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pars-ley · 3 years

Text

VOID

Pairing: Jackson x female reader ft Yugyeom x female reader

Summary: Jackson ending it with you was supposed to be for the best, but instead it spirals you into a pit of unhappiness and bad luck. What happens when meeting someone new can't compare to what you've already had?

Genre: Angst / break up au / established relationship au / marriage au / fluff

Rating: 16+ (SFW)

Warnings: Heavy Angst / swearing / some depression and depressive thoughts

Word count: 6.1k

A/N: This is for the flight log project with @got7writerscollective the prompt was ‘The Journey’. This is also unedited because as last minute Ley strikes again I didn’t have time. Thank you to everyone from the net who read this and wrote their reactions to this in the channel, you guys made my heart super happy.

Meeting Jackson wasn't planned but it happened.

A shy glance from the table across from you and you knew he was interested. All it took was one smile and he was at your table asking to join you.

Your conversation, free and absorbed and never ending.

The late night dates for dinner or to the movies, with walks in the park watching the sunset fade and the inky sky take over as you stroll in the moonlight hand in hand.

The early morning coffee stops that made you smile as soon as your eyes opened and you wiped the sleep from them. Just knowing you would see his handsome face and be on the mercy of his playful banter.

Every moment you were together felt like home.

Falling for him wasn't your intention but it happened.

The silly things he would do to try and cheer you up when you were sad, even if he made himself look like a fool, he didn't care as long as you smiled.

The long, hot nights of steamy love making that always took your breath away, as he explored your body until he knew it better than you. Prying his name from your lips more than once during those pleasure filled nights. Never tiresome or boring.

The quick lunch dates when he made it to the top of his career, bringing him lunch when you knew he had no time to eat but he still made time for you, no matter how busy he was.

Something had clicked fairly early on and you knew he was the one you wanted to spend your life with.

You fell hard and fast, your feelings never fading in four years, your love and lust for him still in abundance and only growing day by day.

Now suddenly, everything you've built together so solidly, so secure, has come crumbling down in front of you from six words...

"I think we should end this."

They echo like a distant voice concaved in a tunnel of stone desperate to escape, like you are. You struggle to find the end, to see the light, to feel the relief of being out of that darkness.

You feel like your drowning, gasping for air, fighting your way to the surface. But which was it? How can you get there when his words are the ocean, smothering you with its liquid jaws.

"Why?" You squeak out, fighting the tears that desperately fight their way out.

His eyebrows knit together as he watches your face. "Because I cannot give you what you want."

You shake your head, lower lip trembling fiercely. "I can wait, it's ok, I'll wait." You hear the desperation in your voice and the sound makes you sick.

"Baby, I don't know when I'll be ready, I'm finally where I want to be in my career and I've got to work hard, long hours to stay here. There's no place for children. It's not fair to ask you to wait."

"Y-your not asking. I'm t-telling you, I'll wait." You whimper, tears spilling from your eyes.

He sighs and wipes your tears away, his own eyes glassy and bloodshot. "And what if I'm never ready? You have always told me how important being a mother is to you. I will not be the one to take that away from you. I can't. I need to let you go. To let you find someone who can give you the things I can't."

Your tears fall freely now, feeling hot on your cheeks but the trails quickly turning cold in the air. Your body shivers uncontrollably, blood feeling like ice in your veins.

"But I-I don't want anyone else." You argue, the sound is petty, hardly audible.

You're losing, you know it. He's slipping through your fingers no matter how much you try to grasp at him.

"I don't either, but I think this will be better for you in the long run. I don't want to lead you on a road of disappointment because of my selfishness." He plants a long, lingering kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry. I love you."

Before walking away and out of the door.

You crumple, your cheek finding semblance against the cold, hard floor. That's it. He's gone. You're alone.

6 months later…

The letters on the newspaper practically fly out and slap you in the face. The gaping hole he left in your chest when he took your heart with him begins pulsing with fresh agony.

Your emotions rush at you all at once, coming up and escaping from your mouth and into the kitchen sink.

The emptiness of your stomach feeling heavy as a rock, weighing you down, urging you to greet the floor. Your legs wobble under your weight as silent tears fall, leaving clear splashes on the mahogany wood under your feet.

Why is this happening? How?

So many questions, so many thoughts swirl in your mind, deafening you.

You get up from your chair and shuffle weakly back to bed, unable to face anything today.

Your phone rings wildly but you ignore it, the sound growing more distant the more your thoughts and woes consume you. Your friends have probably seen the news, they'll be worrying. Let them.

Climbing under the duvet and hoping to forget the world as your tears fall, staining your pillow, you see the print inked on the back of your eyelids. Everytime you close your eyes, it's there mocking and tormenting you.

"Millionaire CEO Jackson Wang expecting first child with Swedish actress and model, Scarlett Borgsson."

The blanket of sadness you pull over yourself, reminding you how much you still love him. Meaning he's never truly gone and you will never be truly free.

He's moved on. You should too.

But right now all you can envision is his hands on her swollen belly.

A child with his smile and her eyes.

Your chest aches agonizingly beyond belief for one that’s so empty and useless.

For three weeks you stay locked away, ignoring the world, hardly sleeping and then sleeping too much. Hardly eating but then binging late at night, when you eat in an attempt to ignore the screaming inside your head and the pain piercing your ribcage.

You remember real life. Your job, money, bills, friends. And you pull yourself out of the dark void. The thick shadow that clings to you, constantly pulling you back, giving you the easy and very tempting option. But you fight it.

You shower and wash your hair. You attempt to eat normally but food doesn’t interest you, everything has lost its flavour, everything is bland, tasteless and black and white without him.

You sleep during the day and lie awake at night, attempting work on your sculptures, everything you create shows heartbreak, devastation and sadness. But it'll have to do.

A deadline for an exhibition is rapidly approaching and you need to get back to some semblance of normality. To think about something other than him. To be productive and to work.

3 months later…

You stroll around the room, watching as people critique and fathom your artwork, listening to the theories and stories they invent. This is the best part.

No one knows you created these pieces. You can go undiscovered and walk among people, no fake niceties or pleasantries, just honesty.

You feel happiness creeping into you, filling your empty places with a new fulfilment, one you haven't felt in so long.

It's the moment you hear a familiar voice that every part of you freezes.

Any emotion other than dread or heartbreak leaves your body instantly, running away leaving you empty again. Your blood turns to ice in your veins. GET OUT OF HERE! You scream to yourself, willing your feet to move but suddenly, they feel chained to the spot, your body betraying you.

You manage to turn towards your escape, his face entering your view and masking everything else.

Just as handsome, just as perfect as he was when he was yours. Dark hair swept back not a strand out of place, a flawless fitted suit that shows off every muscle and curve of his chiseled body.

You take a step to the doors with the bright red ‘EXIT’ above them but as soon as you move it's almost as if he senses it. His head snapping in your direction following your movement. His eyes lighting up for a moment the way they used to, a small glimmer of hope flares inside you, maybe he still loves you, maybe he realises this has all been a mistake.

Until, a swollen belly makes its way into your eyeline and it all comes crashing down like a thousand shards of glass, as a reminder where you belong. Wounded and bleeding with unreciprocated love.

You finally tear your eyes away from his to look at her. All slim legs and breasts, nipples braless and pointing aggressively at Jackson.

Her small, pregnant stomach is perfect; the envy of every expectant mother. A perfect set of teeth behind full lips smile at all of those around her.

Long blonde hair shimmering, strands reflecting the light as if purposefully trying to blind you.

You’re not good enough to even be looking at her, they tell you.

Something else glinting catches your attention and your eyes immediately travel to her left hand. On her boney ring finger sat a rock the size of a baby's fist, glaring at you, teasing you. Of course. The cherry on top of a fantastic year.

Jackson follows your gaze and when you meet his eyes again he stares at you with wide eyes and a sorrow brow. A hand outreached towards you.

