, yeah? So maybe next time you want to do a grand gesture of love for me, we should talk about it first?”

Loki leans back. They blink. But it’s not the love that trips them up, it’s, “Relationship?”

Mobius runs his hands along Loki’s arms, up to the shoulders and back down to the elbows. “Yeah. I mean, we’re partners, right?”

“Partners.” Loki doesn’t say the word with disgust, more... intrigue.

“Boyfriends?” Mobius tries.

“Boyfriends.” Loki frowns at that one.

“Lovers?”

Loki’s eyes are bright and full of wonder. How they could look at Mobius, someone so normal, like that... well. Loki makes Mobius feel like a god himself, no wonder he couldn’t go back to his old life.

“Lovers,” Loki says and kisses Mobius. Mobius smiles against their lips. Lovers, it is, then.

Kiss turns to kisses, and they linger. It’s right, so right that it further amplifies how wrong everything else was before. Mobius belongs here. Right here. With Loki. Forever, if possible.

When they break, they both laugh, and it’s light and true this time, for both of them.

“Hey, Loki,” Mobius says. “Want to buy a jetski?”

Loki pulls an annoyed face, but its all an act - Mobius sees right through it, and Loki’s not trying that hard to hide it. “I believe I’m the one who acquired that jetski for you. You have no right to sell it.”

“It was a gift,” Mobius says.

“It remains a gift. One I insist you keep.”

“Alright, alright,” Mobius laughs and Loki kisses him at the corner of his smile. “But only if you promise to keep me.”

“Oh, dear Mobius.” Loki brings their mouth to Mobius’s ear. “I hope you appreciated this display of selflessness, because I will not be repeating it.”

“Good.”

“I am a selfish god.”

“Uh, huh.”

Loki’s arms grip tightly around Mobius’s waist. “And from here to eternity, I will be keeping what’s mine.”

The last remaining knots in Mobius’s chest untangle. “And the jetski.”

“And the jetski,” Loki says and kisses him again.

[h34rtizuku]

𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔶

i hate angst without happy endings, but i’m also self-destructive. therapy is expensive, but ripping your own heart out and bearing your insecurities into a full-fledged story for you and others to read? free.

warnings : angst without a happy ending, insecurities, jealousy, mayhaps toxic behavior?? idk if ur looking for a good time, this isn’t for you bestie <3 also i might misspell uraraka’s name wrong a few times, i’ll fix them later :*

being quirkless had its advantages. with such a small number of us being born without powers, it left a lot of the mundane jobs open.

which is why, as soon as pro-hero deku opened his agency, i came to him with the request to be his assistant.

on the daily, he had people coming up to him asking for internships or to be his sidekick. but he never had anyone ask to be his assistant.

being the number one hero often meant that every day things, things one may take for granted or deem insignificant became just another list of things on the busy man’s to-do list.

therefore the appeal of having someone file his paper work and run to get him coffee in the morning was great enough to hire me.

and i was glad he did.

this is what i have been working for since i was a first year in high school. after watching the freckled boy break limb after limb to defeat his opponent.

yeah, i saw it as irresponsible and stupid that he had to break his own body to save others. but i was willing to overlook it.

my one goal during my remaining years of high school and up to college was that wherever that little green haired boy went, i would follow.

and that reigned true as his assistant. i would shuffle after him like a duckling following it’s mother, wherever he needed me.

if he needed me in a briefing to take notes for him, i was there. if he needed me to put in overtime to help him file the last minute paperwork, i was there. if he wanted a particular pastry from a specific bakery half way across town, i was there.

izuku was never mean, or demanding. always thanking me profusely for anything i ever did for him. leaving me to remind him that this was my job, and any way to make his life easier was good enough for me.

but maybe i should have held onto those blushed cheeks and crinkled eyes as he thanked me for the coffee that he didn’t even know he needed, for a just a little bit longer.

you know how a child will open a new toy on christmas and it quickly becomes their new favorite toy? playing with it non-stop, taking it wherever they go. until one day, they grow bored of it and never touch it again as it grows dusty at the bottom of their toy bin.

i know izuku wasn’t doing it on purpose, he didn’t have an intentionally mean bone in his body. i guess you could say, some other toys came around and took his attention away.

and that toy, was a particularly difficult mission in collaboration with uravity’s agency.

the two spent long hours cooped in his office as they went over notes, plans, intel, etc. until the conversation melted into talk about the old days and the wonderful memories they had together in high school.

i went to work the following days with absolutely no energy to handle whatever would be thrown at me. i hadn’t been able to get much sleep, as when i closed my eyes the only thing i could see was the look in his eyes when he saw her.

my patience was already thin given the events of the most recent week, but when the printer started malfunctioning leaving me unable to fax the papers izuku wanted me send, you could say that was the first domino.

i swatted and kicked and pressed any button on the stupid machine. telling myself i was merely trying to get to stupid thing to work, but deep down i knew that the printer was just my temporary punching bag. an outlet to unleash my anger and emotions onto something instead of letting them fester inside me.

so when one of izuku’s sidekicks came by, giving a snarky comment about my behavior, i was able to brush it off with a roll of my eyes and an equally snippy comment back.

but as the hunk of plastic remained steady in its plan to ruin my day, the lack of sleep and lingering resentment started to bubble within me once more.

i heard footsteps behind me and a joking voice say, “having a bit of trouble are we?”

if it weren’t for the white hot anger buzzing in my ears i may have been able to identify the voice before i lashed out on them. but we already established this was not my day.

so as my hands moved to clutch the machine below me, most likely to restrain my abuse to merely verbal instead of physical. i spit out, “listen i’m fucking trying okay? so how about you get off my ass and do something useful.”

i turned around to face who i thought would be another sidekick sent to push my buttons. but i instead came face-to-face with the green haired man himself.

eyes blown wide, mouth agape in shock, a light blush dusted under his freckles as he fought to handle the situation the best way he could.

but i beat him to it with a deep bow and an endless flow of apologies, opting to only blame my anger on the malfunctioning piece of junk behind me and not the several other reasons i was plotting murder in my head.

with a gentle smile and a soft chuckle he placed his hand to the back of his head, rubbing at the baby jade hairs of his undercut. “i see. bad days happen to the best of us.” he replied, his voice like honey.

i became drunk on the minor interaction he was giving me, bringing me back to the beginning days at this job where we would spend late nights trying to keep each other awake under the only singular yellow light as we finished paperwork. or where sometimes he’d invite me to spend lunch with him as he felt he’d enjoy the company.

i got lost in the intricacies of his face as he tampered with the printer. thin eyebrows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip captured between his thick scarred fingers as he muttered to himself.

i fell in a trance, locked on the slope of his button nose, his gemstone eyes, and chubby caramel cheeks dusted in freckles.

he looked essentially like the same boy i saw on the screen all those years ago, yet matured and hardened by the realities of life.

i wanted nothing more than to reach out and protect him any way my small quirkless body could. to be there for him the same way he was for everyone else.

he eventually got the printer to work with a boyish smile on his face as he told me that despite the good roughing up i gave the machine, he was able to locate and handle the issue. “next time, skip the punching and come find me, yeah? i’ll help with any problems you face.” he joked as he made his way into his office to resume his work.

i didn’t know it was possible to fall harder for that man, but he proved with every day of his existence that the impossible didn’t apply to him.

i was finally able to get some sleep the next few nights as my eyelids filled with the blush on his cheekbones and his gaze of concentration.

but my trip to cloud 9 didn’t last very long as the occasional meeting with uraraka became trips to her agency, and occasional meetings in civilian clothes to civilian places, like coffee shops and corner stores.

to anyone else, those would read as dates. to me, they read as dates. but izuku assured the gossiping sidekicks that it was strictly professional ~ nothing more, nothing less.

i knew that i would end up with more fits of restlessness and sleepless nights as i pictured the two of them laughing over a cup of coffee. so i sought out a replacement.

a moment. a look. a sentence.

anything directed at me that would choke out the ugly thoughts and images my brain would show me of the two of them together.

so that afternoon as i brought him his lunch, i placed the box safely onto the table beside him as he continued skimming through the papers littered across the desk.

he muttered a small ‘thank you’ but it wasn’t enough. as my hand moved to place his drink that i held in my other hand next to his food, a different idea popped in my head.

my hand moved faster than my brain could register what it had just planned to do. squeezing just enough for the lid to pop off and slip from my fingers to tumble into his lap.

as soon as the liquid and ice hit his lap he flew up from his seat and away from his desk.

my hands flew up to my mouth as a string of apologies fell from my lips. eyes watering in guilt as they moved around the room trying to locate something to soak up the mess with.

“i am so sorry, my fingers slipped and before i knew it i had lost control of the cup. i-i can’t tell you how sorry i am.” i rambled as i took my blazer off to wipe at the wet stains starting to form at the bottom of his teal suit.

“hey, hey, hey.” he said softly, taking my tinier hands into his large and battered ones. warmth enveloped my clutched sticky hands as he gently urged me to stand from my crouching position in front of him.

“it was an accident. no harm, no foul.” he said with a soft smile.

i should feel bad, as it wasn’t entirely an accident. but the warm and gentle look in his eyes made what little guilt i felt crumble away.

his thumbs rubbing soft circles to my skin as he worked to get the tears to stop streaming from my eyes was enough to get me to sleep like a baby for a good 2 weeks.

until it became a cycle. he would spend too much time around uraraka, and then i would do something all in the name of garnering his attention back on me.

was it wrong of me to do, to take advantage of his kindness? to take advantage of the fact that he was naive to my true intentions? maybe.

but i felt i deserved it. i felt i deserved to be looked at the same way he looked at her.

i wasn’t any different than she was. with the way she used her big brown eyes to pull him in. or the way her cute behavior made him blush. or the way her sweet way of talking made him laugh.

i can’t be her, or compare to her. so i found my own way around it. and no one could fault me for doing so. they just couldn’t.

at the end of the mission, uravity decided to throw a party in celebration of their win. a nice formal gathering, with everyone she had involved.

when izuku pulled me aside one late night to tell me that he was extending the invitation to me felt akin to a marriage proposal.

i wasn’t involved much in the case, merely being used as the one who provided them their lunch on their long meeting days. or filing and organizing the paperwork and notes that they would compile. i wasn’t out in the field, breaking bones like izuku or saving lives like uraraka.

i didn’t deserve to go, but i didn’t care. izuku had invited me personally and damn it, i was gonna be there.

yet, i shouldn’t have gone.

i shouldn’t have spent the hours on my makeup. i shouldn’t have enlisted the help of my best friend to do my hair as i gushed about how izuku had personally invited me, how he was the most perfect man ever, and how i was undoubtedly in love with him.

i shouldn’t have spent the week leading up to the event going from shop to shop trying to find the prettiest dress that was just the exact color of his eyes. i shouldn’t have spent about half my paycheck on said dress when i found it.

i shouldn’t have decided to face my fears and step out of my comfort zone to join a group of heroes that i knew were old classmates of izuku’s as they whispered about something that clearly was a raving topic.

because then i wouldn’t have heard how izuku was planning on confessing to uraraka. i wouldn’t have heard how this mission caused old high school feelings to rekindle. i should have known my place.

and that was far away from here, from the hero scene. i should have grown up to be an accountant or a chef.

when my father took me to get that checkup when i was 5, to confirm that there truly resides no quirk inside me.

i should have left it at that.

when i was riding my bike that day as a first year and i saw the group of boys huddled around a screen as they tuned into the u-a sports festival, i should have kept riding.

as maybe it would have saved me a lot of pain.

i backed away slowly, heels tapping against the tile floor as i hurried out of the building.

i didn’t realize how suffocated i felt until the chilly autumn hair brushed my face and into my lungs.

my whole body felt hot, i felt numb. i stumbled onto the sidewalk as i looked into the dark azure sky glittered with stars.

the tears finally spilled from my eyes as the stars muddled together into a messy blur. my stomach swirled and tensed as pit of nausea sunk in my stomach.

my chest heaved as it tried to process the crisp cold air into oxygen, but my throat was too tight to let much in.

i gasped and sobbed as my back hit the brick behind me, my legs wobbling unable to carry my weight much longer.

i slid into a crouched position as my tears mixed with the black of my mascara. streaming in pools down my cheeks, neck, and chest.

in the midst of my sobbing and heaving, i called my friend who was still at my apartment awaiting details of that night when i came home.

knowing it was far too early for me to be calling her she picked up the phone with confusion. it didn’t take much words from me, not like i gave her much, to convince her that she needed to come pick me up.

as she hung up the phone, my hand slipped from my ear, falling limp to my side as i placed my head into my other arm resting atop my knees.

this was inevitable and i knew it. no matter how many ways i was able to manipulate a sweet glance from him, it didn’t mean anything.

izuku was nice to everybody. sweet to everyone. kind to anyone.

but with her, it was different. he treated her that way, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

they had years of memories, of laughs. they were perfect for each other, both smart, and kind, and always looking to help others. never acting selfishly or for personal gain.

they shared soft touches like they did old stories. they looked at each other with the same respect and admiration.

i was wrong. uraraka and i are nothing alike. she didn’t have to beg izuku to look at her like she hung the moon, he did so without asking.

unbeknownst to me, as i was manipulating izuku into these fabricated moments of gentle gazes and kind words, i was manipulating myself.

lying to the deepest parts of me that knew that this wasn’t real. that i wasn’t her. that he didn’t think of us the same way.

to him, uraraka is an old friend, who views the world the same way he does, who shares his same passions, who built her quirk to do some good within this world.

to him, i was a coffee-getter, the girl who knew his lunch orders like the back of her hand, the girl who filed his papers. the quirkless little fangirl who practically begged him to give her a job under him.

i heard the metal door open and snap shut announcing that someone was now outside with me. however, i just assumed it was a party-goer stepping outside for a smoke or a phone call so i didn’t bother to look up.

i also wasn’t in the mood for if the person happened to be a drunk girl who was ready to become my therapist as she saw me crouched on the sidewalk wishing to become one with the cement and simply cease to exist.

