#not sure whether i should celebrate or cry that it moved from affecting my eyes to affecting my nose

[diemnormalis]

no idea what i'm allergic to but it started blooming today

[littlest-w01f]

Relax, my flame

Eris Vanserra x (Azriel's sister) Reader

For @starfallweek [hosted by: @azsazz and @writingsbychlo]

Starfall Week 2024 Masterlist

Day 3: Characters A & B realise they won't make it to Starfall. They make the most of what they have to celebrate.

Summary: Reader and Eris decide to tell the Inner Circle that they are together, and mates, on Starfall, but the fear of her friends and family not being accepting of their relationship freaks Reader out.

Cw: Cuddles, Mentions of the previous night's activities *wink*

You rolled over, landing on Eris, covered by sheets, a warm fire crackling in the edge, a pleasure-filled soreness in your body as you looked at your mate, your sleeping mate who looked absolutely content, your wings like covers on his body. Eris looked so peaceful it made your heart ache, you moved to stroke the side of his face, eyes downcast in sadness.

Eris' eyes fluttered open, and with a groan he smirked, pulling you close to him to pull you over him, kissing over your shoulder, "Of course you would flood me with all your concerns and wake me up."

"Well, I'm sorry..." You chuckled softly, nestling into his warm body, settling on him, breathing him in. "I'm just worried..." You had asked him to attend Starfall with you, to tell your family then that you were mates, and together.

Eris smiled lazily, stroking your hair, "I don't mind waking up beside you, you know."

You smiled back, kissing his cheek, "Well, thank you, I suppose." You rested your head on his shoulder, trying to fight your sleep as he stroked the base of your back and wings with his hand warming further with every stroke. "Stop that, we should talk."

"Why talk when we can just cuddle and make love till your family tells you to stay away from me?" Eris smiled against your neck, kissing over the column of your neck.

You frowned slightly, "I want to tell them, I do... I want to be with you freely."

"You helped kill Beron, saved people of Velaris." You offer, "Maybe they would accept you."

"Or maybe your brother would take me to his dungeon and torture me till I die." Eris replies instead, earning a slap on his chest from you.

"You're High Lord now." You point out, a reason how you were in bed with him, he had more easily covered your tracks than he could've while he was an heir, "I'm sure you could match him before too."

Eris smiled at you lovingly, "I would never hurt your brother, you know." He kissed your head, "Because he is your brother, I couldn't care for him less. I just hope for your sake he doesn't call a blood duel against me."

You frowned, "It won't get that far... I won't let it." You nodded to yourself, pressing your face in his chest.

Eris kissed over your head, burying his nose in your hair, scenting you, tugging at your bond, shoving all his love for you down your bond so hard it nearly made you cry.

You and Eris had been together for years, meeting behind everyone's back, you were his secret, and he was yours. "I love you, Er..." You breathed down in his chest as his arms tightened around you, his emotions affecting the fire in the room and making it crackle more.

"They have to see that I love you." You stressed, "That you aren't as bad as they think you are."

Eris kissed the crown of her head, "All I care, is that you know who I am."

"But is that enough?" You frown slightly, "Why is this so hard for us? Being mates is supposed to be fun and happy... Not wondering whether your family would accept or not."

"That's why I don't worry." Eris winked at you playfully, "And you worry about this enough for the both of us." He cuddled you closer, kissing over every part of you he could reach in comfort.

"I really care about them, Er..." You mumble, playing with his hair, "They're my only family."

"Then stay here in Autumn forever, we can have our own family, my Court will be yours." Eris offered, "I want you to."

You sighed, dropping down on his chest to snuggle into his warmth, "I would like that..."

Eris smiled but frown instantly as you added, "After we tell them."

Eris sighed, "Fine, if they aren't accepting of us, then we run away together, my Court laws allow me to keep you, I will use them if I have to. Deal?" He smiled, lazily stroking your back again.

"Deal." You nodded back, melted in his hold, a small heart tattoo forming over your collarbone, same as his.

Eris flipped you over, smirking, "Till then..." You chuckled as he began kissing down your neck. "I think we should just relax and make the most of us being in bed together, don't you?"

You hummed softly with a smile, lacing your hands in his hair as he kissed down your bare chest, marking you as his for anyone to scent.

{General taglist: @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria}

{Eris taglist: @fxckmiup @amygdtjhddzvb @slut4acotar}

[shroudcore]

Speak now, or forever hold your peace. (Finale)

Summary: The ghosts may have left, but the wedding they officiated is not something to be easily forgotten. Will unsaid feelings remain hidden? Idia thinks so, after seeing you with your admirers. 

Idia x GN!reader. Reader is MC, or takes the role of MC in this story.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Warnings: none

After that 3-star difficulty sidequest, it was finally time for the ghosts to leave. They were filing out through a shimmering silver portal to the Land of the Dead, which you joked about jumping into “for the meme”. Idia was quick to discourage it. The joke would’ve been funny at any other time than right now. 

Each ghost made sure to give the newlyweds their congratulations. Each congratulation made Idia want to take off into the night, never to be seen again. It was beyond embarrassing. Unbearable. Way past his limit of social interaction capability. Things were getting way too much to handle for his now-empty Energy bar. 

While Idia longed for the comfort and isolation of his dorm room, you were the one who thanked the well-wishers and said the goodbyes—from a safe distance, of course. 

“When we return, I want you to meet our baby!” Eliza announced before she stepped into the portal. You and Idia shared a look. As if reading each other’s minds, you checked your schoolmates’ faces for their reactions—which did not disappoint. Different ways of saying “Don’t come back!” filled the hall, in varying degrees of anger and vulgarity. Before she disappeared for good, Eliza huffed and stuck her nose up in the air—an expression that tonight’s failed suitors knew all too well. 

At her departure, the portal shrunk into a mere speck until it completely disappeared. Then came the loudest cheers of the night serving as Victory fanfare. It was all over! But before he went, Idia hoped to say goodbye and take a look at you in your suit one last time. Or maybe even ask you to hang out tomorrow, depending on his current Courage level. 

While he silently rehearsed his thank-yous and good-byes, he wondered if you knew that you were still holding his hand. He decided not to mention it. 

Unfortunately, his brief moment of (weak) celebration was cut short when he noticed that the now-mobile Groom Rejects were approaching. They might as well have red bars floating over their heads to warn him of danger. He froze, contemplating whether to: 

> Bear it and stay with you just until he was prepared to say goodbye (+10 relationship points -20 comfort LV)

> Just run off on his own without saying anything, ignoring your calls. (-10 relationship points +10 comfort LV)

For now, he decided to stick with Option 1. Just a little bit longer. 

“That was amazing!” Deuce exclaimed, rushing over to give you a high-five. You laughed and  met other high-fives, low-fives, fist bumps, and head pats that came your way with that lovely smile of yours. 

Suddenly, Ace rips you away from him. Suddenly, you weren’t holding hands anymore. The loud first-year put his arm around you and Idia couldn’t help but notice how easy and natural it looked. Meanwhile, there he was: someone who needed to rehearse his goodbyes. 

Clearly, there was a huge level difference here and Idia was the one disadvantaged. 

“Our hero!” Ace yelled, inspiring more cheers. The distance between you and Idia grew as your wave of admirers and friends swept you farther and farther away. He was an outsider once again, stuck watching the fun from the sidelines. Their eyes sparkled. Their mouths smiled. Their loud voices laughed and praised you and laughed with you again. 

They loved you. And Idia was no different. 

Everyone’s Friend and the Weird Shut-in. Was there hope?

“Brother, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Ortho’s voice cut through his stream of thoughts. Immediately, he feels the weight on his shoulders lighten. 

He watched as his brother, his beacon of hope, made his way around your fan club until he eventually reached his spot. Ortho wouldn’t care if he looked like a loser, standing there awkwardly at the side all alone. Finally, he was saved. 

My savior! “Ortho! Thank you, thank you…” 

“No injuries… tense muscles… an increase in cortisol production,” Ortho muttered, frowning. “Are you okay?” 

“No…” 

Ortho nods. “We’ll return to the dorm, then. But before that, we should thank the Prefect.”

“Oh… right.” Idia looked over to you, still surrounded by your “fans” like the SSR character you were. You listened to Azul, who prattled on and on about something that was oh-so-interesting that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. And Vil judged your suit’s design, reaching out to fix something near your neck. You cracked up at something Floyd said. You posed and smiled beside Cater as he took a selfie with you. 

His mind raced as it continuously spotted the students on his list and everything they did. What was so interesting about Azul? What was so funny about Floyd? Did you like Vil’s hardworking, confident attitude? Did you think Cater had a way with words? 

He looked away. 

“Ortho, I’m going back to my room,” he said with a heavy heart, admitting Defeat. He was underleveled, had zero energy, and zero SP (social points). He’ll see you… some other time. After his cry-sesh, maybe. 

“Huh? Don’t you want to talk to the Prefect first?” 

“I’ll just… DM them later,” he lied. In truth, all he wanted was to drown himself in a video game while he gorged on candy and tried not to think about you. Ortho’s eyes narrowed, but followed him as he sneakily left the hall anyway. 

You’d understand, right?

Once he and Ortho were out, he looked back at the hall doors, hating himself for being too shy and cowardly to make a move. He imagined charging back into the room, wedging himself in between your friends, grabbing your arm, and pulling you away. Then he’ll kabedon you and—

Who was he kidding? He can’t do that, and you probably wouldn’t like that. 

“It was terrible, brother. Nobody wanted to help!” Ortho said, and Idia thinks he didn’t need to be reminded that nobody liked him. 

“When the Prefect and I reached Diasomnia, we expected them to reject us too…” he mused. “But Malleus Draconia agreed to help us! Can you believe it?”

“Wait… Malleus-shi?” 

Ortho nodded enthusiastically. “Yes… because the Prefect talked to him… and then he cast a charm on them to help us ward off those ghosts! It was really nice of him.”

“I see…” Idia knew that you and Malleus were friends. But to actually help you and him? Maybe your relationship with the Diasomnia dorm leader ran deeper than he thought. Why else would he go through that trouble? 

“The Prefect volunteered without needing to be asked, you know,” said Ortho, who he now noticed was observing him carefully. Idia tried to ignore the way his brother’s eyes lingered on him as they walked (floated in Ortho’s case). 

“...I’m so glad their plan worked!”

Wait, what?

“Volunteered? Their plan?” All this time, he thought you’d been forced to do this by the Headmaster! You did always rant about Crowley promising you different sorts of rewards if you did jobs here and there. But… you got yourself into this mess… all for him? 

Idia looked at the hand you held just moments ago and dared not hope again. Maybe you would have done this for anyone else in his place. Maybe you treated everyone the same, and it just so happened that he was the one kidnapped by a ghost bride. 

Still, he felt bad for not doing as Ortho said earlier. It was too late to turn back, however, as Idia and Ortho finally reached the Hall of Mirrors. 

“Finally… I’m so tired,” said Idia, meaning it in all ways. But as he put one leg forward to enter the door to Ignihyde, he heard someone’s voice, along with the scuffle of shoes against the floor coming closer and closer to where he and Ortho stood. 

“Idia, wait up!”

Oh no. It’s you. Enter now! Enter now!

But no matter what his head told him to do, he remained rooted to his spot. He stood still despite his pounding heart, that elevator-like feeling in his stomach, and the blaring alarms in his head. 

Object of affection at 5m…

Ortho was probably seeing his vitals going haywire and giving him that look again. He turned to look at his brother… only to not find him there. 

Help… oh no…

2m… 

“Hey,” you gasped out, catching your breath. “When I turned around, you were gone…”

Yeah, same. Just like Ortho… 

No one said a word for a while. The silence was only filled by your heavy breathing as it slowly evened. Inwardly facepalming at himself, he decided to take the chance to tell you everything he should’ve said before he left. 

But before he could open his mouth and apologize for leaving, (gods know he had too many things to apologize for after tonight), he was taken into a warm embrace. 

OHMYGODSOHMYGODSOHMYGODSOKAYLET’SCALMDOWN

“I thought I was too late.” you mumbled into his suit. 

At that moment, without anyone else around, nothing else mattered but the safety of your arms. And damn, how good it felt to be embraced. Did anyone else get these hugs from you? Idia didn’t think so. He hesitantly lifted his arms up and hugged back. 

Looking up at the domed castle ceiling, he wondered what he did to deserve something this good. 

It’s okay. I can have this. He allows himself to melt into your arms, head drooping down to rest against your neck. 

“G-good thing you weren’t,” he finally whispered back, freezing as he heard you sob against his chest. Oh no, oh no, what do you do when your love interest is crying? Quick, quick, pull up the archive of romantic scenes from your memory. 

“Hey, hey, I-I’m okay, you see?” he said, patting your back awkwardly. You let go after releasing another sob to wipe your eyes with your sleeve. 

“Sorry I got your suit wet,” you said softly, turning your face away. “I’m really, really sorry about what happened there too.”

“About what?”

“The whole wedding thing...” You took a quick look at him but immediately dropped your gaze to the ground. 

Idia blushed. “I-It’s okay! D-don’t worry about it… I-” 

Come on, say more! Ugh… I hate myself. 

You pulled at our vest and slipped something out of it—an envelope. “I�� wanted to tell you everything through a letter.”

Tell me what?

“But… Eliza came and took you before I could give it to you.” You avoided his eyes as your fingers tightened around the white envelope. Idia’s breath hitched, expecting you to crumple it. But to his relief, your fingers relaxed. Then, as if it took all your courage, you handed it to him with a slightly shaky hand. 

“It's old-fashioned, I know but yeah... just read it!” 

In the hall’s silence, he could hear your breaths quicken once again. 

“Th-That’s all I came here for. Goodbye!” 

Before he knew it, you were running off. Your arm waved frantically from a distance as every step carried you farther, farther away. He lifted his arm to wave back but you never saw it. You were gone and all he had left was the letter. 

His curiosity made him impatient. With fast and purposeful steps, he sprinted on the way to his room. What did he feel? Excitement? Dread? An unpleasant mix of both? His room, feeling farther than usual, was the only safe place he could experience whatever it was.

After a lot of walking and almost slipping over someone’s spilled soda (he cursed the shoes those ghosts made him wear. His very own would never fail him like that), he found himself in front of the doors, which slid open, revealing Ortho already inside. 

“You left me there!” Idia huffed. 

“Couples need alone time, brother,” replied his brother, innocently blinking.

“Wh-wha… we’re not a couple!” 

“Hmm? I could’ve sworn the signs were all there...”

A blushing Idia threw off the silly coat those ghosts made him wear and threw it over his desk chair. He sat on the bed, fingers racing to open the envelope. Ortho watched with great interest as two sheets of paper covered in your handwriting slipped out.  

Unfolding the first page, Idia took a deep breath and began reading:

Hey Player 1!

Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight last night. Maybe you can show me your new manga tomorrow? I know how excited you are about it.  I’m writing this while Grim’s asleep. He’ll never let me hear the end of it otherwise. 

I figured that this would be the best way to communicate my thoughts and feelings. This way, you won’t feel pressured to respond immediately. You can open and read it whenever you’re ready, in the safety of your room. I know it’s old-fashioned. But to me, a handwritten letter feels more personal—like I’m giving you a piece of myself. So here’s that piece of myself. Please, handle it with care. 

Beware. I’m about to get sentimental and mushy and cheesy and everything you cringe at! I hope you read on, anyway. 

First of all, I want you to know how much I admire you. Right from before we were friends, I was impressed by your intelligence and knowledge with technology. I’ve seen nothing like it back home. I always wondered why you hide yourself and those talents away. My curiosity drove me to want to get to know you. I’m glad I did. 

You were closed off. To you, I was just another normie. Do you remember? Your dismissal annoyed me, so I challenged you to a 1v1 match. I thought I was good, but you crushed me. I guess that’s where it started: our friendship… and something else. Soon, I found more and more reasons to admire you. Honestly, I find more with each passing day. 

I should have known, right from when songs started to make me think of you, that I was falling. I started to see you as, well, more than a friend. Your quick mind, your expressive hair, your soothing voice, your precious grin… your voice when you talk about things you love, your love of cats, and your candy, and your cold hands… Okay, I think you get the point.  But if you have time, I could go on forever. 

There’s something different in your eyes when you truly care. You say you’re bad at being sentimental and feel-y, but that’s okay! We express love differently. I see your love pour out in the way you perfect every detail on Ortho’s modifications, anyway. I’m sure he knows how much you love him. 

I want you to know how special you are to me. You’re so amazing, Idia. I wish you knew that. I want you to know that. 

I know it’s hopeless. You’re the young master to a noble house. I’m just… me. A homeless, magicless foreigner with nothing to my name. Nothing to offer but my feelings (and my superb gaming skills of course). I’m not asking nor expecting to be your special someone. But hey, I can be a top-tier teammate. A worthwhile BG opponent. A movie buddy. And most importantly—a friend. 

Our time together has always been a highlight of my difficult stay in NRC. The times we hung out in your room were my refuge from the outside world’s demands. Somewhere I was untouchable and safe from harm. Safe from demeaning remarks. Even if you never get back to this letter and decide you never want to see me again, I will always treasure the matches we played, the movies we watched, the candy we shared, and the memes we laughed over.

That’s all of it, really. Please don’t sleep too late. Watch your sugar intake. Listen to Ortho. Take care of yourself. 

Oh, and enjoy your new manga. 

Your best raid teammate, 

Player 2

Wide amber yellow eyes glistened as they repeatedly flitted over the words. A shaky thumb caressed the smudged ink from where a fallen teardrop marked the paper. Burning different shades at once, fire-hair slowly released itself from the tie it was forced into. Now free, it swathed Idia’s back in warmth like it should.

“Th-This can’t be real!” he sputters as he waved your letter around like he was fanning a bonfire. In a way, he was. 

However, Idia knew his hair wasn’t the only thing that kept him warm. He stared at the letter and it stared back. But no matter how many times he blinked, the words remained the same. You felt the same. 

“What have I done to unlock this route?” Idia clutched the letter to his chest, but noticed he was wrinkling it. “Nooo!” He quickly smoothed it over again. 

“They… they like-like me!” Saying it out loud made it more real. It was a fact! It was true all this time! Thinking of everything you did tonight: rescuing him like a true hero, running after him because you couldn’t keep your feelings secret for much longer… he couldn’t stop himself from swooning. 

“Like-like… did you mean love?”

“L-love?” Idia exclaimed. He suddenly felt dizzy, so he fell back onto his bed and talked to the ceiling. “It’s too early for that word!” 

But he knew the effect which that word had on him didn’t go unnoticed by Ortho. Well, at least he knew now that Idia wasn’t suffering from an illness. Can love be considered an illness? Idia recalls a documentary that said it was. Back then, he ate that up. Love made people do crazy things, after all. 

But ‘illness’ wasn’t an apt word to describe this dizzying happiness surging through him, was it? It was way too wonderful for a word like that.

“I’m so glad the Prefect finally confessed!” Ortho bounced happily, reflecting his brother’s joy. “I knew they would do it soon!” 

Mouth hanging open, Idia looked at his brother. “Wait… you knew?”

“I’ve known for a while,” Ortho giggled. “Vitals can’t keep secrets!” 

***

Contrary to plan, Idia didn’t touch his video games, nor gorge on candy, nor cry himself to sleep. Instead, he replayed the night’s events in his head over and over like a song he couldn’t get enough of. It had been two hours and thirty-five minutes since he read your letter. Two hours and thirty-five minutes since his world was turned upside down. In his reflection on the dark screen of his off tablet, he almost looked different. He saw someone who was admired. Wanted. Loved. 

Was that what you saw whenever you looked at him?

Ortho told him what the next move was: asking you out. He was scared. You might have changed his view of himself a bit, but that didn’t mean he was suddenly ready to go the distance and conquer the world, or whatever those overenthusiastic extroverts say. The night was still too much, and maybe he still needed those three weeks of being a complete hermit. 

Okay. Maybe with your help, I'll get there little by little. 

Perhaps you could watch a movie in his room... Would you be okay with that? You always hung out with him in there. But what if you wanted to do something outside? Eh, maybe it all didn’t matter, as long as you were together. 

When he put on his headphones, he knew which song to choose right away. There was one forgotten song in his music library that he couldn’t bring himself to delete. A love song. It wasn’t a bad one, because Idia would never keep a bad song in his music library. It’s just that the lyrics  were too happy—its singer so blissfully in love that it amplified the loneliness that had always been there.

Now playing: “Immortal Flowers” — SERPINA

This time, it’ll be different. Tonight, he puts it on repeat. He listens to it with a head for once clear of uncertainties. Instead, he thinks of fluffy otome scenarios. 

That date idea would have to wait. For now, he’ll imagine and dream of you, with your warm smile and open arms—skin basking in the glow of blue fire light. 

THE END. 

~

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

There you have it! Thank you for reading. I had fun writing this 4-part series. Would love to hear some feedback! 

Btw, the title of the song Idia listens to at the end comes from “Conversations with Persephone” by Nikita Gill. “What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.” 

[neko-rogers]

All I Ever Need

Peter warned you about the dangers of online dating.

words: 4,007

tags: dark!peter parker, strong and explicit non-consensual elements, manipulation, implications of sex-pollen or drugging, lowkey breeding kink

a/n: please forgive me! i’m still new to writing dark!versed fics <3 but this was a request and i couldn’t resist (: if you liked this then you are free to help me out and improve my writing by leaving feedback or suggesting prompts that i could write about

     It was emotionally crushing.

     The moment you decided to create a Tinder account led you to all sorts of feelings. 

     As someone who had been busy with your final year of college, you never thought of engaging much in the relationships territory. With all these, you could only focus on finally graduating and obtaining a stable job. The idea that you were providing for yourself, without having to depend on a significant other, was fulfilling.

     It did not help further considering that most of your group of friends were just as hardworking as you. Peter Parker was one the closest and much more than just a good influence. Truly too good to be true.

     Nonetheless, you finally tried out those infamous dating applications you have been hearing. Despite warnings from your friends about how dangerous it can be, you were confident that you were smart enough to handle it.

     “You're still hung up on that app?” Peter interrupts alongside.

     The professor dismissed the class moments ago, and at least half of the people already exited the room. As always, Peter waited for you before heading for next subject.

     Admittedly, you were a bit caught up with your phone. Swiping left and right sounded boring, but for some reason you found it amusing how convenient it can be – the interaction and messages was a bonus. “So what if I am?”

     You lock your phone before Peter got to snoop further. Both your reflections could be seen amongst the black screen as you placed it on top of your other textbooks to be carried.

     “Any interaction online is dangerous,” he explains. “I thought you out of all people should know that, Y/N.”

     You roll your eyes at his remark. “You’re only a year older than me yet you sound like my dad. You know I’m already twenty-two, right?”

     “I’d hate to be the one to say I told you so when your world comes crashing down,” he consoles. 

     “Oh thats bullshit, Parker.” You could almost laugh at his sense of ridicule. “Like you said, I’m smart. I’m sure I’ll be able to handle online dating. Have faith in me, yeah?” 

     “Yeah, whatever. It’s fine.” Peter nods, still beside as you walked along the hallway. “It’s not like you’re already going on a date with one of them, right.” His assumption comes off as a statement rather than a question.

     However, you stay quiet seeming as it was best to leave it unanswered.

     “Oh no, please don’t tell me you’re seeing someone already.” Peter looks back when you decided to stay a meter behind him to save you from the guilt.

     “It’s just a second date, it won’t harm me,” you defended. “Plus, he goes to the community college nearby.”      “What?! You two are already on your second date before you told me, or anyone of your friends?” You could understand where his temper was coming from, but in the end, it was none of their business.

     “I know, but I just thought it wasn’t a big deal. Besides this is about me and Jacob.”

     Fortunately enough, you and Peter have the same subject which was BioChemistry. This time, he followed you behind while you avoided his gaze. He waited until you took a seat along the second to the last row, and then taking his seat next to you.

     You look straight, facing the chalkboard displayed at the farther side of the room. Though you could not see Peter entirely, you could see his glowering look by the corner of your eye. “So his name his Jacob, huh, tell me more about him.”

     This was the reason why you could not update him, or any of your friends. You knew this would happen. They begin getting so nosy around your life before they even realize it.

     Surely, you did love your friends, much more the boy sitting next to you. They have been with you since freshman year, and you were more than grateful for one another’s support.

     “Peter, I don’t think that whatever I tell you would concern you,” you state clearly to avoid a dragging conversation. 

     “But we care about you, I care about you, Y/N.” He pouts, “The moment he tries to hurt you, you’ll run back to us and cry about it. I just want to skip seeing that part knowing I can’t see you heartbroken.”

     You furrow your eyebrows. His statement comes off as a bit acquisitive, but you knew that it was just his concern caught up in the moment. “That’s the problem. We all need to eventually fail or feel pain. It’s normal, especially for young adults like us, Peter!”

     There was a lot of things you wanted to say now. He trigged you somehow and now you’re at the edge of becoming a rambling mess. The worst part of it was that you were scared that you might say something that you would not be able to take back. 

     “Okay then I’ll–”

     “No look, I apologize for raising my voice.” You sighed to calm yourself down and compose your thoughts better. “You know I adore you so much, Peter. And I appreciate you looking out for me. But this can’t be forever, I’ll eventually have to learn how to deal with these kinds of stuff.”

