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bucky-fricking-barnes · 3 months

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The Cards We're Dealt

Title: The Cards We’re Dealt

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 15k

Warnings: Arranged marriage, alcohol, cursing, objectification of women and mild sexism, bad parents, angst, fluff, mentions of drugs

Summary: Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.

A/N: Wow! Another long fic because I have no self-restraint. There’s a bit of Irish in this because I couldn’t resist it when I wrote Steve. Translations are at the end, and anything incorrect can be blamed on Google Translate. As always, thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging, and supporting me in all the ways you do.

There is an unspoken rule amongst the mobs in New York that the more drug manufacturers a man controls, the nicer you treat his daughter. So, when Bucky’s father tells him that he’s once again been pimped out as part of a deal, Bucky knows to ask the question,

“How many does he control?”

If Bucky had his way, of course, he would treat all girls as well as he is able (which is very well). He likes girls, and he likes going out with girls. He just wishes he could choose which girls he got to take out.

“Seventy-five percent,” George Barnes says, and Bucky freezes with his glass against his lips. He has a club soda to his father’s whiskey—he’s in a good mood and was actually hoping to enjoy the day, though now he’s reconsidering it. His plan to lounge by the pool with Becca and soak up as much of the late spring sunshine as possible is quickly dissipating.

“That’s not possible,” Bucky replies. He quickly does the math in his head. His dad owns over half the manufacturers in Brooklyn. “We own—“

“Not anymore.”

The library falls silent as Bucky tries to wrap his head around the news. Just yesterday he’d overheard his father on the phone with one of his men, explaining in great detail what he’d do if they didn’t get him a sample of their newest product by the top of the hour.

“How?” he asks. He sets his glass aside and sits straighter in his chair. “Did something happen? You didn’t tell me about a takeover.”

George takes a sip of his whiskey. “That’s because there wasn’t one.” He sets the crystal tumbler on the small bronze tray nearby. Marta will come clean it up later. “I sold them.”

“You sold them? If you’ve already struck a deal, then why am I taking out his daughter? Isn’t that normally something you have me do to butter their fathers up before you make the deal?”

Bucky watches as his own father stands and goes to watch the landscapers through the library window, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s long since been out of the army, but some habits die hard. Very rarely did the man ever relax.

“You are the deal,” George answers, his voice much too casual for Bucky’s liking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” snaps Bucky.

“Watch your tone, boy,” his father replies. He doesn’t turn around to witness the way Bucky grinds his teeth together in response. “In exchange for the majority of Theo’s territory, you and Y/N will be married within a year and a half, though the exact date is up to the two of you. I believe that Theo mentioned his daughter likes spring, so perhaps a spring wedding. June is popular, from what I’m told, though that’s cutting it a little close to the deadline.”

Bucky’s up out of his seat now. He can feel his pulse thrumming and he can’t quite catch his breath.

“So what? You threw me in to sweeten the pot? Am I just another bargaining chip to you now?”

He’s shouting. He doesn’t care.

George turns and regards him in silence, and, like always, his expression betrays nothing of what he’s thinking or feeling. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by Bucky’s outburst.

“You’re my heir. I make my decisions based on what’s best for our family. Nothing about this decision is impulsive or frivolous, James,” he finally answers, his voice cool and even. There’s nothing familial in his tone—George Barnes is all business.

“You can’t just decide that I’m getting married. I won’t do it. I refuse,” Bucky tells him. He balls his fists at his sides and he sets his jaw, furious. How dare his father try to control his life like this? It’s one thing to occupy the majority of Bucky’s nights and weekends with dates, meetings, dinners, and weapons runs, but it’s another to throw him into a marriage he doesn’t want.

“I can and you will. If you don’t, there will be consequences. To start, you will be immediately cut off from our family. You will have no money, no home, no resources, and no contact or communication with anyone involved in the business, including your mother and your sister.”

Heart pounding, Bucky glares at him. He’s got a migraine coming on. He knows his father isn’t kidding, but he wants more than anything for Steve to pop out and say that this is all just a joke. He’s never even met Theo’s daughter. He’s barely even met Theo. According to the rumors, his only daughter is his most prized treasure. She isn’t someone who frequents any of the bars, clubs, and restaurants that he and the other “mob children” frequent. Maybe “mob children” isn’t exactly the right term, at least not anymore. After all, Bucky’s engaged now. He’s just part of the mob, another pawn to be moved around the chessboard.

“You have the rest of the day off. I’ll see you at eight tomorrow morning,” says George. He picks up his glass and downs the last of the liquor. “Theo and his family are coming for breakfast, and then Y/N will be moving in with us. I want you on your best behavior.”

He pauses and Bucky continues to glare at him, not validating his words with a response. George’s eyes grow dark with a thinly veiled threat. Bucky knows that look—if he pushes his father any harder, he’ll regret it.

“Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky grinds out.

Turning on his heel, Bucky stalks out of the library and slams the door behind him. He immediately heads down the hall, then down the stairs and across the ground floor of the Barnes Estate to the garage. His keys are still in his pocket; he’d only just gotten back from a night out with Steve when his father had summoned him.

It doesn’t matter that he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Bucky climbs onto his bike and revs the engine, speeding off down the long driveway that winds around the house. The guards barely get the gate open in time and then he’s flying down the road, heading straight to Steve’s bar in the city. He knows his friend will be there, most likely nursing his hangover and going over the books in his back office. He won’t be hard to convince to go out again, though Bucky knows he won’t approve of the plan to drink as much as he possibly can in the next twelve hours. It doesn’t matter, though—it’s Bucky’s last night as a free man, and he’s determined to make the most of it.

You sit between your parents, staring at the empty seat across from you. They’d told you this morning that you were going to the Barnes Estate for breakfast, and while you’d expected the grandeur of the dining room and the meal, you didn’t expect the eldest Barnes child to be completely absent. You’ve never met him, but your mother has insisted that you speak to James—George Barnes’ only son and heir—as much as possible during the meal. Supposedly, he’s the same age as you.

Rebecca Barnes is a ray of sunshine and her cheery disposition is a stark contrast to the dark clouds that now hang over your fathers’ heads. Maybe it’s a deal gone wrong or maybe it’s something else, but you don’t like it. It leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. Silently, you sneak a hand under the table to find your mother’s. You squeeze and your mom squeezes back, glancing over to give a reassuring smile.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Barnes starts, and you jump a little in your seat. You haven’t been verbally addressed since you’d been seated a half hour ago. The food has yet to be served. “Your parents tell us that you’re very interested in horticulture. Did you know we have a rose garden out back?”

You force a polite smile. “I don’t know about very interested. I have a few house plants that I’ve managed to keep alive, though I would love to see your garden sometime. I’m sure it’s beautiful,” you add.

“Maybe Bucky can take you,” Rebecca says, earning herself a sharp look from her mother. She simply shrugs.

Oh, to be as unbothered as Rebecca Barnes!

“Where is James?” your father asks. His voice is a low, threatening growl and you sink down in your chair, staring at the cloth napkin still folded atop your plates.

“He knows to be here,” Mr. Barnes growls back. “You’ll have to excuse his tardiness, he’s not normally like this.”

Mrs. Barnes gives Rebecca an even harsher look when she opens her mouth to speak, and this time the girl actually looks ashamed. She takes a sip of her orange juice to hide the guilty look on her face. She’s the first person to have actually touched something on the table, and it’s like whatever spell the room has been under is broken.

All at once, the dining room springs to life. A short, slightly heavy-set woman in a gray dress and white apron enters through one door. She’s holding a delicate silver coffeepot and the smell of coffee instantly fills the room. Two younger women in identical uniforms follow behind her, each of them pushing golden carts laden with food. Through the door across the room, a tall man with short, dark brown hair stumbles in. He’s wearing all black, from his rumpled button-up and jeans to his boots and sunglasses. His hair is sticking up in every direction and just like the coffee, you can smell the stench of alcohol coming from him even from your seat.

You grimace at the smell and pull your napkin into your lap as one of the women comes to place food in front of you. It’s a formal dining service and the strange new man who’s entered feels entirely out of place. From his attire to the way he shuffles across the antique rug, everything about him screams that he’d rather be anywhere else. If you acted like that, your father would be pulling you back out into the hallway to reprimand you, and you look anxiously at Mr. Barnes, who’s seated at the head of the table.

“James,” he greets, his voice unnervingly even. A chill runs down your spine. “It’s nice of you to join us. I trust that you slept well last night?”

James collapses into the only empty chair at the table, the one across from you, and pointedly ignores his father. You risk a glance up at him as he reaches for the cup of coffee that’s already been poured.

True to form, Rebecca leans over and claps a hand on her brother’s shoulder blade. “Good morning! Aren’t you excited to have breakfast with our guests?” she shouts, and her smirk makes it much too clear that she’s fully enjoying the way her brother’s scowl deepens. Rebecca also ignores her parents, including her mother, who leans forward to look past James and give her a look of warning.

James shrugs his sister off of him and starts buttering the toast on his plate. You watch for a moment, then start picking at your own food as your mother also begins to eat. Everyone’s acting so strangely that you’re already on edge, and you’ve only managed to get down a few grapes and two bites of dry toast by the time your father speaks up again.

“So when are we signing these papers?” he asks, sipping his coffee.

“As soon as the marriage license is signed,” answers Mr. Barnes.

You frown. Marriage license? Who’s getting married?

“And the terms are the same as when we last spoke?”

Mr. Barnes sips his own drink, something that looks suspiciously like whiskey, and sets down the glass. “Yes. I have that contract in my office. We’ll review and sign after we’re done here. Are all of your daughter’s things ready to be moved?”

Your stomach drops and you turn to stare at your father with wide eyes. He nods, not even paying attention to you as he continues his conversation with the other man. Your mother pointedly ignores you, choosing instead to stare at her plate as she eats. When you look around the room, it seems like almost everyone else is doing the same. Rebecca is the only person who actually meets your panicked gaze. She gives you a pitying look as your anxiety rises.

It feels like your mouth is filled with sandpaper, and you grab your glass of juice. You have to drink half of it before the feeling even mildly abates. As soon as you set it down, one of the women in gray appears to refill it.

“What’s going on? Why are you moving my stuff?” you finally choke out. You twist the napkin in your lap with both hands, wringing it as you look from one person’s face to the next.

Mr. Barnes stops mid-sentence and the whole room freezes. Even James, who’s pouring something into his coffee cup from a small silver flask, stops what he’s doing.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” your mother begins, taking your hand under the table.

You want to pull away. You don’t.

“After breakfast, your father and I are going home, but you’ll be staying here with the Barneses.”

“What?” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears. “No, I don’t— I don’t want to stay here. You never said anything about me—“

“We’re getting married,” James interrupts. He’s chewing and you look over at him, gaping at the casual way he’s sprawled out in his chair. You can feel his gaze on you even from behind his sunglasses and it makes you feel dirty.

“Excuse me?”

He chuckles and sits up, then leans forward in the chair. He drops the greasy strip of bacon he’d been eating onto his plate. “We’re getting married. They’re using us like bartering chips, sweetheart. You and me in exchange for all the drugs and all the territory in New York.” James gestures grandly with one hand, a too-wide grin on his face. There must be at least ten rings on each of his hands and you swallow thickly at the threatening display of black and silver metal.

You’re trembling now and you pull your hand away from your mom’s. She reaches for you again but you shake your head, shying away from her touch. Frantically, you look around the room to see if this is some kind of joke or a drunken rambling, but no one is laughing. Even Mrs. Barnes has the decency to look sympathetic on your behalf.

“No, no. You wouldn’t—“ You look back at your parents, imploring them to say that it isn’t true. You swallow thickly, trying to stave off tears, and your voice wavers as you prompt, “Mom? Dad?”

Their silence speaks volumes and a whimper escapes you as you wring your hands in your lap. The napkin slides onto the floor. It suddenly feels like you can’t breathe and when your mom reaches out for a second time and starts to tell you to calm down, you jerk away and stand. The chair falls backwards behind you, but you ignore it as you rush out of the dining room and into the hallway you’d entered from. Everything is unfamiliar. Frantically, you pick a door and yank on the handle. It doesn’t give way and you continue the process until one of them finally opens and you can rush inside. You lock it behind you and press your back against the door. The curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows are closed, shrouding the room in darkness. You can’t make out much of the furniture through the tears in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, you can hear your mother calling for you and your father arguing with Mr. Barnes. Mrs. Barnes is yelling at somebody too, but it’s hard enough to hear the others over your own gasps and sobs. You’re properly crying now and you sink to the floor, curling up on the carpet as you heave. It’s a good thing you weren’t able to stomach much breakfast.

A knock on the door makes you yelp and then cry harder, and you crawl into the darkness of the room to try and find a hiding spot. You’re lucky enough to find an old, heavy desk right away. It’s the perfect size for you to crawl under for shelter, and there’s no chair for you to move out of the way. The drawers on both sides create a cubby for you, so you crawl into it and curl up into a ball with your back towards the door, just in case someone manages to get in. If you’re quiet enough, it’s possible they’ll walk right past you.

The crowd in the hallway has definitely heard you by now. The doorknob is rattling as whoever’s on the other side tries to get in, but after a few minutes, they stop and the hallway goes quiet. You hold your breath after every couple of sobs, listening for any sign that they’ve found a key or that they’re picking the lock. Nothing happens, however, and after a while, you give up on listening.

You sit in the darkness and cry until you’re thoroughly exhausted. Once you’ve run out of tears, you sit and zone out with your head resting against the side of the desk drawers for a while longer, numb from the news. Your body feels light and a buzzing, tingling feeling makes moving your limbs seem impossible. You could’ve never imagined that your parents would be so capable of treating you so poorly. You’ve always felt so loved by them, and to hear that they’ve practically thrown you away at the first chance of a profit makes you want to puke. Upon that realization, you actually do throw up, and the stink of your vomit on the carpet of whatever room you’re in makes you want to cry all over again.

The door opens just as the stench is becoming too much to bear. Light floods in from the hallway and you squint, curling up in fear. After a moment, the shorter woman in the gray uniform that you’d seen at breakfast appears a few feet away from the desk, right in the path of light. You look up at her.

“Oh dear,” she sighs, and you instantly feel ashamed at the disappointment in her voice.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. Your bottom lip is trembling again as fresh tears somehow appear in your eyes. Sniffling, you wipe your nose with the back of your wrists. “I can clean it if you—“

“You’ll do no such thing,” the woman says. Her voice is gentle and kind, so much so that you don’t feel the need to argue with her. She waves her hand dismissively and approaches you, then holds out both hands. She’s careful not to step in the mess you’ve made. “Now come on, up you go.”

You let her help you to your feet and then you straighten out your clothes, sniffling and wiping at your nose again in a desperate attempt to look more put together than you feel. Still a bit unsteady, you whimper for a second time, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, dear.” She gives you a warm smile. “My name’s Marta. I’m the head housekeeper here. It’s very nice to meet you.”

You don’t feel the same way about meeting her, given the circumstances, but you hold that comment to yourself and simply nod in agreement. Marta leads you back out into the too-bright hallway. It’s empty except for a bald man mopping the floor on the far end.

The high ceilings and glossy marble floors make it look like you’re in a castle. Even the silence feels regal. Everything seems so cold compared to your home, and you feel too small in the massive space.

“What time is it?” you quietly ask, looking back at Marta.

“It’s almost noon, Miss.”

Your stomach sinks and you press your lips together, inhaling deeply as you look around again. Three hours have passed. “My parents…”

“They left about fifteen minutes after breakfast,” she tells you. Her words are matter-of-fact, even if she delivers the news in the softest possible way.

Somehow it hurts worse that they’ve left you than finding out they’d practically sold you to the Barneses in exchange for God knows what. Drugs or territory, whatever James had said. Not only did they treat you like nothing, but they’d deserted you after it was clear you didn’t agree with their plans. They hadn’t even tried to reassure you that they still loved you or that you’d still be able to see them. Maybe you wouldn’t be. Maybe they didn’t.

You nod numbly. There’s been nothing to prepare you for this, no precursor or warning, so you keep looking around the hall, though in reality you’re not really seeing anything.

“Your room is ready upstairs, Miss Y/N. Would you like me to take you?” asks Marta.

You nod again. You feel like you’re underwater as you follow her up a grand staircase and then down a long, narrow hallway. It’s decorated similarly to the ground floor, though with a plush Persian rug running its length. Marta talks as she walks ahead of you, no doubt explaining what the many doors lead to, but her words simply go in one ear and out the other. It’s all so surreal that when you finally get to your own room, you don’t even open the door. Marta has to reach around you to open it, and then she gently ushers you inside when you still don't move.

Just as they had said at breakfast, your belongings have all been moved into the Barnes Estate. The furniture here is different, grander than what you’re used to, but your blankets and pillows are on the bed, and the two bookshelves are packed full of the books you’ve collected over the years. Even the strip from the photo booth at an old friend’s wedding is pinned to the bulletin board above the desk. Someone’s even thought to put your plants on their own table by the window.

“There’s a bathroom on the left and your closet is on the right,” Marta explains, pointing to each. “If you’re hungry, dinner is at five.”

“Do I have to eat with them?” you ask.

If Marta is surprised by your question, she doesn’t show it. She simply shakes her head with a gentle smile. “No. We can bring food here if you’d like.”

You nod and stand in silence until she leaves and closes the door behind her. Then, after another minute passes, you drag yourself over to the bed, climb under the covers, and close your eyes.

If there’s any mercy left in this life, you think, I’ll fall asleep and never wake up again.

Weeks pass and you still haven’t adjusted to life at the Barnes Estate. The staff is only slightly less friendly than those you grew up with, but they’re more attentive. It helps that there are more of them. For every member of the Barnes family, yourself included, there are at least four staff members to attend to their every need. It makes you feel like royalty, but it also makes you feel guilty. You don’t need this much. You certainly didn’t ask for it.

You haven’t seen James since the ill-fated breakfast, nor have you seen your parents. They’ve gone so far as to block your number. After that discovery, you’d locked yourself in the massive ensuite bathroom and cried for an hour. Marta had been the one to coax you out. The poor maid who’d found you when coming to get you for dinner hadn’t known how to help. You’d spent that entire evening curled up on your bed while reruns of The Nanny played on the TV embedded in the wall across from the massive mattress. Marta had spent every second with you that she could, but eventually Mrs. Barnes—Winnifred, as you referred to her in your mind—had scolded her for neglecting her nighttime duties across the estate. That made you feel even worse.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asks, and you turn to look at her from where you’re staring out the hallway windows at the gardeners. The backyard is massive, complete with a rose garden in full bloom, an outdoor swimming pool, a forested walking trail, a large green expanse for games and parties, a gazebo, a fountain, and what seems to be stables far in the distance, though you haven’t ventured far enough to be sure. A visit to the rose garden hasn’t been brought up again either, and nothing seems interesting enough to explore on your own.

Nodding, you don’t say anything before turning back to watch the men work. They talk and laugh with each other as they prune, pick, and water. You wish that you could trade places with them.

“You don’t look okay,” she says. Rebecca props herself up on the window ledge to your right, facing you with a suspicious look on her face. “We haven’t seen you at any meals, and Valerie told me that you were crying in the bathtub three nights ago.”

You should feel ashamed, but you’re too numb to care. It feels like you’re floating through each day, detached from most things. You’ve spent your entire life thinking that you would marry for love and live happily ever after. Now, your parents have sold you to the highest bidder and your husband-to-be is a cruel, disgusting man-child that wants nothing to do with you.

Rebecca’s fingers lacing with yours jerk you back to reality and you look down at your joined hands in confusion. Her nails are bitten short and she wears a single ring with the Barnes family crest. It’s dainty and gold, a stark contrast to the many rings on her brother’s fingers.

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” she tells you, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m so sorry for everything that’s happened to you. If I had any say in it, you could be home right now with your parents, but I’m far from the top of the totem pole.”

“I hate them.” You spit the words out and jerk your hand away from hers. “I hate my parents.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said that in your entire life and your heart skips a beat as the anger makes your lip curl. You’re baring your teeth at her but Rebecca doesn’t even flinch. She’s a mafia princess, through and through.

“They made me believe that I could have anything I wanted, that I could marry whoever I wanted whenever I was ready, and then they threw that all away and treated me like shit the first time it was convenient for them.”

She nods. “That’s true.”

“I was so foolish to have believed them,” you growl, but the fight in you is fading just as quickly as it came. You burn bright, but you burn quickly, too.

“No,” Rebecca says, shaking her head. “You’re just human.”

You look away, embarrassed by your display of emotion as your eyes begin to water with more tears. You were raised to be reserved. You knew very little about the inner workings of your parents’ business, but you’d learned as a young girl that you’d fare better if you always clung to the edges of the room, avoiding the dirt and grime and blood that surrounded your whole life. Over the years, you’ve grown very good at hiding yourself and your emotions from the people around you. From the spark in her eye, you have the feeling that Rebecca is the exact opposite. She could hold her own if it came down to it. You couldn’t.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she insists.

Shaking your head, you take a deep breath and look back out the window. You lift your chin slightly and when Rebecca tries to rope you into another conversation with her, you ignore her and focus on the men outside. They’re finished tending to the roses on the edges of the garden. Now they’re working their way inwards.

You’re finally left alone a few minutes later and as soon as she’s around the corner, you let out a heavy sigh and relax your posture. Slumping forward, you lean forward into the window ledge, curling up just a little as you continue to watch the gardeners. The silly song from Alice in Wonderland pops into your head and you hum along, eventually mumbling to yourself about painting the roses red.

You feel a little bit like Alice, you realize. You’re out of your element in a strange land where everything you’ve learned about life seems to be turned on its head. In this world, nobody marries for love and the girls are just as entrenched in the business as the men. Does Rebecca conduct business with her father and older brother? You could certainly picture it. Will the same be expected of you?

That afternoon, Marta knocks on your door with a written invitation from Winnifred. Your presence is being formally requested at their dinner table, though from the look the housekeeper is giving you, it’s more of a demand than a request. With her help, you pick out something to wear. By the time five o’clock rolls around, you’re crossing the enormous hallway in a dress and heels that you’ve never seen before. It’s far too showy for your taste, but it’s clearly something someone wanted you to wear. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have put it in your closet.

George Barnes and James stand when you enter the dining room, as do several other men you don’t recognize. Your father is standing near the head of the table with George, though your mother and Rebecca are nowhere in sight. Besides Winnifred, you don’t recognize any of the other women. The only empty seat is beside James and your immediate instinct is to flee, but then he’s stepping aside to pull out the chair and all eyes are on you.

Slowly, you close the distance between the two of you and sit. He helps you scoot in, then takes his own seat on your right. The other men sit as well and then dinner resumes. You sit in silence, staring at the top edge of your plate with your hands in your lap. You’re not really listening to the conversations around you, either, but you can feel someone’s eyes on you as you try to stay as quiet and motionless as possible.

“Are you sick or something?”

You startle and look up with wide eyes. James is watching you. He’s got one hand on the table with his fingers brushing the stem of his wineglass and the other resting on his thigh. Unlike your fateful breakfast weeks ago, James is dressed in a neat, all-black suit. He has no tie, and his rings are all gone except one. It’s identical to Rebecca’s family crest, except his is silver and has a thicker band.

His eyes are full of something you can’t place and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. As quickly as you turned to him, you turn away and look back at your plate. The napkin is folded in some elaborate way on top of the plate. You’re not sure if it’s supposed to resemble anything at all, but maybe if you stare at it long enough, it will look like something.

“Y/N?” he prompts. You nod once, tightly, and then pull the heavy cloth napkin into your lap when a server appears to present the first course.

Between the second and third course, you can feel James’ eyes on you. After the third, he gets roped into conversation with a man sitting across the table, but you know that he’s glancing at you all the while. After the fourth, he bumps his arm against yours. You shirk away and feel him tense beside you.

“Excuse me,” you mumble, and you push your chair away from the table. Immediately, the conversations stop and all the men stand again. It’s too much attention on you and you hurry out of the dining room as fast as your heels and dress will allow. You’re stumbling over yourself by the time you get back to your suite on the third floor. The door slams behind you and you collapse onto the floor beside the bed, too overwhelmed to even climb atop the oversized mattress. You’re on the verge of tears when there’s a soft knock from the door, and that rips a sob from your chest that you hadn’t expected.

Immediately, the door opens and James is standing in the open space, a dark look on his face. You sob again and scramble backwards until the edge of the bed frame is digging painfully into your spine.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

You swallow hard and take several gasping breaths, trying to control yourself. Your mind is spinning with insults, calling you weak and pathetic, and you believe every one.

“It’s just too much,” you answer through your tears. “I don’t want this!”

James huffs. His angry expression has faded, now replaced with something more akin to irritation. “And you think I do?”

You shake your head. “Of course not.”

“These are the cards we’ve been dealt, doll. You’re gonna have to get over it. Let’s just get married and then we can live happily ever after in a big house where we never have to see each other. I’ll do what I want and you can do what you want. Sound like a plan?”

You look down at your hands. A big part of you wants to say that no, it doesn’t sound like a plan. You don’t want that life. You don’t want a house so big that you practically need a golf cart to get from one side to the other. You don’t want a husband who ignores you in favor of his blood money or his side chick or the next shiny toy off the black market. You don’t want James.

Though every part of you is screaming the opposite, you nod. He crosses the room and you inhale sharply to steady yourself as he approaches you with no care. His black dress shoes are tracking dirt across the rug. James holds out a hand to help you up and you take it. The heirloom ring on his right hand digs into yours until you’re standing, and then he drops your hand like it’s on fire.

“We need to go back,” he tells you, and you nod again. “Our parents are pissed.”

“Of course they are,” you mumble.

James pauses, staring at you critically. You’ve been staring at the baseboards since he helped you up, but when he doesn’t move or speak, you glance upwards at him. He’s got one eyebrow raised. His expression is thoroughly unreadable otherwise and an unsettling feeling blooms in your stomach.

“What?” you ask. You step back a little, but there’s no place to go except up against the bed again.

He shakes his head at you. “Nothing. Come on, princess.”

“Don’t call me that.” You scrunch your nose. “Anything but that.”

“Sugar?” he offers, and when you shake your head, he sighs. “Well, what do you want me to call you, since you’re suddenly the one calling the shots?”

His words cut deep and you look back down, hating the way shame immediately pools in your belly. How could he seem angry and irritated with you, then borderline kind, and then completely disinterested in your feelings the next? It’s disorienting, and you don’t need that on top of everything else.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s go.”

Grabbing your arm in a grip just bordering on painful, James pulls you out of your bedroom and back down the hall. He holds on as you stumble behind him in your heels. When you reach the ground floor hallway again, he drops his hand and offers you his arm. You’re hesitant to take it, but he sighs a little and you decide that it’s easier to give in than to put up a fight.

The two of you walk back into the dining room and the conversations immediately hush. James leads you to your waiting seats, pulls out the chair for you, and then helps you scoot towards the table again once you’re seated. As he takes his spot beside you, your father speaks up.

“Have you and James discussed when you’ll be getting married?” he asks.

You pick up your fork and stare at the strange food on your plate, ignoring him. Though your stomach is churning, you force yourself to take a bite. He can’t expect you to answer while you’re chewing—it would be bad manners.

“Next spring,” James answers. “In the rose garden.”

You want to spit on the roses. You swallow your food instead.

“Good choice,” Mr. Barnes agrees. He turns his attention back to your father. “Your daughter is quite the well-behaved woman. She’ll do well with our James.”

Beside you, James tenses again, his grip tightening slightly on his fork. You glance at him, holding your breath, and wait until he relaxes again to take another bite of your food.

The rest of the dinner passes with mundane, meaningless conversations. Nobody addresses you for the remainder of the meal, not even your parents, and finally the men begin to make their way out of the dining room to an adjoining room. You hadn’t even realized there was a room connected; the door is hidden amongst the paneling and crown molding on the walls.

“You can’t go in there.” James grabs your wrist as you stand to follow the group of men into the new room. His voice isn’t malicious and his grip isn’t tight, but you flinch away from him anyway. It’s only then that you realize the few women that had been in the room are leaving through the door to the hall with their wineglasses in hand.

“Because I’m a woman?” you counter.

“Because you don’t want to hear the things that they’re going to discuss,” he answers. He tosses his napkin on the table and stands, towering over you. After a long second of eye contact, he steps away from you and heads towards the men.

You watch him go and silently weigh your options. A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have even thought about following the men into the second room. You would have simply taken the same path as the other woman, though your wine would have continued to remain untouched. Now, however, with your wine in hand, you stood at a crossroads. You could go into the room and potentially face the wrath of your father, James, and George Barnes, or you could live forever curious as to what was actually being discussed.

With your mind made up, you down your wine, step around James, and head through the open door into the room. It’s a study with dark wood paneling on the walls, leather couches, and stale cigar smoke in the air. As soon as you enter, the laughter and conversation stop and all eyes land on you.

“Y/N, you should be with Winnie and your mother,” Mr. Barnes says, stepping towards you. James is behind you now and though you’re hedged in, you simply lift your chin at the older man.

“Why? Am I not allowed to know what family I’m marrying into?”

His face darkens. “Girl, I’m warning you—”

“Don’t speak to my wife like that.” James’ voice from over your shoulder startles you and you quickly turn your head, looking back at him with shock.

Why is he suddenly standing up for me?

“Hold your tongue, James,” his father snaps. “You aren’t married yet, and Y/N needs to learn her place. One would think her father would have taught her better, considering the problems his wife caused.”

Though you hate your parents for what they’ve done to you, your blood boils at the insult. Your anger rears its ugly head even more when you realize that your father doesn’t look intent on standing up for you or your mom, either.

“That’s enough!”

You swear the room rattles around you when James shouts and you grit your teeth, furious at Mr. Barnes. How dare he insult your father? How dare he talk to you and his son that way?

James grabbing your hand shocks you back into reality. Once again, his grip is almost painfully tight, but you force your face to reveal nothing.

“Y/N and I are going out. If I so much as hear that you’ve said a single thing about her in my absence, you will regret ever giving me any kind of power in this business,” he growls. “The next time you see her, I expect that you’ll treat her with the respect she deserves.”

The men stare at you and James in disbelief, and then you find yourself being practically dragged out of the room. You’re too stunned to fight back, so you let him pull you across the ground floor of the estate to a door only two down from the dark room where you’d hit the morning your parents had left you behind.

“We’ll have to take the car, unless you’re okay riding the bike in that dress,” James says, pushing open the door. He doesn’t look back at you as he speaks, and it takes you a second to realize he wants a response.

“Car,” you answer after a few seconds. “Please.”

The room James has led you to is a massive garage, stretching farther than you ever realized a similar room could. Three of the walls are made of light gray cement, as are the floor and ceiling, and the fourth wall is made up of windowed garage doors, each one big enough for several cars to drive through simultaneously. Running down the center of the rectangular garage, there is a row of seven parked cars, with enough space to fit at least another car between each one, and beyond that, you can see a row of several motorcycles parked in a similar manner. The cars are in varying shades of gray and black, with the exception of one red sports car at the far end of the group. You can’t see the bikes well enough from the door, but you catch glimpses of blue, silver, gray, and black.

Four enormous, black and silver tool chests are lined up against the wall facing the hoods of the cars, but there isn’t a spot of oil or dirt in sight. You don’t even see any loose tools or equipment. Looking around, you wonder if the tool chests are just there for decoration, or if someone on the estate actually works on the cars and motorcycles.

Maybe James works on them?

“Are all of these yours?” you ask, unable to help yourself. He seems like the kind of guy who would enjoy driving around for fun, and he’s just mentioned something about a bike. You stare at the side of James’ face as he plucks a set of keys off a black pegboard on the wall. There’s a button embedded in the wall beside the board. James pushes it with one thumb and the keys in his hand bump against the wall.

One of the garage doors near the last few cars starts to roll upwards onto the ceiling, revealing the outside of the estate. The sun has completely disappeared from the sky, and the moonlight is blocked by the clouds you’d seen rolling in earlier in the afternoon. The leaves of the large shade trees that surround the estate and form a protective shield from the outside world rustle in the wind. Crickets and cicadas chirp, reminding you of the cool spring nights you’d spent on your family estate as a little girl. You’d run around in the grass near the garden while your mom or your nanny watched you. Sometimes your father’s men would watch from the perimeter of the property, and when you’d wave, they’d wave back, asking what you’d done that day. You always answered them, even if you knew it would get you in trouble. They never stopped asking either, even if it got them in trouble, too.

You stop walking and close your eyes, then breathe in deeply as the night air rushes into the garage. It’s the first time you’ve been even close to the outdoors since arriving at the Barnes Estate. Your skin is still warm from the stifling dining room and the anger you’d felt in the men’s study. The breeze is a blessed relief, even if you do shiver after only a moment. Goosebumps form on your exposed skin—the dress Marta had picked out for you did little to keep you safe from the elements.

James keeps walking down the aisle formed by the wall and the front of the cars, though you hear his footsteps pause a few moments after you stop following him.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You’re a little surprised that he’s not demanding that you catch up. When you open your eyes, you immediately meet his gaze, and a weird feeling bubbles up in your stomach. The expression on his face betrays little, but his stare reminds you of the way your father’s men looked at you all those years ago—interested and almost fond, but ready to push you away at a moment’s notice. You nod and hurry to catch up with him.

Once you get closer, James presses a button on the key fob in his hand. One of the cars in front of the open garage door rumbles to life. The sound it makes is a low purr, almost seductive, and you raise an eyebrow as James approaches, then runs his fingers over the hood. Even if the others aren’t, this car has to be his. It’s a sleek black, with dark tinted windows and a gleaming silver grill in the front. The BMW logo shines proudly in the center. It looks like a car your own father would own. Though you know he’s never owned a BMW, if this car is anything like the ones in your father’s fleet, you know that the inside will be as much a picture of luxury as the outside.

You slide into the passenger seat when James opens the door for you, and in the time it takes him to cross around the front of the car to the driver’s side, you take inventory of the interior. It’s a manual transmission—something your father once said was obsolete, except for car collectors and enthusiasts—which means that you wouldn’t be able to drive it, even if you tried. The car is pristine, so much so that you’re afraid to move. Two water bottles are in the cupholders, and it still smells brand new inside. There isn’t a speck of dirt or dust on the dashboard, nor on the floor mats. The leather seat is soft and there’s a control for seat warming and cooling on the control panel.

James climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. He buckles up and you follow his lead, and then you sit back as he reverses the car out of the garage and onto a winding driveway that leads you around the front of the estate, then along the other side to a large gate with a guard house. You’d forgotten about the extensive security since the last time you’d been outside the Barnes Estate. Your father had handed over your driver’s license, along with his and your mother’s, before breakfast all those weeks ago, and there’d been a strange code word of some kind. It dawns on you as the guard opens the gate for you and James that you’d never gotten your license back.

“Where are we going?” you ask as James pulls onto the main road. It leads away from the estate and into the city.

“To get some real food,” he replies. His tone is gruff, and it feels like he’s on the verge of an angry outburst, so you slump back in your seat as he shifts gears and the car accelerates. The tension in the car is thick. You don’t want to be the one to deal with it, especially since he’s the one creating it.

After several minutes of watching the enormous mansions and the forests surrounding them pass by, you look over at James again. His expression, just like in the garage, reveals nothing, but you can tell that he’s more put-together than the last time you’d interacted, and it’s not just the tailored suit. His hair has been trimmed and styled, and he has an even dusting of stubble that frames his jawline nicely.

In the time since you’d learned you were engaged, James hasn’t said anything to you. You’ve heard him talking in the hallways as you wandered, but you haven’t wanted to be near him. This is the closest you’ve ever been. Your brief conversations so far tonight make up the majority of the words you’ve spoken to each other. His words from the bedroom echo in your head, until finally, you can’t help but blurt out your thoughts.

“Do you really not want to marry me?” you ask. Your voice sounds small and pathetic, and you hate it, but it’s too late now.

He glances over at you with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. “What do you mean?”

You sit up a little in the seat, though you keep your hands in your lap and you try not to move your feet, just in case there’s dirt on your shoes.

“I mean,” you say, watching him carefully for his reaction, “that when you came to get me upstairs, you said you didn’t want to marry me. Is that really true?”

“I never said that.” He shifts gears again as you near a stoplight, and the car slows.

“Yes, you did.”

“No,” he shifts again, his teeth now clenched, “I didn’t. I asked if it looked like I wanted to marry you, and you said it didn’t. But I never said I didn’t want to.”

Now you’re confused, and you frown at him, ignoring the obvious irritation in his voice. The car rolls to a stop behind a Ferrari blasting music out the open windows.

“So you do want to marry me?” you ask.

He sighs and drops his hand from the gear shift, then looks over at you. “Y/N, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you don’t want to do, so if this is you testing to see how I’ll treat you, then you have nothing to worry about. I’m not a monster.”

“It’s not. I just…” You stop, unsure of how to phrase what you’re feeling. It’s strange to be upset over a marriage you don’t even want, but for some reason, you are.

“What?”

“If you don’t want to marry me and I don’t want to marry you, then why are we going along with this?” you finally ask, settling for the bigger question than the one that’s truly nagging at you.

“Because we know that if we don’t, life will be hell,” he answers.

It’s the truth. You know it is, and you know it deep down. If the two of you refuse this marriage, your life will be worse than you could possibly imagine, and you’re fairly certain that your fathers will find a way to make it happen anyhow. They’re well-connected in every sphere of life, not just when it comes to drugs and weapons. Your father probably has a priest on his payroll.

The light turns green and James moves the car forward again, merging into the right lane almost immediately. He slows as you approach a valet stand outside an upscale bar you’ve never heard of. It’s not one of your father’s, which means it probably belongs to George Barnes.

Then again, you think as a uniformed man opens your door, maybe it belongs to James.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Barnes,” a valet on the other side of the car greets.

James hands him the keys. “You too, Tommy. Listen, don’t park it too far off. We’re not staying too long.”

The man nods and climbs into the driver’s seat as your own valet leads you away from the curb. James meets you next to the valet stand and offers you his arm, then heads towards the doors.

“What is this place?” you ask as he holds open the door for you.

“My friend’s bar,” James says.

Your stomach twists itself in knots as heavy club music starts to get louder. The bass rumbles in your chest and you dig your nails into his arm as you near a set of glossy black double doors. You haven’t been to a club in a long time. The last time you’d gone, you’d been dragged by a childhood acquaintance, but you’d spent most of the night alone after she’d ditched you for someone she met on the dance floor. You’re not particularly eager to relive that experience tonight, especially with the man you’re being forced to marry. Who’s to say he won’t ditch you for someone else right in front of you, just to rub it in your face? After all, he’d said it himself in the bedroom—you’ll do what you want and he’ll do what he wants. It’s the cards you’ve been dealt.

If these are the cards, then I’ve got a sucky hand.

“James—”

“Bucky.”

You stop and squint at him in the low light of the entrance hallway. The two bouncers in all-black suits stop with their hands on the door handles, ready to open them for you once you start walking again. The music pounds in your ears, so much so that you can feel your eardrums vibrating.

“What?” you ask, not sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Bucky,” repeats James, a little louder this time. “You should call me Bucky, if we’re going to be married.”

“Is that… a nickname?”

Even in the darkness, you can see him laugh, and a bashful, boyish smile spreads across his face. “My middle name is Buchanan. Steve used to tease me about it when we were kids, and he started calling me Bucky as a joke. It caught on.” He shrugs it off, but there’s a fondness in his voice when he speaks of his childhood friend, and it makes you smile just a little.

You loosen your grip on his arm. “Okay then. Bucky,” you add.

When Bucky steps forward again, the doors are pulled open, revealing a much more casual bar than you could’ve anticipated. Though it’s clean, it looks a little run down, and the heavy music fades into jazz piano as you step through the open doorway and into the large, open space. With almost cathedral-height ceilings, walnut floors and support pillars, and well-worn wooden booths and tables, the bar feels more homier than you’d expected. It’s clearly been well-hidden from the busy crowds of New York. Only a few patrons are scattered around the room, sitting in the booths or at two-top tables, but Bucky leads you to the wood, u-shaped bar that juts out into the room from the back wall. A single man stands behind it, drying glasses with a white bar towel. He smiles when he looks up and sees you approaching.

“Bucky,” he greets, and he reaches over the bar to pull Bucky in for a hug. It’s the first time you see Bucky smile—a real, full, genuine smile—and you watch in silence as he hugs his friend.

“Steve,” Bucky replies. Instantly, your brain starts connecting the dots. This is his childhood friend, the one who gave him his nickname.

“Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil.” Steve turns his attention to you, and you quickly look away from Bucky and at him. Your brain whirs as you try to place the language he’s just spoken. It’s not one you’ve heard before, which means none of your father’s men speak it, and neither do any of the Barneses.

“You must be Y/N.”

You nod and offer Steve a small, polite smile. You’re not sure how to act around Bucky’s friends. If they’re also part of the mob, it’s possible they’ll treat you even worse than George Barnes had after dinner, but a new, surprising voice in your head argues that Bucky would never be friends with someone like that.

“It’s okay,” reassures Bucky. He reaches out and touches your arm, gentler than he has all evening. “Steve’s a nice guy, and he knows about our family businesses. You can trust him.”

Steve looks between the two of you before picking up a glass and setting it right-side-up in front of you. “What’ll it be, Y/N?”

You glance at him, then at the wall of liquor behind him. After a moment, you list off a drink that’s not your favorite, but that you know you’ll be able to stomach no matter the circumstances. Steve nods in response before starting to make it.

Silently, Bucky takes one of the chairs at the bar, and you do the same. He sits with his arms folded on the counter. He’s still wearing his suit from dinner. You feel a little out of place in your fancy clothes, and you wonder if he feels the same.

Your drink is placed in front of you a moment later, and after Steve’s silent prompting, you take a sip. It’s delicious, and you can’t help but smile at him.

“Aha, I’ve still got it!” Steve cheers, and you laugh. He grins at you, a charming type of smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You feel a little sheepish at the intensity of his joy, and you fidget in your seat, then with your hair.

Beside you, Bucky rolls his eyes and tosses a round paper coaster at his friend. “Knock it off, Rogers,” he huffs. “Stop flirting with my girl. You’ve already got one of your own.”

You glance over when he calls you that, but you don’t say anything. There’s another weird feeling in your gut now. This one, unlike the one you’d had in the car or the fluttering feeling Steve had given you, you recognize immediately—pride. It feels good to have Bucky call you “his girl”, even if you barely know him. It’s strange, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat again. You drop your hand down to the bartop and take another sip of your drink, trying to quell the strange feelings inside of you.

What is going on with me? Why can’t I just feel normal about all of this? Is there even a normal way to feel about this?

“You hungry?” asks Bucky, and you nod when you realize he’s talking to you again.

“I make a mean twice-baked potato,” Steve says. He plants his hands on the bar to look between the two of you. “Whaddaya say, Y/N? You up for it?”

“Only if you put the jalapeños on the side this time, punk,” Bucky tells him before you can reply. He seems to remember himself a second later, however, because he looks over at you. “Unless, of course, you want them on top.”

You shrug, not wanting to upset anyone, and Steve groans.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, and he smiles wide as he gestures around the almost-empty bar. “I’ve got all the time in the world to make your food exactly the way you want it. Don’t make me guess.”

“He’s bad at guessing,” Bucky chimes in.

“Terrible,” Steve adds, nodding earnestly.

Tentatively, you list off what you want, and Steve makes a note of everything on a notepad that seems to appear out of nowhere. Once he’s got your order down, he disappears through a door in the back wall. Before it closes, you catch a glimpse of a shining kitchen filled with stainless steel, and you wonder how many patrons come through the bar if Steve has what looks to be a full-sized kitchen in the back.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured I’d bring you someplace that actually has good food,” Bucky says. He reaches across the bar to grab a bottle of beer Steve has left out, and he uses one hand to pry the top off.

You gape at him, too distracted by the blatant show of strength to properly process the very thoughtful thing he’s just said to you. “What?”

“I said that you didn’t eat much at dinner, so I figured—”

“You just pulled the top off like it was nothing. How did you do that?” You look around on Steve’s side of the bar for another bottle, hoping to try your luck. Maybe it’s some new kind of bottle that he’s trying out before it hits the market, or maybe Steve has bootleg beer with a different kind of cap.

Bucky is staring at you, seemingly just as confused as you. “With my arm.”

“With your arm?” you repeat. You’re certain that he’d used his hand to pry it off.

He stares at you for a second longer before the confusion disappears and is replaced with a glint of mischief in his eyes. It makes the shadows on his face melt away a little, and his blue irises seem bright and youthful again, entirely unlike a man who’s seen too much.

“My arm,” he reiterates, and then he pulls off the black glove you’d assumed to be part of his personal style. It’s not just for show, however, because he pulls it off to reveal a black metal hand with dull gold knuckles. Bucky continues, standing and shrugging off his jacket, then rolling up the sleeve of his button-down shirt. As he reveals more and more, you realize that the black metal continues, making up what would be his left arm.

No wonder it hurt when he grabbed me.

“It’s metal,” you dumbly say, and he snorts.

“Observant.”

You shake your head and look from his arm to meet his eyes. “You have a metal arm. How didn’t I know that?”

Bucky shrugs and drapes his jacket over the back of the chair. He leaves the glove on the bar where he’d first set it down. Once he’s seated again, he rolls up his other sleeve to match.

“Beats me. I figured everyone knew. My dad wasn’t subtle when he was bragging about the arm he had made for me when it first happened,” replies Bucky. He takes a sip of his beer, then sighs and sets it back down.