A bitter taste in your mouth at his pity sends your feet pulling you away and out of the room. You’re out of those doors before you know it, cold air whipping at your face but you barely feel it. You’re numb, unable to form the energy to feel and yet feeling everything so deeply, all at once. You want to scream into the night sky. Wondering what it is you’ve done in a past life that was so awful to deserve this.

8 months later…

Meeting yugyeom wasn't planned but it happened.

An aspiring artist featured alongside you in one of your exhibitions. You got along instantly.

The first time in a long time holding a conversation or getting to know someone didn't feel like hard work.

You both ran in the same creators circle, you had a lot in common so naturally you become fast friends.

You weren't sure when it changed for you, when it became something slightly more, but you did know he was the sweetest, purest soul you'd met and you couldn't let him slip through your fingers.

Jackson still ran through your mind constantly of course, using you as his own personal treadmill. His face still haunting your dreams, memories still sneaking up on you when you least expect it.

You'd caught headlines about his baby or wedding but most of the time you avoided everything about him completely. Not wishing to know anything about his life, for fear the pain would return and your chest would open up and become the gaping, black hole it used to be.

Yugyeom deserves your full attention and your whole heart, what was salvaged of it at least.

After he moves in with you it's all late nights cuddling on the sofa, early morning runs through the local park, dinner parties with friends and holidays to new destinations having adventures.

Yugyeom being with you means having your best friend around. He makes you feel safe and comforted, the wall of heat when you get home after a long day out in the cold. The blanket around you when watching your favourite movie. The bubbles that surround you in the bathtub when having a relaxing soak. He is your solace.

"Marry me." He whispers in your ear with his arms wrapped around your stomach.

You freeze, stirring the vegetables in the pan no longer matters once you hear those words.

A million thoughts race through your mind, one jumps out.

I thought it would be Jackson saying those words to me.

You catch it and toss it out the open window allowing it to be carried in the breeze. Jackson is married and has a child, he is gone.

Yugyeom stands behind you, cradling you and offers you his heart on a silver platter with all the trinkets.

No matter what expectation you had for your life before, you're on a new path now. A path that deserves a chance.

You turn in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck and bringing your lips to his, dancing in a mellow kiss.

"Is that a yes?" His mouth smiles against you, hands either side of your face, tucking hair behind your ears.

"Yes."

He beams at you, pulling a ring box out of his pocket and presenting it to you.

A large, gaudy diamond wrapped in a thin, gold band. None of your jewellery is gold, in fact, you detest it but this man has given you his heart, the least you can do is wear the ring he's bought.

He slides it on your finger. Looking down at your hand, you don't recognise it, it looks alien like it belongs to someone else. But you smile and kiss him until you're a tangled mess on the kitchen floor, dinner long burnt and forgotten.

9 months later…

You stand central to everyone, rows of packed seating behind you, eyes focused just on the two of you as you both recite your vows.

Looking around at the decorations you never would have picked, it's far too showy and glitzy for your taste but Yugyeom's mother had insisted, including what type of dress you should wear.

Not wanting to start a new life with atmosphere and anger, you opt with keeping your mouth shut and hoping for a quiet life.

She practically planned it all, even told you who your bridesmaids would be.

You sat there watching everyone around you move at a different speed, as if you were stuck in syrup and unable to catch up.

All you could do is watch, watch as your wedding and life was planned for you.

An alarm bell sounded in your head, screaming at you 'it's not right' but Yugyeom would come into view and give you a smile that would cloud all your fears and ease your worry.

Now the second alarm bell sounds as you stand here, on your wedding day, in a dress you hate, with Jackson's sweet smiling face staring back at you instead.

Somehow having replaced Yugyeom.

You look around frantically but no one else seems bothered by the silent exchange. Panic seizes your heart. This should not be what you're thinking of on this day. You blink furiously, shoving him out of your mind, willing him to disappear.

Yugyeom's face returns and you breathe a sigh of relief.

***

The ceremony is over. Husband and wife.

You greet everyone with their grins and cheers, finding yourself smiling with too much teeth, too much enthusiasm you don't feel inside.

Shouldn't you feel happier than this? You finally have a husband. You're finally somebody's wife. Why don't you have that instant feeling of completion? You should be jumping for joy right now. Instead you feel...normal, like you do on any other day. Maybe it just hasn't set in yet, maybe you just need a few days. So you wait. And wait. And wait.

That feeling doesn't come, not after your honeymoon in which you became restless, quickly realizing there is nothing else to do apart from lay on a beach and have sex.

Your busy mind grows louder, screaming at you, but you ignore it and swallow it down into the pit where it belongs.

Upon returning from your week in the sun, you settle quickly into a mundane routine together. Easy, calm and comforting. Some might say boring, some might even say mind numbingly dull.

But you continue on day to day…

"I want one." He says nodding towards the screen.

"What? A new tv?"

He laughs and points. "No, a baby."

You look up at the advert for nappies, a baby grinning with two little teeth protruding from his gum, big cheeks and a bald head.

Your heart stops, stutters then slams into your ribcage repeatedly. A baby. That's all you've wanted, a little version of yourself. A little bundle of joy to love unconditionally.

But is now the right time?

"Are you sure you don't want to wait a little while?"

"Wait for what? We're married, why waste time?" He clings to your hands enveloped in his.

He makes a good point. What are you waiting for?

You've already wasted enough time being with Jackson, hoping one day he'd be having this exact conversation with you.

Then spending your days after him wallowing in heartbreak and self pity.

You have the opportunity to live out your dreams with someone giving you the chance to, literally holding his hand out ready for you to take and walk the path with.

"Let's do it." You nod.

1 year later…

Your period is a week late.

You have been regular as clockwork since the day you started trying for a baby. Every month, the disappointment is undeniable when you see the crimson shade in your underwear. And every month you have to will yourself not to give up, to keep trying. Another month of ovulating tests, scheduled sex on precise days and times and legs in the air after, an attempt to help mother nature as much as you can.

Needless to say the excitement radiates off you in waves.

You rush home from work, pregnancy test in your bag, hardly able to contain yourself.

Yugyeom at the door, as excited as you, waiting and ready.

"Are you going to do it now?" He asks following your every footstep to the bathroom.

"Yes."

You shut the door and open the package, reading the instructions carefully. You'd drunk about a litre of water on the way home, your legs clenched together to stop you wetting yourself.

You sit down on the toilet and take a deep breath.

Once it's done you open the door for Yugyeom. Both of you sitting on the tiled floor staring up at the bright white stick resting on the sink. Gazing up at it like it holds all your answers, like suddenly life would make sense seeing those two red lines.

You've never realised how long two minutes is, you wring your hands nervously in your lap until he cups them in his, squeezing you reassuringly.

Your alarm goes off on your phone signalling the end of waiting and your heart pounds frantically in your chest.

He leans over and grabs the test.

"You ready?" He asks.

You take a breath and nod. Ready to see those two red lines. Ready to call your doctors and set up your appointments and scans. Ready to make a list of baby names and shop for all the necessities.

One line. Yugyeom shows you the test, with its mocking one line and your smile drops, so does your stomach. How? How could this be negative?

"Wait a minute, it says on here 'for the most accurate result use the first urine sample of the day as there will be a higher concentration of hCG.'" He looks over at you, a hesitant, optimistic smile plays across his mouth.

Yes. That's true. You cling onto that with every fibre of your being and agree to do the other test first thing in the morning.

***

As soon as your eyes open your mind is there, on that test in the bathroom. You climb enthusiastically out of bed, all traces of drowsiness vanish, as you tiptoe quietly to the bathroom.

If you do the test, then while you wait you can wake Yugyeom and you can both look at it together.

You quietly close the door and prepare the test, your fingers fumbling with excitement as you tear open the packet.

As you pull your underwear down, stick poised and ready, red catches your eye in your otherwise white bathroom. You look down, only to be greeted with your monthly agony, here to haunt you once more.

The test falls to the floor. It's useless now anyway. You're not pregnant, never was and likely never will be.