“there you are, i was wondering where you went?”

i would have taken the amateur therapist over this.

the voice belonged to izuku, dripping with sugar and default kindness.

if i could become one with the bricks just a little bit faster that would be great.

“hey, are you alright?” his tone became worried but i still didn’t dare to look up from my arms.

“do you feel sick? did something happen? do i need to take you home?” there he goes, into hero mode. ready to drop anything to help anyone facing the slightest of inconveniences.

“please just leave me alone.” i mumbled, throat tight and voice wavering as i try to hold the tears that still remain to fall.

“what did you say? i didn’t quite hear you.” he said softly, gently setting his large hands onto my exposed shoulder.

they should feel like welcoming warmth, but instead they felt blistering hot as i shoved them away as quickly as i could.

“i said leave me alone.” i said, slightly louder as i no longer was stuffed in my arms and knees.

he immediately saw the mess my face was in, i could tell by the way he quickly reverted fully into deku.

“hey, what’s wrong? whatever it is, i can help. didn’t i say you could come to me whenever you ne-“

“oh my god just stop! i can’t take it anymore.” i snapped, finally able to look him in the face.

but not for long as i saw the same look on his complexion as the first time i snapped at him.

“you’re too fucking nice. leaving you vulnerable for people to take advantage of you. giving them a reason to be selfish.”

“i dont-“ he tried to start but i cut him off.

“i don’t need a hero, izuku. there are people you just can’t save.”

as he worked to wrap his head around what was happening, my friend pulled up in my getaway car.

i bent down and grabbed my purse, but before i could fully escape this night, izuku grabbed my wrist causing me to stare into his eyes.

now lit aflame with desperation, “please just tell me what’s wrong. let me help you.” he encouraged softly.

but i wasn’t going to fall for it, not again.

i wasn’t gonna be played for the fool as i took the soft look in his eyes for anything but the gaze of a hero hoping to add another save to their statistics.

“god you never know when to quit!” i yelled as i yanked my wrist back. “and i hate that i-“

loved that about you?

no, love that about you.

i shook my head, thankful that for once my brain caught my actions before i spilled and made a mess again.

i walked quickly to the car, opening the passenger door almost as fast in hopes that within its metal sanctuary i could finally escape this hell.

“y/n- i-“

“mr. midoriya.” i just about whispered, my energy long since drained.

he laughed gently and i cursed the way my heart squeezed a little at the sound.

still head over heels for the angelic sound.

“you haven’t called me that in a long-“

“i quit.”

“w-what?” he muttered in disbelief.

i wouldn’t believe it either, not after the way i came to him nearly 4 years ago saying i would even be willing to clean toilets if he asked me to, so long as i got to work for him.

“i quit.” i repeated.

“you don’t mean that.”

he’s right i didn’t, not really.

hot tears started to dribble as my lower lip puckered in a sour quiver.

“no i do, sir.” i shook. “i will send someone to collect my things on monday.”

and with that i closed the door.

“drive.” i whispered to my friend who after a moment of looking at me, trying to read me, silently put the car into drive and started forward.

leaving izuku behind to stumble after the car, mouth muttering, trying to form any sort of sentence or sense.

but i couldn’t see him, knowing not to look at the mirrors situated on the side of the vehicle.

for they too are liars, as objects in the mirror are farther than they appear.

*** my little blue bitch working overtime

🧼 also mayhaps “soap” by melanie martinez fits this story… unintentionally ~ but if i’m wrong it’s cuz i haven’t listened to it in a while

[stressy-enby]

Love Letters

Tenya Iida X Writer!Reader

(This is absolutely a self insert leave me alone)

Requests are open!!

Tenya's morning routine was always the same. He was awoken by his alarm at 6:20 A.M. He went to the bathroom and washed his face. Then he'd get dresses, comb his hair, and go downstairs for breakfast. After he'd eaten, he would brush his teeth, and head to class with his peers.

This system was so ordinary, so methodical, that he almost missed the folded sheet of printer paper on the floor in front of the door.

Probably Mr. Aizawa, he'd thought, stooping to collect the note. His teacher occasionally left notes taped to the class rep's door, asking him to take attendance or start class if Aizawa knew he was going to be late. Still nothing out of the ordinary for Tenya.

When he unfolded the paper, though, he was surprised to see not a message from his teacher, but rather a very sweet note; something that Tenya was not accustomed to getting at all.

I hope it does not alarm you to hear that I adore you. Your unbridled passion for heroics, your eyes; which are oceans of kindness, and your aptitude for helping others. Every little bit of you never once ceases to amaze and enamor me. Though you are a vessel for speed, you choose to walk alongside your friends, instead of tearing off into the future. You build me up and make me feel strong, whether you realize it or not. You make me feel like I'm actually worth something. You keep my head up when I feel as though I'm drowning in a sea of my insecurities.

Perhaps one day I'll have the courage to tell you this in person. For now though, this will suffice.

The letter was not signed off, but rather ended with a red pen sketch of a heart. Tenya's eyes nearly doubled in size. He re read the note several more times to make sure he hadn't imagined the loving words. Who could've possibly written it? He wasn't aware of anyone in his class who harbored these kinds of feelings, much less for him, but he had never been particularly good at reading emotions.

Realizing he was going to be late for breakfast if he dwelled any longer on it, Tenya pocketed the love letter and headed downstairs. The mystery would have to wait until after school. His responsibilities always came first, no matter how often his mind still wandered back to the letter in his pocked, yearning to pull it out and read it yet again, just to make sure he still wasn't dreaming.

. . . 

Whoever had written the note was smart, Tenya realized. They had typed it, leaving no room for the possibility that he could recognize the handwriting. The only part that had been done by hand was that little red heart, but a doodle wasn't nearly enough to tell him who the author was.

He turned instead to analyzing the words themselves.They were well chosen, poetic even. The fifty cent words like "unbridled" and "enamored" led him to believe that the author was an experienced writer, or perhaps simply read a lot.

Yaoyorozu was a good contender, she was an eloquent speaker. Kaminari also read a lot, he was good with literature. And there was Tokoyami, who seemed to speak exclusively in poetry. Tenya jotted down his ideas, crafting a short list of his classmates.

"Oh, (L/N) writes a lot," he mused, adding their name to the list. (L/N) actually made a lot of sense.

Oh, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. Perhaps he only read the love letter in (L/N)'s voice being he wanted it to be them.

...or maybe it actually wasn't a bad idea.

(L/N) was always writing. They viewed it as a privilege, a challenge. They leapt at every creative writing assignment they got in English class, and the few stories they had shared were spectacularly inventive and elegantly crafted.

Tenya halted, scanning the message again. It suddenly seemed more and more likely that (L/N) was in fact the author.

He chewed his lip. It was too easy. Too convenient. Too perfect. How could someone he already cared for so deeply send him something like this? It was too good to be true. Besides, it was only one note. How could be possibly-

"What if they write more?" Tenya suddenly said out loud, his train of thought coming to a screeching halt. "I'd have a better line up to analyze. I could also ask Present Mic for the short stories assignments he's grading so I can pass them back. I could probably be able to look over at least a few of them and see if I recognize the writing."

A man on a mission, Tenya resigned himself to waiting until the next day to see if another note appeared, and to ask Present Mic about the stories.

Too anxious and oddly excited, he hardly got any sleep.

. . . 

Sure enough the next morning, there was a new note. Tenya all but flew out of bed and scrambled to unfold it.

I find myself caught in a storm of uncertainty all too often. I'm tossed from wave to wave in an ocean of fear. You are my rock. You hold me fast and secure in this ever-changing and frightening world. You are safe. You are my home.

You are my everything.

Tenya unconsciously read the letter in (L/N)'s voice again. He felt his heart beat harder at the thought of them penning these beautiful words.

"You don't know that it's them," he scolded himself, unwillingly placing the new note on his desk next to the old one. He tore himself away from them to retreat into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

The new message did offer one new clue already, though. It used the same ocean metaphor as the first one. It was a comparison the author seemed to favor. Maybe he could find it in their other works.

He had to get his hands on those short story assignments before he lost his damn mind.

. . . 

Tenya felt slightly uneasy about telling Present Mic he wanted the stories to pass back, even though he was technically telling the truth. He was eventually going to pass them back. When he was done looking through them.

A lie of omission is still a lie, that annoying voice in his head insisted, but he pretended he couldn't hear it, pushing it down. It wouldn't do any harm, he rationalized. And he had to know.

Tenya flipped through the papers, looking for (L/N)'s first. It was a desperate wish that they were the author of the anonymous notes, but it also seemed to make just enough sense to justify thumbing through their assignment.

There. (L/N) always went above the beyond with creative writing, and the five pages of neatly typed text was a testament to that. It was the longest assignment in the stack by two pages.

Wait.... typed?

It was probably a coincidence. After all, (L/N) hadn't been the only student who'd opted to type their story. Tenya was too convinced already that they had sent him those letters for him to entertain the idea that it was simply just a coincidence.

He skimmed the story quickly before class started. He found himself impressed, not for the first time with (L/N)'s abilities as a writer. Each word was carefully selected to craft perfect sentences and immaculate paragraphs full of feeling and vibrant imagery.

He stopped suddenly a page in as the protagonist compared their anguish to a stormy sea, heavy waves tossing them to and fro.

There it is again.

The sentiments from the letters, which Tenya had all but seared into his brain, echoed that of what he was reading now. The vocabulary, the imagery, the deep feelings evoked by each sentence, and even the fact that it was typed.

It had to be them. It had to be (Y/N). It was just too perfect.

. . . 

(Y/N) sat a few seats ahead and to the right of Tenya, so he spent quite a bit of class time staring unabashedly at the back of their head. They were scribbling madly on a sheet of lined paper. Lecture notes? Short story?.... Love letter?

People often say that opposites attract. Tenya was just realizing how true that was as he sat in class, half listening to the lesson, half watching (Y/N). He was all angles and sternness, whereas they were flexible and soft. Perhaps it didn't always show physically on their features, but in their mannerisms, and even in their writing, they were stunning curves, twists and turns. With them, you didn't always know where you were going, but it was an adventure all the same. They were a warm, comforting feeling. They felt like home.

An idea bloomed in Tenya's mind, a delectably wonderful way for him to show (Y/N) that he reciprocated their feelings. Having a difficult time smothering his smile, Tenya fished through his school bag for a sheet of lined paper.

. . .

You frowned thoughtfully at your paper, lips pursed. You tapped your pencil against your dorm room desk as you considered your next words.

This was the hardest, part, but still the most fun. The first draft. You could change whatever wording or dialogue you wanted while you were typing it up, nut you still needed a good base. You still had to carefully choose every word that you wanted to use to move your audience.

Tenya Iida

You grinned giddily just thinking of him. He had given almost no indication these past two days that he'd gotten your letters, but you could tell. His eyes had darted around, scrutinizing everyone they landed on. It had felt a bit like being dissected when his gaze had fallen upon you.

There's no way he knows, you had reasoned, giving him a tight smile in return. He's just trying to sus me out. For all he knows, it could be literally anyone.