You don’t want to pity him, so you try your best to school your expression by taking a sip of your own drink.

“Was it an accident?” you ask after a minute has passed. He doesn’t reply right away, and you scramble to save the conversation. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” he says, and his voice is quieter than before.

You look back down at the drink in front of you. Twisting the glass around and around, you ask, “And it was an accident?”

Bucky takes another swig of his beer. “I was with my dad, working a job. I didn’t even realize I’d been injured until I woke up in the hospital, two weeks later, missing an arm. Apparently, falling shipping containers are heavy.”

You can’t help but curse. What he’s describing sounds horrible, but Bucky only laughs.

“That sounds about right, yeah. I’m lucky I had Steve around to keep me sane,” he tells you. “My friend Sam was a big help too, but he moved down to Louisiana a few years ago.”

“Steve seems like a good friend,” you agree. “They both do.”

You can feel Bucky staring at you now, and you take a sip of your drink while you wait for him to look away again. When he doesn’t, you glance in his direction.

“What?” you ask.

“What?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are!” you laugh, and you look at him fully this time. Bucky’s grinning, and you ball up a cocktail napkin and toss it at him.

“Okay, I was staring,” he admits, still smiling. “But I can’t help it. You’re pretty, and you’re nice, and you seem smart.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment, and you look away. “You don’t have to say that. We’re already engaged.”

“I’m not saying it because we’re engaged. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before Steve comes out with two hot plates. He places them in front of you, joking briefly about giving you the wrong order, and it’s distraction enough that you sit up tall and smile wide. You push Bucky’s compliment out of your head as you chow down, groaning and moaning about the potatoes. They’re exactly what you need after the stressful dinner. Bucky was right—you hadn’t eaten much, and Steve’s cooking is delicious.

Once you’re full, you push your plate away and lean back in your chair. Steve grins at you before he goes back to counting the cash drawer. The other patrons have left already, leaving you, Steve, and Bucky alone in the bar.

“That was amazing,” you tell him for the hundredth time, and Steve chuckles.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell mo bhean chéile—my wife—you said that, considering she still believes potatoes aren’t a meal.”

You notice the wedding band on his left hand as soon as he says it. Above it, also in silver, is a familiar ring. If you weren’t able to see the family crest, you would’ve thought it was the same as Bucky’s, but this ring has an eagle and a star engraved on it, rather than the wolf you’ve seen on Rebecca and Bucky’s rings.

“Potatoes are a meal!” you argue. You can tell that Steve has clocked you looking at his rings because he shifts his hand, instinctively blocking your view as he looks for your own ring. You’d taken your parent’s ring off the day you’d cried in the bathtub and you haven’t worn it since, but no one in Bucky’s family has replaced it with their own. It’s the first time since middle school that you haven’t worn a family ring, and you’d be lying if you said it was a weight off your shoulders. You’d thought it might be, but instead it just makes you feel naked.

Steve laughs and his posture relaxes. He stops hiding his rings from you when he realizes your hands are bare. “Well, whenever you meet her, you can have that argument with her, because I’ve already had it at least a dozen times.” He closes the drawer and fixes his eyes on Bucky, who’s just finishing his food. “Speaking of, when are you two coming over? I promised Peg I’d wait until Y/N had settled in to ask, and you seem settled enough to me.” He glances at you for the last part, and you look down at your empty plate.

“It’s not up to me,” answers Bucky. “We’ll come over whenever Y/N is ready. This is the first time we’ve been together since my dad dropped the bomb on us.”

Steve pauses, his hands on the tablet he’d set down before starting to count the night’s profits. “Wait. Really?”

You nod when he looks at you, suddenly self-conscious again, and you pull your hands into your lap. “I haven’t been the best house guest…”

“You’re not a guest, Y/N. It’s your home now, too,” Bucky interjects.

Reaching over the counter, Steve smacks the side of Bucky’s head. His accent is thick when he huffs, “Íosa Críost, you thick! You didn’t think to go talk to her? To see if she wanted to watch a movie? To see if she needed anything?”

Bucky stammers over in his seat, and you keep your head ducked to hide your smile. Clearly, Steve knows more about being married than Bucky does—most likely from experience, since he’s already mentioned his wife—and he isn’t afraid to tell his friend off for not looking out for your well-being.

“I’m sorry!” exclaims Bucky, ducking another hit. “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Like ifreann you weren’t!” Steve retreats and picks up the tablet with a huff, then looks at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with him. He’s actually a nice guy when he’s not being stupid.”

“Stupid?” Bucky protests beside you.

“I wouldn’t have talked to him even if he’d tried,” you admit, finally looking up, “but it wouldn’t have hurt if he had.”

Steve nods, satisfied with your response. He leaves you a minute later when his phone rings. The wide smile on his face is enough to tell you who’s on the other end, but then he says her name as he walks away, the phone already held to his ear.

“So what’s with this place?” you ask. The quick change in subject is purposeful, and you hope that Bucky will take the bait.

Thankfully, he does. Bucky glances around before finishing off the last of his drink and setting the empty bottle closer to Steve’s side of the bar.

“Well, Steve wanted a place that we—and other people like us—could spend time without feeling like there was always a fight about to happen. We didn’t have that growing up, you know? And now that he’s in charge, he can do what he wants with his money. Everything’s filed properly, he doesn’t advertise, and all employees are paid above the table. If other people show up, then sure, they’re welcomed in, but they’re also fully vetted once Steve gets their IDs. Weapons aren’t allowed, and there’s no shop talk of any kind.”

“So it’s your little hideaway,” you say, propping your head up with one hand. The heaviness of the potatoes combined with the alcohol is starting to make you sleepy, and the emotional exhaustion from the night has started to weigh heavy on you, too.

He smiles a little. “Something like that.”

Bucky stands and rolls his sleeves back down, then pulls on his glove. He pulls a wad of cash out of his pocket and sets it on the bar.

“Come on, doll. We should head home,” he says.

The warm feeling you’d felt when Bucky had called you his girl comes back, and you smile a little when he holds open his suit jacket for you. A little sheepish at the gesture, you slide off your seat and let him help you into the sleeves, then take Bucky’s hand when he offers it.

“Bye Steve!” you call, waving with your free hand.

Steve looks up from the other end of the bar, where he’s wiping down a counter with one hand and holding his phone with the other. He lets go of the rag to wave back.

Silently, Bucky leads you out to the front, where the valet already has his car pulled up. You’re not sure how they knew to have it ready, but you don’t dwell on it. Stranger things have happened in your world. Bucky tips the valets with another wad of cash before opening the passenger door and helping you in.

You fall asleep on the drive home. You don’t mean to, but Bucky turns on the radio a few minutes into the drive, and he lets the first station that comes on continue to play. The music is soft, and he drives so smoothly that it lulls you to sleep before you’re even fully out of the city.

When you wake, it’s because Bucky’s stubbed his toe on something, jostling you in his arms. He’s muttering curses under his breath and hobbling down the hallway, and though the jerking motion and his tightening grip isn’t the most comfortable for you at the moment, you keep your eyes closed and force yourself to keep your smile at bay. Bucky is a much sweeter guy than you’d first thought him to be, and it seems like he’s trying now to make up for lost time. You’d misjudged him at first; just like you, he has his own ways of dealing with the life forced on him by his parents, but he really is a gentleman underneath it all.

He carries you to your bedroom and carefully lays you on top of the covers. Then, as gently as possible, you feel him lift your foot and pry off the uncomfortable shoes Marta had picked out for you. Bucky stays totally silent as he takes the shoes off and sets them on the floor at the end of the bed. He pulls a thin blanket over you, one that you’re sure is just for decoration when the bed is made, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. You have to force yourself not to smile when he whispers,

“Goodnight, sleep tight.”

The door clicks shut as he closes it slowly, and you peek open an eye after a few seconds have passed. Your room is dark and empty. Silently, you smile to yourself and crawl under the covers, your eyes heavy. It’s been a long, exhausting evening, and you’re happy to be in bed. You fall asleep to the sound of spring rain on the estate windows and with Bucky’s jacket still wrapped around you.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky slowly enters your life in both big and small ways. He smiles at you over meals in the dining room and late night snacks in the kitchen. He drives you to the city to visit Steve, Peggy, and his other friends, and when he finds out that his father still has your license, Bucky argues with him for over an hour to get it back. Marta delivers your license to your room the very next day, along with a handwritten note that the dark blue Mercedes in the garage is there for your use. Sometimes, you wake up to a bouquet of flowers with another handwritten note. Sometimes it’s a text, and sometimes it’s a gift. Bucky develops a habit of purchasing anything you mention enjoying or even vaguely liking, and you eventually have to tell him to stop because he’s bought you so much that there’s nothing left to buy for yourself.

Bucky turns out to be a closer friend than anyone you’ve ever known. He’s kind, and funny, and intelligent, and he remembers all the little things about you that nobody else does. When you’re sick or feeling lonely, he’s attentive and his presence alone reminds you of all the good things in the world. He makes your days brighter, even the worst ones. You find yourself falling in love with him, much to your surprise. You admit this to him one day. He kisses you then, and he tells you that he’s been in love with you since the first trip you’d taken to Steve’s bar.

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas roll around. New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, and Easter come and go. The Barnes’ grand celebrations for every holiday blur together as the months fly by, until eventually, it’s June and you’re standing in your room, staring at your reflection in the full-length mirror.

The wedding dress you’d picked out a few days after Christmas is just as beautiful as you remember it being. It fits you perfectly, thanks to the impeccable work of several tailors employed by Winnifred, and your hair and makeup are flawless as well. There’s no possible way you could’ve imagined how beautiful you look and feel on your wedding day.

Through the open window, you can hear a string quartet playing outside in the rose garden, where the ceremony is set up. Steve has already come by once to check on you at Bucky’s request, but both men are back downstairs. Bucky’s no doubt at the front of the garden with the priest—the one that you now know for certain is on your father’s payroll—and Steve is waiting with the rest of the wedding party. The only people remaining in your room are Marta, your mother, and Peggy.

You’ve grown to love Peggy more than any of your childhood friends. She didn’t grow up in the same world as you. She didn’t even grow up in the same country, and you love her all the more for it. She’s rational, cool-headed, and kind, though she’s not afraid to stand up for what’s right. On top of all that, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. It’s easy to see why Steve fell for her during his time in the military.

The quartet finishes the song and moves onto a new one, one that you recognize after only two notes. Your stomach drops and you close your eyes, gripping your bouquet tightly. It’s the song you’d been listening to the morning you’d found out about your engagement. You’d discovered it the night before, and you’d had it on repeat before going to sleep that night, then again that morning as you’d gotten ready. You’d even listened to it in the car on the drive from your parents’ estate.

Who added this to the playlist? Is this some kind of sick joke to them?

The same feeling of dread you’d felt that morning comes back, making your mouth dry and your head spin. You try to take a slow, deep breath to calm your nerves and block out the song, but it doesn’t work.

“Y/N?” Peggy asks.

You inhale sharply at the sound of her voice so close to you. She’d been texting Steve from near the window only moments before. You hadn’t thought that anyone would realize your distress, and you’d hoped to be able to collect yourself before it was noticeable. You hadn’t even sensed her coming closer.

“Y/N, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, but your voice wavers and your lower lip quivers. You try to take another slow breath.

“What’s going on?” Marta asks. Her hand lands on your arm and you pull away, closing in yourself and pulling the bouquet tight against you.

Your mother’s scolding makes you feel like you’re a little kid again. “Careful, Y/N! You don’t want to ruin those flowers. We don’t have time to make another bouquet for you. George is already hounding your father about how soon after the ceremony you’ll be signing the certificate.”

Anger wells up in you at her thoughtless comment, and you open your eyes. She’s standing behind you in the main part of the bedroom, near the foot of your bed. Any guilt you might’ve felt over ruining the flowers is gone now, and you turn and chuck the bouquet at the carpet by her feet. It bounces once, then lays motionless in a heap of smashed petals and ribbons.

“Enough, Mother!” you shout.

Marta rushes to close the window so the guests in the garden won’t hear your outburst.

Your mother gapes at you, somewhat surprised, but she doesn’t budge. “Y/N, dear. What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” you yell, stepping closer. Your dress swishes as you walk, and you normally enjoy the sound, but you’re too furious to care how pleasing it is. “What are you doing? I am your only daughter! You should be treating me like a princess and worrying about how I’m feeling and what I need, but instead you’re too busy thinking about the damn flowers! I’m sick of you thinking of me like I’m an object you can sell, steal, and trade away whenever it’s most convenient! You and Dad are so obsessed with the timeline you’ve created for yourselves that you don’t even notice how much this has affected me! You didn’t even ask if this is what I wanted!”

She scoffs at you, and any trace of motherly care and concern has disappeared from her expression. Your mother is showing her true face—the mafia wife that has almost as much blood on her own hands as her husband does, if not more.

“It’s too late for that now, isn’t it?” she asks. She picks up her clutch from the end of your bed and steps closer until you're standing eye to eye. Her voice is patronizing and infuriating, and she continues, “It’s your wedding day, dearest, and you can’t back out now. We’ve made sure of it. Even James has agreed to the contract.”

Your anger wavers. “Contract?”

“Yes, the contract,” she repeats, smirking. Her cards are all on the table now, and she’s got a winning hand. You both know it.

There’s a malicious glint in her eye as she says, “It’s already in effect. It has been since we agreed on the marriage.”

“What contract? What are you talking about?” There’s a sinking feeling in your chest, like your heart has decided to drop into your stomach, then down to your feet and through the floor. Bucky hadn’t said anything to you about a contract, and you trusted him, but you certainly didn’t trust your parents anymore, nor did you trust George and Winnifred Barnes.

Your mother smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that makes you want to puke. “That’s a conversation for another time. After all, it doesn’t even matter to you until James gets you pregnant.”

The alarm on your phone rings and you close your eyes, your hands trembling. You’d set that alarm to remind you when it was time to leave for the ceremony. Right on cue, the wedding planner knocks on the door to your bedroom.

“Y/N?” she calls, knocking again. “Are you ready?”

Slowly, you squat down and pick up the bouquet. It’s smashed on one side and the petals have fallen off of various flowers, but it’s mostly intact. It shakes as your hands tremble and tears well up in your eyes.

Marta appears in front of you, having pushed your mother out of the way, and over the ringing in your ears, you hear Peggy talking to the wedding planner. Somehow, you make it out to the ground floor of the estate, to the double doors that lead out to the rose garden. You’re dazed by your mother’s strange revelation. The sound of the alarm is still ringing in your ears. Peggy says something to you, but you can only stare straight ahead.

Your father is next to you then, as Peggy disappears through the doors and joins the rest of the wedding party. You see her glancing back at you, and whispering to the rest of the groomsmen and bridesmaids. Most of them are Bucky’s friends who have now become your own, and all of them look worried.

“Let’s go, princess,” your father says, and he pulls you forward by the arm.

Numbly, you follow his lead. Not even Bucky’s initially delighted expression shakes you out of your trance, but the way he rubs his thumb over your hands at the end of the aisle pulls you out of it just enough for you to lift your head and look around. You don’t remember walking to him, nor do you remember handing off your bouquet to Peggy, just like you’d practiced last night at the rehearsal.

“Y/N? Darling?” Bucky asks. He crouches and tilts his head slightly to try to catch your eyes. “You okay?”

“I—” Your mouth is still dry and you swallow, your eyes flitting from one place in the garden to another with no rhyme or reason. The world feels like it’s spinning and you clutch Bucky’s hands, unsure of what to do.

“Someone get her a chair,” Bucky orders, raising his voice enough that you flinch. He immediately starts murmuring reassurances to you, and he pulls you into his arms until he can lower you into a seat.

Someone fans you and a cool glass is pressed to your lips. You drink obediently, closing your eyes as the water helps the sandy feeling in your mouth abate just a little. When the water is gone, the glass is pulled away.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Bucky asks.

Slowly, carefully, you nod your head. He sighs in relief and when you open your eyes, he’s kneeling down in front of you. His shoulders are tense and his forehead is creased with worry. You’ve never seen him this stressed over anything and it makes you want to cry.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, heat flaming in your cheeks. You feel horrible. Bucky has been looking forward to the ceremony—he’d told you last night at the rehearsal dinner.

“It’s okay,” he quickly replies. He reaches forward and takes your hands, and you glance away from him to peek at the guests, your parents included, who are still watching you from their seats.

“Are you ready for this, or do you need a break?”

You look back at Bucky. “A break?”

“She’s fine,” your mother says, and you look over at her from your seat. She’s standing in the front row, her eyes fixated on the priest behind you. “They’re fine, Father. Y/N’s been a bit nervous all morning. Wedding day jitters, you know.”

“I—” You frown at her, still clutching Bucky’s hands. “That’s not what it is.” You look down at him and shake your head. “I’m not nervous to marry you.”

“I’m not nervous either,” he says with a small smile.

“Then shall we continue?” the priest asks.

You turn to shake your head at him. “No. I’m sorry, Father. I need to talk to Bucky—James—in private for just a minute. Is that alright?”

He smiles gently and nods. “Of course.”

There are more agitated murmurs from the crowd, but you ignore them as Peggy, Steve, and Bucky help you up and back down the aisle. When your mother moves to follow you, she’s blocked by Sam and Clint, another one of Bucky’s friends. She calls after you once, but you ignore her as Peggy helps you onto a bench inside, then leaves, closing the double doors behind herself. She’s handed back your bouquet, and you clutch it with both hands like it’s an anchor in the storm.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asks. He stands near the door, and you can tell from the way he rolls his shoulders that he’s stressed. His prosthetic always bothers him more when he’s agitated, and you suddenly feel even worse about stopping the ceremony.

“Yes,” you say, but then you shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. Obviously, it’s not, or I wouldn’t have stopped everything. I’m sorry, Bucky, but I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” There’s a wariness in his eyes, one that you loathe yourself for. You put it there, and you wish with all your might that your mother hadn’t told you what she did. Maybe then you wouldn’t have had to do this.

“Did you sign a contract? With our parents?”

He frowns and his whole body grows very still. “A contract?”

You nod. “Yes.” With your hands still fisted tightly around the bouquet, you inhale deeply and add, “A contract about getting me pregnant.”

“What?” Bucky’s furious response is immediate. He shakes his head, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you might be making this up. “Y/N, what are you talking about?”

“Did you sign a contract agreeing to marry me, and agreeing that my parents get something after you get me pregnant?” The words make you sick to your stomach. You haven’t eaten anything all day, which doesn’t help, but the thought of Bucky agreeing to something so vile… It’s enough to make anyone nauseous.

He’s shaking his head at you again. “Why the hell would I sign anything like that? Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrug a little and look down at the bouquet. “My mother…”

“Darling…” Bucky sighs and comes closer, and he kneels down in front of you again, just like he had outside. All the fight and anger has left his voice. “I would never do anything like that. Not in a million years, and especially not to you. I love you.”

“She said you signed it before they’d even told me we were engaged,” you said, quiet now that he’s so close. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, to see what his face might be telling you that his words aren’t.

“Can you look at me? Please?”

Reluctantly, you lift your eyes from the flowers in your lap to meet Bucky’s eyes. They’re just as blue as the ribbons wrapped around the flower stems, a choice you’d specifically made without the wedding planner’s guidance. You’d wanted him to be your “something blue”, even if it felt a little cheesy.

“Do you want to marry me?” Bucky asks.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “Yes.”

“Do you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that contract? That I didn’t know it existed?” he questions.

You nod again, tears forming in your eyes.

“And do you trust me to help you find a way to get rid of it, once all of this is over? Do you trust me to protect you?”

You nod for the third time, and Bucky takes both of your hands in his.

“Okay. Then let’s get married, and I swear to you that as soon as our honeymoon is over, the guys and I will start doing some digging.”

“What about me?” you ask, sniffling. You pull one of your hands away to dab at your eyes before the makeup can get too damaged by your tears.

“What about you?”

“Can I dig, too?”

Bucky chuckles and kisses your knuckles on the hand that he’s holding, and then he pulls himself up off the floor to sit beside you on the bench. He pulls you into a half-hug and you cling to him, sniffling and smiling as he rubs the your back and answers,

“You can do all the digging you want, doll. I’ll even hand you the shovel.”

Tá sé go maith tú a fheiceáil. = It’s good to see you.

Mo bhean chéile = My wife

Íosa Críost = Jesus Christ

Thick = A stupid person

Ifreann = Hell

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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vhstown · 9 months

Text

time out (part 2)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, hurt/comfort, fluff, description of (boxing) injuries, briefly implied death, gtranslate spanish

word count: 5.3k

a/n: editing this was actual torture. kind of becomes a song fic? song is dreamer by bobby bland if you wanna listen before u read lmao entirely not necessary tho. part 2 of 2 but i might write this au again in the future !

← PART 1 / THE AU

Boxing — you tried to be as well versed in it as possible, learning as many terms and moves and whatever else you could pick up from Aaron when he was helping Miles train for all those weeks. What you weren’t sure of, though, was if a “time out”, or a break, had to be this awkward. What you also weren’t sure of was what on Earth your boyfriend was thinking doing here at midnight training (or splitting his knuckles open, though you didn’t quite know the difference anymore,) right after his tournament had finished.

Regardless, there was nothing you could do about it. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t just leave and “give him space” as you might’ve done before. The weather didn’t look like it was going to clear up anytime soon, and you had no signal or money; it wasn't like Miles would call a car for himself anyway — stubborn.

Miles was sat on the floor against a set of shelves with various things that belonged to Aaron, and you were on an unbearably stiff bench press seat, legs close together so you wouldn’t fall off and your jacket hung around the weight. Cold, uncomfortable, dead silent — the perfect atmosphere for a productive conversation, of course.

Truthfully, you had no idea what to say. Yeah, you’d just talked big game to your boyfriend and scolded him like his mother probably would’ve if she knew what the hell he was up to, but you hadn’t planned anything after that. Miles wasn’t a talker — not by any means. Right now, he was sat on the floor with his legs crossed, stretching uncomfortably on his elbows with his hands in awkward positions to try and not strain them too much. He hadn’t said anything, so you hadn’t said anything either, and now you were stuck without any words and too many thoughts.

It was a lot of unmet glances and quiet shivers, and you tried your best to kill the urge to just... lean over and hug him. As much as you missed him and wanted to let out everything you’d been feeling for the past couple of weeks, now wasn’t the best time — Miles probably couldn’t even hug you with those gnarly injuries anyway.

Miles’ eyes were dull and tired, fixed on the ground or maybe somewhere you couldn’t see. As usual, you couldn’t gauge anything from his expression besides mild annoyance. It was like a constant guessing game. First, why your texts weren’t going through, secondly, where the hell he was, and now you had to figure out why on Earth he was so frustrated. Your luck had ran out with those first two guesses, and his silence certainly didn’t help — again, not a talker. Not even a looker; he wasn’t stealing glances of you anymore, like he was thinking about something. If only you knew what.

The most you could guess was that this was about not winning — but it couldn’t just be that simple. Miles was stupid sometimes, but he wasn’t delusional — he knew that he probably couldn’t beat every single person in that championship when he was just starting to go professional. This wasn’t some kiddish, lofty dream Miles had either — he was serious from the day Aaron got him those gloves, which were now crumpled up in the corner next to you. He wouldn’t throw a fit over nothing.

It wasn’t right to force it out of him though, and you could still sense the stubbornness lingering in the crease between his brows. You resisted the urge to smooth it out with your thumb, instead just killing it with every other thought you deemed “selfish”. Apparently, waiting was just as much of a competitive sport at boxing.

The door rattled as icy drafts bit at your ankles and fingertips. It sounded like the sky was going to collapse from how intense the storm was growing. Miles was just in a tank top, his hoodie abandoned on the bar behind you. You figured he could get it himself; any sort of help always seemed pitying to him anyway.

“I’m training with uncle Aaron tonight — stay home.”

“I can handle myself. How else you think I got this far?”

“You ain’t comin’ to Vegas with me.”

You found yourself reaching for the hoodie anyway. Miles didn’t notice, of course, but you could see the goose bumps on skin even from this far away.

“Hey,” you muttered, making him look up. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up, or sulk some more?”

His mouth opened, but only to let out a breath, before silence fell between you again.

“Fine, I don’t… get it, or whatever.” You continued, fingers trailing into the sleeves of the hoodie. “But I don’t get how I’m supposed to when you’re not talking to me.”

“There’s nothing to get.” It was like you had Vegas between you two again — like he wasn’t even here.

The fabric of the hoodie was warm, and a part of you didn’t feel like letting go of it — if only your boyfriend was in the hoodie too.

“I don’t get why you’d box without wraps, for one.”

“I’m just… frustrated,” he yielded, albeit unhelpfully. “‘S nothing serious, promise.”

Serious enough to have your fingers hanging on by a thread. You noticed his thumb nursing the blackened skin around his knuckles, and his expression seemed even more distant than it was before. It was always some impossible game, and you hadn’t lost, but were drained and out of words for now.

Maybe he’d figure it out for himself; you weren’t too convinced of that. Despite that, it was getting annoying to hear the constant howling of wind and rain outside. Walking over to the shelf, you dropped the hoodie in Miles’ lap. You doubted he had even looked at you, but you didn’t need him to. Right now, you needed something to fill this boring, cold and wordless room.

Looking through the shelves behind Miles, you noticed a picture: a much younger Aaron wearing boxing gloves, a medal around his neck and standing next to someone you assumed to be Miles' dad. You'd never looked at any of the pictures close up, but you noticed there were a lot of old pictures like that, before finding Aaron's collection of records.

Taking the first one out, you put it into the player and carefully set the needle, glancing at the name of the song. His taste in music wasn’t exactly popular, but you’d rather listen to “DREAMER” than “inconveniently timed Brooklyn storm” right now.

Letting out a sigh of your own, you slumped down next to him as he pulled the hoodie over his head, arms going back to being crossed.

"~Dreamer... dreamer... Like a fool, I thought that it could be..." Of course it was a sad song. Blues? The haunting melody made you feel blue. It made the cold feel more numbing than biting on your skin. It made you feel, in general — what, you couldn’t really place.

“…Are we okay?” you muttered without much thought. The urge to talk had come back, and you hadn’t decided if you regretted speaking yet.

"~Dream on... dream on... surely someone, will understand me..."

Miles let out a breath, and it felt like you were exchanging more sighs than words. “Yeah. I just… ‘S not you.”

No “promise”, though. Did that make it more or less honest?

"~What do I say, when I've, oh, said too much? I think by now, I'm wastin' time..."

“...I love you, y’know?” you continued, hating how out of place it sounded. It was as useless as that text you tried to send, but you were tired, and missed your boyfriend, and wished he would give you even a glance.

“~I'm going… oh Lord I'm gone…”

“Love you too,” he mumbled in reply. It wasn’t very reassuring, and it didn’t seem like it to him either, because he reached out to brush your hand against his. You took his hand first — gently, and his thumb pressed into your palm in a sort of silent apology.

You hated how futile it was, and how much you craved it again. You hated you couldn’t be even a little mad at him, and how you were defending him to yourself. Maybe you were both in the wrong. No — you weren’t wrong, you were trying to be understanding.

You weren’t wrong for feeling this way, were you?

“~You are the absence, of my mind…”

You hated how much you missed that boy from all those months ago — even though he was right in front of you. It didn’t feel like Miles Morales was yours anymore, he was theirs — whoever “they” were. His competitors, his managers, the media… It was like there was no trace of the Miles you knew before. Maybe it’s because you couldn’t deny it anymore: that Miles had a dream, and you probably weren’t in it. You hated how you took it so personally.

And you hated how you reached out to hug him, despite all of that.

It was just you for a moment, and you were about to pull away before his arms wrapped loosely around the small of your back.

You hated how you hid your face over his shoulder, and how nice it felt. You hated how warm he was, and how the room was freezing.

You hated how familiar this was.

“~Lord, dreamer… dreamer…”

“Sorry, cariño. Didn’t mean to be an asshole.” Miles’ fingertips dragged uselessly over your back, and you shamelessly tightened your arms around him as he pressed his cheek into yours. You might’ve shed a tear, if it weren't for how heavy your eyes were already with the late hour. Neither of you could go home yet, though you weren’t sure if you wanted to right now.

“~Like a fool… I thought, well, that it could be…”

The long sigh you let out was followed by Miles’ own quiet one before he kissed you on the cheek. His breath warmed your frigid face and brushed at your heart, as he always did. You wished you could be upset, overreact, scream at his face, tell him how you felt all this time. It just always had to end with forgiveness, because now, you couldn’t even remember what you had felt.

And you hated it — not as much as you’d like.

Closing your eyes, you buried your head into his hoodie while the music, the storm and the sound of your own breathing blurred together in your mind. All you were left with were your own thoughts.

This boxing thing didn’t involve you — it never did. He didn’t want you there to see him, or even tell you he was home from Vegas, and now it felt like he was just putting up with you here. It felt like you and him were on opposite sides of the pavement, only walking together to share the same umbrella. He just didn’t want you to get soaked — or hurt.

“I told you not to come today… I’m walkin’ you home.”

He didn’t want you to expect too much.

“Nah, you don’t need to see me train. It’s borin’ as hell.”

He didn’t want you to give up on him.

“I’ll make it big — promise.”

He wanted his dream — did he still want you?

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

Patient, huh? If only you could be like Rio. It felt like you were just as bad as Miles. Maybe you were — both just as bad as each other.

“Why didn’t you text me? …At all?” Muffled against his hoodie, you hoped your voice didn’t waver. It felt a little manipulative, even if it wasn’t in the slightest, but you couldn’t keep telling yourself things were all good. Miles had been avoiding you, whether that was intentional or not. You were just being open — trying to be open. You hope he’d try too.

The boy in question was silent, before he pulled away, hands lingering at your sides.

“I was…” Miles took in a breath, voice dying out for a moment. “Look, I…”

“~Down the wrong way, on a one way street…”

“I can’t be a boxer anymore.”

It felt like the rain had gone quiet. There was no need for an umbrella between you two anymore. It felt like you’d closed it yourself, walking to the opposite side of the pavement again, watching him and the dull, empty sky from afar.

You were the one that asked him — you wanted him to speak to you, and now you weren’t even sure what to say.

“~You'd think by now, I would have learned…”

“What do you mean…?”

“My contract got terminated.” His voice sounded forced, strangely robotic. Was that what you so wanted to get from him?

“Can’t you just… get signed by somebody else?”

“There is nobody else. I had a contract with Norman Osborn — he basically owns boxing.”

“~I saw a little, but I learned even less…”

Your heart dropped a little — you wouldn’t let it drop any more than that. It made sense why Miles was so excited back then if he got signed by someone like that. Now, that excitement meant nothing. All you could think of was that video, that interview…

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

So he’d just… given up? Miles had given up? Was that it? The end of it?

Boxer or not, you suddenly had the urge to punch him — maybe even punch yourself. It didn’t even matter who was right and who was wrong anymore, because you didn’t even know who was in front of you. It was almost uncanny to see Miles like this, so dejected; that’s what he’d been feeling all this time. As much as it seemed like he was mad at you, or was avoiding you, or lying to you, it was never really about you.

Miles was refusing to let go of his dream — of himself — until right now.

And you didn’t know what overcame you at that moment. Maybe it was Rio’s words, or the fact that Aaron wasn’t here, or the fact that you felt like you’d lost your boyfriend — if he wasn’t going to be stubborn about it anymore, you sure as hell were.

“So you’re telling me nobody else is gonna sign you? At all? You haven’t even looked?”

“You don’t get it, ‘s more complicated than—”

“Baby, look at me for a sec.” Your hand was on his shoulder with more confidence than common sense, eyes were square with his avoidant, dull, hopeless gaze. You haven’t ever seen Miles hopeless before. You couldn’t let him be if it was the last thing you did. “You, Miles Gonzalo Morales—”

“Aight, you don’t need the full name.”

“I do need it, because my whole ass boyfriend changed boxing history.” Frankly, you had no idea what you were saying; it felt like you were shooting in the dark, but you didn’t care if you sounded a little stupid, or over-the-top, because if that’s what it took to get your boyfriend to crack even a little… “His 'legendary left jab'—”

“Babe, where the hell did you get that from?” The look he was giving you was probably more of a “jab” than anything.

“…The news.” The corner of your mouth quirked up despite your best efforts, face pricking with heat as you remembered reading through that Bugle article like it was divine revelation. A little stupid, a little over-the-top, sure, but it was true.

Miles’ lips pressed together, and your face heated more trying to decipher his expression. You didn’t have to, because the snicker that escaped his throat was enough make all the rain and thunder and lighting, and even the song insignificant.

“~I only learn to regret…”

“Miles, I’m serious,” you muttered, rather unseriously, brows furrowing as you tried to smooth out the meekness on your face.

“Legendary?” There was a hint of his usual mirth in his tone, and you tried not to be bothered by it. Anything was better than seeing Miles like that: ridiculous, over-the-top, unserious, but not hopeless.

“Look, it was the Bugle, okay? Some millennial wrote that — like, some lady called Mary.”

“Why do you even remember that?” Anything that could come to mind, you’d tell him. No more silence. Just be yourself. Keep talking.

“I read it, like, a lot, okay? I was really proud of you and I just…”

The smirk fell fast from Miles’ face, and you held back any words you might’ve had. The rain eased back in as a constant patter against the windows — the silence had come back despite your efforts. Your heart started to sink a little again, but all you could offer was an awkward smile.

“You’re proud?” he asked, like you’d just lied to his face.

“Yeah…? I always am, but seeing you make it so far…” It was something you didn’t say enough, you realised. The words echoed in your mind as you found the confidence to look at him.

“…Miles Morales made it, right?”

Another tiny breath left Miles, his eyes closing for a moment as you waited for him to speak. You wanted to backtrack, maybe hope the rain would die down soon so you two could leave — you had sort of snuck out… That wasn’t the point, though. You weren’t sure what the point was right now, and you weren’t sure what he was thinking, as always — again.

His lips pressed to your forehead, and then your forehead was against his chest — somehow.

You still had no idea what he was thinking. Now you had no idea what he was feeling — or what you were feeling.

The room was freezing, but you were sure you were slowly setting on fire. Traces of the awkward smile you had were stuck on your face as your cheek pressed into the fabric of his hoodie, and suddenly every little thing you’d thought about saying to him had disappeared in its entirety.

“Dios (God), am I a dumbass…” he murmured to himself. With no clue what to do, you could only focus on the hesitance in the way he held you close, because of his injuries, you weren’t sure. His fingers were cold, like the air was. You didn’t hate the warmth this time.

The silence returned again, and instead of your heart sinking, it was fluttering wildly. You so wanted to take it in your hands and hold it still, but you couldn’t even hold Miles back.

He did this sort of thing often — used to do this often, when he was stressed for whatever reason. He wouldn’t say if he was, but you could always tell. Sometimes he’d ask, and right now, he didn’t, but it wasn’t like you ever refused; it was nice, safe, and away from the storm — close.

"~Surely someone, will understand me..."

He kissed the top of your head, like he was hoping you’d understand.

If only you could. If only you could understand why your boyfriend couldn’t see it — see how far he’d come, how much he’d achieved, how proud he should be of himself, how neither of you should be here right now.

If only Rio was here to tell him how proud she was. Or Aaron. Or his dad.

You never really knew his dad. You knew he’d be proud, at least. He'd probably be beaming seeing how far his son Miles had come, like he did in those pictures with Aaron.

You were proud too. Did that count for anything? Would that change anything? It wouldn’t get him another contract.

You wanted to squeeze his hand, but that was a stupid idea considering the state of it. A lot of your ideas felt stupid as of late. None of them would get him another contract.

It felt like a lot more than just the contract, though; maybe that's why it was so hard. If only he’d tell you.

But waiting wasn’t a game, or a competitive sport. It was nothing like boxing; there was no winner. Waiting was a choice — a promise, that you’d be there when he was ready.

“Just be patient with me, cielo.”

You wondered if he’d ever be ready.

"~Dream on, baby."

You wrapped your arms around him, finally. At the very least, you promised to hold him, if not before, then now. He tightened his grip too, just mariginally.

“I’m sorry, mi cielo.” he started, voice barely audible. “I swear, I didn’t know you actually…” Miles trailed off, resting his chin on the top of your head instead.

“Cared?” you suggested, wondering if he could hear you. “It’s a lot more than that.”

You felt his chest fall as he let out a sigh. “I know.”

“I want you to know.”

“I do, I just… I’m being real dumb and—” You squeezed your arms around him before he could finish his sentence; no more avoidance. What you were going to say after, you didn’t know.

“…What?” His voice was suddenly soft, controlled. It was like he could hear what was going on in your head.

“You ever…" You moved your head away from his chest slightly, so he could hear better. "You ever had a stage name in mind?”

It was the only thing you could think to ask, though you didn’t ask it with much thought at all. Still, things weren't going to go anywhere if you kept dodging the subject.

Miles was silent for more than just a moment — it was enough to guess he did have one. “...Why?”

“Cause… when you get back in the ring, people gotta know you right?” It wasn’t just blind optimism — you decided that you did really believe in him. They weren’t going to see the end of someone like him, not by a long shot — or a legendary left jab. Your boyfriend was one hell of a boxer; it wouldn't just stop here — no way.

“I mean, '17-year-old from NYC' isn’t exactly catchy,” you continued, despite his silence.

Just one loss before so many wins. At his age, a win, against a “long-time champion” no less, was worth a million times more than that Norman guy’s contract, no matter how much of a big-shot he was.

“You think I’m gettin’ signed?” They’d be stupid not to.

“I know you’re getting signed.” Rio's words came back to you, and despite your hesitance, you found yourself saying: “If not, I’ll sign you and go to Vegas myself.”

Patient — like his mom, but also with that fighting spirit. You realised you had to be on his level too — match his energy, his enthusiasm. He’d spent long enough being on his own.

“...Fine, fine,” he shrugged. The edge in his tone seemed to fade as he thought for a moment. “If you’re signin’ me, you’re signin’… The Prowler.”

Miles loved boxing? Screw it, you loved boxing too. You loved boxing more than him, in fact — because it was a part of him. And even when he didn’t love his dream so much, you’d be there to love it for him. He loved all of you, and you loved all of him. That was still true now, even if he was going through something not so lovely.

And soon, you’d have something else to love too. Something new.

“The Prowler,” you repeated, a smile of your own creeping up on your face. “…You sure?” The groan Miles let out was enough to curb your need to annoy him… with love.

“Cariño…" he mumbled. "You ask just to make fun of me?” Miles shook his head, and you just squeezed him around the waist again.

“No, no way. I wanna welcome you to the team, Prowler.” A few firm pats on his back got him to laugh again, and though it was barely, that moment felt worth all those weeks.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m a hundred percent serious. You and your 'legendary left jab' and all.”

“You…” The hint of a smile was in his voice, and his good hand came to pull you closer, pressing the two of you flush against each other.

“Me…?” Your voice was muffled as you rested against the hollow of his neck, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

“Can’t believe you’re still here.” It sounded more like he was talking to himself, speaking under his breath. The way it came out, it seemed like something he'd wanted to say for a while.

“Why would I leave?” Why would you ever leave?

“No clue.”

His good hand found your face, and you turned your head a bit so it wouldn't be so awkward to reach it.

“Don't know why I ever thought that.”

You felt his thumb run across your cheek, before pulling away and tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

“Damn, you're beautiful,” he murmured, dipping his head down to bump your nose with his, stoic expression and all. You were just about able to keep your composure.

“You trying to make it up to me with flattery?” It wasn’t like he had much to make up for — in your eyes, at least. The tease made his eyes narrow, but the ghost of a smile was on his lips.

“I can make it up to you a hell of a lot better than that.”

“Morales,” you warned, thought it didn't come out much like a warning. Especially not with how quietly you said it, your face so close to his.

“What?” It was his turn to be annoying. “Lo imaginé…” (I thought so…) You weren't sure you minded it.

It was nice to be joking, and flirting, and close again. There was no need to protest right now — no reason to pretend to be mad. His arm shifted to search for your hand, and you unconsciously laced your fingers together as your faces drew closer. You were already squeezing his hand before—

“Aye…!” Miles hissed, slipping his hand away as you both remembered the nasty, loud bruise that was spreading across his hand. His left hand, you realised, was the one he’d injured — it wasn’t exactly legendary now.

“Sorry…” you muttered, lips pressing together tightly as you took in the sight again. “But that was your fault."

Miles frowned at you almost incredulously as he held his own hand. “Nuh-uh.”

“Time out, Morales.” You couldn’t help it. Or help the smile on your face.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” You kissed his cheek to really rub it in. No more words from him, it looked like.

After a moment more of silence, and watching Miles nurse his own hand, you spoke up again. “…Are you gonna go back? To boxing?” Miles looked back at you, before nodding.

“Yeah. Eventually, I guess...” He let out a sigh, but it seemed like one of fatigue rather than frustration. You blinked away your own tiredness that was creeping back. "As the Prowler.”

“Got a lot of… prowling to do, then.” He pursed his lips at you in contempt, and you gave him a meek look in return. As much as you made fun of the name, it was pretty cool. “When are you thinking?”

“I’ll wait a little. ‘S too soon." Miles put his less-brutalised hand on your knee, looking at you a bit more earnestly. "Gotta make it up to you, first.”

“Obvio.” (Obviously) You tried hiding your smirk this time, but he caught it anyway.

“Driving me crazy for no reason,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. The few times you did speak Spanish, it usually wasn't to be sweet.

“A good crazy?” you tried, hoping he'd humour you a little. Maybe he could find it sweet?

“Ni hablar.” (No way.)

Sweet enough to kiss you, anyway. With his better hand, he held the side of your face by his fingertips, pressing a short, chaste kiss to your lips. The feeling was warmer than anything, and you were left with a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as he pulled away.

“Te amo (I love you),” he whispered with his own shred of a smile. You caught a glint in his eye before his expression faded into that same serious look. “I'll fix up, I promise.”

“No need to promise." With your thumb, you finally smoothed the crease between his brows — an old, shared habit. It made his expression soften a little. "Cause you will, and you’ll make it even further next time.”

“Right,” he agreed, hand still lingering by your jaw. “I will. Gimme a time out if I don’t.” A laugh escaped your mouth at that.

"Sure." You met him with your own chaste kiss, your heart swelling as you felt him smile a little against your lips. “I love you too, by the way.”

The record had stopped playing, ages ago, you noticed, and there was another stretch of silence. Total silence, actually — it had stopped raining entirely.

“We should probably head back,” Miles stated as he looked out the window with you, before getting up with a bit of a groan. The two of you needed rest, especially him.

“Yeah,” you murmured, reaching for your jacket. “I mean, I sort of… snuck out.”

His silence made you turn back, only to be met with an unamused look. You tried not to laugh again. “So you’re sayin’ we’re both dead.”

“Pretty much.” He rolled his eyes at your sheepish smile, but you caught the corner of his mouth lift up as he turned to the door. It wasn't like the two of you hadn’t snuck out before — this was just like all those other times, just more… unplanned.

The night time air was strangely cool and breathable as you left the warehouse. Though the concrete was slippery, and you and Miles had to hold onto each other to not fall, Brooklyn was glimmering almost ethereally by the moonlight, the sky clear with any lingering clouds now gone. You hooked your arm in Miles' arm, his hands loosely tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He’d have some explaining to do to his mom about his hands, and you’d have to creep back into your apartment as quietly as possible — but right now, in the silence hum of the city, you felt that things would be okay. Maybe they weren’t excellent, or ideal right now, but okay was a good start. The Prowler was a thing of the future, albeit near future. Right now, it was just you and Miles Morales, going home together past your curfews.

Ping! Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping Ping—

Way past your curfews.

At the same time, the two of you pulled your phones out, only to be bombarded with notifications of missed calls and texts. You were a short distance away from the warehouse now, and your phones had only just gotten signal. It was 1:02am, and you had walls of texts asking you where the hell you were and to "get your ass home right now" on your lock screen. Miles gritted his teeth, and you didn't want to think about what Rio had to say.

As the pinging died down, your eyes met, the both of you thinking the exact same thing:

“We’re so dead.”

You shot a quick message back and mental prayer, Miles doing the same before hastily linking arms with you again. He returned your sheepish look with his own as the two of you kept walking, trying not to slip in the puddles. It had already been a long night, and it was about to get way longer, but at least you could have each other’s company.

"~All my life, been a dreamer..."

"~Dream on... dream on..."

After all, you could guess that a lot more than just a “time out” was waiting for you at home.

"~Maybe somewhere... maybe somewhere..."

🕸️🔭👾

↑ the song! bobby bland 🔛🔝

felt a bit empty without a message hi this is vee it is midnight and i have to go to school in less than 8 hours ! thriving !!!! also if you're interested i have a post about just the au itself here <3

taglist (ppl who asked anyway 😭): @iissza

reblogs appreciated (like so much i literally melt and die) catch the rest of my atsv stuff here!

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vivalarevolution · 5 months

Text

𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻

Dark-Obsessive Neteyam x Reader

Request: „I love your works, and I am wondering if you could write dark-angst fic abt neteyam (aged-up obv). Maybe in a scenario where the reader does not like neteyam/sees him as a friend and likes someone else, which makes him jealous. It doesn't have to be nsfw, but I think it will be very fitting considering the theme of the story.‟

A/N: I have a weakness for dark characters. That's why when I was writing this request I couldn't resist and added a few things along with little changes, going beyond the content I was given from anon.