You let your head fall into your hands and let your misery wash over you. Tears stream down your face as dismay feels like it infects your soul with a never ending sadness.

A heavy cloud smothers you in a blanket of sorrow, choking the air from your lungs...you have no idea how long you stay in that bathroom before Yugyeom finds you. But you feel no better when he does and cradles you in his arms.

5 months later...

"When are you going to admit to yourself that it's not me you want?" His voice sounds into the silence and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The weekly fights he starts are almost timed like clockwork.

"What are you talking about?" You reply, continuing to type your ideas for your new art show.

"I've seen the way you look at Mark when you're working on your art pieces." He spits, slamming his drink down on the table.

This catches your attention. You close your laptop and swing your feet off the couch, heading over to the cupboard to pour yourself a Gin.

If you were going down this path, you needed a drink.

"Mark at the gallery?"

"Yes 'Mark at the gallery.'" He mocks you and you fight the urge to laugh.

"Dear, Mark is gay. I can assure you I look at him the same way I do all my other colleagues." You take a sip of your drink, eyes fixed on him.

He frowns for a moment then waves a hand in the air dismissing your statement. "I don't care about Mark."

"Then what do you care about Yugyeom, aside from starting fights with me?"

He stands abruptly from his seat, the wooden chair legs screeching across your wooden flooring making you wince.

"Do you ever ask yourself why I start these fights?" He shouts, a vein bulging in his neck.

"You start them because you like to get drunk on Friday's, and when you get drunk, you get mean." You say matter-of-factly, recalling all of the horrible things he's said to you lately, things you never thought could have come from his sweet mouth, things you won't forget.

His eyes pop in surprise as he's taken aback by your answer. "N-no," he sighs, returning to his chair, suddenly looking drunker than he seems. "I start fights because it feels like the only time I have your attention lately."

Guilt pangs inside you, pulling at your chest. You take a seat next to him and place your hand gently on top of his, the action feeling alien nowadays.

"I've had a hard time since we stopped trying for a baby." You admit.

"I never wanted to stop in the first place!" He yells, snatching his hand from yours. "That was your choice and you made it alone!"

"Because I can't keep putting myself through it! Can't you understand that?" You snap back, finally being open about your feelings, knowing it will only fall on deaf ears.

"I want children!"

"And you think I don't? I can't handle this pressure you put on me! You know my ovulation schedule more than I do."

"Because you never want to have sex anymore!"

"Because you've taken the fun out of it, it feels like a fucking chore! I'm not here for you to enter at your leisure to deposit your seed. What happened to spontaneity, romance, foreplay for god's sake? You're like a man possessed!" Your hands grip around the glass to stop them from trembling with anger. Finally being able to release the words that have been pent up inside you for the last five months.

Without a word he stands and walks to the front door, snatching his jacket up along the way. "I understand Jackson more now."

Hearing Yugyeom say his name, you freeze.

"Maybe he just knew you couldn't give him what he wanted." He says, looking over at you with watery, hate filled eyes before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

Your glass follows in an instant, smashing against the closed door, clear liquid and glass decorating the entrance to your apartment. Maybe you'll leave it there for him to step on when he comes home even drunker later.

An angry tear escapes as you sit here feeling trapped in your own home, wanting to be anywhere but here, anywhere but have to deal with your husband anymore tonight.

The word 'husband' feels foreign in your mind and on your tongue.

Nothing has felt right for the better part of eight months. You hardly talk to each other and when you do it's mostly fights and angry words spat or slurred in the other's direction. This is no way to live.

What you had given him of your damaged, used heart has slowly come back to you. With every alarm bell you hear ringing, every hurtful word sprayed in your direction, your heart has winced its way back to you. Putting up its own defense, from every barb that's thrown your way is turned into a wire fence, wrapping it in a sharp, pointed cage of protection.

***

Yugyeom doesn't show his face until the next afternoon, coming home looking rather sheepish.

"We need to talk." He says quietly.

The four words everyone dreads to hear.

You know what's coming, you've felt it for a while, it still doesn't ease the pain in your chest as you listen to his every word.

As you both apologise for your part in the break down of your short marriage, admitting maybe it was rushed from the start and accepting the fact that maybe you're not right for each other.

Two hours later and countless tears from the two of you, you both decide to call it a day. Even though you care deeply for each other, it's time to admit defeat. You have tried and given it your best shot.

"The worst part about this…" you say, wiping at your constant stream of tears. "I feel like i'm losing my best friend."

He pulls you into a tight, warm embrace, "hey, you are not losing me, I will always be here for you. We'll still see each other plenty at work events too. You can't get rid of me that easily."

You laugh, feeling thankful that you met him and thankful that you gave him a part of yourself, you had meant every word of your vows when you said them and you too would always be here for him. He'll always have a part of your heart to take with him, not that there's much left for yourself now.

2 months later….

A cup of morning coffee and reading the Sunday paper has become a routine you rather enjoy. You relax with your feet up on the dining table, crossed ankles.

You flick through anything that doesn't interest you, when a name catches your eye, drawing you to the headline.

"Jackson Wang scandal: Millionaire files for divorce from Scarlett Borgsson."

Your eyes pop. Scandal? What scandal?

You grab your phone and type his name into your search engine. You click on the first link and skim through.

"Model Scarlett Borgsson reportedly had an affair early on in the couple's relationship. An insider reveals she is now demanding a DNA test for their two year old little boy."

Your stomach drops as you click the next link.

"Jackson Wang revealed not to be Father of Scarlett Borgsson's son."

You read through story after story saying the same thing. How had you missed this?

You pick up your phone and dial the number to his office without even thinking.

You can't imagine how he feels right now, all you want to do is reach out and let him know he has someone he can talk to.

When the receptionist's voice sounds in your ear, you now doubt if he'd want that person to be you. You lose your nerve and hang up.

Your heart aches for him. Maybe it shouldn't but it does. No matter what he's done or how he's upset you, he does not deserve this.

You feel severe hate for that woman, thinking back to the last time you saw them both in the flesh.

The way she smiled arrogantly at everyone, as if they should all bend to her will with a flick of her hair or a swish of her hips.

Your stomach churns.

For the next few nights, your thoughts are consumed of Jackson as you toss and turn restlessly in bed. Maybe you'll gather the courage to speak to him…maybe not.

7 months later…

"You look good." Yugyeom says as you smooth down your pale blue dress.

"Thank you, so do you." You smile at him, looking at his impeccably tailored suit.

"It's nice to see you."

"Yes, it's been a while." You agree.

You do the usual catch up chit-chat until it dies down, he even introduces you to his date who seems like a very sweet and pleasant lady.

The newly wed couple enter the hall and cheers erupt all around, echoes bouncing off the wall. You cannot stop the grin that stretches across your face as you watch them take the centre of the floor for their first dance.

You'd known Jasmine since you were children, you'd always been inseparable. Your mothers were best friends growing up so naturally you spent a lot of time together.

Seeing her in the intricate, elegant wedding gown smiling up at her groom, elation in her eyes makes your heart smile. The joy you feel for her is stronger than most happiness you've felt for yourself.

Watching the sheer adoration in Jinyoung's eyes warms the deepest, darkest pit of your heart. They are so right for each other it's sickening.

You wonder briefly if you ever looked at Yugyeom like that and can collectively say 'no'. You two are the perfect example of two people almost forcing yourselves to be more than friends. You wouldn't change the time with him and you definitely learnt a lot from your marriage.

Jinyoung twirls her before bringing her back in close. You know him through Jackson, they had met at uni and become fast friends. As far as you were aware they remain that way.

But you haven't seen him here, not that you were hopeful he'd come.

The evening continues on, through dinner, speeches and finally opens up to the party.

The loud music pounds through you, realising you've had a little too much to drink you decide to step outside on the balcony and get some fresh air.

The gentle breeze skates across your skin leaving a delicate trail of goosebumps across your skin.

A jacket drapes your shoulders, an all too familiar scent intoxicating your senses, as your head snaps to the side to see him.