You had ridden that wave of shaky confidence in your anonymity, all the way to that moment, where you turned around in your desk chair, intending to grab your phone, only for your eyes to fall upon a folded up piece of paper next to your door.

You felt an anxious lurch in your gut as you shakily picked it up. "If this is Iida telling me to never speak to him again I'm going to cry."

You unfolded the message, fully expected the worst, and praying to whatever god was or wasn't out there that you were wrong and that Iida wasn't completely creeped out and now hated you.

You remind me of the ocean waves you write about so often. You're a crescendo of carefully chosen words, actions, and kind thoughts. You're soft yet strong, never backing down from a fight or a friend in need. Your determination and drive impress me to no ends, and make me want to impress you as well.

You've cast a spell on me for quite some time now, but your hold over me was only strengthened by the heartfelt messages you sent me. I'm beyond happy that you share my feelings.

The letter wasn't signed, but it was written in what was distinctly Iida's penmanship. He had ended his message the same way you had ended yours; with a hand-drawn heart.

"Oh my god," you whispered, paper crinkling as your grip tightened around it. You read it again. Then again. And then again. "Damnit, he's right. I do use the stormy sea metaphor a lot."

Note still clenched in your hand, you sped-walked to Iida's dorm room, heart thundering in your chest. The thought that Iida; sensible, respectful Iida would have feelings for a disaster like you was a little discombobulating to say the least, so you were determined to hear it straight from the horses mouth.

You rapped on his door, foot tapping impatiently. The few seconds it took for Iida to answer dragged on for what felt like an eternity. When he finally did open the door, a pleasantly surprised look crossed his face upon seeing you.

You held up his note. "Hi. Um, so."

Iida chuckled, cheeks reddening. He gestured you in as he stepped back to his desk, where he produced the letters you had sent. "So."

"Y-you're not messing with me, right?" you asked nervously. "'Cause if you are I'm going to kick you."

"Trust me, everything I wrote is 100% true." He smiled earnestly. "And you...?

"I think those letters are the most honest I've ever been about my feelings ever." you admitted, shifting your weight from foot to foot. A wry smile played on the edges of your lips. "I was drafting you another one, but you just had to go and find me out and ruin it."

"You can still give it to me," Iida said hopefully, palming the back of his neck with his hand, flustered.

You laughed a little, your own cheeks warming up. You twisted the hem of your shirt. "Uh, can I hug you?"

"O-of course!"

You wrapped your arms around Iida's torso, resting your head on his chest, listening to the drumming of his heart. He slowly followed suit, snaking his arms around your shoulders. He let out a contented sigh, relaxing into your touch. He was so warm. He was a cozy fire in the dark of winter, a blissful reprise from a cold and harsh world.

You pursed your lips, stifling a snicker. I've gotta write that down.

[spencessmile]

Gone

Requested? Yes 

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Summary - Hi! could I request a piece where the reader and team are solving a pretty tough case and you find out some bad news. Knowing that you have to finish the case, you don’t say anything but you just end up breaking down. Thanks. 

Warnings - None 

Word Count - 2k

And all imagines/fanfics/blurbs are written solely by me so please don't steal my work and/or post it without my consent. 

Feedback and Comments are welcome. Happy reading! 

Requests are CLOSED!

** 

“This feels weird,” You look up at Emily as she looks up from her paperwork. 

“It does feel a bit strange, doesn’t it?” You nod. 

“Are you sure it's been three weeks?” 

“Yup.” 

“Wow.” 

“I feel so fidgety sitting here and doing paperwork,” She said grabbing her empty cup and taking yours as well. 

“Me too,” You follow her to the kitchen, grabbing a granola bar. 

Spencer and Morgan walked into the kitchen as well. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Emily looks over at Morgan. “And what’s on your hands?” 

“It’s black ink,” Spencer answers before Morgan can. 

“Why do you have black ink all over your hands?” You ask. 

“We work for the FBI, we do a shit ton of paperwork for every case we ever work on, you’d think they would have a functioning printer. You would want them too, right?” He asks and you slowly nod. “Well, they don’t! Instead, they have the piece of crap in there that they call a printer. It doesn’t do shit!” 

“Morgan’s right,” Emily agrees. “That thing is garbage.” 

“Maybe try to not beating it up every time you print something and maybe it’ll start working better,” You suggest. “Then again I wouldn’t know because I have my mini printer,” You say, smirking. 

“Oh that was so well played with Hotch, I still can’t believe you got away with that bullshit and ended up getting a printer for your desk.” 

“I had a broken leg Morgs,” You reminded him. “Besides Hotch was the one who asked if I needed anything.” 

“Anything yet?” Reid asks, pouring coffee and handing a cup to Morgan. 

“Nope,” Emily sighs. 

“Are we this desperate to catch a serial killer?” You ask. 

“This is the longest we’ve ever gone without being called on a case. Hotch is probably in his office trying to figure out which case to take on," You chuckle at Morgan's response. 

Just then Garcia walks in, holding several files. 

“I’m giving this case file to Hotch but grab your go bags, the jet is running, brief on the jet.” 

“Oh,” Emily quickly grabs it. “Finally,” You all drop your cups and run to grab your bags and head towards the elevator. 

** 

It’s been almost two weeks and you all were nowhere near to solving this case. The victimology and MO of the unsub made no sense to any of you. 

Anytime you’d think you have something, you’d connected it with what you already have and it just wouldn’t make any sense. 

“It’s late,” Hotch said. “Let’s head back to the hotel, rest up and start again tomorrow morning.” 

“When I asked for a case I didn’t mean one that makes absolutely no sense,” Emily said, dropping her head down on the table. 

“No case is ever solved in a day,” Rossi says. 

“We've spent the last however many days in this boardroom and we haven’t got much Rossi,” You said pointing to the evidence board. “Our unsub killed two people before we got here in the strangest way and now has gone awol.” 

“We spent the last 336 hours going through this case,” Spencer corrects you as you chuckle. 

“They’ll strike again,” He responds. “They always do.” 

“Oh my god,” Emily groans. “What time is it?” 

“Almost 8 o’clock,” JJ says, looking down at her watch. 

“I need tequila!” 

“I’m so in,” Morgan said. 

“I’m in,” JJ said. 

“I’m buying. Aaron you in for a couple of drinks?” Rossi asked. 

“Sure,” Hotch replies. 

“What about you two love birds?” Morgan looks at you. 

“Nuh-uh, I’m so sleepy,” You said.

** 

As you and Spencer got ready for bed, you can’t help but have a strange feeling forming in your stomach. Something was nagging at you but you couldn’t tell what it was. 

It was making you feel sick, almost. 

“You okay?” Spencer asked. 

“Yeah, I miss sleeping in our bed. Hotel beds just aren’t that comfortable.” 

“Me too,” Spencer said, kissing your forehead. “Come on,” Spencer turns off the light and he pulls you closer. 

An hour passes as you twist and turn but you still couldn’t get that awful feeling in your stomach to pass. You carefully get up and pour yourself a glass of water. You pull at the blinds a little, which reveals the moon. You stare at it for a while until you hear shuffling. 

“Babe?” Spencer sits up rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” You responded. 

“Then why are you up?” 

You sigh, sitting down beside him. 

“I just can’t sleep tonight,” You tell Spencer honestly. 

Spencer could tell you were anxious about something. He turns on the lights and takes your hands in his. 

“Talk to me please,” He said softly. 

“I jus-” You take a deep breath before continuing. “I just have this bad feeling about something.” 

“Bad feeling about what?” He asks. 

“I don’t know.” 

“How long have you felt like this?” 

“Not long,” You reply. “It sort of started when we came back to the hotel and were getting ready for bed.” 

“You let me go to bed when you were feeling like this earlier?” Spencer asked, concerned. 

“I thought the feeling would go away but now it’s making me feel sick.” 

“Tell me how I can help you?” 

“I want to sleep.” 

Spencer lays back “Come here,” You lay down next to him as you place your head on his chest, you can hear his heartbeat as his hand moves to your back, softly rubbing your back. 

Before you realize it, you slip into slumber. 

** 

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asks the next morning as you're getting ready to head back to the station. 

“I’m better.” 

You lied. 

You didn’t feel good, if anything you felt worse than last tonight. The nagging feeling was eating at you even more. You were pushing the feeling aside but the more you did the more you wanted to throw something at a wall or yell into a pillow. 

“Good,” Spencer said, kissing you. “Come on, the team is waiting for us downstairs.” 

**

As this case was getting nowhere you decided to step out aside and get some fresh air, outside. 

You quietly sat on the bench, closing your eyes as you took in the light breeze and warm sun. The moment didn’t last long until you jumped at the sound of your phone piercing through your ears. 

Your heart started racing when you looked at the caller ID. 

** 

“We need to re-deliver the profile,” Hotch says. 

“Alright,” Morgan replies as he realizes that you're not in the room with them. “Pretty boy, where is y/n?”

Spencer turns to face Morgan as he realizes that you weren’t in the room. Spencer wouldn’t be concerned when he doesn’t hear from you in a while because often when the wheels in your brain were turning you tended to be quiet and focus on your thoughts. 

“I thought sh-” 

“I’m here,” You say, gripping your jacket with your hands. “So-sorry, I went out fo-for some air. Where are we?” You ask, walking past Emily to stand next to Spencer. 

“We’re about to re-deliver the profile,” Your hands were shaking, no matter how much you tried to control your breathing, you couldn’t. 

You felt like you might pass out but you quickly grabbed Spencer’s hand as he put his hand over yours. 

“You okay?” He whispered and you nod. 

“Absolutely,” You flash him your fakest smile, as you and him both know that it didn’t reach your eyes. 

** 

No matter how much you tried to drain your thoughts with the voice of Hotch speaking your mind wouldn’t let you. 

You had no control over how your body was reacting; your hands were shaking, you kept fidgeting, all your body height was on your left foot and you were swaying side to side. Your eyes were glued to looking out the window on your left-hand side. 

You don’t how long passed until you realized the room was quiet, as you peel your eyes away, all the officers and the team were looking your way. 

“Agent Y/n,” You looked down at your feet not wanting to look at Hotch but you felt someone’s hand on your back.

“What’s wrong?” 

Rossi. 

No, no, you can’t do this here. You're doing your damn job this can’t be happening right now. 

No, please. 

You felt Rossi pull you aside. “Kid, what’s going on?” You felt the tears pressing your eyes as your breathing was picking up again. 

It was happening; you were starting to feel it. 

You looked up at Rossi, as water threatened to spill out of your eyes and you shook your head. 

“I jus-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence without wanting to fall into pieces. “I don’t kn-” 

“It’s okay,” He reassures you. 

You look past Rossi’s shoulder and see Spencer standing there and that completely did it for you. 

“I’m sor-sorry, I can’t,” You push past Rossi, Spencer, and the team, heading back into the conference room. 

You shut the door, leaning against the table as you feel an overwhelming sense of emotions. You try to hold back the tears but the more you did, the worse you felt. So you let them fall and you let yourself feel weak and hurt. 

**

“Y/n,” There was knocking on the door but you didn’t flinch, or turn around to see who it was. “Can I come in?” 

Without turning around, you nod. You hear the door open and close. 

Spencer. 

“Please talk to me,” Spencer didn’t come near you but he stood by the chair. He patiently waited for you to say something. Spencer being in the room once again made your tears fall and made your insides yearn for someone you’ll never see again. 

You turn around to face him and his face softens seeing your tear-stained face. He walks up to you but stops enough to see your face. 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice made you crumble more inside. 

You all you did was look at Spencer and it was almost like he knew what you were going to say. 

You know you had to say it.

Say it. 

Say it.

Say it so you can be okay with it. 

“He’s dead.” 

As soon as Spencer’s arms wrapped around you, you completely broke down. You gripped his sweater with your hands and dug your head into his shoulder as you held onto him tightly. 

“He’s dead,” You repeated, feeling yourself falling apart. Spencer supported you by holding you close as he let you fall apart in his arms. 

“It’s okay.” He whispers coddling your head. 

** 

The next couple of hours were a blur to you. Spencer and you made it back to the hotel. Spencer helped you change into comfier clothes, ordered some food, and quietly sat with you until you were ready to talk. 

“I’ll never be able to go back to that park,” You spoke up. “It’ll remind me of him too much.” Spencer squeezes her hand. “I’ll never be able to tell him that I love him or we’ll never be able to go and get ice cream ever again. I won’t ever be able to call him and ask him for advice, and that I’ll never hear him crack one of his lame jokes. I’ll never be able to hug him again.” 