     You got through barely half of your day yet you could already feel the emotional turn of having an argument with one of your best friends. 

     And eventually, your professor entered the room. Barely giving the two of you a moment to continue the heated conversation just seconds ago. The displeased look on Peter’s face remained as he looked in front, acknowledging that both of you took lectures seriously. He wanted to pick up this argument at another setting. 

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

     "Congrats to your first ever anniversary!” Your friends applaud just as Jacob was seated next to you.

     “We’re so proud of you.”

     “You two look so happy together!”

     “Both of you look amazing, practically perfect for each other.”

     “Can’t believe it’s already been a year.”

     A year has passed, your group of friends remained even so with Peter. In addition, they learned to accept your boyfriend despite their doubts on online dating sites and applications.

     Just as they learned to trust your decisions more, you also learned way more about your significant other. Though despite your differences in fields, you learned to love him more than you thought you could.

     All of you have freshly graduated from college. Most of your friends did not have much planned so far; however, as your friendship with Peter remained, he grew to understand your feelings more and handled it sensitively.

     After your argument during your early days of dating Jacob, he eventually apologized for his behavior too. Though that was not the only time your friendship with him was put to a test. After the succeeding months, Peter still gave feint warnings and acted a bit overprotective when you tried telling him how you wanted to take your relationship to another level and get more serious.

     Nonetheless, you did not let any of your peers affect your view upon your relationship. Seeing that you were now at your first anniversary, you were happy that you followed what your heart and gut believed in.

     “To be honest we didn’t expect our Y/N to be getting into a relationship before we graduate, let alone celebrating her first anniversary!” Liz joked. “But in the end, just know that we love you and we’re here for you.”

     You smiled, looking at your friends who seemed to share the same feeling. After graduation, everything feels too good. It feels as if your life was falling into place.

     Not only have you gotten into a relationship with a kind guy. You also attained high ranks among the other students in your program, which led to companies offering you internships right off the bat. Rather than you worrying about where you’re heading to after college, you got the privilege to pick what you wanted to do.

     Surprisingly, you got an offer from the Stark Industries to become an internship on being their analytical chemist. It was the most tempting offer you got. Who would not accept an opportunity like that, right?

     When you learned that Peter also got an offer, you were more than happy for him. You knew he was one of the smartest persons in class and he deserved it just as you did.

     Both your contracts agreed that the internship starts a month from now which was just perfect, considering that you also have a few things to do prior to it.

     “Well, this girl also has a lot planned ahead,” you announce while catching the attention of your friends that were circled around you. “Me and Jacob were talking about moving in probably in his apartment by the end of the month.”

     Your intention was not to brag. Everyone could see how genuinely excited you were with such a big event. You were just so happy that despite what every one thought your relationship would end, you accepted whether the outcome would be good or bad. 

     Your friends cheered at you for taking a big step into your relationship. Looking back, you were so scared to accept the second date, but little by little you could not notice how much progress has been done.

     “I am so thankful for you guys.” You smiled and nodded at them before looking to your side where Jacob happily watched you interact with your friends. You slung your arm over his chest and planted a kiss directly at his lips.

     “We’re always here for you, Y/N,” Peter added along with a smile.

*

     Unbeknownst to you, just as your friends had left the celebration, you had big news yet to hear.

     As you drape your purse over one shoulder, your boyfriend assisted you out. He held one side of the door for you and walked after you. He held onto the side of your waist until both of you reached his car.

     Like the gentleman he is, he went over to the passenger side to open the car door for you before doing the same for himself at the driver’s side.

     When both of you were finally inside the car, Jacob had not started the car immediately. He paused with fingers gripping around the edges of the steering wheel.

     His sigh was just as evident, hearing it echo around the car which left chills across your skin as you looked at him. “You seem bothered. What’s wrong?”

     He avoided to look at you just as both of your hands reach for one of his. He lets you toy with his fingers yet his gaze still directs straight at the gas pedal. You lean further to catch a glimpse of him, moving one hand to cup his cheek. “Hey, what’s bugging you, babe? I’m here to listen.”

     “I’m sorry,” he starts off. The puzzled look on your face apparent as to what he’s trying to apologize for.

     “What do you mean?”

     “I just don’t think you deserve to stay with someone like me.”

     His self-loathing was not settling your confusion in any way at all. “I still don’t get it.” You did have an assumption in mind, but you chose not to jump into it as it might flare up on what’s happening now.

     “I think we need to break up,” Jacob swiftly drops.

     Slowly, you pull back and rest your back against the window. You bring a hand up to brush the little fringes in front of your face. You were trying to comprehend everything that’s happening. “I don’t understand. Why so sudden?”

     “Don’t get the wrong idea, Y/N–”

     “Then what should I get?” Your voice starts to crack as you hold back the tears. “I don’t understand anything at all! You seemed so happy a couple of hours ago.”

     “That’s why I’m apologizing,” he softly explains. “You don’t deserve me, I’ve been so horrible to you–”

     “You have been so nice to me. I don’t know where you’re getting all of this, at all!” Eventually, tears could not help but form around the corners of your eyes.

     Jacob sighs, finally looking at you. “You deserve so much more than this, I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

     Finally, the tears began to spill. You covered both your eyes with your palms, trying to both hide and wipe them away. “Y-you can’t just break up with me after celebrating our first anniversary.”

     “I’m sorry–”      “Stop saying that,” you sniffed. You did not know what annoyed you more, hearing him apologize like a broken record or hearing him imply the ‘its not you, it’s me and you deserve more’ bullshit. “You’re too cruel.”

     “I’ll drive you to your house,” he offers. The look on his face seemed very guilty. You did not know what was behind these sudden turn of events, but either way you were heartbroken for how

     “No,” you stated. “Uhm, I have a friend who lives nearby. You can drop me off there.”

     “Okay.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

     “That’s pretty much my night in a nutshell,” you sighed as Peter entered his room with a blanket and some clothes in hand.

     Your legs were cross-seated over his bed as your hid your face with your hands. Peter frowned as he walked over to the edge of his bed where you were positioned. “I just don’t understand why he dumped me all of a sudden, might I add, dumped me on our first anniversary!”

     You felt a hand over your back, rubbing slow and comforting strokes as you continued to cry. “Just as I thought I was getting to know him better.”

     It was emotionally crushing.

     “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

     “Well.” You look up at him despite knowing your nose eyes eyelids became swollen, “You can finally tell me that you told me so.”

     “That doesn’t matter right now.” His hands move to the ends of your hair, toying with the strands before turning half of his body aside. He reaches for a mug that situated on top of his nightstand, “Here. I brought you a cup of tea.”

     “Thanks, but I’m not really thirsty–”

     “Drink,” he calmly says. “You need to get hydrated after crying.”

     You could not argue with that. You’ve definitely lost a lot of water in your body after hours of just crying, without drinking anything. “You know me so well.” you told him and added, “I should’ve just listened to you when you warned me about strangers online.”

     “I guess I owe you an apology.”

     Peter chuckled at your statement and watched you as your lips slowly sipped at the heated tea he had just prepared. “No need to be sorry about anything now, I’m just glad you’re safe. He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

     “Don’t worry he didn’t physically touch me,” you assure as he nods.

     The adorable boy in front of you slyly looked down as he called for your name. “Y/N? Can I ask you a question?”

     “Of course, Peter.” 

     “Why’d you choose to stop by my place amongst our other friends.” 

     You finally finish the entire drink he had prepared. Before you could answer him, you extended your arm in order to set the fragile mug back on top of his bed side drawer.

     “Well for one, I still know where your place was, and it was closest from the restaurant,” you answered. “And conveniently enough, you were the first person I could think of after Jacob hurt my feelings.”

     “I could vividly remember your warnings just as I realized he was breaking up with me already. I didn’t know whether to feel sad or ashamed. What I do know was that you knew me too well, even before I became fully aware of it.”

     He smiled at your answer, and you gave the same look at him. “Well I’m glad you thought of me.” His hands reach over to yours and places them on top, feeling the warmth of his body over yours. “I would never want to hurt you, nor let you feel the pain Jacob gave you.”

     “You’re too sweet.” You smile.

     Your hands rubbed circles around your eyes first. Then you tried to lean in front, opening your arms wide signaling for a hug. Peter did not hesitate to hug you back, enveloping his arms while both of you rest your chins on top of each other’s shoulders.

     From this angle, you could strongly scent his cologne. However, that was not the only thing you could observe.

     As each second passes, you were not sure if you were the only one who could notice how hot the room was getting. Either that or that your skin was starting to burn up. “Peter?”

     “Don’t you think it’s getting hot–”

     As you were just about to react, you felt a pair of lips against yours. Peter had pulled back, and even when you could have realized it, he was pinning you down as your back presses against his bed.

     And as much as this was entirely contradicting your morals, you did not feel an ounce of guilt as one of your best friends continued to leave kisses down your neck. You were not entirely sure why your mind was doubting this, but your body was suddenly, badly craving for touch – and Peter was conveniently doing you the favor.

     “Don’t I think it’s getting what?” Peter sits up and teases just as he pulls his shirt over his shoulders.

     “Nothing,” you groan. “But I don’t think this is a good idea–”

     He shushes you, “Relax. Let me take care of you, yeah?

     His hands gently released heir grip around your wrists. He was confident enough that you wouldn’t fight back after finishing the drink he exclusively brewed for you.

     Your state of mind was perfectly right where he expected it to be. Just conscious enough to feel him against you, but incapable of thinking rationally. 

     He just hated how smart you were when it came to his friends and school; however, just as he expects, you were not as quick-witted when it came to relationships. 

     And hiring Jacob was definitely one of his greatest achievements so far. He lost a part of his savings along the way, but nothing could ever become as valuable as you. Now that you were in his room, let alone under his touch, he had the upper hand.

     Peter was not letting you go that easy afterwards.

     For now, he continues to leave kisses under your jaw while your hands lazily combs through the locks of his hair. He proudly hums against your skin after leaving gentle nibbles that started to leave evident love marks.

     One of his hands creep under your shirt, reaching to unhook your bra. As he successfully does, he moves to adjust your shirt over your breasts. He gets a good view of them even without having to pull it over your head, smirking to himself as this has been a fantasy he has been dreading for.

     “Fuck you’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he murmurs. With one hand, he gently squeezes around one of your breasts just as he descends at your body.

     “Peter,” your moan comes from above his head just as he was ready to spread your legs.

     “Yeah, babe?”

     “C-condom,” you mumbled with eyelids partially open.

     He chuckled as a response, “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

     Peter tried to test the waters first to make sure he was completely in control of this situation. He drags the tip of his fingers across your stomach, further narrowing the path down as it reached at the entrance of your cunt. 

     He could instantly sense how wet you have become throughout his teasing. Both his middle and ring finger grew damper as he inserted them inch by inch, slowly seeing them reappear. 

     The warmth radiating around your walls excites him more, assuming how good you would be while his cock was wrapped around it. He instinctively curls his fingers out of excitement, forgetting that he was trying to handle you gently.

     You react by tightening around it, along with a whine. 

     “Sorry, babe.”

     Moreover, he continues it up until he felt his erection grow harden than before. He made sure he was completely hard before finally dropping both your pants down, attending to yours first until you were completely naked – excluding the shirt he did not haul over your head.

     Next was his turn. He undid his shorts and threw them away ever so quickly. Then rushed to welcome himself between the space of your legs. “You ready for me, babe?” He did not leave a choice despite asking that either way. You remained helpless under him.

     “Hmm,” was your only response.

     Peter did not hesitate as he glides into you. He groans at your heat, grasping that you feel better now compared to when he was using his fingers. “Oh shit,” he groans while speeding up the pace of his thrusts, “you feel so good.”

     “That’s it, holy fuck.” He was surprised at how responsive your body was still. Despite drugging you to the extent of being mentally incapable, your body was contracting all over him as if it was enjoying itself. 

     He continued to praise your body even if you could not understand what he was saying. The entire event revolved around him fucking you and leaving sweet remarks as if he was your boyfriend – and not, at all, a friend who laced your drink and made you believe you were somewhere safe.

     Though Peter did say he was going to care for you. Ironically, it was obvious that all he can think about now is chasing his orgasm and nutting inside you. After all, it was one of his dark and twisted fantasies – to have full control over you, at least.

     There were few moans coming from you, but the happy noises being created by Peter overpowers. With all of this, sexual, tension he finally got to release, it was expected that he was going to cum sooner.

     “Fuck,” and other swears came from him. “Didn’t expect to cum so soon.”

     As he did not care about your take on this, he also did not give a fuck when he was planning to cum inside you. Since he purposely avoided to wear any kind of protection, let alone learn if you were in any kind of birth control, anyone in their right mind would know what could happen the morning after.

     Willfully, he made sure to go deeper inside you until he could feel the tip of his cock twitch as a sign that he was going to cum. “Gonna fill you up with my cum, yeah,” he grunts as if you were going to reply. “And you’re gonna take it like the good girl you are.”

     Even so, when Peter finally felt his release, he took a good look at you beneath. You seemed hot and bothered, but not as him. Your chest was heaving all the while he could feel the speed of the beating of his heart.

     When he steadily pulls out, the awaited moment of his deep, dark fantasies finally arise. He could clearly see his own cum beautifully spilling out of your cunt like a cream pie. He could almost feel himself get turned on just at the sigh of it, but he considered that round two’s with you would be saved for next time.

     “Peter?”      “Hmm?”

     “I still feel hot,” you purr. 

     Peter extends his arm to gently place the back of his hand over your forehead, feeling how feverish your body still was. There were few hints of sweat streaming from your forehead. “Let me take care of you, I’ll just run you a bath, okay?”

     You childishly smile and agree with him, “O-okay.” He pulls back to be able to properly stand and proceeds to head to his shower with a huge smile from his face.

     You were his.

[tomthesoftie]

her hidden crystal tears

❧ synopsis: keeping a relationship under covers isn’t an easy feat. when a popular, successful jock of a college, who has many obsessive fans, dates an average student, they decide that it’s better to keep their relationship secret due to safety reasons, but when the jock starts to become more ignorant of how their s/o is feeling, what might happen to their barely stable relationship?

❧ pairing: jock!tom x fem!reader

❧ genre: angst

❧ warnings: lots of angst (?), petty girl fights technically harassment, crying, pent-up emotions, unhealthy coping

❧ a/n: this is an unedited fic, as always and I didn’t know how to end it because I had two endings in mind. I might write both endings (angst and fluff) or maybe I’ll let you guys suffer lmao I’m kidding I originally was writing a blurb about the reader hiding their emotions/hiding their tears by feigning happiness, but I ended up writing like a 2500+ word fic lmao. also if some shit seems wack, it’s because I posted this on my phone.

alternate fluff ending here: let them flow

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Swerving through the large crowd, you found yourself a seat on the filled bleachers, squeezing to fit in the front rows to spot your boyfriend. Looking about, you located your brunette partner jogging into the field arms raised in the air, pointing towards the crowd you were hidden in. He waved his hand mindlessly, eyes scanning the ocean of screaming schoolmates and “fangirls.” His gaze finally fell on you, and his face lit up, bringing a pink haze to your cheeks as he blew a kiss in your direction. The girls sat beside you screamed out, pretending to catch his kiss and sending one back. 

You and Tom decided to keep your relationship under covers, due to the overly obsessive “fangirls.” Both of you knew it would be the best option to keep you safe. If you were ever injured or threatened by one of his “fangirls,” Tom wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. 

Tom held the leather ball in the crook of his arm, with the other pushing his way through the attacking team. Calculating his success, he dove into a touchdown, scoring him and his team the winning point. 

The anticipating crowd jumped up, cheering loudly and hugging one another, whereas the visitor team’s crowd let out a loud, mutual sigh of disappointment. 

You jumped out of your seat, screaming out your lungs as you stared, wide-eyed, at your beaming boyfriend. His teammates had lifted him into the air, tossing him about. You giggled as he caught your eye, slyly winking at you. 

Lost in your own world, you almost ran down to where Tom was before you saw a hoard of girls jumping and reaching their arms out to grab at him. Frowning, you walked away from the crowd to retreat to the warmth of Tom’s car. 

You scrolled through the collection of images you and Tom had had together, warmly smiling at the memories. You let out a breathy laugh, selecting on one specific memory: Tom’s head laid on your lap, eyes shut, and lips puckered lightly as he let out even breaths. 

The car door beside you opened, shaking you out of your train of thought. 

“Hey,” your eyes were met with the blue pupils you weren’t expecting. 

“Haz?” You looked behind him, hoping to find your beloved boyfriend. 

“Tom — um — he told me to drive you back to the dorms, said he would be heading to the celebratory party,” Harrison explained, eyes shaking with concern and sympathy. 

“Oh, I understand,” your smile not quite making it to your eyes.

“He was being hoarded by his,” Haz hesitates, “fangirls. He didn’t want you to get involved.”

“It’s all good, Hazzy. No need to worry about me,” you let out a feigned laugh. 

You stepped into the warm building, waving Harrison goodbye. Another football victory, same schedule. 

You go to Tom’s game to support and cheer him on, Tom wins, you avoid him, Tom’s “fangirls” hoard him, you wait in Tom’s car, Harrison comes instead of Tom, Harrison brings you back to your dorm while Tom goes to his party, you fall asleep in your own arms: the ‘Tom’s football victory’ schedule, named and created by you. 

To say the least, you weren’t fond of the last half of the schedule. You always were left alone to celebrate Tom’s victory on your own, while Tom was doing who-knows-what at the afterparty. 

In full honesty, you were slowly growing tired of hiding your affection for one another. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold onto this style of dating. If the pair of you were going to date, you would date publicly and however you wanted, whether it meant risking your safety or not. Besides, you weren’t some helpless girl that doesn’t and can’t protect herself.

The next day, you woke up with an aching head and puffy eyes. Groaning, you looked into your mirror located at the corner of your room. You flinched at the sight of your pink, tear-stained cheeks and tangled, mop hair. Pushing yourself off the soft mattress, you stumbled into your bathroom, prepping a warm shower to start your day off fresh.

With your laptop and notebook resting in your arms, against your chest, you made your way to your next lecture. You walked sluggishly across the large campus, occasionally catching a glimpse of passing football team members. 

A specific group you walked past caught your attention. You saw the familiar brunette curls in your peripheral vision, immediately making you turn your gaze towards it. You saw his warm smile as he chuckled with his group of friends, some of his “fangirls” giggling along with the group. 

There Tom stood, laughing and joking about with his peers, radiating happiness. He was basking in the attention he received from his friends and “fans.” 

You tried to catch his eye, and you swore you did for a split second, but he only walked past you as if you weren’t even there. Not even a hidden smile or wink of acknowledgment was sent your way. 

Your walking came to a stop as you frowned at your boyfriend’s back. You wanted to shout out his name, call for his attention. You wanted to nuzzle into his chest, breathing in his scent. You wanted to look into his chocolate-pooled eyes, see the twinkle of adoration as he stared at you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything with Tom in public, for you were just another girl on campus, trying to get by, and Tom was the successful jock with a bright future ahead.

You walked into the large room, taking a seat, conveniently, in front of Tom. This time, you were the one to not spare him a single glance, albeit he probably wasn’t expecting or looking for one. 

You tried your best to listen and focus on the lecture, but the consistent whispers behind your back began to nag at your patience. You leaned your down further into your notes, as if it could fix the slowly kindling fire in you. Checking the clock, you saw that only five minutes of the lecture had passed, and your professor had barely said anything. 

“Five minutes? I swear it felt like half of the lecture had gone by. And the professor. I swear he had just said like tons of important information,” you muttered to yourself under your breath, catching a few students’ gazes. 

You gently pounded a fist into your temple, forcing your attention onto the lined sheets of paper on your desk. You expected to see notes, not illegible scribbles. You silently groaned, switching the sheet for a new, clean page. You took a deep breath and began jotting down the key points of the presentation that was being projected onto the large whiteboard. 

A feminine voice cleared their throat beside you, “Excuse me.”

You looked up from your work, a glare on your face as you were pulled out of your focus once again.

“Can I help you?” You asked, irritated. 

“Uh, yes, you can. You can help me by moving yourself to that seat over there,” she pointed at an empty seat across the room, “and giving this,” she placed her hand on the desk, atop you notes, “seat to me.”

You scoffed, “And why should I?”

“Oh, honey,” you cringed at the nickname, “Tommy, here,” she nodded towards Tom, “shouldn’t have to suffer by looking at your terrible hair. Like, honestly, do you even care for your looks?”

You were practically fuming in your seat, but to avoid trouble, you responded with a monotonous voice, “I’m sure “Tommy” can take care of himself. Spare us both the inconvenience, and go sit yourself on that empty seat because if you couldn’t tell, I’m occupying this spot.”

“Who do you think you are?” She shouted, hand crumpling your notes.

Furrowing your brows, you grabbed at your notes, hoping to spare them.

“Move your ugly ass before I kick you off this seat,” she threatened, pulling you by your hair.

The professor stopped talking, glaring at the pair of you. You took it as a sign to shut up and not fight back.

Fist clenching, nails creating red crescents in your palm, you stood up, pushing the girl off of you, ignoring her gasp. You grabbed your notes and laptop, turning to see if Tom would defend you, but when you saw his passive expression, you let out a quiet laugh of disappointment, carrying yourself to the back of the room. 

For the rest of the class, you stood in the back, writing your notes with blurry, tear-filled vision. Although you were still in shock due to the event that had unfolded minutes into the lecture, you wouldn’t let it falter how you were doing in school. 

As soon as you were dismissed, you bolted out of the room, heading to your safe haven on campus. 

Not many people, if any, knew about the hidden garden located within the campus’s vast park. You had only discovered it by accident when you were a freshman looking for your way around campus. 

The first thought you had when you walked in was that you were transported into a different dimension. Thinking back on it, you were naive to think that, but you were still justified. Anyone would think such a beautiful place couldn’t belong to the aggressivity and rashness of this world. The variant shades of light green and pastel pink flowers growing between the weeds of grass gave the place a heavenly feeling, followed by the mist that sparkled under the sunlight. 

You dropped yourself at the thick tree’s stump, letting your notes and laptop slip out of your grasp. You cried into your knees, pouring out all of your stresses. Your breaths were short and heaved, occasional hiccups bubbling from your lips. Your sobs slowly lulled you closer to sleep, emotional and physical fatigue catching up to you. That is, until you heard the recognizable clang of the door handle hitting against the wooden door.

“Darling,” the accented voice you longed to hear spoke up.

Quickly wiping away your tears and sniffling away any evidence of your sorrow, you stood up, “Tommy!” A feigned smile lay on your supple skin as you ran over to your boyfriend, embracing him in your arms, “What’s up?”

“Are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t speak up for you during class. I should’ve told that girl to get her hands off you,” he stroked your hair, “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” 

Letting a pained giggle out, you shook your head, “Nope, I’m fine. You know how strong I am.”

“I really, really did want to speak up, but you know that we should keep our relationship under covers, for your sake,” he spoke gently, placing a kiss on your head.

You scowled into his shirt but kept up your cheerful facade, chirping, “Mhm, safety.”

“I knew you’d understand,” he sighed. His hold on you weakened, “I should get going, though. The group will start to wonder where I’ve gone.”

You frowned, pulling away from him.

“Don’t be like that, darling,” he cooed, “I’ll come over tonight. Don’t worry.”

You let out a sarcastic laugh, “Of course, as you always do.”

His brows furrowed at your sudden mood shift, “What are you on, darling?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirp, hopping back to the tree, collecting your notes and laptop. “Go ahead, meet with your friends. Leave me behind like you always do,” you murmur the last half.

“Love?” His voice neared you, and you barely registered the stray tears betraying you, rolling down your peachy cheeks. 

Quickly bringing up a hand to wipe the wetness away, you keep your back facing Tom.

“Shouldn’t you be going? Don’t want your friends to worry,” you laughed, lightly. A hand placed itself on your shoulder, the sudden contact startling you. “You scared me, Tommy. You shouldn’t do that,” you giggle, hiding your true emotions, “You know how easily scared I am.”

“Darling, can you look at me?” He asked, quietly, concern lacing his tone. 

“What for, Tommy?” You inquired, nervously laughing.

“You’re acting quite… strange,” he explained.

“No need to worry about me, bubs. I’m as peachy as always,” you quipped, shoulders bouncing in emphasis.

“I’m giving you one more chance to turn, or I will do it for you,” he said, sternly. 

You stayed, unmoving, forcing Tom to turn you with his raw strength. At first, you tried to fight it, but you came to the revelation that there was no way you could overpower him.

When you met his warm, liquid eyes, you felt your own tear up, and suddenly, your shoes were an intriguing sight. 

“Baby, please look at me,” he whispered, hands rubbing up and down your arms.

You shook your head in denial, trying to keep your weakness hidden.

“It breaks me to see you this way,” he lifted your face with a finger to your chin. His thumb moved to wipe away your crystal tears.

“Then leave,” you hissed, weakly.

“W-What?” Tom stuttered at the unforeseen reply.

“I’m tired, Tom. I’m tired of hiding, of you ignoring me and me, you. How long are we going to do this? It’s so stupid, all of it,” you dropped your head again, this time of fatigue.

“B-But, you know why we’re doing this-” you cut him off.