Not my best work but still I hope you will enjoy reading it and that you will like it. Remember, english is not my native language, grammatical errors will or may occur. Works also contains smut , and that's why please minors do not interact with it.

*Some characters have been aged up

She felt it, felt his burning gaze on every inch of her body. No matter where she moved, no matter how she bent, his eyes followed her ,devouring her. This sent a wave of shivers down her spine which spread all the way to her toes.

And when a pair of hands slid subtly over her ribs, the gaze on her body was no longer devouring, but burning, causing her a pain she couldn't forget.

-Your body is right here , with me. But where is your mind tìyawn? - a man asked her, tickling her earlobe with the air that escaped from his mouth.

-My mind is here as well , do not doubt it - she replied, placing her hand on his chest, when her eyes wander over his blue skin and the black tattoos that decorated it.

-Are you lying to your future Olo'eyktan? - he asked, cupping her chin in three large fingers, stroking the soft skin of her cheeks, his thumb tracing her full, kissable lips.

-I would never lie to you, Aonung - she stated quietly, grabbing his wrist, squeezing it gently.

-Yet you're avoiding telling me the truth - metkayina man said, trying to find the answer in her onyx pupils, which had dilated, now resembling a dark night sky that decorated her irises.

Suddenly, the eyes that had been staring at her disappeared, causing her skin to be covered with a long-forgotten coldness.

-There is nothing I am hiding from you - said the woman, involuntarily looking away towards the place where the one who had been watching her every move had recently stood.

But after her words, the person she was looking for so desperately was suddenly behind her, as if summoned. Hiding her silhouette with his massive body ,placing a large, rough hand on her hip, giving her the impression of a silent and sick announcement that she belonged to him, that she was his property.

-I hope I didn't interrupt anything important - he said politely, so politely that it almost sounded like a lie that hide his true intentions.

-No ,of course not my Olo'eyktan - the woman replied immediately, avoiding the gaze of both men.

In response, Neteyam placed two fingers under her jaw, forcing her to look into his golden eyes, which screamed one word - liar.

-Good , very good...in that case, I would like to talk to you - he announced, speaking to her as if they were alone, even though they were surrounded by a sea of people -...privately - he added, and his voice became lower, heavier, almost threatening.

She was unable to agree or refuse before the same hand that held her waist pulled her towards its owner, making her surrender and accept that she was trapped in a snare that was impossible to escape.

But even if she tried to escape, she knew she couldn't do it. She was too weak to disobey, too weak to oppose, and she hated how powerless she had become.

-Neteyam... - she whispered and almost immediately his attention focused on her -...you have to stop. I am begging you.

The man approached her, running his nose over the soft skin of her cheeks, inhaling her intoxicating scent that made him just want to be closer to her.

-I don't understand what you're talking about yawntutsyìp - he said, running his fingertips along her ribs and collarbones, stopping at the crook of her neck.

-My heart doesn't belong to you. I am not yours - the young woman said suddenly - I have never been Neteyam... and I never will be.

Her words made the hand around her neck tighten, not to choke her, but to give her a silent warning.

-Oh, but you are - he growled low in her ear - You are mine, you belong to me Y/n. No one else can have you - his words became more possessive, more dangerous - You said it yourself, I am your Olo'eyktan - he whispered, pressing his body against hers - That makes you my possession.

Y/n let her body go limp.

My possession echoed in her head, and the dark thoughts that had crept into her mind so long ago suddenly became the reality that stood right before her eyes.

-Whatever you feel for me, these emotions. They are dark, poisoned. They are deadly - she noticed, closing her eyes after a moment when in response Neteyam only wrapped his other hand around her figure, pulling her closer to him, so close that the warmth of their skins overlapped - This is not what love should look like.

The man looked straight at her.

-How do you know what love looks like? - he asked, and the hand that was holding her throat found itself on her jaw, holding her head in place - How do you know what my love looks like if you never let me show it to you? You never try to take it, to feel, to truly feel what my love for you feels like.

-If this is what your love is supposed to look like, then I don't want it - the young woman announced, looking directly into his golden eyes, which became shadowy, no longer hiding the darkness that smoldered deep inside men -Your love is like ivy that wraps around me and suffocates me every time I try to move, tightening more and more, so much so that it breaks my bones. This's what your love looks like.

- I'll show you what my love looks like - he growled , suddenly attacking her neck with his fangs , which almost immediately penetrated her skin , creating a bloody mark , that made a silent scream fell out of her mouth , and a shadow of tears appeared in her eyes.

After that Olo'eyktan moved away from her body , watching with a kind of pride what he had done , moments later pushing her against a tree, immediately hovering over her small body ,like a predator who had managed to capture its prey.

His hands touched her with extraordinary precision, giving the impression that he was everywhere, not allowing even one patch of Y/n skin to be untouched. Her shoulders , her hands , her ribs , her breasts , her hips , her thighs. His fingertips left behind a burning sensation that, instead of dying out like a barely smoldering flame, lasted like a wildfire that consumed not only her body but also her mind.

His lips glided over her soft skin , going lower and lower with each kiss , which left a wet trail and chills behind. Neteyam stopped only when he could taste her sweet arousal on his tongue , soaking her inner thighs and loincloth . Her material teased the skin of his face , which found its place on her womanhood. Therefore, his hands , still roaming over her body , found their place on her hips , just above the belt that held her lower garment , after a moment ripping it with great force , tearing it almost to pieces.

-No...no , Neteyam - she whispered, trying to push him away, even though her body trembled with growing excitement that she could not accept.

-Stop fighting oeyä yawne- he muttered, looking at her out of the corner of his eye as his lips brushed her pubic bone, coming dangerously close to her clitoris, which was swollen and wet, begging to be touched - Just give in -he whispered , before his tongue sank between her puffy folds ,tasting her as if she were the sweetest of fruits.

The woman moaned , and her body involuntarily went limp , now being poised by the man in front of her , feasting between her legs , devouring her and making her mind grow emptier and emptier , no matter how much she tried to resist it . Not when his lips roamed over her womanhood , touching her so well, as if he knew her better than she knew herself , which terrified her as much as it thrilled her.

-No...no...oh please stop...I can't - she babbled , as her own body began to refuse to obey her.

But he continued his assault , slurping her juices with great greed , making her orgasm approach uncontrollably fast , too fast . Y/n tried desperately to push Neteyam away from her , but he only clung to her more , lining his tongue deep into her canal , teasing her tight gummy walls , making stars appear before her eyes, while the lower part of the man's face was covered with a transparent liquid.

The young woman let her head drop involuntarily. Her eyes closed again and again , and her mind became completely foggy , unable to think, unable to escape.

-This is what my love for you is , my sweet syulang - he said tenderly , capturing her heated cheek in his large hand - You saw it , you wanted it , you needed it - he announced in a dark tone of voice , kissing the tears that began to run down her face - You truly wanted it , your truly wanted to be mine...forever - he whispered , encircling her tired body with his arms , drawing her toward him , nestling her body into his.

And Y/n allowed him to do so. She allowed him to kiss the crown of her head, she allowed him to bring their kuru together, making them into a unity that even though it wasn't supposed to exist had just been born, finally making her his. Truly his. Forever.

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paddockbunny · 1 year

Text

Chapter Four

Summary: Turning up to the paddock had perhaps been one of the worst decisions you possibly could have made but at least you didn't let the evening go to waste. Now, after the events of that weekend you had to face the music…..and be saved when things didn’t go so well Pairing : Max Verstappen x Reader Rating :18+. Word Count: 5, 749 Trigger Warnings : IT'S BASICALLY ALL ANGST AND SMUT! NSFW, 18+, adult content, adult language, LOTS of Christian Horner in this chapter, PinV sex, protected sex, sad potentially triggering family dynamics Authors Note : Ah I really hope you guys like it now it's been turned into a fic, hope it doesn't disappoint! If you wish to be added (or removed) from the Tag List please DM me so I see it! Sending everyone love

You turned off the key to the ignition and a large exhale left your body. Of all the places in the world you could have been, here was the last place on earth you wanted to be. You took a cursory glace to the side of you, glimpsing fleetingly at the old fashioned farmhouse that now played host to your “family.” Every time you came back here to your father’s big sprawling estate equipped with its own stream for fishing, horse stables and fucking wine cellar even though no one could possibly drink that much wine, you couldn’t help but feel reminiscent. Not of the rather ostentatious abode your father and his family now resided but how much it reminded you of the somewhat humbler home you grew up in yourself when it was just the three of you, him, you and your mother. Hell, your childhood home would have paled in comparison to this palace. But at least you had some happy memories before Geraldine and the fame of his position in F1 went to your father’s head.

You grabbed Monty’s birthday present off the passenger seat of your car and took deep, steady inhale. Monty was the sole reason you were here. If it weren’t for keeping a promise to your little brother that you would come to his birthday party then you wouldn’t be anywhere near this place at all. Thing was immediately after leaving your hotel room in the early hours of the following morning - post celebratory all night fucking after his win – Max texted you and started hounding you about flying out and spending a few days with him in Monaco. And those texts he sent were very, very hard to resist. They always started innocently enough, claiming he just wanted to show you around but quickly they always descended into a familiar, smutty tone. You knew that if you had flown out to Monaco the only place you would be seeing would be Max Verstappen’s bedroom – and his shower, and his sofa, and his balcony and his kitchen counter top. Now you had gotten to know him better, you knew Max would want to be inside of you as much as he possibly could. And although the idea naturally excited you and aroused more than just your interest, you turned him down on grounds you were worried about how so much sex might affect his next performance (and of course upsetting little Monty by skipping his party). As you got out of the safety of your car you smiled while remembering the dick pic he sent you last night when he pleaded his case again for the umpteenth time. Your memory instantly recalling how desperate his purpling tip looked for some release and the veins that ran up and down his girthy shaft were fit for bursting. Cat like you practically licked your lips thinking about him being in your mouth. You couldn’t help imagining your tongue swirling around him, licking up and down his length and God, the sheer thought of taste of him was enough to get your panties damp. But as the gravel crunched underfoot while you walked up toward the doorway to your father and his new families home, you pushed the thought of Monaco, Max and his cock out of your mind.

The place was awash with kids and their adults. From the kitchen you could see Geraldine was very much in charge, holding court amongst the parents while your father stood pretending to listen by her side. It was clear even just from inside that no expense had been spared on Monty’s fifth birthday. Trampolines, bouncy castles, balloon arches, the full fucking Instagrammable shebang. Watching the scene outside from behind the window, you could admit that it was hard for you not to feel a little bitter. You thought back to your birthday parties as a kid and could only recall one or two where your father was even present and even at that, you didn’t exactly have a party like this one. For you it was a few banners, paper hats and a customary Colin the Caterpillar cake. Not the lavish excessive parade of wealth Geri had managed to wrangle out of your notoriously tight fisted father. But then again you had to remind yourself that these were his “second chance children” and they’d be sure to get everything you never did, including his time and respect. You turned, ready to go out and make a fuss of your innocent brother when you caught sight of a bottle of opened champagne sitting ignored on a counter top. A few swigs for Dutch courage wouldn’t kill you – your father was probably still simmering about your paddock appearance after all.

“MONTY!” You shouted loudly, deliberately putting on a display of unwavering resilience. You spied him on the bouncy castle and held out your arms for him to come running into after he managed to get off. He squealed your name excitedly and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him. Regardless of what hurt you had felt in your life at the end of your fathers opinion and temper, you had to admit you did love this little adorable curly haired boy. He was so innocent and loving and you clamped your arms around him firmly when he leaped into your arms for a hug. You had missed all of his prior birthdays – due to Uni or just feeling plain unwelcome – so you were glad to make the appearance today just for him. He excitedly told you all of the presents he had gotten and who they were from before begging you to play them all with him because you were the “bestest” at knowing what to do and the sheer happiness in his little face made all of the worry in your body seem inconsequential. And then you felt a hand touch your shoulder and looked up to see Geri, smiling down at you.

“Thank-you.” She said instead of a hello, throwing her matchstick like arms around your body. “He’s been telling everyone his big sister was coming all day.” It made your heart swell but in the same passing moment you thought of how it felt like when you had been left devastated and crestfallen on so many of your own birthdays when your dad failed to make an appearance. “Would you like a slice of cake?” She smiled broadly and began leading you over toward where the adults were gathered. Geri had this peculiar knack of staring at you so intently with her blue eyes that you found yourself saying yes even if you meant no, probably how she managed to lure your dad away from your mum that was another hole down which you did not want to fucking spiral so followed her lead over toward the patio.

“Nice of you to come.” Your dad was clearly still in a mood with you and there was no way the rest of the parents here did not notice the cool manner in which he greeted you with. Somehow, you always felt five years old in his presence. Wanting to cling on to his leg and hide behind it like the shy child inside of you but also wanting to do or say something that would make him proud and boastful – the irony of which he had displayed toward the man you were friends with benefits with more than you yourself was not lost on you – but alas today would not be one of those days. “Anything for Monty.” “Not strictly true is it? He’s five now and you haven’t been to a single one of his birthdays before” He said it in his typical smartass voice he usually reserved for people he saw as opponents. Toto Wolff received this tone of voice from him on many occasions, of which you were utterly sure. You noticed how a few of the seated females at the table you two were standing behind turned and glanced at you. The looks simply read; “so that’s the eldest one?” & “I can’t believe he has an older daughter, especially one like that” which almost made you want to reach between them at the bottle of wine on the table and down it in front of them so they had their gossip. “Well…” You geared yourself up “I’m here this time, like he wished for.” Even when you were included you weren’t and felt like this was another one of your miscalculations.

After a while of uncomfortable silence between you and your dad, you noticed Geri heading back into the house and remembered the other reason that you had made such an effort to come today. You needed to ascertain exactly what Geri thought she knew about you and Max and take the right course of action. One course of said action you had decided was telling her she was imagining things, that Max was just being polite and her idea of something going on between the pair of you was a purely fictional fantasy from her side – gaslight her if you will. The other was to work out if (or perhaps when) she would tell your father and if she was going to deliberately ruin things for you. That would require more of your strength and acting skills. You would grudge giving her the satisfaction of begging because she would probably get high off the power she could wield over you in the moment, but you were enjoying things with Max too much to want it to stop so were prepared to swallow your pride and do what had to be done. You found her in the kitchen, unplugging her phone so she could no doubt post about the day all over her social media (as if people actually cared) and sort of cornered her.

“I was wondering if I could uh…have a word?” Why were you suddenly all nervous? It wasn’t because of her, nor the slightly awkward conversation that was about to take place, so maybe it was simply the thought of Max. “Is this about M.A.X?” She acted like a giddy 15 year-old schoolgirl as she relished in spelling out his name. An uneasy feeling descended upon your body when a dastardly smirk appeared across her face and you knew she was taking a lot of pleasure from this. Instinctively you made a simple glance to the side and noticed how close some people were to the door so tilted your head and motioned for her to follow you out of earshot into the dining room, where you perched on the edge of the table. “I don’t know what it is you think you…” “Know?” She finished the sentence for you and in that second you found her unreadable until her shoulders dropped and she smiled less villainously. She softly said your name and touched your arm. “I see the way the pair of you look at each other. That’s it.” In a few words your head started spinning. How did you look at each other? With complete wanton desire and utter desperation? Did pure carnal thoughts and lust paint itself all over both of your faces? Did everyone else see what she so evidently did? Your brain went into overdrive trying to decipher whatever the hell she meant so quickly that you almost missed the fact she was adding to it. “And then when you turned up in the paddock, well…. that was a very clear indication that something must have happened between you two. I thought maybe it might have just been in my mind; I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want my little plan of inviting you to the annual barbeque to result in you and Max…y’know…” She trailed off with a brow wiggle to infer she had been hoping to get you and Max together. “Anyway, then you had a headache and so did he and then I saw that wrapper on the floor when we came by and I just knew.”

“Was that why you came by that night? To find out if something was going on? To catch us at it or something?” You bit straight away; forgetting that she might have linked on to the last words leaving your lips and suddenly your heart rate skipped and you could feel it thundering away in your chest. “Actually, it wasn’t my idea to come. Believe it or not after the race when Max won, your dad felt bad about sending you away and it was him that wanted to check on you.” You weren’t entirely sure you believed her. She always tried to play something of a mediator between your father and you and so this situation reeked of her interference. And with that silence descended between the pair of you. You didn’t want to admit anything to her because right now you were holding something of a metaphorical upper hand. She only suspected something and she only suspected Max. “Anything that may or may not be going on between Max and I is not anyone else’s business.” It was a good diversion. You didn’t need to confirm or deny anything but Geri still eyed you up suspiciously. “If you’re worried I’m going to tell your dad, don’t be. This is something that you are in control of, you and Max…or not Max….” Her hand reached out and squeezed your arm again in a rather motherly way and you realised she was silently telling you not to worry about her spilling her guts to anyone. She would keep quiet. “Plus, I don’t know how your father would react. He would maybe cut the breaks on Max’s car or something.” Geri added with a nervous sounding giggle. You swallowed, you knew you gave her a hard time at times – well after the shit show that your early teens were due to her who could blame you – but this was one of the rare moments that you actually rather found yourself loving your stepmother.

It only took a further 45 minutes for the peace of mind Geri had provided you with to come crashing down like a lead balloon. You had gone back outside, ate a slice of cake, bounced on the bouncy castle with the kids and then come back off feeling a little queasy so fetched a drink from the bar behind the adults table. You were close to selecting a glass of champagne but chose the safe option and went for a sparkling water instead. And that was when your dad appeared at the side of you and asked for a word almost simultaneously, a familiar sinking feeling cast down upon you. You didn’t have to wonder very hard to know it was about your unannounced appearance at his workplace. The vein on his temple practically throbbing away as he put his hands on his hips like you were a member of the media and not his eldest child. You had to be at leas thankful for the small mercy he had pulled you away from the foray of guests that would no doubt relish in hearing some Horner family gossip.

He didn’t speak but rather stared at you disapprovingly. It was clear and obvious waiting on you to talk first, to apologise or grovel, and judging by the rather alarming knot in your stomach your body was telling you not to do. But then the silence finally became unbearable and you cracked under the pressure. “I know you’re angry with me about turning up to that race but…” “Angry? No I was angry when you strolled into my garage before the race. Now I’m disappointed in your choices that led to you strolling into my garage in the first place.” Disappointed was the only word you heard. It seemed to be a running theme with him being disappointed in you so at least it didn’t break any habits. “Had I not made myself clear before, on all the countless occasions you asked…” You hadn’t asked on countless occasions. You asked twice, both times while Daniel was still with the team and you were an impressionable teenager with a crush. His voice was still going and you had to zone back in to hear what he was saying.

“It was a display of nothing more than sheer defiance of an order. You knew you were not allowed and still persisted anyway. I’m sure if I asked Max about it myself he would confirm that you harangued him into giving you that pass just so you could try and embarrass me. Was that why you decided to go? You wanted to embarrass me? Steal limelight from the team? Because that was what everyone thought of it as. Me, Geri, Helmut, the team, Max…” Max did? You raised your head. “Yes Max. He told me so after the race. He felt lied too. Taken advantage of by you and your silly little notions.” It stung you a little because now you weren’t sure if you could trust him but you knew what your father was like and how he would be overwhelmingly persistent until someone gave him the answer he was seeking. You thought you were handling his tirade pretty well. He had been continuing as you tried to pinpoint the moment in your life things had gone so awfully wrong between the pair of you – even if you weren’t entirely sure that there could be just one in particular – and tried to block every word he was subsequently hitting you with until he brought up your mother. “You’re just like your mother” And that raised a scoff out of you. Their divorce had been nasty but at least she didn’t cheat on her husband, leave her for a fucking Spice Girl and abandon her role as a parent. Upon hearing your scoff you felt the pressure of the moment radiating off your father. “I don’t understand why I’m so unwelcome.” You didn’t mean specifically regarding the issue of the paddock but that was what he focused on.

“Because there is no way in hell I trust you around so many good looking, rich young men. I remember the look in your eyes at Ricciardo a few years ago and I won’t have you making a fool of yourself at the expense of my name when you attempt to fling yourself at one them.” The sexism that exuded from your father was predictable and didn’t even sound that bad compared to some of the things he said over the years. But this time the difference was that you actively had to stop yourself from scoffing again at the irony of the situation you found yourself in with none other than his own golden driver. You wondered how sweet it would be to just out the fact you had been shagging Max behind his back in front of all these people and the scene it would likely create. But a loud squeal from the children playing on the lawn was a sudden reminder not to be the cause of any upset. After all, the fact it was his son’s birthday was all that was keeping him back from shouting at you like you knew he wanted too. “Perhaps its best you leave.” He stated bluntly. “I promised Monty I would play with…” “He’ll forget about it. Just go.”

You had had plenty of words over the years but for some reason today felt like some of the worst. He had never ordered you to leave before, ever. And you wanted to believe it was because of all of Geri’s rich, fancy, posh friends and your dad not wanting to cause a scene but you knew it was because he was teetering dangerously close to saying things that he would never be able to take back and perhaps damage the remnants of a relationship with you irrevocably. When he got mad, no one on earth was madder. What people saw in the F1 paddock could be seen as child’s play compared to what you had seen and yet as you glanced over at your half brother you did indeed head inside of the house to retrieve your things and sneak away out of the front door. You couldn’t be bothered to put up with a fight today.

While your expensive trainer clad feet crunched again on the stony gravel of the driveway, you took your phone from your bag as you made your way toward your car. Your finger hovered for a moment over the icon for call but you pushed the reservations out of your mind and did it anyway. It only took a few short rings, ones that synchronised perfectly with your step, but when you finally heard his accented voice you felt like a century had passed. You took a long deep inhale as you unlocked your car and hastily opened the drivers door.

“Does your offer still stand? Do you think I could catch a flight out tonight?”

****

You admired the beautiful view out of the helicopter window. The trip from Nice to Monaco was shortest by heli taxi and although you didn’t particularly like flying in helicopters you felt filled with a strange excitement. Both at where you were landing and whom exactly it was that was waiting down on the ground to pick you up. Max had arranged everything for you after your phone call. It was all done so quickly it was as if he was actively waiting on you to phone him. You hadn’t explained to him the reasons for your sudden change of mind but when the screenshot of your boarding pass came through you had never felt such a feeling of relief before and mentally thanked him for helping you escape from your horrid day. The pilot suddenly announced to you that you would be landing in two minutes and a strange calmness passed over your body. It was as if your self conscience knew that this was where you were supposed to be right now to “recover” from the one sided argument you had had with your dad. And indeed, as you strolled through the miniscule terminal with your luggage beside you, you couldn’t hide your smile. You had to remind yourself not to leap on him as soon as you saw him but it was a struggle when you saw him leaning against his car smiling straight back at you, reminding you of some stupid Disney prince, your knight in shining fucking armour.

“Hey you….” He purred into the flesh of your neck as you wrapped your arms around his. Peacefulness swept over your entire body as he held you and you allowed yourself to register it, drink it in and lock it in your memory to remind you what it felt like forever. As he pulled back you watched him as he glanced side to side quickly and just as you were about to laugh and ask what he was doing his hand found the back of your head and he pressed his lips against yours. It was more than what you needed. It was absolutely everything. A sigh escaped from you and made its way into his mouth and he couldn’t help but smirk against your lips. “That much huh?” He asked and you knew he was referring to how much you needed him, craved him and yearned for him. But he didn’t try to jest with you. He didn’t try and make light of what it was that brought you here. He didn’t try to reduce it down to the friends with benefits situation you now found yourself in with him. Instead he just lulled a gentle “let's get you home” and that was that.

As the strange knot in your stomach – the one that had pretty much been there all day – tightened again Max seemed to pick up on your slightly agitated state. He had to have noticed how you couldn’t stop biting your lip, twirling your hair or picking at your manicure. “Was your brother’s birthday party today?” He asked and your head rolled back against the headrest when you turned to look at him. You nodded and he caught it when he glanced at you. “Let's not talk about that.” It came out of you in nothing louder than a whisper - you didn't trust yourself not to get emotional - and Max nodded in agreement but it only took him a further 30 seconds to add; “If there’s something on your mind….”

“Nothing that matters.” Your reply was as soft as your earlier plea not to talk about it. You didn’t want anything about your ridiculous family being spoken about when they were the ones you were here to forget even existed.

*****

Max held open his apartment door but let you in first ahead of him. Standing in the hallway you felt like it wasn’t as bachelor pad-esque as you had been expecting. There was softness to the area that you pinned as a woman’s touch, his mother’s perhaps - you had done your research after that day in your fathers Aston Martin and concluded he wasn’t in any form of neither serious nor public relationship and therefore was pretty much free game in your eyes. As the door closed behind you, the reason you were there flooded back to you and all you suddenly wanted was him him to make you feel better. You wanted him to simply erase the memory of today straight out of your mind. So the sound of the door closing was your signal. With haste you turned simultaneously and pressed your body against his while your mouth found his. His keys tumbled from his palm and made a loud clattering noise on the floor as his palm was suddenly on your neck as a shaky breath poured from him into your open mouth. You were so hopelessly desperate for him that your hands trailed down toward the waistband of his jeans to urge him to take this to the bedroom. Max took your deliberate action to mean exactly what you wanted it too and his hands slipped down your back and he used his strength to pick you up, clean off your feet, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you off to his bedroom.

You were thankful at Max’s hasty speed in getting you undressed and how he could turn you on like a tap. As you ran your hands through his soft hair his mouth had already began its decent down your chest and a heavy sigh left your open mouth when he took your nipple in his mouth and grazed over it with his teeth. Max practically purred when he heard your gasp when he sunk his teeth in a little harder before placing a tender kiss against the flesh he had just had in his mouth. You could feel how Max’s foreplay had had the desired effect of you. You could feel how slick you were getting between your thighs and you were so wet you were ready to beg for him. But Max was one step ahead of you.

“What do you want?” He breathed against your neck and you couldn’t deny the tingle it sent all over your body, pure undeniable excitement. Your hips lifted off of his bed against pushed against his. His cock brushing against your core told you of his own excitement and what he wanted too. “Fuck me…” It left you as more of a whine than you intended but his smirk told you he liked it. And with your vocalised encouragement Max repositioned himself, pulling your leg up around his hip how he wanted it and you felt the tip of his cock slide up and down your folds, both collecting some of your wetness but you also knew it was because he wanted to tease you.

His mouth grazed over yours, his lips practically capturing your own as finally he slowly gave you a few inches of his thick cock and your mouth fell open against his. You moaned his name and he pulled out before teasing you with a few more inches. The stretch from his girthy cock made your breath tremble. Then as he repeated the action, he halted and asked you to open your eyes and look at him. His iceberg blue orbs stared straight into your soul and you felt like he was capturing something inside of you that you weren’t able to withhold from him. And then as his eyes transfixed on yours, he finally gave you all of himself. Filling you up, straight up to the hilt. Max stayed there for the shortest of moments before he decided now was when he would start slowly building his pace. His hips ground against yours with every thrust while a grunt toppled from his open mouth. Your breathing started to unsteady itself with each of the powerful, long thrusts Max made and you encouraged him to go faster – and harder – by raking your nails across the flesh of his shoulders.

With every passing moment you felt yourself become more and more undone. Max’s cock was angled just right. Continually hitting that spot inside of you that drove you closer and closer to the edge. This was exactly what you imagined in your head when you received the text containing the screenshot of your ticket from him this afternoon. It was what you thought of when you sat on the flight from England to France a few hours ago. But mostly it was what you had anticipated when you made the call asking if he still wanted you when you had been cast out of your father’s home this afternoon. It wasn’t revenge – in the manner which perhaps other people would have thought it would have been – it was just to feel wanted, desired, and in some nonsensical way that made some resemblance of sense in a deep dark part of your brain, loved. You hadn’t realised that you had momentarily zoned out until Max slowed his rhythm and gently caressed your cheek.

“Hey, are you ok? Do you want to stop?” Your eyes found his again and words failed you but no, you didn’t want to stop. Your lips pressed against his as if you were trying to telepathically thank him for making you feel so alive and worthy. But you felt his cock twitch inside of you and without a second thought you used every shred of strength inside of you to turn your positions over so you were on top.

A pleased, admirable sigh left Max’s mouth as he gripped hold of your hips as you steadied yourself with flat hands on his chest. You watched his eyes cast over your perfectly naked frame. Focusing on your chest before falling downwards to your open legs straddling his lap. Instinctively you allowed him his time to stare at you, wanting him to take you in, before you slipped your hand down, between your thighs and grasp hold of his throbbing, still erect cock and slowly lowered yourself down upon it. Max felt impossibly large like this and if he was hitting the spot before he was doing it even more so now. You moaned as you took all of him and it mixed with a groan that erupted out of him.

“Fuck…” He swore when you finally started moving. His fingertips pressing into the flesh of your hips so tightly you knew he would be leaving bruises but you didn’t care. Another groan cascaded from his open mouth and you knew he was close. The thought of your own orgasm – which only moments ago was building to an almost impossible crescendo - was now far from your mind as you were solely focused on him for no other reason than as a thank-you for saving you today. And as you reached behind you, placing your hand on his thigh for support and so he had a better view of himself inside of you, you picked up the pace a little more till you knew he was ready to cum. You saw all of the signs or rather you knew all of Max’s tell tale signs he was about to reach his high. His eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed. He mouth agape gasping and stifling his own moans. His breathing was hitching and he was struggling to keep it steady. His stomach clenched and you could feel him beginning to twitch inside of you. You purred his name a few times and on the last one, when your mouth was open and your eyes shut tightly, Max sat bolt up right and held you in place as he finally found his release. His arms were around you, holding you tightly as his milky seed poured out of him into the condom he was wearing but you none the less felt his cock pulsate at the feeling of his climax.

“Just…give me ten…” He panted as he fell back against the plush pillows and you smugly trailed your hands across his shoulders before dismounting his lap. You watched the rise and fall of his chest as he fought to regain control of his breathing and it provided you with the rhythm to regain your own. You hadn’t even realised you were still panting until you heard him taking a few long deep (still shaky) breaths. “…You didn’t get off, I need to fix that.” The fact he noticed that he had gotten his while you hadn’t, was something you couldn’t help but mentally note. He couldn’t have possibly been that in tune with your body yet so figured you should telepathically thank all the women who had come before you who had taught him so well. “You don’t have too.” You said as you lay down beside him and although you really did want him to make you cum, it wasn’t the most important thing to you in that moment. In truth, you felt rather at odds with yourself now that you lay in his bed. Almost like you could admit how easy it would be to fall in love with Max instead of just keeping up the “fuck buddies” or “friends with benefits” titles that the pair of you seemed to silently agree upon without even a discussion.

“I want to.” His head turned toward you and he smiled, not smirked this time, at you as if he was silently informing you that your satisfaction was his only priority right now. And that was all it took to ignite something inside of you.

💞 TAG LIST : @ironmaiden1313 @sgkophie @jointhehunt67 @ccrobbs @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @sugarmaxie @maxxiemoo @ravena-xx @blacklacehoran @adaclaws @seealottasmut @zxlla @buubblles @katreintjie @opium-den @puglover12 @lovelynikol16 @thewintersunset @lovely-susie @gothicxs @northernf1 @cosmicchilld @ally4and33 @mytinycrazymind @stillbreathin @myescapefromthislife @inesramoss30

^if you tag isn’t working please make sure you have your setting turned on to allow me to tag you please 🙂 sometimes it’s just this app playing up so it might work next time x

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prince-rowan-of-the-forest · 7 months

Text

Proper Wing Care

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Roman isn't that great at taking care of his wings himself, so Virgil has to step in sometimes.

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| Ao3 |

Warnings: None

Pairings: Prinxiety

Word Count: 481

Notes:

This is a tiny little ficlet for Day 2 (I'm a little late yes shh) of @prinxietyweek (the prompt being Feathered Wings)

This fic also takes place in the same universe as 'We'll Save You' because I'm trying to write little extras for some of my aus (even though the main fic isn't finished cough coughfdklflsd) This likely takes place before Janus came into the picture, but really it could fit anywhere.

I'm also not doing all the days, so there's that.

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“Stop moving then, you dunce,” Virgil hissed, gently prodding at Roman’s tawny feathered wings, “Your wings need preening, this is your fault.”

“But I hate preening,” Roman whined, his wing almost whacking Virgil straight in the face as he moved again out of spite, “You’re always so mean about it.”

“Just because you’re always so resistant,” Virgil said, grumbling as he gently pulled Roman’s wings back into the position he needed them in for what must be the hundredth time since they’d started twenty minutes ago, “It’s only this bad because you avoid it and then complain that your feathers are messy.”

Roman groaned, leaning backwards until Virgil had no choice but to catch him around the waist to make sure he didn’t fall completely - Roman’s head settled backwards on Virgil’s shoulder. He pressed a chaste kiss to Virgil’s jaw and Virgil chuckled, reaching back to ruffle Roman’s bonfire-like hair.

“So you want me to do your ear tufts first, huh?” Virgil teased, he’d barely touched one of the outer feathers when Roman squawked, scuttling back to put an arms length of distance between them, his wings fluffed up to the point where he looked like an angry puffball. Virgil couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know you’ll feel better once it’s done,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes, “And you usually like me touching your feathers, I don’t get why you hate this so much.”

“It’s just so- picky!” Roman pretested, folding his arms, “And you always tease me!”

Virgil sighed with a soft, fond smile, “If I agree not to tease you, will you sit still so I can preen your wings?”

After considering for a second, Roman hummed, “Let me sit in your lap as well and we have a deal.”

It was harder to reach the wings when Roman was too close to him, but in the end Virgil relented and let Roman sit in his lap as he systematically ran his fingers through Roman’s thick feathers - straightening any that were out of place, getting out any that were broken or stuck after molting and of course making sure the wings were properly oiled and clean.

Roman said he hated it - but that was really just because Virgil teased him endlessly about how he let it get bad enough that Virgil had to step in every time. Virgil was almost certain - somehow he could tell by the now half dozing Roman in his arms - that Roman secretly enjoyed it when Virgil did it.

And if - once Virgil was finished ensuring Roman’s wings and ear tufts were in the correct state - Roman dragged Virgil to the centre of their nest of a bed so that they could fall asleep cuddling with Roman’s newly preened wings wrapped firmly around them both like a feathered blanket…

Well, Virgil certainly wasn’t going to deny any opportunity to cuddle his partner, now was he?

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General tags: @full-of-roman-angst-trash @your-local-random-dino @cutebisexualmess @glacierruler @roseianxiety @bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti (if anyone wants to be added, let me know!)

#prinxietyweek2023 #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #prinxiety #fanfiction #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #rowans writings

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imagineitdearies · 27 days

Note

Heya friend, I love the posts about songs that people have for PS! Personally, I listen to the entirety of the Tetris Effect soundtrack when reading (and rereading) the fic.

It also helps that the songs are meant to help you get into “the zone”—it’s an instant Proficiency Bonus in Comment Writing for me ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

My top 5 songs from the album would be:

City Lights It's without a doubt is my sparks fly song. When we get our incredible lovely TyStar moments, this is the song that comes to mind. The build-up! The funk and the rhythm! And the way Tyrus and Astarion fit so well together, working in tandem and being each others’ home! 🥺😭

Boscage This is the essence of the Angst With Happy Ending tag for me. It’s all about freedom and loving life. (But who knows if these themes’ll apply to the end HAHAHA)

Connected (Yours Forever) So despite how the lyrics feel more Tyrus-y, I honestly associate the message more with Astarion. And on a smaller note, there are also some theories I have related to how Astarion’s scar connects (hah!) him to the other sacrificial spawn and what it means for Astarion to be the one to "sing" this to Tyrus :P (It's just Astarion Nat20 persuasion checking that nerd to live)

Here Is a more low-key pick, but I think it does a great job capturing the various small moments they must’ve had when they were feeling safe. Like in Tyrus’ Tiny Hut, or when they climbed into a single bed together in the dorms. And the way the song builds reminds me of how important these “insignificant” moments feel when you look back on them. To me, they add up into this giant wave of nostalgia; a great reminder of being loved.

Hometown I gotta say this one was hard to place at first. It’s very PS for me, but I couldn’t put into words why. In the end, I think it’s all about hope and remembering how love strengthens you and keeps you moving forward. The lads have gone through a lot, but they have each other. And whenever the Horrors™ are unleashed upon them, they always find strength in their most beloved and return home, and I think the song resonates with me in that regard. :D

If you give any of these songs a listen, let me know your thoughts! But no pressure on replying to this or anything, I just got a burst of Want-To-Write-about-PSirosis and wanted to share! (ﾉ> ◇ <)ﾉ~~♡

Hi friend!! I also very much enjoy people's song recs, so I was terribly thrilled to tune into yours 🥰

First of all, I love all the funk and rhythm going on in these songs, it was unexpected but a ton of fun to listen to! I think my favorites were Connected (Yours Forever) and Here. I totally agree that the connected song could be either Tyrus or Astarion's pov, there's a lot of back and forth on which one of them is comforting the other, so it just depends on what part of the story we're talking! Either way works 💙 and the Here song just has great vibes!!

Funnily enough, one of my three PS playlists is titled "yours (forever)" so how could I resist adding such a relevant song to it?? Lol that one is basically my ushie-gushie Tystar romance playlist so it fit too well to resist. Thank you so much kiltdroy!!!

#fic: perfect slaughter #ask me anything #just slept 11 hours guys #i feel like a brand new human lolol #still have a lot to catch up on post-trip tho ughgh

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canadiansummer · 1 year

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TITLE: Fork in the Road [11] PAIRING: Dmitri Antonov x Fem!Reader / Enzo x Fem!Reader REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: You and your uncle, Hopper, have been looking after each other ever since plans falling out put you back in Hawkins, Indiana. It wasn't long until you had knowledge of the strange world that wreaked havoc on the town, and you figured it was only a matter of time before you got roped up in that side of the town. Though, it turns out that that opportunity comes about in a disastrous way, you and Hopper ending up on the Russian side of the gate during the battle in the Starcourt Mall. However, after being injured and tortured, you get separated from him early on. Now, you have to figure out a way to get back to him. However, as it turns out you two aren't as far apart as you had been expecting, Hopper being held in this top-secret prison and you being forced to lay low in a town two hours away. Though, with the unexpected help of a prison guard, busting Hopper out seems doable. That is, until it's not. WARNINGS: Violence, implied intentions of torture, injury (mostly depictions of a concussion and a sprained knee) and angst. NOTE: Here is the first chapter into the next arc of this fic! I am not sure how I feel about it, but it’s mostly set up for now and the reader is once again going through a lot. TAG LIST: @sakuralikestars @local-fanfic-addict @fillechatoyante

It was cruel how you had been separated from your uncle for six months, only to be reunited for perhaps only an hour or so before getting separated again.

However, this was far from the snow and trees that you had taken off into during your first, initial escape. It was just as chaotic, however. Time seemed to blur somewhat, although the ache behind your eyes and across your forehead reminded you that this was reality. It wasn’t some nightmare you’d get shaken out of, to get to redo this whole disaster. That the blow you had taken to the back of your head once you had been wrestled down to the floor of the church was real. Yet, in a way, you struggled to wrap your head around the fact that you found yourself back at the worse square one than the one you had initially been at when you first arrived in this godforsaken part of the country.

You had been unconscious for most of the journey, but you were somewhat awake for the welcome you got once you arrived at the prison.

Forced from place to place, shoved and kicked if you were too slow, if you said anything, if you resisted. You could recall being forced into a change of clothing–the familiar uniform you recognized on Hopper, just lacking a name tag. That had been a forceful and degrading process. The violence and disgust mixing with amusement and jeers in equal measure, though you had no hope of understanding what could have been said in those moments. Yet, you had to feel like it was for the best, as much as you could pick up on the tune behind the comments and statements. The uniform was baggy in places and didn’t fit you particularly well, but you had a feeling that the ones making the decisions in these moments weren’t looking to spend much time on you.

Time dragged and flew by at points, though you were asked a number of questions that you couldn’t hope to translate, the reactions to your confusion not being met with much sympathy.

You could tell you were being led deeper into the prison, being dragged through various corridors and pushed through a couple checkpoints–it took you longer than it should have realized through the pain, exhaustion, and chaos to realize that you had passed the main cell block. Panic started to bubble up in you–another thing that took a genuine while to occur, considering your situation. You had no idea what you were going to be subject to, where they were taking you if you weren’t going to be tossed to the wolves in the general prison, what happened to your uncle now.

While you had been struggling the whole time you were conscious, that realization pulled more fight to the surface as you lashed out. The hold on you only tightened, more anger and being shoved around. At one point, you managed to hit a guard in the face with your elbow, hearing the crunch of the cartilage of his nose and his agonized yell once the blow had connected. While that attack had freed you up some, you didn’t get much from that momentary release until you were hit in the face with the butt of a gun only a few moments into a thought about turning to run.

Which only resulted in more blurred passage of time once the impact caused you to collapse, stars dancing at the edge of your vision. You were really being dragged somewhere now–you barely had the mind to acknowledge you were still going somewhere at all, the taste of blood on your tongue and the ache in your head threatening to make you pass out again. Eventually, you came across another cell block–this one quieter and seemingly a little more empty. You were pulled up to a cell door, finally being shoved inside once the door was opened.

Your legs like jello, you only stumbled a couple steps before falling onto the cold floor. While a part of you wanted to just get right back up–that same survival drive that had you walking miles in the snow to reach that town months ago, you couldn’t seem to move. You heaved out a breath, your whole body aching. You could feel every individual forming bruise, cut, fracture–you couldn’t tell exactly what injuries you had, but it was enough to rob you of any energy you had at the moment.

The cell was cast in darkness as the metal door was shut behind you, leaving you to lay on the floor as you listened. You heard muffled voices, the footfalls of the prison guards walking away from your cell, and then lengthy silence.

You released a breath, knowing it had been still for a long enough time to know you were alone.

You really were truly and terribly alone.

***

You weren’t sure how long you had passed out for–all you knew was that you had woken up on the floor of the cold cell, your body aching in ways you hadn’t felt in months.

Fortunately, you hadn’t been shot in your leg again, but the ache of bruises and strained muscles was a familiar pain that you hoped you wouldn’t have to feel again. The worst injury you had gotten, outside of being shot in your leg like you had when you and Hopper had ended up in Russia, was when you had dislocated your knee while playing a friendly soccer match with some dorm mates at the time. One uneven step and a sudden turn was all it took for gravity to do what it did, and you ended up on crutches for a couple months.

This, though? This was exhausting, struggling to move even as you lay on the floor shivering for a few minutes after you had opened your eyes again. Your head was the worst, by far, however. A deep ache in your skull that radiated toward your teeth and eyes–you knew you had been hit hard on the back of the head, and the blow to the face you had taken recently likely didn’t help. Yet, it seemed to take a while for you to really feel it.

With a small groan, you shifted slowly so you could reach up to touch the back of your head. The contact stung, feeling the swollen lump of flesh from where you had been hit, and you knew you had dried blood stained down the side of your neck and likely your back as well.

With a heavy exhale, you dropped your hand down as you slumped back to the floor again. You could remember the kicks in the church, which matched the ache in your ribs and torso. You had been hit in the back with some sort of weapon a couple times while they tried to keep you moving, a few kicks to the legs here and there. Then you were dropped into the cell you found yourself in. The fact that your punishments hadn’t been that brutal didn’t put much ease in you–it was the opposite really.

It was unfortunately familiar, too.

You could recall when you had first been captured before they decided you and Hopper were going to the prison. The injury to your leg and blood loss at the time had kept you dazed and not exactly conscious for the majority of it. Not until the tail end of it, when they had closed up your wound. Helped you out so you could be lucid enough to where they could ask questions and beat the answers out of you. A part of you doubted that this would be any different, but you also knew that the circumstances of your situation had changed since you had first arrived in the country.

With a groan, you managed to put your hands under yourself and push yourself into a bit of a stand. You hobbled over onto a bench in the cell, nearly collapsing on it as the shift in position blossomed new pain across your skull.

How’d this even happen?

For months, things had seemed so…solid. There were uncertainties, sure, but for a while you believed that you really would leave this place. That your uncle wouldn’t have to return to the prison–that you both would be safe. You shut your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose as you tried to ignore the headache that you had been suffering from. You gripped your hands onto the bench on each side of your legs, hunched over as you tried to pick out your thoughts from the exhaustion and worry about your current condition.

Someone did something. You and Hopper barely had time to really even settle into the church before the doors were being kicked in–he likely caused a scene breaking out of the prison, but the timing was too close. Hopper wouldn’t sabotage his own escape, and you knew you didn’t do anything. So, that left two people. One of them you didn’t even want to think about in this context, yet…well, you knew it was either Dmitri or Yuri.

Yuri seemed the easiest to pin blame on–he had less involvement, didn’t keep contact outside of setting up transportation, and just didn’t seem all that trustworthy in general. Yet, without truly knowing what happened, you couldn’t say for certain who was behind this.

There was also Dmitri. The thought put a tight knot of dread in your gut, not wanting to believe he’d do something like this. That he had played you both so terribly, that you had been foolish enough to believe and hold affection for someone who would do that. That you'd invite someone like that to bed and only find out...He had his hands involved in the set up of the escape and was the one closest to you and Hopper. Dmitri hadn’t pretended that there was any other pretext to his involvement other than money, but you figured he also had a lot more to lose with him being so involved too.