Spencer knew you were hurting and he wanted to say something to soothe your pain but nothing he would say, would ease your pain. 

“He’s gone Spencer,” You started tearing up again. “My brother is dead.” 

“Hey, look at me,” Spencer wipes your tears. “He may not psychically be here anymore but now he’s always watching down on you. He’s your guardian angel.” 

“I never told you but he’s been calling me for the past two weeks and been asking when I would introduce you to him. He was so excited to meet you. He had this huge list of things he wanted to do with you. He was so ecstatic when I told him about you,” You turn to face Spencer, laying your head in his lap. You looked up at him as his fingers ran through your hair. 

“I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” 

You hated that it wasn’t mean to be, you wanted your brother to meet the man that pulled you out of your darkness and pushed you towards the light. 

“You would have loved him, Spence,” A single tear rolls down your face. “He just had so much life to him. He has always up for a challenge and the love he had for books is just insane. He would've loved to share his books with you. He once told me that he so excited to play a game of chess with you and absolutely crush you.” 

Spencer lightly gasps. “Nobody can beat me in chess.” 

“Oh, he would have ended you in five moves.” 

There was a long pause, as Spencer just stared down at your features. “I believe you.” 

“I played so many games with him but I never found a way to beat him.” 

Spencer loved the way you talked about your brother, the way your eyes would shine, and the way your smile would light up your whole face. 

“This is exactly how your brother would want you to remember him, by all his good memories. He wouldn’t want you to be upset.” 

“I know,” You sigh, rubbing Spencer’s hand. “I love you and thank you for being so patient with me.” 

“I’ll always be here for you. I love you.” 

** 

To live in hearts 

We leave behind 

Is not to die - Thomas Campbell 

[lovelylunarwriting]

Jaemin Soulmate!AU

Jaemin has a reputation as a “cool” kind of guy, which is why he wears bracelets to hide the words permanently etched on his left wrist

“Wait- if it’s not butter, then what is it?”

Jisung and Haechan are notorious for giving him shit for having a ‘weird’ soulmate, but Jaemin thinks it’s kind of funny, honestly

Like great question dude but,,, why are you asking me this

Jaemin’s apartment is around the corner from a little family-owned grocery store that he’s frequented since his high school days.

He’s very much a regular, to the point of the owner being like “Jaemin…. Please just work here. You already know where everything is”

To which Jaemin has to respectfully decline, because he wants to focus on his dancing and singing, and working too much would get in the way of practicing.

That, however, does not stop the old man from sending customers with questions to Jaemin whenever he comes in.

Because Jaemin is too polite to be like “uhh I don’t work here, good luck”, he always ends up helping them

But secretly, he doesn’t mind. He thinks that maybe one day, his soulmate will be the next one to ask him a question.

Even after repeated questions about “how much does this cost?”, “when do you guys open tomorrow?”, “when will the next shipment of bok choy be in?”, he still isn’t terribly bothered.

The other employees chastise the boss for sending customers to Jaemin, but the old man is always like “he knows this store better than you all do. That’s why he gets a discount higher than yours”

Employee discount: 15 percent off all merchandise

Na Jaemin discount: 20 percent off all merchandise

It’s an unspoken rule amongst employees that Na Jaemin gets a discount, but they are NEVER to mention it to him! He knows that business has been rough recently and wouldn’t accept the generosity, but the boss thinks Jaemin is too skinny and wants him to be able to afford to eat well.

Now lovely reader, this is where you come in. You recently got a job at this grocery store but you work in the back, so you have never seen the famous “Na Jaemin” that all your fellow employees chat about so frequently.

Coworker #1: “Ugh, he’s like SO dreamy”

Coworker #2: “I know right? He’ll have no trouble becoming an idol at this rate”

Meanwhile you’re like “lol what who? Also where is the printer for printing clearance labels”

You specifically applied for the back of house position because you did not want to talk to people.

It’s not that you’re antisocial by any means- honestly it’s the opposite. It’s just that you have the tendency to say whatever you’re thinking with absolutely no filter.

So in the past when more…. challenging… customers have talked down to you, you gave back the same energy without thinking.

Management was not happy,,, so you were like “mmmm maybe I should just keep to myself and everyone would be happier”

One day though, it seems that you’re shit out of luck.

Your work bestie calls you at 3 in the morning on your day off saying that her kid has a fever and she’s gotta stay home and take care of him.

You have no plans other than generally being a lazy lump at home, and she’s always had your back at work, so you’re like “girl don’t worry about it, I got your shift. I’ll make some chicken noodle soup for him too”

To which she’s like “bitch if I hadn’t found my soulmate already I would’ve snatched you up T-T”

You giggle and tell her to try and get some rest- both her and her kid.

And then sleep another blissful 4 hours before rolling in for the 8am shift.

When you get there, boss man is like “ayeee so you’re covering for her shift which is stocking shelves, are you gonna be okay doing that?”

You: “Ahaha yeah it’ll be fine~ just please don’t send customers to me oh my gosh”

Boss Man: “Don’t worry, I just saw Jaemin walk in. I’ll send them to him”

You: “... who is Jaemin”

Boss Man: “He’s my FAVORITE!! Remember that!”

You: “Oh, okay!! Yes sir!”

You’re like fifteen minutes into your shift and you’re already on edge because all you’ve done so far is dodge all the old ladies who are shopping this early.

No actual products have been put on the shelves yet, or at least not by your hands.

Settling down in the dairy section, you relax a bit and start putting cold products in the cold shelves fixed to the wall.

And of course- things are in the wrong place. Why would anyone put anything back where it belongs?

Picking up a product, you glance at the label out of sheer boredom more than anything.

“Wait- if it’s not butter, then what is it?”, you say to yourself.

Or so you think.

“Yeah, that is like the one question I don’t know how to answer”, you hear a masculine voice say from behind.

You spin around and look up into the man’s face.

And oh boy is that a nice looking face.

“Oh I’m sorry, I- WAIT”, you start, before you realize what he said.

Grabbing his left wrist, you push up the bracelets to reveal what you’d just said. Then you drop his hand out of sudden shyness, and because it’s not cool just to grab people.

“Do… do you mind if I look at your wrist as well?”, he asks quietly.

You roll up your sleeve and present him with your arm. He delicately wraps his fingers around your wrist and flips it over to read the words written”

He drops your wrist and sinks into a squat, flopping his arms over his head and looking at the ground.

“Oh my gosh why did I say something so lame…”

“Umm,,, to be fair,,, I did ask you about butter so by comparison yours isn’t that bad,,,,”, you try to comfort him, and he lifts his head up to meet your gaze.

“You mean that? It wasn’t like the lamest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Oh I’ve heard much lamer things, don’t worry!”, you say with a cheery smile that contrasts your words entirely.

He stands up again and clasps your hands in his. With a look of determination he looks straight into your soul and asks:

“What time do you get off work?”

You tell him, but let him know that you’ll be busy after work making chicken noodle soup for your coworker and her son.

He’s like “oh you can cook?” and you’re like “lol no but I’m gonna die trying”

He writes his phone number on your arm (next to your soulmate tattoo) and is like “text me when you’re done with work and I’ll swing by and walk you home and maybe I can help you cook”

And quickly clarifies “ONLY IF YOU’RE COMFORTABLE WITH ME IN YOUR HOME, I UNDERSTAND IF BECAUSE WE JUST MET YOU-”

You’re like “dude,,,, it’s fine, we are literally destined to be together. Also if you try anything I’ll just beat you up so it’s chill”

Looking at his watch, he sprints makes a beeline for the checkout counter, going on about he’s gonna be so later and Haechan’s never gonna let it go if he’s late twice in a row, and something else but by that point he’s so far away from the dairy aisle you can only hear muffled sounds where words should be.

The next several hours could not go by ANY SLOWER.

Starting off today, you figured the day would go by quickly because you’d be preoccupied figuring out how to do something new, but now all you can think about is pretty soulmate boy.

And how he never mentioned his name, but to be fair, it was a rather quick exchange.

What feels like centuries later, your shift is coming to a close so you grab the ingredients you the internet tells you you need for the soup and head to your favorite cashier.

Somehow the front of the store is both quiet and abnormally loud for this time of night.

“Jaemin’s been waiting there for fifteen minutes? Do you think he’s waiting for someone?”

“Maybe he needs to talk to the boss? Usually he’d just ask one of us to grab him but he’s just standing outside”

“Ugh it’s so cold, should we tell him to come inside?”

You glance over to the crowd of coworkers towards the entrance and break out into a smile.

“Just keep ringing me up, I’ll be right back!”, you tell the cashier and fast walk past the small crowd.

Peeping your head out the door, you greet him.

“Are you cold? Come inside, I’m almost done”

“Oh okay, should I wait by the door though?”

“No, come with me. I wanna show you off~”, you instruct and he raises an eyebrow, but plays along.

Holding open the door for him, he scuffles his way in and shyly offers his hand.

Gladly, and with a pounding heart, you lock your fingers between his.

“Your hands are freezing, dude”

“Shhh it’s fine. I was trying to be cool, okay”, he jokes with you as you walk back to the register

Ringing up your items, the cashier is looking at you and him with raised eyebrows, and you’re just like “shut up jessica I’ll explain tomorrow”

The two of you walk back to your apartment and spend the rest of the night cooking and talking about everything and nothing.

The more you learn about Jaemin, the more confident you are that the universe got this one right.

Even when most things feel unclear, you know this person is someone you can always rely on.

(also when you bring your sick work bestie the soup, Jaemin insists on tagging along and she’s like “omg Y/N that’s JAEMIN” and you’re like “I KNOW” and he’s like “hi here’s some soup, also why do you know my name”

[lokis-little-kitten]

Teaching Assistant 3

Title: Teaching Assistant Writer: Lokis-Little-Kitten Pairing: LokixReader Rating: Mid Warning: spankings, mentioning of masturbation, ED, college, teacherxstudent Summary: You get a job as a teaching assistant for you professor Loki Laufeyson. Quickly the relationship takes a turn when Loki offers to teach you the robes of BDSM.

Good girl. 

Those two simple words make your core fire up with need. Never was anyone able to do that with just two little words. 

Loki his hand creeps up until it's in your hair. He pulls making your head fly back so you can look at him. ‘’Rule number two, always say please and thank you.’’ ‘’Yes master,’’ you whisper again. 

‘’Three, always obey master.’’ ‘’I understand.’’ He lets go of you and takes a step back. ‘’Well then, kneel before me.’’ Slowly you get up from your chair not completely sure of what to do. You walk towards him and lower to your knees. 

Loki lowers himself to your level and looks at your attempt. Knees close together and your palms on them. Not bad, but not good either. 

‘’This is what I mean, little one. Part your knees and lay the back of your hands on your knees.’’ You do as he says while staring at the ground. Hopefully, you did well this time. ‘’Better,’’ he mumbles while straightening up. 

Loki walks towards his computer and looks some things up until you suddenly hear the printer again. ‘’You have clearly never heard of a contract in this industry so I guess I will have to teach you that as well.’’ He takes it from the white machine and walks towards a chair. He sits down and asks you to come to him. 

He hands you the few papers. You take a quick look but Loki already takes up the attention. ‘’Sit down and read through it carefully. Everything you don’t accept, cross it out. This will make sure you are safe, understood?’’ ‘’Yes… master.’’ ‘’Good. Go then.’’ 

Quickly you rush to the chair you just sat in and start reading. Most things sound fine- thrilling even- to you but there were one or two things that went too far for your liking so you took a Sharpie and crossed it out as Loki said. When you are done you return it to Loki. 

‘’Good,’’ he mumbles as he looks at what you got rid off. He walks to his desk again and commands you to sit down again. The whole time you just stare at him with large eyes. Loki also crosses some things out and then goes to the final page. He writes his own full name and then yours. A signature is required afterwards. He puts down his and then gives you the pen. 

You put down the simple signature before returning the professor his pen. ‘’Thank you,’’ he sighs putting it away. ‘’This will be binding then. You are my submissive and will do as I say. Understand that if you leak any of this I will go to the dean and make sure you are ruined, understood?’’ ‘’Yes of course,’’ you quickly reply bowing your head. 

‘’Good girl. You can go to your class now. I do expect you after class,’’ he groans putting away the contract in a safe space. ‘’Yes, I will.’’ Loki gives you an expecting look. ‘’Yes who?’’ 

‘’Yes master,’’ you quickly adjust your answer, ‘’I will.’’ ‘’Within these walls I am your master unless I tell you otherwise. Now go!’’ You nod again and rush out of the room. 