“I know, and I can’t help but think that this was a stupid choice,” you motioned between the two of you, “You’re barely around me, and on campus, you don’t even acknowledge me. On the slim chance I do have you to myself, it can only last for so long. At this point, it feels like we’re not even together.”

“I-I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” Fear filled his eyes as the pit in his stomach became more and more noticeable.

“I think it would be better if-” you stuttered in a breath, “if we took a break.”

“Why? Just because we’re hiding our relationship? You know why I- we chose to keep it secret,” he rushed out his words, hands gripping yours.

“Do I? Do I really? Today was display enough that even though we act like we don’t know each other, I’ll still get harassed by those “fans” of yours. Not to mention, you saw it all unravel, and what did you do? Nothing. There’s no practicality to keeping our relationship hidden because either way, some “fans” will go overboard no matter who the person. Also, I think I showed that I can defend myself from crazy people when I pushed that girl off of me today,” you spoke, ferocity and resentment spurring you on.

“I know I messed up when I didn’t help you, but I thought about our relationship-” you scoffed.

“So what? Even if we weren’t in a relationship, you should’ve helped a girl out. Especially when she’s getting harassed because of you,” you jabbed a finger into his chest.

“Tell me how to make it better. I want to make it better. Don’t end us, please,” he begged, gripping your hand tighter.

“Stop, Tom. I told you that I want to take a break. Besides, it won’t be any different to how our normal relationship is,” you laughed. Pulling your arm out of his grasp, you walked away, “Now, I won’t have to waste any tears on you anymore.”

[watevermelon]

✧ Jealous!Atsumu x Reader; Finally returning home after traveling with the MSBY Black Jackals, Atsumu stakes his claim over you. (nsfw)

➳ A/N: TYSM!! Message received ;) ➳ Contains: jealous smut; possessive / dominant sex; semi-public; some light choking; Osamu calls during sex and Atsumu makes you answer ✧   Masterlist

-----xXxXxXxXxXx-----

“Atsumu, please.” You moaned out, “ We should go home first...”

“Don’t ya worry yer pretty little head.”

Eyes forcibly shuttered closed, you were basically begging Atsumu to stop.

The setter just continued to ignore you, his fingers settled inside you as you uttered contradictory pleas. You wanted more pressure, but you also wanted to do this at home. Your begging rotated between asking for more and attempting to persuade him to finally go to your shared apartment.

But there was one thing for sure, no matter how much the logical side of your brain screamed at you, your body was yearning for Atsumu right at this moment.

There was no doubt that your longtime lover was a near-expert when it came to your body. Any of your qualms would be easily pushed aside as you silently gave into his scandalous touches. And despite the latent fear of being caught by bystanders outside of the steamy vehicle, it was getting harder and harder to care.

The two of you had just left dinner with the rest of the old Inarizaki team. Having reunited after all these years, many of the others were catching-up over the lost time. A couple of them you had seen intermittently throughout the blank period - Suna and Aran stayed on the professional scene and you saw Osamu basically every other day.

As a professional athlete, Atsumu was always busy. Playing volleyball full-time was his dream and while he was proud to stand on the national stage, there were some drawbacks that the both of you had long conceded to. Often, he would be out traveling somewhere with the team, whether to stadiums in the far reaches of the country or dealing with PR that came with being a renowned celebrity.

You texted and called during your times apart, but there was nothing that could replace actually being there with someone. The physical affection that you missed from your lover could never be replaced with your own touches. 

But as long as Atsumu returned back to you, that was enough to fill your heart whole.

And so you often hung around your own friends and even Osamu. He often teased you were his future sister-in-law, despite nothing being set in stone and not a single rock on your finger. You would reason that Atsumu was a handsome athlete on the world stage meeting plenty of people, but even Osamu had adamantly stated that you alone were his fated future sister.

If only the asshole was as thoughtful around his brother as he was around you.

Osamu was probably trying to push Atsumu’s buttons on purpose, but now you were the unwilling collateral damage.

It started simply, about the new dress you bought in anticipation of Atsumu returning home. You ate lunch with the onigiri twin and were walking together when you passed a boutique with a simple, red dress that flirted high above your knees in the display. You thought about getting it and, with nothing to do for the rest of the day, Osamu hung out with you as you tried it on.

It was all coincidental and you thought nothing of it as Osamu brought it up at the dinner table as you were wearing it now. But when the twin complimented your sense of style, the team seemed to egg you on.

“Ya look so nice today, (L/N)!” Ginjima added.

“Out of all of us, (L/N) has always had the most style.” Suna snidely commented as he gestured to the twins with his chin.

“(L/N)-chan has always been beautiful.” Kosaku complimented, earning a small nod in agreement from Kita.

You glanced at Atsumu in the corner of your eye. And while the smile on his face spelled peace, you knew from his hardened eyes that he was not happy.

It was one thing to accept the compliments of the others, but you were admittedly openly basking in their undivided attention. If he were in a more steady head-space, Atsumu would have frowned or pouted or even took action to put the others in the place. But you hadn’t really seen each other in weeks and he was looking forward to spending individual time with you.

Of course, nothing went his way and instead of the hot night he was looking forward to, instead you ushered him out of your shared apartment to this reunion dinner. 

Osamu sat on your other side while Atsumu had to sit there and listen to the two of you chat like you were the ones dating. It was a stupid thought filled with only jealousy, but it only fostered the small pit in his stomach that seemed to grow in recent times.

Atsumu knew that the love you shared between each other was true, but it silently broke his heart every time he had to say goodbye to you knowing that the next time he would see you would be in days or maybe even weeks. You had complained a few times, but you did everything the two of you could to keep your bond. Video chats and texts were one thing, but seeing you constantly on his brother’s social media was another.

Lunches, hang-outs - what else was Atsumu missing?

And seeing the two of you openly talk about it now? Right to his face?

Atsumu wanted to claim where you sat.

And that predatory stare, that possessive claim Atsumu held over you all night as he draped an arm across the back of your chair, came to fruition the moment you two were alone. 

You waved goodbye to the rest, Osamu even shooting you a smirk at what he knew his twin was eager to do. A part of you was worried about your body for the next few hours, but when Atsumu tightly squeezed the side of your hip, you knew it would be worth it.

And so he near dragged you two where you parked earlier, you were unceremoniously tossed in the back of the car, Atsumu locking the door behind him as he clamored in. His lips were on you instantly and if not for the tinted windows, you would have pushed him off.

He ravaged you with the intensity of a man starved, sucking at your neck and making his way down your body. There was no hesitation on his end, his hands eagerly pushing your shirt and bra over your breasts. The moment you felt the chill on your skin, he latched onto an already beaded nipple.

“I’ll make sure ya only remember my name by the end of tonight.” He whispered against your skin possessively.

Atsumu maneuvered you around the back seats, pushing away clothing as your skirt bunched up around your hips. Your underwear was thrown away, somewhere on the floor of the car. There were surely red splotches in his wake, kissing at your chest before making his way further down. He dipped a playful tongue in your belly button as he went, surprising you into sitting upright. 

He lifted you by the hips, athletic strength more than enough to handle you. You had no firm grasp on the cushions, hand moving to one of the head-rests but having no way to move without having to ask the setter to do so. Atsumu held you completely in his grasp, back arched as his lips trailed down to your awaiting cunt.

“Who do you belong to?”

Atsumu watched as you squirmed uncomfortably. It was obvious you wanted more pressure, more anything, but he was conducting you to the beat of his drum today. He sucked at your clit and watched you cry-out his name in response, near begging him for more. 

There was no denying it at this point, evidence of your want all over his face. Atsumu shoved two fingers, to the knuckles, inside you. You threw your head back at the movement, but the setter made no effort to actually move inside you. He pumped once, twice, before pulling out of you entirely.

“Please.”

Atsumu playfully scoffed and you felt the vibration against your skin. You pushed your hips up in response, which only made him back off more. 

The teasing asshole.

“I asked ya a question.”

“It’s only ever been you!” You replied, almost sobbing as you looked down at Atsumu, that infamous smirk still on his face from earlier.

“Oh? Why don’t ya prove it?” Atsumu stated, placing you back down on the seat. That second of peace was followed by the setter gripping your neck and pulling you to him, not enough to make you panic, but more than enough to make you aware of the possessive hold.

Atsumu was up on his knees while you were eye level with what he was surely going to have you full with in a second.

“Do I have to do everythin’ myself?” He asked, a hint of impatience in his teasing words.

His hands were still around your throat as you reached for his belt, unclasping and then bringing down his pants. It stayed bunched around his knees and all that was left in front of you were his boxers.

“Feelin’ meek or somethin’ today?” Atsumu spit-out, “Why don’tcha put yer mouth to good use?”

He was being such an asshole and you loved every second of it.

Not that would admit it to the already big-headed setter.

You slowly peeled down the cloth, his awaiting cock springing up against his stomach as you went. Large and veiny and all yours, you admired it for a quick second before licking from the base to the tip. Atsumu groaned as his hold went from your neck to your hair, harshly carding itself in your locks.

Your playful attempts at licking his dick met an impatient scoff from the setter, until he finally gripped his dick and angled it to your mouth. While Atsumu knew your body well at this point, the second could be said about you to him. You sucked eagerly at the head, the vibration going straight to his groin as Atsumu moaned heavenward.

“Oh, playin’ dirty?” He asked, between huffs. “Yer gonna get it in a bit, don’t worry.”

A part of you was overly eager for his promise, almost making you want to act out on purpose if only to get a harder sentence later. But when Atsumu pulled at your hair again, you wanted to make him feel real good. After all, this was the first time you had his dick down your throat in weeks, you wanted to taste him fully.

You sucked at his dick eagerly, your hands going to the space your mouth had not yet reached. Slowly picking up the pace, you watched Atsumu go from a hard stare on you to getting lost in the euphoria of your greedy mouth.

And so you hollowed your cheeks, taking him in all the way to the base as his cock hit the back of your throat. You breathed in through your nose calmly, steadying your breath as you looked up at Atsumu. His eyes were fluttering to the back of his head, leaning backwards slightly as only a hand on the seat held him upright.

There was barely any room to move your tongue, but you did your best to feel against the veiny underside of the setter. His groans only got louder and louder, the grip in your hair incredibly painful as he continued to spiral under your pleasure.

It was only a slight surprise when Atsumu pushed you off. Flipping you over the seats, Atsumu leaned down to whisper against your ear, “Only ‘cause ya’ve been good so far”

You steadied one arm and leg on the cushion beneath you for you while the others stretched to the floor to keep you upright. Stomach against the car seats, you were more than ready for this moment. Atsumu wasted no time angling himself with your heat, immediately sheathing himself to the base the moment he got his bearings.

The car was filled with grotesque, wet sounds as his hips met your own. Atsumu barely gave you any time to adjust, thrusting up into you with quick, deep motions. Your own hand gripped the cushion firmly, nails almost digging into the fabric as if it would give you physical reprieve against his strong thrusts.

“Fuck.” you moaned despite yourself.

You were still in the car, plenty of opportunities for anyone to catch you two.

Not that you really cared anymore.

“Only I know what you like,” Atsumu murmured against your skin, his lips latching to the side of your neck. “Only I know how tight this pretty pussy is.”

When you didn’t respond immediately, the setter slowed down, almost taunting you that you were nothing but an eager slave for his dick. You groaned at his teasing, trying to move your hips back to him, but a steady hand on your waist kept you in place.

“Or am I wrong?” He asked against your skin, a hand trailing up your spine.

“Only you.” you groaned back, reaffirming his words.

It was not that Atsumu was not usually as dominant as this, because usually he was like this. But it usually came with some type of warning or reasoning. Last time it was from hanging around beefy boi Bokuto too much and it seemed now his twin was the new target. 

No matter, you secretly loved dominant Atsumu.

“And who’s the only one who will see ya like this?” he asked, almost with an innocent twinge as his hand snaked around the back of your neck.

“You!” You out-cried in between thrusts, head angling upward as you tried your best to get even closer to him.

“Say my name.”

“Fuck me harder, Atsumu! Please!” you whimpered, losing all your faculties.

“There’s my girl,” he praised before sucking another spot on your shoulder. 

You could almost feel the smirk of his lips on your skin.

At least you were getting what you wanted. And as Atsumu picked up back to his rigorous pace, you almost thanked the volleyball god’s for finally getting the much needed friction. The sounds of wet slapping and parallel groans promulgated the car, pedestrians outside innocent to the steamy happenings in Atsumu’s car.

“Fuck!” you screamed.

“That’s it.” Atsumu teased, “Let it out, princess.”

His pace was fast and hard, uncaring of the world around you as Atsumu lost himself in your tight hole. From him to be this brutal, you wondered if Atsumu had been envisioning you like this the entire meal. And now you were going to know exactly how much Atsumu had yearned for you. 

His fingers curled tightly around your hips, bringing you back to meet his every thrust. There was barely anything you could do against his onslaught, gripping the seats around you as if to give you any physical reprieve.

Your brain was focused on nothing but Atsumu, not even realizing that there was suddenly another sound in the car. The heat of the euphoria covered over the sounds of something vibrating somewhere in the car hadn’t even registered in your brain. 

But you surely did not miss the fact that one of Atsumu’s bruising hands had left your hips. And instead, that free hand began to feel around on the floor for the lost item.

“Ay.” Atsumu greeted into his phone, “Somethin’ wrong, ‘Samu?”

You shot a look over your shoulder, confused and wondering why on god’s earth was he saying his twin’s name at this moment. It was only when you saw his phone that you blanched, instantly trying to pull away from the setter. But Atsumu had you pinned, not stopping in his pace as he continued on the phone.

“Ah, (F/N) forgot ‘er phone?” You wanted to wipe the smirk off the setters face, but your hands were occupied in either keeping you help up or covering your mouth from letting out a peep. 

This was Osamu of all people! You saw him on a daily basis and if you were caught on the phone for this you would hardly be able to look him in the eye anymore.

Atsumu took one look at your desperate face and decided to make the most of it.

“Lemme put ‘er on the phone for ya.”

The look of realization must have been obvious on your face, for Atsumu’s smirk only grew as he stared back into your eyes.

Atsumu picked up the hand that was holding you upright on the seat and instead put the phone there. You tried to make a fist instead, a silent warning for if he continued this stupid act, but the setter just ground his hips against yours. You stumbled over a moan and Atsumu shot you a conspiratory look, pressing a finger to his lips to signal you to be quiet. 

“Hey, Osamu?” You attempted to greet in your usually cheerful tone.

“Hey, (F/N).” His voice sounded through the receiver, making you realize that this was well and truly happening.

“I forgot something at the restaurant?” You asked straight to the point, trying to keep your voice even as Atsumu kissed down the valley of your spine. His pace was still slow, but his small caresses were keeping you actively aware.

“Yea, I have yer phone with me since ya left early.” Osamu stated, his voice casual as you heard his loud dishwasher in the background, signalling he was already home.

“Ah, thank you! I can pick-it up next time I see YOU!” You stuttered over the last word, Atsumu pulling out completely just to fill you to the brim in one thrust.

Atsumu’s quick thrusting resumed from earlier and there was little you could do to hold in a small moan this time. Thankfully, Osamu on the other end had yet to catch onto what was truly happening, since he was recounting your next lunch a couple days from now.

“Is that safe? Goin’ a few days without yer phone?” Osamu asked.

“I - maybe?” you panted in response, not even sure what the question was.

Osamu paused, silence reining for a few seconds, enough to make you panic that he had caught on before he asked. “Ya know both ‘Tsumu and I would kill for ya if somethin’ happened cause ya didn’t have yer phone. Let’s try to stop that from happenin’ before.”

Was what he did say and also what you did not hear.

Instead, you felt your hips rocking back to meet Atsumu as he continued thrusting upward into you. One of his hands around your waist followed the arm holding the phone, pushing it back up to your ear as if to remind you of the painful phone call you were on. His other hand went around your waist, traveling to your clit between and rolling it between his fingers. 

This time, there was little you could do to muffle your surprised gasp.

“Whatever, (F/N). I know you can defend yourself, but this is not somethin’ you should fight.”

That wording was odd, you thought in your mind briefly. But any additional thoughts were slammed away with Atsumu’s persistent thrusts.

“I know,” you settled on replying back between pants before stuffing your face back into the car seat.

You expect some type of response back, only continuing to push against Atsumu as the hard slap of skin filled the car. You hadn’t even realized how long Osamu was silent for, before his voice nearly pierced your skin.

“Don’t tell me yer getting dicked down right now.”

Your head shot up immediately, your grasp on the phone tightening as both you and Atsumu heard Osamu hit the nail right on the head with his observation.

There was already an excuse on the tip of your tongue when Atsumu pulled out entirely again before sheathing himself in your dripping cunt. You moaned loudly at the combination of being filled and what his fingers were doing to your lower pearl. There was nothing you could say to get you out of that one.

To your surprise, Atsumu grabbed the phone this time. “Listenin’ to that? She’s mine on every fuckin’ level.”

You heard Osamu laugh through the receiver, before he continued talking. What it was about? You had no fucking clue, the sound just a small murmur in comparison to the sounds of your bodies meeting.

“I hate you so much,” You moaned back, Atsumu still on the phone with his twin.

“Oh? Are you going to cum?” He teased you before turning to the phone, “Ight, talk to ya later.”

How the fuck the both of them could be so casual about this, you didn’t want to know.

Throwing the phone somewhere else on the floor, Atsumu lifted your knee and brought it up to his shoulder. You had very little control in this situation, grasping onto cushions simply to keep from falling. But Atsumu had full control, maintaining his almost impossible rhythm in this deeper position.

“Ahhh, stop.” You weakly protested, “Atsumu, you’re gonna make me…”

“I know exactly what’s going to happen,” he countered.

The speed of his fucking, coupled with the relentless toying of your clit, pushed you over the edge. You came with a near-scream, angling your back as your eyes rolled heavenward. Near simultaneously, you felt Atsumu unload himself within you, holding his hips against yours to make sure you received every single drop.

It was only when your shared essence dripped down to the seat that you realized you hadn’t used a condom. And while you would had usually sighed at the clean-up, especially in a public space like this, Atsumu was already at your back, kissing along your spine.

“Thanks for the creampie, asshole.” you groaned, dropping your head onto the car seat.

“Ya know ya love it, princess.” Atsumu countered, leaning over you as he flipped you onto your back, placing light kisses against the nape of your neck. 

You pushed his face away when you fully realized what just happened, “Fuck, Osamu really heard that.”

“Good, now he knows who you belonged to.” Atsumu stated with a level-expression.

“Everyone knows I’m yours, you asshole.”

“It’s still good to send out reminders.” Atsumu replied, “Especially with the way everyone was openly leering at you today.”

“Fuck, you planned to do this, didn’t you?” you asked, not remembering the last time you ever lost your phone. You swore it was in your bag before you left, even taking a selfie with the old crew before.

But Atsumu just smirked and continued to place butterfly kisses on your skin, not dignifying your question with an actual verbal response was enough of an answer.

“Yer beautiful tits, yer legs… these pouty lips.” Atsumu murmured against your skin between pecks, “All mine. Right?”

Something in his voice just screamed at you that he wanted a real answer. His brown eyes bore into your own, an oddly serious expression for having teased you the pats half-hour. Was he jealous of Osamu? Of how much time you spent together? That was nonsense, he was going to be your future family and your heart only beat for Atsumu.

“I’m all yours.” You answered, putting a hand beneath his chin and lifting it to you. He met you halfway, pulling you into another bruising kiss. 

One of his hands went back around your waist to pull you close to him, your skin felt lighting aflame for the second time as it touched. You felt Atsumu harden within you again, athletic stamina already preparing him for another round it seemed.

“I love you, Atsumu.”

“I love you, too.”

✧   Masterlist

[messrmoonyy]

really, really random but do you think you could write a shot of half blood prince tonks on christmas alone and she puts on the record player and dances to christmas music? (i know this is very specific ahaha)

I lovveeed this request so much! Thank you for sending it. I did write the whole thing and then re read the prompt and see if kinda strayed away from the prompt slightly, you asked for record player, so she does actually use a cassette player but I still hope you enjoy it!

As always request are open! Drop me an ask!

Check my Masterlist too!

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks ( only mentions of Remus. He does not appear )

Warnings: none. Just a very mopey Nymphadora

Tonks had never been one to take love all that seriously. In fact she’d thrown the word around almost carelessly, never really taking to its true weight and meaning. Falling in love with more people that she could count now. A ravenclaw girl in third year, a slytherin one in fourth, two different hufflepuff boys in Fifth and countless other short lived romances since. But when she looked back now she realised they weren’t really love at all. Because they hadn’t felt like she did now. When she thought of him. Remus.

It caused an ache in her chest, so deep it physically pained her. She knew that nothing else could hurt her as badly as this, only love. She hadn’t even meant to fall for him, she hadn’t planned to. He was wildly interesting and not to bad on the eye either, but she hadn’t being trying. It had just… happened. Friendly conversation became friendly touches. Friendly touches became late nights snuggled in the library by the fire. Which had become hand holding. Which had become kisses. And now… it had become heartbreak.

The argument they had had before he’d announced his departure had been a brutal one. She guessed it didn’t help that emotions were already running far too high with everything happening around them. She’d shouted. He’d shouted right back. He’d told her nothing she would say would ever change his mind and he was leaving. It was duty. His role in the war effort. To put his life as at risk as ever and plant himself in a werewolf camp for months on end. It’d ruin him, she knew it would. He’d told her about it from the first war, how much he hated it. How much it made him feel like an animal. Feral. Inhuman.

But she’d told him to go. Shouted at him and told him to get out of her sight, to go if that’s what he truly wanted. To never come back to her again.

She regretted that now. Of course she did. She wanted nothing more than to leave her parents house and turn up at Grimmauld place, drink tea and hot chocolate with him in the library, dance around to Sirius’ old records and talk about everything and nothing until the sun came up. But of course she couldn’t. Because he was gone.

To make everything truly worse, as another blinding hot blade to her chest, she couldn’t even turn to Sirius about it. Because he was gone too. And he really was never coming back. The loss of Sirius and her still healing injury from Bellatrix had knocked her down already, Remus leaving had just been the final kick. And it had all taken its toll.

She couldnt morph. Not a single fingernail would change the way she wanted. Thankfully for her she’d never really been one for tweaking her face dramatically , like she knew some with her powers did. But she felt lost without her bright hair, the tiny little tweaks to her nose and cheeks. She didn’t recognise herself anymore. She didn’t understand the face of the woman that looked back at her in the mirror, all limp dark hair and hollow cheeks. She wanted to blame him. Wanted to use it as some way to make her hate him. Forget him. So at least she couldn’t be relieved of at least one burden of pain, leave her with one less knife in her heart. But she couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried to.

“ You gonna come down love? Your mums made you some dinner. Even got some apple crumble for pud. Yeah? Try eat a bit for us? “ her dad appeared at her old bedrooms door, knocking slightly as he spoke. It had felt odd being back at her parents house again for Christmas, she’d hadn’t visited in longer than she wanted to admit. Work ask the order had been running her to exhaustion everyday. She’d hoped being back home would bring her some comfort. Being around her childhood things. But it hadn’t really been working so far.

Her mum kept silently crying to herself over Sirius, every now and then she’d look over at her and see tears streaming over her cheeks as she cleaned or cooked. Misery just seemed to follow her whether she went now.

“ Dora love? “ she turned around when he’d dad spoke again and forced a small smile onto her face.

“ yeah. Be down in a minute… save me a piece of crumble “ Ted gave her a sympathetic smile and quietly left her. One thing she loved about her dad was he knew when she didn’t want to talk, and left her alone when she needed it. Andromeda was one to fuss.

She took a deep breath and made her way out of the room and downstairs, knowing Andromeda would only send Ted back up if she didn’t surface within a few minutes. They were both sat at the table when she walked into the dining room, her father looking up with a cheerful smile.

“ here she is! C’mon petal before it gets cold “ Andromeda’s eyes were bloodshot as was the norm nowadays, she’d tried she her best to hide the fact she’d been crying. But there were still tracks in the makeup on her cheeks.

The entire house had been decorated for Christmas and she thought the fairy lights and the tinsel should be cheering her up. But she found it wasn’t. Even her dads cheesy Christmas jumpers weren’t making her crack her smile.

Dinner was painfully silent for the most part. Ted occasionally tried to get both women to talk about something but conversation constantly fell flat. She looked at her parents as he silently tried to coax Andromeda to talk, holding her hand under the table and looking at her with the same amount of pure love he always had done.

Tonks had always wanted a relationship like theres. And she thought she’d been getting there. Remus had looked at her like that. Gazing at her when he thought she wasnt paying attention to him. Sharing his mug of tea with her at order meetings, waiting up for her if she had a late shift at the ministry, making sure she had something to eat before she slept. Little things. Small ways he told her he felt the same as she did.

Until he’d thrown it all back in her face.

When Andromeda cleared their plates and went to fetch dessert, Ted too disappeared of a moment only to return with his hand behind his back and a grin.

“ look what I found today love. Remember this aye? “ he held his hand out with a proud look on his face. It was a cassette. One he’d made up for her himself when she was little. She’d always been fascinated with muggle things and she still had the cassette player buried up in her room somewhere “ your Christmas one! Fitting “ she took with the first genuine smile she’d mustered in a while.