Jackson.

All this time you've thought about him and pictured him, your memory had not done him justice. He looks flawless, his hair swept back perfectly as usual, his smooth skin and unguarded eyes welcoming you. His soft lips stretch into a hesitant smile.

"I was hoping I'd see you."

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest making you feel light headed suddenly, although you don't show it. You take a breath and compose yourself.

"I wasn't sure if you'd come." You reply.

He takes his position next to you, shoulder brushing lightly against yours. How this man can still feel like home to you after all these years is mind boggling.

"I almost didn't. But Jinyoung told me you would be here as a bridesmaid and I couldn't stay away."

Your stomach flips dramatically at his words, large butterflies caged and desperate to escape.

"I'm sorry about your marriage." You say quickly.

He shrugs. "Thank you but I'm not."

You turn, raising a questioning eyebrow to him.

"She was not the person for me, let's put it that way."

"Why did you marry her then? 10 months after telling me that's not what you wanted." You jibe. You couldn't help it, anger threatening in the pit of your stomach at your same old reaction to him.

He sighs, hanging his head and rubbing his eyes. He looks tired, you hadn't noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

"I know, I know. That wasn't my plan. I meant what I said to you that day, every word." He looks behind you. "Can we sit?"

You follow his eyes to the ornate metal table and two chairs and nod.

Taking your seat with his jacket still draped around your shoulders stare out at the sunset, pinks and oranges streaming across the sky. When you look back at Jackson he's already watching you, his eyes soft but pained.

"I'm so sorry. For everything."

He means it, that much you can tell.

"It's in the past now."

"But I don't want it to be." He reaches across for your hands, holding them so tight his knuckles start going white. "There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I haven't thought about you, that I haven't obsessed about that moment I let you go. I'd give anything to change it you know, anything, but I can't. I truly wanted you to find happiness and I thought I was doing the right thing by you, giving you a chance without me holding you back."

You laugh, the sound almost bitter. "And yet, happiness still eludes me."

His eyebrows knit together in sorrow. "When I met my ex wife, it was a casual thing, nothing more. When she told me she was pregnant my world changed overnight. I didn't know what to do. All I could think about was you. It was supposed to be you having my babies one day, not this woman. I wanted to run to you then but how would you ever want me?"

He brings your hands up to his face and rubs his cheek along your fingers.

"My mother pressured me into marrying her, told me how it would look for someone in my position, said I'd lose everything. So I proposed, the words tasted like ash in my mouth but it was done. Then when I saw you at your art show, I almost came over and ended it all right then and there. But when I saw the tears in your eyes I couldn't bear the thought I'd done that to you. I felt so ashamed and I knew it was over."

You want to comfort him, to reach out and cup his cheek but you resist, letting him finish what he's so desperate to say.

"Then I heard you got married and I was happy for you, truly, I thought maybe I had done the right thing by you after all. Then all this shit came out about the affair and everything collapsed around me. All I wanted was to talk to you, like we used to, those late night talks where we would really open up. God, I craved that."

You squeeze his hand and he straightens a little, seeming a bit less dejected.

"When Jinyoung told me you'd gotten a divorce I was shocked and felt responsible somehow. He seems like a good guy by the way, he gave me one hell of a lecture about not hurting you as soon as I walked in."

You laugh and look through the double doors to see Yugyeom watching the two of you intently as he moves side to side on the dance floor with his date.

"He is a good man. Just not the right one for me."

The hope in Jackson's eyes could not be more obvious.

"I have to ask you something." He says leaning forward on the table, the action creaking the old iron underneath the weight on his elbows. "Could we start again? I know I don't deserve your forgiveness but I would like to try and earn it."

Mulling it over in your mind, you feel yourself nodding before your thoughts are even processed. But the resulting smile that lights up his face has you knowing your decision is not a mistake.

He leans in and strokes your face. "It's always been you."

Those words reiterating how you feel are like music to your soul. You feel at ease for the first time in a long time, your broken pieces mending and your heart more hopeful than it has been in a long time.

#got7writerscollective #flightlogproject #GOT7 fanfiction #got7 fanfic #got7 #jackson wang #got7 jackson wang #jackson #got7 jackson #got7 jackson fanfic #got7 jackson fanfiction #jackson angst #got7 angst #got7 yugyeom #yugyeom

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sellyoursoulforagoodfic · 3 years

Text

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 8

Thomas X Reader

3744

Summary: Tensions grow between Grace and Reader when Grace is informed one of her co-workers is dead. Reader meets Ada.

by @adventuresintooblivion

Grace was due for a rendezvous yesterday, but she hadn’t a moment of free time until the Garrison Pub closed its doors two hours after it was supposed to. She had called into the station, but no one answered, which led to her practically sprinting to the nearest cabby who might take her to see Inspector Campbell.

After an all too expensive ride, Grace strode into Inspector Campbell’s office, clutching her purse between herself and the world. At first he didn’t even look up from his papers. It wasn’t until Grace cleared her throat that he spoke.

“You’re late.” He slowly looked up. Something about his posture had changed since last Grace saw him. While before he had stood tall and proper, now he held a tension in his movements.

Grace glanced down. “The Pub kept me working late yesterday. Everything was closed by the time I was free to contact you.”

Inspector Campbell grumbled, “You could’ve come over.”

She raised her eyebrow. “To your house Sir? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Not to mention wildly inappropriate?

The Inspector ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But your father would want me to look after you, so I can’t have you missing deadlines like this.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why didn’t you send anyone now?”

It was his turn to break eye contact. “Something has happened. I’m not sure how big it is, so I didn’t want to endanger your cover just in case.”

“What happened?”

He grimaced, “We questioned that girl you gave us a picture of. We’d been keeping an eye on her, but when she contacted Thomas and stuck around we thought he might be trying to fence the guns through her.”

Grace felt blood rushing in her ears as the world dropped from underneath her. “W...Who did she turn out to be?”

Inspector Campbell shrugged, “Y/F/N. She was an old war buddy of his. Worked in his company as what they called a Runner. Distracted the Germans while they dug.”

“She joined the army and fought?”

The Inspector nodded but didn’t elaborate. He started shuffling through papers until finally he held one out for Grace. When she took it there was a list of names with Y/N’s picture next to it. Each name had a different occupation listed next to it along with locations.

Grace frowned, “Is this all her?”

He shrugged, “Supposedly, though she’s never done jail time for anything. I’m half convinced most of these she just made for fun.”

“So how did you get her to come in? I didn’t think she’d be the type to offer up information for free.” Grace folded the paper and tucked it away in her purse.

Inspector Campbell’s features darkened. “Oh, it wasn’t free. She gave us no choice, we had to corner her. When she tried to escape, she killed Matthew.”

She froze, “Matthew’s dead?”

He nodded. “The funeral is this weekend. Due to your current assignment, I can’t allow you to attend, but we are all pitching in to help his wife and son. At least until she can figure something out.”

Grace nodded and practically threw what little cash she had on hand at him. She’d always liked Matthew. They’d bonded during the late hours working to neutralize the IRA. When Inspector Campbell had offered to take them both to Birmingham, Grace had even helped him pack up his whole family. Now he was gone.

Something about the situation didn’t all she could think about was her friend’s tired smile. “Please tell me you at least got something.”

He paused for too long but Grace was desperate for an answer, “We have a possible location.”

She nodded. It was all she needed to keep going, to not run out of here right now and give Y/N a sound lashing.

〜

The next day Grace wiped her hands on her apron, her foul mood having settled in to stay. Her mind kept wandering back to images of Matthew. While Inspector Campbell hadn’t gone into details about his death, her imagination provided plenty of gory details for her to mull over.

She knew Y/N was upstairs. Hell, the topic of last night’s search party was all she heard about all day. Details were fuzzy at best but from what she could gather Tommy had roused half the Peaky Blinders in the late hours of the night to track her down.