The events were just…too unclear. Yet, the fact that you couldn’t say for sure that it was or wasn’t him only worsened that sickening twisting in your gut.

There was Joyce, too. You hoped that if it was purely a scheme to turn you both in as escaped prisoners and avoid having to split the reward, that she didn’t get on the plane with Yuri at any point. She had no idea what she would be walking into if she ended up–

You shook your head lightly, gripping the wooden bench harder. It was yet another aspect that you didn’t know the result of, or possibly even would.

This was such a mess, and you knew the stress only made your head feel worse. Still, this was the situation you were in–everything had fallen apart and there’d be no second grand escape for the both of you. Still, a part of you argued that you couldn’t give up. Not now. You still didn’t know where your uncle ended up, you wanted to know who was behind this, and the chances of you getting out of this place before you just gave up.

As much as that put a bit of determination in you, you did give into the exhaustion you felt somewhat. You didn’t want to think about all of this, and the fog in your head allowed you to give into that urge all the more. There were still the spiraling trains of thought, especially now that you were a little more conscious than you had been, but that was the mentality you found yourself in as time seemed to pass before you were broken from your thoughts suddenly.

There was the sound of the door to your cell unlocking, opening to reveal two men–one of them looked like the typical guard you saw from when you had arrived there, but the other looked to be some higher official. Still, you were too unfamiliar with the differences in uniform to really make any solid claims on rank, but you knew their appearance made you straighten, a building sense of fear pulling you back into reality.

You were also struck with a pang of familiarity–for a moment you were back in the dark room with your injured leg as you were beaten for answers. You really had slipped right back to square one, the realization putting more dread in you, as much as you thought you couldn’t feel worse about the situation.

The two men spoke in Russian–some to each other before what sounded like a statement was directed toward you.

“We have already talked to your friend, Antonov,” the guard translated into English, “This can be easy or very difficult for you.”

“You won’t get any more or less out of me than what he’s told you, then,” you replied, listening as that was translated.

So they had captured him, then. That or they were using your closeness with him as a way to get you to open up. You couldn’t tell, and likely wouldn’t be able to, until you saw him for yourself. You knew you certainly had some things to say about the situation, but at the lack of an answer to your statement, you couldn’t seem to linger on that thought for too long as the higher ranking guard walked toward you more.

He was collected and calm, but it was hard to miss the look in his eyes. Unreadable and hard at the same time, and you had no idea what that spelled out for you.

“You answer our question and all this will be easy for you,” the other guard said, the blood rushing in your ears not allowing you to register that the other man had spoken to you at all until it was already being translated. “What did he tell you?”

“He didn’t tell me anything.”

A half truth, in a way. You had gathered some information about the prison through assumption and some in-direct statements from Dmitri himself. In the end, it was nothing that couldn’t be gathered by just looking inside the place. However, that wasn’t the answer they wanted, a pause lingering after your words had been translated into Russian before you were struck in the head again. You weren’t sure if it was a slap or a punch, but from the injuries you already had, he might as well have hit you upside the head with a shovel.

You jolted sideways, almost falling against the bench you were sitting on. However, you felt a tight grip against your jaw, thumb digging hard into the fresh bruising around your right eye. It throbbed painfully, sending jolts of pain up your jaw, behind your eye, and into your face.

“You spend months with him and he told you nothing?”

“It’s the truth,” you rasped out, struggling to speak through the splitting headache and the tight hold the other man had on your jaw, “It was always about money.”

Your jaw was released with a shove, your hand reaching out to catch yourself on the surface of the bench. Your head was swimming again, a ringing in your ears. You weren’t sure what they were going to do with you, but you knew this was light. With how badly you were struggling to even stay conscious, you knew you wouldn’t survive anything worse than this.

“It was always about money,” you continued, holding your free hand out almost limply as if that would stop them. “I know he was a guard here, that he was working with my–my other American friend, and would get paid a lot to get us both out. The rest he knew about the prison he kept to himself.”

“How did you and American friend get here?”

“I don’t know.”

That was followed up with another hit, more direct this time as the force of it sent you onto your side. You struggled to keep yourself on the bench as you felt pain shoot up the back of your head, only adding to the building panic in you. A hand gripped into the shoulder of your uniform, pulling you upright on the bench again, the room swaying lightly as you shook your head numbly.

“I was too injured to know,” you stated, “I was unconscious for most of it. Then I escaped, so there was no chance to even talk about that.”

Another hit, more dizziness as you felt almost sick to your stomach. You were asked again how you got to Russia, they got the same answer, and you got hit again. For a moment, you saw yourself back in that room, a man’s fingers digging into the bullet wound in your leg. You almost felt the white hot pain that caused shooting up your leg again, as much as that wound that long since healed.

In the panic and confusion that had settled into your head, you weren’t really aware of what was happening anymore. They were asking questions, you were answering, and suddenly you were on your feet. You swung out in an attempt to hit the man in front of you, but the next thing you knew you had been hit again in the face, crumpling onto the floor as your vision swam some. However, you didn’t get to register just what had happened until a heavy weight came down on one of your legs, right onto your knee. It took a second to feel the stomp, then the way your knee let out a ‘pop.’

The pain that shot up your leg had you screaming before your mind could full catch up with what just happened. You wreathed on the floor, tears streaming down your face as that pain started to localize as the guard above you kept his foot pressed down on your knee.

If they were talking at all in that moment, barking more questions as you, you didn’t know. The ringing on your ears and the way your head swamp threatened to pull you under, while the pain in your leg kept you tortuously in the moment.

After what felt like ages, eventually that pressure lifted as the man above you finally stepped off. You coiled in on yourself instantly, your injured knee letting out a crack as you moved it, the pain making you sob into the floor. You could vaguely hear some conversation in Russian, it seemed to be a small back and forth before you lifted your head to see the higher ranking guard gesture toward you with visible frustration before turning and walking off.

He left the door open, however, the other guard standing there for a few moments before he turned back toward you. Despite how a part of you hated to do so, you couldn’t help the way you tried to crawl away from him as he approached. He gripped your arm, yanking you harshly upright and back onto your feet.

“Move,” he stated, shoving you toward the door but didn’t let go of his bruising grip on your arm as you struggled to hobble your way toward the door.

That was really the only order he gave, only giving you another shove when you slowed down too much for his liking. You were being led down more hallways, a part of you screaming to fight back–to run. Yet, you knew you couldn’t. Not with the way your head felt and how you couldn’t really straighten out your leg. It’s always the leg.

You were dragged along, the fight drained from your body as a part of you begged to just be allowed to sleep. You would have put up with another session of beatings if it meant you could have just passed out on the floor in there, but instead it seemed like they had other plans. You were led even further into the prison, if that was even possible, passing another checkpoint before exiting a set of narrow doors.

The cold hit you first before the last door was even opened, but the lights once you were pulled through that door were brutal. A sharp ache caused you to shut your eyes for a bit, stumbling along a slippery surface as you were pulled along. It took a moment to realize that you were actually outside, snow beneath your feet, along with patches of ice and blood. You looked up to see the surrounding cells, the area around you looking more like some sort of pit. No solid exits outside of the large metal doors you passed as you were pulled toward another side door.

Once you reached the open door, you could smell…cooked meat. Food. You were starving, you knew that, and yet the smell almost made you nauseous as the guard who held your arm spoke curtly with another guard further into the hallway.

The sight that laid out before you once it seemed like you were cleared almost had you believing you were hallucinating. You paused at the door, blinking hard as you took in the table lined with food, men dressed in the same prisoner’s outfit that you wore were eating or looking at you with confusion. It took you a moment to recognize two faces, the fact that this was reality sinking in quickly.

You were shoved forward again, which sent you toward a wall nearby that you used to catch yourself. With the empty seat at the end of the table, the point and direction barked at you in Russian wasn’t too hard to follow. You limped to that spot, a part of you just grateful to be off your leg for a few moments. Your injury flared up harshly once you had your weight off it–the pain was familiar, hooked up right under your knee. It was definitely sprained, if it hadn’t been initially dislocated.

Your uncle was sitting across from you, you knew that much. You couldn’t lift your gaze long enough to meet his own, not wanting to see his reaction or just how much of the fight had left him too. There was also another pair of eyes at the other end of the table that you refused to seek out at the moment, too, the silence that lingered once you had appeared being broken by some chatter in Russian from the other prisoners.

Despite the pain and the situation you were in, you found yourself giving into the pull in your stomach as you pulled a few things to eat from a plate to your left. Naturally, your jaw and face ached as you ate, but you didn’t really care at the moment.

Finally, you chanced a glance up at Hopper, who was busying himself with trying to drain what seemed to be a flask of alcohol. Given the dead-eyed stare when he met your gaze, you could tell it wasn’t out of celebration.

What the hell was going on?

#fandom: stranger things #dmitri antonov x reader #enzo x reader

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taetaespeaches · 2 years

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“I may or may not have met someone.”

taehyung x reader (oc) (platonic); reader (oc) x oc boyfriend; reader (oc) x platonic! yoongi/jimin/jungkook genre: angst; fluff word count: 20.7K

warnings: verbal/emotional abuse, an instance of slut shaming, toxic relationship, just overall cruelty from a partner.

↬ summary: How does one find themself in a toxic relationship? And how does one get out? Sometimes, the pain that comes with the love becomes addicting. Fighting becomes an act of passion, cruelty becomes perceived truth, the periods of calm become potential for what the relationship could be if only you could meet in the middle.

Peaches/reader meets someone who she quickly falls in love with. As she grapples with the fact that this man is not who she thought he was, and as her sense of self diminishes as a result of the relationship, her closest friends slowly learn of the toxicity of the union.

↬ playlists: reader (oc) x oc boyfriend; taehyung x reader (oc) —I listened to these constantly while writing.

a/n: Hi lovelies! 20,000 words wtf?! I hope those of you who have been following the fics enjoy this massive thing about Peaches and her ex-boyfriend. I think it explains a lot about how Peaches approaches relationships later on, and how resisted a romantic relationship with Taehyung for so long. If you read this fic, I sincerely thank you. I’ve been working on it for the past two months and it’s been a damn experience, that’s for sure. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you for reading! :))

This piece is timestamped in accordance to the development with Peaches’/reader’s relationship.

The beginning: the telling signs.

Stepping into the cafe, you easily spotted your three friends. It was hard to miss the trio of morons shooting straw wrappers at each other and slapping each other’s arms. Putting their antics aside, you started toward the counter to order a drink before joining them.

Making your way to the boys, Jungkook greeted you with a “Sup Peachy?” causing you to shoot him a look of near disgust.

“Hey freak,” you acknowledged him as you sat down. “When you walk in this place it literally looks like play time at daycare over here.”

As soon as you took your seat next to your best friend, his hand was covering your own to get your attention. Glancing at him, he nodded to the drink, an iced coffee with a fragment of the wrapper still snugly fit on the tip of the straw. You had to stop yourself from giggling at his desire to be recognized for his sweet gesture.

“Is she calling us immature?” Jimin asked Jungkook across the table from you.

“Thank you,” you nudged Taehyung, grateful for the drink. Looking in front of you, you found Jungkook glaring at you in thought.

“Her?” He questioned. “Couldn’t be. I know Peachy, queen of immaturity, isn’t calling us immature.”

“I was though. You guys are children.” Then, only to enunciate Jungkook’s point, you pulled the straw from your coffee and blew through the bottom, sending the piece of wrapper flying into Jungkook’s face. “How’s idol life been?”

“Good,” Taehyung answered from beside you. “Well, hard, I’m tired. But good.”

Jungkook continued staring at you in disapproval, making you hold back a smile as you ignored him. Meanwhile, Jimin scooped up the straw wrapper and started flattening it between his fingers.

With your eyes on his hands, you studied him for a moment. “Jimin?” You called for his attention, his gaze lifting from the table top to meet yours. “How are you?”

“Oh, like Tae said, tired but good,” he nodded. His fingers kept toying with the paper. You only needed to keep your attention on him for a few more seconds and you knew he’d give in. “I’m tired but I don’t think I’m working hard enough.”

“That’s not true,” you quickly assured him. “You’re working plenty hard, too hard.” Jimin granted you a small smile, an appreciative one, though you weren’t sure if the words had truly reached him. “You’re seriously amazing, you all-”

“Heart eye emojis?” Taehyung suddenly spoke next to you. And as soon as the words rang in your ears, you could feel your body heat with embarrassment. Eyes snapping to your phone screen, you found the ID tag, that was simply two heart eye emojis, displayed in the form of a new message. Reaching for the device, you quickly turned it upside down and glared at Taehyung. “Sorry,” he immediately said guiltily.

“Tae, could you not peek at my phone?” You weren’t really angry at him, just shy and embarrassed and dreading having to explain this to the other two boys at the table.

“I didn’t mean to look. It vibrated and it was just, there. Right in front of me, I would have had to try to not see it,” Taehyung explained, a still guilty but amused little smile curving on his lips.

“Heart eyes?” Jimin asked, his eyebrows raised as he shot you a flirty smirk. “Care to explain why you’re so flustered?”

Jungkook was chewing on his bottom lip across from you as he studied your features. He was holding back a bratty smile and you wanted to kick him under the table just for the possibility that he was even thinking of teasing you.

“We were talking about Jimin,” you reminded the trio, Jungkook snorting.

“Yeah, until your new friend came up. Who’s ‘heart eyes’, Peachy?” Jungkook teased. There it was, the bratty smile. I’m gonna kick you.

“He’s a friend,” you emphasized. “Like you said. Just a new friend.”

“Don’t lie, you have his contact as the heart eye emojis,” Jimin chuckled, shaking his head. “Do you get this shy when people ask you about Taehyung?”

“Yeah, actually,” you defended.

“What about me?” Jungkook asked. His eyes were shaped in that bambi-like way that you found to be so cute.

“No one asks about you,” you teased, the man scoffing as he pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek.

Suddenly, a pinch on the side of your thigh broke your focus on messing with the youngest man. Looking at the bench, you found Tae’s hand, palm up, welcoming your own hand into it. He was trying to comfort you, which was sweet, despite him being the reason you were uncomfortable in the first place. Placing your hand in his, you allowed him to fold his fingers over your own.

“Ok, fine, I may or may not have met someone,” you admitted in a quiet voice, barely looking at Jungkook and Jimin. Directing your gaze to Taehyung, you found him flashing you that stunning boxy grin of his, and you couldn’t help but mimic the expression. “He’s really nice,” you assured him, Taehyung squeezing your hand.

“Does he know how annoying you are?” Jungkook asked. Fuck it. With the side of your shoe, you sent a kick against his calf, the man jolting and complaining immediately.

“How’d you meet?” Jimin asked you, ignoring Jungkook’s feigned pain.

Shrugging, you looked to Tae in search of more comfort, suddenly feeling very shy under the attention. “We have a lab together,” you mumbled. “And we got put into the same group.”

“Ah, university things,” Jimin grinned. “We don’t know about that stuff.”

“Well, it’s just a bio lab. And I’m terrible at biology, and he’s kind of great at it. So he offered to help me study,” you held back a smile. However, it quickly broke through when Jimin and Jungkook cooed teasingly.

“He seized the opportunity,” Jimin giggled.

“Who would have thought that you being, sorry, but dumb at biology would score you a date,” Jungkook snorted, making you roll your eyes. Brat.

“I’m not dumb, I just struggle,” you pouted.

“Have you been on a date then?” Taehyung asked curiously from beside you.

“Just one so far,” you replied nonchalantly, but all three boys’ eyes widened as they started oohing at your expense.

“So far,” Jimin teased. Sighing, you waited for their obnoxious teasing to end.

“I like him, ok?” You groaned, lowering your face toward the table.

“Our girl is in love,” Jungkook cooed, fully intending to sound like a pest.

“Not in love,” you immediately corrected. “In like. I don’t know, I’m still getting to know him. But he’s charming and sweet and funny and he makes me feel good about myself. I feel, I don’t know just, understood by him,” you rambled shyly.

“Not all the telling signs of a narcissist,” Jungkook interjected teasingly, all three of you looking at him with glares. “I’m joking,” he defended with wide doe eyes. “Mostly,” he added in a whisper. As Jimin hit Jungkook in the arm, you rolled your eyes, mumbling for him to “shut up.”

“If he treats you well and makes you happy, that’s good enough for me,” Taehyung refocused the conversation. You looked to him to find him smiling at you sincerely, radiating kindness. “Be happy, Peaches.”

The second date: warning signs.

Dinner dates usually felt quite stuffy to you. You supposed getting to know someone over a meal was an ideal environment but you’d much rather be doing something. Conversing over a couple plates of food was, well, awkward. However, in the presence of Heart Eyes, as your friends had dubbed him, you would be happy doing anything. Sitting across the table from him, you admired the way his charming smile always met his eyes, and how those orbs seemed to always be on you. You had all of his attention. It put you on edge, but it was flattering to know he was looking at you.

It felt as though you had met your twin flame, or some other fated other half. All night he had been matching your thoughts, finishing your sentences, reflecting your wants and needs. When you told him you wanted a career where you could be creative, like photography or writing, he called you amazing and inspirational. As you told him that The Wizard of Oz gave you a fear of monkeys as a kid but it still remained as your comfort movie, he laughed and told you that he loved the film too. Everything felt so meant to be, you nearly questioned whether it was too good to be true.

He was calm, collected, ever so charming. An ideal man, really. Tall, handsome, kind, generous. Every person he met could have been an old friend of his the way he granted them his gorgeous smile and friendliness.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you and the waiter were childhood pals,” you teased. And there was that grin again. God, he was beautiful.

“How do you mean?” He chuckled. “Aren’t you friendly to strangers?”

“Of course, or, at least I think so,” you smiled shyly. “I have been told I have a cold first impression.”

“You do,” he laughed, leaning forward. “First, second, fifth impression, actually. I was terrified of you in lab.”

Looking at him in surprise, you cocked your head. “Really?” When he nodded, you had to conceal the scoff that nearly slipped out. “I’m just shy.”

“That’s cute, I like that,” he complimented. “I don’t know if I’d say you were cold.” Raising your eyebrows at him with a small smile, you encouraged him to elaborate. “More just aloof.”

“Is that not the same thing?” You challenged with a quirk of your eyebrow.

“No, no, I think I mean that you just appear kind of cool. Like too cool for randos in your lab. Like you could not be fucked to waste your time on some people,” he clarified with that same charming smile. “Kind of mysterious,” his smile morphed into an attractive smirk. “It was intimidating to talk to you.”

“Oh my god, I intimidated you?” You questioned in disbelief. “Impossible.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because, you’re you. You have literally everyone wrapped around your finger,” you pointed out. He was stunning. Everyone thought so.

“Oh whatever,” he chuckled, leaning back against his chair.

“You’re so charming and attractive, and you’re so nice to everyone,” you listed out with a huff. “Of course everyone is obsessed with you.”

“Maybe that’s why you were the one who captured my attention then, huh?” Pulling your eyebrows together in question, he chuckled lightly. “You wouldn’t give me the time of day for weeks. I had to keep pulling you into conversations and you remained so indifferent.”

“I was never indifferent, I’m just shy,” you said again.

“Point is, it was sexy,” he smirked. If you had been eating or drinking in that moment, you would have choked for sure. Sexy? Heat spread across your skin as you averted your eyes, glancing down to your plate as you bit back a grin. “You made me work for it.”

“Alright, Prince Charming,” you said dismissively, looking up at him with a small smile. “Cool it with the smoothness.”

“Smoothness?” He chuckled. “I’m just saying, if someone calls you cold, you should interpret it as you being sexy. That’s all.”

“Thanks,” you giggled lightly. The conversation fizzled out for a moment, his eyes remaining on you. You felt nervous under his gaze. It was like there was a constant flutter of butterflies in your stomach every time he was around. Reaching for your drinking glass to distract yourself from his attention, you could feel your heart racing inside your chest as he continued to watch you while you took a sip of the drink.

“You laugh a lot,” he suddenly said, the comment causing a new wave of embarrassment to course through your very being. Did you? Was that a bad thing? In the midst of your mortification, your brain forgot to tell your throat to swallow the drink, causing you to briefly choke on the beverage, a series of muffled coughs escaping your mouth as you set the glass down in panic and covered your mouth with the napkin. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If there is a God, please, drop me into hell right now. But of course, the ground did not open up and swallow you, and instead, your date stared at you from across the table with a look of shock and his own second-hand embarrassment.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, leaning forward as his eyes searched over the restaurant as if to ensure no one was paying attention to your uncontrollable outburst. “Are you ok?” He whispered, voice hushed.

“Yeah,” you croaked out before coughing once more. “Sorry.” The man watched you for another moment before a smile finally quirked on his lips, along with a scoff that resembled a laugh. The sound once again had you on edge, uncomfortable as you sat there in shame. For a moment, you hoped he would comfort you by telling you it was ok. When that assurance didn’t come, you found yourself aching to save the evening. Wanting to lighten the mood, desperate to recover the date and get back to where it started, you sighed and suddenly did a fake hair flip. “So things about me that you don’t know,” you started with a smirk. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“Shhh,” he hushed you, looking around the room once again, a hint of a smile on his lips. Were you too loud? Glancing to a couple tables across from yours, you found no one paying you any mind but you still worried you were an annoyance. Note to self: shut the fuck up and lower your volume, you dumbass. “I can see that,” he finally answered, his orbs landing on you once again. His stare was unwavering for a moment before he finally broke out into a smile, shaking his head. “I think that’s enough unwanted attention for the night, don’t you think? Should we head out?”

“Uh,” you looked down at your plate, taking in the half eaten meal. “Yeah, I guess- are you ready to go?”

Giving you another smile, he simply chuckled. “Let’s get the check.”

One year earlier: familiar strangers.

You were much too shy to be getting coffee with a complete stranger. Well, not complete stranger. You did know his name was Taehyung, he was from Daegu, his family were farmers, and he was your age. Nerves coursed through your body as you glanced to the man who sat across from you with his hands around a cup of hot chocolate.

“Have you always liked coffee?” He asked, breaking the silence. Surprisingly, the silence hadn’t been uncomfortable, but rather it was just full of nervous energy. You appreciated his attempt at conversation, nonetheless.

Humming in thought, you nodded. “I think so. My dad was a big coffee drinker so I always wanted to drink it with him, but I needed a lot of sugar and milk.”

“You played grown up,” he gave a nod in understanding.

“Exactly,” you smiled.

“I would pretend to read the paper with my dad,” he chuckled at the memory. The man had a smile that took over his whole face. The kind of adorable grin that was contagious. You found yourself smiling back at him as though you could see the memory he was looking back on. “Do you still like sugar and milk in your coffee?”

“Sometimes. Not like when I was little though,” you giggled. “I swear I must have had a dash of coffee with my cup of milk and way too many spoonfuls of sugar.” He smiled again, a cute giggle accompanying the gesture. “I’m guessing you’re not a coffee fan?” You nodded to the cup of hot chocolate.

“Hate it,” he pulled a grimace. “It’s so bitter.” Laughing at him, you nodded in understanding. “I guess I’m still in my dash of coffee with my milk and sugar phase.”

“It’s a good phase,” you assured him. “I’ve heard that sweet people have sweet tooths.” Why the fuck did I just say that? Before you could get too caught up in your post-comment embarrassment, Taehyung shot you a wide-eyed look.

“Is that true?”

“Oh,” you stuttered. “I mean I’ve heard it before, I’m not sure about the science,” you laughed at yourself.

“I like your laugh,” Taehyung suddenly complimented. Feeling heat spread throughout your body, you smiled at the sweet words.

“Thank you,” you giggled once more. You were still nervous, but there was a sense of comfort that nestled around you two. It gave you more courage than you were used to having in first meetings. Which was probably what led you to say your next words. “Maybe we should continue hanging out so I can test this sweet cravings, sweet person theory.”

The smile and youthful laugh that left the man’s lips served as answer enough. You’d definitely be seeing this sweet boy again.

One month in: credit due.

He was a perfect gentleman in all situations. Not that you were surprised. He had endless charms, all stunning smiles and friendly conversation, but always remaining so cool and composed. The man seemed too good to be true as he navigated through the university campus, nodding at old classmates as though they were still pals who hung out every two weeks.

“How do you know him?” You asked after you had walked away from a fellow student where your now boyfriend had introduced you as his “lovely girlfriend”.

“We had an intro to literature class together as first years.” Looking at him with a questioning look, he widened his eyes. “What?”

“Have you hung out with him since?”

“No,” he chuckled.

“Wow, you’re literally friends with everyone and you don’t even know it,” you smiled. “Everyone loves you.”

“That’s not true, I’m just friendly,” he grinned. “You should try it sometime,” he nudged your arm with his elbow.

“What, being friendly? Not for me,” you teased, pulling a look of feigned disgust. “Did you help him with his school work too, or am I special?”

“No,” he shook his head, “that class was bullshit. So is classic literature.” Gasping in feigned shock, you halted your steps. Groaning at you, he turned to face you with a shrug. “What?”

“Have we found something you’re not good at?” You asked teasingly. “I’m shocked.”

“Oh calm down, remind me again who got you an A on your last biology exam?” Giving you a proud smirk, you playfully rolled your eyes. He had helped you study for two weeks, sacrificing his own time to ensure you’d be prepared. The man was always doing things like that, helping others, as though he was some sort of selfless heavenly body.

You had busted your ass studying and going to extra lectures your professor held, however. It took a lot of work to pull the grade. You earned it. “I did,” you informed him with a teasing smile. “You just helped.”

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” he nodded as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

Four months in: the no show.

Quite honestly, this was not what you signed up for. Looking at the clock, you resigned yourself to the fact that your boyfriend was once again skipping out on coming over. It would have hurt whether it was the first time or not. But it wasn’t the first time.

Were relationships supposed to make you feel so disposable? You’d had flings in high school, and even an on and off girlfriend, and they all seemed unable to get enough of you. The only reason those relationships ended was because your interest fizzled.

When it came to Heart Eyes, your interest was never waning. It was like he was the cure to your fickleness. Or maybe he just gave so little, teasing, giving you a taste making you crave more and more of his affection that you became addicted. You just wanted a little more of his love. You needed the rush. And you wanted the relationship, you wanted him, you just wanted the version of him that wasn’t distant or uncaring.

Looking at your phone one more time, you sighed a shaky breath. No messages. And then the anxiety hit. Shivering, your body temperature running as cold as your lover’s love, you accepted the unpleasant feeling that you had become accustomed to. Making your way to the bath, you hoped the hot water would provide you with some solace from the feeling of rejection and uncertainty that was manifesting through chattering teeth and goosebumps.

It wasn’t always missed hang outs. It was also unanswered texts for days on end. It was prioritization of the other people in his life. It was the subtle ways he cut you down to ensure you stayed below him where you belonged. It was the way he never asked how you were, tuned out when you spoke about your feelings, or blew up when you addressed your concerns with the relationship.

Submerging yourself in the hot water, you focused on relaxing your body. You hated that you allowed him to have this effect on you. Stop giving him the power to do this to you, you thought. But you knew you wouldn’t listen. Sinking your head under the water, you appreciated the way everything became muted. With your eyes shut, it felt as though you had slipped into a void where nothing else existed. Then, with the remaining air in your lungs, you screamed into the water. You screamed until you had nothing left to project, your limbs relaxing as you lifted your upper body out of the tub, the water cascading off your hair, face and shoulders. Catching your breath, you stared down at the rippling on the surface of the water. Several minutes went by, your thoughts so heavy your mind nearly went blank. And then you realized that the few drops still falling into the tub below you were coming from your eyes.

“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, frustrated over your emotions. He wasn’t worth it. But the tears were for him. They always were.

After getting out of the tub, drying off, draining the water and getting dressed, you found yourself in your living room with your phone and a mug of steaming tea. Only this time, you weren’t scrolling through your conversation with your boyfriend. You weren’t revisiting the texts in an attempt to hurt yourself further, or to convince yourself that you weren’t crazy and that the pain really did exist in those messages. No, this time you were seeking comfort from the one person you knew you could always trust.

You: Hey I know your career is really taking off but what do you say about running away with me?

The response came only a few seconds later.

Taehyung: If you’re getting out of here, I’m coming with you. Obviously. You ok?

You smiled at the message. Sometimes you needed a reminder that you were lovable, and Taehyung was always willing to provide that reminder. You didn’t want to have to rely on Tae for this kind of stuff, he didn’t even know about the downsides of your relationship. But despite having a lot of great people in your life who you knew cared for you, you found that if the one person you’re supposed to trust the most, your lover, treats you like you’re disposable, you start to feel that way. And Taehyung tended to be the person who could bring you out of that feeling.

You: Yeah, just kind of feeling like starting over. You ever want to go back to a time before you encountered certain things or times in your life? Like it’s just crazy that your life could be totally different if you’d never had some of your experiences.

You were acting dramatic now. If you were so miserable, you could just leave your boyfriend. Dump him and move on. Why wasn’t it that simple for you? Taehyung’s response took a little longer than the last. Several minutes passed before the phone chimed from its spot on the blanket that was draped over your body.

Taehyung: I get what you’re saying. It is crazy how every experience, every decision brings us to our present day. Like if I hadn’t auditioned for BigHit, I never would have ended up in Seoul. And then I would never have been able to choose to go out that day at that exact time to watch you drop your coffee on yourself like a dork. I would have never met you. So though I understand wanting to start over or make different decisions, have different experiences, I personally wouldn’t change anything. It all seemed to work out pretty well.

You read over the message several times, wanting to take in every word, burn it to memory. You only stopped reading when your vision on the screen became distorted through the tear that dropped to the center of the text bubble.

You: You’re very kind, Kim Taehyung. You also never would have ended up in BTS which maybe, JUST MAYBE, might POSSIBLY be bigger than meeting little old me.

Wiping your eyes, you sniffled before taking a drink of your tea. How could one person treat you like you were the world and another treat you like you were simply convenient? You knew that should say more about the person treating you like you were lesser but a hurt mind plays some mean tricks. It was way too easy to convince yourself that the person who treated you like you were enough was wearing rose colored glasses, refusing to see anything that made you lesser. The person who treated you poorly saw all of you and treated you accordingly. Right? Taehyung saw only the good, choosing to ignore the rest, while your boyfriend saw everything as a whole package. And maybe the bad outweighed the good.

The response came quickly this time.

Taehyung: That too, of course. But I consider meeting you my other once in a lifetime experience. It’s just as big as the BTS thing.

Feeling lighter than before, you managed to smile at the message. How you ever got so lucky to meet Taehyung, you’d never know. You’d be forever grateful. And you had to keep him in your life forevermore. You couldn’t let him slip away from you.

You: Interesting because I consider meeting you the most significant moment in my life. So ditto, Dearest. I’m ok, I promise. Thank you for providing the light for me tonight. I’m gonna get some sleep, you should too.

Taehyung: I provide the light for you, you provide it for me. It’s our thing. Sweet dreams, Peaches.

Six months in: a dark cloud.

Looking across the couch at him, you frowned as he looked down at the phone, giving all of his attention to what his friend was saying on the other end of his device. It was supposed to be a date night but he asked if you could keep it “low key” by just hanging out at your apartment instead. Wanting to see him under any conditions, you easily agreed. You didn't need dinner and a movie to spend time with him, you just wanted to be with him.

However, he was hardly engaged in being with you. Which was happening more and more often. When he shared something his friend just told him, you found yourself rolling your eyes. “Hmm,” you mumbled as you turned your attention to the television. He stopped speaking suddenly, his gaze lifting from his phone to find your angry face.

“What’s wrong with you?” The way he asked the question, accusatory rather than concerned or even simply curious, just added to the anger you felt.

“I’m just kind of mad,” you shook your head. “Just give me a minute, I’ll get over it.”

“What are you mad about? Me?”

“Well. Yeah, you. We haven’t hung out in a week and then when I finally get some time with you you’re talking to someone else.”

“My buddy is just telling me something, I can’t just cut the conversation off,” he defended. “I’ll be done in a minute, then you can have all my attention if that’s what you want.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” you remarked bitterly. You had found yourself picking up the habit of starting fights, or more so leaning into them, because at least then you’d have his attention. Sometimes bad attention was still better than no attention.

“See? This is why I’m hesitant to come over and see you. You’re always pissed at me for not doing enough for you,” he complained.

“I’m not always pissed at you.”

“What the hell do you call this then?”

You really weren’t always mad. Sad? Disappointed? Now those had become more familiar feelings.

“I’ve been asking every day to see you, we finally hang out, you changed our date to a hang out at home and that’s fine, whatever, I just want to see you, but then you’re not even engaged. It’s like I might as well not even be here.”

“Jesus christ, fine, I’ll stop the conversation.” Locking his phone, he tossed it onto the coffee table carelessly, the thud of the heavy device against the wooden tabletop startling you. “What else do you want from me? I’m here, I’m present, now what?”

“Why are you acting like I’m asking so much of you? I just want to spend time with you, I’m your girlfriend, I thought you’d want to spend time with me too.” You hated how easily he worked up your emotions. Already you could feel tears stinging your eyes.

“I do want to spend time with you, I’m here am I not?”

Sighing, you nodded in feigned agreement. “Barely. But yeah, I guess,” you noted.

“Jesus christ,” he huffed.

“You avoided seeing me all week,” you quickly defended your feelings. “You even canceled our date on Sunday. And I thought, that’s fine, he’s just busy, he needs some alone time. But then you’ve been hanging out with your friends instead. And now you’re finally here and it’s like you fucking hate it.”

“You’re not the only person in my life,” he shook his head. “I love you, you know that, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend every last second with you.”

“I’m not asking for every second of your time, I’m just asking for some of it. I’m your girlfriend,” you reminded him. “It’s not that you have to choose me first all the time, but why don’t you want to?”

“What, like this is so pleasant?”

Scoffing, you felt the tears bubble against your bottom lash line. “It could have been.”

“You’re always so fucking gloomy or angry, you always have an issue. Sorry if I don’t want to be around that kind of attitude all the time,” he complained. How you got to the point where your attitude was the main topic of discussion, you weren’t sure. This was how fights always went with him. You would address your feelings and next thing you knew, you were forced into the position of defending yourself.

“I’m gloomy?”

“Yeah, it’s like there’s this little dark cloud hanging over you. You used to be so cheerful, like this little bright light running around. I don’t know where that person went but right now all of this is just- I’m sorry, but it’s a lot. I really do love you but sometimes I just need a break.”

“I’m sorry I bring you down so much. I didn’t know.” You didn’t know what else to say. You were shocked, and maybe he was right. Even you could feel yourself changing over the past weeks, and really months.

“That’s not what I was saying. See? Fuck, this is why I never bring this shit up to you, you take it on as this fatal flaw when I’m just venting and expressing myself,” he sighed.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” you spoke quietly, suddenly feeling very drained.

“Look, this obviously isn’t a good night for us, I think it would be best if I just head out,” he announced, your eyes lifting from the couch cushion to meet his impatient gaze. He looked so careless.

“Why do you always walk away like that?” You asked, almost pleadingly. “Can we just have a fight and find some resolution just once?”

“What do you want from me? If we keep going I’m just gonna say mean shit, is that what you want? You want me to get so pissed at you that I say something I regret?”

“You haven’t done that yet?”

“Fuck you,” he spat the words like venom.

“No, fuck you,” you threw it back at him, with less anger, however, your voice taking a more dejected tone than before.

“If you want attention so badly, why don’t you call up Taehyung? You two get along so fucking well.” You hated when he brought up your best friend during fights. With the mention of the boy’s name, you were hit with a boost of energy, ready to continue the fight you were so desperate to end just moments ago.

“Why are you bringing Tae up?” You asked. The man had always been a bit jealous of your best friend, which you could understand. It was obvious to everyone how close you and Taehyung were. But you had always been one hundred percent dedicated to your relationship, and never had Taehyung gotten in the way of that.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“He’s my best friend. You’re my boyfriend. I can have both. I can spend time with both of you, you spend tons of time with your friends. The difference between you and I is I’m not the one on my phone messaging my best friend all night when we’re supposed to be having time together as a couple.”

“Right, I’m always the bad guy.”

“No, I fuck up constantly, I’m always causing issues, I’m over-emotional and way too fucking needy, but I at least want to be here,” you countered.

“Well you’re right, I don’t want to be here right now. I’m leaving, I’m done with this.” He stood up right after the announcement, looking down at you from where he towered over you. “Seriously, do not stop me, I don’t want to say some shit that will really hurt you.” If he hadn’t been hurting you this whole time, what the fuck had he been doing? “You’re done with what? The conversation or the relationship?” You asked meekly, refusing to look up at him, instead fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“Why do you always do that?” He asked, his tone accusatory again. “You always assume I’m ending the relationship just because I’m pissed.”

“Because you act like you don’t want to be in this relationship,” you told him, meeting his angry gaze.

“There we go with those fucking projections again.”

“Oh my god. I’m exhausted.”

Scoffing at you, he looked toward the door. “Can I leave then?”

“Do what you want,” you said dismissively, giving up.

And just like that, he left. And you sat on your couch, tired, emotionally drained, and overthinking every moment of the fight as you wondered what you could have done differently.

Three days later: a sorry excuse.

Your boyfriend’s apology came in the form of a text message. As it always did.

“I’m sorry, hun, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry for everything. I’m such a fuck up and I know one of these days I’m going to ruin this shit but thank you for your patience with me. I hope you can find it in you to forgive me. I do want to be in this relationship, I want to be with you and spend time with you, there’s no place I’d rather be than with you.”

After waiting about thirty minutes to respond, you accepted the apology. Things would be good for a week or two before the next fight. You found yourself living for those periods of calm. They were fun, loving, everything you knew the relationship could be if you both could find common ground, let go of the animosity, and understand each other. You could be so great.

Eight months in: sensitive.

Playing video games with Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin was not always your favorite way to spend time with them. Games weren’t really your thing, despite the three boys loving them. However, since they did find so much joy in battling each other in various animated forms, you subjected yourself to the medium often.

Boredom always struck eventually, causing you to roll around on Jungkook’s bed trying to be a big enough nuisance to where they would pay you some attention. “Hey, did I ever tell you about my Resident Evil experience?” You asked, Jungkook finally glancing at you with a look of intrigue.

“What does that even mean?” He asked.

“I made myself cry playing it,” you giggled, all three boys turning to look at you for a moment as they tried to come up with reasons in their minds as to why you would have cried literal tears playing a video game.

“Ok, well first of all, video games are hard,” you started, Jungkook scoffing as Jimin giggled at you. “And in Resident Evil 4 there’s all those fucking zombies and they’re ruthless.”

“Oh my god,” Jungkook chuckled.

“I was stuck in a corner and I could not get out and so many zombies swarmed around me and just brutally attacked me, I couldn’t even pull a damn weapon.” The boys all laughed, Jimin falling onto his side, crumbling in amusement. Seeing Jimin fall over in laughter always made you slip into a laughing fit as well as you pointed at him through your wheezing. The story wasn’t even that funny, and you all knew that, but they were picturing Leon Kennedy from Resident Evil 4 die a horrendous death as you sobbed over your game controller, and Jimin was on the floor, and soon the game they were in the middle of was paused as you all wheezed in response to one another.

“You’re so dumb,” Jungkook mumbled through his laughter. “That’s hilarious.”

And just like that, your laughter faded, being cut short by his word choice. You knew Jungkook didn’t mean anything by the word, but recently ‘dumb’ and all of its synonyms had become a trigger to you. Being told you were unintelligent hit deeper feelings of insufficiency. But yours and Jungkook’s dynamic was full of teasing banter, much like siblings. Insults were never really insults, but rather endearments cloaked in words that didn’t express the fond feelings behind them. Maybe that’s why Jungkook was the one to notice the way you flinched at his comment and shrunk back against his headboard while the other two boys struggled to catch their breath. Jungkook knew that’s not how you would usually respond. “Hey,” he called out to you. “You ok?”

“Hm? Yeah,” you nodded, your eyes bouncing to meet each boys’ as they sobered up and looked at you, serious expressions overtaking their previously joyful faces. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t actually mean you’re dumb, Peachy, you know that,” he told you. Nodding at him, you tried to avert everyone’s eyes. “Right? Like, you’re one of the smartest people I know,” Jungkook complimented. When you looked at him again, you found his expression full of guilt.

“No, I know Kookie, don’t worry,” you tried to assure him. He stared at you for a moment before giving you a single nod and redirecting his attention to the game in front of you. Clearing his throat, he nodded to Jimin to resume playing.

Taehyung’s gaze lingered on you, however. It wasn’t just this moment that sent him into high alert, it had been months of witnessing you crawl within yourself, hiding yourself more and more. Your sensitivity had been turned up, causing you to take everything to heart, always on the defensive, always ready to correct your actions to make them more tolerable. And he knew exactly who you were making yourself more acceptable for. Taehyung wasn’t naive and he wasn’t clueless, he knew there were things you were hiding about your relationship. But he didn’t want to pressure you into talking about it, afraid of pushing you further away, and further into the arms of someone who didn’t deserve you. He had to be smart about this, patient, but observant. As soon as an opening appeared, he would address the issue.

Ten months in: a ruined moment.

As soon as you and your boyfriend entered his bedroom, his arms were wrapped around your body in a back hug as he dragged you to his bed. You were all giggles while he pulled you onto the mattress with him, your body crashing with his. Within seconds he was hovering over you as he peppered kisses across your cheeks.

With your hands on his waist, you attempted to shove him over onto his back but he put his weight on you instead. Letting out a groan, he peered down at you.

“What? Are you comfortable, hun?”

“I can’t breathe,” you teased, shoving against him to no avail.

“Oh really? Why?” He smiled at you just before you burst into laughter. “You’re so cute, you know that?”

“Am I?”

“Very,” he whispered, just before placing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. And finally, he rolled off of you so he rested next to you on the bed. “What do you want to watch tonight?” Humming in thought, he rolled his eyes playfully. “Here we go, my indecisive girl.”

“Hey, there’s a lot of movies out there, it’s not easy narrowing them all down to one,” you defended with a pout.

“Fine, I’ll help,” he smirked, proud to fulfill the role of knight in shining armor in your movie dilemma. “What’s one of your favorites from childhood?”

“Ooh, The Wizard of Oz,” you told him without delay.

“Are you serious?” He asked, pulling a face of disgust.

Giggling from your spot next to him, you shoved him playfully. “What do you mean? I love that movie.”

“You’re actually serious?” He asked in genuine shock, your laughter slowly fading as your heart gradually dropped into your stomach. “No you don’t.”

“Yes I do,” you defended, wide eyed. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Since when?”

“Since always. I’ve told you that.” And you could have swore he had told you he loved it too.

He groaned and shook his head. “I don’t remember that.”

“Literally everyone likes The Wizard of Oz,” you smiled, trying to lighten the mood once more. Trying to stop him from diminishing another one of your interests as silly or dumb.

“Not everyone,” he rolled his eyes. “It��s so annoying, the songs are fucking excrutiating, the characters are frustrating, just everything about it sucks. I can’t believe you actually like it.”

“You’re literally in the minority here, it’s objectively a good film,” you defended once again.

“Sometimes the minority is right,” he shot you a cocky expression that felt like it was meant to belittle you.

“It’s my comfort movie. I used to watch it as a kid when I felt lonely or sad and it would help cheer me up,” you said sadly. It was pathetic the way he could make you feel so small over such trivial matters such as favorite childhood movies.

“It’s so shit though,” he laughed.

“I don’t think it is.” You were getting angry now. It was one thing to disagree on the film, it was another to put the film down in such a way that it became a vehicle for a personal attack. “Why are you being so passionate about your dislike for it? It’s just a movie.”

“I can’t believe you like it. I mean to each their own but wow,” he scoffed, adjusting his shoulders against the headboard of his bed.

“It made me feel safe as a kid,” you whispered. “I was like four when I first saw it.”

“Just don’t ask me to watch it with you,” he chuckled, pinching your forearm teasingly. “I refuse to sit through that movie with you.”

“Ok,” you let out a sad small laugh, breathy and barely there. “I won’t. I don’t really want to hear about what shitty taste in movies I have anyway.”

“Why are you so upset? I don’t have to like every movie you like,” he lectured, as though you were a dumb kid and he was in a position of power over you.

“I know you don’t,” you said quietly, pathetically.

“I don’t want to hear about what shitty taste I have,” he mocked you. “I wasn’t saying you have shitty taste, that wasn’t my point. I just personally don’t get why that movie is considered good.”

“That’s fine, I don’t care if you like the movie.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“It’s just-” you sighed. You didn’t want to say what you were about to say. You knew it would lead to a fight that would result in several days of silence before you finally caved and apologized and he dropped it all. “You criticize my interests so much sometimes that it gets to the point where you make me feel like I’m stupid for liking it in the first place.”

“That’s not even true,” he defended.

“It’s not all the time but sometimes.”

“And you’re just now mentioning it?” He asked pointedly.

“It doesn’t matter,” you groaned. “Forget I said anything, seriously, I hate all of this.”

“No, don’t backtrack now. Say what you want to say,” he told you, his jaw tense as he stared at you with anger.

“God, fuck, I’m just saying that just like you don’t have to like everything I like, I’m also allowed to like things that you don’t. It doesn’t mean I’m dumb for it.”

“I never called you dumb,” he informed you. That was true. He didn’t call you dumb, or an idiot, or stupid, or any other word. He had simply made you feel dumb. Maybe that was on you and your own insecurities in your interests, in who you are as an individual. But shouldn’t you just be allowed to like something without it being ripped to shreds?