“ thanks dad. It’s Brilliant honestly “ he sat back down again when crumble was served but his proud smile didn’t drop.

After dinner she made her way back up to her room with a muttered excuse of being tired and locked herself in. The cassette tucked into the pocket of her jeans. She rummaged around the various boxes of junk in her room until she found the player and pulled out the tape. She smiled slightly when she found the tape wonkily labeled ‘ Doras muggle Xmas songs ‘ , putting it into the player and waiting for it to play.

The first beats of ‘last Christmas’ started playing and she practically felt her hurt slipping away from her shoulders. She turned the volume up, the headphones now blasting the voice of George Michael into her ears and she forgot about her troubles for a while.

She danced around with the first full genuine smile she had in weeks on her face, every song that played transporting her back to some memory from her childhood. Even the slower ones had her smiling, waltzing with herself around her room. until the tape came to an end with silent night. She stopped dancing and the smile dropped as the almost hauntingly beautiful song played. She’d danced with Remus to the very song on that first Christmas of her being in the order.

She’d turned up at Grimmauld place on Boxing Day, on Sirius’ invitation that the three of them could have their own Christmas celebration but Sirius had still been black out drunk from the clearly heavy night before. So she’d spent the majority of the day with Remus, hiding away from the kids. Drinking, dancing and even singing when Sirius had joined them later to get drunk again.

Her moment of happiness had faded to pure nothingness and she pulled off the headphones, tossing the cassette player onto her bed. If she focussed hard enough she could hear Sirius laughing still, picture Remus’ face as he tried to look unimpressed by one of Sirius’ filthy jokes- and failing miserably. Or feel Remus’ arm around her shoulders, his lips on her temple. The purely joyful atmosphere where just the three of them could be happy, Remus not worrying about people thoughts on him showing affection to her because Sirius didn’t care.

She found her feet moving then at their own accord, out of her room and creeping past her parents bedroom, down the stairs and out the door. She jogged down the garden path and past the wards protecting the house, apparating the second she was out.

She turned up on the top step of number 12. She really shouldn’t be there. She knew she should just go back to her parents. It wasn’t safe. But her hands reacted on their own and she opened the door. It was quiet inside. The quietest she’d ever heard it. Now Sirius laughing- or snoring. No kids charging around and pestering Kreacher. No mad-eye stomping along the hall.

Her feet led her into the library and she felt tears brewing in her eyes. She wanted to see Sirius blacked out on the sofa, Remus sat writing up a report at the desk, a fire crackling away. But neither were there. And the fireplace only held charred wood. The ache in her chest made her breathless, the deep burning pain of missing a dead man and one that might as well be.

She’d never felt so alone. Never had such a overwhelming feeling of loneliness that it made she’d weak in the knees. She could picture Remus at the desk, the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated, or how his cheeks flushed when she’d sneak up behind him and wrap her arms around his neck. The countless nights they’d fallen asleep on the sofa, danced, kissed, laughed.

But now it was just an empty room. In an empty house. No laughter. No dancing. No Remus.

She wanted to be back in that library when it was full of life. When Sirius was alive. And Remus was by her side. But it was never to be again.

Sirius was dead. And Remus was gone. And she wasn’t sure he’d ever come back.

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #9: sweet night (M)

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

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

Four weeks. Not a word to each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The realisation haunts you every night.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll be okay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lotta…”

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

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

This can’t be happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this weekend, you’re going to die.

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

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

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

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

“Y-Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Wait, what the fuck.

You flip back to the front page.

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

Strawberry… Love…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reconcile.

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

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

Reconciliation doesn’t seem possible in the foreseeable future.

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

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

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

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

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

Do you want to talk it out?

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

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

One: The Hurting Each Other.

You fuck guys without learning their names.

Two: The Guilt-Tripping.

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

Three: The Falling Apart

I… I thought it was clear how I felt…

Always replaying in a loop.

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

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

It’s better this way.

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing but heavy breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ve arrived.” Jae winces.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are sharing a…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And there goes your chance of rectifying this weekend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance up, you can’t help it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you have dirt on your face.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Completely unnecessary and petty move, whatever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Things’, meaning you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung regrets everything.

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

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

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

It can, and it did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we just not going to speak?”

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

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

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

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

“I mean-”

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

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

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

“How exactly is it going to change anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

You stare at your own reflection in the mirror.

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

What resonates with you most is the word closure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No! You’ll be cold.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop breathing.

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

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

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

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

“Yes…?”

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

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

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

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

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

You could say no, right? Just say no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you nod, “Mmm, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung’s arm is around you. Still.

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

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

He stirs, pulls you in tighter.

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

Lethargy immediately expelled, your eyes open wide.

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

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

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

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

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

Your core dampens and you quickly turn back around.

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

But God, you fucking miss this.

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

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

So what now?

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

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

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

Fuck.

You can’t.

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

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

“You’re hard.”

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

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

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

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

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

You want to fuck. You want to fuck Taehy-

Stop that fucking thought.

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

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

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

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

Another pulse down there.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

Happy Valentine’s Sunday indeed.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got flour on your face.”

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, something has definitely shifted since last night.

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

Kiss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… You’re down.”

“Down.”

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

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

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

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

End this once and for all with a bang.

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

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

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

Your breath feels shaky.

“So…”

“So…”

His throat is trembling too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you just lean down to kiss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baby.

That is your undoing.

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

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

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

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

“It’s ‘coz I haven’t…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t.”

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

“Then don’t live without me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you. And I’m yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“F-Fine.”

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

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

Stiffening, Taehyung looks down. “Yes…”

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

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

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

“You up for it?” A smirk stretches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah!” Taehyung yelps.

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

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

“You should be scared.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re so close, so close.

And you’re there.

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

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

He paints a constellation of wet kisses all over you.

“How does that sound, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel nothing but love and devotion throughout.

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

Transcendental.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

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

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

Love you!

- Kristy

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27/04/20

© Copyright 2020

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[script-nef]

No need for jealousy, sweetie | Kageyama Tobio

Category: fluff

2k words; Is it a famous idol? Is it a high-skilled setter? Nope. It's his own son.

Everyone knows Kageyama Tobio, the genius setter of Japan’s national team and a member of The Monster Generation, is a love-struck fool. It’s not that hard to find out, seeing how his normally rigid and scowling face immediately turns soft and full of tender affection as soon as his wife is mentioned. His reaction is the same when his son, who celebrated his first birthday just a few months ago, becomes the topic of conversations as well.

The news of his son’s birth was posted all over Japan’s news as it consisted of a video uploaded onto his SNS account where you were beaming like a sun with your newborn baby in your arms while Tobio was silently crying his eyes out. He then moved to embrace you, words of thanks and love spilling out in between hiccups and cries. You joked that he cried more than you during the labour and everyone in the room was either laughing or comforting him.

You once attended one of his matches with Hikari in your arms, cheering for your husband and his team. As soon as the match was finished and congratulations were given, he zipped to your side and took the baby off of you. Hikari, recognising his father, gurgled joyfully and snuggled deeper into his embrace. As you started talking to Tobio, they both looked at you with an identical expression, like it was copy-pasted, that fans nearby took hundreds of photos. It’s one of the highlights in compilations of “Kageyama in husband mode” videos. (Other popular uploads include interviews where he doesn’t shut up when asked about your health or questions about your relationships. A lot of his fans started liking him thanks to YouTube’s wacky algorithms.)

Tobio is the embodiment of a devoted husband and father. Despite his odd memorisation skill which seemed limited to all things volleyball related, he never once missed an anniversary, birthday or doctor’s appointment. He even excused himself from practices for you. You can still hear how Hinata screamed “You’re skipping volleyball practice? You?” when he delivered the news. Interviews and commentaries after matches were cut short, much to his company and team officials’ dismay, because he couldn’t waste a second returning back to your side. He always repeated “[Name] is waiting. Goodbye.” with a bow and took off. He also wakes up practically instinctively to the baby’s cries even after he’s wiped out due to his rigorous training. The amount of superhuman stamina he has made you jealous since you’re half-dead after exercising a bit while he’s fit as a horse. He says any exhaustion he has evaporates as soon as he sees his son’s cute little face. A weird and floppy smile appeared on his face whenever he took the minuscule hands in his.

Hikari is practically a carbon copy of his father. Same piercing black eyes which look odd but strangely suitable on a one-year-old, smooth black hair growing in tufts and a round face with baby fat filling out his plump cheeks. Tobio sometimes pokes his chubby cheeks while he’s sleeping, hands trembling like he’s about to touch a priceless artifact. If you took a photo now and compared it to one of Tobio’s childhood ones, even he would be confused. They’re just that much alike.

When his teammates and friends visited to celebrate Hikari’s first birthday, their reactions were… quite interesting. Apparently they didn’t expect the child, a genetic offspring from Tobio and you, to have the similarity percentage lopsided to 99 and 1. Hinata argued 99.5 and 0.5 which caused another fight to explode between him and your husband. 

It was very childish, the arguments thrown around being the equivalent of “Look at him! Are you sure you didn’t just split into half like that thing with the cell?”  “Mitosis, idiot.”  “Why are you still so mean, Tsukishima?! But yeah, mitosis!”  “What the hell do you think you’re saying, dumbass? He’s so much like [Name]!”  “Only you can see that, Mr Wife Idiot!” and so on. It was cut short when Hikari started crying due to the influx in noise and Tobio’s Dad Mode kicked in.

In your eyes, it’s absolutely adorable. Two copies of your favourite face in the world to wake up to and fill your life with. While pregnancy was a pain, right now is paradise. Especially since Hikari is a quiet and calm kid just like his father. By now, you should be concerned if they’re clones rather than father and son.

But recently, Tobio’s kind of miffed at Hikari for some reason. That doesn’t mean he’s neglecting his child, he would rather die than do that. He’s as attentive as ever, if not even more so than usual. Using his overpowered athletic skills to respond to Hikari’s whines or cries much faster than you, he drops everything and runs out at the smallest indication of discomfort. It’s also not because having a baby is a handful, they’re meant to be like that.

No, he’s just incredibly jealous of a one-year-old because “he’s taking up all your time and affection when you promised to love me most in the world”. 

When he first said that, your initial reaction was to double-take because you thought you heard him wrong. The thought of “Well. My hearing is failing now” echoed in your head. But no, this dork was being possessive and filled to the brim with envy over his son. His own. Son. As unbelievable as it sounds, it’s kind of in character for Tobio. Tobio who has various epithets like:

King of the Court

Volleyball Idiot

Number 1 Wife Fan

Mr “I have two brain cells and one’s for volleyball and one’s for my wife. A third one is sprouting for my son.”

And plenty of other variations.

So far, the attempt to make him understand the needlessness of his concerns and jealousy haven’t gone well. Generally, it starts with your defence of “Tobio, I love you and Hikari equally.” “You said you would love me the most in the world!” “Fine then, I love you the most in the world.” “I know you’re lying!” “Sweetie, please.” Rinse and repeat.

He turns dejected after every single “fight” and curls up into a ball, refusing to talk to you unless you hug and kiss him. He thinks he’s sneaky and manipulative. He really isn’t, you have him playing in the palm of your hands.

But it’s going to become a real problem if he’s going to be jealous with the tiny tenant who’s going to be around for at least another 2 decades. And the worst thing is that you can’t regularly find advice since his closest friends aren’t… much of a help.

Hinata looked at you like you were crazy in one of your rare meetups. Tsukishima acted like he was actually getting sick from your concerns, that salty bastard. Yachi, kind and helpful and sweet Yachi, was the only one who made valuable contributions with Yamaguchi. It’s such a shame they’re so busy that they can barely have a social life nowadays.

“Hmm… I mean, he stills loves Hikari, right?”

“Yes. Endlessly.”

“Well then… how about treating him exactly the same as you did before Hikari came, if not more affectionately? That’ll show him that his son, his one-year-old son who doesn’t even understand the concept of jealousy, is not a quote-unquote threat.”

“Just threaten to leave him alone for like, a month if he keeps on being possessive. That’ll wake him up.”

“Tsukki!”

“Oh hello, Satan, didn’t think you'd be contributing. How’s roasting the souls of the innocent going?”

“It’s going fine. Would they really be innocent if they’re in Hell?”

“It’s a joke, Sea Salt. Also, that would crush him!”

“That’s the whole point.”

“I think you’re using this just to annoy him.”

“You’re thinking correctly.”

“Back to the topic at hand! [Name]-chan, just reassure and spend a lot of time with him.”

“That’s literally what I’m doing right now! Ughhh what should I dooooo…”

“You know it’s really annoying when lovestruck couples come and complain about their relationship like it’s a problem when in reality you’re happy, right? Just saying.”

“Tsukki, she has a real problem here!”

“Eh, does she though?”

And of course, that line of conversation took off before you could object and continued for the rest of the visit. So all in all, the two-hour lunch date with your friends resulted in a public commotion which nearly got you kicked out of the café. You were about to return home with no solid solutions when Hinata grabbed and stopped you.

“Hinata?”

“[Name]-chan, I’m sure it’s going to be fine. I think he’s just like this because he spent his entire life looking at either volleyball or you, and now that a third party has entered, he’s just not used to it. Time fixes everything or something like that, right?”

“It’s already been a year though…”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure he’s getting better. I remember when we visited you on Hikari’s okuizome, he was literally looking at you for the entire time. The entire time. When it was his son’s 100th day anniversary.”

Yes, Tobio spent the whole 5 hour party/ceremony with his eyes glued onto you, until everyone berated him for his lack of attention. Hinata literally flung a rubber band at his head and he didn’t even flinch. It was the main topic of conversation in your friend circle for the next month or so.

“But when we came again for his first birthday, Kageyama was all over Hikari! I think the transition of his love for you to Hikari is a bit slow, if that makes sense. He probably thinks the love you have for him is getting smaller compared to his love for you. Our Kageyama’s a bit of an idiot like that, right?” You don’t really know whether to nod or shake your head. “The fact that you’re hesitating kind of says everything, [Name]-chan. It’ll get better when his love for Hikari matches yours, okay? Hang in there!”

With a swift but warm hug, Hinata ran off to do his training. 

The entire walk back home was filled with ruminations. Hinata was probably right. Kageyama’s attitude was slowly, but surely changing now that you’re thinking back. The ratio of his time with you and Hikari was 9:1 when he was just born, but recently it was more like 8:2. It should be concerning that this is the progress after a year of living together, but it’s better than nothing. You probably have nothing to worry about.

“Tobio, I’m home!” Silence welcomed you back. “Love? You home?” It was one of his rare days off and he said he would be taking care of Hikari so you could enjoy some free time while he can sleep in for the day. Also because his team instructor forbade him from meeting with Hinata since it always ends with a 3 hour volleyball match. 

“In here.” A tiny reply emerged from the nursery. He always came running as soon as the front door creaked open like an overgrown puppy since you started living together, so this was surprising. Quietly tiptoeing in, you were met with your baby sleeping soundly in your husband’s arms, sucking on his thumb and sleep-babbling intermittently. Tobio’s face was one of love and pure happiness as he watched Hikari snoozing away like he didn’t have a care in the world—the same face he made when he stared at you. When he raised his head up to look at you, his eyes were filled with joy and warmth, crinkling in the edges. 

“He’s so small.” He whispered, careful not to wake Hikari up. You joined him by his side, gently nudging your child’s chubby cheeks and revelling at its softness. “I have this… this feeling in my chest whenever I look at him… the same one whenever I see you.” Tobio’s hand came up to cup your face and he pressed a tender kiss to your lips.

“I love you both so much.”

Yeah, you have nothing to worry about. 

[nugnthopkns]

don’t say you miss me

word count: 5.5k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, references to sex but nothing explicit, cursing, recreational drug use (marijuana), alcohol consumption, there is no happy ending

recommended listening: overnight | maggie rogers

series masterpost: here

a/n: second installment of hiiapl! little overnight inspired ditty that i’m actually pretty proud of. i’m having so much fun with this it’s insane

You had never meant to get attached.

It was a lot easier said than done – especially with Kevin. He was loud and obnoxious, sure, but it was part of his charm. When you first met him, outside a club in downtown Winnipeg, you were blown away by his duality. He had been so loud with his group but quietly brought you a bottle of water after you puked on the sidewalk. After insisting you take his number so you could let him know you got home safely, Kevin convinced you to go to dinner with him. One meal turned into several and before you knew it you were engaged in a casual fling with the Winnipeg Jets’ newest centre. It was mostly sex, with the ocasional interaction outside of the bedroom, but something about Kevin made it feel like more than just a hookup. Over the few months you slept together your feelings shifted, and you began to harbour a rather large crush.

Just when you were going to take the leap and talk to Kevin about getting serious fate reared its ugly head. After only being in Winnipeg for six months, electing to not return to Massechusettes right away after the Jets playoff run finished, Kevin was traded out of the city. The news split your heart in two – there was no way the two of you could become a couple. Though long distance could have been an option, you weren’t going to ask him to commit to that. Being a professional athlete is tough as is, and having a girlfriend a six hour flight away was extra stress you refused to put on Kevin. 

The last night you spent with Kevin was emotional. Lots of tears were shed, mostly from you. You knew he was compartmentalizing it all and trying to not let you know how much the trade was affecting him. Whenever the two of you had talked about hockey, Kevin was always quick to mention how much he loved Winnipeg and how much he wanted to stay. Neither of you talked much, too focussed on wallowing in sadness and committing each other’s bodies to memory. He left the next morning, and there was a silent agreement that whatever the two of you had was over. It was fun while it lasted but now you both have to be adults and get on with life. 

☼☼☼☼

Nearly six months later you consider yourself to be getting on with life just fine. You’ve got a better paying job, a new apartment, and enthusiastically throw yourself into any project that’s presented. To others, however, you’re barely hanging on. Any time you get a text notification, you hold your breath until a name flashes that isn’t Kevin’s. A notification from Instagram saying he viewed your story makes your heart beat three times as fast. You constantly check for updates on how he’s playing, and watch as many Flyers games media blackouts will allow just to catch a glimpse of his face. No matter how hard you try, you just can’t shake Kevin Hayes. 

“They’ll be in town this weekend,” your best friend Rachel says. “Are you gonna reach out to him?”

You nearly drop the carton of chinese food you’re eating on the floor. “I didn’t know that,” you stammer, trying to make your surprise believable. Kevin will be back in Winnipeg for the first time since being traded. You knew this already, of course, because you have the Flyers scheduled imprinted in your memory.

She narrows her eyes at you. “Don’t fucking lie to me. You knew they were coming to town. The NHL app stays open on your phone at all times.”

Caught in your lie, you can do nothing but duck your head. You’ve thought a lot about what you’re going to do. Should you send him a text, let him know you’re available after the game? Or should you ignore him completely and make it seem as though you’re doing much better than you are?

“I don’t know Rach. I’ve never had a sort of ex come back to the city he left me in.”

“He didn’t necessarily want to leave you,” Rachel points out. “He got traded. If you want my two cents, I don’t think you should give him a call. You need to move on, not stay stuck in the past.”

Your friend is right, and you know that’s what you should do. Moving on from Kevin would be easier if you didn’t try to contact him. He hasn’t reached out to you so you assume you’re the only one in the relationship still struggling to come to terms with his departure. You struggle with the decision until puck drop, but ultimately decide against texting him. It simply wouldn’t be beneficial for your fragile heart. 

A small group of friends has gathered at Rachel’s to watch the game. You’re lucky, or unlucky, to run with a crowd of die-hard Jets fans who get together any time they play, whether it’s at someone’s house or a sports bar around the corner from the arena. Though you tried your best to get out of it tonight, making up any excuse you can think of to stay at home and sob quietly into a pillow, Rachel knows better than to let you be alone and forces you to be in attendance. 

It’s a pretty quiet game with the Jets dominating the first two periods. The Flyers are sluggish, not connecting passes and taking far too many penalties. You’re pretty sure Winnipeg has it in the bag when the puck drops for the final twenty minutes of play, so you turn your attention away from the television, picking up a conversation with Christina, the girl your friend Tyler brought along. 

Some choice words must have been said to the Flyers in the intermission because they come out swinging. Before you can comprehend what’s happening, they’ve tied the game. The period is full of contact, with multiple players from each team spending time in the penalty box. Your attention is once again returned to the large screen for the final few minutes, and your jaw drops as you watch Kevin dangle through the Jets defence to sink the puck into the back of the net. It turns out to be the game winning goal, and you sit in silence as your friends pay up the money they lost in bets and check their updated fantasy pool standings. Maybe you should text him. 

“Don’t fucking do it,” you hear Rachel whisper in your ear. Your other friends know of your past with Kevin, they were around and spent some time with him, but they don’t know how much you were still holding on. Everyone besides Rachel assumes you’re alright – that Kevin is just a blip in your past. 

You roll your eyes and sigh, but tuck your phone back into the pocket of your jeans. It stays there – out of sight, out of mind – until it buzzes some time later. Expecting it to be your mother hounding you for not calling in a while, you pull it out. A message from Kevin flashes and you go whiter than a ghost. 

Taking the boys out celebrating the big win. You in? 

The words, so casual, feel like a punch to the stomach. Why the months of radio silence just to ask to see him like you’re friends? Making sure that no one is paying attention to you, you quickly type out a reply. 

That’s not a good idea and you know it Kevin. 

You send the message and immediately turn off your phone. This way you won’t have to deal with the aftermath until much later. You allow other things to hold your attention and don’t head home until you’re so tired that it will be impossible for you to think about Kevin’s text. 

When you power your phone back up in the morning, you’re shocked to find that Kevin never responded. He obviously didn’t care too much about your absence, and part of you wonders if he was just being polite. It doesn’t make sense, but instead of letting your brain overthink the lack of response you throw yourself headfirst into cleaning your apartment. Hours later it’s spotless, and you slump onto the couch in a pile of exhaustion. You check your social media notifications, a few mentions from your friends about the shenanigans you all got up to the night before and your sister tagging you in a post letting you know she’d like to visit a specific beach the next time she comes to visit. Kevin’s profile photo sits at the top of your instagram feed, and before you can stop yourself you click to view his story. 

It’s a snapshot of his teammates with bright smiles on their faces. Each of them is holding a can of beer, and a few look as though they shared a joint before entering the establishment. The photo is captioned ‘glad to be back in winterpeg’ and is accompanied by a couple of snowflake emojis. Your heart clenches inside your chest – it hurts more than you thought it would to see him enjoying himself as though he has no bittersweet feelings about being back. It would be beneficial to unfollow Kevin, but you can’t force yourself to pull the metaphorical trigger and completely cut him from your life. 

Kevin leaves the next day for Vancouver. You know this because you watch his story yet again, and curse yourself for grasping at straws. Why must he have such a strong hold on you after so long? A call to Rachel has her driving to your place in minutes, ready to hold you while you cry and distract you from the pain that still lingers from his first departure.

☼☼☼☼

It’s easier to forget Kevin without him being in the city – you do your best, and eventually it sort of sticks.

He no longer crosses your mind every few days. You go weeks, sometimes a month or two, without thinking about him. It’s nice to no longer get sad when you enter a bar you frequented with him or wince when someone mentions how he’s playing. It also helps that he never returns to Winnipeg. 

There’s no reason for him to. The Flyers don’t play another away game against the Jets the rest of season, and as far as you know he doesn’t frequently talk to his old teammates. Your life fades into a quiet routine you come to love dearly. The world feels balanced for the first time since Kevin left and you’re nothing but thankful. 

Life moves on, and you find yourself succeeding in your career – so much so that you’re quickly offered a promotion. The change increases your workload and doesn’t leave you much of a life outside of work, but it doesn’t matter much to you. It’s a welcome distraction and keeps thoughts of Kevin out of your mind. No one comments on your genuine improvement, but you know they can see it. Rachel is proud, and she’s told you exactly once. It’s all you’ll get out of her so you take it and roll with it. The rest of the regular season passes without you so much as knowing, or caring, and before you know it there’s a notification for an article saying the Flyers were eliminated in the second round. For the first time you find it really hard to care.

☼☼☼☼

Summers in Winnipeg are your favourite. The city is warm for the first time all year and the flowers look beautiful in full bloom. With the promotion you’re afforded more vacation time, which you plan to take full advantage. There’s nothing you love more than hanging with friends in the sun, soaking up the rays, and casually drinking. 

The days bleed into one another in the way that all good summers should, and before you realize it it’s your last day at work for a week. It will be nice to be free from workplace constraints for a while, and your friends have the time off as well. The group of you are heading to a cabin on Falcon Lake where you’re sure lots of partying will take place. You suggested getting farther away, but settled on the area in case Tyler’s sister goes into labour. He’s a very family oriented person and offered to watch his nephew when the time comes. 

Four o’clock comes faster than you ever could have imagined, and you cheerfully wave goodbye to your co-workers. Some complain of your ability to leave during the busiest season of the year, but most of them wish you well. You put an immense amount of work into your job regardless of the quarter and know you deserve the break. If you don’t stop at the grocery store on your way you’ll be in trouble since you’re in charge of all the breakfasts and you currently only have a half-eaten loaf of bread that could go stale any day. 

You’re in the cereal aisle, deciding whether or not you really need Honey Nut Cheerios for the trip, when you hear his unforgettable voice. It’s loud and booming and brings back so many feelings that you’ve learned to repress that you turn on your heel and head to the nearest self checkout despite only gathering half the items on your list.