Grace tried to strike up conversation multiple times with her patrons, but they were all dead on their feet. Several of them went so far as to nap next to the pints they’d been nursing moments before. Even Harry’s stern glares weren’t enough to keep them awake.

Yet Grace was determined. If she couldn’t get information from them, she’d get it from Thomas when he returned.

〜

It was late afternoon by the time Y/N awoke. For the first few moments she lay there perfectly still and enjoyed her last couple minutes of peace. Then she shifted and it was all over. Her muscles spasmed, causing her to lose her breath for the briefest moment.

“Well, damn, I was wondering when you’d join us.” Nearby a woman sat with a book splayed open on her lap.

Y/N slowly sat up, her arms shaky beneath her.

The woman stood suddenly. "Hey now, don't you think about getting up alright? Tommy gave me strict orders to keep you off your feet."

Y/N chuckled, "Thank you for the attention, Miss…?"

She waved away Y/N's feeble attempts to dismiss her, "The name is Ada Shelby."

A smile spread across Y/N's lips. "So you're Ada? I was wondering when I'd get to meet you."

She nodded proudly, "The one and only. Now listen here, missy. You'll not get out of this bed until you're healthy again. You hear me?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Y/N tried to hide her growing smile.

Ada ruffled Y/N's hair. "Don't be cheeky with me. You're the one that got caught by a copper of all things. Now, what would you like to do today?"

Y/N shrugged. "Just grab me a couple books and I'll be fine. If you need to go do something I don't need to be babysat."

"Well, while that might be the case I'm not supposed to really be out and about either." Ada fidgeted with the ties on her dress.

Y/N raised her eyebrow. "I'd ask how come, but it doesn't look like you're comfortable sharing."

"I know I can trust you, otherwise you wouldn't be living above the Garrison right now. No it's just… I haven't said it aloud yet. Not to anyone except Aunt Pol."

Y/N shrugged, "I mean, I'm not really sure where I stand. So really, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Ada sat back, drawing her shawl closer around herself. After a moment Y/N noticed it was the same as Pol's just a different color. Wonder which one of them knits.

Then Ada spoke so softly Y/N almost missed it, "I'm pregnant."

The words hung in the air allowing their weight to settle as the implications slowly became clear.

Y/N bit her lip, "And you've only told Pol. Yikes."

She glanced down, "Yeah, he's missing too. Do you think.. He’ll come back?"

"I'm not exactly the expert on that. “Y/N paused for a moment. “But I did also come back from the dead. That’s a weird case though, so I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask."

Ada smiled sadly at her. "You really came back for Tommy?"

Y/N blushed, "Don't say it too loudly. You're gonna make me sound like even more of an idiot."

She burst out laughing, the color returning to her cheeks. "Come on, let's get you some breakfast."

"I didn't get a chance to buy any groceries yet." Y/N bit her lip.

Ada bounced back up excitedly. "Don't you worry about that. I stopped by the market on the way here."

"I hope you're not hurting for money then, because I have absolutely no way to pay you back right now." Y/N felt a pit forming in her stomach. Or pay rent for that matter.

Ada turned towards the kitchenette, the room so small Y/N caught herself checking to make sure the blankets wouldn't get caught underfoot. She rifled through cupboards and moments later the smell of food filled the space between them.

Ada finally answered, "Don't worry about paying for anything, Y/N. Tommy would lose his head if anyone asked you for a dime."

Y/N shifted around until she was sitting at the foot of the bed, closer to Ada. "Yes, making a deal with the Devil is the perfect way to never worry about anything ever again."

Ada threateningly waved a wooden spoon at her, "You calling my brother the Devil? Cause you'd be right."

They burst into laughter, an easy chatter formed between them. Ada remained for a large part of the day. Eventually the sun began to set and the two women were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Thomas waited barely a moment before slowly poking his head in. “I hope everyone here is decent.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “It’s not gonna be the time you’ve seen me in my underwear, Thomas.”

Ada cast her a somewhat scandalized look but was quickly distracted by Thomas’ soft chuckle. “Yet you looked manlier than most the men you were changing next to.”

Y/N gasped dramatically as she clutched at her heart. Thomas’ chuckle rose into a full on laughter.

“What kind of sorcery is this? I haven’t seen you smile like that since you found out John tried to stick it in the wrong hole his first time.”

“John did what?” Y/N’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

Ada glanced between the two shrugging, “He said his reasoning was that ‘that’s how animals did it.’”

Thomas shook his head. “I still can’t fucking believe-”

Laughter filled the room, however the mood was dampened quickly as Y/N groaned. Thomas rushed forward, kneeling beside the bed while Ada stood nearby frozen as they waited.

Finally, after catching her breath, Y/N grimaced, “Oh stop your fussing. A good laugh is worth a few loose ribs.”

“You’re supposed to be healing,” Thomas growled.

She dismissed his concern with a small wave, “If I spend all my time healing I won’t have any left for living. Stop worrying so much about me Shelby, I’ll be fine.”

He shook his head before turning towards Ada, “Would you mind giving us some privacy? I have to talk to Y/N about a couple things.”

Ada huffed, but soon her steps could be heard receding down the stairs.

Thomas slowly turned back to Y/N. “How are you holding up?”

Y/N shrugged, glancing out the window into the abyss. When did it get so dark?

He took her hand in his, so gently she almost didn’t recognize his touch. “Y/N, don’t spare me the details. I can’t do my job if you don’t tell me how bad it is.”

“What exactly is your job when it comes to me?” Her voice was the barest whisper.

There was a long pause as the answer hung in the air, the one they needed to be said before either of them could move on. It was their last chance to escape from each other; if he pushed her away now, she would leave. Disappear. Once again becoming the ghost of his past.

Thomas bowed his head, pressing his lips to the back of her hand. “I’m going to look after you.”

Only the slightest tremor in her voice betrayed her, “You don’t owe me that, Thomas.”

“Not everything is about payment, Y/N?”

She raised her eyebrow. “Is this the same Birmingham that I left five years ago?”

He released an amused hum from somewhere deep in his throat, finally looking up at her. The dark circles had etched themselves deeper beneath his eyes. A tightness around the corners reminded Y/N of the darkest days in the trenches. Instinctively she reached up to cup his cheek and brush the worry away with her thumb.

“Rough day, Tommy?”

It was as if the whole room released a deep sigh, “It always is.”

Y/N gestured to the chair Ada had been using, “Wanna talk about it?”

Thomas ignored the chair and sat at the foot of her bed, his hip pressed against her leg and his elbows resting on his knees. Old habits die hard, don’t they?

He gathered his thoughts, but soon he was catching her up on a myriad of events. About the horse and the unfortunate turn of events that had taken place. The guns. Thomas’ meeting with Inspector Campbell and how close he had come to throttling the man. Danny’s head being payment for the death of a man he’d caused during an episode of shell shock.

For the most part Y/N listened, offering advice where it seemed to fit, until he brought up Danny, “They want you to kill him with witnesses?”

He nodded. “I’ve already taken care of that. A casing full of sheep brains.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the smile that played across her lips. “This is why I love you. So do you have a good hiding place for the guns or are they still at the docks?”

Thomas’s mind went blank, then suddenly every thought he’d ever had felt like it was clashing together as he registered what Y/N had just said. His heart was pounding in his ears. The room was too hot and not warm enough all at once. It took every ounce of control he had left to control his breathing enough to speak.

“W...what did you just say?”

“Hmmm? I was asking if you had a good hiding spot for the guns yet.”

“No...Um, before that.”

Y/N furrowed her brow, “I was asking if they demanded witnesses.”

Thomas finally let himself look at her. There was no indication that she was messing with him. No tell tale smirk or signature twinkle in her eye. She just sat there confused on why he was asking her to repeat herself. He ran his fingers through his hair.

His voice was gruff when he finally answered, “No, I don’t have a place picked out for the guns yet.” He honestly already had several ideas, but he couldn’t conjure up a single one right now.

Y/N glanced around the room thinking for a moment. “Why don’t you put them in Danny’s grave?”