Well, that was an experience! 

You rush to your class where you find Dimitri waiting with your coffee. ‘’Oh my God, where have you been,’’ he whispers since the class has already started. ‘’Professor Laufeyson needed me.’’ Dimitri frowns deeply at your answer. 

‘’Why?’’ You bite your lip and look at your desk. ‘’I forgot to disconnect my laptop from his printer so I accidentally printed out a shit load of papers…’’ He chuckles a bit and gives you the latté that must be almost cold now. ‘’Of course, that happens to you. I assume he wasn’t happy about it?’’ You let out a fake laugh. ‘’Not really…’’

The day goes slow and fast at the same time. The classes seem to pass you in a haze but you can’t wait for this day to be over. Second seem like hours at a time but eventually, there it is… The end of the day. 

 You knock on the hard wooden door that leads to Professor Laufeysons office. ‘’Come in,’’ you hear him call. You clutch the papers you started grading for him to your chest as you open the door. You walk in and close the door behind you. 

‘’Lock it, pet,’’ Loki speaks without looking up. You do as he asks and walk to his desk. ‘’I got these for you…’’ You lay the papers down for him and then take a step back for me. ‘’I don’t react without proper adressmend,’’ he mumbles while reading a letter.

You take a deep breath before speaking again. ‘’Master, I have the papers you asked for.’’ You bite your lip while waiting for his answer. ‘’Good girl,’’ he speaks putting away his things. ‘’Come here.’’ He holds out his hand for you with an intense stare. 

With shaking knees you walk around the desk towards him. Gently you lay your hand into his. Loki is swift to pull you closer to in between his knees. ‘’Kneel, little one.’’ Quickly you obey and drop to your knees not taking your eyes off of him. 

‘’I need you to relax around me,’’ he gently speaks while laying his fingers around your chin, ‘’do you trust me?’’ ‘’Yes, master.’’ ‘’Well then, I’ve noticed that you are nervous around me. Why is that, my pet?’’ You take a deep breath before answering. 

‘’I’m scared to do something wrong, master.’’ He runs his other hand through your hair and pulls up his brows. ‘’No need for that. If you do something wrong I’ll let you know and give you time to redo it or adjust. It is, however, a good thing that you want to please me, isn’t it.’’ ‘’Yes master.’’ 

He smiles. 

The first time you ever saw him smile! You give him one in return while staring up at him. He keeps petting your head to relax you and soon it starts to work. ‘’We need to make sure you feel comfortable around me, pet,’’ he mumbles and gets up. 

He walks towards his fireplace and takes the spirit that is placed on top of it. The professor takes a quick sip without offering you. ‘’Come here,’’ he commands again. You bey him once more being quiet. 

Loki closes in on you and lays his hands on your hips. Your breath stops for just a second. He never touched you there before… His hands travel to the seem of your shirt and start to pull it off. ‘’Arms up.’’ When you do he completely pulls the shirt off of you leaving you in your bra. 

His arm snakes around your waist to unclasp your bra. He slowly lets it slide down your arms and your breast. The clothing article is dropped to the floor as well. Loki his hand grazes your collarbone while studying your half-naked body. 

Loki then lowers himself to one knee and starts to open your trousers. You swallow thickly feeling nervous. You only had one or two relationships before of which one included nudity- usually in the dark. 

He pulls the fabric down your legs. Your muscles tense up at the contact as you try to hide yourself a little with your arms. Loki his right-hand slithers around your ankle and lifts your foot. He pulls the last bit of fabric from your legs and straightens up again. You are only wearing pants now and slightly hope to keep those. 

‘’There.’’ He takes your wrist and pulls your hands your body. ‘’Don’t hide, little one, not for master.’’ A wave of excitement goes down your body straight to your core. ‘’Yes, master.’’ He smirks a bit at you and lays his hand on your cheek. ‘’Good girl.’’ He kisses your forehead and then leads you towards the fireplace. ‘’We don’t want you to get cold now, do we.’’ He lets you sit on the warm carpet and even gives you a book to read. 

No blanket or clothes to cover up, however. 

You honestly try to concentrate on reading the book but Loki is just too big a distraction. Add the nervous and excitement of the whole situation and it results in you being a wreck. You put the book away biting your lip unsure of what to do. Should you just ask for something to do?

You suppose so? 

‘’Master,’’ you breathe out. ‘’Yes, pet.’’ ‘’I can’t concentrate…’’ He looks up at you and grins a bit. ‘’What do you suppose I do about that?’’ Tickly you swallow and shrug. ‘’I don’t know… I’m sorry.’’ He stands up and rushes towards you. 

‘’Don’t be. How are you feeling? Comfortable?’’ Shorty you nod. After being naked in front of him for such a long time your barely notice it any more ‘’Yes.’’ ‘’Good girl.’’ He takes your hand and has you stand up. 

He takes his coat and wraps it around your shoulders. ‘’Back to your duties then.’’ He then just has you grade papers and other things. Eventually makes you get dressed again and leave. 

When you get home you sit down on your bed. What just happened? He barely touched you but you feel like you’re on fire. You pull your knees up and then simply lay down… thinking. 

All kinds of things fly your head until your phone buzzes. You take a look and see that it’s a text from professor Laufeyson. Quickly you open it to find a simple question. 

Professor Laufeyson. Have you eaten dinner yet? 

You. No, I haven’t

Professor Laufeyson. No, master. Make sure you do before eight!

You look at the clock. Seven thirty already! You have been home for an hour? You hadn’t even noticed. The professor had occupied your mind so much the time had slipped from you. 

You.

I try my best, master.’’ 

Professor Laufeyson. Don’t try. Do it. I expect a photo before eight.

You jump up and run to your kitchen. When your right in the middle of getting pots and pans your phone buzzes once again. You grab your phone and look. 

Professor Laufeuson. It better be healthy, little one! 

Your eyes widen at his demand. Is he really asking a broke college student to make a healthy meal within half an hour? Is he joking? What is he going to do if you don’t? You scoff and put all of your stuff away again. 

You eat breakfast, you promise yourself and then go to watch a movie again. It is too late in the evening to still cook or eat! At precisely eight your damned mobile phone buzzes again.

Professor Laufeyson. Times up. What are you eating?

You don’t react. You’ll just say your phone died or something. He can’t force you to eat! 

Professor Laufeyson Pet?

Answer me!

You’ll pay for it if you don’t obey!

That’s it, chances are up.

The messages flood in every few minutes until you turn your phone off. Geez, this guy is intense… Something about it gives a pleasant tingle deep in your chest but your head tells you to ignore it. So you do. 

The next day you turn your phone back on and see that Loki send you some more angry messages. You ignore it again but start to feel a little nervous about seeing him this afternoon. 

You go to your classes and slightly hind behind your large best friend when walking in. He frowns deeply when he notices. ‘’You okay,’’ Dimitri asks heaving his bag a little more onto his shoulder. ‘’Yeah, fine.’’ 

‘’Is the professor getting too much for you already,’’ he chuckles after passing the stern man. You did notice his angry glare at you but then again, his face is always angry… ‘’I might have pissed him off a little. I didn’t finish some work even though I had the whole weekend.’’ He laughs loudly at you. ‘’I’m sorry, babe,’’ he screeches when he arrives at your seats in the back. 

‘’It isn’t funny! He’s going to kill me after class.’’ You lean against his arm and bury your face in his sleeve. ‘’What are you doing this afternoon,’’ you ask, ‘’wanna meet up?’’ ‘’Oh no,’’ he calls out with a smirk, ‘’you are not using me to escape his wrath! Even if I wanted to do that, I have football practice.’’ You groan and cuddle up close with him. He wraps his arm around you and gives you a smile. 

You love Dimitri. He is your best friend of four years now and if anyone saw you that didn't know you they would swear you’re a couple. You’re not, however, just very close and touchy. Probably because the both of you have been touch starved all your life and now try to make up for that. 

‘’Just remember that he isn’t allowed to touch you, okay?’’ ‘’Yeah.’’ Yeah… No. 

‘’Miss Y/L/N,’’ Professor Laufeyson then suddenly calls out. ‘’Would you like to join me on the first row, please? Maybe you can pay attention to me then instead of your boyfriend.’’ Your eyes widen when he asks that. Oh no…

You sit up and look at the front row that is- as usual- empty. You grab your bag onto your shoulder and walk up to the front row at- of course- the middle seat. You quickly obey before you get into even more trouble. ‘’He’s not my boyfriend,’’ you mumble while sitting down. ‘’I certainly don’t hope so,’’ Loki whispers back and then finally starts his class. 

At some point, you manage to get your phone out and in front of your book so you hope Loki won’t see it.

You. Help me! He stares at me the whole time!

Dimitri. You really pissed him off, didn’t you? Sorry that I can’t help you. Maybe he’ll go easy on you from now on?

The moment you want to start typing again a large hand grabs your phone. ‘’Miss Y/L/N, can I conduct from this that my classes are so boring your last option is a mobile phone? No note making or reading can keep you suited?’’ You bite your lip again and quickly apologize. ‘’You get this one back when you go home.’’ He puts it in his back pocket and then continues his lesson. 

You’re so screwed… 

[winterscaptain]

push.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: alright, team! this one covers cradle to grave and the eyes have it. i am so excited to share this with you, and we are that much closer to 100. ahh!! (i also mistakenly noted that infirmity was part three and it is in fact part four. while i can write, i made no promises in regard to counting.)

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! (the pieces stand alright on their own as well, for the most part!) one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.2k warnings: canon-typical violence and discussion of violence, language

summary: “if you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” - t.s. eliot. a shift, a transition, and a lie.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

Aaron meanders around the store, looking into the glass cases. There’s very little purpose, very little direction. He figures, just like the first time, the right one will make itself known. 

What are you doing? 

He takes a breath, ignoring that pesky little voice in his head, focused on the task at hand.

I’m listening to Haley. What are you doing?

Playing devil’s advocate because you shouldn’t be doing this right now. What are you thinking?

I don’t know. Fuck off. 

The man behind the glass greets him, asking if he’s looking for anything in particular. 

“Yes,” Aaron says, only a little startled out of his thoughts, “though I’m not quite sure what it is, yet.” His gaze wanders. “Can I see that one, please?”

He takes a close look, but it’s not quite right. 

He’ll find it. 

+++

You’re still at your desk when Hotch leaves JJ’s office, late. You throw him a little bit of a smile as he frowns at you. 

Why are you still here? 

You shrug. Work?

He snorts. Sure. and hops up the stairs to his office. There’s a moment where he stops short at the door. With a little bit of a startle, you realize Strauss is in there. 

How did I miss that?

JJ arrives in the bullpen with an armful of files, and you tip your head toward Hotch’s office. She works her distribution, setting folders down, her eyes glued to the window. 

When Strauss leaves, you both busy yourselves, looking up as she passes. 

She greets the both of you with your formal titles, and a chill runs down your spine. 

“Ma’am.”

“Ma’am.” 

You and JJ echo each other, throwing an approximation of a smile in her direction. 

What the fuck? 

You exchange a look with JJ once Strauss is out of sight, nod, and stand. 

Reaching his door, you note that he hasn’t moved. 

“Hotch?”

He’s still as he answers. “Yes?”

Something feels wrong. Really really wrong. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” 

You stand there for a moment as he turns over his shoulder and returns to his desk. He knows better than to meet your eyes - then you’ll know for sure he’s lying. 

Choose your battles. 

Protect him. 

How? 

Just try. 

“Goodnight, Hotch.” 

+++

“You’re kidding.” 

You look up from your file at Spencer, who has a manic little grin on his face. “What?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” 

“Try me.”

He laughs. “Someone started this blog called What Would Carl Sagan Do? and it’s so woefully inaccurate I’m wondering if this is some kind of 100-level school project, it’s -”

Derek walks in and you beam at him. He doesn’t return it. “What’s the case?”

“What case?” You ask, the smile falling from your face. 

“I just got three emails from Hotch about cases.” 

A little confused noise leaves you as you refresh your email once...twice. “I don’t have anything.”

Spencer follows suit. “I didn’t get any emails from Hotch, or did I?” He checks. “Nothing.” 

With a sigh and a huff, Derek puts his things down and walks purposefully toward Hotch’s office. Spencer looks back at you. 

“Wonder what that’s about.”

You hum, looking back at your file to hide your face. “I dunno.” 

What happened last night?

+++

“What’s with Hotch?” Derek catches up to you in the hallway on the way to your hotel room at the end of the first day. Naturally, he’s not at all out of breath. 