Back in your car, you dial Rachel’s number and try to regulate your breathing. 

“Hello?”

You don’t bother with any formalities. “Kevin is here.”

“In Winnipeg?” she asks, more than a tad confused. “Why would he be in Winnipeg?”

The interior of the Ford Escape you drive feels too small, so you crack a window and peel out of the parking space. Rachel’s voice reverberates throughout the car thanks to the bluetooth system. “I don’t fucking know, but he’s here.”

“I don’t think that’s possible Y/N,” Rachel says, always the realist. “He lives in Boston. What would he be doing in Winnipeg in the middle of July?”

You aren’t sure, and make sure to tell her so. “But it was him,” you swear. “He was in the grocery store.” You stop at a red light, placing your blinker on and checking both ways before turning right. A few more minutes and you’d be safely tucked away in your apartment, away from the world and the possibility of running into Kevin.

“There’s like a hundred tall gingers in the city babe, you didn’t see him.”

“You’re right, I didn’t see him,” you agree. “I heard him. How many tall gingers are there in Winnipeg with Boston accents?”

“Oh fuck. I’m coming over.” With that, Rachel hangs up, and you pull into the parking garage. You sit in silence for a minute or two before deciding your shaking legs can hold you upright. Perhaps you weren’t as over Kevin as you thought. 

Rachel spends the rest of the afternoon and evening with you, ensuring you don’t do anything stupid and letting you spew all your feelings, both good and bad. More than one bottle of wine is consumed, but you have more than enough time to nurse a hangover. If you play your cards right through the week this won’t be the only time you do it either. 

You wake up on top of your pristine sheets, Rachel grumbling beside you – she’s never been as good at holding her alcohol.

“What time is it?”

The alarm clock on your bedside table flashes a few numbers and you have to stare at them for a minute before you comprehend them. “Just after eight,” you say, sitting up. Surprisingly, you feel fine. Maybe the crippling weight of your feelings for Kevin cancels out the hangover you most definitely should be feeling. 

“We need to get going. Gotta pack the car and hit the road. I’m the one who needs to get the keys so we have to be there before everyone else,” she sighs, grumbling something else under her breath as her feet hit the floor. 

You just laugh at her and head into the kitchen. While Rachel showers you make coffee and pack the food into the ancient cooler your father gave you when you moved out many moons ago. It has served its purpose on several trips like this – you’ll be sad to see it go eventually. You switch places with Rachel, and once you’re feeling refreshed the two of you stuff your trunk and hit the road. 

The drive is rather uneventful, with the both of you sitting in silence, and it doesn’t take you long to approach your destination. Rachel is a poor navigator so you’re tasked with figuring out where you’re going and making sure you get there, but it could be worse. You have a general sense of where you’re going. Getting the keys is painless and you get to work unpacking your overloaded SUV.

“Do you think there will be other people around we can party with?” Rachel asks as you close the trunk for the last time. 

You shrug. “Don’t know Rach. It doesn’t look like it.”

She drops it, agreeing with you, and you separate to unpack your personal belongings. The cabin is large enough that no one has to share a room, which you’re grateful for. Though you love your friends dearly, they don’t always know what personal space is. At some point in the afternoon the rest of the group trickles in, and by dinner you’ve all settled and are ready to party. 

Tyler figures out how to use the ancient barbeque and sets to work cooking the burgers. Everyone else gets side dishes ready or sets the table, with Christine starting a bonfire. You don’t know her well, only having met her a few times, but your friend seems to be infatuated with her. She fits in great with the group so you aren’t worried about any awkward tension. Dinner passes in a fit of giggles and shouts, and once the dishes are done you can relax fully. 

The beer you grab from the fridge on your way out the door makes your insides fuzzy in the best way possible. By the fire, surrounded by those who care about you the most, you feel at peace. You’re yet to think about the sudden reappearance of Kevin in Winnipeg, and you’d like to keep it that way. Someone grabs the beat up acoustic guitar you found in the living room and thrusts it in your direction. You’d taught yourself to play in college, and it comes in handy for times like this. 

“I refuse to play Wonderwall,” you laugh, shooting pointed looks at each and every person sitting around you. 

“Come on Y/N,” Rachel groans. “Just once?”

“Fuck off.”

You don’t mean it, of course, and strum the opening chords with a grimace on your face. Tyler counts everyone in and they sing for you, which is appreciated. You might be decent at playing, but your singing voice is one that shouldn’t see the light of day if it can be helped. It’s more fun than you imagined it could be so one song turns into three, and before you know it your makeshift jamboree attracts the attention of the neighbours you didn’t know existed. 

Applause erupts from behind you, and you flush enough that your cheeks warm significantly. “You guys are so good I hate to disrupt the rhythm,” a deep voice says, “But do you mind if a buddy and I join you? We’re a little lonely by ourselves next door.”

Tyler’s out of his seat in a heartbeat, jumping up to pat the man on the back. “Of course man, come on over! I’m Tyler, and that’s Rachel, Christine, Marshall, and Y/N.”

You all wave politely, and the mystery guest introduces himself. “Nice you meet you guys. I’m Nolan.”

It’s then you get a good look at who you’re speaking to. He seems to be a few years younger than you, maybe early twenties, and he has a face you just can’t place. Maybe you’ve seen him around Winnipeg – the city is small enough that you can often spot the same faces in a crowd. “I’ll just yell at him to come over and we can get the party started,” Nolan explains, “Kev, bud, come on over! And bring a couple beers.”

All the blood rushes from your fingers at the name. You shake them intensely, willing your circulatory system to function properly again. If you had to hazard a guess there’s probably a million people in Manitoba named Kevin. There’s no reason for it to be Kevin Hayes. You’re most certainly still spooked from your near encounter with him yesterday. 

“Fuck Patty, you couldn’t come back and grab your own?” the emerging figure grumbles in the vocal stylings you’ll have imprinted on your heart until your dying day. Kevin is here, and if you don’t leave in the next few seconds you’ll be face to face with him for the first time in over a year. 

You stand abruptly, not stopping to explain your hasty exit to anyone, and practically run into the house. The door slams behind you and you do your best to make your heart rate return to normal. Tyler shouts something you can’t quite comprehend, but you know it’s probably some sort of reconnection greeting. He’d met Kevin a couple of times while the two of you were together and had gotten along with him well. 

“Hey,” Rachel whispers, “You good?”

You hadn’t heard her come in. “Not really,” you admit. “I mean like I knew he was in town but never in a million years did I think he’d crash my fucking vacation.”

She nods in agreement. “What do you want to do?”

“Stay in here forever?” An eye roll is sent your way but you choose to ignore it. “I’m serious Rach, I can’t go back out there, at least not tonight. Every time I think I’m over him he finds a way to make me realize I’m just faking.”

“I know,” Rachel says simply. She really does – as your best friend she’s privy to your every thought on the matter. After making sure that you'll be okay she heads back outside, armed with an excuse for your early departure. 

You spend the rest of the night tucked under the covers, listening to the laughter of your friends outside, no doubt in your mind that Kevin is the source for most of it. He’s always been good at commanding an audience. Thoughts swim freely in your brain, most of them occupied by Kevin in some capacity. Was tonight just a one off? Will you have to eventually face him? What will you say? Eventually sleep comes, though it’s fitful and fleeting. 

☼☼☼☼

You do your best to avoid Kevin, and it works for a day or two. Tyler has stricken up a friendship with the athlete, and spends more time with him and Nolan than your group. You don’t mind all that much because they typically are out on Nolan’s boat or lounging in their cabin, but every night the group reconvenes at your firepit. The excuses are starting to run out – there’s only so many times you can say you have heat exhaustion before someone stops believing you.

“Y/N, Kevin hasn’t even mentioned you,” Tyler whines one night after dinner. “It won’t be awkward. We only have a few days left, please spend time with us?”

“I’m spending plenty of time with you,” you grumble. “You promise he won’t say anything?”

Tyler shoots you a smile that lets you know he knows that he’s broken down your resolve. “Why would he? If he was going to do it he would have already.”

You aren’t sure if that makes you feel better or worse. You’re glad he’s faring better than you, but on the other hand you wish he’d at least make an effort to inquire into your well-being. Maybe it was simply proof that you were still holding onto something that didn’t mean much of anything. Eventually you’d have to face the music, whether it be with Kevin or someone in the future, so you make the decision to try and at least get used to seeing former flames in social settings. 

“You’re rolling my joints tonight asshole,” you grumble, shoving your sock clad feet into a pair of worn out sandals. 

There’s a small commotion, mostly in excitement at your begrudging agreement, and you roll your eyes as you grab what is destined to be your first of many beers from the fridge. Rachel slides up beside you on the way out the door and squeezes your hand, letting you know she’s ready to support you no matter what happens. It’s comforting, and the nerves in your stomach settle a small amount. 

Marshall is already outside, helping Nolan start the fire. They seem to be extremely similar and you’re glad they can seek each other out when the rest of the group gets too rambunctious. The rest of your party filters out of the house and takes up residence in the adirondack chairs. Kevin doesn’t appear to be around, so you allow yourself to speak freely, loud and unabashed. 

“No I’m telling you,” you insist, trying to convince Nolan your stance on Jack Antonoff is correct. “Jack is literally responsible for reinventing pop production.”

He laughs at how into the conversation you are. “Why the fuck should I care?”

“Because you fucking listen to Lorde!” 

Someone else is laughing along with you and it nearly stops you in your tracks. At some point Kevin had joined the party, but you hadn’t noticed. Knowing that he was listening makes you suddenly self conscious, and you wrap your sweater tighter around your shoulders. Nolan can tell you’re uncomfortable and does his best to relieve the tension. 

“Kev, do you wanna run back and grab the weed?” he asks. 

The auburn haired man pulls a baggie out of his hoodie pocket. “Got it right here baby cat,” he grins. “And it’s ready to go. You got a light?”

Nolan tosses him the lighter and Kevin expertly puts the joint between his parted lips. He lets the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling, and you watch him more intently than you should. You’re thrown back to the memories of Kevin’s apartment downtown, where you’d smoke in content silence after a night of passionate sex. The scenes flash in your mind and you’re overcome with melancholia. You had been so happy in the moment, and now you’re in a similar situation but feel nothing. Other than sharing in your laughter, Kevin is yet to say anything to you. 

You must have been lost in your thoughts, because Kevin is staring at you with a quizzical expression. “Y/N? Do you want a hit?”

It takes you a second to snap out of your daze, but to cautiously take the lit joint from his hand. “Thank you Kevin,” you say, voice timid. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since he left Winnipeg for the first time. 

He shoots you a dazzling smile and your insides threaten to turn to mush. No matter how hard you’ve tried to convince yourself you over him, that you’ve moved on from Kevin, you know you’re wrong. Kevin Hayes will have some sort of hold on you until you die. To distract yourself from the overwhelming amount of emotion you inhale deeply, hoping that the buzz smoking will bring can clear your mind. You really don’t want to think about what you lost when he’s right in front of you. 

The three of you sit in silence, passing the joint in a circle, and listen to the conversation your friends are engaged in. Marshall ropes Nolan into a game of cornhole and he goes begrudgingly. As he stands he sends you a sympathetic look, and you know that he’s familiar with your history with Kevin. It doesn’t surprise you – Kevin isn’t exactly one to keep secrets. 

“So,” Kevin says once it’s just the two of you, “How have you been?”

You do your best to swallow the lump in your throat. “I’ve been good. Work has been crazy lately, so this break has been really nice.”

He presses, and you indulge him in a conversation about your new job, though it can barely be considered that now. Everything is surface level – you’re afraid of letting Kevin in too much. Though your fling may have been brief, it didn’t make his departure or the lack of contact any easier. He tells you about his life in Philadelphia and how much he loves it there. Before you can stop yourself, you ask him a loaded question. 

“Do you like it more than Winnipeg?”

Kevin falters. It takes both of you a moment to process what you said. Not one to lie, he answers truthfully. “Yeah.” It comes out in a sort of deflated sigh. “But I miss –”

“Don’t say it,” you rush, trying hard to keep your voice down. “You don’t mean it.”

An embittered huff comes from him, and you watch carefully as he peels the worn ball cap off his head and tugs on his curls. “I do,” he insists. “I absolutely miss you.”

You no longer care who can hear you. “If you missed me, you would have texted. Called. Anything,” you say cooly. Everyone else has clued in to the fact that something is going on between you and Kevin, and have migrated inside in an attempt to give you privacy.

“I did. You’re the one who said it wasn’t a good idea to see each other again.”

“Because it had been over half a year!” you shriek. “And it had been radio silence before then. You left Kevin, and I’m not blaming you. I know it’s your job. But you left and it was so fucking hard, and it stung because you didn’t even try. So when you hit me up after that game I knew I had to say no. Because no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, I’m still so in love with you that if you asked I’d uproot my life and follow you to Philly. I don’t want to be that girl.”

The outburst leaves you gasping for breath. Never before had you spilled heartache so fast – with a sort of reckless abandon. Anytime you’ve had these types of conversations you’ve been calm and collected. You’re currently the farthest thing from it. 

Kevin’s expression softens, and a sadness fills his eyes. “I was scared,” he begins, “Because for the first time in my life I was with someone I could see spending the rest of my life with. Sure, we weren’t serious, but I was going to take it there. Then I got traded and the plans I had went to shit and I was too scared to do anything about it. So I let you slip away.”

Silence fills the space between you. You don’t know what to say, so you focus on unraveling the loose thread from the hem of your cardigan. Kevin shuffles in his seat awkwardly. “Where do we, uh, go from here?”

The question shocks you. To the best of your understanding, you had made it perfectly clear where your relationship was headed. “Nowhere,” you breathe. “You head back to Philly, meet another girl, and fall in love. I stay here, do my job, and learn to be content with myself.”

“There’s no room for us in your little plan?”

“We’ve run our course Kev. As much as I still love you, will always love you, we’re too fundamentally different for us both to really be happy in a relationship. You have to know that.”

He nods. “I do.” With that, Kevin rises from the chair, gives you a sad smile, and leaves. You assume he’s calling it a night, and you wish to do the same. Finally having that conversation was exhausting and all you want to do is sleep for the next twelve hours. 

☼☼☼☼

The rest of the trip passes without you seeing Kevin again. He and Nolan left early the morning after your conversation, and you do your best to enjoy yourself. Part of your brain makes you believe you���re the reason they left, though Tyler tells you otherwise. No one asks about what happened between you two, not even Rachel, and you return to the city determined to start anew. Eventually you break the cycle of obsessing over Kevin’s stats, and take it upon yourself to unfollow him on social media. Life goes on. 

Things never really get easier. You still find yourself grieving the loss of Kevin, late at night when you can’t sleep, but are confident in your decision to say goodbye for good. Time heals everything, and eventually you’ll be okay. 

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ @boqvistsbabe​ @iwantahockeyhimbo​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

[inadaydream99]

hiii can i request a mark lee x female reader drabble? something where she tells mark she thinks he’s embarrassed of her because he doesn’t show any pda infront of the other members so to prove her wrong he like kisses her and stuff the next time she visits him during practice?? thank you

A/N - hey, thanks for requesting! Sorry this has taken so long to write, I’ve been so busy! I hope you enjoy 😊 also, I hope you don’t mind, but I kinda deviated a little from the plot unintentionally...

Oblivious

It had been a long and tiring day for everyone, yourself included, and all you wanted was to be able to go home and cuddle up in bed with your boyfriend.

You exhale a sigh under your breath as the guys begin practicing for what seems like the millionth time that day. The same song echoing throughout the room once again. It’s a wonder they still seem to have so much energy. Though you’ve been told before that it’s fueled by determination.

“I’m exhausted.” Mark exasperatedly sighs as he takes a seat beside you on the floor. You must have zoned out for a lot longer than you thought because you hadn’t even noticed the music stop.

“Me too. But it’ll be worth it when we have to show what we’ve come up with.” Doyoung breathlessly responds before taking a large gulp of water.

They had been working tirelessly for the last two weeks on this new routine for their next comeback. Never had you seen all the guys so stressed in your life and it’s all because they were given the opportunity to choreograph a dance and didn’t want to mess it up. You were proud of their hard work, supporting them in every way you could. It’s the least you could do.

Your eyes cast around the room, everyone taking a moment to catch their breath back before finding the last piece of strength within them to pack away their things and head home. Faint amusement creeps across your face when you notice Jungwoo laying on the floor in the centre of the room. I wonder how long it’ll take before someone jumps on top of him?

... and a second later Haechan does exactly that.

“You good?” You turn your head to face Mark after chuckling at Haechan’s childishness, meeting his gaze as he waits for an answer. Although his words seem like they care, his eyes look tired and uninterested. It almost feels like he’s saying it because he has to. But you repress that feeling for arguments sake.

“Yeah.” You smile, simultaneously reaching out to find his hand and interlace your fingers. Your smile, however, quickly fades when you sense his reluctance, catching his hand moving out of reach from the corner of your eye.

“We should get going.” Mark mumbles, avoiding eye contact by picking up his phone and shoving some things into his bag.

You watch him through a pained expression, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip slightly jutted out in confusion. Had you done something wrong? You weren’t sure. But you know you’re not getting an answer anytime soon because Mark has already left.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes brimmed with tears as you keep your face tilted to the ground in hopes that no one noticed Mark’s coldness towards you.

“Come on (Y/N).” Yuta shoots you a sympathetic smile before extending his hand out to pull you up. You force a meek smile back, accepting his offer by muttering a light “thank you.” But that doesn’t stop the sinking feeling in your chest.

~

You’re not sure how to act towards Mark when you get back and the whole journey you’re in your head battling over different scenarios. You’re even debating on whether to go to the dorms or go straight to your apartment. You live in the same building as the guys, hence why you’re going home with them, but it isn’t uncommon for you to head to theirs most nights so you can spend time alone with Mark. Except, tonight you’re unsure if your boyfriend would even want you there. It also doesn’t help that he chose to go in a separate car.

“He’s been acting like that with everyone.” You hear Jaehyun’s empathetic voice break the silence.

“Yeah, please don’t let it hurt you.” Your eyes flicker up to meet Taeyong’s after sending a thankful smile towards Jaehyun.

“I know.” You sigh, not feeling up to talking much. You appreciate their kind words but you feel more hurt over the fact that Mark never reciprocates your affection when others are around. All they seem to see is when he rejects your affection.

By the time you’ve reached the dorms, Mark has already been home long enough to have taken a warm shower and rinse off the day. You have to hold back your scoff and eye roll when he walks into his room with a contented expression, humming some random tune.

“You staying tonight?” He flops onto the bed, wrapping you in his arms as he tries to draw you into his chest. Oh, so now he wants affection?

“(Y/N)?” He tries to get your attention, noticing how you haven’t accepted his cuddle yet. You haven’t even taken your eyes away from your phone screen. “What’s wrong? Did one of the guys annoy you on the way home?” And that’s when you lose it, letting out the unimpressed scoff you’ve been holding in. How oblivious can he really be!

“One of the guys? You are kidding me Mark.” You force your way out of his hold, sitting up properly so he can see your stearn expression. “All week you’ve been acting off around me, everyone noticed it.” You spit, trying to hold back your emotions.

“You wouldn’t even hold my hand earlier... it’s like you’re embarrassed to be with me.” You shift your gaze away from him the second you feel a tear run down your cheek. Great. Now I’m crying.

“That’s not fair, you know how busy I’ve been.” Mark calmly responds. He doesn’t seem angry or upset, in fact it’s only annoying you more that he’s not showing any reaction at all. Does he even care?

“You know what... forget it.” You exasperatedly stand up from his bed. “You clearly aren’t that into me anymore.” You feel your chest tighten, throat going dry as you do everything you can to hold back your hurt.

“Where are you going?” Mark sends you puppy eyes. He’s scared of your next words but he doesn’t know how to stop them from being uttered.

“Just... figure out what’s really important to you.” Is all you can bring yourself to say before finally walking away.

~

Five days, almost a full week since you’ve seen Mark. Yes, he’s been calling and messaging non stop, but you’ve simply left him on read. It’s not that you don’t want to be around him anymore, you just feel hurt and need more time before you go running back to him.

Sat in a secluded corner of the cafe you enjoy some quality time to yourself. For the first time since your argument with Mark you’re feeling ok, allowing yourself to enjoy the freshly brewed coffee as you listen to the radio that’s quietly played in the background. That doesn’t last long however, an abundance of noise growing ever closer from the street outside.

Your gaze flickers towards the entrance as the door swings open and the previously calm cafe is filled with noise.

“(Y/N)!” Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes widening and posture becoming stiff upon the breathless shout of your name. Although you couldn’t see who had called for you, the voice was unmistakable.

“We got approval.” Is the first thing Mark says to you as he reaches your table. He uses it for leaverage for a moment, ducking his head down as he catches his breath back.

“Ummm...” You awkwardly manage out, consciously gazing around the room, watching as what feels like hundreds of eyes become invested in your interaction. How’d he even know you were here?

You notice Mark’s head slightly lift, peaking up at you with his adorably awkward but amused grin. It’s clear he’s just as aware of the prying and eager people intruding your moment, but he doesn’t seem to care. After all, you know he’s used to it.

“The groups routine got approved today.” Mark clarifies, finally standing up properly once again.

“Should you even be here?” You counteract, guilt filling you as you notice his smile suddenly fall.

“Oh. Well, I, just...” Mark fumbles over his words, rubbing the back of his inflamed neck in embarrassment. “I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

You simply nod, holding back your reaction. “Could we maybe go somewhere more private?”

~

“You know, while the guys were celebrating I couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed, but then I realised that it was because the only person I cared about being there to celebrate with wasn’t around...” Mark confesses, his head hanging low as he sits on the edge of his bed next to you.

“And it was all my fault that you were, are, mad at me.” He solemnly mumbles the last part.

Yes, he’d hurt your feelings. But now you know he’d never intended too, that he was just so caught up in not wanting to let his group down. You understand that.

It had taken the whole journey back to his for him to explain everything, starting at all the pressure he’d felt to the day his cold attitude had finally pushed you over the edge.

“I’m not gonna say that pushing me away didn’t hurt, because it did.” Mark lifts his gaze when you begin to speek. “But I get that you had a lot on your plate and didn’t want to be smothered.” You shoot him a comforting smile.

“I still shouldn’t have been so inconsiderate to your feelings.” He sighs.

“Just as long as you don’t do it again we’ll be fine.” You softly chuckle, your heart skipping a beat when a grin appears on Mark’s face.

“I promise.” He nods, both of you staring at each other with stupidly cheesy smiles.

~

“There you are!” Mark instantly envelops you in a tight embrace the second you step foot into their practice room. “I missed you.” He whispers, gently placing a tender kiss to your lips.

“Well, I realised I never got to properly congratulate you all.” you turn to face everyone, elated with all the affection you’re receiving from Mark.

“You’re too adorable.” Mark coo’s, spinning you back around to face him once again.

“Yuck! Get a room.” Haechan mocks, pretending to vomit. But neither you or Mark mind, and besides, it’s not a bad idea...

[schrijverr]

Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 3 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: grief, guilt and mentions of bad coping

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3: But I’ll Walk with You, my Love

The battle was won, Middle Earth was saved. It was a time for celebration, but for Aragorn there was little to celebrate.

He was to take the throne that had been empty for thousands of years and the one person who should have been there to see it was not. He still did not know whether he would have proved himself if Boromir had lived, but he was confident in the final judgment of the man.

No, it was a promise dual made that ghosted his steps. Had Boromir lived, today would be the day they could have seen what happened to the spark that never got the chance to burn.

Aragorn wondered in sleepless nights if the spark would have survived the many hardships of the road or if they would have arrived here as friends. His heart told him that he could have never loved anyone like he had loved the Son of Gondor, yet he knew not for sure if Boromir would have felt the same.

Grief colored the white halls with black and gray. With wars passed and therebuilding barely started, the mourning he had not the mind to fully feel before, caught up to him.

The steadily recovering Faramir trailed his every move as next Steward in line now that his family line hinged on him. At Aragorn’s request, he told him many a tale of his youth, so that every hall was filled with a young, happy Boromir for Aragorn’s heart to ache for.

He walked through the courtyard where Boromir had told him of many restless nights where he walked alone over stone and Faramir had enlightened him to the annoying two little boys with wooden swords.

The White City breathed the life Boromir just as Boromir had lived and breathed Minas Tirith.

If this were to be his home till the end of his days, then he would have to learn to live with memories passed and new memories that could never be. His own would override Boromir’s and he feared that his presence might scrub Boromir’s soul out of his City.

That would be an impossible feat, he knew. The people of Gondor had not forgotten their other Steward’s Son and if Aragorn listened closely, he could hear his name among the people. Yet there was no monument for Gondor’s finest. Not yet.

He wanted to return to Amon Hen, to look for the Evenstar and signs of what had happened to Boromir, but he was bound by a duty he had long evaded and could not now abandon.

On the day of his coronation, the White City was adorned with happy folk and it was hard not to get infected with the pleased crowd around him. It was a trait of the City that had been reflected in Boromir, for his energy was infectious also.

“Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta,” he sang his oath to his people, trying his own Elven roots to his new life as King, before walking down the path created for him.