“He’s not actually dead. I thought I made that clear.”

“Yeah, but if he was dead you’d dig him a grave come hell or high water. So you’ll have to dig him one anyways so that no one gets suspicious. Plus, this won’t be related to any other contraband that the Peaky Blinders deal with so if someone snitches on you, it won’t be there.”

Thomas blinked slowly before he nodded. “That is actually quite brilliant. I’m a little disappointed I didn’t come up with that myself.”

Y/N shrugged, “One of my many random skills, hiding things.”

Thomas wasn’t exactly sure what to say about that, but he had one last thing to tell her. After her slip-up in the previous moment, the words felt like poison on his lips. “I’ve also asked Grace to the races.”

“Did you just need her for a plus one?” Y/N raised her eyebrow.

Just say yes.

“No, Billy Kimber owns the race tracks, and we’re expanding. Making legal money and all that.” He pressed his lips against his clasped hands, wishing he didn’t have to answer what came next.

Y/N frowned, confused. “And what does this have to do with Grace?”

Thomas sighed. “Mr. Kimber is known to enjoy sampling the pleasures of women. She asked to work for me, so I plan on offering her up to him as part of the bargain.”

“Did you ask her if she was ok with that?”

“No.”

She smacked his shoulder, a sharp sting exploding from his arm. “Tommy!”

“Hey, don’t hit me, Ms. Cracked Ribs.”

She shook her finger threateningly at him. “It’s Ms. Broken Ribs to you, and I’ll smack you as much as I damn well please. You can’t just go offering up a girl’s dignity like that.”

Thomas turned and grabbed her hands in his, preventing any further retaliation. “She asked to work for me, Y/N.”

Y/N growled, “She’s not from the underbelly of Birmingham. Or any other city for that matter. You can tell from a god damned mile away. Shit like this ruins women.”

He paused. “You may be right, but I don’t have anything else he wants.”

She let out a deep sigh. “What were you gonna offer him?”

He told her, and she nodded. They sat in silence for a while as they mulled over what to do about all this. At the end of the day they both knew if he brought Grace she would end up having to go with Kimber sooner or later. He expected it to say the least. And it wasn’t just Grace, any woman Thomas brought would be offered up as a bargaining chip.

Finally Y/N spoke, “She may have to go with him, but she doesn’t have to stay with him.”

“And break the deal?”

She shook her head, “Save Kimber. Like tell him she has something.”

He smirked at her. “So much for preserving dignity.”

Y/N shrugged. “At least she won’t have to sleep with him.”

Thomas glanced away, “Yeah.”

Y/N glanced down. Her hands were still in his, though his grip had loosened into something more casual. A small thrill went through her as she realized how much smaller her hands were compared to his.

She stammered as she spoke, “It’s getting late.”

Thomas took a deep breath broken out of his thoughts. “Yeah it is. I’ll head out and give you some peace. If you need anything, come get me.” He stood, letting Y/N’s hands slip from his grasp.

The air was cool on her skin compared to his touch. She found herself following him with her gaze.“Come get you? I thought you lived at the Shelby house?” she asked.

He paused. “I’m going to be staying in the room next door for a while, until you’re better at least.” And with that he was gone.

〜

Y/N awoke in the late hours of the night. Darkness had escaped it’s daily chains, exploded from every nook and cranny and coated the room in a thick film. It took her a moment to shake off the disorientation before she remembered where she was.

Then she heard what had woken her. Through the wall she heard a cry. She couldn’t tell at first what it was for, but then it came again. Thomas.

She stood slowly, pain shooting up her back with every step as she shuffled out of her room and down the hallway. When she finally reached the rickety door she pressed her ear against it.

“NO...Freddie!”

That was enough. Y/N pounded on the door. On a normal day with the noise of people, it would’ve been deep and resounding. But now it was so deafening she caught herself wincing as she hit the wood.

A bewildered voice answered, “Wha..Who’s there?”

“Thomas it’s me. Open up.”

A shuffling sound and rattle later the door opened slowly. Thomas blinked at her blearily with bloodshot eyes. Y/N waited patiently for him to come back to reality just enough.

He asked groggily, “Is everything ok?”

“You’re having nightmares.”

Thomas stiffened, glancing around as if the whole world might be listening. He was about to answer when Y/N stepped forward, gently placing her hand on his chest.

His skin was hot and damp, the sweat having left a small layer that made him glisten in the barest of light. The air inside the room was hot as it poured through the crack in the door, trying to escape.

He placed his hand over hers. “What’re you doing?”

She looked up at him, somehow finding his eyes in the darkness. “Let me in.”

“She says at the entrance of the Devil’s den.” A soft rumble rolled from deep within his chest, a sleepy laugh.

“If you think I’m not a devil myself then I really need to jog your memory.”

“Y/N.”

Every ounce of fight in him suddenly dissolved away. After so many years of nightmares. After so long in the darkness. After watching her die a thousand times in his dreams. He had no will left to say ‘No’.

Y/N pushed her way inside, careful not to bump into anything that could make her fall. The room was much smaller than hers, and the window wasn’t open even the slightest, accounting for the heat.

As she walked inside she let her hand fall from his chest to intertwine with his fingers. Thomas let her lead him back towards the bed. It was actually smaller than the one she had in the other room, but that didn’t stop her from laying down and pressing her back against the wall.

She waved for him to join her, “Come on, Thomas. Before the room becomes freezing again.”

His brows furrowed as he tried to process what was going on. “I don’t think this will help your ribs heal.”

“Just shut up and get in here.”

He crawled in slowly, careful not to jostle her. Thomas paused before laying his head down. Y/N finally got tired of waiting and slid back onto the bed proper and maneuvered him until his head rested on her stomach.

Her fingers ran through his hair as he mumbled, “This isn’t hurting you?”

“The broken ones are higher up. And while I’m pretty sure any doctor would be shitting themselves right now, I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” he protested.

“Hush now, and get some sleep.”

After a few moments he chuckled, “My feet are hanging off the edge a bit.”

She hummed as sleep reclaimed her, “We’ll just have to sleep in mine tomorrow.”

“The scandal.”

“Damn right.”

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #reader insert

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hobidreams · 5 years

Text

The Early Shift | Second Taste {M}

determined to find the truth, you pay yoongi a visit at his apartment and get more than what you bargained for.

pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst (well, more like anger) words: 7k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, lots of banter & sarcasm, face f*cking aka oral (m), dirty talk, yoongi continues to be an ass index: first sip - second taste - last cup

“Hmm. I think we should give Yoongi a call.” This is what Sooah suggests, fifteen minutes before the end of your shift. Her full lips are downturned as she cocks a hand beneath her chin, bats you those doe eyes.

The glorious freedom you were fantasizing about disappears in an instant. “Why?”

“Maybe he got into some trouble and needs help.”

You decide she’s much nicer than you. “Or maybe, hear me out, just maybe, he’s decided to skip work today and continue being the inconsiderate jerk he is.” You have no such patience for him, but that might be because you still remember the heat of his lips nipping at yours. Or maybe it’s because the marks he left on your thighs still remain in faint traces of dark pink.

“Hmm.” Sooah doesn’t look convinced. “Still, just in case. We have his number already. It’ll just take a minute.”

You let your nails sink into your palm. “Fine. I guess there’s a .0001% chance that something actually tragic is happening.” You make for the shop’s landline, where all the employees’ numbers are saved. You fully intend on handing Sooah the phone. But when you whirl back, she’s busy taking an order, with another customer in line behind the current. “Fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll do it.” You hit the call button.

There are a few long rings, by the end of which you’re certain that voicemail will pick up. You tune out, listening instead to the bop released a few months ago that Sooah insists on playing at least three times an hour over the speakers. Your foot absently taps along to the catchy beat.

Click. There’s some fumbling, and you, only half-paying attention, wait for the robotic voice. Except what you get instead is a hurried, low-toned “yeah.”

You blink in surprise, pausing as your brain processes.

“Hello?” The voice is more annoyed now.