“I know.” That was all you said. Because how could you really blame him for making you feel a certain way? They were your feelings, after all. And you only had yourself to blame with this incessant need to impress him and gain his approval.

“Jesus christ, whatever, I’m over this,” he told you, sitting up and grabbing his phone off his bedside table. “I’m so sick of fighting with you. And if I can’t ever do anything right then maybe you should just end this with me.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you started, only to be cut off by him placing an earbud in his ear, closing himself off from the conversation. Nodding you watched him for a moment. There was no point in pushing him to talk to you, it would just result in more anger and a longer make up period. Instead, you crawled off the bed, grabbed your bag and belongings, and left. Looking back at him before shutting his bedroom door, you found his eyes still glued to the phone screen, not worried in the least of your departure.

Eleven months in: putting you first.

Taehyung was sprawled out on your sofa and you were seated on the floor in front of it. As you shoved noodles into your mouth, your best friend was fully immersed in the film that was playing on your television.

“I think if I was alive when this originally came out the technicolor would have blown my mind,” Taehyung noted as you both watched Dorothy leave the sepia tone of her Kansas home and entered the vibrantly colorized land of Oz. “Like I think I would have lost my shit.”

Giggling, you nodded in agreement. “I remember seeing it as a kid and being blown away. And obviously I had seen several colorized films, like it wasn’t new. But there’s something special about this one.”

“I can’t believe I never saw this as a kid,” he casually said as he stared at the screen.

“I used to watch it as a kid when I was sad and it would make me feel better,” you admitted bashfully. “Which is stupid but it’s one of my favorite movies still because of it.”

“That’s not stupid at all, that’s so cute,” Taehyung cooed, nudging your shoulder with his knee. “I officially love this movie. I wish I had been watching it as a kid too.”

“You do?” You asked with a smile, looking over your shoulder at him.

“It was a friend to you when you needed one. Of course I love it.” He flashed his boxy grin and your heart warmed inside your chest. “And it would have been cute if you were both watching this movie at the same time. Like a little connection before we met.”

Watching him thoughtfully, you appreciated how pure and kind he was. He was so good, and for no reason other than he chose to live that way in a world that could bring such cruelty. You were so certain in that moment that even before you knew Taehyhung, your soul was always waiting to meet him.

“We didn’t need the movie to be connected. There’s always been a string that runs between you and I, you told him. Taehyung’s eyes slowly trailed from the movie to meet your gaze.

“That string has been really long at times,” he frowned. It had been. There were so many times you could have used Taehyung’s friendship, but the connection between you was still too far apart. It felt like magic having him sitting there on the other end of your sofa after all this time. “I’m glad it finally shortened enough for me to reach out and pull you close.”

“Me too,” you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. These fucking emotions. Lately, you were always on edge, always on the verge of tears. “I really missed you all those years.”

Looking back to the screen, you could feel Taehyung’s gentle gaze on you as he studied you. After a minute of no talking, you kept your eyes on the movie as you asked Tae a question that suddenly shot to the forefront of your mind. “What if you hated this movie?”

“What?” He asked in confusion.

“Like, say you hated this movie for whatever reason. And I liked it. What would your response to me liking it be?”

He thought for a moment, long enough for you to turn your head to peek at him. “Uh,” he chuckled lightly. “I think I would just, I don’t know, accept that you liked the movie and I didn’t. Like, it wouldn’t be an issue.” Nodding at him, you looked to the fibers of the couch cushion as you thought over his answer. “We’d still be watching it right now.”

Shooting your eyes back up to meet his, your mouth dropped open but no words came out for a few seconds. “We would?”

“Yeah,” he gave you a small smile. “This is your comfort movie, right? Look, I don’t know why and I promise I won’t pry because I know you don’t want to talk about it—though you could if you wanted to, I’m all ears—but I can tell you need some comfort. So yeah, even if I hated this movie, if I knew you were sad, I would probably put this movie on anyway.”

Pouting at him, you stared at him with your sad eyes. You hoped he could see how thankful you were for him and his care for you.

“Your love for this movie and the comfort it brings you is much more important than my fictional dislike for it,” he smiled. “Like would I even have a good reason to dislike it? Do I just not like the songs? Do I hate the color yellow? I just figure my reason would be pretty insignificant in comparison to the reasons you like it. So, yeah, we’d still be watching this right now even if I hated it.”

At this point in his explanation, you were simply giggling, and probably looking at him with an immense amount of affection that still didn’t come close to how much love you felt for him. “But I actually do like this movie. So it’s not an issue anyway,” he reminded you.

“You’re kind of the best person, you know that?” You said, cocking your head as you softly grinned at him.

“Watch the movie, Peaches,” he replied, brushing off your compliment. But he was the best. Without a doubt.

One year and three months in: the derailment.

Sitting quietly on your kitchen stool, you played with your takeout as your boyfriend sat next to you with his laptop open. He had hardly spoken to you all night. Which was fine, you didn’t mind the quiet. But you had hoped he would ask about the exam you had that afternoon. After the first hour passed, you held onto that hope. However, the second hour had come and gone and you had allowed yourself to believe he simply didn’t care about your test.

“What are you working on?” You asked him, glancing at the laptop.

His response was delayed as his eyes roamed over the screen. “Hm?” He asked, slowly turning his face to you.

Nodding at the computer, you asked again, “what are you working on?”

“Oh, I’m just going over a paper for a classmate,” he told you before turning his attention back to the document. “She was stressing out about it so I offered to take a look.”

Humming, you nodded slowly. “That was nice of you.”

“You know me, always a saint,” he joked, a smirk appearing on his face. You reciprocated with a smile as you draped your arm over his shoulders. Inching toward him, you placed your lips to the shell of his ear before trailing them to his cheek, kissing the defined bone. The touches were light, teasing, your lips ghosting over his skin as you traveled from spot to spot. As you went to press a kiss to his jaw, he pulled away from you slightly. “I’m not done yet,” he told you, his eyes still on the screen as he scrolled down on the document.

“Ok,” you whispered, trying to sport an unaffected expression as you sat back from him, putting distance between you once again. “That’s fine.” As much as you hated to admit it, it was a hit to your ego to have him so focused on an essay that wasn’t even his that he blew off your advances. “I’m still eating anyway,” you mumbled as you picked your utensil back up and poked at the food again.

Another moment of silence passed between you both, him showing no interest in starting conversation, and you being too nervous to do so. Conversation starters flashed through your head but you were too scared, too anxious to say any of them. One lingered on your tongue for several minutes before you took a deep breath and forced yourself to vocalize the comment.

“I had that stats exam today,” you spoke tentatively, your eyes glued to the food in front of you. You didn’t want to look at him as he blew the comment off with a hum. “That one I was really nervous about.”

“Right,” he said, his tone showing his disinterest.

“I think it went well, I didn’t feel completely clueless at least,” you continued. It was like talking to a wall, but at least it confirmed your earlier suspicions that he had simply not cared enough to remember you had the exam, nor did he care enough to hear how it went.

“Good,” he replied simply. It took everything in you to not scoff at the single syllable word. On your way to class, Taehyung had sent you an encouraging message telling you how much he believed in you, and when you got out of class another message came soon after asking how everything went. You weren’t trying to compare the two men, but it seemed to be happening more and more as the days passed. It was just hard to understand how one man could care so much and the other so little. And the one who couldn’t be bothered to care was the one who was supposed to be your partner.

“And after the exam I streaked through campus in celebration,” you told him, the man not even flinching as he hummed in response. Nodding once to yourself, you sealed the lid on your takeout and stood to put it in the refrigerator. The sudden and angry movement finally pulled his attention from the laptop as he watched you trudge across the kitchen before pulling the fridge open, tossing the food container in, and slamming the door shut.

“Ok, jesus christ, what?” He asked, folding his arms across his chest as he looked at you with raised eyebrows.

“Seriously?” You asked, the man shrugging in response. “What did I even just say to you?”

“When?”

“Just now. What did I tell you about my day?”

“Fucking hell,” he rolled his eyes. “Honestly? I don’t know, because I’m busy, like I told you,” he uncrossed his arms to gesture at the laptop.

“I told you about my exam.” When he shrugged again, you finally released the scoff from earlier. “The stats one. The one I was freaking out about all week.”

Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t keep up with every little thing you have going on,” he told you, his eyes looking to the side of you. “I have my own shit to worry about too.”

“Yeah, I get it, you have random girls’ essays to edit,” you told him bitterly.

Chuckling dryly at you, he shook his head. “You’re so fucking immature,” he spoke through an exhale. “Like it’s actually amazing how you keep this moral high ground over me all the time while you act like this. It’s a talent.”

“What are you even talking about?” You asked, your eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

“You get all pissed at me because you’re crazy and insecure and jealous and then you act like I’m a shitty boyfriend because I forgot about some exam you took. Everyone’s taking exams, it’s a university.”

“What in the actual fuck?” You asked, your confusion only deepening as you tried to figure out how he made this leap. If it was a talent of yours to keep the moral high ground while acting “immature”, “crazy”, “insecure” and “jealous” then twisting words and throwing arguments off the rails was his talent.

“I’m sorry I gave a tiny bit of my attention to another girl, my bad. Here,” he slammed the laptop shut, “I’m all yours now. Happy?” The way he glared at you made you feel small, embarrassed, and as immature as he believed you to be.

“I wasn’t jealous over this girl, I was just upset that you hadn’t asked about the exam, and then you brushed me off when I tried to kiss you,” you explained timidly.

Scoffing at you, he smiled cruelly. “So that’s why you’re acting like this? Because I wouldn’t drop everything to have sex with you?”

“What?” You were shocked, and you were sure it was written across your face. He thought this was about sex?

“I knew when you gave it up on the third date that you were going to be a lot to handle but fuck,” he shook his head. The words hit you like a knife to the chest, stealing the air and sending a sharp pain into your heart. “I don’t want to have sex with you at every minute of the day, sometimes I have other things to do.”

“Are you calling me a slut?” You asked, winded and wounded. The reason you had tried to initiate some intimacy moments before was to feel close to him. It was a fact of your relationship that sex seemed to be the best way to connect with him, especially these days.

“I’m not calling you a slut, don’t do that, don’t put words in my mouth,” he told you angrily. “And I’m not saying your needs are a bad thing. It’s just, you can’t be pissed at me if I turn down your advances. You’re seriously insatiable.”

“Ok,” you let out a small humorless chuckle. Tears were pricking your eyes as you evaded meeting his gaze. “Well don’t worry because I won’t make any advances anymore.”

Sighing dramatically, he dropped his head to the table as though he were exhausted. “Oh my god, that’s not what I meant, I was just-”

“Do you even love me?” You asked bluntly, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere. However, knowing your thought process, the question was a completely understandable one. Someone who loves you shouldn’t treat you as though you’re insane for wanting them to care about the events that occur in your life such as major exams, and they surely don’t slut shame you. If you were being honest with yourself, the question had been floating around your mind for months. You didn’t feel loved.

He slowly lifted his head from the table, shooting a glare at you. “What?” He asked, offense flashing across his features. “What kind of question is that?”

“Do you love me?” You asked again.

“Why the hell are you asking that? That’s so stupid,” he dismissed, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest once again.

“It’s not stupid to me,” you defended.

“Well it should be, because that’s so fucking dumb,” he scoffed and smiled humorlessly.

“Just tell me you love me.”

“No,” he shook his head, his expression angry.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s stupid, you know how I feel.”

“No I don’t,” you raised your voice and spoke through the tiniest of humorless, disbelieving laughs. “I have no idea how you actually feel.” The man didn’t respond, instead choosing to glare at you. “Do you love me?” You asked again through tears, your voice breaking.

“This is so fucking stupid,” he said again, enunciating each word as he became angrier.

“It isn’t to me,” you yelled as tears slid down your cheeks.

“Well it is to me,” he yelled back, standing up from his seat.

“Why won’t you just say it?” You asked, your voice as small as you felt.

“You’re suffocating,” he spat at you.

“What?”

“The way you’re always having me come over here, kissing me, doting on me like I’m some fucking child,” he listed off. You had no idea where all of this was coming from but the more he spoke the more you felt ill, the words settling in your abdomen in the heaviest most unsettling way.

“I-” you stuttered in surprise. Wiping the tears off your face, you looked to the side of the room. “I just love you.”

“Well, the way you love is suffocating,” he responded immediately.

“This is exactly why I don’t feel loved by you,” you spoke quietly, the words tumbling from your mouth in a mumble.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, annoyed, tired, and mad.

“I’m serious, how could you say this shit to me if you actually loved me?” You asked, shaking your head as you tried to hold back more tears but unable to as they raced down your face.

“You just drive me fucking insane, it has nothing to do with loving you,” he yelled. “Stop say stupid shit like that.”

“Then tell me this, do you even like me?” Your voice raised in pitch as you asked the question, desperate for some sort of affection from the man. Some sort of reassurance.

“Jesus christ, I’m so done with this, stop being so annoying, this is why you’re suffocating. You’re always needing assurance, you’re always needing more of me, you’re always just needing. Give me a break,” he ranted, shoving himself away from the counter.

Worn and beaten down, exhausted and crushed, you stared at him for a moment as he breathed heavily, shaking his head at you. Nodding slowly at him, you sniffled before giving him a feelingless smile of acceptance. Turning your back on him, you started toward your bedroom. It wasn’t until you went inside the room and shut the door behind you that you heard him rustling around your kitchen. Moments later you heard the front door open and slam shut.

And there you were again, left alone as you waited to feel his love again.

One year and five months in: reassurance.

Movie night with Taehyung was by far one of your favorite ways to spend an evening. Being with him gave you a sense of comfort that you’d never really experienced with anyone else before. Not to mention, things were always peaceful with Taehyung. Even in the chaos of your personalities combined, there was always a feeling of harmony when it was just you and him.

After your week, full of exam stress and tension in your romantic relationship, you were dying to spend time with Tae and just be at peace for a few hours.

However, Taehyung was late. By fifteen minutes. Which wouldn’t be such a big deal if it weren’t for the conflict in other areas of your life building up and causing you to feel insecure in your importance. Was he late because he got caught up? Or was he late because he forgot about movie night? Maybe, though you knew it was less likely, he was late because he simply didn’t want to hang out with you.

Just as you checked your phone to check the time, a text message popped up from Taehyung.

Taehyung: Sorry! I’m running late, I’ll be leaving the dorms within the next 10 minutes.

Any other time you would have brushed it off, but you were too in your feelings, pitying yourself, convincing yourself you weren’t as important to others as they were to you. And those feelings blasted through your fingertips as you typed your hasty response to your best friend.

You: You couldn’t have told me earlier that you were running late? What are you even doing?

You know Taehyung got done working earlier that afternoon, which only made his tardiness hurt more. He had to be preoccupied with someone else. His message came quickly.

Taehyung: I’m sorry, I should have texted. Jimin started a game up and I was just finishing the round. That’s a shitty excuse, I feel bad.

Video games? You scoffed looking at your phone. Honestly, you’d had enough carelessness from your boyfriend, you didn’t need it from your best friend too. You were hesitant to text him back, not wanting your anger to get the best of your judgment. But you were so upset and discouraged in that moment, and you wanted someone to understand the way they made you feel. Before you could figure out what to say, Taehyung sent another text.

Taehyung: I’m on my way now.

You didn’t want any favors. Spending time with people who didn’t act enthusiastic to be there only made you feel like a burden. Acting dismissive was your conclusion.

You: Don’t even bother, enjoy your games. I’m going to bed.

You could practically hear his disappointed sigh through the phone screen as the three dots appeared in the text bubble, indicating Taehyung was already responding. He wouldn’t be disappointed in you but rather himself, and you knew that because he was Taehyung. He was a sweetheart.

Taehyung: I’m coming over. Even if I have to apologize through the door, I’m going to say sorry.

Staring at the message, you tried to discern how you were feeling. You weren’t sure how to react to someone showing such insistence in setting things right with you. Unsure of how to respond, you opted not to. Instead, you waited on the couch for his arrival.

It didn’t take him too long to get to your apartment, his knocks on your door popping the bubble of insecurity and frustration you had locked yourself in. Despite your earlier stubbornness, you easily found yourself opening the door for him, your eyes immediately meeting his regretful ones.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized sincerely.

“It doesn’t matter,” you told him, heading further into your apartment, leaving him to welcome himself inside. You heard the door shut before his steps followed you.

“It does matter,” he told you, “it’s ok to be pissed at me, just don’t play down your own feelings.”

What? You froze in your spot as you tried to comprehend his words. He wasn’t defending himself, but instead he was assuring you that it’s ok to feel the way you do. Literally, what?

Turning to look at him, you cocked your head. “Ok, fine, I’m mad.”

“Ok, that’s understandable,” he nodded. “And I’m sorry for making you angry.”

“But it’s more than that,” you told him. “I’m sad.” You watched as his gaze hardened, not in anger but in concentration. As though he was studying you. “I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing you to be here.”

“You’re not forcing me to be here, Peaches, I love our movie nights,” he quickly told you.

“But can you see how it doesn’t feel that way?”

He nodded sincerely. “Yeah, I can see that. I’m sorry I made you feel as though I don’t want to be here. I promise you, I want to be here, I’ve been thinking about tonight all week.” He spoke so earnestly and openly, you really had no choice but to take him for his word.

“I need to feel that, Tae,” you told him in a whisper. “I want to feel like a priority sometimes.”

That same focused gaze searched your features as he stepped closer. “The last thing I ever want is to make you feel like you’re not important or like you’re not a priority in my life, because you are. You’re so important to me,” he told you, just before reaching for your hand.

Looking into his eyes, you found yourself nodding slowly. “I know that. I just think I needed to feel it tonight.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or make you doubt yourself,” he frowned. He was beating himself up, you could see the internal lashing in his eyes.

“It’s ok,” you forced a small smile. It really was ok, but you weren’t yet ready to move on from it. You were on the cusp of sharing feelings you’d been holding in for months, hell, a year, and you didn’t want to swallow it again.

Lucky for you, Taehyung could read you better than anyone. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He knew this was bigger than him. And you both knew he had an idea of who this was all really about.

“I don’t know,” you replied, trying to conceal your anxieties through a shaky exhale.

“Peaches,” he looked into your eyes. His orbs were attentive, like he was peering into your mind trying to pull out your vulnerabilities. “What’s wrong?” Shaking your head, you chewed on your lip to hide the way it trembled. Your emotions were bubbling. “Talk to me.”

“I think I just need some reassurance,” you admitted before scoffing at yourself. “That’s so stupid.” “Why is that stupid? That’s not stupid, that’s completely understandable, what kind of reassurance do you need?” He asked, only waiting a couple seconds before pouring out his sincerity to you. “I love you, I care about you, you’re my best friend and I’m so thankful for you. I love you. When I’m not with you, I want to be with you. And when I’m with you, I’m happy.”

As tears slid down your cheeks, his words causing a leak in the dam that held back your hidden emotions, Taehyung gave you a soft smile. Bringing his hand up to your face, he carefully wiped under your eyes with his thumbs before placing his palm to your cheek and sliding his hand so it sat at the back of your head. Pulling you against him, he hugged you against his chest, your body instantly relaxing against him. “You’re so much better than you give yourself credit for. Of course I want to spend time with you,” he whispered into your hair. “And I’m sorry for hurting you tonight. I’ll be more mindful.”

“Thank you, Tae,” you mumbled against his t-shirt. It was so simple, it almost didn’t feel complete. But it was, the issue was resolved and you felt calm and at peace in his presence once again. “It’s ok.” We’re ok.

One year and five months in: a moment of honesty.

In bed is where you and your boyfriend often found yourselves after fights, channeling all the anger, frustration, and sadness into something that wouldn’t solve your issues, but sure felt a hell of a lot better than facing your troubles.

Breathless, you stared up at the ceiling, your boyfriend reaching between you both to take your hand in his. “Are we ok?” He asked, breaking the silence that had enveloped you both.

Sighing, you thought for a moment. “I’m really tired of fighting with you.” The statement didn’t answer his question, because these days, you really didn’t know how to answer that. Rarely were you two ok, and the sex didn’t change that.

“I know,” he whispered. It was moments like these where you found yourself empathizing with him. It was in these moments where it seemed as though he truly felt guilt and regret for all the bad times. Rarely did he take responsibility, but you knew he felt responsible, and he wore it like a burden.

“It’s seriously exhausting getting that angry,” you let out a single breathy laugh.

“I like when you yell. It feels passionate. It’s sexy.” Turning to look at him, you found him smirking at you. Rolling your eyes, he chuckled.

“Is it passion? Or are we just bad for each other?” You asked, your tone more somber as you thought over your own words. It wasn’t really a question that needed to be answered. You both knew.

“Maybe both,” he hummed. Turning onto his side so his body was open toward you, his eyes traveled over your face before lowering to the bed sheets. “I love you though,” he spoke, his voice slightly muffled from the pillow he rested his head on, his eyes still looking over the flowery patterns on the sheet.

“I love you too,” you whispered back to him before facing the ceiling once again.

“Yeah?” He asked. Then his lips found your shoulder, the man kissing it lightly. “Why?” You couldn’t quite tell if he was teasing or if this was an insecurity showing through, as though he was asking what there was to love about him. As though he wasn’t sure himself.

Turning toward him, you cuddled against his frame, his arms wrapping over your body as you kissed his chest. “I just do.”

One year and six months in: the composure cracks.

Outings such as this one always made you a bit nervous. You wished your best friend and boyfriend could just get along without the undertones of dislike and distrust. Taehyung usually kept his nose out of your relationship, keeping his comments on the union and your boyfriend to a minimum. You could tell he wasn’t particularly fond of the man, but he was able to respect your boundaries well enough that his animosity rarely showed through. Your boyfriend, however, was more open with his ill feelings toward Taehyung. He didn’t fully trust Tae. He thought you and your best friend were too close, and jealousy often seeped through.

You could understand jealousy, so you did your best to assure your boyfriend that you were his girlfriend, not Taehyung’s. But you’d found there was only so much you could do to silence his insecurities.

This night was different, however. Perhaps it was the presence of a buffer in the form of your good friend, Jimin, but your boyfriend and Tae seemed to be working harder than in the past at maintaining a level of cordiality. They were speaking rather friendly about some video game you really had no idea about, but they seemed chummy, and that was enough for you.

“You know, I always thought it would be cool to be a game creator but it just seemed so far-fetched that I never really looked into it,” your boyfriend shook his head as he took a drink of his beer. “Would be fun though,” he hummed over the rim of the bottle.

“Whoah, that would be awesome,” Taehyung animatedly agreed, his eyes widened with enthusiasm. “Why wouldn’t you pursue it?”

“It’s just not realistic,” your boyfriend shrugged.

“Sure it is,” you told him gently. “You could do anything you wanted.” You truly believed that, too. He was determined, creative, never stopped until he got what he wanted. Giving you a smirk, he nodded, placing his hand on your thigh.

“Of course you’d say that,” he told you. Maybe you were always expecting the worse from him at that point, but you swore his smile took on a condescending appearance.

“Why? I’m just telling the truth, you could literally do anything.”

“You always wear those rose-colored glasses though, hun.” He looked from you to Taehyung who was watching the interaction scrutinizingly. “It’s kind of like this one’s dreams,” he nudged you as he spoke to Tae. “Like it’s nice to think about but the reality is just, well, you know.” It took you a moment to realize that his elbow nudging against your arm when he said this one meant he was referring to you. Heart pounding against your chest, you looked to him in shock.

The surprise didn’t come because the conversation about dreams and their lack of reality was new to you both—it absolutely wasn’t. But rather, the shock came because he was entering these waters in front of your best friends, who you had never really shared any of the troubled aspects of your relationship with.

“Wait, what?” Tae asked in confusion, looking to you to see the tension in your features. “What about her dreams?”

“Are you serious right now?” You interjected, directing the comment at your boyfriend. His eyes widened in question, as if to innocently ask what? “We don’t really need to involve my friends in our fights,” you mumbled quietly, trying to keep the words out of reach from your friends. As soon as the word fights left your lips, however, you flinched, noticing the way Taehyung’s posture straightened. You knew his curiosity and worry had been piqued with the single syllable.

“Fights?” Taehyung questioned, eyebrows pulled together in focused scrutiny. Jimin was becoming visibly awkward next to him.

You locked your eyes on Tae’s, silently pleading him to backtrack. You did not want this to escalate into anything, and you didn’t want him to know your boyfriend had spoken negatively about your dreams before. You weren’t necessarily hiding the downsides of the relationship from Tae, it was just, well, humiliating sometimes. You were supposed to be strong and independent. That’s how he saw you. It would hurt too much if he discovered you in a different light and didn’t like what he found.

Tae looked away from you and stared at your boyfriend, determined to get him to continue. “What fights?” he directed to your boyfriend. Fuck.

“It was only one fight,” your boyfriend looked at you, correcting you for your use of the plural noun. “Look, she’s your best friend so give me some insight here.” Gawking at him in further shock, you couldn’t believe your boyfriend was actually divulging details of a previous argument to Taehyung. “You know how she has all those little dreams for her future?” Taehyung stared at your boyfriend with daggers. You didn’t often see Taehyung angry. But he was fuming in that moment. “What if i became a writer? What if I was able to make money off of my photography? Maybe I should try 3d art, that would be a cool profession,” your boyfriend repeated your random musings. You truly didn’t believe he meant to mock you, but he used that condescending tone that triggered you to look down at the table as you leaned away from him. It’s just how he speaks sometimes, you reminded yourself. A few beers in, he always acted a bit more harsh. “She was talking about how she should start this little side business where she could do photography and try to make some money off of it.”

“Yeah, she told me about that,” Taehyung interjected, his eyes shifting to you, studying your features. Taehyung had told you it was a great idea. Even suggested you start with taking family photos, portraits, so on, to build up your portfolio and then maybe you could start trying to sell your more artistic visions to different publications. Maybe even open your own gallery in the future.

“Right, ok so you know. All I said was that I didn’t think it was a good idea because she should be focusing on her studies. She’s already so,” he hummed, thinking of the word. A slew of synonyms for stupid flew through your mind in anticipation. “Well, she has trouble focusing, you know what I mean?” Well, that’s kinder than dumb or airheaded. “I just said that a side job that didn’t have anything to do with her future would only distract her from what matters. And I’m right,” he directed to you. He did soften his tone slightly, but it still hurt. And it was mortifying to hear him shoot down your aspirations in front of your friends. In that moment, you realized he was divulging details of your conflicts as a couple because he really did think he was right. He was expecting Taehyung to back him up in putting down your aspirations as pipe dreams because your boyfriend truly didn’t believe you had it in you to make an actual career out of your dreams.

“It does have to do with her future though,” Taehyung defended you, his voice cold as he leaned closer to the table.

“Ok, sure, but I’m dealing in terms of reality here,” your boyfriend let out a single chuckle.

“So am I. I know all about reality, I live in it,” Taehyung pointed out. Jimin was uncomfortable next to him, but he looked angry as well as he glared at your boyfriend.

“Hardly,” your boyfriend smiled and chuckled. You could tell he was getting angry but he was determined to keep his cool, charming indifference. “No offense, man—to either of you— but you’re idols. That’s hardly reality.” Jimin’s eyebrows raised challengingly as Taehyung’s narrowed further.

“But this is our reality. We are idols, that’s our real life,” Taehyung defended. “Our dreams happened for us and I am not nearly as driven as she is. So, why wouldn’t it be realistic for her to pursue photography? Or whatever else she wants to?” It made you uncomfortable to sit there as they spoke about you. You hated the diminishment of your dreams, but you also didn’t love that Taehyung felt the need to stick up for you, though you did appreciate it. You just hated feeling weak, and with Taehyung you usually felt strong. And you also knew this would only fuel your boyfriend’s jealousy and distrust.

“You got struck with a bunch of luck. That doesn’t happen to everyone,” your boyfriend noted. And suddenly Taehyung’s desire to defend you made sense, because you found yourself stepping into the conversation to swing for him.

“I wouldn’t say it’s luck, they’ve both worked their asses off to get where they are,” you defended the boys, your boyfriend lightly scoffing before turning to look at you.

“I’m not downplaying anything he’s accomplished, hun, don’t worry.” The way he failed to include Jimin in his comment sent an anxious dread coursing through your body, settling in your stomach. “I’m just saying, it takes some luck.”

“No you’re right,” Taehyung nodded. “I did get lucky. I didn’t even really have a goal to become a singer, I didn’t really have many dreams at all. Because, well, I didn’t think dreaming was realistic for me. But then this happened, so maybe I should have dreamed a little bigger for myself, don’t you think? What I’m saying is,” and then he turned to you, completely tuning your boyfriend out and focusing only on you. “You actually have aspirations. You’re full of creativity and you want to use it. And you’re driven, and talented, and smart, and you’re so good.” The word good was spoken as though it was a catchall for the words he lacked to describe you. As though there weren’t enough words in his vocabulary, or in any human language to express how brilliant you were. “If there’s one person in this world who is deserving of being hit with a stroke of luck, it’s you. And you have what it takes to back it up.”

Staring at Tae, you felt tears prick your eyes. You were speechless, and you knew your boyfriend was watching you in anger and insecurity and you just couldn’t bring yourself to care because once again you were stunned by the amount of love and care Taehyung offered to you.

The table was silent, and you really didn’t know how much time had passed before your boyfriend cleared his throat.

“Sure,” he spoke in a monotone. Reluctantly you pulled your eyes from Taehyung and found your boyfriend nodding as he stared at your best friend across the table. “Start a photography business. Of course you can do it.” Slowly, he turned to face you and gave you a small, tense smile. “You’re incredible,” he said quietly, just before leaning in and pressing his lips to your temple.

You didn’t mean to flinch away from his touch. And the movement really was barely there, but Jimin picked up on it immediately as he coughed awkwardly. And so did your boyfriend, his hand sliding off your thigh as he straightened his posture and looked toward the bar. “I’m gonna get another drink, anyone want anything?” You and Taehyung shook your heads as Jimin gave him an unfriendly but polite, “no thanks.”

When your boyfriend left the table, Taehyung’s eyes shot to you, anger apparent in his gaze. “Don’t,” you warned him, not wanting to receive a lecture.

“Peaches,” he started. Tears started gathering in your eyes, and like a knight in shining armor, Jimin grabbed your hand and nodded to the small dance floor.

“Come on, let me teach you some stuff,” he flashed his pretty smile. Clenching your jaw to conceal your emotions that were frustration, sadness, and gratitude for Jimin in that very moment, you gave him a tight smile of approval.

The dance floor wasn’t very full, but was busy enough that you could only see your table in glimpses. Taehyung sat alone, glaring at the drink sitting in front of him. “Hey,” Jimin dipped his head in your eye line. “Forget about both of them right now.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded to him. And then you started laughing, because, “what the fuck?” You spoke in disbelief.

“I know,” Jimin smiled gently at you. Lifting his arm in the air, he gestured for you to twirl under it. “Come on, we’re dancing,” he reminded you. Giggling you followed his lead, allowing him to spin you, dip you, sway you, losing yourself in the moment with the sweet smiley man.

Taehyung nearly jumped when a man stepped into his vision, blocking his already obstructed view of you, other dancers constantly stepping in his way. The man sat down across from him at the table and sighed.

“I appreciate you encouraging her to dream. And I know she appreciates your support,” the man started, Taehyung studying him carefully as he tried to gauge where the conversation was headed. Looking at him in his cool charming demeanor, Taehyung could see just how he had fooled you into believing he was worthy of you. It was understandable why you had fallen in love with him. He appeared to be the full package. “But I just think she needs to stay grounded and focus on the now. Which is school, studying, getting her degree so that she can have a stable job. Then she can dream all she wants, once she’s set up.”

“Why are you so certain she’ll fail if she chases her dreams?” Taehyung asked, his anger bubbling. He didn’t like how your boyfriend spoke as though you needed his direction, like he knew what was best for you, and you were some clueless kid who needed guidance.

“Because I’m realistic.” Taehyung’s jaw clenched. He was furious. Of course Taehyung understood the need for more realistic plans, but you were on your way to securing that plan. But shouldn’t the degree be the backup plan in case your aspirations didn’t pan out? Why should you have to push your dreams aside for what someone else deemed as realistic?

“Or maybe you’re just a cynic,” Taehyung snapped.

“Maybe so,” the man smirked. “But like I said, not everyone is as lucky as you. And I think it’s really short sighted and naive to boost her full of this confidence where she can do anything when in reality, she can’t.”

Taehyung scoffed, a smile forming on his lips out of pure anger and disbelief.

“What’s funny?” Your boyfriend asked.

“Absolutely nothing,” Taehyung responded. “Nothing is funny about stifling her dreams.” The person most filled with light, Taehyung thought to himself.

“Again, I’m just being realistic.”

“You can’t control her. And you should be encouraging her,” Taehyung told him coldly.

“I’m not trying to control her, Taehyung. I don’t know what your opinion of me is, but I’m not trying to stifle her or keep her locked away from some fairytale future you both seem to see. I’m trying to bring her back to earth. If you loosen the reigns too much on her imagination, she’ll lose herself in her fantasies. She already lives with her head in the clouds.”

“They’re not your reigns to hold. It’s not your job to steer her, or to halt her, or to keep her head down. She’s her own person, and despite what you may think, she has a good head on her shoulders. She knows what she wants, knows what she’s capable of, knows when to bring herself back to earth,” Taehyung explained before scoffing. “Actually, she’s probably too planted in reality for what she’s capable of. She’s a rational person. As her partner, you should be encouraging her to keep her head in the clouds. It’s one of the best things about her. She can keep her own feet here on the ground.” Taehyung was winded by the time he got done speaking

The man stared at Taehyung with a look of scrutiny and anger. “How dreamy of you,” he finally spoke, mocking Taehyung with a condescending laugh. “You have one thing right, pal, I am her chosen partner.”

“You know, Taehyung’s only trying to help,” Jimin told you as he swayed you to the slow groovy beat playing throughout the bar.

“I know,” you assured him. “I just- I don’t know, that whole thing made me feel really weak and pathetic.”

“No one thinks you’re weak,” Jimin told you, pausing dancing to look you in your eyes. “Or pathetic. At least, not me and definitely not Tae.”

“Thanks, Chim,” you gave him a small smile.

“How often does stuff like that happen?” He then asked, your heart pounding at the question.

“What stuff?”

Jimin waited for a moment, seeing if you’d cave on your feigned naivety. When you simply stared back, he sighed. “How often does he put you down like that?”

Your mouth dropped open but no words came out, unsure of what to even say. He would know if you lied, but how could you admit that your relationship was made up of moments like tonight. Luckily, but not lucky at all, your eyes found Tae and your boyfriend sitting together, Taehyung’s brows furrowed and furious as he appeared to rant to your boyfriend. “Shit.”

Jimin quickly followed your gaze, finding the two men, worry coursing through him as well. “Fuck,” was all he said before leading you back to the table.

When you arrived at the table, both men looked at you and Jimin, both angry, but both silent as they pretended like nothing had taken place between them. Then, your boyfriend smiled at you, reaching out to take your hand in his.

“Have fun dancing?” He asked. But your eyes were on Taehyung who glared at the drink in front of him, his fingers gripping the glass. It looked as though if he glared at the drink long enough, it would burn a hole in the table, and then the floor below your boyfriend, and the man’s existence would drop into the fiery pits of hell where Taehyung believed he belonged.

“Everything ok?” You asked, Taehyung finally looking up to you. He gave you a weak smile and your heart broke. What happened?

“Everything’s great. Just Peachy. That’s what you like to call her, right?” Your boyfriend answered for Taehyung before looking at the man with a smile. “Your friend here should be a poet, by the way. Great with words.”

You were struck with the urge to defend Taehyung, despite not knowing what for. Despite knowing it would only cause even more issues between you and your boyfriend later. Before you could say anything however, your boyfriend brought the back of your hand to his lips. “I think I’m gonna head out, hun. Some of the boys are down the street, I figured I’d drop in and hang for a bit. You wanna come with? I can call you a cab.”

The fact that he was retreating to his friends, knowing you wouldn’t go with him, was a bad sign. A fight was surely going to come, but in the moment, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Taehyung was upset, and the last place you wanted to be was with the person who caused it.

“No, I’m good here,” you told him.

Your boyfriend simply nodded, giving you a strained smile. “Of course,” he mumbled through a humorless chuckle. “Well, I think that’s been enough fun for me tonight,” he announced to the two boys. “Great seeing you both, as always.” With that, he stood up in front of where you were still standing.

Wrapping his arm around your lower back, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that felt like you both were performing some sort of act in which neither of you were upset. Where you were in love, you were happy to be together, you’d miss each other when he left. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he whispered near your ear as he was leaving.

“Yeah. Get home safe,” you told him.

“See you guys,” he directed to Taehyung and Jimin.

“Yup,” Taehyung said, staring at the table top as Jimin stayed silent. You watched as your boyfriend left and exited the bar, waiting for the door to shut behind him before looking back at Taehyung. He was staring in front of him at nothing in particular, his eyes full of anger and hurt. You watched him carefully as Jimin awkwardly assessed you both. No one spoke a word until Jimin stood up from his spot.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Maybe get another drink on my way back, either of you want anything?”

Taehyung shook his head and you forced a small smile at Jimin. “I’m good, thanks.”

As soon as Jimin left, Taehyung’s eyes darted to you.

“Peaches.”

“Tae, don’t,” you protested immediately.

“What the fuck was that?”

“It was nothing, he’s just being realistic. And he’s not always like that.” The truth was, the way your boyfriend spoke about you made you feel sick but you didn’t want Tae to worry. And you didn’t want Tae to see you in a negative way.

“Don’t lie for him,” he sighed.

You weren’t lying for him. You were lying for you. How fucking embarassing it was to be this weak girl putting up with some asshole in front of the person whose opinion of you mattered most. Taehyung saw so much light and love within you, strength and purpose, individuality and a strong sense of self. But what if you weren’t that? You never wanted to shatter the illusion.

“I’m not.”

“No one should be allowed to treat you that way.”

“Taehyung, it’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not but he just brought me into it so, sorry, but now it is my business,” he told you angrily. But the anger wasn’t directed at you. “Why do you lie for him?”

“I’m not lying for him.” You whisper-shouted. “You think I enjoy sitting here and defending his behavior? I fucking hate it, I hate myself for doing it, but it’s embarrassing. I don’t want you to see me this way.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he took in your words. “In what way?” When you didn’t answer, he sighed, his expression momentarily softening as his gentle eyes remained on you. “I want to see you in every way.”

“No you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I want. I have always wanted you, as you are. Not how you think I should see you, not some idea of you, I want you. You are my best friend, and you’re too good for what the fuck just happened tonight. No one deserves that, especially not you,” he ranted passionately.

Staring at him, you tried to think of what to say. His eyes were so stern, but they held so much affection for you. And you knew he was right. If you had found out Taehyung was seeing someone who treated you the way your boyfriend did, you’d be fuming. You’d be stepping in, you’d be telling the person off, you’d be doing whatever it took for Tae to see he deserved better.

“I don’t know how I got here,” you whispered. And you could see Taehyung’s heartbreak as his eyes assessed the pain you’d been in. “I should be stronger than this.”

“You are strong,” he insisted. “And it has nothing to do with how strong you are anyway. But you deserve better. And I know what’s going on now. So sorry, but I’m not minding my own business anymore.” You knew that was true. There was no way Taehyung was ever letting this go, and he’d only learn more about the dysfunctions of your relationship from here on.

“I don’t think I want to leave him.” Maybe you did. It felt so complicated.

The man couldn’t stop the sigh before it slipped from his lips. “I want you happy. And I want you to be treated well. I can’t make you leave him but just know, all of that was not ok. And I’ll keep pointing that out,” he told you sternly. He was trying so hard to be gentle but he was so angry, so hurt. It was written all over his features. His heart was aching for you.

“He’s not always like that,” you pointed out again. It was true, he had his good moments. But did that matter? Did the frequency of the behavior matter if he was slowly killing your self love and confidence over the course of your relationship? You couldn’t talk to Tae about that, though. Not if you planned to stay in the relationship with your boyfriend. So you emphasized it again. “He’s good to me. Just, no one’s perfect.”

Taehyung promised himself then and there that he would show you how you deserved to be treated, so much so, that you wouldn’t be able to accept anything less ever again. He knew it would be a process, but he would make sure you no longer accepted less than what you deserved. And in Taehyung’s eyes, you deserved everything good. You deserved the best.

Two days later: the reminder.

You had been avoiding your boyfriend since the fiasco that took place at the bar. A fight was surely on the horizon and you couldn’t bring yourself to face it yet. Not when you didn’t do anything wrong. And you didn’t want to be alone with Taehyung quite yet, not wanting to have to answer questions about your relationship.

To keep your mind off both Heart Eyes and Taehyung, you had decided to visit someone who was completely removed from the situation, who wouldn’t even know to ask about what had happened or where you were going from here.

Sitting on the man’s couch, you watched as he worked on a beat, his posture hunched in a way that looked as though his shoulders had to be burning uncomfortably.

“Yoongles, I’m bored,” you whined playfully, the man ignoring you as he continued to click across the screen. “Yoongles,” you called again.

“You should get a hobby or something,” he mumbled, still facing the screen.

“This is my hobby,” you smiled teasingly.

“Lucky me,” he muttered.

“Exactly,” you agreed with a single exaggerated nod. “Do you want to get some lunch or something? I feel like you need a break and I’m starving.”

“I’m working still,” he reminded you. There was a lightness in his tone, however, that told you he was at least somewhat enjoying your presence. Or at least you hoped. Maybe he wished you’d leave him alone.

“Yeah but you need food. Two options, show me the song you’re working on or we go and get food,” you told him with a bratty smile.

“You’re so annoying,” he shook his head lightly as he turned around in his swivel chair to look at you. “Third option, you leave me alone and I work in peace.”

Staring at the man for a moment, you waited for him to crack a smile but his expression remained neutral. Nodding slowly at him, you awkwardly grabbed your phone off the couch cushion before reaching for your bag on the table and stood. “Alright, I guess I’ll fuck off. Have fun working, jerk.”

“Whoah, what the fuck?” He asked, immediately standing as you hurried to the door of his studio. As you opened the door and made your hasty escape, you heard him call your name.

Moments later as you hurried down the hallway past the other members’ studios, you heard Yoongi’s door open. “Peachy Keen,” he called out to you. “Hey, stop, where are you going?”

Turning around to look at him, you shrugged pathetically as you bit back your tears. You would not cry in front of Min fucking Yoongi, how humiliating. “I don’t want to be where I’m not wanted.”

“I wasn’t being serious, I-” he stuttered, the man frozen in place as he stared at you in worry and concern. “This is what we do, we banter, we tease each other, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he explained.

“I know, I just-” you cut yourself off as a tear slid down your cheek. He was right, it was your dynamic.

“Can you come back in here please?” He asked you, nodding to his studio. “I don’t actually want you to leave.” Sighing, you looked to the studio, back to Yoongi, down the hallway, and then at Yoongi again.

“I feel stupid,” you pouted lamely.

“Come on,” he gestured for you to follow him as he started toward his door. Reluctantly, you made your way back to his studio where he stood holding the door open for you. As you passed by him, he gently grabbed your wrist. “It’s ok,” he assured you. “You don’t need to feel any type of way.”

Giving him a tight smile, you made your way back to his couch and waited for him to sit back in his chair. You expected him to simply brush it all off and return to work, however, you were taken aback when he instead scooted the chair closer to the sofa, his eyes on your hands that you held against your knees, your fingers nervously tapping on your knee caps.

“Ok, so what’s going on?” He asked bluntly. Meeting each other’s eyes for a moment, you shook your head in an effort to play clueless. “No, seriously, what is going on? You’ve never once been so on edge and visibly upset in the whole, what, two years that I’ve known you?”

The way he stared at you pulled the tears right from your eyes. “It’s nothing,” you shakily spoke through a budding sob that you could feel in your throat. When the man called your name, the sob escaped through your lips, your head falling to your knees. Yoongi allowed you some time to compose yourself, and when you looked up you found him staring at you in deep concern, his teeth chewing on his lip in worry. “I think my relationship is really toxic,” you sniffled. “Well, it is really toxic.”

“What happened?” He asked, his concern growing even more.

“He’s not physically abusive so don’t worry,” you interjected quickly in an effort to relieve his anxiety.

“Well good, but that’s not all I’m worried about. Does he treat you badly?”

“I just don’t even know if he loves me,” you shook your head. “Or even likes me. Like, I have to beg for a bit of affection and he always seems so burdened by me.” Yoongi was silent as you spoke, allowing you the space to share freely. “The fights started pretty early on but they’ve gotten colder and more severe. A few months ago he slut shamed me,” you chuckled humorlessly. Yoongi’s face became angry and tense, confusion flashing across his eyes. “And he’s just, I don’t know, it’s like he’s always finding ways to put me down. And a couple nights ago we hung out with Tae and Jimin and he put down my dreams in front of them and Tae kind of lost it and they were having this passive aggressive fight and-” You were cut off by your own tears as they cascaded down your cheeks. “I’ve never been so full of shame in my life, I feel so embarrassed to be me and I don’t know how I let this shit go on for so long.”

“You have to get out of this relationship,” Yoongi told you, bluntly once again. “This is not healthy, you don’t deserve to feel this way. Do you realize that he’s emotionally abusive? Do you see that?”

“Abuse sounds so extreme,” you responded, attempting to refute the claim.