Legolas met him with a procession of Elves, many he recognized from his days in Rivendell. Arwen was noticeably absent and Aragorn mourned that he had missed her departure, yet Elrond’s presence was a welcome one. He did an Elvish greeting: “My Lord Elrond,” then he smiled, “Ada.”

Elrond smiled back and handed him the banner of the King. “Arwen made this for you, before she left. She believed in your Kingship and so do I. I am proud of you, Estel.” He hugged Aragorn and Aragorn leaned into the contact grateful for the support of Elrond. As he hugged, however, the Elven Lord whispered: “Look for the other Elven company traveling from the North.”

He could not ask what the Elf had meant, for the procession moved past him so that he continue and there was no time.

Later Elrond would say no more, claiming that it was not his role to enlighten him and that Aragorn should not get needlessly distracted from his duties as King. Still Aragorn looked to the North each morning, gazing into the distance as if it would bring him answers to questions not asked aloud.

He kept up the habit after Elrond left.

The rebuilding of Minas Tirith was steadily happening and Aragorn was feeling more at ease with his Kingly obligations. Gondor was returning to life after survival. Her former glory was being restored, silently Aragorn grieved for Boromir, who would not get to see her beauty again.

It was shortly after the final stones of the wall had been laid again and her gates were replaced that the Elven company appeared on the horizon as Aragorn looked North in the morn. They were dressed in cloaks of grey that signaled their origin lay in Lothlórien.

Aragorn was curious what the Lady of Light could bring to him that Elrond wished not to reveal to him. He donned the still slightly foreign clothes and descended down the levels, awaiting the arrival of the Elves on the plaza behind the gates.

The people, who saw him there bowed respectfully, but he heard the whispers of curiosity about his presence and that of the Elves.

When they had arrived over the path, it was already nearing mid day and Aragorn had not strayed from his post,ordering the gates to be opened. Silently the Elves rode into the White City. He faintly recognized some faces from his time spend there, but one remained hooded.

Only when the hooded figure slipped of his horse and came before him, did he look up. Slowly, he removed cloth hiding his face to reveal the ghost that had haunted him for so long had returned to life, for it was Boromir that greeted him, unsure smile on his face.

No hardship in his long-life could have prepared him for the mirage of emotions that washed of Aragorn in that moment.

His disbelief, happiness and anger warred inside his chest and he choked on his own spit as he searched for words. Why had Boromir not contacted him before? How had he lived? What did this mean for them both?

“Boromir.”

In the end he decided there was nothing else he could say, for all words had left him and none seemed fit for the moment. He pulled himinto his arms, crushing him so tightly he would be worried for the health of the other had he not been so occupied with hugging him, with proving he was real and not another shadow in his mind.

Two hands clutched tightly to the clothes on his back tying him to the now and when he breathed he could smell the forest of Lórien and the familiar scent of home comprised of sweat, metal and leather.

He had not known that he knew Boromir’s smell, but when it hit him he knew it was him and no one could have replaced him.

It was Boromir. Actual Boromir, here in his arms alive and well. He was not dead, but he was alive and Aragorn could not yet emotionally comprehend that Boromir was there, only that his heart felt too small for all that it felt.

“Hey, Aragorn, my King, no need for tears,” the soothing voice he knew so well whispered in his ear and it was only when Boromir cupped his face between his hands and wiped away the tears that he realized he’d even been crying.

The words did not help, only cemented more all that he felt and could not name. His crying turned into heaving sobs as he hugged Boromir tighter, as impossible at that seemed.

“You’re alive,” he replied after he had cried himself hoarse in Boromir’s arms, an obvious statement, yet still one that held so many mysteries.

“Aye, I am,” Boromir agreed. “Yet, I knew that not when we parted. It was a surprise for me too when I awoke. You saved me.”

He saved him. The words struck a chord in Aragorn’s soul. Since it had happened, he had blamed himself for letting Boromir die, for not doing more, for leaving him. Yet here he was, still alive and warm, telling him that it was he, who had saved him.

His knees buckled under him. A corner of his mind told him that as a King, he should not act like this in public, but that thought was squashed under the barrage of emotions and feelings that caught up to him and overwhelmed him as the world slid out of focus.

Boromir steadied him, having his back and being the person he could lean on as if he had never left his side. “I can tell you more later, but why don’t we get you seated for now? Would that be okay… love?”

The pet name snapped him back to the present. All the musings and doubts he’d had about the spark that had never left him, had wrapped itself in grief and fantasies that would never come and were clouded with memories young and old. But now Boromir was alive and it was not just his heart that beat for the them that had not yet been.

There was no time forfear or doubt to bubble up, for Boromir looked at him with those eyes and the pet name was so hesitantly said, because Boromir was also unsure of where they stood, he also did not know what they would do, just that he loved him and wanted it.

But they could figure that out together now.

They had a future and they could try to see if the they, he and Boromir had dreamed off could flourish in times of peace. A new age had dawned and they could meet it together.

Without thinking Aragorn kissed him.

Boromir’s beard was slightly longer and he felt his moustache like he hadn’t done before, but hislips were still slightly chapped and firm. Boromirrelaxed into the kiss quickly and was again the first to swipe his tongue across Aragorn’s lips.

Aragorn lost himself into the sensations he had often dreamed about, but could never fully recall again. Yet here was that same calloused hand cupping his cheek so gently and he felt as if he could survive without breath if he could live like this forever.

It was only when Boromir broke to kiss to catch their breath that they realized a crowd had gathered around them. The King and foreign company had enticed enough commotion, but the return of a hero from the dead was certainly notable, not to mention the emotional reunion between him and their King.

There were jeers and cheers all around them. Aragorn wanted to hide his face, knowing his cheeks would be tinted red and did so in Boromir’s shoulder. Yet the Son of Gondor was at ease around his people, accepting Aragorn’s hiding spot as he smiled and waved.

Word had spread fast through the City and before Aragorn could even think of moving away from the prying eyes, Faramir came running down, no horse just his own two legs that had carried him downwards from the Citadel to see the miraculous return.

Aragorn knew when Boromir had spotted him, because the one hand on his back left, so that he could greet Faramir with both: “Brother!”

Knowing when it was time to step back, Aragorn did. Though he did not stray far from Boromir’s side as he hugged his brother tightly. There were many emotions running high, yet instead of the gentleness he had displayed for Aragorn, to his brother Boromir jested: “What has become of Minas Tirith that the King would await me, but not her Steward.”

“A Minas Tirith where her King disappears without notice to await an unknown company, I would say,” Faramir grinned back without heat as Aragorn ducked his head. “It is good to see you, Boromir. We thought you dead. How did you live?”

“It is a long story and not one for telling on the front porch,” Boromir said, conscious of the crowd around them. “The Elves were a great help and healed me. That is the basics. Let us now drink something and eat. We have a long road behind us.”

Faramir was much better at the ways of the court, having grown up around them. He sprung into action, getting the Elves up the levels to accommodations, while Aragorn walked beside Boromir and his horse.

As they walked, Aragorn followed Boromir blindly, trusting Boromir to lead them home while in the distance the trumpets rang. He did not let his gaze wander away from his face, afraid he would disappear the moment he did.

There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask, a million things he wanted to tell him. Yet the only thing he said to Boromir suddenly was: “I am sorry.”

Boromir’s step faltered for a moment, before he looked at Aragorn with concerned confusion. Then he asked: “What for?” as if it was the most simple thing in the world. As if Aragorn had not spend sleepless nights musing all the things he had done wrong.

It must have shown on his face, for Boromir smiled at him. It was not his boisterous grin or proud smile, but a gentle one, one Aragorn had only seen in Lothlórien. “You did nothing you have to apologize for. It is I, who has to atone for what I did, yet my heart can not stop being selfish and hope to proclaim itself to be yours.”

“You have not to atone either,” Aragorn spoke fiercely. He had heard those desolate tones from Boromir once before and he would not let him speak like that again. “I meant what I said and this war has taken enough from all. We won. You played your part diligently and I will not have you tarnish your return to me by self-doubt that is undeserved. And you are not selfish, for if you are then so am I.”

“Huh,” said Boromir, “you are not the Ranger I parted with. The King I saw shining through form time to time has fully inhabited his glory. There is a confidence in your speech that was not there before.”

Aragorn was taken by surprise by the observation. He had known that he had changed through his harrowing journey to Minas Tirith and the Black Gate, but he was connected still to his past in such a manner that he had not divorced himself from the person Boromir knew. To have it pointed out to him, was strange.

Yet, Boromir was not the man he had left on Amon Hen either. His manner was proud, yes, but he had not the burdens that had forced him to be so. He was calmer and had gained some of the Elven pace in life that was familiar to Aragorn in a way the lively City was not.

It seemed both had adapted to the new circumstance they had found themselves in and in turn had gained something of the other.

Still, the Boromir of old was still to be found. His handsome face had stayed unchanged and as they walked he pointed out historical buildings along with places tied to himselfwith an enthusiasm that rivaled Merry talking of Old Toby. And every time Aragorn seemed to fumble, a hand was lend to him in aid.

Another thing that was old, but new sinceAragorn had never gotten to witness it,was Boromir amongst his people. And it was a sight to behold.

The people greeted him as a long lost friend that they held in high regard. He was not just their Lord and protector, but their faithful, friendly guard also. As they called out to him, he returned most by name. The observation Aragorn had first made of him, stayed true here. It was hard not to like Boromir and that was felt through all the streets.

Journeying to the Citadel from the gates lasted eternally long, but the time passed in a flash, until they were seated in Aragorn’s office, ready to hear the tale of Boromir’s survival.

“I recall little of the events themselves,” Boromir began. “Flashes and pieces stay with me, but the Elves told me most after I had awoken. I suppose I should start when we parted ways, Aragorn.” He gave him a look and Aragorn nodded.

“I only remember us talking, yet some of the words escape me. In my mind the only clear thing is your face, there are tears in your eyes and pain I cannot soothe,” said Boromir. “I tried, but I could not move to change it. The clearest words are you promising that the White City would not fall if you could stop it and me naming you my King.”

Aragorn remembered the moment clearly, remembered the three names Boromir assigned him there and the desperation he felt as he tried to give Boromir enough hope to cling to life. A moment he remembered failing in. “I remember that moment, my medicine was not enough to save you. You were fading under my hands and nothing I could do was helping.”

Faramir followed the conversation closely. Aragorn had only briefly told him of what happened at Amon Hen and his brother’s demise. Pippin and Frodo had also filled in some blanks, but he knew no more of the final moments of Boromir than what Aragorn had told him.

He had heard of the attempts made to save Boromir’s life, yet not of Boromir’s proclamation, nor the affection shared between them that he had seen today. Still, he had guessed it in the manner his King surrounded himself with the memory of Boromir.

Both listened closely to Boromir’s answer. “The Elves spoke of a Kingly command and an oath meant to be kept. They told me of the power that laid in the voice of the Kings of old. Oaths to them not kept, could bring unrivaled curses, while-”

“Curses?” asked Faramir.

“Isildur cursed the Dead Men of the Mountains to an enteral damnation of restlessness,” Aragorn said. “More instances have been recorded, but I do not see how that relates to you, Boromir.”

“For you two did not let me finish,” Boromir told them fondly. “The two of you jumping to your loreand questions.” At that, they all chuckled.

“A Kingly oath holds power and if a King cannot keep their word, then that is equal in its weight.” Boromir explained. “We had the luck that you told me: ‘I promise that I will try to see this quest through alive and keep you alive through it also.’ And did not say ‘try’ before my part as well. Words are a fickle things, such the Elves told me and I have learned. Meanings can be changed with intent.”

Aragorn remembered his outburst and filled in the blank. “I commanded you to live. I said that I promised to protect you and begged you to not make me an oath breaker.”

“Aye, that could have been what changed the words in the balance of the earth,” Boromir nodded after a moment of contemplation. “The Elves also said the athelas on my wounds kept me breathing until they arrived. It seemed you were not the only one, who came to the aid of Gondor when the horn was blown.”

“They transported you by boat,” Aragorn suddenly clicked the pieces together. “The horn of Gondor came to the water by hands of the Elves.”

“It has been found?” asked Boromir excitedly. “I thought it had been lost to the Orcs.”

“The horn has been found, brother,” said Faramir, “but it is cloven in two. We read it as an omen of your demise.”

“Oh,” Boromir said and Aragorn heard in that sound the guilt how something beyond his reach impacted his loved ones so. “And what of my bracers? They too disappeared.”

At that Aragorn blushed and he saw in the corner of his eye Faramir grin like a young soldier that he had only been with his brother. He nodded to Aragorn stealthily and Aragorn decided that his Steward should be more loyal than this.

“I took them,” he explained.

Boromir smiled in understanding – Aragorn loved how he got to know all the smiles his love held, now that there was again reason to smile – and fumbled under his tunic to reveal the Evenstar. “The stars of the Elves are not easily given away and I would not have it lost while under my care.”

Aragorn had no words for the affection that rushed about his heart in that moment. All he could find within himself to do, was to rush forwards and hug Boromir tightly. “Keep it safe forevermore?” he asked.

“Of course, my love,” Boromir whispered back.

They held one another like this, until a small cough from Faramir made them untangle quickly. Faramir smiled: “It is good to see you both happy. There is much I need to catch up on between you two it seems, but for now I am merely glad for you both. Still, I wish to hear more of the Elves and how you returned to us.”

“Ah, aye, of course,” said Boromir, bouncing back like a man used to getting up again. “As I stated before, I recall little. I slept for weeks, recovered tied to my bed for many more. The forest is fading, the Elves are leaving, still they cared for me until I could travel once moreand while I will never fully heal, it is so much more than I could have hoped for.”

“Never fully heal?” asked Faramir with a frown.

“Aye, my condition is not what it used to be and I feel the scars when the weather changes,” Boromir answered. “But enough about me. Many strange rumors have reached my ears when coming here, yet I know not which ones to believe. Tell me about your journey.”

First Farmir talked, he told Boromir of Minas Tirith every since he had left so many days ago. He told of the fall of Osgiliath, their father being poisoned by Sauron, the battle in the City and the rebuilding of the walls.

Boromir was quiet when he heard of their father’s fall from grace. There was pain in his eyes, yet also pity and understanding.

If history had been a little different, it would have been him, being consumed.

Aragorn took his hand. He did not care for the what-if’s of history when he had Boromir right here, untouched. He did not fall to the Ring and his own body then and Aragorn would not let him fall to his mind now.

He got a smile for his efforts, a real smile that made his eyes crinkle, as Boromir squeezed his hand. Aragorn did not yet know where they would go, but if life could be like this, then it was worth every hardship he had undergone.

They kept their fingers interlocked until Faramir was done telling himall hehad missed. Then it was up to Aragorn to fill in Boromir on all he had not witnessed of the Fellowship.

Where would be start? Would he start with how they fell apart? How Gandalf came back? Would Boromir know of that? Should he start with Rohan and Helm’s deep? Or with the march on the Black Gate and Frodo’s success?

“We went after Merry and Pippin,” he finally began at Boromir’s last mission. “Frodo was not meant for our help beyond that point and went with Sam to Mordor. Yet we could not abandon our Fellowship entirely. We crossed through Rohan to Fangorn forest in four days, yet we did not meet them again for a long time after.”

And so Aragorn told Boromir of their encounter with Éomer, Gandalf’s return, the poisoning of Théoden King, the fight of Helm’s deep and the Ents in Isengard where they were reunited with Merry and Pippin once more.

“I am glad the little ones did not make it to Isengard with those Orcs,” Boromir said. “Have they made it through the war unscathed?”

“All of the Fellowship survived, love,” Aragorn assured him. “Gimli and Legolas are traveling together now and the Hobbits have been escorted home by Gandalf himself. They are safe.”

Boromir’s was relieved at this news. Aragorn knew that it was because the Son of Gondor thought himself to be responsible of their failing as Fellowship and found he had failed the Hobbits at Amon Hen. It were demons Aragorn could not take away in a day.

“You should write them once you have rested,” Aragorn said. “Pippin especially missed you dearly as did Merry. Frodo and Sam had parted before they heard of your death, but would also love to hear of your return.”

“I do not think Frodo would wish to hear of me, Aragorn,” Boromir smirked lopsidedly, but there was no mirth to be found.

“He would. You cannot rest before you have heard of him and not confronting him will hurt the both of you,” Aragorn told him, deciding to be stubborn about this until Boromir had listened to him.

Boromir looked at Aragorn and the smirk morphed in to exasperation and fondness. “I will think of it, you stubborn man.” Aragorn smiled at that. “I think it comes with the City.”

He got an eyeroll for his cheek, before Boromir requested he’d tell him more. So, Aragorn continued of the ride to Gondor with the Rohirrim, their departure to the Dwimorberg and their dealing with the King of the Dead.

At that part Boromir shivered, yet found it within himself to joke: “I am glad I fell, for I would have followed you there and hated every moment.” A joke that fell flat for Aragorn and Faramir, who had not the mind to joke about Boromir’s recent return just yet.

Aragorn told him of the Seafarers coming from the South, making Boromir curse for a strategic move in a war already won. Still, he smiled once Aragorn told him of Gimli and Legolas’ squabble at the waterside.

The fight for Minas Tirith he kept brief, not wanting to linger on the horror’s of that day when they were just getting erased from the City, while being deeply ingrained in the psyche of her people.

He also did not waste many words on the days after, for he did not wish to answer again for the choices made about his health. He had heard it from Legolas, Gandalf and Elrond already and he knew Boromir would otherwise be added to the list.

Naturally he could not bespared the lecture that came from the revelation about his march on the Black Gate and the deciding hand he had played in the choice.

“I know it was foolish, Boromir,” Aragorn said. “And it was because it was foolish, it had to happen. Sauron had to think us cocky. He had to believe we would only try this with the Ring in our possession, for we needed to give Frodo and Same safe passage.”

“It was a strategically sound move, Boromir, no matter what your soldier instincts will tell you,” Faramir backed Aragorn up.

“Sam told me how the Eye suddenly moved off them and the lands streamed empty.” Aragorn recalled. “The sacrifices made that day were not made in vain. It was the last fight we fought against the Dark Lord.”

A hush fell over the room as all three thought over the last sentence.

It was a truth all had known, but none had really faced. Yet there it was, as a defense to an outrage to something rational that put loved ones into danger, even if it had already passed. They would no longer have to fight the Dark Lord.

“Huh,” Boromir said after the moment of silence. “That was sentence I never dreamed of hearing.”

They all snorted at that. What started out a small sound of humor soon turned into a joyous waterfall of relief and disbelief, until they were out of breath as they tried to straighten themselves, but kept bursting into laughter again.

“What a world we live that we can see the light after the cloud has passed,” said Faramir. “A new sun shines on all of us.”

“Aye, today is good and I hope there will be many more like it to remember,” Boromir agreed, toasting his mug of ale to what Faramir had said.

As they drank they caught up Boromir to the rebuilding efforts. The help from the Elves and the Dwarfsas well as the people themselves, who remade the White City into something transcended of her former glory.

“When my heart told me I would not see Minas Tirith as it was, I could not have hoped that it would be because it was restored to her former glory of the days of old,” smiled Boromir as he looked over the City from the window.

Aragorn looked over the City as well. Back then he wished he could have seen Minas Tirith through Boromir’s eyes, but his own eyes had found the wonders described to him by Boromir in his own ways.

He had seen the endurance and strength of men, not in the market places or on the lands and in the barracks, but in the tents where the houses were no more, among the nurses in the Houses of Healing and the ones tasked with clearing out the bodies.

He heard the love for their home as Boromir held it as they talked to him of their neighborhoods and needs. He saw it when they bowed their heads, before they rolled up their sleeves to work alongside him.

While he had not Boromir’s eyes to look at the City, he had his words to guide him to her beauty and see it for his own.

“Her beauty is truly unrivaled now,” Faramir agreed with his brother as he snapped Aragorn out of his musings. “Yet there is much to do still. The Lords of the Guilds have shown much understanding at the delay for Boromir’s return, but they will wish to meet you again soon, my King. I cannot give you more than today.”

Before today, Aragorn relished in his busy schedule that left little room for his mind to think, but with Boromir returned, he could not help but wish for a bit more time.

“I understand, Faramir,” Aragorn sighed. “Try to see if you can fit them in soon?”

“Of course, my King,” Faramir bowed and excused himself, as he left he patted Boromir on the shoulder, before Boromir hugged him. Faramir said: “Once the King is busy again, we will catch up more. I’ll leave you two now.”

When he had left, they sat there. For all Aragorn had wanted Boromir’s time and attention, now that he had it, he did not know what to do with it. In his mind, he was wrapped up in Boromir’s arms, head upon his chest to hear his heart beat steady. Yet he knew not if it was welcome and he floundered.

“It seems the skills of a Ranger served you well,” Boromir’s ability to remember details in conversation came up once more, as he recalled what had been said to him in Moria.

“Aye,” grinned Aragorn, “though some nobles do not know what to make of stillness that I have left of when I was observing prey and reading the signs. They think me unsettling.”

“They probably think you part Elven magician,” laughed Boromir, finding hilarity in Aragorn upsetting the stuffy nobles of his youth. “I hope Faramir keeps you from scaring them away completely.”

“He has been a great guide in the worlds of politics,” Aragorn said. “I hope you do not mind that he has taken your place in your absence. We knew not of your return back then.”

“I do not blame you at all, in fact I am quite happy with the decision,” Boromir replied. “He has always been much better at this part then I was, but back then we needed a Captain and that was my forte. I would wish for him to keep the position, if all are in agreement. I am not cut out for that work and I leave it in capable hands.”

“And what of I?” Aragorn asked, not wanting to know the answer, but also desperate to hear it. “Are my hands capable or was your declaration only the one of a dying man? You have not seen me as leader in battle, nor with your people or in negotiation. Would you make the same judgment now?”

“Aragorn,” Boromir took his hands and looked into his eyes intently, “I have never left my City in better hands.”

It was a confirmation, he hadn’t know he needed so much until he had gotten it. There was no one in this City he trusted to tell him how he was doing. So, having the one person he was trying to prove himself to, validate his work was liberating.

“Come here,” Boromir gesturedfor him to sit down next to him. “You do not have to be the King here unless you want to, Aragorn. Let us be a Ranger and a Solider, just for a moment.”

He did so gratefully, letting Boromir wrap him up in his strong arms and hide him from the world and his responsibilities for a while.

They sat in silence for many minutes, staring out of the window over the City. Aragorn was completely tucked into Boromir’s side, one leg over his and arms around his middle as Boromir leaned his head upon his.

“What will we do now?” Aragorn asked finally.

“About what, love?” asked Boromir in return.

“About us,” Aragorn clarified. “My heart has been heavy since our departure and I have not been able to let go of all I felt for you. I cannot express how much your return has lightened my spirit, but I cannot forget how I mourned you as a dead man.”

“There were many nights in Lothlórien where I too, did not know of your fate, but I always had the hope and belief you would make it,” Boromir replied. “I cannot begin to think of anyone ever taking the place you hold in my heart. We started as strangers before, Aragorn-love. I will not let time passed come between us after everything. If I have power to do so, I will do anything to get to know you again.”

“Let us start there then,” Aragorn smiled. “As strangers with a history and much love in our hearts. I too, will do anything in my power to keep you in my heart.”

“For that I am glad, though I hope that this time our strangers can involve more kissing then it did before. I missed you during our time apart.”

“Boromir the Bold is a well deserved name,” teased Aragorn as he leaned in, “but I will allow your transgression for speaking out of term against the King.”

The other leaned in as well and breathed on his lips: “Oh, so it is like that now? You’ve grown into your role too well, Lord Aragorn.”

He just hummed and awaited Boromir’s reply to that.

“Very well, my King.”

Aragorn had not the time to name him as future consort, thinking it too forwards until the moment had passed and his lips were already seized, taking all coherency from his mind.

Yet that did not matter, for they were not running to their doom and out of time. He had many years ahead of him to tell Boromir all he thought of him and wished for their future, for there now was a future they could work towards.

Like their lands, there was still much to heal and rebuild. Much that was old that was no more and much that was new yetto be discovered. And that was part of the journey they willingly went on, since it was the way to arrive at where they wished to go.

Not that any of that mattered to Aragorn now, with Boromir’s lips pressed against his own. He was far away from this Kingdom, only present in the bubble of him and Boromir, existing alongside each other.

Tomorrow they would see where this new road would lead them. Tomorrow they would start to heal and relearn what it meant to be them in this new context.

For now they were Aragorn and Boromir, who had met each other and were begrudging traveling companions. Back then they had just watched one another mesmerized yet confused by what they saw and felt.

Here they had so much more questions and a thousand extra answers.

Aragorn could not have known where the road from Rivendell hadtaken him, but it was a road he would gladly walk again if it meant it would end like this. Back then it had merely been hard not to like Boromir and now Aragorn was forever grateful for the moment he had first laid his eyes upon the Son of Gondor.

~~

A/N:

Btw, I want y’all to know that this was my outline for this fic: confess lothlorien > fight anduin > thinks boro dead > in gondor see burdens for him that boro was carrying > more guilt > boro alive yay

I love Arwen, okay. I am a gay bitch and I watched her be badass on a horse at an impressionable age, okay. I love her. I could not find a way to integrate her into the story. I did not say that last time, but yeah. Sorry. She chilled in the undying land and had a great time. (maybe became a hot lesbian bc she deserved that, got a hot gf)

Also I am very emo for the idea that all the choices Aragorn made, in the end worked towards Boromir living. Boromir was such a symbol for how he failed Gondor and to have him succeed by making the right choices and getting Boromir back through them as well makes me very uwu

Btw, rip to Faramir for third wheeling their flirting lmao

Extra:

Ar: “I almost send you down the river in a boat as burial”

Bo: “I’m very glad u didn’t, bc that would have been awkward.”