You frown at him. “What do you mean?”

You know exactly what he means. 

“You’re a shit liar.” 

You chuff at him and unlock your door, opening it and shepherding him in. “Alright. Fine. He’s stressed.”

“He’s...stressed? Really? That’s all you’ve got for me?”

Throwing your hands up, “It’s not like he tells me everything, Derek.” 

You do know, however, that Jack spent his fourth birthday in protective custody, with only a surveillance feed to satiate Aaron’s need to see his son. 

It sucks. 

“Yeah, but -” He pulls the chair from the little desk and sits backwards on it while you take your shoes off. “ - you know him.” 

“You’ve known him far longer than I have.” 

“It’s different. I’ve been working with him longer, but you know him better.”

You can’t deny that. “Well…” You search and search for a viable explanation. “...maybe he’s just more open to help than he usually is? He knows how good you are at your job, so…” Your mouth twists. “...I think it’s a compliment that he’s relying on you more and asking for your opinion on things.” 

He squints, thinking. He “hmphs” once before standing up, replacing the chair, and heading toward the door. 

“I’ll tell you if I hear anything.” 

No I won’t. 

The side of his mouth lifts. “No, you won’t.” Then, “Goodnight, kid. Get some sleep.” 

+++

Aaron hands him an aggressively annotated copy of the preliminary profile. “Morgan, in order for the profile to be useful it has to generate multiple scenarios about what the unsub is doing. Rewrite it.” 

You have to admit you’ve been looking between each of them like a particularly interesting game of tennis as they volley back and forth. 

It’s tense...and confusing. 

Derek looks completely crestfallen. You wipe the confusion off of your face as best you can and exchange it for something you hope is empathetic. 

Hotch pulls JJ aside to discuss her new findings while Derek joins you at the table. 

“What is with him?”

You shake your head. “I wish I knew.” Your gaze wanders over to him, where he’s watching the pair of you. You look away, focused on the profile Hotch returned to Morgan. 

Your next words are almost a sigh. “I know he pushes hard, but…I just...don't know.” 

+++

You take a deep breath as Derek snatches a piece of paper from the printer and stalks to Hotch’s office. 

Maybe this time, they will kill each other. 

Who would win? 

Hm. Catch-22. They both lose. 

Even then, you’ll always put your money on Aaron. 

You keep your eyes on them and you know JJ’s doing the same. Part of you is always ready to bridge a rift between Aaron and Derek. For some reason or another, they both listen to you when you tell them they’re acting like shitheads. 

So, they listen. Often. 

Hotch’s jaw tenses and, though you can’t hear him, you can tell he’s raising his voice, his tone growing harder. 

That’s it. 

You shove off from the desk and open the door without knocking, interrupting Derek mid-thought. They both look at you and don’t even have the good graces to look caught out. 

“Garcia needs to talk to us.” 

Hotch takes a talking breath, but you cut him off. 

“Now.” You tip your head. “Please,” you add for good measure. 

They brush past the both of you, Derek’s fingers brushing your sleeve as he passes. 

You catch the hem of Aaron’s suit jacket and tug. 

He turns on you - there’s still a lot of fire in his gaze and for a moment, you let yourself be intimidated, looking away from him and bringing your hand back. 

There’s a sigh, and you know he feels bad (just a little). “Yes?”

“You’ll tell me if you want help, right?”

He meets your gaze. There is so much going on behind those deep brown irises you don’t even know where to start. “Yes.” 

Liar.

I miss you. 

Not satisfied, but pacified for now, you turn and lead the way back to the table. You meet Derek’s eyes and shake your head just a little. 

Damn it. 

+++

When you’re done with Penelope, you find an excuse to get Derek alone. Your conversation, somehow, is already heated. 

“He’s just trying to challenge you, Morgan.” Your body language isn’t great, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Arms crossed, tight mouth - you’re the picture of frustration. 

He’s restless - shifting his weight back and forth. “I don’t understand it. He’s on my ass about shit he’s never been on my ass about before.” 

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“Yes, I did.” He stops moving, gesturing sharply with an open, flat hand. “Why is he challenging me, when he’s the one under the gun?” 

You close your eyes and press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Did you ever think, just once, maybe, he wants to make sure this team still functions if something happens to him?” 

Derek, finally, has the good sense to deflate. You follow suit, leaning on the desk behind you. 

“We almost lost him a couple of months ago,” you remind him. “If we don’t know everything his position entails, we will not be able to help him if there’s a next time.” 

You step forward, a fond little laugh in your voice. “Derek - you’re a natural leader, a great tactician. There’s no better person for him to build up, just in case.” 

He breaks your gaze, thinking. 

For good measure, you add, “He respects you a great deal. Remember when you said you tolerate him, just for me?” You hold his gaze as it returns to you. “I think that’s bullshit.” 

Another breath. He steps forward, meeting you in the middle of the isolated, small conference room. You offer him a small, closed-mouth smile. 

“Come here, kid.” 

You tuck into his arms with a little laugh. “How did you two manage before I got here?”

You can feel his laugh rumble through him. “You have no idea.” 

+++

Of course, under Derek’s careful tactical direction, everything goes according to plan. Textbook soft entry, no hostages, peaceful takeover, and four rescued victims by the end of it. 

“I love these ones,” you say, standing between Aaron and Derek in the precinct as a family forms before your eyes. 

“Which ones?” Aaron asks. 

“The ones where we all get to go home, and so do they.” 

+++

“Well, I guess it’s time,” Derek says, pushing back from his desk and rising. You’ve both stayed late for one reason or another, with the excuse of paperwork. 

Really, Derek was building his nerve, and really, you were waiting for Aaron. 

You furrow your brow. “Time for what?”

“Hotch wants to see me.” 

“What does he want?”

He laughs a little. “I thought you’d know.” 

You shake your head, so he shrugs and walks up the stairs, knocking twice on Aaron’s door before stepping inside. 

They immediately take a seat, but not at Aaron’s desk. 

Red flag.

You know it’s ridiculous to worry, but nevertheless, you pace around the bullpen as the boys talk upstairs. It looks serious, given the image before you. They both sit forward in their chairs, lit by the warm light from Hotch’s lamp, their elbows on their knees, their hands loosely laced. 

Other than on the plane, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen them sit so close together. 

Aaron didn’t close the door, but still you know to keep your distance. The coffee pot is scrubbed again, the mugs reorganized, and you return to your desk after you run out of tasks, still fidgety. 

“What?” You hear. “No!” 

Your head whips up to the office at Derek’s outburst. They simmer down again after a moment, but continue talking with low brows and lower voices. 

They rise after a few more minutes, and Derek swings out of the door and whistles for you. “Hop to, kid, let’s go.” 

Your brow crinkles, but you jog up the stairs and land in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

Derek and Hotch exchange a look. 

“Have a seat,” Aaron says, finally. You follow instructions, sitting gingerly on the couch. 

What the hell is going on? 

Aaron sits across from you, looking a little lighter than he did this afternoon. You’re hoping it’s good news. 

“I’m resigning as unit chief at the end of this week.” You open your mouth and move to protest with your entire body, but Aaron’s hand stops you. “Wait. Hold on. Feel free to get mad at me when I’m done, but I’m not done yet.”

Is he...smiling? 

No, but it’s close. 

You freeze, waiting. 

He speaks to you like a scared animal, likely remembering the last time he tried to resign and you chased him across the office. “Morgan will be taking over as acting unit chief until we catch Foyet. I will return to my post at the conclusion of the investigation.” 

You still don’t move as you ask, “You’re staying on the team, though, right?” 

He nods. 

So it’s not as bad as you thought. “Why?”

Aaron glances at Morgan, who sits heavily beside you. You settle down and mirror their postures from earlier, feeling a little like a co-conspirator. “I’ve shared this with Morgan and I’ll share it with you, but -”

“- don’t tell anyone. Got it.”

His lips twitch. “Right. The bureau thinks that my ability to lead this team has been compromised.” 

You blink at him, waiting for him to continue. 

“What do you think?” He asks. 

This is a trick. He’s tricking me. 

“What do you mean ‘what do I think?’”

His gaze is definitely a little amused as he watches you. “I mean, what do you think?”

“Hm. That’s helpful.”

Oh, to be a fly on the wall in Derek’s head. 

He’s never seen two people more well-suited for each other. The fact that you’re giving Hotch shit right now to avoid answering the question speaks only to the closeness between you. You push him harder, give him more hell, and have the power to make him more miserable than anyone else. 

And yet, he loves you. It’s so clear. Why can’t you see it? Why can’t he see it?

You’re both profilers, for fuck’s sake. 

Derek’s eyes flicker back and forth, watching the raise of your eyebrows and the upturned corners of Aaron’s mouth. There’s a fondness between you - it rests in your eyes - as you wait each other out. 

God, they’re stupid. It’s written all over their faces. 

Aaron repeats himself, but slower. “Do you think my ability to lead this team has been compromised?”

You sigh, finally breaking his gaze to focus on one of the degrees on Aaron’s wall. “Alright, fine. I have been...concerned about some of your choices in the field the last few weeks.” You meet his eyes again. “Though, I believe I’ve told you as much in the moment, so that shouldn’t come as much of a shock.” 

He snorts and you swat lightly in his direction, purposefully missing him entirely. 

“But I don’t think there’s anyone better to lead this team.” You look over at Morgan. “Not to say you can’t or shouldn’t do it, but -”

Derek interrupts you. “- No, I agree.” 

You nod, turning back to Aaron. “Out of curiosity, what’s the alternative?”

His eyebrows rise for a moment. “The alternative is, I remain in my post until I am inevitably removed. In that instance, the team will be split and budgets will be cut.” 

“Oh.” 

“But,” he continues, “if I promote internally, we can avoid that.” 

It’s unsettling, to be sure, but not the end of the world. You think about it - what the team would look like with Hotch as just “one of you,” and Derek at the helm. 

Your eyes flicker to Aaron, taking in his suit, the strong set of his shoulders, the authoritative brow, the serious mouth. It wouldn’t be quite right, but it is better than the alternative.

God, he’s handsome.

We knew that. 

I know, but look at him. 

You’ve looked too long without talking. Derek noticed. He starts to think, already excited for Hotch to resume his post so he can start a betting pool on how long it’ll take for you two to finally give in to whatever...this is. 

Weirdly, though, he wouldn’t call it tension. It’s more like a blanket - covering the both of you in a kind of warmth that radiates to everyone in the vicinity. 

Derek has no idea how you got into Aaron’s good graces so quickly, why he trusted you so early on, but it’s made him a better leader, a better agent. 

He might even go so far as to say you’ve made him a better man. 

“I think,” you say, slowly, “given the circumstances, that Morgan leading the team until we catch Foyet would be a sound decision.” Your lips twitch into a smile. “And now I get to share the burden of being the one who gets pissed at you when you pull risky shit in the field.” 

Aaron almost smiles, but it’s enough. “Alright, then.” He stands and so does Morgan, so you follow suit. He crosses around to his desk, where two massive boxes of files are waiting. 

“If you intend on getting any sleep tonight,” he tells you, “I would recommend you leave now.” 

You suppress a smile. “And miss all this?” You gesture to both the file boxes and the boys. “No way.” 

+++

The next morning is...hectic, to say the least. 

Strauss stole Morgan the second he arrived, so naturally Penelope came up to the bullpen to keep tabs. “So, did anyone say why Hotch is stepping down?” 

You keep your eyes on your work, pretending to be only half-tuned into the conversation. There are eyes on you for a minute before you look up and cursorily shake your head. 

“All Morgan said this morning is that it’s happening,” JJ says. “Business as usual, I guess.” 

Emily’s not so easily appeased, sitting on the corner of your desk. “So we’re just supposed to move forward without any discussion?”

 Oh, there was a discussion. You just weren’t part of it. 

You look up for real and put your pen down. “I think we’d have to prepare for anything after Foyet, don’t you?”

The rest of you quiet down as Hotch descends the stairs. You’re the only one who keeps your eyes on him. 

No need to pretend you’re busy when he already knows you’re paying attention. 

“...I’ll have all my things cleared out and it will be all yours.” 

No. 

Your brow crinkles and you look up at the office. It feels...wrong, somehow, to imagine that room without its shelves of legal citation books, legal dictionaries…

Legal this, legal that. 

Could he be any more of a lawyer?

No. 

“Hotch, I don’t want your office.” Their voices are low, but they carry - especially to shamelessly eavesdropping ears. 

Strauss starts talking, but honestly, it just sounds like static. 