“Is this not extreme? Look at you,” he told you softly. “This is not you, you cannot let him tear you down even more. This has been going on for over a year and a half.”

“He wasn’t like this at the start,” you defended your relationship.

“That doesn’t matter anymore, it doesn’t matter when it started or how long it’s been going on, it’s not ok,” Yoongi explained to you. “He’s obviously shredded your sense of self and he makes you feel like shit. And, sorry, but he doesn’t love you in the way you want him to love you.”

“But I love him,” you cried.

“No, you love the idea you have of him, you love the potential you see in him. The person he actually is is a piece of shit. How he treats you now is the real him, that’s who he is, and it’s enough. You need to be done.” Yoongi was blunt as he spoke. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was being insensitive. But the thing was, Yoongi cared. A lot. And Yoongi sitting you down and telling you everything so upfront was exactly the wake up call you needed. You loved your boyfriend’s potential. And he simply didn’t love you enough to even try to reach that potential.

“Fuck,” you shook your head. It all hit you at once. Just how unhappy you were in the relationship, how miserable you’d been for over a year, all crashed down on you as you realized you didn’t want any part of it anymore. You were tired, your self-esteem was non-existent, and you just wanted to feel ok again. “How did I get myself into this?”

“You can analyze all of that later, your focus now needs to be getting yourself out of it. You don’t deserve this,” Yoongi told you, leaning against the back of his chair. “I’m serious, you’re done. Or else I’m gonna get involved.”

The comment was both intimidating as hell and adorably sweet. Holding back a smile as you wiped away a tear, only to be replaced more, you nodded. “Ok Bad Boy Suga, I’ll handle it,” you sniffled.

Chuckling as he shook his head, he sucked air through his teeth in mild amusement. “Promise?”

Could you make that promise? “Yes,” you assured him, and also yourself. The thought of ending the relationship was far from a new one. With the push and reassurance from your friend, and from Taehyung last night, you knew it was the only real solution. Yoongi nodded at you once before scooting his chair back to his desk, but he remained facing you. “If I need your help, I’ll let you know,” you teased, though you both knew if you did need him, he would be there. The man simply nodded again in response.

“You are annoying, by the way,” he smiled at you. “Don’t change that for anyone. Some of us kind of like you the way you are.”

Giggling through your tears, you nodded at the man. “Thanks, Yoongles.”

“And your laugh is kind of great so stop giving your time to people who make you feel sad,” he added quickly before turning back to the computer monitor.

Your shock that came in response to the comment was soon replaced by the urge to mess with the man. “Wait, excuse me, what was that?” You asked teasingly.

“I didn’t say anything,” he mumbled as he clicked the mouse on random areas on the screen.

“Just one more time, I didn’t quite hear,” you continued pestering the man, only for him to shake his head. “Something about my laugh being great? Spectacular even, I’m pretty sure I heard the words, your laugh is the greatest laugh I’ve ever heard, it’s one of the great wonders of the wor-.”

“Get out,” he mumbled, though you could see the way his shoulders shook in laughter. Giggling at yourself and Yoongi, you burned the reminder he gave you to memory: This isn’t love. You deserve better.

Moments later, the man turned around to look at you once more. “What do you want for lunch? I’ll order in.”

The next day: the end of the road.

You had been fighting for an hour already. Your boyfriend’s pride was hurt when Taehyung stuck up for you, and especially when you stuck up for Taehyung. Comments like “That was humiliating, do you enjoy making me feel like shit in front of your friends?” and “You make me look like the bad guy.” and “How is it my fault you’re both naive?” had been thrown at you up until you told him this wasn’t working.

“All we do is fight, all we do is make each other feel like shit, what are we even doing anymore?” You asked him, beyond tired of the constant battle.

Staring at you, he tried to discern your words. “So what, are you done? You want to break up? Wanna quit on the past year and a half? And then what? Run into Taehyung’s arms?”

“This isn’t about Taehyung,” you groaned out of frustration. This was about how he had been treating you throughout your relationship.

“Isn’t it always about Taehyung?”

“No,” you yelled, “it’s about us. It’s always been about me and you.”

“Bullshit,” he shook his head and smiled. “God, the way he was acting like your protector,” he chuckled humorlessly. “He’s in love with you, you know that?”

“No he’s not,” you groaned. “But he does care about me, is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah. It is,” he told you bluntly. “You’re just too dense to notice that he and his little buddies have crushes on you because you love the attention too much. It’s like you need these connections with people to feel whole because you’re so fucking unsatisfied with yourself.”

“Do you not hear how mean that is when it’s leaving your mouth?” You asked him, tears gathering on your lash line.

“Maybe it’s mean but it’s true, I’m just being honest with you. Someone needs to be because your fucking friends never will be.”

“I really can’t do this anymore,” you spoke out loud, mostly to yourself, as you realized once again just how much you had reached your limit.

“Do what? Stop being so dramatic,” he sighed. “You’re the one who keeps taking me back after all these fights, after all these supposed wrongs I’ve committed. I’m the one who leaves and you’re the one who takes me back. So,” he shrugged. “I must not actually be that bad since you’re staying in the relationship. Or maybe you just really do need me.”

“I don’t even know who I am anymore, I have never been this pathetic in my life and the more time I spend with you, the weaker and stupider I get,” you snapped. “And you don’t even like me anymore, I just- I can’t keep doing the constant fighting, I can’t keep being cut down, I’m not strong enough for this.”

“How is it my fault that you don’t know who you are? Are you saying it’s my problem? I made you pathetic?” The way he looked at you as though you were insane made you feel insane. “I’ve tried to make you happy, but nothing I have ever done has been enough, I can’t be this perfect boyfriend that you seem to want.”

“I’ve never asked you to be perfect, all I’ve ever wanted from you was your love. I just wanted you to give a fuck,” you defended yourself. Maybe you had asked for too much, but he also gave as little as he possibly could.

“Give a fuck about what?”

“Me, us, this relationship,” you listed incredulously, as though it should be obvious.

“And what about me? Have you ever even asked if I feel loved by you? It’s always your needs aren’t being met, you don’t feel loved, you’re sad because I don’t care enough, but I have needs too, it’s not all about you all the time.”

“Have you felt loved by me?” You asked, curious, and surprised. Had it been possible that you had been self-centered throughout the whole relationship?

“I don’t know,” he gave a small shrug.

“Have you genuinely felt a lack of love from me? Like I’m seriously asking.” He had never indicated feeling this way before. When he dismissively shook his head as an expression of disinterest settled into his features, you nearly scoffed.

“I’m just saying, it’s not all about you, you can be so selfish,” he told you.

“Did you just pretend to feel unloved by me to put me in my place and get the upper hand here?” You accused.

“I’m just showing you how it feels to be criticized for not caring or loving enough,” he said dismissively.

“I’m sorry if I haven’t loved you right, and I’m so fucking sorry if you didn’t feel loved by me in this relationship, but I have run myself into the ground trying to love you enough, and I have tried to change every single thing about me that you don’t like to try to gain your approval and now I’m left not even recognizing myself, and I’m still not enough for you. So maybe you’re actually right, maybe I haven’t loved you right, but at least I’ve tried. You can’t say the same.” By the time you finished your rant, you were winded and angry, hot tears stinging your eyes.

“Oh, I can’t say the same?”

“No, fuck no,” you spat.

“You’re right, I’m a shitty person, and you deserve so much better,” he said sarcastically.

“No, you’re not a shitty person, you just don’t give a damn about me, and I can’t make you care. I’ve tried so hard to give you everything and there’s nothing left of me to give.”

The man stood across the living room from you, staring at you, indiscernible emotion on his face.

“I know I’ve asked a lot of you, I know I always asked for more, I know I needed you too much and I’m too emotional but it’s like I’ve felt you grow to dislike me more and more with every month that goes by,” you told him. “And I’ve been trying so hard to get back to where we started but I just can’t anymore.”

“What does that even mean?” He asked, shrugging at you as he shook his head.

“It’s like all the things you liked about me at the start you hate now,” you told him. “Me appearing cold when I meet people was sexy when we first started dating, now it’s bitchy and awkward. You used to say how much you loved how close I was with my friends, now you think I rely on other people too much for connection to fill my emptiness. And you used to love how much of a dreamer I was, calling me an inspiration to you, and now I’m just dumb and naive and unrealistic,” you ranted. “I’m even a slut now when at first you liked how sexual I am. Everything you liked at the start is your ammo to put me down now.”

As you both glared at each other, you realized that this really was it. You couldn’t do this anymore, and you didn’t want to. The epiphany was bittersweet. You really loved him. A piece of you still did. And then he put the final nail in the coffin, burying the past one and half years once and for all.

“Maybe I just didn't know who you were at the start of our relationship. If I had known this is who you’d turn out to be, I wouldn’t have ever gotten into this,” he told you coldly.

You tried not to take the words too personally. He was angry, he knew this was ending, he was aiming to hurt you. Don’t give him validity. “Right, well, sorry to be a disappointment,” you nodded to him. “I’m done, we’re done, get the fuck out.”

“Gladly,” he gave a hard smile. “Don’t call me back here this time.” Staring at him, you watched as he started toward your door. A part of you ached for him to come back and apologize, return to the man he was back in your biology lab when you first met him. A bigger part of you hoped to never see him again. “You know what,” he suddenly turned around and looked at you. “You think you’re so important, and you’re not. You’ve gotta get over yourself if you ever want a relationship to work out.”

You simply stared at the man, waiting for him to finish and leave.

“And by the way, if you’re expecting to run off with Taehyung, you’re a fucking joke,” he laughed bitterly. “He may think he loves you, but so did I. As soon as he gets to know who you really are he’ll grow to dislike you too. Just like every person will. Look at me,” he held his arms out as if to show himself off. “This, our relationship, that’s your future, hun. History will keep repeating itself with new faces because you don’t actually deserve better than this. I did love you. But you’re so hard to love. You’ll never be satisfied. And you’ll chase away anyone who gets close.”

With a final nod of his head, he turned to the door and opened it. “Loving you hurts,” he spoke over his shoulder. And then he exited the apartment.

The words hurt in the moment, crushing the last of your heart that had remained intact. In the sudden silence of your apartment, you felt alone and regretful, despite knowing you would be better off without him. You’d move on, you’d grow, you’d heal. However, you didn’t know at that exact moment just how much his words would follow you.

Two months later: the realization; the secret.

When Taehyung handed you the piece of toast, strawberry jam spread across the top, you smiled at him appreciatively.

“I can’t cook much but I promise I’ll always give you my best pieces of toast,” he flashed his boxy beam. Inspecting the toast, you shook your head at how he had taken the burnt piece for himself, giving you the lightly toasted slice.

“No one could ever deserve you,” you giggled, watching as he took a bite of the slightly charred bread.

“That’s not true,” he looked at you seriously for a moment. “We’re tied by a thread, remember?”

Sighing, you took a bite of the toast, humming in approval. “This is amazing, you should make toast for a living.”

Lifting his piece up to you, he frowned. “I’m not sure I’d keep my job for very long.”

“My dad likes burnt toast,” you shrugged. “You just gotta find your audience.” The man giggled as he took another bite of his late night snack. “Also being tied by a thread doesn’t mean I’m as good as you, it just means we were meant to find each other. You’re clearly my better half.”

“Not true, stop lying,” he spoke through a mouthful of food. “First of all, you’re already whole on your own, we just complement each other. And second, it means we’re as equally good as each other and that’s why we belong together.” He said the words so casually, as though they weren’t incredibly sweet and beautiful.

It was such a nonchalant statement of friendship, mumbled through a massive bite of toast. The night was so simple and typical for the two of you. And the feeling hit you so suddenly, so strongly. Perhaps it was exactly the comfort and familiarity of the moment, the man, that sent the rush of warmth shooting from your heart and spreading throughout every inch of your body, settling within you as though you had found your home.

And then a wave of panic pulsed through your frame. Staring into his caring eyes, appreciating his smile that took over his entire face, lighting the man up in the most gorgeous way, you realized that you could fall in love with him. In fact, you were sure you would.

With that realization came the most intense fear you’d ever felt, because you weren’t capable of loving Taehyung. You’d hurt him, you’d ask for too much, you’d drive him insane until he grew to resent you. And then you’d lose him.

You could not let yourself love Taehyung in that way. You couldn’t lose him. No one could deserve him, and especially not you. He couldn’t know how you felt. This was your secret to bury.

#taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenario #taehyung drabble #bts reactions #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #bts fics #bts fanfics #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts drabbles #taehyung x oc #bts x oc

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violette-hue · 2 years

Note

HI!! Can I request a Thor drabble anything angst to fluff?

I read your betrothed fic and absolutely love it! Can’t wait to read the next chapter!

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for requesting! As my very first request, I hope I did it justice 😊 Also, for reference this takes place in the first Thor movie, and also plays on the theory that time is different in Asgard than in Midgard.

Summary: You are promised to Thor, but will that remain when he gets exiled to Midgard?

Trigger Warning(s): violence, drinking, cursing, mentions and implications of cheating, angst, suggestive content but no smut

Word Count: 2.3k

You giggled as Thor peppered kisses over your face and tried to push some distance between you.

"Thor," you said through fits of giggles, "stop we'll be late to the feast. That's in your honor, might I add.

Thor chuckled and kissed your cheeks a few times more. "I can think of dozens of things I'd like to do instead," he stated, gripping your hips and pulling you closer.

"Only a dozen?" You laughed and squirmed from his grasp. "That's rather insulting."

You fixed your skirts and made way to the door. You looked back towards Thor, who had a pout on his lips.

"Oh, don't pout, you know I can't resist you when you do that," you said, cocking your hip and crossing your arms.

Thor sauntered over to you and placed his hands on your hips. "Then stay a while--"

Thor was cut short by a knock at the door. You raised your eyebrows, knowing who was at the door rushing you both. You sent a silent "I told you so" to Thor and opened the door. Just as you thought, a guard stood in front of you. They opened their mouths, but you cut them off before they could speak.

"I know. We're late," you said, sliding pass the guard. “We were just about to be on our way.”

“I-I’m sorry my--” the guard started.

“Do not apologize,” Thor interrupted, grumbling. “Nothing was going to happen anyways.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way down the crowded hallway to the grand hall. Nearly halfway there, you could already hear boisterous laughter and shouts. You entered the hall and took your seat in front of Sif and the Warriors Three. Moments later, Thor sat next to you and enjoyed the festivities. You listened as Thor and his friends spoke of their past battles and smiled. Their fond remembrances turned into words and feelings of hatred as they spoke of the Frost Giants. Your attention turned elsewhere, not wanting to hear their conversation.

You didn’t particularly like the Frost Giants, but you didn’t think they deserved to die. Of course they were not to be trusted, but that’s why there was a treaty, right? Even if there were a treaty, Odin was sure to protect Asgard.

You found conversation and merriment with a group giggling ladies and enjoyed the rest of your night.

You awoke the next day late in the evening with a wicked hangover. As usual, the spot next to you in bed was empty. Thor usually awoke early, and you wouldn’t see him until late evening. However, you were surprised that he was out, given how much he drank last night. You shrugged it off as you got up and groomed yourself. Thor could always hold his liquor far better than you ever could.

It wasn’t until later that evening that you started to worry. Thor would have sought you out by now, or you would have at least ran into him. Where could he be?

You exited your chambers and looked aimlessly around. Surely you would run into him soon. But you ran into Sif and the Warriors Three instead with somber faces. You furrowed your brows, anxiety and panic welling in the pits of your stomach.

“Good evening,” you greeted them.

Fandral huffed. “What’s good about it?” he responded.

Their bruises and and caked blood set alarm bells ringing in your head. They had gone to battle and Thor was gone. Thor was gone.

“Where’s Thor?” You questioned, fearful of the answer.

Surely your god couldn’t have died so easy, not with his skill and not with mjolnir. But the look on his friends faces made the fear solidify in your body and tears welled in your eyes.

“Where. Is. Thor?” you demanded.

Sif looked at you apologetically, opening and closing her mouth trying to find the words. Finally, she said, “He’s been exiled. To Midgard. This morning, Frost Giants broke into the palace and tried to steal something. Thor gathered us together to attack Jotenheim…but they out numbered us. Odin—he came at the last minute, saved us, and exiled Thor. I’m so sorry—”

“How stupid of you all,” you hissed, digging your nails in your palms. “You all could have died!”

“We know,” Sif said solemnly. “We don’t know when the All Father will let Thor return.”

You took a deep breath, your head pounding and threatening to split. “I’ll speak with the All Father. You all should be grateful you didn’t get the same punishment.”

You left Sif and the Warriors Three to their thoughts, too hungover and worried about Thor to continue their stern lecture. You made your way to the throne room, practically out fo breath from the rush and curtsied.

“All Father—”

“I will not bring him back until he has redeemed himself. He’s been stripped of everything, his powers, his title, and his right to the throne,” the All Father said.

His tone left no room for argument. There was nothing you could do but wait. And so you did. You waited restlessly for weeks, unable to do anything. You felt useless, and as Loki took Odin’s place you grew restless. Weeks turned into months. Months of longing for your love, craving his touch. You missed his voice, even his smell. The pillow next to your own grew cold, and his scent faded into nothing.

You were aimlessly walking through the halls when you saw Sif and the Warriors Three from the corner of your eye. They walked together in unison and talked in hushed tones. You walked towards them and nearly has to run to catch up to them.

“Where are you going?” you asked. “Are you going to Heimdall?”

Volstsagg looked around wearily and nodded. “Something’s not right. We’re going to get Thor,” he responded lowly.

You heart skipped a beat. “Take me with you,” you insisted.

The Warrior’s Three looked to Sif with doubtful expressions.

“It could be dangerous,” Hogun stated.

You shook your head. “If Thor is there, he’ll protect me.”

Sif slowly nodded. “Alright, but hurry. Loki could find us at any moment,” Sif said.

You followed Sif and the Warriors Three, hiking up your skirts and trying to be as quiet as possible. The five of you made it to the Bifrost, and you were surprised when Heimdall let you all through.

Traveling through the Bifrost always made your stomach queasy. Thankfully, your feet landed on sturdy, dry ground. You looked around and saw small, bleak buildings and metal wagons. Midgard was truly dull compared to Asgard, you thought. You followed your company around what you assumed was the town until Hogun said he had found Thor. You all went to the small building with large glass windows, Volstagg running up to the glass and banging on the window. Sif and the others followed suit, all t on the glass to catch Thor’s attention. But you remained rooted in your spot. You watched as Thor embraces a petite brunette woman, then turn his head sharply towards the commotion. He gave a wide smile to his friends, and when his eyes met yours his smile faltered. The petite woman opened the glass and let the rest of your party enter the building. Thor pushed pass his friends and stopped in front of you.

Silent tears cascaded down your face and your throat thickened. Had Thor really been exiled? Or did he leave Asgard to be with this woman? Did he not care about you? You, who were promised to him.

“Do not cry, my star,” Thor said softly. “It is not what it looks like.”

You tried to laugh, but instead a small whimper escaped your lips. “Do not cry?” You tried to laugh again, the sound dry and cynical. “You’re promised to me!”

“As I said, it is not what it looks like,” he repeated.

“Then what is it, my star?” you demanded.

You stepped away as Thor attempted to reach for you. He stopped, his eyes filled with remorse and sympathy.

“Her name is Jane,” he said. “She found me and helped me.”

“Helped you?” you repeated. “And I’m supposed to believe this?” You scoffed. “Do you have feelings for this…Midgardian?”

Thor hesitated, and your jaw clenched. He looked to Jane, who was watching the scene from inside the building and looked back to you. He shook his head in disbelief and made way towards you.

“Heimdall!” you called, standing your ground.

“Wait!” Thor shouted. “We must talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about? You’ve made your choice,” you hissed. You caught a glimpse of your companions sympathetic faces and felt embarrassed. “Heimdall!” you screeched. “Open the Bifrost at once!”

Nothing. You furrowed your brows and looked towards the sky. At that moment, you saw the Bifrost open and deposit a passenger nearby. Just as soon as the Bifrost disappeared, an explosion erupted.

Fandral cursed. “It’s Loki, he must know we’re here,” he said, readying his weapon.

“How do you know?” Thor questioned his friend.

“Only the Destroyer makes such destruction,” Sif responded. She had her weapon ready for battle and was already walking towards the source of the explosion.

“I do not understand,” Thor admitted. “Why would—”

“Loki took the throne after the All Father fell into the Odin Sleep,” you snapped, following Sif. “He means to kill you.”

Realization hit Thor and his face blanched. He turned to Jane, then to you. “You both stay here, it’s far too dangerous to follow.”

You scoffed and pushed pass Thor. “My well being is no longer your concern. You made that very clear,” you said.

You followed Sif and the Warriors Three to the Destroyer, leaving Thor to trail behind you in disbelief. He called your name, begged you to stay back, but you ignored him. He was far too concerned with you despite breaking your heart moments earlier.

The Destroyer came into view, and as it sensed Thor, it fired. Choas ensued after that. The Midgardians that resided in the area screamed and attempted to flea. Sif and the Warriors Three attempted to take down the Destroyer, but to no avail. Then suddenly, there was thunder and lightening. You looked to the source and saw Thor, once again in his Asgardian attire wielding mjolnir. You watched as he obliterated the Destroyer and the Midgardians cheered.

You didn’t care that the Midgardians were saved. You took the opportunity to return to where the Bifrost deposited you and your companions and shouted.

“Heimdall! Get me out of this place!”

You heard the familiar rustle of armor as Thor and your companions approached. Thor reached to you, his brows furrowed together and his lips turned down in anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of hearing the deep timbre of his voice you heard a rushing wind. Different hues of purple, pink, blue and white surrounded you as the Bifrost transported you back to your home.

You landed on unsteady feet and fell with a thud. Thor and the others appeared nearby on steady feet. Thor walked towards you, his features turned down into a frown. He reached for you and pulled you to your feet. You stumbled slightly and placed your hands on either side of his chest to steady yourself.

“Your mad,” Thor spat. “You went into the lions den looking to be injured!”

You tried to pull out of his grasp, but his grip only tightened.

“You could have been killed,” Thor continued.

“What does it matter? You clearly care for that mortal woman more,” you seethed.

Thor gripped your chin roughly and placed a hard kiss upon your lips. He pulled away quickly, the anger softening from his features.

“Go to your bed chambers. It’ll be safer there,” Thor said.

He turned on his heal and left towards the palace with Sif and the Warriors Three. For once today, you obeyed him. If Loki were involved, this was surely too dangerous for anyone else to handle aside from Thor. You made way to your chambers, looking over your shoulder every so often to ensure your safety. Once inside, you boarded up the door, locking every lock. And then you waited. You heard wailing outside and screaming. You heard dozens of footsteps pound in the hallway outside your door. Anxiety welled in the pits of your stomach every second that passed. Finally, after what seemed like hours a knock sounded at your door.

“It’s me.”

You unlocked the latches on the door and swung the wood open. Thor stood before you, his body littered with bruises and cuts. You covered your mouth as a soft sob shook your body and your knees gave out. Thor lunged forward, picking you up and cradling you to his chest. He held you as you sobbed, and you could have sworn you felt his own body shake. You pulled away to look at him good, and sure enough tears rimmed his eyes.

“Loki is gone,” he choked out. “Fell from the Bifrost.”

Your eyebrows knit together and you pulled Thor into your chambers. You moved him towards the bed and took off his boots. The ritual was much similar to that when he was too drunk to take care of himself. But this was different. He had lost his brother and he was sober.

You stood between his legs and tangled your hands through his hair. “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Thor rest his head on your stomach, his body slouched. He wrapped his arms loosely around you and sniffled.

“Too much has happened,” he said, his voice cracking. “I need you. Stay with me, please.”

His voice was pleading. He tightened the embrace and buried his face in the silk fabric of your dress. Your heart tugged as you heard his sob wrack through his body.

“I’ll stay,” you responded, stroking his hair. “I promise.”

A/N: Sorry if this isn’t that great! I didn’t know how to end this super fluffy, so I hope you liked it 😊

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taeyongdoyoung · 2 years

Photo

summary: chan has a bit of an obsession with dog hybrid videos. encouraged by his friend, he finally adopts the golden retriever hybrid seungmin. what chan doesn’t anticipate, however, is seungmin becoming more impawrtant (sorry for this) to him than anyone else in the world...

pairing: human owner!chan x golden retriever hybrid!seungmin

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: mentions of past abuse (e.g. hitting, yelling, abandonment issues), memories of traumatic experiences, insecurities, reverse psychology, broken glass, accidental cut, mentions of blood, first aid, crying, cuddling, overuse of the word pup (i mean, LOOK at him), jealousy, starving oneself, kissing, confessions

author’s note: this story takes place prior to the events in sharing my heart fic and the title is once again inspired by a song by the neighbourhood: sweater weather but i took the liberty of changing the lyrics a bit to fit the purpose of my plot 🐕🐶 lots of song references to look out for

word count: 3.4k

Chan had spent his free time in the past few weeks watching videos of dog hybrids. Sure, maybe it was an obsession but it wasn't an obsession that hurt anyone. They were just so cute and cuddly Chan couldn't resist consuming more and more content.

"If you like these so much, why don't you get one?" his friend Minho suggested.

"You think I don't want to? It's a lot of responsiblility," Chan explained.

"Hyung, you're like the most responsible, reliable guy I've ever met," Minho responded. "And I'm not just saying that because you paid the bill for our food. You know I don't say stuff I don't mean."

"Thanks," Chan blushed.

"Just go and check out that shelter you told me about. You'd be perfect for this whole owner of a dog hybrid job."

"I suppose it can't hurt to give it a shot."

Soon enough, Chan visited the adoption shelter and was amazed by how many different beings existed. There were not just dog hybrids but also cat hybrids, hamster hybrids and others. However, he'd set his mind on a dog one. When his eyes landed on a particularly fluffy-looking golden retriever hybrid, Chan felt an instant connection. He needed to take care of him. He didn't know why but the urge was too overwhelming to ignore.

"Excuse me, can I adopt this golden retriever hybrid? Please?" he asked the man working at the shelter.

"Well, you can but I would advise you not to."

"Why not?" Chan was curious.

"He was adopted over ten times and his previous owners would always return him back at the shelter. He doesn't want to play with balls or other toys or do any dog-like activities for that matter. Most people don't see a point in a dog hybrid who isn't playful. If you really want to adopt him, I'm afraid returning him wouldn't be possible."

"That's fine by me. I don't intend to return him," Chan insisted, unpleasantly shocked by how cruel and fussy some people could be. So what if he didn't play? He was still a living creature worthy of care and finding a loving home. How could they simply abandon him because of such a trivial reason? Chan didn't understand it and he vowed he would be different.

After signing the adoption papers where he learned that the golden retriever hybrid's name was Seungmin, Chan was overjoyed that he would be bringing him to his new (and final) home.

"Hello, Seungmin. I'm Chan and I'll be your new owner."

"You're adopting me?" Seungmin's eyes sparkled with excitement. Despite being returned like an unneeded thing too many times, he still kept the hope that one day, he would find a haven.

"Yeah, I am," Chan smiled.

"They told you I'm not like others, right? That I don't...play catch or whatever," Seungmin wanted to make sure.

"That doesn't bother me. Come on, let's head home."

When Chan took Seungmin to his apartment, the hybrid boy looked around curiously.

"This will be your room," Chan explained, showing Seungmin a well-decorated with a lovely bed, pastel purple curtains and even a desk.

"Wait, there is no kennel?" Seungmin asked in surprise.

"Is that what you prefer?" Chan was concerned he hadn't met the golden retriever hybrid's needs.

"Of course not, they're super uncomfortable for someone with my height," Seungmin replied. "But that's where my previous owners expected me to sleep."

"Isn't that...kind of offensive?" Chan inquired. "I mean, you're half-human and all that. Not that I would force a dog to sleep in a kennel. Everyone deserves a bed. My God, I should stop rambling."

Seungmin chuckled.

"It's fine, I appreciate you saying all that. And to answer your question, I guess it was kind of offensive but they didn't seem to care. It's very rare to find someone like you who is preoccupied with hybrid rights."

"I'm no expert, I just wanted you to feel comfortable. Before coming to the shelter, I bought some toys but of course, you are in no way obliged to use them. In fact, you can forget I ever said that. Instead, how about you tell me if there's anything you want me to get for you?"

"Anything?" Seungmin blinked enthusiastically.

"You name it."

"Music. I just want to listen to music. It helps me relax."

"I do have some equipment I can share with you but you'll probably prefer to have your own stuff. First thing I'll do tomorrow morning is to get you headphones, speakers, a computer, the whole package."

"You really don't have to-" Seungmin suddenly felt embarrassed by how willing his new owner was to accomodate him.

"It's the least I could do. But for now, try to get some rest. We'll talk more tomorrow, yeah?"

"Um...yeah."

The next day Chan rushed to buy the needed technological devices in the hopes that Seungmin would feel more at home. When he returned, Seungmin greeted him with bright eyes.

"You really got these...for me?" Seungmin asked in disbelief upon seeing the headphones and the other things Chan had brought to his room.

"Did you think I was joking? I keep my promises," Chan grinned when he saw Seungmin's happiness reflected on his face.

"T-thank you, hyung. You have no idea how much this means to me. I don't know what else to say."

"You don't have to say anything, just enjoy it and listen to whatever music you want. And not just that, fell free to use the computer for anything you're interested in."

Seungmin nodded, transfixed by his new stuff and exploring them.

Later that day, after Chan and Seungmin had finished having dinner, Chan did something that Seungmin found very strange. He started playing by himself with a ball and other toys that Seungmin had suspected Chan had bought before he found out that Seungmin was unlike other hybrids.

"What are you doing?" Seungmin frowned.

"Oh, I just thought they shouldn't go to waste so I'm using them. I'm not usually one to throw away things," Chan shrugged.

"If you think this whole reverse psychology trick will work on me, you're mistaken," Seungmin groaned.

"I'm not trying to trick you. I stand by what I said earlier, I wouldn't force you to play. If it's bothering you so much, I'll stop."

"It's your home and you got these with your money. I can't stop you," Seungmin shrugged.

"But we live together now and I wouldn't want to upset you," Chan reasoned. "So talk to me if you'd like me to do something different. Are you bothered?"

"No," Seungmin said. You know, like a liar.

"Great, then."

Things went on in a similiar manner for about two weeks. When Chan was at work, Seungmin would spend his days listening to music or writing down his thoughts in a lovely notebook Chan had gifted him. When Chan was home, the two would eat together and occasionally, Chan would continue making use of those toys. Seungmin found that extremely infuriating but he didn't want to say anything. It wasn't that he hated playing. On the contrary, when he was a young pup, he loved it very much. It used to be his favourite activity. But after a while, it became the only thing his first owners expected him to do. Whenever he expressed his wish to do other stuff, as well, they would yell at him, hurt him...And the same thing was being repeated with his second owners, the third ones and so on, until he lost count of how many people would neglect his feelings and then toss him away as if he didn't matter.

So far, Chan never yelled, he never raised his hand against Seungmin. Chan kept insisting that he wouldn't make Seungmin do anything he was uncomortable with. But that annoying habit of using the balls and other fun toys himself was driving Seungmin mad. And for the first time in forever, Seungmin wanted to play with him. He wanted Chan to throw the stupid ball in the stupid park and after that, Seungmin would start running, catch it and return the stupid toy back to Chan. And then, they would do it again. He wanted to resist those urges but it was becoming increasingly more and more difficult.

And Chan was certainly not making things easy for Seungmin by being so nice, so caring, always asking him how his day went, what kind of music he listened to, always cooking delicious meals for him, getting him whatever he asked for, no matter if it was headphones or a new notebook or a soft pillow or anything, really.

To put it simply, Chan was the perfect owner. And Seungmin hated it. If he wasn't so perfect, maybe he wouldn't feel guilty for what he did.

One night, Seungmin waited until Chan was asleep. Then, he sneaked out of his room and started tiptoeing in the corridor. He was pretty sure that Chan kept the toys in a box in the living room, so that was his immediate destination. When he found it, he almost let out a victorious squeal, but managed to keep silent. He grabbed one of the balls and decided to test it. He was going to be so careful. So quiet. It bounced! What a beautiful sight! Seungmin grinned. Soon enough, he got a little carried away and at one point, the ball betrayed him. Instead of hitting the floor as it previously did, it hit the edge of the table and it bounced off in a most unexpected direction. Before Seungmin could react and attempt to grab the ball in the air, the treacherous toy crashed into a glass vase on top of the table, breaking it into pieces. Seungmin gasped in terror and tried to clean up but in doing so, his hand got cut pretty badly.

In the meantime, Chan, woken up from the shattering sound, rushed into the living room to see what happened. When their eyes met, Seungmin started crying, because despite giving him no reason to fear him, the hybrid boy was horrified Chan will be angry.

"Don't touch the glass," Chan said and pulled Seungmin away from the broken vase and into the kitchen.

He pressed a piece of cloth against Seungmin's hand to stop the bleeding. After a bit, Chan put Seungmin's hand under the cold running water to prevent infection. Finally, Chan bandaged it carefully. Then, Chan took Seungmin to his room, wrapped a huge blanket around him and gave him a tight, heartfelt hug. Only after all that, did he speak again.

"It must have hurt a lot for you to cry," Chan mused out loud.

"It's not that. I was afraid you'd be mad at me because of the vase," Seungmin admitted.

"The vase is not worth as much as you are. I was just worried you were in pain."

Chan patted Seungmin's head comfortingly.

"Though I'm curious how it happened," Chan asked, because in his hurry to take care of Seungmin's hand, he hadn't noticed the open box with the toys lying on the ground in the living room.

"I was playing with the ball and it accidentally bounced off and broke the vase," Seungmin confessed, suddenly feeling ashamed.

Chan laughed fondly.

"Were you waiting for me to fall asleep so that you could play in peace?"

"I'm sorry, hyung," Seungmin pouted.

"It's okay, pup," Chan smiled. "But from now on, you don't have to hide from me. I won't be mad if you play, I won't be mad if you don't play. Just...do whatever you feel like doing, alright?"

"Thank you, hyung," Seungmin sniffed.

"I should probably go clean up," Chan chuckled.

"After the mess I've made," Seungmin murmured apologetically.

"Don't worry about it."

"Can it wait?" Seungmin asked, his voice coloured with hope.

"Hm?" Chan wasn't sure what he meant by that.

"Could you...stay with me?"

Chan didn't need to be asked twice and he gladly jumped at the opportunity. Climbing in bed next to the younger boy, Chan couldn't help but feel it was a bit awkward at first. For a couple of minutes Seungmin shifted restlessly under the blanket until eventually, Chan gently pulled him into his arms to prevent him from moving so much. Seungmin froze into place.

"Sorry. Is this okay?"

"It's more than okay," Seungmin replied, surprising himself. Since when was he so bold to actually say what was on his mind?

"Yeah?"

"Being held by you is the safest I've felt in a long time," Seungmin whispered.

"Then, I'll make sure to never let go," Chan promised.

Weeks went by and Seungmin felt closer to Chan than ever. On days when Seungmin was in a playful mood, Chan was very happy for him. On days when the younger boy didn't feel like using the toys, Chan was just as supportive of Seungmin's other interests. And he continued to keep his promise not to force him to do anything he wasn't comfortable with. It was all going fine until Maple.

Chan decided that getting an actual puppy would be a fine idea. Sometimes he would be working late nights and he felt like Seungmin could use some company. Chan really didn't want Seungmin to feel lonely or neglected, which was why he adopted the golden retriever Maple. When he brought her home, the games immediately started.

Initially, Seungmin had a positive reaction to the puppy. He even played with her for quite a bit. But after a while, his face turned gloomy. Seungmin was overcome with jealousy because Chan was only paying attention to her. At one point, Seungmin left the two together sulkily and went to his room. Lunchtime came and went but Seungmin refused to leave the room. When the evening arrived, Chan got really worried and decided to check up on Seungmin.

He knocked at the door but when he heard no answer from Seungmin, Chan just walked in, because he was very concerned. What if something had happened to him? Upon seeing that Seungmin was more or less okay (well, if you ignore his frown), Chan let out a sigh of relief.

"Sorry for...um, violating your privacy but I was really worried for you. You didn't come out of your room all day and didn't eat anything."

"I was just not hungry," Seungmin replied and no sooner had he said that than his treacherous stomach rumbled loudly, revealing the truth.

"Don't lie to me, Seungmin," Chan asked strictly. Though he wasn't really asking. "If I'm doing something wrong as an owner, I need you to tell me. I can't read your mind."

Even though Chan kind of suspected why Seungmin was acting like that, he needed to hear it in order to avoid making an incorrect assumption.

"You're not doing anything wrong," Seungmin sighed. "It's just that...I was feeling a little left out when you brought...Mabel."

"Her name is Maple, but go on," Chan chuckled.

"I know that," Seungmin groaned. "I purposefully mistook her name to annoy you. Sorry, I'm a bit petty, I guess."

"And jealous," Chan teased.

"Am not!" Seungmin argued.

"No one can ever replace you, pup," Chan reassured him. "I only adopted Maple because I thought you would like some company while I'm working. But if you don't want her..."

"Nooo, you can't abandon her!" all of a sudden, Seungmin no longer felt jealous. He just wanted to protect her. He didn't want anyone else to go through what he had. "She needs a loving home as much as I do."

Chan smiled, proud of Seungmin's kindness.

"Come here, dumbass," he grinned and pulled him into a hug.

Seungmin almost melted, comforted by his touch. A couple of peaceful moments passed when Seungmin's stomach growled once again.

"And don't skip meals!" Chan scolded Seungmin. "Let's go, I'll make you something yummy."

"Thanks, hyung."

Time went on in a similar manner. Seungmin felt more at home than ever and he grew really attached to Maple. It was just as Chan had hoped, Seungmin was very glad to have company when Chan was busy working. As for Seungmin's feelings for Chan, the hybrid boy couldn't imagine his life without his kind-hearted owner. One day, Chan came to Seungmin with a peculiar question.

"In a week from now, it will be six months since I adopted you," Chan announced. "Do you want me to do something special for you?"

"You want to do something for me?" Seungmin murmured nervously. Although it had been quite a while and he should have probably been used to it by now, Seungmin still fell into a state of disbelief whenever Chan offered to do nice things for him. Without ever asking for anything in return.

"Of course, pup," Chan giggled. "Just let me know if you have any requests."

"If I'm not mistaken, you mentioned having your own music equipment. Do you play any instruments?" Seungmin inquired.

"Not to brag but I know my way around a guitar," Chan responded with a most subtle smirk.

"Oh, cool. Then...would you play something for me? A week from now?" Seungmin asked.

"Sure thing," Chan agreed rightaway. "Anything in particular you'd like?"

"Surprise me," Seungmin smiled.

And indeed, a week later, Chan had prepared a surprise for Seungmin. Not only had he brought his guitar but the living room was blessed by a candlelit dinner, a calming atmosphere and beautiful flowers on the table. Seungmin blinked in amazement.

"Here, have a seat," Chan even pulled a chair for the awestruck Seungmin who couldn't believe this was reality and not a figment of his imagination.

"What's all this?"

"Nothing much, I just wanted to make you feel special. Not that you aren't usually the most special in my life. What I meant was, because there's an occasion we're celebrating, I tried to...make an effort. Is it too much?"

"No, no, it looks perfect," Seungmin tried to swallow his nervousness.

"Shall we eat first?" Chan suggested. "Unless you're too impatient to hear the song."

"We can eat," Seungmin replied. Even though he was looking forward to watching Chan play the guitar, he didn't want to seem unappreciative of all his hard work while preparing the meals, setting the table and lighting the candles.

After they were finished eating in a comfortable silence, it was finally time for Chan's long-awaited performance. The two were sat on the couch. Too close, Seungmin thought. I hope he can't hear how loud my heart is beating. From the very first notes Chan played on his guitar, Seungmin recognized the song. What he didn't expect was to hear Chan singing. Though it wasn't a part of Seungmin's request, he was pleasantly surprised. Chan had a beautiful voice while talking that turned even more angelic while singing.

Oh, he knows what I think about And what I think about One love, two mouths One love, one house

'Cause it's too cold For you here And now, so let me hold Both your hands in the paws of my sweater

When Chan was done playing, he looked at Seungmin expectantly.

"So...what do you think?"

"The lyrics are holes, not paws," Seungmin corrected him, because he was too stunned to come up with something more touching to say.

"I know," Chan chuckled lightly, "but I replaced them because you're a-"

"I get it," Seungmin interrupted. "You don't have to explain it, it would ruin the magic."

"So, other than the change in lyrics comment, what do you-"

Seungmin couldn't wait to hear the end of Chan's sentence and kissed him eagerly in order to convey his gratitude, as well as his profound feelings. He's not kissing me back, Seungmin realized and pulled away, ashamed. Chan simply stared at him, frozen in place.

"Sorry, I...totally misread the situation, didn't I?" Seungmin laughed to hide his pain, because if he didn't, he would have burst into tears.

"No, you didn't, I was just taken aback and-" Chan attempted to explain his reaction.

"I'm so sorry, hyung. Please, forget I ever did that."

"But...I don't want to forget."

Only this time Chan was the one to kiss Seungmin first. And Seungmin couldn't believe how lucky he was.

"D-do you like me too?" Seungmin asked after the kiss.

"Can I make it any more obvious?" Chan responded, ruffling Seungmin's hair gently. "My impawssibly cute pup."

"You're so lame, hyung," Seungmin groaned.

"You like that, admit it. You like me."

"It's true. I'm still here and I'll stay here...always."

The End

#stray kids #chan #seungmin #chan x seungmin #bang chan #kim seungmin #seungchan #stray kids fluff #chan fluff #seungmin fluff #stray kids angst #chan angst #seungmin angst #writing

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chattahoochiecoochie · 2 years

Text

A Year On A Plane

Summary: A year told in three scenes, beginning, middle, and end, as it happened on Kimi’s plane.

Word Count: 1.7k

Translations: I google translated this shit, let my dumb american ass live. Kulta/Gold Kultsi/Gold

Authors Notes: Angst. But only a little, I promise. Turns out I can only write fic if I listen to country music, doing it without has been fruitless. This is technically a piece of the elusive Kimi fic, the rest of which you can find here, but this can be read as a complete standalone.

“You just take your carryon, I’ll bring everything else with me if you want.” She stood at the foot of his hotel bed, folding shirts as he did a set of pushups to the tone of a metronome.

“You fly with Ferrari?” He held himself up despite the tone and tilted his chin in her direction, sweat beading around the nape of his neck.

“It was that or walking.” She smiled and tucked his shirts into a suitcase. “Bahrain is pretty far.”

“No, no.” He got back into rhythm, his nose inches from the floor as he lowered back down. “You fly with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.” He let out a grunt and looked up at her. “You should walk.”

Laura had never flown privately before, that much was obvious from the moment she stepped on board. She sat in the first seat, the one nearest the door, and clutched her purse in her lap, looking around for someplace to put her other bag.

“Here, give me it.” Kimi noticed her eyes, and the expression set on her face. Nervous confusion. “It goes underneath.” He took the small duffle from its place at her feet and pointed to a row of cabinets that sat underneath the couch behind her.

“Sorry, first timer.” She let out a weak laugh, shying away from his gaze.

“You’ll get used to it.” Subtle, much? He’d only ever flown with his trainer, and with family. In fact, more often than not it was just Kimi and his flight attendant. He wasn’t sure why he’d invited her to fly with him, instead of on the chartered jet, and he absolutely couldn’t explain why he’d just implied it would be happening again. What if she talked the whole time? Or was one of those people who got nervous during takeoff?

“Watch it there, I love the little pretzels they give out on big planes too much to do this every time.” Kimi felt himself smile at her snarky remark. That's why he’d done it. Good company was hard to come by, even if he was still a bit wary about her.

“Hmph.” He sat back on the couch behind her, pretending to be miffed. Moments earlier he’d been worried she’d annoy him, now he was mad she might not come back for more.

“Do you want a water or anything?” Craning his neck he looked forward to see her rifling through her purse.

“Beth will bring some around in a bit.”

“Beth?”

“My flight attendant.”

“Of course. Well then, I’m gonna get into my book since someone else is available to babysit you.” Laura gave him a wink over the back of her seat before turning abruptly away from him, fidgeting to get comfortable in the oversized chair. A funny feeling tugged in his chest, he had the vague idea that he might like to see her wink again, or even spend some of their time together, talking. He wished she hadn’t turned so soon. Perhaps next time.

“You’ll fly separately. She’s coming back with me, to Maranello. I’ll take good care of her. And I want you to go home, rest up, and take care of yourself. A little time apart might do everyone a bit of good.”

He’d only broken a little rule at first. He’d been instructed to bring Carlos Santi onto the podium with him to receive the constructors trophy but he disobeyed at the last second, opting instead to bring Laura onto the stage. She resisted briefly, pulling her hand away before he could grasp it, but the heat of the moment won out and together they walked out in a fit of quiet laughter. Yes of course one of the constructors should receive the trophy, he knew that, but he also knew that she was the reason he’d put the car over the line. They’d done the work together, side by side, all season long, fighting the tension in the air the whole way through.

For that moment, the tension didn’t matter. The rules meant nothing, the potential backlash seemed obsolete. He wanted his Laura with him, damn it all. But with one domino down, the rest seemed to fall without so much as a breath.

The champagne came down in a mist, covering them both as the celebration got underway. Lost in the moment, he set the bottle down and leapt from the podium. Moving past his teammate he pulled her in for a hug, his lips against her ear despite the voice in his head trying to remind him of the cameras. “We did it, Kulta.” Two dominos now.