But also the emotional impact of the guilt he felt for Boromir’s send off being taken from his shoulders because if he had done anything different, he would have been the one to kill Boromir, so he actually did the right thing where he thought he had made yet another mistake

[moonlitceleste]

New Year’s Day

Timari January Day 1 - New Years Day

@timari-month-event

Note: Happy New Year everyone!! This fic is loosely based off of New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift.

There's glitter on the floor after the party Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor You and me from the night before but

Don't read the last page But I stay when you're lost and I'm scared and you're turning away I want your midnights But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

“Mmph.” Marinette tried and failed to muffle her tired groan through the thick fabric of Tim’s coat.

It was 2:00 a.m. on New Year’s, and the designer was just about ready to go into hibernation.

Steph had prompted (read: bugged) Bruce into throwing a party, and he eventually complied. It was relatively small and nowhere near as extravagant as the annual Wayne Gala, but one could argue that was a good thing. There was no need to uphold a reputation or make conversation with stuffy rich people, after all. Judging by the rambunctious behavior that had occurred all night, the restricted guest list definitely seemed like a good thing.

Naturally, Marinette was invited—she was Tim’s girlfriend, although it was arguable she was part of the family regardless of her relationship with him.

Her closeness to the rest of the Waynes was evident in the way she was immediately pulled away for some “girl time” upon entering the manor. Similarly, Dick and the rest of the boys stole Tim away for brotherly bonding.

They chatted, played games, ate cake, and eventually joined the rest of the family for the countdown. Joyous shouts and yells filled the manor, and Marinette stole a kiss from Tim when the clock hit midnight.

The party didn’t stop there, though; from then on, it was drinking games and group activities. Well, drinking games for everyone but Damian. He received a glass of sparkling grape juice instead. He wasn’t very happy about being “treated like a baby,” according to his words, but Marinette took her own glass of the substitute and joined him. She had some important designs to work on tomorrow, and she really didn’t want to wake up with a hangover.

After a while, people started going their separate ways again. Some couples had taken to a room in order to ring in the new year together; others decided to split up into groups and do other activities. Dick dragged Marinette to the gym to show her a cool gymnastics trick he had devised, and the rest of the night was spent hopping rooms to find people and make conversation.

The excitement couldn’t last forever, though, and soon enough the adrenaline started to wear. After an obvious change in the atmosphere, Marinette decided to wander the manor in search of Tim.

She scoured far and wide but failed to find him in the unnecessarily large residence. Rather than continue to wander aimlessly, she decided to wait in one spot until he found her. Sending a text would have been more logical, but her brain didn’t seem to be functioning correctly through its tired haze.

Now, Marinette was standing in the middle of the Wayne Manor living room. The din of celebration had long faded, leaving way for a relatively undisturbed silence. The area bustling with movement just hours earlier was now empty, aside from her and Jason, who was passed out on the couch. She couldn’t tell whether it was from drowsiness or alcohol consumption.

“You tired?”

Marinette yelped softly at the person who had sneaked up behind her. She whirled around, startled, and met Tim’s face. He was mid-laugh, no doubt finding amusement in her reaction. She crossed her arms and pouted, but she really was glad to see him.

Marinette had only spent a few fleeting moments with him that night; she hadn’t really had the chance due to his siblings whisking her away at every opportunity. She didn’t mind—the rest of the Waynes were fun to be around. Maybe a little too fun, because now she was absolutely exhausted.

She fell into Tim’s arms with ease and buried her face in his neck, nodding in response to his initial question.

“Let’s go, then.”

Marinette smiled, pulling back to grab his hand. She nearly started walking, but paused and frowned at the living room.

There were streamers strewn across the floor, alongside metallic confetti, glitter, and glass bottles. Board game pieces were thrown in a haphazard pile, and there was a half-eaten cake on the table. It was one of many. The two Marinette baked had disappeared remarkably fast, but Stephanie had bought a large one from the supermarket as well.

“We should help clean up.”

Tim’s brow furrowed as he considered her statement.

“It’s fine. You didn’t make this mess anyway.”

“Just because I didn’t make it doesn’t mean I can’t help! Besides, you’re not going to let Alfred clean all this up, are you?”

“Actually, Bruce would make the rest of the family help. But you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

Tim rolled his eyes at her antics before giving her a peck on the lips. Marinette smiled and gave him an even longer kiss in return, arms snaking around to rest on his waist.

He reciprocated, but to her dismay, gently pushed her away after a minute.

“I thought you said you wanted to clean?”

Now it was Marinette’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The two moved forward to gather the various things littered around, trying their best to be quiet so as not to disturb the body draped over the couch.

Cleaning up bottles together after a New Year’s party probably wasn’t what one would consider romantic or fun, but Marinette wouldn’t trade this for the world.

You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi I can tell that it's going to be a long road I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe Or if you strike out and you're crawling home

Marinette yawned for the millionth time that night, hands flying up to rub at her eyes tiredly.

She could feel Tim’s chest rumble as he chuckled, and she relished in the heat his body provided. 

Although the back of a sketchy Gotham taxi was a far cry from her ideal cuddling place, she couldn’t complain—the chilly weather gave her an excuse to stay close to him. Marinette leaned back, snuggling deeper into her boyfriend’s chest.

She startled at the brief warmth atop her head as he pressed a kiss on her crown. The designer melted at the sweet gesture and turned around, twisting her body to meet Tim’s ice-blue eyes. He smiled at her tenderly, a genuine one she loved seeing on his face, and she sent back a nose wrinkle in return.

He let out a silent laugh at her antics and lifted their intertwined hands, giving them a kiss. This boy was going to break her if he kept being so charming.

He leaned forward and rubbed their noses together in an eskimo kiss before giving her a peck on the lips.

Marinette nearly whined at his show of affection. The things he did to her.

She turned back around, but only halfway, so her side was laying against Tim rather than her back like before. She would have kissed him again, but she doubted either of them wanted to be caught making out by the taxi driver.

Closing her eyes, she let herself relax, knowing she was safe in Tim’s arms. And when he squeezed her hand one, two, three times, she squeezed right back.

I love you.

Don't read the last page But I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or you're making mistakes I want your midnights But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

“Wait here.”

Marinette tilted her head in confusion as Tim quickly walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of their living room.

The two had just gotten home to their shared apartment and set their thing down. After an exhausting night, what more could he have planned?

Her questions were answered when Tim rushed back into the room, Bluetooth speaker in hand. It was pink, the one Marinette used to play music whenever she was baking. Sometimes Tim would join in, and they’d twirl around in the kitchen and laugh, spatula in hand.

She watched as he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a few times; seconds later, a delicate melody filtered through the speaker. It was a slow tune—not one she recognized, but the piano notes made for a romantic and dreamy sound.

“May I have this dance?”

Marinette turned to see Tim bent forward at the waist, one arm outstretched like a Disney prince ready to sweep her away. She giggled at his cheesiness and placed her hand in his.

He pulled her forward smoothly, his other arm finding its way around her waist in a classic waltz position.

They stepped off and moved in sync with the music, slowly but surely. Although she wasn’t the best dancer, Tim made it effortless. They glided over the living room floor so smoothly that Marinette felt like a princess at a ball.

It was their own little bubble of bliss, and she could stay there forever, lost in the moment, lost in Tim’s eyes.

And oh, his eyes. She loved all of him, but there was something she adored so much about them. Maybe it was the determined twinkle present whenever he had figured something out, or the happy glint they assumed when he laughed, or the way they softened ever so slightly whenever he looked at her.

Marinette smiled and joined both hands behind his neck. Tim caught on quickly and circled both arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. She closed her eyes and tucked her head under his chin, swaying side to side with the music.

They both had a lot of things to do tomorrow, but right now the rest of the world didn’t matter. It was just Marinette and Tim—her best friend, her partner, her world—and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @bluesimani @enternalempires @flower-girll @freesportspalacesalad @glastwime859 @h1sss @heart-charming @jalaluvsu @nathleigh @too0bsessedformyowngood

[thebonggirll]

Chapter 40 - Not Again

Chapter 39

It was time to sleep, but they wanted to celebrate a bit longer and decided to watch a movie together. Y/N walked towards the sofa and noticed everyone huddled together. She noticed Bakugou along with Kirishima, and the rest of his gang talking on the left side. She looked away as her eyes searched for her best friend.

Kyoka was walking towards her holding two tubs of ice-cream. "Here you go," she said and handed her one. She didn't know whether this was a coincidence or not, but the time was perfect to have an ice-cream considering how dull her mood is.

"What did he tell you?"

"Huh?" Y/N noticed Kyoka, who took her hand and dragged her a bit away from the sofa, "Nothing. Just tired."

"Don't lie to me dude. I saw both of you leaving together and now your whole face looks gloomy."

"I guess I was a bit.." she chuckled and said, "...shy when I thought of how he was calling me. The rest of our conversation was pretty bad. He was really straightforward about how he didn't care about me at all."

"He said he didn't care about you?" Kyoka asked, her voice laced with anger, "Fuck this dude. Why do you even like him?!"

"As if I want to, knowing how he is," she muttered, "I try not to but it doesn't really work that way."

"I know. Its just that how is he so ungrateful after you saved his ass? Like wasn't that enough for him to see how much you care about him?"

"I don't know," Y/N sighed and turned around, looking at the blond.

"Don't sit with them today. I get it that you need to look normal but at this point your feelings are more important. I know it's gonna make you uncomfortable. We will sit separately from the rest of them."

Y/N smiled and they sat together far away to the right, which surely got noticed by the rest of the class. She felt embarrassed and self-conscious from their stare. Maybe it would've been better if they sat with the rest. She was about to suggest it when Ochaco walked towards them and sat beside her.

"He said something, didn't he?"

"Well, you know how to pick up the signs huh?" Y/N chuckled.

"God, I don't know what happened but if your mood is that down then he was probably a huge dick to you."

"You have no idea," she sighed, "Enough about him. Let's talk about you darling. You looked really jealous out there you know."

Ochaco blushed and looked away at the television, trying her best to ignore the teasing looks from her friends.

"Come on, what do you plan on doing?" Y/N asked, "I mean, do you want to make a move?"

Ochaco laughed and said, "Honestly...no, I'm not sure. After watching you, I kind of don't want to until I know for sure that he likes me."

"Oh boy, don't let my disastrous one-sided love affect you! I mean, I know Midoriya and I know that he'd probably love to date you."

"...Probably?"

"Look, we don't talk much anymore okay? We kind of drifted apart."

"Oh no...is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah everything's good. We know we have each other's back but we just don't share the same bond anymore. Nothing to worry about."

"I'll tell you what happened. We fucking grew up and now we have our own ambitions to fulfill," Kyoka said, "which is why I'm pretty sure none of us want to date at the moment."

"That's not true-" Y/N said but got interrupted by Kyoka.

"You're telling me if Bakugou came in your way of fulfilling your dream, you won't cut him off your life."

Y/N was quiet for a moment and said, "Well...I won't...cut him off my life."

"But your ambition still comes first, right?"

"Yeah," Ochaco and Y/N replied in unison.

She thought that she can handle having a relationship while focusing on her own career. But the real point is, if her feelings got in the way of achieving her dreams, Y/N knows she will distance herself from the distraction. And it probably applied the rest of the class too. She sighed and concentrated on the delicious ice-cream.

Yeah...maybe it was time to focus on her career now.

She wasn't the kind to cry so easily, but when it finally dawned to her how Bakugou didn't even care a little bit about her concerns, she couldn't control herself. Sure, he was a bit insensitive but she expected him to atleast consider her feelings as a friend. At this point Y/N wasn't even sure if he considered her as a friend.

Y/N rubbed off her tears, her eyes and face looked swollen. She looked at the mirror and her mind drifted to negative thoughts. She wondered why anyone would even like her. I mean, sure she had friends but there isn't really one guy who she's actually really close to now.

She shook her head and slapped her cheeks, knowing these thoughts would only be harmful. And the first things she needed to do from now on is to handle these self-criticism thoughts. Work on it, and get better.

Huh. Easier said than done.

She got up and looked at her empty water bottle. Y/N picked it up and walked out her room. As soon she shut the door, she heard footsteps. It was dark but it wasn't that hard to comprehend who it was, going by their hairstyle. She noticed him groan and stumble a bit.

"What are you doing so late?" she said and flashed the light from her phone on his face and gasped. He had bruises and clearly, somebody beat him up pretty bad.

"Yeah...Bakugou and I had something to talk about," he said squinting his eyes.

"About All Might?" she asked.

"H-How do you know?"

"Well, he talked to me about it after dinner."

"Oh...so that's why.."

"What?"

"N-Nothing. I think you should go see him now-"

"No, he can deal with it himself."

"But-"

She didn't hear what he said next. Y/N walked towards the staircase and stopped by her tracks. For a minute though. She was taken aback by the figure that was walking upstairs. She stepped aside, and started going down but a hand stopped her from moving.

She was now too scared to look at him. Afraid of forgetting what she promised to herself today. Afraid of him...seeing her face right now. The little light that came from the window made it clear who it was ofcourse.

"Where are you going?"

Y/N pulled her hand and started walking downstairs again. No, she wasn't going to respond and act like everything's fine between them.

But then, she couldn't make her legs move from whatever happened. Everything was fine when she went to the kitchen and started to fill up her bottle. Until she felt hands around her waist. Her heartbeat fastened as well as her breathing. She was afraid, her tears could come out anytime now. And she didn't want to look weak in front of him again.

She tried to remove his arm, but it only made him tighten. "I..I did what you said," he said with his voice quivering, "I talked to him."

Y/N decided to be mature. He was vulnerable at the moment and he didn't know what he was doing probably. She sighed and faced him. She noticed his face as badly injured as Midoriya.

"I told you to talk, not kill each other," she said. She got nothing but silence in response and said, "You should take some rest."

He was quiet. Y/N finally looked up at him, at his eyes and a blush covered her face. He...was staring at her.

"You should go-" she got interrupted when she felt his hands slide on her face. He rubbed his fingers under her eyes. Y/N felt like her heart was about to burst any moment now. He brought her face closer to him and closed his eyes.

And she did too. She felt excited but scared at the same time.

Y/N felt his forehead, touch hers and a sigh escape from his lips. She opened her eyes and looked up at him and realized how close they were. Their noses were touching. She noticed his eyes drift from her eyes...to her lips.

Gasping, she pulled away from him and cleared her throat, "Y-you're tired now. You should get some rest. You can't think straight."

Y/N rushed away holding her water bottle and it's cap, without a care about the water spilling. She ran inside her room and locked the door.

No. Not again. It won't mean anything to him. She was determined this time. It was time for her to focus on her career.

Time to move on.

END OF SEASON III

Chapter 41

SEASON - III

SEASON - IV

Ignite

MASTERLIST

Tags:  @honeylemondragonemperor @mikithekiki @kkikiss @garnet-redtailedhero

[bubblesuga]

Leave Me Lonely

A/N: I’m mad so here’s some angst that turned into smut :)

Prompt: The reader broke up with Yoongi six months ago. Just as she feels like she’s able to move on, he pops up on her doorstep with watery eyes and whiskey laced breath.

Warnings: alcohol, angsty yoongi, cussing, crying, squirting, unprotected sex (don’t do this), mentions of Plan B, oral (F receiving), riding, yoongi and the reader are a mess and don’t know what to do 

Yoongi didn’t know what he was doing here, or how he ended up here. He just knew that he drank a little too much, and his feet carried him from the bar to here. 

Your apartment. 

He could navigate his way here with his eyes closed, which he practically did because he had no idea how he got here. The alcohol running through his veins was thanks in part to the lovely members in his band, insisting on celebrating their comeback with a lot of drinks and food. Unfortunately for him, that also meant that the alcohol was breaking down a barrier that he built up months ago when the two of you broke up. 

It burned. He already had frustrated tears in his eyes just staring up at your balcony, debating whether or not it was actually worth it to walk up the stairs and knock on your door. 

Sober Yoongi would stop him. Sober him would rationalize the break up, saying that there was no reason to bother you and that you more than likely had already moved on with your life especially with how quickly you managed to cut him off. 

Drunk Yoongi is a different story though. Drunk Yoongi is mad that you left him so easily, seemingly unscathed by putting him through one of the worst things he had ever experienced. Drunk Yoongi is upset that you left when he needed you most, when you were the one thing holding him up from barreling into a whirlwind of depression and anxiety. Drunk Yoongi is sad, because sober him loves you still. 

Annoyed, Yoongi reaches up and wipes the tear that slipped from his eye. Namjoon was probably already looking for him, and he knew that he should get back before the cops were called, but with ever step backward he was taking two steps forward until he eventually found himself gripping the railing of the stairs. 

“Fuck.” He mutters to himself, taking one last glance downward before he began his ascent up the stairs. 

The third floor seemed to take way longer to get to than before. Maybe it was the way his feet collided with the edge of every step or his hand having to constantly catch himself from stumbling backward. Through the perseverance of his stubborn mind, he made his way up the stairs and with out thinking about it twice, he knocked on your door. 

Well, pounded. He pounded on your door. 

“(Y/N),” he whined, his voice husky, “please open up.” 

The pounding turned to gentle taps when he felt his eyes grow heavy, leaning his face against the door while his finger nails tapped against the door. 

Just as he was about to give up, to stumble his way back down the stairs and forget that this whole thing happened by morning, he felt the weight of the door shift and before he knew it, he was on the ground in the doorway of your apartment. 

“Yoongi?!” You yell, stepping backward when you heard the thud of his body hitting the ground. 

Yoongi groans loudly, picking himself up off the ground, “Your apartment is cold.” 

You roll your eyes, “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Yoongi could already tell that this was a mistake. Okay, maybe he knew that it was a mistake before but his internalized fight with himself was much too loud for him for him to comprehend anything that was actually happening. 

“I-” he groans as he grabs his head, “I wanted to see you.” His eyes traveled up from the floor to your face. You still looked the same, but now you had lighter hair and it was longer than before. Your face was still the same though, the concerned curve of your brow still rested above your eyes whenever Yoongi did something stupid. God damn, though, you were still just as beautiful. 

“Why? Why on Earth would you think that coming here was okay, Yoongi?” 

Even your voice was the same. The way your lips pursed and the curve of your tongue while you scolded him was still the same. It hit him, the familiarity of you was the reason he was here. He spent so much of his 20s traveling the world that the concept of having a ‘home’ was indescribable. His home was you, because everywhere he went he had you to lean back on, the scent of your Strawberry conditioner in his nostrils and your laughter filling his ears. 

“Because I miss you.” Yoongi shrugged, plopping onto the couch. Your jaw dropped, throwing your hands up in the air as you kicked the door closed. It was close to midnight, you had work in the morning, and you had your ex-boyfriend sat on your couch with red-rimmed eyes. 

“We’re broken up.” You whisper, sitting opposite of him and allowing your face to fall into your hands. 

“Why?” He questions. 

“Why what?” 

“Why are we broken up?” Yoongi’s eyebrow raised in question, his hands clasped together in front of him. His mouth was dry while looking at you, the feeling of having you close yet again was somewhat overwhelming. 

“I told you,” you clench your jaw, “your life was too hectic for me. I couldn’t keep up, I just wanted a sense of normalcy.” 

“Normalcy?” Yoongi scoffs, his earlier anger returning, “You want fucking normal? You think I asked for all this shit to be thrown at me? That’s fucking laughable, that you think I wanted this.” 

“Yoongi, I-” 

“No, let me talk for once,” he stands, throwing his hands around wildly, “you walked out on me because you wanted to be normal? How fucking boring.” 

You swallowed, the sting of his words setting in while you stared at the floor.

“What happened to the woman I fell in love with when we were 20 years old? Where did she go? She was willing to go on every adventure with me, she was there for me when I spent hours upon hours recording and re-recording songs that I wrote, about her might I add, and came home exhausted. She was the one who helped me navigate fame!” Yoongi was yelling now. Although it had been six months without you, his anger was just as futile. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything in so long. 

“And what about me?” You spoke quietly, your eyes not leaving the floor. 

“What do you mean, what about you?” Yoongi’s fists clenched and the stench of whiskey was far stronger than you realized before. 

“Well, you sat there saying all the things I did for you. How I was your rock, and I helped you with everything. What about me, Yoongi? You were so caught up in your own feelings that you never stopped to think about how it was affecting me. To be entirely honest,” your nails dug into the palms of your hands while you were trying to prevent yourself from getting in his face, “it was exhausting to try and help you through it while never having any help myself. A relationship is a two way street, and you seem to forget that part.” 

Yoongi was quiet again, sitting back down slowly on the couch while an emotion you couldn’t read was on his face. Immediately, he brought his nails up to his teeth, gnawing anxiously at them. Fuck, he thought, I’m an idiot. 

“Well?” You gesture to him, your eyebrows raised.

He didn’t respond. 

“I don’t even now why I’m entertaining this conversation. I’ll let you crash on my couch tonight but I want you out once your sober enough to get home. I’m going to sleep.” You speak, standing up from the ottoman. You went to your closet and grabbed a pillow and blanket, taking it out to Yoongi who still sat in the same position you left him in a few moments ago. 

Placing the pillow at the edge of the couch, you couldn’t help but feel your heart hurt for the man beside you. You knew that navigating the world of the suddenly famous was difficult, you watched it happen for years, and it took a toll on you as well. You were mentally exhausted, and you never felt like you could talk to Yoongi about your problems because his seemed to be so much more. You felt foolish if anything to try and compare your co-worker yelling at you to Yoongi’s legs giving out from practicing for 12 hours straight. 

Wordlessly, you pat the pillow to soften it, giving him one last glance and turning away while you heard the crack of his teeth biting into a nail. Old habits die hard. 

~*~*~

Yoongi tried his hardest to sleep, but when six in the morning rolled around, he realized there was no use. 

Leaning over to the notebook on the table beside the couch, he flipped to an open page and began writing. If there was anything he was good at, it was putting his words to paper. 

It felt like he was writing for hours, his mind clouding over with thoughts of you as he wrote. Sober now, he had the ability to properly reflect on the words that you were saying last night. It was difficult to discern last night. He was listening, and he heard every word, but he couldn’t get passed the tone that you were using. It was so mature, like you had aged mentally in the six months more than you had in the entirety of your relationship. He feared that he was the one holding you back from your full potential. 

After what seemed like ages, he placed the pen on top of the open notebook on your coffee table, and stood. His feet took a moment to carry him out the door, but he made sure to lock it as he left, hoping you wouldn’t just throw away the note without reading it. 

It didn’t take long for you to wake up after that, stretching your limbs before remembering the events of last night. Quickly, you hopped out of bed and rushed to the living room, scanning the area of the slept in empty couch. 

You sighed, but you weren’t sure if it was in relief or disappointment. Despite everything that happened last night, you still thought it was nice to see him. You had yet to admit it to anyone but yourself, but you missed him. 

You walked towards the coffee table, grabbing the notebook curiously and beginning to read. 

I’m sorry. 

It’s probably better for me to start it off like that than with anything else. I’m an idiot, and I’m so sorry for that. I was so caught up in everything happening that I never stopped to take the time to see how it may be affecting you. Sure, I wasn’t the only one experiencing this at the time so I wasn’t alone, but I felt so alone when I wasn’t with you. 

I used you as a shoulder to cry on, and you didn’t use me. I had no idea you were so hurt, and that’s my fault. You were my partner, you are the love of my life. I should have pulled my head out of my ass long enough to see that you needed me just as much as I needed you. 

I’m in no way trying to excuse my behavior. I’m just trying to explain my side of things. I’m in a better place now, as far as coping with fame goes. I don’t find it to be such a disaster anymore, I’m more comfortable with what fate has laid out for me. Well, everything but being away from you. I’m still working on trying to handle that.  

Thank you for letting me stay here. It warms my heart a little bit to know that you still care about me in some way and didn’t just throw me out on the street.

Although I know I was in the wrong here, I do hope you can forgive me. Even if you never talk to me again, I just want me to be one less thing that had you scorned. 

I still love you Yoongi.

You dropped your head once you were done reading, pinching the bridge of your nose. The sight of his handwriting alone made you emotional. You remembered seeing his scribbles on post it notes strewn across your apartment and his studio of random topics to write songs about. You always found his handwriting endearing. 

Taking in the words on the page, you re-read his sign off more times than you’d like to admit, your chest aching more and more with each time. 

“Fucking Yoongi,” you groan out into the empty room, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, then standing abruptly to get ready for work. 

As you showered, your mind was racing with thoughts of Yoongi. Of course you still loved him as well, but after careful consideration all those months ago, you realized it was better for you to take a bit of time for yourself and your mental health. 

Last night you were angry, and you said some things that weren’t entirely true. Yes, Yoongi did help you out when you were down from time to time. It just felt like your entire existence was spent helping Yoongi that it overshadowed the times he helped you. 