“All due respect, Ms. Strauss,” Derek says, “but both of you have trusted me to step in as acting unit chief. I’m asking you to respect my decision.” 

You drop your head down to your paperwork, a proud smile pushing at the corner of your lips. 

“I’ve decided I don’t want Hotch’s office. That’s where he belongs. If necessary, we can discuss this again at a later date, but right now, we really need to get started on this case.” 

He looks up, and you all pretend to be doing something else. It’s a ridiculous showing, really. 

“Guys. Grab Rossi.” 

Emily huffs, jumping off your desk. “I got ‘im.” 

+++

It’s weird at first as you all settle in and get used to looking at Derek more often. He’s doing well - asking good questions on the plane and stepping in when you arrive at the precinct. 

Aaron still looks like the authority in the room, but that’s just how he is. There’s more than one occasion where you’re forced to hide your smile as he intentionally and mindfully defers to Derek in front of the local officers. 

It’s not actually funny in any comedic sense, but the strangeness of it all gets to you a little bit. 

You’re driving (another perk of Derek being in charge - he lets you drive) while Hotch takes shotgun. You’ve just hung up the phone, where Hotch said again “It’s your call, Morgan.” 

It made you smile, and now you’re under fire. 

“What’s funny?”

You check (again) that you’re the only two in the car. You are. “It’s just weird. I’m getting used to it.” 

“What? That we’re the same rank?”

Honey, we’ll never be the same rank. 

“Sure,” you reply, dubious. “Like you and I are in the same league at all.” 

He shakes his head, playing off the twinge of hurt that doesn’t come from his freshly healing wounds.

In his mind, you’re right in more ways than one. 

That train of thought led him down a rabbit hole he’s now punishing himself for. Why he should even have half a thought dedicated to any of that is completely beyond him...

“What’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You know I can tell you’re lying to me without even looking at you, right?”

A sigh. “Oh, yeah?”

DIdn’t think he’d answer that one. 

“You have a tell when you’re lying to me, specifically. It’s different from your other tells.” 

“Is that so?” He sounds skeptical. 

“Mhmm.”

You can almost feel him squint. “Are you going to elaborate on that?”

“Nope. If I do, you’ll stop doing it and I have to start from scratch.” You shoot him another glance and the corner of your mouth tips up. “And I don’t take orders from you, anymore, so you can’t make me.” 

His fond eye roll finally breaks you, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. He doesn’t break himself, but it’s the thought that counts. 

Your laughter is the best reward to him, anyway. 

+++

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

If you had a dime for every time you’ve had that thought in the last eight weeks, you’d have...a shitload of dimes. 

You’re chasing after him, because of course he ran after the unsub without backup. It’s like he’s on a mission to give you hypertension. 

“FBI! Get off her!” You hear his voice, rough and authoritative (you, of course, ignore what that does to your anatomy) and round the corner. 

You find him grappling with the unsub, cuffing him. 

With a sigh, you take over - holstering your weapon and hauling the unsub to his feet. 

Derek walks over with Emily after you’ve passed the unsub to the local officers for processing. “What happened?”

“Hotch took him down by himself.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

You press your mouth into a thin, facetious line. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Derek shakes his head with a huff that’s almost a laugh and returns to Hotch, who clarifies the aforementioned events. He looks over at you. “Did you tell him you were right behind me?”

You just stare at him. 

Derek takes over, saving you the trouble of getting too annoyed with Aaron. “You should have waited for backup.” 

Unit Chief Derek, in with the feedback. Very nice. 

You look unfairly smug, but the look drops off your face when Hotch answers, almost smiling, “Would you have?”

You're confronted with an image - Aaron, ten years ago, only a little older than you, a young, hotshot agent with a sarcastic streak a mile wide. 

Poor Gideon...

Derek just turns with another sigh, off to do whatever acting unit chiefs do. 

Emily manages to hold her laugh until he’s out of earshot. Hotch, passing her, just smirks. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

+++

Alright, that’s enough. 

You rise from your desk and pat Derek’s shoulder on your way past him. “Proud of you.” It’s casual, almost a throwaway line. If it was any kind of serious, you know he’d hate it. 

A little staccato hum leaves his throat. He’s still working, and you leave him to it. 

You knock twice on Hotch’s office door before letting yourself in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies but doesn’t look up. 

You sit at one of the chairs and prop your chin on the heel of your hand. “How late are you staying?”

“You should go home. it’s late.” His response is absent, at best. You’re not even sure he actually heard you. 

“Hey.”

He finally looks up, his brown eyes tired and bloodshot. “What?” His tone isn’t unkind, but it isn’t patient, either. 

“You should go home. It’s late.” 

He heaves a sigh and lets it out through his mouth, choosing not to acknowledge your use of his words against him. “Can’t.”

You hum, looking over his nameplate to the files on his desk. “He’ll still be there tomorrow, you know.”

“That’s the problem.” 

“Fine,” you relent. “Then let me help.” 

He doesn’t protest when you reach across the desk for the first case file, so you figure you have tacit permission.

Maybe, just maybe, if you learn this case backwards and forwards, too, something will change. 

Your love for the man across from you makes that lie easier to swallow. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @ambicaos

[gukyi]

four weeks | kth

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, it could be worse. 

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

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

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

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

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

It's quite artistic, actually. Ironically enough.

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

Just then, you hear footsteps echoing down the halls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank God it’s over,” you tell him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, almost to himself. 

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

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

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

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

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

He actually looks quite sad. 

“Really?” He asks, genuine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wanna stay with me?”

You stop dead in your tracks. 

“What?”

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

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

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

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

You cannot believe that he’s asking this. 

You cannot believe you’re considering this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As it turns out, things change. 

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

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

And as it turns out, some things never change. 

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

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

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

If only. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He checks his watch. “That it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But just like usual, Taehyung beats you to it. 

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

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

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

So, you go and get hotpot. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart, still and silent, begins to thump. 

“Do you wanna go to New York?”

“Today?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grin. “Let’s do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Well, besides perhaps, chemistry.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your last name, sir?” The man asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mr. and Mrs. Kim, they call you. 

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

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

He’s positively beaming. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“At Rockefeller?”

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

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

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

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

Taehyung’s mouth drops open. “Never?”

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

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

Deep breath. Inhale, exhale. 

“Alright.”

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

This is embarrassing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was your favorite part?” You ask. 

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

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

“What about you?”

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

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

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

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

It’s Taehyung. 

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

On Christmas Eve, it snows. 

Correction: On Christmas Eve, it snows a lot. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What are we making?”

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

“Wanna make soup?”

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

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

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

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

You make to toss it out but Taehyung stops you. 

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

“Huh?” You ask. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it can kill you,” you tack on.

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

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

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

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

“Sounds busy,” Taehyung comments. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s fuck some shit up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t mind this?” Taehyung asks. 

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

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

“What is?”

“This,” Taehyung repeats unhelpfully. 

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

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

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

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

“No, it’s alright, Tae,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s not. 

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

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

And, well, fuck that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t think I drank enough.”

Two minutes to midnight. 

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

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

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

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

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

Three. 

“Okay.”

Two.

“Okay.”

One. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you,” you say again. 

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

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

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

“Taehyung—”

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

He slams his bedroom door. 

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

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

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

“Y/N? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And now you like him.”

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N,

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

Tae ♡

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you cold?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[writingtoforgetreality]

Too Close To Home (Malcolm Bright x Reader)

Request: Hi! I'd like to request a Malcolm Bright x reader or OFC story. Malcolm and the reader know each other since a few years. The reader has grown up in an abusive family and also has anxiety. They spend more time together cuz of a case. When the reader gets into danger, Malcolm saves her. He guides her home afterwards. First he doesn't want to come in but then they spend the night together (smutty or not, whatever you prefer). Afterwards they experience the most peaceful sleep they've had in ages :) (by @angelicastiel), [Prodigal Son-Masterlist]

Summary: Another case you & your team got to work on. This time, though, the backstory of the killer hit a bit too close to home. Still, you wanted to get the job done & arrest the murderer. There would have been a better, less dangerous way, but you could not change your actions anymore. And maybe you got something out of it. Something you had been wanting for the longest time.

Words: 3,827

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, angst, language, probably spoilers for season 2, father figure!Gil, little kidnapping situation, talks of murder (I mean, it’s Prodigal Son), first time writing for Prodigal Son (even though I do feel kinda confident writing for it, idk…let me know what you think)

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

Being part of Gil Arroyo’s team was a dream coming true. Your years in college were spent working your ass off in order to end up in a job like that. Not only did Gil give you a place to work, he also took you under his wing. Talking about your past was something you dreaded but somehow you found yourself opening up to him. He knew about your parents & could tell when things started becoming too much for you. Throughout your time at the NYPD, you got closer with your team. Dani & JT had become your best friends. Malcolm, on the other hand, had been a different case. While the two of you sure were friendly with one another, you slowly developed a little crush on the profiler. Who were you kidding? You had the biggest crush, it was kind of embarrassing. Especially because Dani & JT teased the living hell out of you. Luckily, Gil had yet to notice. You did not want to bring private business into your job.

This case had been a tough one. Not only that but it hit too close to home for your liking. The killer you had been looking for left you a letter at the crime scene. It was a man who had been abused by his parents when he was younger. In that letter, he explained why he did what he did. Like, yeah, you came from an abusive household, too, but you were not running around, murdering a what looked like innocent man. Like, chill a bit. Gil pulled you a few feet away from the scene after you all had finished reading. This left Dani, JT & Edrisa alone with looking for more details. Malcolm was still nowhere to be found, even though all of you had tried calling him a couple of times.

“Maybe you should sit this one out.” Gil’s hand was on your shoulder, keeping you an arm’s distance away to take a look at your face. He knew right away that you were thinking about your own parents & sometimes things could be messy if private stuff got mixed up with work stuff. Again the reason why you kept your feelings for Malcolm at bay.

“Gil.” you sighed. “I’ll be fine. Besides, you guys need me.” Gil hated to admit it but you were right. The team was lost without you & nobody knew if your killer was planning another crime while you were inspecting this scene. A voice interrupted your conversation & both, you & Gil, looked at where it was coming from. Would you look at that. Malcolm, everyone. Fashionably late, as always. Why did he have to look so good though? Ugh…

“I heard there was another murder? What have we got?” Malcolm, being his usual self when it came to crime scenes, directed his questions at both of you.

“You would know if you decided to show up sooner.” Gil gave him a tight lipped smile & you could hear the sarcasm in his statement. Yeah, nobody could ever stay mad at Malcolm for a long time. Except maybe JT. But he seemed like he was just pissed off by whatever Malcolm did. That was why they were such great friends.

“The guy left us a letter, kind gesture, right? Edrisa should have it.” your arms crossed over your chest to hide how bad your hands were shaking. The action did not go unnoticed by Malcolm, though. He could tell you were uncomfortable. Your anxiety seemed even worse than usually. It was not like you ever opened up to Malcolm about your struggles. You had found it hard to talk about your feelings, even when you talked to Gil. But since Gil had become some sort of father figure to you, you found it a little easier to open up to him. The thing was that Malcolm was working even when he was not working. Which meant that he was profiling others even outside of work. It was not hard to notice your trembling hands, your bouncing legs, your struggle to keep eye contact. He could tell that your anxiety was bad. Most days, you hid it rather well, he had to give you that. A normal person would have never noticed anything wrong with your behavior. Malcolm, though, knew better & while he did not know what had happened to you in the past, he knew you were struggling nevertheless. But he could worry about you another time, for now, he had to focus on the crime scene.

As Malcolm walked over to where Edrisa was standing, you pulled at Gil’s hand, motioning him to follow you. Edrisa handed over the letter & explained briefly what they had found so far. You knew what was about to come. As did everyone else, so you quieted down & let the profiler do his job.

“Our dear murderer wrote the letter after he killed James here. The ink is too fresh & some of the letters are smudged. The printer in the office was still running when you got here, right?” this earned him a nod from Edrisa. “No fingerprints, though, he was smart enough to wear gloves. Which brings me to my assumption that he had planned this long beforehand. The bruises show that he was strangled & while we still have to wait for the autopsy, I’m almost entirely sure that he was killed because of that. I believe the stab wounds were caused after he died. The way his words were written sounds way too passionate for an accident. No, this guy, he was enjoying it. If it were an accident, he would have left the scene way sooner. But he took the time to type a letter & print it, to complete his mission by laying it right on top of our victim’s chest.” Malcolm finished & looked around to find everyone rolling their eyes except for you. Whenever he started rambling & piecing evidence together, you simply stood there mesmerized. This time was not different. His eyes met yours & he shot you a little smile which you copied.