The third came down like a tidal wave. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, some left over self preservation keeping him away from her lips, or even her flushed cheek. She shivered in his arms, her shirt sticking to his own as he pulled away, champagne soaking through them both.

He made it most of the night after with his ducks all in a row. They weren’t scolded severely for the display, Gianna even thought the photo that captured it all was nice. “A good family picture. We wouldn’t get anywhere without one another.” Very diplomatic, that woman.

It wasn’t until the party had ended and he was left alone in his hotel room that things began to spiral, the rest of his dominoes circling the drain in rapid succession.

He was tucked into the covers, a beer bottle loose in one hand, his phone in the other, moonlight glinting off the trophy he’d left on the bedside table. He was looking through his photos, browsing google in search of the photo that had been taken on the podium. He wanted to relive it, having her wrapped up in his arms like that. He wanted to relive all of it, any bit he could get his hands on.

There were a few group photos from a yacht party in Monaco. One of the two of them on a track walk in Monza. He scrolled a while longer, smirking when he stumbled across one that sparked a memory. Then, with a single swipe of his thumb, the floodgates opened.

The first selfie he’d ever taken, done under her instruction. She’d set media goals for him, and before they could be accomplished she promised to show him the ropes. They were standing in the bathroom of his paddock motorhome, squished in like sardines, and she was explaining why one might take a selfie, and how best to do so. He was behind her in the photo, and here in his bed he could practically feel her standing in front of him. His hip dug into her back, his chest against her shoulders.

That was the first time she laughed at him, at a joke he was making. The photo held the memory in perfect frame, her face bright, her eyes glittering. He was smiling too, a wide grin on his face as he held up his fingers behind her head, little bunny ears. There, in a too-small bathroom, his dominos had been set up. And now, he was knocking them down.

It was a slip of the hand, he would swear the next morning. Or maybe of the mind. He finished his beer in two swallows and stared down at the picture. Without thinking, he clicked around, touching button after button, trying to get the screen clear so he could look at the photo without interruption.

Somehow, he would later find out, he’d put the picture on his instagram. On his “story.” Metaphorically, it was as if he had physically flushed everything straight down the toilet.

When she came to the hotel the next day it was in anger. There were hundreds of press questions, dozens of voicemails on his phone. The Sun had already put out an article. “Romance at Ferrari?”

He’d embarrassed them both, put her job on the line, set them both up for a horrible time in the human resources department. At their wits end, they argued with each other right up until Gianna arrived. The older woman came into the hotel in silence. She separated them and put the nail in the coffin.

So now, he was laying back on the couch of his plane, alone, a gin and tonic in his hand, trying not to stare too hard at the back of her seat.

“Another, please.” He waved the glass towards Beth, who sat just opposite him. She nodded, taking the glass from his outstretched hand, no sign of judgment on her face.

By the time they landed in Finland, Beth had confiscated his phone for fear of another incident, and his captain had been called out of the cockpit to help him down onto the tarmac. They put him into the back of a dark SVU and said a small prayer for him, both glad the journey was over, and worried for the next one they’d make without Laura.

“Well what should I do with the pretzels, now?” Asked Beth. The pilot only shrugged before turning to get back on board for a final walk through.

“Chocolate covered?” Laura squealed as she took the packet from Beth’s hands, grinning over at Kimi as she shook it back and forth. “Beth, you’re a saint!”

“I like these ones better.”

“As if I’m sharing with you. Beth stocked them for me, and me alone, sucker.”

She flopped back onto the couch, nestling in the space between his legs, her head tilted back to catch his response.

“It's my plane.”

“And it’d be snackless without me.” She fidgeted against him, sliding back against his chest to get closer to him. “Give me a kiss before I start my book, I don’t want you bothering me while I’m reading, okay?”

“So mean, Kultsi.” He smirked at her, refusing to oblige without a complaint first. In a swift motion he took her jaw in his grasp and pulled her mouth to his, offering a short, sweet kiss. He stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb, trying to lock down the image of her snuggled between his thighs before she turned away.

“I love you, too.” She waved off the remark and gave him another kiss, slipping down and away from him before he could respond. Behind her, under a grumbled breath, he said it back.

#drunk on a plane by dierks bentley is an ANTHEM let me tell you #I'm back in business babey #kimi fic #chattahoochiecoochie writes #kimi raikkonen #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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aetherarf · 3 years

Note

I NEED TO SAY YOU MADE ME A BRAIN ROT FOR SCARA SO MUCH I'M DROWNING SGSKSGDNGDJDDHJDJXDHDJDH When there's comfort, there's always angst-- I demand a Scaramouche x Reader //can be the chubby one too (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ where Scaramouche had a small argument them, then later the reader gets hurt someway another (you decide--) which made Scaramouche regretful for arguing with them then save them from whatever they're facing. Angst/Comfort HC/fic TYSM IN ADVANCE

Just going to say I'm going to go with my normal, as-vague-as-possible reader just because there's not much reason to fit in specifically talking about chubbiness since it's a more angst based prompt than Reader getting loved u know

[[ WARNING: ANGST, ASSAULT, DEATH [of unnamed characters] ]]

[[ Summary: Arguments happen, and sometimes they get nasty. After a few insults gone too far, you decide you need time to cool off. He couldn't have meant it, could he...? Oh, but who could resist taking advantage of such an opportunity?

Word Count: 1'376 ]]

"Scara, I'm leaving... I don't want to say something I can't take back."

"Don't come back then."

You knew he didn't mean it, always a sharp tongue and quick wit with him, any insult, to you at least, was just him puffing up and trying to look scary.

But that's why you were so upset. He was... distant, like he was afraid of you. To get close enough to him that he's call you darling or love was agony, but it was worth it. It was like sitting in the cold for hours at a time, setting a piece of fish out to the kitten who hid under the garbage, and then coming back the next day with another piece, putting it just a little bit closer to you. And then a little closer. And a little closer.

Until, eventually, it would eat from your hand. Then eventually you could pet it. And eventually it would curl in your lap.

And while you had him curling in your lap, he would still hiss, afraid and unsure, despite everything.

You didn't have to lure him out anymore, so you needed to find another way to help him, to make him show love, not through thinly veiled insults.

He seemed hesitant--which was expected, there was a reason he was this way, even if he didn't talk about it and vehemently insisted there wasn't anything wrong, there wasn't anything he was hiding. Other than what he said while sleeping, and what he told you, you knew nothing about him. He was reserved and skilled at keeping his past hidden.

But you couldn't bandage a wound if he does not expose it to you.

In the cold night, you walked alone. You had been, for a few hours now, just to avoid talking with him, you needed to think. Eventually, you found it got dark, and you were far from home. You wondered how late it actually was, with how the bitter cold nipped at your skin and how you could nearly see the stars in the sky from the all encompassing dark.

He's going to get upset over this, you thought, exhausted. Maybe you were assuming the worst?

You might as well make your way back home, you wouldn't mind getting a hotel room just for the night, but you didn't bring enough money for that, you didn't think you'd end up this far, anyway.

Walking, you watched your feet, only lifting your head to read the signs to guide you back... and eventually, you found you had gone in a circle.

How? You thought you went in a straight line... but... maybe you really were just too out of it. Spotting a person leaning beside a building, you opted to walk over, asking directions to a place you could navigate back home from.

However, they stared at you... oddly, for a moment. "You look familiar." They said, taking a long drag of their cigarette, all but blowing the smoke into your face rudely, making you cough and try to dust it away.

"Well, uh, I'm sorry but you don't look familiar at all." You replied, all stiffness and worry. "If you don't know where that is, you can just say so."

The person stood up properly, no longer leaning.

"You're one of those... Fatui. The Balladeer's little toy, right?" They asked, and you took a step backwards, but you then bumped into something solid, and seeing a tall, solid man staring down at you with the eyes of a corpse. You nearly screamed, scrambling away desperately, landing on the ground and turning to be on your back, looking around desperately for a way out, but it wasn't that simple--it was like the wolves circling around a wounded deer.

"The Boss would pay a pretty price to have you under his thumb."

You shook your head, tears in your eyes--no matter your strength, weak or powerful, you couldn't overwhelm this many people like this. You doubted you could even scramble away and run.

"Please," you sobbed, not knowing what you were asking for, "Please, don't."

They closed in, slowly...

And, briefly, you were blinded by a flash of white and purple--and deafened by screams of agony.

As the ringing stopped, and everything slowly came back, you saw Scaramouche--he stood there, back facing you, and as he turned back to look at you, blood covered his face, his arms... his clothes. You pushed yourself up to your knees, Scaramouche going down onto one knee, not looking at you--

"I'm sorry," he said, voice low and soft, "Did they hurt you?"

You hesitated, "N-No, no. I only fell in panic." You admitted, looking around--But he grabbed your jaw, making him look at you,

"Don't look at them, I don't want you to see what I did."

You had an idea, if the blood on him was any indication, but you just nodded, holding his wrist so his hand wouldn't leave your face so soon, it moved to cupping your jaw lovingly.

"We should go before someone sees," Scaramouche said plainly. While he wouldn't get in trouble, and as soon as an investigation went underway, they'd drop it as soon as they even had a thought it could have been the Balladeer...

But if you two stayed at the mess, the scene of the crime, that was harder to deal with.

He held you close as you walked, in complete silence. You were tired, the cold sapped all the energy from your body, and while you were on the adrenaline high... you ended up just exhausting yourself instead of doing something with it. Not that you could, but...

The two of you walked inside, and you could smell...

"You made my favourite?" You asked, softly... Scaramouche sighed.

"I did, but it's cold now. I'll reheat it and make it properly tomorrow," He said, though he didn't let you out of his grasp, gently helping you sit at the table, while he was near, working on it.

"That's... sweet. But... That won't fix everything, you know."

The gentle click of silverware, "I know," he said, softly, "But I knew it made you happy." And I like seeing you happy. "Then you didn't come home." And I got scared, so i went out to find you.

There was a moment of silence, and he set down your food in front of you, he just sat down next to you, his hand on your leg... just wanting to make sure you were there.

"We need to talk about this."

"I know... But I don't know how... to."

He was still afraid, like a kitten with his ears folded back, but he was not hissing or snapping... a moment of vulnerability while he waited for an answer.

"I want you to say what you feel," You said, poking at your food, "Don't insult me and assume I know what you meant. Tell me you love me, tell me you got upset or angry. I don't like this guessing game."

He nodded.

"I... Cannot promise it will... be perfect, but I will try." He explained, and you nodded.

"All you can do is try." You reassured, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "And maybe go get clean, I don't want you going to bed with blood on you."

He reached up and touched his cheek, half-dried blood on his face.

"Right," but he didn't leave yet... as though he just didn't want to.

You rested your hand on top of yours, and he closed his eyes...

"Scara, were you..." You could see how tired he looked, and the faint stains on his cheeks--so slight you could only see them in the bright room, when he was near motionless, "... Crying?"

He opened his eyes... and sighed.

"I don't like it when we fight."

"Well, we don't have to fight. We can just talk about it, okay?"

"... Okay."

"Now go get clean, I want to finish eating and go to bed. I'll see you then?"

"If you're not in bed I'm going to commit another atrocity," he said, joking, a small smile on his face. You lightly pushed on his shoulder, and he groaned dramatically, before finally getting up.

Things would be, gradually, getting better now.

#genshin impact #scaramouche #genshin x reader #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #angst #angsty bark #hurt and comfort #bark writes #// summary sounded way r@pier than i intended #// weird wording u get it #// i meant he like had enemies and #// ppl wanted to fucc with him #// somehow i felt like i fucked this one up

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mavericsohn · 2 years

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BLACK HOLE — C.CH (TEASER)

— pairing: choi chanhee x gender neutral reader

— summary: when you left, you took a part of chanhee with you. now you’re the only person who can give it back

— genre: exes to ??, angst, some fluff maybe :D

— teaser wc: 689

— full fic wc: 10k ish

— warnings: profanities, chanhee smokes

━━━━━━━━━━━ 🖤 ━━━━━━━━━━━

“drinking when you have an eight a.m. rehearsal seems like a bad idea.”

bad idea. bad idea. it seemed like coming outside was one of those, as well.

after all this time, and everything you had been through, the smoothness to chanhee’s voice still went straight through you.

where it used to feel warm and engulfing, it now felt like a stab to the chest. especially when he used the same tone for you that he used for strangers.

you supposed you were strangers now. “i’m full of bad ideas.”

there was no response for a moment, but then a hum. “you always have been.”

braving it, you spun on your heel so that your back was against the railing. no longer looking out at the garden, you were able to see chanhee in all his glory, leant casually against the wall as though this entire situation hadn’t felt straight out of a story book.

good was probably an understatement for how he looked. now, you got to see him in his entirety, no moving figures or conversation distracting you, and your breath hitched in your throat.

he stayed still for a moment, allowing you to scan his body, and you did an awful job at hiding your were doing just that. you dragged your gaze down the lines of his neck, scanning his chest and his face, before you attention was pulled when he moved once more to bring your least favourite thing between his lips.

boldly, chanhee looked you straight in the eye as he took a drag from the cigarette he held, shamelessly making a point as the two of you stood alone.

you remembered nights talking about it, how badly you hated smoking. perhaps it was rooted in your family’s own bad habits, or perhaps it was just because it was disgusting, but you had been very vocal in your relationship about disgust for the habit. seeing chanhee doing it in front of you was a bigger punch to the gut than any screaming match ever could have been.

it was a true reminder of what you had ruined.

“smoking is disgusting.” you couldn’t resist the comment, watching chanhee exhale another puff of smoke into the air.

“tough habit to break.” was chanhee’s only response, and the way it rattled your bones unnecessarily made you want to scoff.

it hurt, truthfully. and you couldn’t explain why. up until a week ago, you hadn’t thought about chanhee in months. you had moved on, thought you were finally getting over the thing that you ruined, only for him to show up at your university, in your cohort, and remind you of every ache you had ignored for so long.

you didn’t expect him to have any respect for you, not after the way you treated him in the end, but this was the biggest punch to the gut. you would rather him have slandered your name to everyone you knew than start smoking. not when that could damage him, too.

fitting, you supposed. the new image seemed complete with a cigarette in his hand. that only made you hate it even more, no matter how good he looked.

“why did you come here?” you asked bluntly, not even bothering to tiptoe around the topic.

chanhee looked less than surprised that you asked. “you’re not the only one with dreams, y/n.”

shaking your head, you watched as he stumped the butt of the cigarette out on the wall, neatly placing it in a container nearby. “not just here - not just seoul. why to my university? why to this party?”

a quick blink, then chanhee looked away, but there was a burdened smile toying on his lips. “honestly? to the university, because i didn’t think you’d still be here. you seemed so set on living your own life after all.” the poignant reference to your final words to him -- the need to live your own life -- stung. “here tonight? for the exact same reason you had your arms around juyeon earlier.” he laughed quietly, but it was cold and nothing like what you remembered. “to be petty.”

ೃ⁀➷ a/n: see you in a week or so ^-^

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @pockyandme @changmin-wrlds

TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC: @changminurheart from that time forever ago i mentioned this

#📚 giselle’s works #choi chanhee #chanhee #chanhee imagine #chanhee x reader #chanhee fic #chanhee drabbles #new #the boyz #the boyz imagine #exes to lovers #chanhee scenario

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btsmosphere · 3 years

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Breathe Again | KTH

~summary: everything in your world has changed. everything, that is, except the boy who still believes there are spirits in the forest. ~pairing: taehyung x reader ~word count: 16.6k ~my neighbour totoro au, artist!taehyung, fashion designer!reader, childhood friends to lovers, comfort, fluff, slight angst, slow burn, totoro just wants them to be together ~rating: pg13 ~warnings: mentions of burnout, mentions of a toxic work environment, a skipped meal, a tiny bit of blood, being outside in bad weather, heights?

~a/n: hi everyone, long time no see! welcome to my first fic since my hiatus!! this is for the ghibli collab which is being run by @birbdae💞 this one is for anyone who likes ghibli films, wants some comforting boyfriend vibes from tae or just vaguely chaotic totoro content💜this one turned kinda long, but I hope I’ve captured the ghibli vibes well! I would love to hear if you read this and what you think! come chat with me💖

Taking you over familiar roads, the bus bumped gently against uneven ground. But you didn’t so much as blink, cheek resting against the glass which rattled slightly in its pane.

You knew this place.

Something about returning down these roads stirred memories within you, though they tugged more at your body than your mind. The haze of smiles and childish laughter these streets made you recall felt alien to you.

But you knew that if you were to set your feet down in the earth here, they would be able to take you home even with your eyes closed. Your hands have memorised the shapes of the leaves in the forest and the wind would push your hair back like an old friend.

You knew this place, and it knew you.

That’s what you were afraid of.

It was as if a tape was being rewound: taking you whizzing back through the exact route you had ridden out of your hometown when you left so many years ago.

Who would remember you? More importantly, who would remember your goals, the way you had rushed away to the city at the first chance to pursue your goals as a fashion designer.

You hoped they wouldn’t ask. After all, you didn’t know the answers yourself.

Of course, there was the possibility that the town you were coming back to would have changed. There were always new buildings going up in the city, roads closed and the crowds still crawling around like ants. Always moving, never slowing.

But the moment you turned away from thanking the bus driver and settled your feet on the soil, you knew there was no question of this place being unrecognisable. Grass still tufted through at the edges of the road; there was the stream that had always run here, still bubbling merrily and bouncing the odd fleck of light through the grasses it nestled between.

Rumbling into life again behind you, the bus trundled on its way.

First stopping to take a deep breath, you turned after it, feet falling in the shallow furrows made by the tyre marks. As predicted, you gave barely a thought for the direction, your legs easily remembering their way down the short road to reach the market square.

As you moved past the first houses, you parted ways with the stream. It wasn’t long after that the road opened into the square and you finally saw another living being.

Though it wasn’t a big town by any stretch, there were always people around during the day. Luckily it wasn’t market day today, which you were thankful for because the whole town would have been out, and you may well have been caught up for hours by all the people wanting to talk to you.

As it was, three ladies cried out at you from a front doorstep where they were chatting. Hurriedly shooting them a smile, you waved, hoping that would deter them. In the end, you were only waylaid by a couple of questions – how long would you be staying? how’s the big city? – that you could brush off with noncommittal answers.

In that time, you had attracted the gazes of an older couple strolling hand in hand nearby. Gripping the strap of your backpack tighter, you bobbed your head in greeting and scurried past.

Grabbing your phone from your pocket, you picked up the pace. Shooting a quick message to let your aunt know you had arrived kept you occupied with an excuse to avoid a few more staring faces. Perhaps they would think you rude, antisocial, to be walking with your head down and staring at your device instead, but it was comforting in a way. A remnant of your city life, where everyone was wrapped up in technology.

Having braved the main square, you lowered your phone again. Forcing a steady exhale from your mouth, you pressed further through the mercifully empty streets leading away.

The squeak of a bicycle wheel was all the warning you received for the next person you would pass on your journey. Preparing a smile in a hurry, you found yourself staring across at a man you recognised coming around the corner.

Kim Taehyung hadn’t changed much, face lighting up in his trademark rectangular grin as he saw you. He had grown into his handsome features in the time you had been away, and you found your smile wasn’t entirely fake as he slowed on the other side of the street.

Simple white t shirt hanging from his frame, he was wheeling a bike beside him, dusty bags slung over the top. He fit right in with this place.

He was just opening his mouth when you gulped back your faltering smile, ducking your head again and continuing on your way.

With your feet carrying you slightly faster now, you garbled greetings and smalltalk to the other villagers you crossed paths with. The path sloped downhill as you approached the edge of the town, where houses fell away to make space for the rice fields and farmland. From your road, you could look across the flat terraces that stretched, glittering, to the horizon.

Approaching your own place at last, you had to admit you were glad to see Mei lean out of her window to greet you. The old woman had lived there as long as you could remember, and always had a kind word to say.

But though you returned her wave with genuine care, you didn’t stay to talk, instead pressing the keys into the disused lock of your front door. Reluctant from its neglect, it resisted, grating around slowly until finally caving, releasing the door with a groan.

The last time you had seen the inside of this house was many years ago now. Your aunt had raised you here, but had now moved in with her new partner; rather than selling, she had kept the place for you, ‘in case you ever want to come back or visit’.

Sliding the door aside with only a few snags, you stood in the doorway, unmoving.

For a brief moment, a familiar yet long-forgotten feeling had fallen over you. With a blink, the notion that a flurry of movement had greeted you from the shadows slipped away easily.

Dust bunnies, Mei always used to say.

Tugging vigorously at dust sheets that covered the windows, you let light stream into the room, at last allowing you to pull the door closed. Despite all that still required attention, you slumped against it.

Sniffing, you swiped a hand across your cheek. Surely it was just the dust irritating you.

While something inside you felt… different, relieved, to be back here, a larger part of you resisted that. This was only a temporary waystation. There was no use getting settled here again. This was no longer where you belonged…

If only you had found that in the city. That was supposed to be where you would thrive, forge your life amongst the unforgiving glare of neon billboards and buzzing traffic.

You resented the feeling of ease that crept over you now you were back. Resented the people that were content here, fitting fluidly with the meandering of village life. Like Kim Taehyung: he had grown up here with you, but unlike you he had remained right at home, never erring.

You had tried so hard, forever persistent that the world would bend to your will. That you were destined for greater things than this unremarkable town.

Yet now you even found yourself envious of those who stayed here.

They seemed happy.

A low buzz shot through your thoughts, drawing your attention to your illuminated phone screen.

With a dispassioned sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet. You ought to shift some dust from this place in time for your aunt to come for dinner.

Luckily, the house was empty, the few furnishings shoved away in cupboards. After fishing a broom from somewhere, you swept, and had just pulled the last cushion from the cupboard when you heard the familiar call of your name.

Hurrying forwards and plastering a smile on your face, you tugged the door open to help her; her arms were bursting with food. Still, you were surprised by the urge you got to hug her. After depositing all the ingredients in the small kitchen, you gladly returned her tight embrace.

“My darling,” she squeezed you tight, “it’s been so long.”

“I missed you, auntie,” you admitted.

Perhaps you had sounded a little too forlorn because she quickly drew you back to study your face.

“How have you been? Feeding yourself well enough?”

You let out a sound halfway between a giggle and a shriek as she grabbed at your cheek, a gesture that seemed far too familiar.

Brushing her off, you didn’t have time to dwell on the sensation her affections had stirred in you, as more voices drifted from the front room.

Of course, she had invited some friends.

By the time you had greeted each woman, dodged questions and laughed at your aunt and her girlfriend bickering from the kitchen, a steaming bowl was pressed into your hands and everyone gathered to eat. This was a scene you were so familiar with, a sight so common in your childhood, but now…

You shifted, eyes trained on your bowl as Mei told a story of your five-year-old self.

Why was everyone still the same? So nice to you, so comfortable with each other just like always? Your life, your career was seemingly spiralling off course and that guilt still sat heavy on your bones.

How could you retreat back here, accept all this? You should still be working. Not giving up. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that either.

The same feeling lingered even through the clinking of dishes as your guests chipped in to help clear away, and remained in the following silence and dark as you flattened out your futon, curling up in isolation.

You wouldn’t allow this to feel right.

Even as sleep finally ensnared you in its claws just to spit you out the next morning, you continued to tell yourself what you should want. You should be missing your job, you should be missing the city. And though your heart wasn’t in it, you wouldn’t allow yourself to think otherwise.

The sun was high in the sky the next day when you found yourself staring at the blank page of your sketchbook.

I still want to design. Right?

Okay, so, let’s make a design. Design something. Just one thing. Just one idea, so I know I can still do it. I want to know that this is still the right thing.

I can do it.

Your eyes ran down your watercolour palette, each colour stained with others and hollowed in the middle with use. The small pot of water you had prepared sat too, remaining clear as your pen hovered over the paper.

Some time later, it clattered onto the tabletop.

That blank page stared at you for the rest of the day. Your contest continued even as you slurped at the instant noodles you had made. Every time your thoughts strayed outside, they would be tethered right back again.

There was no point running from your struggle. You would go out as soon as you had managed something productive. For now, the packets of food you had brought in your bag from the city would tide you over.

But as certain as you were that you would achieve something, the next day stretched out in exactly the same way.

It was on the third day that a knock at your door broke through your otherwise deserted world inside this room.

Without a second thought to the depressing dinner you were halfway through, you stood up. Only for a moment you hesitated, before conceding that this wasn’t the city, and it was more usual to have visitors here.

Padding across the floor, you pushed the door aside.

“Y/N! Hi!”

You blinked in the beaming face of Kim Taehyung that greeted you.

“Taehyung!” you returned in genuine surprise, “um, come in…”

Stepping back as you remembered your manners, you cast a look around the room. Unfortunately you hadn’t yet disposed of the slowly growing pile of torn ramen packets on the table, but it was too late.

“Thank you, you don’t have to-“

Nonetheless, Taehyung stepped inside to let you close the door on the cloudy day outside. If he noticed the sad state of your abode, he made no comment.

“I-I just thought I’d come by and visit you,” he smiled hopefully, “I haven’t seen you out since you came back…”

Gulping in the face of his innocent curiosity, you glanced at the floor.

“I’m sorry, I just haven’t… had the chance.”

Your excuse was weak and you knew it. Either way, Taehyung was quick to brush aside your worry.

“It’s nothing to apologise for! I thought I had just missed you and- well, I wanted to come to see you anyway. It’s been a while.”

A soft chuckle passed your lips, which curled into a sad smile. With a nod, you looked up at him.

“Yeah. It has.”

Though his face was smiling as always, it had softened as he studied you.

“Do you want to go on a walk?” he offered, “it must have been hard, being away from the countryside.”

The thought of your abandoned ramen cooling on the table behind you dissipated in an instant.

The outside was a refreshing thought, and it was as if Taehyung had opened the door to the possibility. Once there was a time you would have headed out for no reason, just for fun. That was something you had left behind, but with the welcoming boy to encourage you, you were nodding eagerly before you could form a reply.

Although the village was no longer bathed in sun, cool air rushing to meet you instead, the breeze seemed to carry some weight away from your shoulders. The route Taehyung began to tread beside you was well ingrained in your feet, but your mind was still waking up to the familiar sights.

“I always loved the view from here,” you smiled, muttering almost to yourself.

Taehyung heard you, though. There was no noise for your voice to lose itself in, except the wind that took your words on a winding path through the air.

Slowing his steps, you eased beside him as well. You had barely left your road, but being so near to the edge of the village, the swathes of rippling fields were never far from view; now they stretched out like a carpet below the higher ground your village occupied.

“What’s it like, living in the city?” Taehyung recaptured your attention.

Startled, your eyes turned to him as he remained gazing across the lush greenery, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his loose trousers. His shirt, too, billowed slightly in the playful breeze as you strolled together.

It was those words which brought you crashing back to your senses. The city had been far from your mind, chased away the moment you were reminded of nature’s sprawling cloak across the land. It had been so easy to forget…

“Busy,” was all you offered in way of reply at first. A slight sigh was whipped away by the wind before you found the words to continue. “There’s always people doing things, just like here. Only… bigger. More. They don’t have time to stop and speak to you. It’s so much brighter too…

“I like the neon signs,” you admitted, “but with them, you can barely see the stars.”

While you spoke, Taehyung’s eyes drifted back to you, listening intently. After you stopped, he left silence to settle for a moment.

“It sounds different,” he replied.

You simply hummed an affirmative, but a large smile was sliding back onto his face.

“But I bet they love you!” he grinned, face lifting in such eager happiness that it made your heart ache. Wanting so badly to return his joy, you knew you could never fake happiness that genuine.

“Not really…” you scuffed your toes against the ground, suddenly particularly interested in the way the dirt cracked around your shoes.

As such, you missed the deepening furrow of Tae’s brows, but he stayed quiet, sensing your inhale as you prepared to elaborate.

“Maybe it’s because I had always dreamed of moving there, but nothing was as easy as I imagined,” you spoke quietly, “I was so stupid thinking everything would be simple once I got a place as an intern. The company took me on, but I haven’t got any further.”

A short glance back to Tae showed his brows set in a serious line, mulling your words seriously.

“I’m sure if you keep working hard, they’ll see you,” he smiled, “you always wanted to be a designer. I know you can be.”

For a moment, his words stunned all breath in your throat. Swallowing harshly, you tore your eyes from his, roughly shaking your head.

“It’s just not going right,” you lamented, “all I’ve done since I moved there is work, I take the overtime and travel for shows at weekends, shadow where I can… I feel like I can’t do anymore. And still, nothing. Not even a commission, let alone a promotion. I haven’t headed a project team once. It’s like…” panting softly from the speed your frustrated words spilled out, you paused for a moment, shoulders slumping. “It’s like everyone else knows something I don’t.”

“That’s why you came back?”

His low tone was still light and looking back to him brought you face to face with wide, earnest eyes. Of course, he had guessed accurately. You hadn’t quite intended to spill in so much detail what was troubling you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to resent it.

Confirming his assumption with a nod, you watched Taehyung cock his head to the side before returning his gaze back across the forest.

By now you were drawing closer to where the trees huddled together at the borders of the farmland. The track was a little less well-trodden here, your feet falling between scattered grasses that pushed upwards.

“I don’t think it’s you that’s the problem,” he twisted his body around to face you, still walking towards the forest.

All you could do was blink, slightly startled at his assertion. Thankfully, he continued, pulling his hands from his pockets and spreading them to indicate the surrounding trees which you were entering.

“You’re doing everything you can, and that should be more than enough. There’s no secret to learn… well, maybe…”

“Hey!” you elbowed him as he trailed off, “do you know a secret?”

Mirroring your grin, Taehyung sighed, shaking his head at the ground. You kept your eyes trained on him, as if he might really hold some clue that would solve everything for you. Then he raised his head, fluffy strands of hair falling across his smile-brightened eyes.

“Maybe patience,” he shrugged, “I’m sure you’d get somewhere eventually… but also- maybe you should try to value your time more. There isn’t just one path you can take, and you can always change.”

“I-I guess that’s true,” you stammered.

It was something that had crossed your mind, but you had always shoved the idea away the moment you considered it. You knew what you wanted to do, and you shouldn’t give up on it. Hearing another say it, out loud, was… strangely affirming. But your eyes still fled Taehyung’s gaze, skittering about the trees stretching their hands to the sky.

“Either way,” a gentle nudge at your side brought your begrudging gaze back to your friend, “it’s good to have you back for a bit. I’ve missed you. I’m sure your aunt has, too,” he quickly added.

Grateful for his offer of turning away from the previous conversation, you relaxed a little.

“I’ve missed it here too,” you admitted, “thanks for coming over, it’s good to be out.”

For some reason, as you continued ambling through the forest, you felt no guilt creeping in about time you should be spending working. Instead, you barely felt the minutes passing as you laughed with Taehyung about various scenes from your childhoods. If anything, the small amount of guilt tugging at you was guilt for losing touch.

Eventually, you found yourself reclining in the grass at his side.

“Do you remember when you told me there were spirits in this forest?” you laughed softly.

“Hey!” he grinned back, “they are real!”

Though you giggled along with him, you sensed some defiance in the glittering of his eyes, which made you tail off. Your mouth quirked up at the corner.

“You really still believe in them?”

You didn’t miss the way his eyes strayed from your own, glancing to the grass and across the leafy landscape. But still, he responded.

“I saw them,” he murmured, bringing a fond smile to your face.

“Maybe people out in the countryside really are crazy,” you joked, flopping back to lie on the floor.

“Maybe,” came the chuckled reply.

Taehyung’s shoulder brushed against your own as he joined you on the floor.

Warmth blooming in your chest, you continued to stare across the treetops as they were brushed with the glow of the encroaching sunlight. Something within you longed to capture this moment, grab the warm-tinted clouds streaming across the sky and bring them to earth to rest beside you.

And later, you would realise that was why you had turned to design.

You picked up your paintbrush and brought colour to the white sheet at last.

Too caught up in your seeming breakthrough, with a design almost finished on your page, you were easily busy enough to ignore the way Taehyung’s face crept into your mind. Trying to summon images of the breathtaking evening you had spent, the boy was inextricable from the memory.

The relief and liberation that had flooded you the moment you allowed yourself some respite had come from having him beside you.

Though you were a fashion designer, not a portrait artist, the flipside of the page was steadily filling with sketches of Taehyung. You hadn’t been able to capture him the exact way you wanted, his striking features escaping you, but you couldn’t hold back from trying at least.

But though you had made some progress on your creative block, you still clung to the shelter of your empty house. The hush of the village provided you with a peace of mind you hadn’t even noticed was missing while you were away.

Before you could dig yourself any more holes wondering about the fate of your career, however, exactly the person you had been hoping to see came back around.

Taehyung beamed widely from his perch on your doorstep. That wonderful smile never failed to produce a brighter grin on your own face too.

However, this time he didn’t step into your house when you made room for him. Disappointment sunk to your stomach, realising you had expected him to stay.

But his next words killed off any sadness before it could even take root within you.

“Put your shoes on,” he flashed a playful grin, “you’re coming to mine for dinner.”

“I am?” you snorted, though you were already reaching for your boots.

“Yep,” he smirked.

Folding his arms, he leaned against your doorframe while you hurriedly got ready.

“Unless you have plans?” he chuckled, “another extravagant microwave meal for one?”

Gaping, your head shot up to meet his twinkling gaze.

“You may be right,” you scoffed, finally closing the door behind you as you joined him on the street, “but that doesn’t make it nice. What would your grandma think of your manners?”

“And what would your aunt think of the way you’re eating?” he retorted.

Lips rising into a begrudging smile, you sort of fell against him in a playful nudge. The next moment, though, your eyes grew wider as he slung an arm around you, giving it a squeeze as his fingers nipped at your cheek.

“I’m joking,” he cooed, “I just want you to eat well.”

At least the sentiment was there. About an hour later you found yourself sat giggling in front of a bowl of charred remains that once were food.

“I tried,” Tae was pouting, poking around in his own bowl.

“You didn’t have to try something so fancy,” you hid more laughter behind your hand, “there’s more room for error.”

“But grandma told me exactly how to make it,” he frowned down at his dish as if it had wronged him, “I don’t know what I even did to mess it up!”

Unable to help it, a fond smile broke onto your face.

“Thank you, Taehyung.”

Your words seemed to startle him, as he immediately started spluttering about how you could thank him after he destroyed your dinner. It only served to pull more laughter from you.

“I appreciate it,” you assured him, “now how about we make something simple?”

His kitchen was stocked with fresh vegetables from the farmlands, making it easy for you to pick some and get to work. Closer to the rice fields than your house, Taehyung’s place bordered with the forest, every window giving generous views on the surrounding greenery.

“Done!”

Turning away from the trees outside the window, which you had somewhat lost yourself in, you found Taehyung stood proudly behind you. In his hands sat a bowl stacked with the vegetables he had chopped.

A look back at your own board showed you had made much less progress.

“Let me finish those,” he placed his bowl down and came to stand next to you. “I think you would be better off doing the cooking.”

Laughing, you agreed and let him take the knife from your fingers. Next, you began to fry your ingredients with the rice that hadn’t been a victim of Taehyung’s previous attempts.

Once he was done, Taehyung approached you, sliding the remaining vegetables into the pan. But even as they fell, sizzling, into the dish, he didn’t move away from you.

“Smells good,” he complimented.

Muttering a brief thank you, you kept your eyes on the food as you stirred it. You could almost pretend the heat in your cheeks was from the warmth of the stove and not the way he leaned closer as he smelled your cooking, such that his chest pressed up against your back, face hovering above your shoulder.

But before your resolve could wear thin enough for you to look around at him while he was in such painfully close proximity, a rumble interrupted your thoughts.

Taehyung instantly pulled away, apologies spilling from his lips. You, on the other hand, burst into laughter.

“Was that your stomach?” you cried.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand across his middle.

Chuckling, you shut off the stove.

“Luckily, dinner is ready,” you grinned.

Taehyung eagerly dashed to grab plates, letting you pile them up with food.

Together, you brought your steaming meals to the front room where Tae pushed open the front door, inviting you to sit on the step.

“I guess it is kind of late,” you said after your first bite, “no wonder you were hungry.”

Proving your point, the boy beside you was already wolfing down his meal. Smiling to yourself, you dove back into your own food as you stared across the darkening valley, stars now painted in the mirror-smooth surfaces of the rice fields.

Sweet as always, Taehyung thrust a basket of the vegetables into your arms before you left – though, of course, he was walking back with you. Still, you were embarrassed to note the hint of resentment at his wonderful actions, as it meant you had one less excuse to see him again. In truth, you didn’t want to leave at all.

But you still thanked him profusely, and you meant it. His kindness warmed your heart, and guilt twisted inside you at the thought of taking his actions to mean anything further.

He probably felt sorry for you, lost as you were. Meanwhile he had found a place in the world, and he was happy here. Almost certainly he only wanted to do some good for an old friend.

But for tonight, you couldn’t help but indulge in the flutters Taehyung set off in your heart, a few more sketches joining the others before you fell into bed.

Since you arrived, you hadn’t been very productive. You knew this, but bringing yourself to care was becoming difficult. No, you were too busy enjoying finally getting some peace and time away from the job that had been tiring you out.

But even in your time off, it seemed too much to ask of them to let you rest.

“-so I need your assessment of the project before we can move forwards…”

Your boss’ voice crackled over the line as you held your phone passively at your ear. Gulping as she rambled on about the practicality of your colleague’s design – when she was the one who had given the project to him when you really wanted it – you stared blankly at your notebook. Only one page remained filled. The simple design you had been thrilled with a couple of days ago now crumbled in your estimation.

Tell her you can’t do it. This is your time off. At least ask to be paid for it-

“Of course. I can do that,” you replied automatically.

Instant alarm bells started ringing in your head. You had to stick up for yourself before too much was loaded onto you-

“Wonderful, I’m sending them over now. Thanks a lot,” your boss spoke, line cutting off before you could so much as open your mouth.

Huffing, you flopped back onto your bed, where you had been sleeping peacefully before your ringing phone rudely awoke you. But you didn’t rest there for more than a few seconds before you were rolling yourself off and staggering over to dig out the laptop you hadn’t touched since leaving the city.

Opening up your emails, you saw the most recent one from your boss, but unfortunately your inbox was also rammed with several others you hadn’t bothered to check. You supposed you could never have expected to be completely away from work.

Resolving to check them later, you clicked on the first of the files from your boss. Already, you groaned, seeing that the plans were more extensive than you had believed over the phone.

You couldn’t deny that you accepted this too easily.

But then again, you never wanted to be seen slacking. Maybe if you did this, it would finally be noticed and you would be in line for the next promotion…

That was what you told yourself the last time too. And the time before that, and before that.

At this point, even the thought of actually being promoted didn’t fill you with the excitement it should. It was all you had worked for, and yet all you could think of was how much more work it would mean.

Attempting to shove away your heavy pile of thoughts, you focussed back on the task at hand.

Wrangling your brain into action, however, proved difficult. You realised too late that it should have been lunchtime, hurriedly trying to make yourself something while it was already halfway through the evening, sky darkening beyond your window. But even though it was getting later and you had been working all day, you had got next to nothing done.

Even the pattering of rain on your roof which began early on did little to ease the stress creeping back into its familiar residence in your brain.

Your head was spinning as you sliced up a pepper, not able to focus on the simple movement of your hands. You knew you should be looking at your work, but even as your mind hovered around the matter, you were unable to think straight as everything proved a dead end.

A sharp pinch shook you from your haze.

Hands stilling, you looked down to find a sliver of red already growing of your fingertip. Cursing, you threw down your cooking, turning to the sink.

The blood was swept away with the stream of water from your tap, showing only a miniscule cut, but your finger shook anyway. Staring down at the small line, even though it was clean now, your breath hitched in the back of your throat.

The rain, relentless on your roof, was the only sound muffling the sobs which left you as you hunched over the basin.

Letting your hand drop, you clutched onto the edge of the surface. You felt like a child; your computer was filled with demands, your head occupied with work, but you just didn’t want to.

Why couldn’t they just leave you be?

Some instinct within you had set your feet moving before your mind could catch up. Abandoning your laptop where its screen still passively illuminated a square of your desk, you were slipping shoes on, practically throwing your door aside with your sudden desperation to reach the outdoors.

The rain which immediately hit your skin hardly occurred to you. All you could manage was to breathe deeply in the saturated air.

You had succeeded in rediscovering some of the inspiration that led you to your current path; it had always been the beauty of your hometown, the countryside with its vast fields and open skies, the peace and the fury of the elements.

And maybe you had forgotten it, but now you knew it again you wanted to seize it with both hands. The pull of work only made you resent it more.

You had to escape.

And so your feet were taking you down your road, slipping on the track which had already begun turning to mud under the onslaught from the heavens.

You had barely left the glow of the last house on your street before water was running in streams down your cheeks, mingling with the salty tears that had been falling before. Hiccupping, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Though you sniffed, you didn’t bother to wipe at your face.

But already the ruthless pelting of raindrops began to batter away the frustration that had been stirred in you. Still breathing heavily, you pressed unflinchingly on, your mind only able to focus on stepping forward through the storm.

Despite your lack of destination, your pace was rapid and soon you were stumbling between trees as you reached the forest. Here, the hammer of rain was lighter, plucking at leaves harmlessly and filling the air with the hollow chorus.

The oppressive feeling from sitting caged by your computer was fading. But now you weren’t sure whether your shaking was from your outburst or from the cold. Only, you couldn’t exactly bring yourself to care.

It wasn’t until now that your pace slowed in the least. Finally you were away from the pressing weight that had begun to crush you, even if it still remained waiting for you at home.

Weaving between trunks, your speed waned at last, allowing your fingers to trace along the wisened and cracked bark of each one. Even when you needed to blink repeatedly to gain clear sight from unshed tears and raindrops collecting on your lashes – even when your frame shook from head to toe, hair plastered against your skin – you finally felt free.

Having nature roar around you cast the demands of work, something that once loomed over you, far out of your sight.

Feet still tripping forwards, all it took was a toe catching on a root before your knees were meeting the earth.

Down here, the raindrops jostled the smaller plants that coated the forest floor. Looking up, you tried to wipe your hands, though it was fruitless against your sodden trousers.

But you paused in your motion as you caught sight of something.

Ahead of you, some tree roots twisted upwards, sculpted into a small arch. Although beyond that, you could see little, you rose slowly and stepped closer to it.

A few leftover tears leaked from your eyes, but they were indetectable as they slipped among the rainwater. Taking no notice, your eyes remained ahead as you reached the strange opening.

Ducking, you padded inside, not hurrying at all. It inspired a stiller pace for some reason.

The first thing you were aware of was the lack of rain falling on your back. Instead, the air was perfectly calm, only the distant pattering of water on leaves a reminder of the storm you had previously been in.

A few more steps and you found yourself in the centre of what appeared to be a large tree. Bark walls encircled the generous space, though it was obscured by the abundant greenery coating them decadently.

Tiredness was rapidly seeping into your bones now, and all you could think of the moss was how soft it looked, so tempting to your drooping eyes.

Exhaustion masked any shock you would otherwise have felt, then, when your eyes fell on a larger shape lying near the far wall. But this was not part of the tree, nor its foliage. Drawing nearer, you found it appeared to be furry. Enormous ears lay flat on the leafy ground where its head lay. Its round belly rose taller than you did from the ground, even though it was horizontal.

Staring through your bleary eyes, you merely chuckled at the unusual sight.

The creature inflated with each deep breath. It was sleeping.

You were sure you must be too, given what a funny dream you were having right now. But you were still so tired.

Without further thought, you let yourself tumble to the ground so you could rest, propped up against the forest creature. Indeed it was as soft as you had imagined looking at it.

Everything was peaceful as sleep embraced you at last.

Taehyung jerked awake, the whole house seemingly clamouring in his ears.

Eyes wide, he threw off his covers, though he wasn’t sure what he expected to do. The wind was hurtling through the air outside, hitting his house like a freight train. Windows shaking in their panes, bullets of rain still spattered against the glass.

Pulling his blanket with him, Taehyung retreated towards the main room. Although he stayed back from the windows, he still looked out, watching the vague shapes of dark trees as they attempted to uproot themselves in the blustering air.

He couldn’t deny being a little unnerved by the sudden ferocity of the weather. With a calming breath, however, he reminded himself of the true form of the wind. The image of the grinning cat brought a smile stretching across his own lips as well. It had been years since he had seen it, or the spirit Totoro and their friends.

But even if he was a child then, he clutched onto those memories, trying to keep them vivid as possible.

He was about to settle down on the sofa to wait out the noise when a different shape made itself known in the window.

Doing a double take hard enough to give him whiplash, Taehyung managed to keep himself from staggering backwards in shock. Blinking determinedly, he kept his eyes fixed on the familiar form as it drew closer into the light from his porch.

Although he knew they were real, he still found himself struggling to comprehend it.

This wasn’t another dream, another memory or image on his canvas. Pushed against all the walls in his study, and his bedroom too when they overflowed the space, images of the forest spirit were strewn about his living quarters. He could never forget it but…

Why would it come back?

A moment elapsed, Totoro’s huge frame blocking out much of the view behind them as they stared blankly down at Taehyung the way they always did. The pandemonium of the wind died away.

And then Tae’s senses kicked back in, and he was sprinting to the door, hurrying into the night because there was something else.