“It’s me.” You say your name.

A sigh. “What do you want?” Translation: why the hell are you calling me?

That tone has the magic ability to spark irritation in you like no other. You’re actually thankful for your visceral reaction to it; it squashes any unnecessary nerves that might want to flutter in your stomach. “Hmm, let me think. What do you have every Monday morning? Why might your coworker be calling you?”

There’s some more rustling, perhaps a whisper of a curse that you don’t quite catch. “Uhh... I’m sick.”

“Really. Sick.” You enunciate every thick syllable. “Why didn’t you tell Mina?”

“Too sick to.” The fake cough he manages is the worst excuse you’ve ever heard. “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Your thumb grinds the end call button for a few seconds longer than necessary before you set the phone back into its cradle.

Sooah hands a warmed muffin over before she turns to you. “So? How is he?”

“He says he’s ‘sick’.” You make air quotes, just as the backroom door creaks open.

“Who’s sick? Yoongi?” Namjoon, who’s scheduled to take over for you, comes out looking concerned. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’s completely fine.”

Sooah frowns. “Hmm, but I don’t think he’d just not show up unless something was really going on.”

“When he’s sick, he tends to forget everything and just stay in bed.” Namjoon turns to you. “You’re off soon. Do you mind just swinging by his place with some porridge?” That’s his go-to; you know because he once did the same for you when you had an awful fever. Remembering that day reminds you that you still owe him one for it. Damn it.

You scratch absently at the back of your neck. “I guess not...” You really can’t come up with a single excuse, because you don’t have any homework to do tonight nor do you have classes. Plus, if Yoongi’s truly ill, you’re not about to let him starve to death.

“Great.” Namjoon’s dimples flash as he pulls out his phone. “His place isn’t too far. Here’s the address.”

That’s how you wind up in front of Yoongi’s apartment door nearly an hour later, a tasty bowl of chicken porridge in hand. It’s a quaint building, small but cozy in its own way. Humble is the word that comes to mind as you take in the older, yellowed wallpaper, the slightly crooked number on his door. You shuffle your weight from foot to foot, feeling somewhat awkward. Like you’re intruding somewhere you shouldn’t be.

But you’re here to get the truth.

Some part of you hopes he’s actually sick. That, or he was just being a dick for the hell of it. Anything works, as long as the reason is not you.

You raise your hand and knock thrice. There is no sound, not even after the first minute passes. So, you knock again. One more minute, you tell yourself. If he doesn’t answer in one more minute, then I’m going to go home and eat all the porridge myself.

Finally, the door opens a crack. Bleary eyes with heavy purple bags behold you from beneath tangled, dilapidated blonde hair. Behind this disfigured creature that was once your coworker, all you can see is darkness even though it’s noon o’clock.

“Yoongi?” You ask, a little incredulously. “Are you okay?”

He frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, you said you were sick, so...” You hold up the takeout container. “Namjoon made me check up on you.”

“I’m fine. You can go now.” He’s about to shut the door on you but you push your palm insistently against the wood.

“No way. You look like shit, Yoongi.” You sigh. “Look, I don’t want your death on my conscience, so at least let me heat this up for you. Namjoon’ll never let me live it down if I don’t.”

“Ugh…” He contemplates, but ultimately seems to recognize the combative fire in your eyes. “Promise to leave right after.” He turns, leaving the door open for you to follow. “I hate letting people in here,” he mutters as he walks.

“Trust me, I don’t want to stay any longer than I have to either.”

You step inside, and your nose instantly wrinkles. Everything just smells kind of stale, in need of a good airing out. Empty ramen containers litter the kitchen counter while scattered papers decorate the carpet. But what’s worse is when you behold Yoongi in all his glory – stained sweatpants, ratty t-shirt, and all.

“Is your hair allergic to brushing or something? God.” You gingerly set the bag on the table, wondering if he even has clean bowls to use. You’ll find out. Curse you and your empathy. “Go take a shower or something. Please. For your own sake.”

“You’re not my mother,” Yoongi mutters, but he seems to know you’re right. He drags his shirt off, and instead of admiring his slim physique, you cringe as he tosses the top carelessly onto the already messy couch. “Don’t mess with anything while I’m gone.”

“What, afraid I’ll fuck around and make it all cleaner?” You shoot back, but he’s already disappeared into the bathroom. “Jerk. Wouldn’t want to snoop in this place anyway.” Grumbling, you rifle through the cabinets and manage to fish out a single bowl that doesn’t look too suspicious.

Despite what you said just minutes before, while the porridge spins away in the microwave, you lean against the counter and take a good look at your surroundings. It’s a studio apartment, already tiny but made even smaller by the clothes strewn around. The bulk of the mess seems to be centered around the electronic set up shoved against a wall, consisting of two huge monitors, a lit-up keyboard, and something that you’ve only seen on TV, usually for a stereotypical depiction of a DJ. What the heck is Yoongi doing with something like that?

The roar of the shower is still going, so you take a few steps towards the desk. The screen is locked, asking for a password but you’re more fascinated by this soundboard with all its knobs and controls. Does Yoongi make... music?

Your first instinct is to think that it doesn’t fit your perception of him. But then it strikes you that your perception of him is incredibly limited. You suppose you’ve never asked about his hobbies or anything about him. You feel a little guilty now. You’ve never tried to understand him, just gotten pissed off at him time and time again.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Yoongi walks out of the bathroom, towelling off his hair. Wet droplets are still rolling down his bare chest. A second wimpy towel hangs off his hips, looking seconds away from falling. He’s already glaring. “Get away from my shit before you break something.” He walks towards his bed, lifting a pair of sweatpants off the mattress.

“Please. I’m not as clumsy as you think.” You roll your eyes as you move to fetch the congee from the microwave. You set the bowl in front of him as he finds a spoon. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi mutters as he slips a spoonful into his mouth. “For checking on me too, I guess.” The bags beneath his eyes have gotten even more obvious and gaunt after the shower, as if he hasn’t slept in days. And hasn’t eaten either, judging by the way he goes at the congee as if it’s his last meal on this planet.

“Geez, you’re gonna get indigestion like that,” you say with a wince. “Do you live like this all the time?” Is this why he’s always late?

“Kind of.” Yoongi barely stops eating to breathe. “But this week is especially busy.”“With what? You should at least get some sleep...”

Yoongi’s already almost done his food, meaning your time with him is running towards its end too. “With important things.”

“Nothing’s more important than taking care of yourself.”

“God, please stop talking. Don’t you think I know that?” Yoongi squeezes his eyes together, rubbing fatigue from the corners. “But certain things have deadlines that have to be met.”

“You can’t make deadlines from the grave. Can’t you get an extension or something? What’s it even for?”

“Contest. Song writing contest. Only runs once a year.” His spoon gives a final clatter before resting against the empty bowl. “So, no. No extensions.”

So he does make music. “You should have just started earlier instead of being late, as per usual,” you tease, hoping to lighten the sour look on his face.

Bad choice. “Don’t you think I did?” Yoongi surges to his feet. His palm slams into the counter, rattling the bowl. “You don’t understand how it feels when everything just comes out shitty and not good enough!”

You face his fury, swallow it to fuel your own irritation at how absolutely careless and ridiculous he’s being. “So, you’re just going to not sleep or eat or come to work until its done?”

“That’s the plan.”

Yoongi turns away, trying to end this conversation as he heads towards his computer. You don’t let him escape, because you’ll be damned if you work your next shift alone. “Why don’t you just wait for the contest next year?”

“Well I was going to.” He swivels his head back, “but aren’t you the one who said to fight for what you believe in?” He snaps it, exasperation in his tone. Then he instantly looks away again as if he’s said something embarrassing.

That makes you stop, your jaw slackened in half-surprise, half-amusement. “Wait… You actually listen when I talk? You’re doing all this because of what I said?

“No. Shut up. Just, ugh, get out.” You wonder if he’s turned away so you can’t see the expression on his face.