“Anything else you wanna tell us? Like, why you’re way too excited about this entire thing?” JT spoke up. You gave him a little slap & chuckled.

“Don’t act like it’s something new.” laughing when you looked at his face.

“Okay, guys. Wrap it up here, we need to continue this at the precinct.” Gil’s authority voice came through & you all knew better than to mess with him.

Malcolm, Dani & JT were already in one of the offices when you & Gil came in. Usually, you asked Gil to take you everywhere, mostly because you got rather shaky during cases & you did not trust yourself enough to drive on your own. Gil told you he did not mind at all.

“Found anything useful?” you asked when you entered & looked over JT’s shoulder to make out what he was doing on his laptop. Malcolm stood at the front of the room, right in front of the whiteboard & was too busy sorting his thoughts to even notice you. Dani told you that they had no luck just yet & soon you found yourself helping them with research, something you were incredibly good at. Gil had left for a while but when he got back, he brought each of you a cup of coffee, knowing it was bound to be a long night without much rest. Being the stubborn person that you were, you declined his request of you calling it a night & heading back home. You were onto something & could not stop right now. Gil let the topic die down with a long sigh. The five of you spent the entire night looking for clues & connections & by the time the sun started rising, you had a plan filed out to catch the killer.

After hours of research, mostly from you, you found out that the victim had very wealthy parents. Parents who loved their kid like nothing else. Parents who would do anything for their kid. Checking his social media profiles, you could tell that he was not silent about his wealth or the love he felt for his parents. “Enough to get our killer started.” Malcolm had said. It took you a while but after checking James’ classmates, you had a suspect & after checking his social media accounts, you knew where you had to go to catch him. Sometimes, things could be so easy, so clear to see. Probably a bad idea to expect you were right with everything but you had a good feeling. Yet, you could not quite understand how someone could kill just because of envy. Just because they did not have what someone else did.

Your suspect spent almost all of his evenings in a local pub, not too far away from the precinct. It was a small pup, not a lot of people, but since it was Friday, you expected it to be filled tonight.

“Why does (Y/N) have to be bait again?” Malcolm asked after discussing the plan yet another time.

“Because she looks more like a guest of a pub like that. You would be out of place, so would Dani & JT.” Gil reasoned. He did not like the idea either but it was probably the best shot they had.

“Right, because if I make an effort I can actually look like an alcoholic. Is that what you’re saying?” despite your chuckle, you found yourself growing more & more nervous. Malcolm noticed right away, didn’t comment on it though.

“What I’m saying is that we all want this asshole locked up & I don’t want you to look like an alcoholic. I want you to go there as if you just got done with work for the day. Take a seat at the bar. We’ll be connected with you this entire time, we’ll hear your conversation. Wait a little & if he doesn’t approach you then you will. Understood?” Gil looked around the room, kept his focus on you, though, & when you nodded he told you all to head off & get this party started.

 “You’re nervous.” you flinched when you heard a voice beside you. Malcolm. Of course.

“I’m not. Just preparing myself.” you did not mean to sound this harsh but he did not really pay attention to that.

“So your shaking hands are a form of preparation?” he teased but you could not focus on his way of calming you right now. Your anxious mind was killing you.

“Look, Mal, I need to go, okay? We’ll talk later.” & before he even had the chance to answer, you were sprinting off.

Ordering a strong drink at the bar in the hopes of it calming your nerves, you tried acting as if you did go out every night. In fact, you were highly uncomfortable. Crowds made your anxiety act up & pubs were usually worse. Drunk people wanting to get laid or whatever. It just was not your world. Anyway, you had better things to focus on. Your suspect had already walked up to the bar & took, much to your dismay, a seat too far away from you to start an actual conversation. Quickly informing your team, an idea popped into your head. He would start taking an interest in you if you got him to grow envious. So without overthinking, you grabbed your phone from your purse & pretended dialing someone.

“Hi mom! How are you?” as much as it hurt saying those words, you felt accomplished when you noticed the suspect’s eyes on you. “Great, as always! We still on for lunch tomorrow?...Perfect! Actually, I wanted to thank you for the purse you got me! I found the package earlier today, you are crazy. That’s way too much.” if it were not for your job at the NYPD, you would make one hell of an actor. Deep down, your heart was breaking a little more with each word you said. “Oh? I’m your favorite daughter? I’m your only daughter, mom, but thanks.” you gave a genuine, or at least you hoped it sounded genuine, laugh & continued. The man had already made his way over to you & took the empty seat next to you. You had him, not fully but almost. Just keep going, you thought to yourself. “Tell dad I miss him, too! I’ll make sure to meet up with him soon. A much needed father-daughter weekend. It has been too long…Alright, I love you too, bye.” you ended your call & placed the phone back into your purse. Gil would kill you after you finished this case. Once again you were improvising but at least it got you here, sitting next to a possible killer. Possible killer? No, you knew it was him. He made it rather obvious after that fake phone call. Thinking about what you had just said on the phone got cut short by the man beside you speaking up.

“Sounds like a nice mom.” a drink in his hand, his gaze not focused on you but on the liquid in his glass.

“Oh, she’s the best. I’m lucky to have her. Same goes for my dad.” these words hurt so bad & if you were not so focused on arresting this asshole you would have started breaking down right in the middle of this bar.

“I’m Enrico, by the way.” he held out his hand for you to shake which you did.

“(Y/N).” faking another smile at him, you were surprised that your silly plan actually seemed to work. This dude was desperate. And it made him extremely dangerous.

“(Y/N), wanna head out & catch some fresh air? This pub is filling up.” he placed money on the counter, paying for not only his but also your drink. Thanking him, you got up. When his hand grabbed yours, you slightly flinched but did not pull away. The thought of your team waiting outside with handcuffs made you breathe easier. Arriving outside did not exactly put your mind at ease. Where was your team? Just when you wanted to turn around, you felt a strong grip around your waist & a cloth being held in front of your nose & mouth. There was not even enough time to scream before you were met with darkness.

Loud voices woke you up. A gunshot. Shit, why could you not move? Where the fuck were you? Looking down at your wrists, you saw them being chained tightly to a chair. Suddenly, a person was kneeling in front of you & you were surprised to find Gil helping you out of the chains. His mouth was moving but your heartbeat was too loud to make out any other noises.

“Have you got him?” Gil rolled his eyes at your question but soon after, nodded. This could have ended badly for you & he was just happy to see you alive & breathing.

“You hurt?” this time his voice was more serious. He looked you over but besides the bruises on your wrists, you seemed fine. Shaking your head no was enough for him to drop it for now.

“That was stupid, (Y/N). We could’ve walked in there & just arrested him in that damn pub. Why did you think it was a good idea to start this whole pretending thing?”

“Could we please not do this today, Gil? I’m tired.” you felt ashamed, embarrassed that you did not handle the situation better. Usually, you were way more careful when it came to other cases. You could not even tell why you thought you needed to act out an entire scene. It felt like the right decision at the time.

“Malcolm? Come over here.” Gil decided to let you rest for tonight but he sure as hell would teach you a lesson tomorrow. He could not have another person risking everything & acting irresponsible. He already had Malcolm. No need to have another one like him.

“(Y/N)? Oh, thank God.” Malcolm came jogging over to where you & Gil were. A small smile started forming, signaling that you were fine.

“Take her home with you. She shouldn’t be alone tonight.” & with that he left you & Malcolm alone.

Two hands came into view & you let yourself be pulled up into a standing position. Malcolm still held onto you since your legs were on the verge of giving out. After a few seconds, though, you felt steady enough & thanked him for helping you. Without another word, he took your hand in his & dragged you outside to his car. Any other day, you would have blushed like crazy but your exhaustion was overpowering your crush. Malcolm opened the passenger side for you & helped you in. Then, he got around to the driver’s side. His body turned towards you & when you noticed that the car still had not been started, you found Malcolm staring at you. Your eyebrows shot up in confusion. After a long pause & a deep breath of his, Malcolm’s voice broke the silence in the car.

“That was-“

“Stupid, I know. Gil already told me.” usually, you would have sounded sarcastic but tonight, you did not have the strength to try & act like you were fine. Because if you were honest, everything that had happened got you thinking. Not that you could have died but everything that had happened with your parents. How awful they treated you. How abusive they were. Not trying to start another conversation, Malcolm started the engine & drove up to his apartment. Gil’s order, after all. Though, he had to admit that he liked the idea of you being close to him. Hell, he could have lost you today. He could have lost you & you still had no idea about his feelings for you. Simply because he was too much of a coward when push came to shove.

The car ride was silent & the tension could have been cut with a knife. Once or twice you almost started talking, wanting to explain yourself. Why you were so exhausted. It was not the first time you got close to death but it was certainly the first time where your past came catching up. Each time, though, you chickened out.

“I’m sorry.” it was you who spoke up first when you entered Malcolm’s apartment.

“What for?” Malcolm turned his focus back to you.

“I made this case unnecessarily hard for you guys. I should’ve handled it better. It’s just…this thing with this fake phone call, it was…fuck, how do I say this?” the last part you mumbled to yourself but when Malcolm spoke up again, you knew he had heard you.

“It’s okay. Gil told me about your parents. I get it, I do. I probably would’ve done the same thing & then it would’ve been you & Gil telling me I was stupid.” you chuckled lightly & Malcolm was happy that you were not mad at him for knowing about your past. He had been aware of your struggles before, now he could finally tell where they were coming from.

Strangely, you felt a weight lifted off your shoulders, now that Malcolm knew. At least you knew he would never judge you, he had his own…familial issues after all. Tears started forming in your eyes & you tried blinking them away angrily, frustrated that you were losing it now even though the situation had been dealt with.

“Come here.” Malcolm opened his arms & you gladly accepted the invitation. Throwing yourself onto him like your life depended on it. His arms wrapped strongly around you. Not in an uncomfortable way, more like in a comforting way. The two of you simply stood in the middle of his apartment, not saying anything, he let you cry it all out & in that moment, it was all you needed.

“Thank you. Sorry for messing up your shirt.” a quiet laugh escaped you. It was not much but it was a good start.

“It’s no problem, really. Here, I’ll bring you some clothes to sleep in, I’m sure you don’t wanna sleep in work clothes?” Malcolm opened one of his drawers & grabbed a basic t-shirt & some sweatpants. Not much but definitely way more comfortable than what you were wearing right now. This was not your first time being at Malcolm’s home so you helped yourself & moved into his bathroom to take a quick shower & change into his clothes. It only took you about ten minutes, you were craving sleep.

“You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.” Malcolm was setting up his couch to sleep on when you came out of the bathroom.

“Nope, forget it. I wont let you take that couch.” you argued.

“Hey, it’s a comfortable couch!” he defended his way too expensive piece of furniture.

“What about your restraints?”

“Don’t need them when you’re around.” Malcolm let slip without much thought. Only when you tilted your head & raised your eyebrows did he realize what he had just said. “I mean…I don’t know. I’m usually much calmer when I’m with you.” It was funny to see Malcolm trying to explain himself. He was embarrassed but you were putting a stop to it right away.

“Okay, so I guess it would help even more when you’re right next to me, am I right? Your bed is big enough, Mal.” your sweet smile was convincing enough & soon you found yourself laying on one side of the bed while Malcolm was occupying the other.

For a few minutes, neither of you moved or said anything. The silence was not uncomfortable, the situation was still new for the both of you. Yet, you knew what you wanted. What you needed. So you grabbed one of Malcolm’s hands, turned around & let his arm fall around your waist. This action caught him off guard but he relaxed into the new position quickly. While the both of you still had not confessed, this felt like a step into the right direction. You felt safe in his embrace & knew you could be your true self with him. No hiding whatsoever. That thought made you smile. Exhaustion soon took over but the last words you heard before falling into a peaceful slumber were: Sleep well, (Y/N). I’ve got you. Afterwards, he pressed a light kiss on your shoulder & fell asleep himself. Tonight, your struggles could be forgotten. At least for a few hours until morning came around. Then, you still had enough time to deal with whatever was happening between you & Malcolm. Tomorrow, you could deal with your past some more. But right now, all you wanted was to have a peaceful night & Malcolm could give you just that.

Published (03/25/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @fandom-queen67, @cons-tit-ution, @where-thesundoesntshine, @itsanemu0101, @chill-fangirl, @angelnyx, @octopus5555, @the-unknown-fan-girl (thanks for your support <3 - sorry if I tagged you mistakenly/please let me know if I did)