Totoro was carrying something-

No.

Someone.

Breathless, he stood on the step, taking in the figure cradled in Totoro’s arms. It was you.

He remained still, so Totoro moved forwards, towering above him. But Taehyung could never be intimidated, knowing this gentle giant well enough. Instead, his eyes remained on you as Totoro lowered you towards him.

You were clearly asleep, eyes shut and chest rising and falling evenly. But it was how on earth you came to be so, in Totoro’s arms, and now in front Tae’s house, that had his brow furrowing deeply.

Though water no longer sat on your skin, the dampness of your hair and clothes remained. You must be freezing.

However, as Tae hurried forward a couple more steps to reach out for you, a warmth engulfed him. Recognising the forest spirit’s familiar magic, a hint of a smile returned to his face.

Though Totoro now relinquished their grip, the magic remained cocooning you, making Taehyung able to hold you in his arms as you had been rendered weightless.

Straightening to their full colossal height, Totoro backed away. Still feeling that comforting magic wrap around the two of you, Taehyung smiled as he bowed, as deeply as he could with you in his arms. Totoro gave a little bob of their own before turning away.

For a short moment, Taehyung watched the spirit amble away. But you were the priority. Unsure how long the magic would last, he backed into the door to push it open and get you both inside. Looking around in mild panic, he settled on the first place he thought of and moved through to the bedroom.

Setting you down on the futon, he pushed your wet hair away from your forehead with his palm.

Next, he hovered for a moment.

Eventually he stood back, swallowing nervously as he watched you. It was still the middle of the night, and raindrops were splattering the window again, though less harsh than before.

Of course, his concern was still unsatisfied. If Totoro had found you, that could only mean you had been in the forest. But… why? At this time of night, you should be safely tucked away inside.

Well, at least you were now.

Sighing, he turned away to retrieve the blanket he had dragged to the living room. Collecting a few more cushions for good measure, he placed them down on the closer edge of the futon. It was big enough for him to sleep here too, while still leaving some distance between you.

After depositing his bedding, Tae made one more trip to the cupboard, bringing out a duvet. Though thick, it was very light. He liked to think of it as his ‘cloud duvet’.

Seating himself, he leaned across to you to cover you with his favourite duvet, but stopped short.

The hair lying on his pillows was already drying. So too were your pyjamas.

Sighing, he shook his head lightly and continued to throw the covers across your sleeping form.

He would get his answers in the morning. Settling down himself, Taehyung turned onto his side so his back faced you. For now you were okay, Totoro had made sure of that.

But aside from what had happened to you, one thing plagued his mind the most even as he closed his eyes.

Why had Totoro brought you to him?

Beams of light hung lazily in the air, only warded off by the thin fabric of Taehyung’s curtains. Blinking in the hazy morning, the usual hushed whisper of the forest greeted him, no trace of the furore of last night.

Except for the weight on the bed beside him.

Rubbing one hand across his face, he looked down at you. You remained nestled against the pillows, hair fanning out as the light cast it into rich colour. When his arm fell, it was perilously close to you, but he didn’t move it away.

Taehyung knew there was breakfast to be made and explanations to be had once he left the comfort of the bed.

Still, he lay unmoving, content to simply let his gaze roam your resting features. Warm light glowing against your skin showed it invitingly soft. His dark eyes traced your eyelashes where they rested, the gentle slope of your lips…

His breath hitched, a slight gasp lost in the fabric of his pillow.

At the first inclination of your lashes shifting, bringing you closer to wakefulness, he retreated, sliding out from his blanket and away to the kitchen. A puff of air left his lips as he willed his feet to fall noiselessly, leaving you to slumber.

He could easily blame the moment on his hazy awakening from sleep. He could pretend he only stayed next to you for want of staying warm in bed for a while longer.

Except he knew it would never be the truth.

You were truly breathtaking to him, painted perfectly in the dreamy morning light. All he could do was steer his thoughts away and turn them to preparing some breakfast.

And that was what roused you: the vague scent of steaming rice in the air and the odd clang of kitchenware from the other room. Rolling over as your eyelids cracked apart, you registered the indulgently soft duvet you were under, the scent of rain on the pillow.

It was already light, so you eased yourself to sit, stretching out your back with a quiet groan.

Vaguely, you remembered the sound of raindrops in the air, earth biting at your knees and a giant tree. It had certainly been a strange dream, you thought as you opened your eyes.

And paused, blinking.

This wasn’t your room. Hell, it wasn’t even your house.

From among the fluffy mountains of bedding, you slowly took in the place. Somehow, you weren’t exactly panicked by the position you found yourself, oddly comforted by the domestic sounds of cooking. You could guess where you were, and became more certain when your eyes fell on a row of assorted paintings propped against the wall.

When Taehyung poked his head into the bedroom, he found you awake and sat up. You had moved to the side of the bed, and were sitting cross legged as a hand delicately skimmed the surface of the nearest painting.

For a moment, he didn’t announce himself. Breathing deeply, his eyes rested fondly on the back of your head, ignoring the painting. He could see the artwork anytime, and he knew it well.

A vibrant green landscape of the forest, he had put Totoro and the other spirits dotted about the trees. Some were barely there, signifying how they protected the woods even though almost no one believed in them at all.

You must have sensed him, however, for you were snatching your hand back from the image and whirling around to face him.

“You alright there?” he smirked gently at your surprise.

“Yeah…” you murmured.

Noticing you chewing your lip, looking between him and the painting, Taehyung’s small smile faded a little. The confused tone you spoke with placed a light frown in its place.

“Yeah?” his low voice echoed.

Pushing himself away from the doorframe, he drew closer, hands dug into his pockets.

“That… that thing, in your drawing,” you frowned, staring right at it. “I dreamt about it.”

“Ah,” understanding dawned on Taehyung and he sat down beside you. Neither of you complained at the closeness as his leg pressed flush to your own. “That’s the forest spirit I told you about. Well, all of them are. But that’s Totoro.”

His tone had been anything but ridiculing, but still you looked around to find his expression genuine, eyes slightly creased at the corners in a vague smile.

“I-I don’t understand,” you breathed.

“You didn’t dream about them,” he leaned closer for emphasis, shifting to face you better, “it was real. Do you remember coming here?”

For a moment, you frowned, eyes escaping his as they seemed to look far away while you tried to recall. You came up empty.

“No…”

“That’s because Totoro brought you to me,” Taehyung went on, patient as before, “last night, they brought you in from the storm.”

He paused for a moment, wetting his lips as he gauged your reaction before carrying on:

“Do you remember why you were out? Did you fall asleep in the forest?”

Again, that look took over your face. Your gaze fell to your hands as they played with the hem of the duvet, untangling the mass of memories from the night before.

“I think… I must have done…” you frowned, then suddenly started. “Oh crap! I remember why I left! My boss is gonna kill me-“

Panicked, Taehyung placed his hands on your knees as you carried on rambling, starting to push the blankets away in your sudden rush.

“Hey, hey, Y/N slow down, what’s going on?”

“I-I got a call from work,” you hastily explained, “they need me to approve a set of designs and I said it was fine even though-“

“I thought you took the time off work?”

“I did, I did but I said yes anyway but then I just felt so… so- argh! I was so stressed all over again and I just wanted to get out…” the clarity you lacked the night before made you cringe as you pictured yourself walking down the muddy track in just pyjamas, heading into the trees in the middle of the night. You chuckled drily, “maybe not my wisest idea.”

“No,” Taehyung had to agree, inclining his head, “but you’re here right now. Work doesn’t need you this instant.”

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you weren’t quite sure if he spoke the truth. Either way, you decided you didn’t much care when the boy broke into a shy grin and offered a hopeful ‘stay for breakfast?’.

He had managed to cook without mishap this time, resulting in a self-satisfied grin which you could easily tell translated into an I-told-you-so.

Happily full after his meal, Taehyung told you that he was going to do some painting, but that you were welcome to stay. From someone else, you might not be sure if they meant it or were just saying it out of politeness, but Taehyung had already offered you a set of clothes and a hot drink.

You certainly didn’t want to go yet, and you dared to hope he wanted you to stay as well.

So you accepted his offer and settled on the sofa with a steaming mug of tea and a book you had plucked at random from the shelves. Meanwhile, Taehyung turned on an old fashioned radio, which crackled softly into life in the corner before filling the atmosphere with calm music.

You knew for a fact Tae had a study in his house, but he brought his materials out into the main room anyway. Neither of you needed to say much as he set to work and you sipped your tea, going about your tasks in the mutual comfort of shared space.

He was facing the window as he worked, allowing you a view of his progress.

In the end, you became far too distracted to make it far through the book at all, too busy watching colour fill up the blank spaces. The work had already been started, with just a wash of colour occupying the canvas.

Now, you got to watch as from the blur of colours and shapes came the form of a forest. But this one was not bathed in the glory of day, the colours dark and muted instead.

Smooth brushstrokes left in their wake a body of water, glittering stars scattered within it. The limited palette of the night-time scene was fascinating to you. At last, Tae’s brush was picking out the form of the spirit again, peering from behind the trees. Your mouth curved up into a smile.

As Taehyung stood back, brush clamped in his mouth as he assessed his work so far, you scrambled to flip over a chunk of pages in your book. Burying your face in it, your cheeks burned as you realised you had been staring this whole time.

“What do you think?”

Making an effort to look as surprised as possible, you turned back to find Tae beaming at you.

“I think it’s wonderful,” you assured him, “the colours, the water… everything.”

His eyes lit up, smile only growing wider.

“Thank you! You really think so?”

At your indulgent nod, he turned back with renewed enthusiasm to complete the side of the forest which had yet to emerge from the melange of colour.

“Shall I get us lunch?” you offered not long after, noticing that you had now been there for a few hours.

Though Tae was engrossed in his painting, nose almost pressed to the canvas as he detailed some leaves in the moonlight, he graced you with an appreciative smile and a nod.

Slipping away to the kitchen, you soon reacquainted yourself with where everything lived and got to work. It wasn’t long before your limited cooking skills had done their job. A brief call to Taehyung had him emerging in the doorway with a smile on his face, taking the bowl gratefully.

Once again you settled happily on the front step, taking in the tranquil forest. It had calmed to a mere breeze since the night before, the leaves rustling, bright green in the midday sun.

“I can see why you like it here,” you commented between mouthfuls, “it must be a great place to work.”

Taehyung hummed around his mouth of food, but soon swallowed and replied, head tilted as his eyes scanned the forest.

“It inspires me.”

“So does Totoro,” you smiled. However, it couldn’t be denied that you were digging for more information after your strange encounter.

An understanding smile curved Tae’s lips and he set his chopsticks down briefly.

“You’re right,” he nodded, “for me, they’re tied together with the forest. I haven’t seen them since I was younger, but this place keeps them alive in my imagination, I suppose.”

“Wow,” you breathed, “no wonder your work is so good, hmm? You really love this place.”

As you dug back into your food, Taehyung turned his smiling eyes to you. Though you didn’t meet his gaze, he held his breath. Chewing his lip, he wondered why he couldn’t shake that feeling that had overcome him that morning.

Eventually, he forced himself back to his food, shuffling an inch or so away from you for good measure.

“I think it’s important to have a good place,” he stated, still staring at his dish when you looked around, “a place that works for you, when you need to be creative. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Yeah,” you nodded vaguely.

But though you never disagreed, you weren’t sure you did understand. And it struck you that perhaps you should. Previously, you had only cared about what your job title could be. Never had you focussed on where you were, convinced you could continue to force out designs the way you always had…

But right now, you thought you might share Tae’s view, the motion of the leaves and the gentle sun caressing them stirring up your long lost desire to create.

And the presence of a warm figure beside you, full of support, had you wishing perhaps a little too much that you could stay.

You couldn’t delude yourself for much longer, unfortunately. Inside, Taehyung was happy to leave your dishes on the side and his brushes out as he offered to walk you home.

However, when he proposed taking you ‘the scenic way’, you dared entertain the thought that perhaps he might like having you around, too.

Though you hadn’t been here for some time and thus your sense of direction was shaky at best, you could tell that Taehyung was leading you around to the other side of town, albeit through the forest. Neither of you were in any hurry to get there, instead enjoying the dappled shade of the woodland path, reams of laughter drifting through the tree trunks as you joked together.

A subtle ache had begun in your cheeks from the constant smiling. But as Tae broke from the path, insisting on building an ‘installation art piece’, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Instead, you eagerly joined Taehyung as he ran giggling through the trees, scouring the floor for twigs and stones. If anyone else had seen you, it would certainly appear childish. Especially when Taehyung encouraged you to give him a leg up so he could reach a particularly beautiful fallen leaf that was lodged in the crook of a tree branch.

It was when he leapt down again with a subtle huff that you both burst into laughter again. Through the slits your eyes became as you creased with mirth, you caught a glimpse of a broad, boxy smile that robbed you of breath in an instant.

In front of you, Taehyung was chuckling, that beautiful smile still stretching at his lips. And once again, the urge to capture this moment swelled in you. You couldn’t take your eyes from him, simply trying to commit the image to memory with the unattainable hope that it would never fade away.

As he wiped one last tear, you hurriedly turned away, cursing the intense speed your heart had reached.

“What’s your plan, Van Gogh?” you joked, hoping he couldn’t see your sudden nerves.

“Not sure,” he replied happily. Fingers catching your wrist, he tugged you further on. Striding away towards the path ahead of you, he would never see the heat blooming in your face at the contact.

Flustered, you hurried after him, only to run into his back as he stopped without warning.

“Tae? Is-?”

Poking your head from your spot behind his shoulder, you too rapidly quieted.

Though it was not long since you last saw Totoro, the memory was a haze of rain and tears. Now, though, you gulped at the sight. The spirit was waddling along the pathway, each step somehow regal with its commanding size.

With wide eyes you turned to Taehyung. His side profile showed an awed smile, a shallow breath escaping him.

When the creature turned around, you stiffened. But beside you, Taehyung simply stepped forwards, leaving you staring between him and Totoro. Bowing briefly, Tae moved even closer while you hurried to observe the same manners.

Unaffected, Totoro simply turned, continuing their ambling journey through the woods.

Frown taking over your face and unsure what to do, you looked to Tae at your side. However, his expression had split into a joyful grin that obscured his eyes within creases, and before you could even open your mouth, he was dashing to follow the spirit.

Taken by surprise, you could do nothing but follow, tripping through the undergrowth until you spilled back out onto the path.

Laughter was bubbling from your lips before you could control it. Taehyung’s giggled soon mingled with yours in the air.

On reaching the spirit’s side, you slowed somewhat. Totoro accepted your presence with barely a look your way as they kept plodding onwards. What were small steps for the creature, however, took you at a surprising pace that had a sweat breaking from your forehead after a while.

“Tada!”

A flourish of Taehyung’s arms accompanied the first breaking of the companionable silence you had journeyed in.

Following where he gestured, your eyes lit up at the sight of glittering water.

“This was where we were going?”

“Yes! Do you remember it?”

A bounce had already entered Tae’s step, and he spun to talk to you while skipping backwards.

“Of course I do!” you nodded.

Just outside this village, the stream grew broader, creating a wide, flat brook. Countless afternoons of your childhood had been spent here, hopping over the stepping stones that lay above the water’s surface, or splashing in the shallow depths at the edges.

Despite the fuzzy heat of the evening, you found a little extra energy to race after Taehyung to the bank.

Within moments, he was kicking his shoes off and hopping into the glistening water. It only just came up to his ankles, close to the side where blades of grass drooped over, their tips disturbing the surface.

Sitting down for a breather, you also slipped off your shoes and dipped your feet in. Soothingly cool, the water brought relief against the heat you had worked up on the walk.

However, you never got much chance to rest as Taehyung stuck a hand directly under your nose. Scoffing, you took it anyway. In some small retribution, you aimed a kick in his direction once he had dragged you up, sending droplets of water showering over his legs.

Of course, you were instantly shrieking as he sent a playful, but much more powerful, wave of water back your way.

Though you were still aware of the large form of Totoro standing nearby, you were inexplicably more comfortable with their presence now. In fact, they faded to the back of your mind as you let yourself become preoccupied with the impromptu water fight that had your breathless laughs carrying over the rippling stream.

Eventually, you collapsed back onto the grassy bank, head thrown back as you breathed, heavy and exhilarated. For a moment, you simply let a gentle breeze soothe your skin.

When you looked back up, Taehyung snapped his eyes away from you so fast you were hardly sure you had caught them in the first place. Just as he turned away, a shadow fell over you.

Tipping your head back, you saw Totoro looking back down at you.

Before you could speak, let alone turn to face them, a bundle of sticks had fallen at your side, a couple rolling right up to your fingers where they rested. Picking the rough objects up, you looked back to the spirit quizzically. They were the sticks Taehyung had collected earlier, eventually carried here with him and left on the ground.

Then Totoro moved away, downstream a little.

Approaching you, Taehyung bent down to retrieve a few for himself.

“I think they want to play,” he smiled.

Totoro was watching you, almost expectantly. A smile quirked over your lips.

“I know this game!”

Side by side, you and Taehyung padded upstream a few paces, selecting a stick each.

“Three! Two! One!” he counted loudly, although you swore he dropped his stick a little before the last was called.

“Hey!” you shoved him playfully, but he was already taking off jogging towards Totoro.

You had lost sight of the slim shapes moving through the water, so you walked after him, groaning as Totoro held up the gnarled stick Taehyung had chosen.

“That’s not fair!” you tried to sound indignant, even going so far as to fold your arms, but laughter betrayed you.

Several rematches later, the sun was beginning to dip in earnest, and you had to admit it was time to get home. You were still closer to Tae’s house than yours, given the roundabout route you had taken.

As the light painted the sky darker, a few wisps of grey swirling below amber, the laughter died down at the prospect of going back home. Either way, there wasn’t much you could use as an excuse to stay here longer, so you slipped your shoes back on and began making your way over the stepping stones.

Taehyung went first, more steady on his feet while you slipped, taking a moment to get your footing on each one.

Totoro, on the other hand, simply watched you go.

Once, you turned back to give them a shy wave, but they didn’t move. Despite the muteness of the spirit, you thought it looked a little affronted at your leaving.

I’ll come back you promised silently with a smile.

Staring at the wonderful creature, you understood the fond firmness of belief Tae had described feeling about the forest spirits.

But with your eyes averted, your next step was not calculated. Suddenly there was no rock beneath your foot, leg slipping straight down the side as you whipped your attention to the front too late.

“Woah!”

A gasp left you as Taehyung’s exclamation faded from the air, his hands steadfast around your waist. Gulping at the sudden contact, you dared to look up. Dark eyes bore right back into your own and they weren’t breaking away.

“You okay?”

When the words left his lips, you felt them as breath drifting across your own more than you heard them.

You tried to nod, afraid that your noses would touch, close as you were. Somehow, though, you couldn’t look away. The hypnotising softness within his irises had you unsteady all over again as you placed your foot carefully back on stone.

Still, his hands stayed in place. And you didn’t want them to move away.

Tentatively, you breathed in, unable to help your gaze dipping to Taehyung’s temptingly plump lips.

He can’t have missed it. But you realised too late, returning your gaze to the safer, yet still perilous, territory of his eyes. Only to find him slightly further away, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his eyebrows raised slightly.

Snapping your mouth closed, you stiffened as horror set in. Was he uncomfortable? Had you revealed yourself?

But still he didn’t back away-

A yelp punctuated the air, startled from your own lungs with the impact of your body against Tae’s chest. In a split second, you were landing against something firm with a large splash in the relative quiet of the evening.

Gasping as cold water covered your back, you jerked only to find a strong arm circling you in its grip. Below you, a low rumble of laughter vibrated through your body.

Eyes widening, you realised you were lying pressed flush against Taehyung.

As the grip around you loosened, taking some warmth with it, you looked into Tae’s eyes which were once again creasing with mirth. He struggled to sit it the shallow stream, eventually ending up with you straddled on his lap as his arm remained looped casually around you. Despite the water, icier now in the deepening evening, heat was flaming in your cheeks.

Eager to twist around, you laid eyes on what had caused your unfortunate impact. Totoro stood in the water, unmoving as ever although they were quite clearly the only culprit in sight.

“What-?” you spluttered.

Still laughing, Taehyung helped ease you off him, keeping your hand clasped in his own as you both clambered to your feet. Water dripped from your hair, your legs and shoes sending miniature downfalls over the stepping stones as you returned to them.

“Have we angered the spirit?” you stage whispered to Taehyung, who laughed loudly.

“Sorry Totoro, we have to go home,” Tae sent a bow towards the creature. They blinked back.

Giggling slightly, you took a tentative step onto the next boulder. No sooner had you moved than the wind suddenly picked up around you, the waves in the brook growing more prominent as chill air ensnared your damp skin.

Taehyung cursed under his breath.

“It’s freezing,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

Subconsciously, you huddled closer to him as he looked around – first at the path ahead and over the stream, then back towards the forest. Both of you seemed to gravitate to the latter, where leaves rioted in the air above the treetops.

As you stood in the wind, Taehyung’s arm had lifted to absently hold your waist. You felt him tug lightly.

“Maybe we should go back to mine. It’s still too far to your place, we might both freeze.”

“Are you sure?” you breathed, though you wanted to agree there and then, run back to his warm bed and not move for several hours. The way your voice came shakily with the shivers that began only confirmed Tae’s plan, and he was already setting off towards the riverbank.

“Very sure. Let’s get inside.”

Not needing to be told twice, you followed hastily, only connected to Tae by your fingertips that clutched each other as he led the way.

A particularly violent gust had your shoulders hunching. You were nearly at the side of the stream, and so you kept your focus for a moment longer on the rocks in front of you, before at last your feet met the grassy floor.

But on looking up, the sight that greeted you on the bank had your mouth hanging open.

What looked like a bus was standing in front of you. Or what would have looked like a bus, if not for the fact that it was smiling.

But after the day you had had, you made no protest as Tae told you it was okay to get in, merely accepting your fate with an incredulous sigh.

Tae’s hand on the small of your back as you stepped inside didn’t go unnoticed by you, but you let it slide. It was nice to be out of the cold, so you busied yourself with getting cosy on the seats that ran down the sides of the interior.

A jolt announced your departure. Looking around, you found Totoro hadn’t joined you, but watched you leave from the bank instead.

Turning back to the scene in front of you, you were surprised to note that no wind touched your frozen skin any more, despite the fact the windows on this bus seemed to be… well, non-existent. Beside you, Tae was leaning out slightly with a giddy grin lighting up his face, hand splayed in the air.

With a smile creeping onto your own face, you resigned yourself to the unexpected journey. Folding your arms against the side, you too stared out across the sky.

The treetops were far beneath you now, your whole village visible though it looked toy-sized from here. Wisps of clouds flew close overhead while your vantage point showed the glaring sun peeking above the horizon, illuminating your face with the last of the day’s warmth.

A glance to Taehyung showed his face bathed in the glow as well, painting his skin with molten gold that danced in his eyes and streaked through his hair like brushstrokes.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Mindless to the risk of him catching you, you allowed your gaze to trail along his features, cast into striking light and shade. You longed to reach out, touch his hair. It looked indulgently soft, waving in a light breeze as you travelled.

All too soon, shadows were once again flitting over his cheeks as you were brought closer to the ground.

Awed smile remaining on his parted lips, he turned his face to you. Though you swallowed, you didn’t bother to look away, simply returning a smile. If possible, his seemed to soften even more at this.

Landing was softer than leaving the ground, barely a bump letting you know you were back on the earth. Since you sat down, lethargy had crept up on you, revealing how spent you were after the day outside.

Taehyung stood while you were still blinking groggily from your position laying on your arms.

“Come on,” a low chuckled accompanied the sliding of arms around you.

You complied, finding your feet and stepping out of the bus with a yawn. Without a moment to spare, the vehicle? creature? had leapt from the ground, soon whizzing out of sight.

Until you climbed the steps to Taehyung’s house, the cool air waking you sufficiently to slip off your shoes, you hadn’t noticed that your clothes had dried.

“They never stop with the surprises,” Taehyung’s low voice chuckled, making you look up.

You had been standing just inside the doorway, ogling your sleeves as if you might blink and find them soaking wet again in an instant. Meanwhile, Tae stood in the living room, one hand dug into a pocket as his other fingers slipped open the top button of his shirt with practised ease.

Gulping at the sight, you fixed your eyes back on his.

He simply smiled. Under one arm he gathered a blanket that had been strewn on the couch, but it was his free hand he held out to you, fingers outstretched, inviting.

Grateful, you stepped closer, inhaling the comforting scent of his home. You hadn’t noticed it before, but though your clothes were dry they still gave off the odour of river water, making the aroma of paints mingled with herbs and spices more prominent by contrast as you closed the space between you.

Hand closing around the offered blanket, you broke eye contact for the first time.

“This feels like a dream,” you murmured, head shaking lightly.

A beat of silence as Tae released his grip on the soft fabric, transferring it to your fingers.

“It does,” he whispered.

Had you looked up, you would have found his eyes still trained intently on you. So close, he bit his tongue, not trusting his voice further given the way his throat closed up, lending his deep voice more gravel than usual.

Stifling a yawn, you looked around, already pulling the blanket over your shoulders. Despite the quick journey and drying off, the chill of the outside lingered a little.

“Where do you want me?” you yawned.

Tae cleared his throat before he spoke, stepping away though he left his fingers tangled loosely with your own.

“The bedroom is fine, i-if you want to, that is,” he hastened to add, “we’re both tired. Let’s get some sleep.”

While normally your manners would have you protest at least a little, you had to admit how sleepy you were becoming. It was impossible to deny that Tae had just proposed exactly what you wanted, and so you let him lead you to the bedroom, where you sunk onto the futon as he gathered some clothes from his wardrobe.

Folded beside you, you handled them with reverent fingers, slipping out of your clothes once Tae had excused himself for the bathroom.

You reversed your tasks once more before you found yourself bundled in comforting blankets, the weight next to you a steadying influence in the darkness. Though you longed to reach out for him, trace your fingertips over his skin, hold him close-

you really were just too tired.

And maybe it was testament to the security of his presence that you were unable to act on your desires, sleep claiming you strongly instead, taking you quicker than you had managed in months.

Waking up, however, was a different story.

While the exhaustion of yesterday had muffled any thoughts beyond wanting to sleep, today your mind was overflowing even as you first blinked at the pale light.

Beside you, Taehyung still lay sleeping. You were simultaneously aware of his peaceful beauty, and the panic with which you found yourself revelling in it. It seemed you had become a little too attached to him. Maybe this had all been a mistake…

Also in the back of your mind, though rapidly elbowing its way to the forefront, was the fact you hadn’t been home for an entire day. Your phone was still there; who knew how many work calls you might have missed?

Though you couldn’t quite find it in yourself to regret turning away from it, you couldn’t shake the itching responsibility to get back and see what mess awaited.

But at the same time, that terrified you beyond belief.

Most of all, however, your mind was swimming with colours. Shapes, snippets of designs floated in your brain. You weren’t sure when the last time that had happened was. You used to dream up your designs, when you were still beginning your career, desperate to create.

And though there were many scary things waiting for you, this revelation, this newfound desire to design again, lent your limbs new strength as you rolled from the bed.

Reclaiming your clothes from last night was first up; Tae had draped them over kitchen chairs to air out, but the smell lingered a little. It didn’t bother you too much, so you dressed quickly.

It was then that the soft creaking of floorboards caught your attention. You turned just in time to see Tae emerge from the bedroom, eyes barely cracked open while his lips were puffed out in an adorable pout, clearly only half-awake.

Stopping with an arm on the doorframe, hair flopping haphazardly around his face, he squinted across at you.

“Where are you going?” his low voice still rumbled in his throat, dry with disuse this morning.

Silently moving, you quickly padded across the floor towards him. None of the curtains were open yet, the watery morning light permeating the air tentatively.

In this dim space, you had the courage to lift your palms to press against his cheeks. On meeting his big eyes that stared across at you, you swallowed.

“There’s something I have to do,” you breathed, gaze skimming down his face as he watched you. Despite his bewildered state this early in the day, he was beginning to become more alert at your words.

Slowly, his fingers lifted to wrap gently around your wrist.

“Okay,” his voice remained husky, “but… you’ll come back?”

You tore your eyes from where they had focussed, without your consent, on his lips, to return his intent stare.

“Of course I will,” you whispered, mouth turning up at the corners.

For a moment, your breathing hitched. Such close distance between you two was becoming frequent, but you were far from used to it. Your cheeks still heated up, breath shallow as you savoured the softness of his skin under your hand.

Your eyes slid closed. In the relative darkness that encapsulated you, it was easy to think wishfully, imagine leaning closer in this timeless space where no one would see…

But then the moment passed, your hand slipping inconsequentially from his lingering grip.

Bringing your hand back to your side, you squeezed a smile his way and took a step backwards.

Then another.

He remained standing there as your pace sped up, and soon you were out of the door. As it closed behind you, you swore you could have seen a large pair of eyes blinking from between the trees.

Knowing what you did now, you couldn’t write it off, but neither did you pay any more attention, feeling a strange weightlessness as you trod the path to your house.

Going the short way this time, it didn’t take you long as you walked the tracks beside the glistening rice fields and farmland. Workers were already out, having risen with the sun which had fully emerged from the trees by now. As you passed, you exchanged nods and waves, smiling and giving good greetings to all you looked up at you.

Quiet fell again once you reached your road.

A nervous chill ran through you, but there was a thrill to it.

Approaching your house, you found two figures standing outside. With a frown, you drew closer.

“Auntie?” you called, making the women turn to you, “Mei?”

Mei’s warm face formed a friendly smile while your aunt beside her gawked. Recovering from her shook, she hurried to you, grasping your hands as your received her with confusion.

“Mei told me you were at Kim Taehyung’s? Is that true?”

With a glance to the old lady, you confirmed.

“That’s a relief,” your aunt laughed, “I came around yesterday to find you gone! You even left your phone!”

She was holding it out to you. Smiling weakly, you suddenly felt the weight of her watching you. Thankfully, Mei began to walk back towards her house, lessening your audience.

Sure enough, when you powered your phone on, it was instantly lighting up, ping after ping flooding your screen with notifications, calls and messages.

A frown made your aunt’s concern clear, but even you surprised yourself with your confidence as you simply grinned back.

“I have it under control,” you assured her, and walked up your steps to the door.

Inside, you took a breath, but could put it off no more. Beyond the fear of what you were about to do, lay the images of your home, the expansive fields and forests that had always been your source of inspiration. And now, a giant, friendly forest spirit-

And a hand, resting in yours.

The dial tone filled your ears, and you took a seat. Your notebook was still atop your desk, thrown aside to make way for your laptop, sat open with its screen dead. Nor had you disposed of your instant food wrappers-

“Y/N,” a stern voice crackled through the line. Your boss. “Where are those plans I asked you for?”

Though she couldn’t see you, you brought a smile to your face, summoned to lend you confidence.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised, already hearing the reprimand on her lips, “but something came up. And I… I have something to tell you.”

A sigh.

“Go on.”

“Well… I’ve been thinking. I appreciate all the opportunities I’ve had with this company, but I don’t think it’s taking me where I would like to go-“

“Y/N!” you weren’t sure you had ever heard so much emotion in your boss’ voice. Her voice rang with pure shock, “Do you mean to say-?”

“This is me, handing in my notice,” you spoke clearly, “thank you.”

Silence stretched out for longer than you could comfortably take. But, should you need to, you were ready to repeat yourself. Somewhere on the other line, you heard a muffled voice trying to get your boss’ attention, but it was soon gone again. You knew well the dismissive wave that person will have received.

“Very well,” she spoke at last.

And with that acceptance, you felt like you were floating.

There was a spring in your step even as you cleaned up the mess you had left behind, the whole time itching to get your hands on your pens and brushes.

You had quit. You had quit!

For so long, the notion would never have crossed your mind, the prospect of giving up too terrifying to consider. But you weren’t giving up, not at all. Maybe you were giving up on what you thought you wanted. Or what you had wanted, once upon a time, but now no longer fit you.

Instead of guilt or fear, you were filled with excitement. You knew what you wanted.

And you were halfway there.

This, however, was the easy part. No matter how hard it may be to rebuild your career, starting afresh, none of those obstacles scared you quite as much as the next thought to enter your mind.

Taehyung.

But you had promised him you would come back.

And perhaps one upheaval was enough for one day, you thought as you gathered your sketchbook, your paints. You could afford to hide from your feelings for a little longer, right?

You certainly couldn’t deny them, but you were afraid to admit them. Who knew what could happen then? You dared not hope for them being returned, and concluded to let yourself enjoy time with Tae for now.

After all, you were so excited to create, an almost alien passion that you were thrilled to welcome back.

And you could think of no one better to share this joy with. Taehyung was an artist too; he would understand.

Not far from Tae’s house, back past the open farmland, a familiar shape dominated the path in front of you. The sight of Totoro brought a smile to your face, reminding you of all the magic you had discovered in this place since you returned.

What you hadn’t quite expected was for them to be waiting for you. Unsure what to do, you settled for a quick bow and a quiet ‘hello’ as you continued.

Walking past the spirit, it just watched you for an extended moment before following along behind.

Taehyung was at the kitchen window when you arrived, and saw you coming. A boxy smile lit up his face before it disappeared from the window, emerging only seconds later in the doorway, a pair of paintbrushes clutched in his hand and dripping onto the porch. The day had bloomed into gorgeous full sun, and he held his hand up to shield his eyes from it as he watched you arrive.

A glance behind you confirmed Totoro was still following.

“They were standing around outside all morning,” Tae began talking, coming down the steps to meet you, “thought they wanted me to come into the forest, but when I tried, they walked even further down that way. What do you think’s got into them?”

“Beats me,” you shrugged, “but they seem happy enough now.”

Sure enough, Totoro had retreated a little further towards the treeline, still watching you both. For a moment, you and Tae both twisted around, looking back at the creature.

“Anyway…” you laughed.

Joining in, Tae led the way back inside, wiping his brushes against his trousers.

“Did you do what you needed to?” he asked, back facing you. The art supplies in your arms hadn’t gone unnoticed, and he was pulling out a chair to place next to his own setup.

“Yeah,” you hummed, setting your things down, “I, er- I quit my job.”

Brows lifting, Tae straightened up to face you. But his mouth soon slid into a bright smirk.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. You couldn’t keep your own beaming smile away from your face.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer.

“So you’re going to be around here for a while, then?”

“Yeah,” you smiled warmly, “I think I am.”

Over the next few hours, the image you had hoped for came to life. Sitting side by side, you and Tae both went about your works in pleasureable silence. Him, hidden behind an easel and periodically popping his head around it to survey they scenery, and you, meagre sketchbook propped on a cluttered desk.

It was perfect.

And finally, your creative energy was allowed to burst forth. For the first time since you were a student, you drew. And drew. And drew.

Pages seemed to fill themselves up, and if some thoughts were still unpolished, at least they were here, proof that you had never lost your spark, the spark which the fruitless toil of your old workplace had stamped out. Maybe you had just lost your way, temporarily.

And for that short afternoon, you were able to push all other thoughts from your mind. Especially those pertaining to a certain fluffy-haired artist with a boxy smile.

But even having half your worries settled was a relief.

That night, you returned home. Though you slept easier than the last time you were in this bed, you were ashamed of how much you longed for Tae’s presence next to you. Even when you had slept silently, barely touching save for the odd brush of an arm or leg when you rolled over, it was a grounding relief to have him there.

Luckily, you hadn’t even had to ask him yesterday if you could drop by again; he had leapt on the chance to invite you himself.

So you didn’t dwell on the way you reached out when you woke up, expecting to find a warm presence under the blankets with you. Instead, you happily climbed out of bed, ready to repeat your routine from yesterday.

This time, you at least brought some snacks along from your kitchen.

Today brought a large dose of d ja-vu along with it. Totoro was once again waiting for you, expectant. It took you off guard, but slipped your mind once you were back at Tae’s side, happily working for the remainder of the morning.

But Totoro didn’t give up. Those large eyes blinked through the window when the two of you went to prepare food.

“Do you want attention?” you chuckled, knowing you wouldn’t receive an answer.

“What do you say?” Tae’s low voice grew closer, “fancy a break outside?”

You were prevented from replying when his breath fell across your neck, causing you to stiffen. But he simply leaned over, hooking his chin lazily on your shoulder as he dropped another spoon into the sink where you were washing up.

“Y/N?” he frowned when met with your silence, small pout forming as he drew back to look at you.

You shook yourself.

“What? Oh, yes,” you tripped over your tongue, “that sounds great. Looks like Totoro would appreciate that too.”

With a laugh, Tae wiped his hands on a cloth.

“I’ll go get changed.”

Not long later, you were surrounded by trees, bathed now in deep shade that shielded you from the midday sun. Totoro had seemingly been satisfied by your attention, as they had followed you on your walk without protest.

Not that you were sure how they would protest if they wanted to, but your point stands.

It was strange how accustomed you were to the spirit by now, no longer staring over your shoulder at the creature. Instead, you were preoccupied by Tae as he ran, giggling, towards a tree with the perfect low-hanging branches for climbing.

By the time you had reached him, he was dangling, sloth-style, so that he was level with your head. His grin was just as goofy upside-down, and you swatted at his soft hair as it hung off his reddening face.

“Budge up,” you grinned, trying to hoist yourself up as well.

You had succeeded in getting onto the first branch when Totoro appeared by the base of the tree. Smiling down at them, you waited for Tae to clamber up to the next bough.

The moment you looked back to him, however, you felt a strange tug, shrieking when you found no branch below your feet. Looking about wildly, your feet flailed, scrabbling for any kind of purchase.

From where he hung onto a branch, Taehyung looked down sharply in a panic, but instead found you level with him.

Wide eyes stared at one another until the same feeling clutched at Tae, stomach dropping as he was miraculously lifted from his perch.

A look behind you showed Totoro still right there, also floating. One arm was holding you, Tae’s hand clutching the other. As you blinked in mute shock at the spirit, they opened their mouth, stretching into a wide grin. Laughter floated past your lips at the sight.

Somehow, you dodged the branches crossing your path as you ascended, though they grew sparser as you carried on upwards. Unlike your journey in the bus, you could feel a breeze coursing past you now.

Gaping in disbelief, you found Tae again, reaching out to him. Your expression was mirrored on his, and he eagerly entwined your free hands, smile softening as you were brought closer in the air.

And as you floated high above the ground, you somehow felt little difference than the way you always did when Tae was beside you, hand resting in your own.

You laughed again, a sound of pure joy, forgetting the spirit carrying you as you simply watched his eyes. Among the cool breeze, you felt a slight tickle of warmth from his breath.

As you watched, his smile slowly melted from his lips, captivated instead by your stare, though he looked no less peaceful.

But just as distant hills could be revealed beyond the thinning leaves, you felt a warm hold loosening around you. You hadn’t even noticed it, but now it was retracting, you could feel the spirit’s magic clearly and panicked. In an instant, you had grabbed the nearest branch, which was surprisingly sturdy.

In your rush, your hand had slipped from Tae’s, but a shudder of the branch told you he had also caught hold of it.

The calming magic slipped away completely.

Now clutching the tree for dear life, you looked down, but Totoro was nowhere to be seen. Squeezing your eyes shut, you sucked in a deep breath. Then, with a surge of energy, you swung further onto the branch, ignoring the way it lurched, to give you a steadier sitting place.

“You alright?” you panted.

Only a grunt answered you as Tae copied your action.

As he righted himself, you caught an uneasy wobble in his expression, instinctively holding out a hand.

“Come here.”

Gladly taking it, Taehyung’s shoulders lowered, easing a bit once you were connected. Waiting for him, you shimmied a short distance to rest where the branch met the trunk. On reaching you, Tae pressed closer, shoulder up against your own.

Smiling fondly, you twisted so you could reach your arms around him loosely.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, though you had no idea what had just happened.

“Not a fan of heights,” he murmured, but his deep voice did not seem panicked.

“At least it’s pretty,” you pointed out, nudging him the smallest amount to avoid toppling.

You were right. Between picture frames formed by intertwining branches, the land stretched out in the brilliant light. The same land that had always inspired you. How could you bring yourself to be irritated at Totoro for bringing you here?

“You seem remarkably calm,” a chuckle rumbled through Tae’s chest.

“I’m not sure anything else can surprise me now.”

He smiled, turning towards you. In this position, though, you were intimately close, his nose barely an inch from your own once he had twisted to look into your eyes. Inhaling sharply, you gripped the tree trunk harder.

“Why do you think they brought us here?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered, not trusting your voice, “but they wouldn’t hurt us.”

“I know that,” Taehyung nodded, gaze dropping enough for you to deflate again.

Still holding onto each other like it was the most natural thing, you eyed the landscape for a little while longer, allowing quiet to elapse.

But this proximity wasn’t doing you any favours. Though you were sure Tae was oblivious, your heart was beating erratically, unable to forget his presence. All the thoughts that had occupied you lately were flooding in, except this time there was no escape.

Literally.

You were stuck in this tree next to the man who drove you crazy any time he looked your way. The man you were dying to spend time with the moment you woke up each day. The man who accepted you, supported you, reminded you where your true passion lay.

No, you couldn’t take this.

“Hey,” a low voice brushed your earlobe, just moments before a gentle finger found your chin, bringing it up.

You had barely noticed your gaze falling from the view in front of you while you lost yourself in useless circles of thought. Now, you couldn’t look away as shining dark eyes captivated your own.

“What are you thinking about?” Taehyung asked, lips curving upwards.

Licking your lips, you tore your eyes away. This was too much for your poor heart.

“Y/N?” he ducked to catch your eyes, brow creasing.

You were too weak for this boy. As soon as you saw the slight displeasure on his face, you longed to chase it away.

You sighed.

“You…”

Nearly as quiet as the breeze, you half hoped your admission would be carried away. But as you bit your tongue, daring to look up, you knew Tae had heard. His smile grew, though he tilted his head questioningly.

“What about me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you grinned, looking away again. This was too risky. Maybe he would buy the joke and drop it before you made a fool of yourself-

“I was thinking about you too.”

You blinked.

“You were?”

He hummed, not a trace of insincerity in his large eyes as he nodded.

“Well…” you picked subconsciously at your sleeve, “what were you thinking about?”

“Nosy,” he griped, taking a light swipe at your nose with his forefinger.

Succeeding in bringing a smile to your face as you jerked your head away with a laugh, he sighed, shuffling closer indetectably.

“I was wondering… maybe Totoro did this because of you-“ just as you gaped indignantly, he hurried on “-because of us. They put us up here… together.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you nodded, brow furrowing.

“But even if- if that’s not the case…”

Taehyung trailed off, bringing your attention back to him. He wet his lips, sucking his lower one between worrying teeth before meeting your eyes again.

“We’re alone and, well… I was wondering what it would be like to kiss you.”

That knocked all the air out of your lungs. You sucked a shaky breath, then out.

“What it would be like?” you echoed.

He nodded, gulping.

And then something snapped. Unable to stand it anymore, you slid your hand to his jaw, the next moment surging forwards, lips colliding desperately.

His arms tugged you closer instantly, pulling you against him, fingers grasping at your waist hungrily as he titled his head to meet you. And heaven, it felt amazing. His lips were as soft as they looked, leaving you lapping at them with desire as his caressed yours just as dreamily, simultaneously intense with longing pressure and gentle with reverence.

Caving to him completely, you let yourself mould to his embrace. The flowing wind around you, the rustling of the leaves were utterly driven from your mind by the maddening nudge of his tongue, prompting you to deepen the kiss.

But though your fingers still clutched his jaw desperately, you were forced to break the kiss, falling away giddy and breathless.

Tae lifted a hand to your hair as well, stroking it soothingly as he pulled you close again, foreheads touching.

“Well…” you were the first to recover your voice, “I think it would feel something like that.”

A smile burst onto his face, dominating your vision, no doubt a copy of your own ecstatic grin.

Almost immediately, a strong wind ripped through the treetops. Wiping the smile from your face, you gripped tighter to both the tree and to Taehyung.

He looked around.

Following his gaze, sure enough, you were met with two large eyes staring innocently back at you.

A beat consisted of you blinking at one another in silence, before a gasping laugh burst from your mouth. Clapping a hand over it, you met Tae’s eyes, also finding him dissolve into laughter that creased his eyes.

“Looks like you were right,” you chuckled as the warm magic began to lift you once again.

“You were just waiting for us to confess!” Tae cried.

But the wide smile on his face as he pulled you closer mid-flight showed he was far from outraged.

That night saw you tumbling at last into the same bed as Tae again. You didn’t want to leave, and you never had to.

Over time, you moved in, your own things settling among the paintings, brushes and pots that filled Tae’s house. Your house.

Every day you would see the trees, feel the wind through your hair and the sun glowing between the forest branches – the very place where you had finally given into the love binding you.

And you drew. You drew and drew, and designed until you were making a name in your own right. People would ask you about the distinctive round creatures that commonly featured in your designs. Of course, you would always laugh, a familiar sound that you shared with your boyfriend, keeping the unofficial secret between yourselves.

The two of you knew, not only the forest spirits, but the dust bunnies and flurries of wind that snaked through the roof timbers on the coldest nights. And then, you could always be assured of a warm presence beside you, to hold you through the night.

But above all, you got to see that glorious smile every day, never fading from your life.

You could breathe again.

Thank you for reading! If you want more, there is a follow up drabble here. Come chat with me if you enjoyed it!

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