Admittedly you did leave him abruptly. The break up was filled with ‘I’m sorry’s and ‘It’s not you, it’s me’s. You told yourself that you had to get out then otherwise you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it. 

Being without him was so hard for so long, now that you felt like you were in a place where he wasn’t on your mind constantly, he pops up on your doorstep. He looked so damn good, too. Black hair (a stark contrast to the reddish brown you saw him in the day you broke up), black shirt and white jeans. He looked thinner, something that you always worried about with him, but he was still the same Yoongi that you love. 

His face didn’t leave your mind the entire day. The red-rimmed dark brown irises staring up at you in shock as you spewed on about your bullshit reasoning for leaving him. The way he just sat there and took it. The way he looked so defeated when you turned off the light and left him on your couch in the dark. 

After you got off of work, you sat in your car, staring at your phone. 

The contact name was changed from “Yoongles <3″ to just “MinY” a few months ago, something that it took you far too long to do. You couldn’t bring yourself to delete the contact, just in case. 

Sighing, you opened your messaging app and began typing. 

You: are you at genius lab right now? 

MinY: Yes. Please don’t come visit out of pity. 

You rolled your eyes, gnawing at your lip.

You: just let me come see you, dumbass. 

It took him a moment to reply, but when he did you unlocked your phone faster than you ever had before. 

MinY: ok. the passcode is the same.

The drive went by a lot quicker than you had anticipated. When you pulled into the parking lot of BigHit studios, anxiety filled you to the brim. Why were you doing this? What encouraged you to suddenly come here? How was staff going to react to you prancing back in there like you had so many times before? 

Clenching your keys tightly in your hand, you stared at the doors and continued to debate whether or not this was worth it. 

You had no clue what you were going to say, but you had to see him. 

Walking inside, you made it to the elevator successfully with no questions asked. Pressing the top floor button, the elevator stopped midway through and in walked Jimin. 

He didn’t seem to notice it was you at first, walking in while staring at his phone and noticing that the button was already pushed. He glanced your direction to see who needed to go to the top floor, his eyes going wide and his jaw dropping. 

“Wh- what are you doing here?” Jimin stuttered, shock washing over him in rolls. 

“I’m here to talk to Yoongi.” You say simply, clearing your throat and trying to avoid his eyes. You couldn’t help but feel like he must be mad at you for hurting his friend. 

Jimin didn’t speak again, only allowing you to walk out of the elevator and down the hall. Your eyes stayed on the floor, your arms crossed over your stomach in the process. You knew that people recognized you, but you just couldn’t face them before you talked to Yoongi. 

Yoongi was never one to be vocal about stuff, and you knew your break up never hit the media, but you couldn’t help but feel like everyone within the company was well aware of what happened. 

Stepping up to the door, muscle memory kicked in and before you could hesitate any longer, you were punching in the pass code and listening to the door unlock. 

You had walked into this scene many times before. Yoongi was sat in front of his piano, headphones on his head, his eyes closed as his fingers played silently across the keys. He was always so focused. 

Seeing this room again had images of you bringing in take out many times and massaging his shoulders while you told him to relax playing through your head. You glanced carefully at the black leather couch in the corner, unable to count how many times you and Yoongi had made love on there.

He still didn’t notice you, opening his eyes and scratching notes across the music sheets. You walked behind his chair silently, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling away quickly once you felt him jump. 

“Jesus fucking-” he turned and met your eyes, his facial expression softening immediately, “-sorry I thought you were Jungkook.” 

“It’s okay.” It was quiet. Both of you were just puddles of anxiety, and Yoongi’s eyes searched yours for any ounce of pity, but there was none. He couldn’t figure out why you wanted to come here, and it took every piece of him not to begin panicking when he initially saw your text. 

He knew if he looked directly into the eyes of his bandmates, he would tell them everything in a panic and they would try to talk him out of saying you could come here. 

“Still looks the same.” You say suddenly, looking around the studio. The shelves of plushies from fans made you smile, he always tried to keep everything that was given to him. You noticed that the mannequin holding the Chicago Bulls jersey now had a BT21 hat sat on top of it, with various chains dangling from it’s neck. Whether Yoongi liked to admit it or not, he took pride in the way his studio looked. 

“Yeah,” he inhales, “I like the aesthetic. Makes it feel like home.” 

Making conversation with Yoongi had always come to easily before. Now that you hadn’t seen him in half a year, it felt tense. Not necessarily awkward, you knew if the circumstances were different you two could talk for hours whether it be about songs he’s writing or projects you’re working on. He just kept looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something. 

When your eyes trailed along his desk, you saw the photographs lining along the side. They were mostly Polaroids of him and his bandmates, except for one framed picture of the two of you when you first began dating. 

The picture was taken on one of your many visits to the dorm, Yoongi’s arms wrapped tightly around you while he looked down at your sleeping figure. You knew Namjoon took the picture, and later teased Yoongi immensely for the amount of love and adoration in his eyes while you slept soundly with him so close to you. 

You haven’t slept that well since you broke up. 

Yoongi spotted where your eyes were staring, reaching over and putting the picture face down. Silently, he saw the pained look in your eyes as he did so, swallowing and slowly placing it back up. 

“W- why?” You asked softly, his expression unreadable while he stared down at the floor. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I still love you.” He didn’t look at you when he spoke, so your eyes went back to the photograph. 

Even in your sleep, your fingers clutched his arm around you, never wanting him to let go. Despite always feeling like he wasn’t there for you the way that you were there for him, you realized in that moment that his love language was different than yours. He silently supported you, loved you, cherished you. It was different from past relationships so you weren’t sure how you could see the signs. 

All this time, he was there for you in his own way, and you were too blind to see that.

You didn’t break your gaze away from the photograph until you felt a single tear slip from your eye. You moved quickly to wipe it away, but Yoongi had already seen. 

Normally he’d rush to comfort you, to pull you in his arms and allow you to cry it out on his shoulder, but he couldn’t right now. You weren’t his to comfort. 

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper softly, meeting his burning gaze. 

Again, he was unreadable. He only soaked in your words silently, before tossing his head back, “Why are you sorry?” 

“Because I didn’t see that you were there for me, just in your own way.” Another tear fell from your eyes. Yoongi had seen you cry before, but rarely. Every time, it was silent. He’d never seen sobs rack your body like you had seen him, but even this was enough to be jarring. 

“So I guess we were both a bit stuck in our own worlds, huh?” Yoongi spoke up after a moment, allowing you to silently soak in his words. 

It’s true. You were both so caught up in trying to navigate your own feelings that helping each other almost felt like a chore. Although you wanted to help each other, when your anxieties get overbearing it just makes it that much more difficult. 

“Past tense?” Your eyes were still on the picture. 

“Past tense for me. As I mentioned before, I’m in a better place than I was before, again besides the not having you around part.” He explains, suddenly feeling a little more relaxed than before. His nails weren’t being gnawed at constantly, instead his hands rested in his lap, clutched together. 

“I-” you begin, swallowing a choked sob, “I thought I was doing better without you.”

You could read Yoongi’s expression again. Sympathy crossed his brows, his eyes beginning to shine over with unshed tears while he watched you cover your mouth in an attempt to quiet your cries. It took everything in him not to reach forward and pull you into his arms. 

Then he couldn’t stop himself. 

Sliding his chair closer to yours, he hesitates for a moment before pulling you forward and into his arms. 

You fell into them so easily, your head falling onto his shoulder while your legs moved to straddle his thighs. He held you tightly, inhaling your scent while silent sobs racked your body.

“I’m so sorry,” you cry into his neck, “I’m so stupid.” 

All of your thoughts were a jumbled mess. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t properly think through leaving him, you wanted to tell him that you were so caught up in your own mind that you were being selfish. You wanted to shout it from the rooftops that you were the idiot who broke Min Yoongi’s heart, but your tongue wouldn’t form the words you so desperately wanted to say. 

“No you’re not, baby,” he strokes your back, “I did the same thing, remember? Our early 20s were a weird time for the both of us. We couldn’t expect perfection when we both had a lot of growing up to do still.” 

“You’re always so good with your words.” You pull away from his neck, noticing your tears on his shirt. Yoongi reached up and wiped away the wetness on your face with his thumbs. A sad, somber smile rested on his lips. It was the same one he had when you left him.

The memory makes more tears begin to fall. 

“P- please forgive me.” You whisper softly. 

“Oh baby,” Yoongi pulls you back in for another hug, “there’s no need to forgive each other because there’s nothing to forgive. We’re grown more as people, and we can both admit our mistakes.”

“I love you.” You breathe. 

Though it was something you said routinely when you were with him, it felt foreign on your lips to say again. 

“I love you too.” Yoongi responds, his hands stroking the back of your head. 

Then he pulls you down to him. You feel excitement rush through your body at the thought of his lips on yours again, but instead he presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

“What does this all mean?” You ask. 

“I don’t know yet,” Yoongi right now was such a contrast to last night. He was much more composed than before, and you no longer smelled whiskey on him, “I feel like we shouldn’t try to define what’s happening to us right now. If we hop into something too quickly, it won’t end well. I just know I want you in my life in some way.” 

You nod, wiping your nose. You took this as his way of saying that you were too close right now, so as you went to crawl off of his lap, his hands flew to your thighs and for the first time since you entered the room, his eyes seemed pleading. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you on me right now,” his fingers dug into your hips, “this is the first time I’ve touched you in so long. Please let me savor it.” 

Wordlessly, you move your hands to his wrists, guiding them up the sides of your body until they reached your cheeks. You embellish the feeling of his hands on your face, closing your eyes for a moment. 

His fingers were so long. You couldn’t help the images of his fingers knuckle deep in your heat flashing through your head. You opened your eyes to meet his, silently hoping he would begin to touch you again. You didn’t realize how starved for touch you were, but only his touch. 

Yoongi’s hands slipped off your face, trailing down your chest softly until he palmed both of your breasts in his large hands. You tossed your head back at the feeling, your tears long forgotten as you silently thanked yourself for wearing a thin bra today. 

“Do you want this?” He questions, his hands still kneading you. You looked down at him, unable to form words as you nodded. 

Yoongi moved his his hands underneath your shirt, slipping it over your head to expose your bra-clad chest. The minute your shirt was over your head, you couldn’t take it anymore. You gripped his face in your hands and slammed your lips onto his. 

The kiss was filled with so much need, but was also a silent apology. Yoongi was just as greedy as you were, his tongue darting out and into your mouth the moment you gasped at the feeling of him tugging at your nipples. 

The chair was too small for the two of you, so you tugged softly on the collar of his shirt to follow you to the couch. His lips didn’t leave yours as you moved, his hands unhooking your bra in the process and tossing it haphazardly. 

Yoongi fell on top of you when the back of your knees hit the couch, careful to catch his weight but unable to ignore how hard the sight of you shirtless in front of him was making him. Instinctively, he ground his hips into your spread legs, allowing you to feel him through the thick material of his jeans. 

“Please.” 

Yoongi took your plead as permission to slip your skirt and panties off of your hips. The sweet smell of your arousal immediately filled his nostrils. He thought he would burst through his zipper at the sight of you. Though your eyes were still rimmed with red from your earlier tears, the sadness was replaced with lust, need, and love. 

Yoongi slipped off the couch and pulled you towards the edge, moving your feet to each of his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” the word fell so effortlessly from his lips, “you’re so fucking wet.” 

“All for you.” You say, tutting your hips closer to his breath. 

Then Yoongi dove in. His tongue delved into your soft, pink flesh. You spread your lips for him, allowing him better access as his tongue wrapped around your swollen clit and sucked harshly. Your body convulsed at the feeling, finally feeling his fingers press into your entrance. 

Animalistic moans fell from your lips, your free hand flying to his hair and tugging harshly at the roots. This caused a groan to leave Yoongi’s throat, the vibration heating your core. 

“You’re still so loud,” he peaks up from you, his face half covered by your pelvic bone, “give me more, baby. Tell me how much you like it.” 

His fingers moved so much quicker now, his tongue lapping at you like it was his last meal. His words were enough to encourage you to scream his name as he curled fingers in just the right place, your orgasm rushing through your body in heated rolls. You didn’t even realize you were squirting until you unscrew your eyes open, glancing down to see Yoongi’s shirt and face soaked as he drank in your orgasm with blown out eyes. 

Something about the way his tongue kept finding itself on your clit as you rocked through your release made you come undone again seconds after the first. 

“Oh my god,” his hands shook at the sight in front of him, “I- I almost came in my pants. You’ve never squirt like that with me before.” 

You hid your face shyly, your chest heaving. You had never squirt before in your life, and both you and Yoongi had knew that. 

“Can you keep going?” his eyes were still wide, “are you- that was so hot.” 

“Fuck me, Yoongi.” You say as you lean forward, unbuckling his belt quickly. His hands beat you to unzipping his fly, pulling his jeans and boxers down in one go. 

You didn’t hadn’t had anyone inside of you since the last time you and Yoongi had sex, and the feeling as he pushed the head of his cock into you again was one of absolute euphoria. A harmonized moan fell between the two of you and he didn’t move for a moment, just drinking in your fucked out expression as your jaw dropped when bottomed out. 

His teeth grit together, “So tight and wet.” 

“Please move.” You ask, grinding your hips down onto him for any sort of friction. 

“I-” he couldn’t form a sentence. Yoongi was always the one in charge in the bedroom before, but having you around him again was breaking him. He didn’t know how to think, how to move. All he knew was your clenching walls milking his cock for everything that it was worth. 

You sensed his hesitation and flipped the two of you, straddling his thighs and beginning to ride him to your hearts content. His fingers dug into your hips as you did so, and all he could do was watch you. 

You leaned down to him, pressing your lips to his. He reached a new spot inside of you, his hips beginning to tut into you to meet yours. 

“I love you.” You breathe, Yoongi swallowing your gasp in the process. He didn’t respond, only allowing his hands to roam your body. 

“I’m gonna- oh fuck- where do you want me to cum?” Yoongi managed out, and you felt him twitch inside you. 

You had completely forgotten he wasn’t wearing a condom, and that your birth control ran out months ago. You just wanted to feel him cum inside you, the thought pushing your orgasm closer to the edge. 

“Baby-” Yoongi struggled to contain his moan, “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna cum inside you.” 

You nipped at his neck, “Then cum inside me, Oppa.” 

The use of the honorific was enough to send him over the edge, his hands stilling on your thighs as hot, thick strings of cum shoot inside of you. You moan his name as you come around him, milking his orgasm out of him in one of the most intense orgasms you had ever had in your entire life. 

Sweat drenched the both of you, your chest shining as Yoongi took your nipple in his mouth in a last ditch effort to please you just a little more. You couldn’t move, knowing that his cum was slowly leaking out of you and covering his own cock. 

Yoongi moved you to sit beside him, most of his cum spilling out in the process and covering the couch. He was too spent to care, only being able to look over at you while you cuddled into his side. 

“We’re going to have to get Plan B.” You whispered suddenly, your thoughts unclouding in the after math of your release. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi said, his thumb stroking your thigh, “you’re not on birth control anymore?” 

You shook your head, “Didn’t need it.” 

This made Yoongi’s heart flutter, knowing that you hadn’t had sex or wanted it anytime soon if it wasn’t with him. For a moment he forgot the last six months had happened, and that you were back for good, ready to softly stroke his head to sleep again. 

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving so you laid on top of him, “Shall we take a nap?” 

“But-” 

“We’ll talk about everything when we wake up. We’ll make decisions once we aren’t recovering from mind-blowing sex. Just, hold me right now. Then whatever we decide later will move our lives in the direction that it needs to go.” Yoongi said, silently begging you not to leave him high and dry.

You only nod, laying your head on his chest. 

In your sleepy state, you try not to over think his words too much, only trying to inhale his scent and the memory of his arms around you because there’s a chance that this is the last time that this happens. Even if that’s not what you want at all. 

So you two fall asleep, the soft breathing shared between the two of you lulling you into a deep sleep, your dreams filled with thoughts of a black haired boy with a gummy smile. The love of your life. 

[malethirsty]

Loyalty - Klaus Mikaelson

Summary: When you help Klaus Mikaelson to turn hybrids, the rewards you reap from the original are perfection.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!)

Inspired by: https://twitter.com/malethirst/status/1196817642251669505?s=21

You sat in a booth of the Mystic Grill, not ordering anything, just mulling over what had occurred in your life that had led you up to here. As a longtime friend of The Council, you knew of supernatural entities existing and the potential threat they exposed to Mystic Falls. You thought nothing of it until The Salvatore Brothers: Damon and Stefan let their infatuation with Elena Gilbert seep into the town & after that, things had been occurring left, right and centre. One of these things that had a profound affect you was Klaus Mikaelson. The feared Original took over Alaric Saltzman’s body to get to grips with the town, and in order to remain inconspicious, started a friendship with you. Whilst posing as Alaric, he made you think of Klaus’s actual motivations of activating his wolf side and being able to turn hybrids: He was lonely, sick and tired of being the only one of his kind. So when Klaus did return to his original body, you made sure to keep tabs on him, just in case he needed you, also because he looked hot in his real form, but that would be something for another time in your dreams, you had to be professional with Klaus.

After a long winded absence he popped up in Mystic Falls with Stefan & Rebekah, the latter being his sister and the night they returned you assisted Klaus in making the link between Elena’s blood and turning the hybrids, inadvertently saving Tyler Lockwood’s life at the same time. Elena and her pack of friends Caroline & Bonnie, were utterly furious and you were sure Alaric would make sure The Council would cut you off from anything further with them. Which led you to right here & now, trying to think of your next step. Would you be exiled from Mystic Falls? Where would you go? Would you ever see Klaus again? You were so wrapped up in thought that you didn’t notice the pair of feet stepping through the bar until you saw Klaus standing across from you “Well Hello Y/N, what are you doing at the Mystic Grill at this hour?” You wondered whether you should tell him or try and play it off in a humorous way, you decided with the former “Pondering over tomorrow, Elena and her friends hate me & The Council won’t want me around. I’m worried by helping ypu, I’ve ruined the perfect life I’ve made for myself, and while you become the hybrid, I become the outcast” You didn’t notice you had been silently crying until Klaus leant forwards, running his hand down your face, drying it “Love, I want you to listen to what I say next because it’s important. Fuck them, you made the right decision to help me, I have my new pack, I have my ripper & I’ll take you in with me, don’t worry. Don’t spend time on them, they won’t matter in a few hundred years but what you have helped me achieve tonight, will last forever.” You smiled up at Klaus, his promise made you feel better, like you were at home with someone you cared about. “We should really celebrate you and I this evening.” he snapped his fingers for a waiter, before compelling the poor soul to make a whole bunch of food that would be tricky to make at this time of night due to fatigue. Whilst he did this you sat across from the hybrid, transfixed at his beauty, his eyes, dimples, the feint outline of a tattoo on his upper chest, Klaus Mikaelson was just perfect. Having finished with the waiter, Klaus turned round to you “Mind if I sit here in the booth with you love?” you shook your head & you moved down, Klaus talong his seat next to you.

You spent the next few hours having an amazing conversation with Klaus, in admits the Chips, Pizza & Garlic Bread sent to the table, Klaus told you stories of old, about the creation of New Orleans, about times with Stefan, you found yourself entranced by his words, paying close attention to each story. As the night dragged on, you began to get sleepy and forgetting you weren’t in your bedroom instead of a restauraunt, you laid your head down on Klaus’s shoulder, “Well well love, thank goodness you finally made the first move.” Remembering where you were, you withdrew from Klaus “No Klaus, I’m a bit tired, I should head home” Klaus however held a finger to his lips and you obediently fell silent “Y/N, I know your sleepy, I can smell it, but there’s more than that coming from you. There’s a hint of lust there as well, it’s been there since we met. You want me, don’t you?” You gulped, whilst you were thinking this isn’t how you thought this would go down, a part of you cursed yourself because of course being part Vampire, Klaus could smell your scent, now you had to make a choice about how best to handle the situation you had gotten into. Deciding to rip the bandaid off, you cleared your throat and began “Well Klaus, I guess I’ve felt in love ever since you conversed with me as Alaric, something struck me about the conversation. I cared about your story, about what you had to go through, how strong it made you. And all of this, got me to realise that I love you Klaus Mikaelson.” you took a deep breath, weights finally thudding off your shoulders and looked to Klaus, whom had been transfixed on you ever since you started talking. “Niklaus” he said as he reached you, and you looked confused “What?” you inquired “You deserve to know and say my full name: Niklaus Mikaelson. Take my hand Y/N.” you did as he asked and felt a sudden whooshing combined with blurred vision, until you made it inside of a room. you had barely registered the bed at the end of the room when Klaus kissed you passionately, wrapping his hand around your head to deepen it. The heat and the passion was mind blowing, and you leaned into the kiss giving just as much back to Klaus, this had been something you’d waited for, he was going to get your full treatment.

Klaus broke the kiss after a while, panting, clearly riding the high of it “I love you Y/N. I’ve been in love ever since I saw you, I thought I’d rip through Mystic Falls, take what I wanted and leave, but when I saw you and I knew I had to have you eventually. You understood me, were prepared to protect me no matter what, because you cared about me. I’ve lived for a thousand years, seen many beautiful things, but Y/N, nothing compares to how incredible you are.” you felt like crying again, but this time out of happiness rather than distress, however this was soon forgotten as you were pushed into the bed at supernatural speed by Klaus. As you laid out on the soft bedding, Klaus began to remove his clothes and you, bit your lip, intending to enjoy the show. As soon as he removed his pants and you saw his dick, you let a soft cry come from your mouth and Klaus grinned “Many a lover has had a similar reaction to you. Do you want to become more aquainted with my cock? Do you want to taste it?” Deciding to go on the spur of the moment, you ran your tongue up his length, the hybrid gasping as your warm mouth connected with his cock. After some teasing, you began to suck him deep, and as expected, he tasted incredible. Klaus threw his head back and let breathy moans escape him “Oh Y/N, that’s right. Suck me off love.” With the added encouragement, You ran over his veins and the tip, tasting his delicious precum. All that could be heard was slurping as you took him deeper in your mouth, you now began to rub his balls causing him to moan into you ear, a sound you wanted to hear as many times as you could. Suddenly, Klaus pulled away and pushed you onto the bed, before mounting you “I want you Y/N, I want to be inside you. Open your legs, let me fuck you.” You didn’t wait to be asked twice and did as he asked, once your legs were opened with your asshole on display, Klaus immediately thrusted his cock into you.

You both let out a loud cry, you from being stretched open by Klaus’s big member, Klaus from how your walls clenched around him, so tight, yet so snug and perfect. He peppered your neck in kisses so as to calm you down “God! Your hole is pulsing love, keeps urging me to fuck it deeper, harder.” He emphasised his point with several thrusts which made you grip the bedsheets and whimper in pleasure. The sensation of being filled with Klaus’s cock was so intense, everything else was blinded to you but the beautiful hybrid above you, and inside you. It was like you were on cloud nine, trapped between the softness of the bed and Klaus’s body as his cock pulsated inside you as he made love to you so powerfully and passionately. You ran your hands down his chest and back, getting to grips with the man you had loved for so long, and relishing in being naked with him while he was buried inside you, fucking you to within an inch of your life. “Fuck Klaus, so good” you got out and he smiled “That’s what a thousand years of experience does to you love, God I’m glad I get to show you all I’ve learned.” You slowly began to get enough strength to push yourself up a bit and began to kiss Klaus again, him returning it with similar passion, you now riding the inmortal hybrid, drawing up and slamming back down on him, making you both moan. As Klaus began to lick down your neck, an idea crossed your thoughts “Drink from me Klaus”

He looked down at you “Love, are you sure you want me to?” You nodded and seductively responded “I want you to taste me Niklaus” this use of his first name so passionately did it, dark veins formed under Klaus’s eyes, which were now glowing a bright yellow colour as he roared out his monstorous pleasure and sunk his fangs deep into you. He buried into you deeper, colliding harder into your prostate than before as he began to feast on you, you whimpered out your cries of pleasure as you began to dig your nails into his back for leverage. You could feel the feintest traces of blood on your fingertips as Klaus drank your blood, snarling carnally as he gulped you down. Klaus eventually withdrew, blood running down his face, and out of instinct you moved closer to Klaus and licked his face clean, before kissing him, tipping your head back so that the blood tipped down his throat, continuing to sate his bloodlust. As dominant as Klaus could be, his thrusts were starting to become sloppier, a sign any human could recognise that he was close “Y/N” Klaus groaned and you looked deep into his beautiful blue eyes “Come with me.” He moaned softly, the amount of desire that coursed through you at this point was so high, vampires outside of Mystic Falls could probably smell it. You fell back onto the bed and wrapped your legs around Klaus, letting the hybrid sink deeper as he fucked into you helping you get closer to the edge until finally, you both tipped over. You formed an o with your mouth as your load splashed out onto your chest as Klaus cried out his orgasmic release as he released his seed inside of you. You stayed like this for a while before Klaus pulled out and fell next to you his hands snaking over you “Stay with me tonight”, you would have retorted that of course you would, but after orgasm, the waves of drowsiness in the Mystic Grill returned in full force, and all you could do before you went to sleep was curl into the hybrid, kiss him softly on the lips and say “I love you Niklaus Mikaelson”, as you feintly drifted off, you heard Klaus say “I love you too Y/N” which was the final stroke, and sent you to sleep.