Okay, now you feel a little proud that some of your words finally made their way into Min Yoongi’s thick skull. A task you once thought impossible. But that makes you a bit responsible for his predicament, doesn’t it? Plus, you’ve never seen this (perhaps a bit overly) dedicated side of him before. It fascinates you.

“Show me something you’ve made, Yoongi. I’m sure it’s not all shitty.”

He snorts as he drops into his groaning chair. “What do you know about music?”

“Well, I listen to it. A lot.” You may not be Beethoven, but you love music and consider yourself pretty well-versed in several different genres. You’re so curious: what kind of music does Yoongi write? “Seriously! Just show me something.”

Yoongi still looks unconvinced.

“Hey, I brought you food. And covered your ass at work. So you owe me one.”

“And this is what you want to use it on.”

“Yup.”

He shrugs. “Dumb choice, but I wouldn’t have expected anything else from you.” But he starts to click through folders. He ultimately pulls up a file named TRASH. Interesting choice, you think as you gingerly perch yourself on his messy bed. Yoongi fiddles with the volume knob on his speakers. Seconds later, the music begins to flow.

You’re already tapping your foot along by the time the tenth bar hits. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this is good! Like, actually good! Instead of vocals, a keyboard plays out the main tune. It’s sounds rather bare, but you assume that’s because it’s unfinished.

But wait… The melody sounds familiar.

Once you realize it, the more obvious it becomes. Yes, some elements have been changed: this version is much more R&B influenced, the song dips in slightly different ways, and the opening has synth elements that the finished piece you know lacks, but…

“Hey, isn’t this…?” You trail off when the chorus hits, and the similarities become undeniable. “We don’t talk together—” you sing, the lyrics going perfectly with the tune. It’s the very same song Sooah’s been playing relentlessly at work.

Yoongi is staring intensely at the screen with something so unfathomably sad in his eyes. He doesn’t speak.

“It’s different than the final version, but similar enough. You wrote this?” You whip out your phone from your pocket. “Wow, you’re amazing, Yoongi!” You hum the song beneath your breath as you pull up the song’s production page; you’ve looked at it before, but you never noticed Yoongi’s name under the credits. Why the hell is he still working at the café? Shouldn’t he be off writing the next big hit? Wasting talent, really.

On the page, three names appear. The singer, then the rapper. Then final name you don’t recognize and assume to be the producer. He doesn’t have an artist page yet, no image or real name revealed on the website. “You’re DJ ALEX?”

Yoongi shakes to life at the sound of your voice. He lunges out, almost breaks the knob as he forces the volume to zero. “No. I’m not.” The words feel strange in the sudden silence. Uncomfortable.

“...But this is the same song, isn’t it? ‘We Don’t Talk Together’?”

“It used to be.” He whirls towards you. “Look, you heard something I wrote. I ate the food. You can get out now. I have work to do.”

You don’t move from the bed, knowing you’re pissing him off by the tensing of his jaw. “What do you mean? Who’s this Alex guy then?”

“Just drop it.”

“Yoongi, what happened?” You push him despite the way his hands have curled into fists. “There’s no way this is a coincidence because—"

“Tch! You want to know so badly? Fine! He stole it from me, alright?” His piercing glare forces goosebumps on your skin. “We wrote it together. He took the original and deleted my copy and passed the song off as his own. Now he’s the one getting all the record deals while I can’t write shit and stuck making coffee with an annoying ass coworker. Happy? Good enough of an explanation for you?”

You shake your head. “You just let him take it?!”

“What the fuck else was I supposed to do?” Yoongi’s voice is dangerously guttural, as if on the verge of breaking altogether. “He blocked me. Dodged me when I went to see him. Before I knew it, he was signing contracts and the song was being produced.” Yoongi sets his fists back on the table with not much strength at all, as if he’s just so exhausted of it all. “It was half a goddamn year ago. It’s too late now.”

Before you can stop yourself, you’re standing. “No, no, you can’t just let it go like this!” Not when it puts that look into his eyes. “You can fight it! You can, uhh, report him or show some proof that you wrote it together or something!” When he doesn’t respond, you step towards him, intending to put a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon Yoongi, you’re better than this!”

He knocks your hand away as he surges to his feet too. “Shut up. Just shut. Up.” He rounds on you, fury’s fire back in his eyes, worse than you’ve ever seen it since hurt is what stokes the flames to blazing. “You don’t know anything about me. You think just because we fucked once you have some insight into who I am or what I should do?”

His words hit you like bullets as you stagger back but the bed prevents you from moving too far, caging you in. “Yoongi, no, that’s not—”

“Or what? Are you gonna tell me you came here today because you missed my cock that much?”

Thoughts seem to fly clear out of your mind at the dip in his voice. Your heart thuds in your ears as Yoongi takes a step. Then another. Breaking every boundary of personal space until his lips are aside your ear. Breath curves around your lobe, coming hot, much too hot as he growls, “didn’t get enough in that pretty little pussy of yours, did you?”

“I... Uh...”

“That’s why you’re running your mouth, huh?” He captures your bottom lip, tracing it with a calloused thumb. “When you should be choking on my cock instead.” Yoongi pulls back enough for you to see how his mouth curls into that damn smirk, and you remember. God, you remember how he stole what he wanted from your body and left you stuffed full of his pleasure. But this time, there’s a desperation behind his words that was absent before. As if right now, he’s the one that needs you despite the lewdness rolling off his tongue.

So you drop to your knees.

Yoongi’s eyes widen, then narrow with deep pleasure as he thumbs your cheek with more tenderness than you would have expected. That thought is shattered when he harshly tugs your chin up, forces you to stare into the gaze that you can only find predatory. His other hand works the waistband of his sweats, tugging it down to spring his stiff cock so violently it smacks you in the face. “Open wide, baby,” he snarls, the word not sweet but condescending, the way he enunciates the syllables.

You let your mouth unhinge, but you don’t move to engulf his dick in your heat. Instead, you drag your gaze across the few beads of pre-cum are already gathered on the tip, just waiting to be slathered all over the smooth head by your fingers. He groans when you curl your hand on his shaft, bucking his hips into your touch whether he wants to or not. He can’t control himself when you pressure his frenulum, squeezing to coax another moan from him. You love that you can drive him this wild with need, put that look on his face as if he’s seeing the bright lights of heaven behind those half-closed eyelids.

But he’s not about to let you take control.

“Don’t be a fucking tease.” He shoves his hips forward, sliding himself between your parted lips and onto your awaiting tongue. You taste the saltiness of arousal leaking from his swollen cock, swiping along the head to gather every last drop of sin. He stiffens even more under your touch and the slippery texture of your agile tongue; you take it all in stride, swirling saliva around while your fingers use the excess spit to work his shaft.

“Unh, your tongue feels so damn good.” Yoongi moans like his stresses are melting away with every lick you slather across his taut skin. You trace the fat vein running along the side, carving the curves into memory. Which spots make him shiver, which ones make him moan. “Fuck, almost as good as that tight cunt of yours.” Said cunt gives a pulse of wanton need and you have to squeeze your walls around air, feeling so damn empty when you know how full you could be.

Without a single regard to your wants, he continues to urge his hips forward, mercilessly plunging in thick inches of dick until the head prods at the back of your throat. You’re trying your best to breathe through your nose but he makes that impossible when he tests your gag reflex with two brutal thrusts. Only after does he bring himself back, let you suck in much-needed oxygen before you’re bobbing your head again to his groans.

Yoongi seems torn between squeezing his eyes shut and keeping them trained on you, mired to the sight of your lips stretched and wrapped so obscenely around his cock. “How much of me can you take with that filthy mouth?” It’s a challenge he issues despite his tense, sweaty thighs and the unassailable glaze in his eyes that says he’s closer to the end than he’d like to admit.

“All of it,” you say as best you can with your mouth stuffed full. You’re not afraid of him, of any attempts he’s made to scare you off. You prove so by supressing your instincts and easing him into the slick of your throat. You push on despite the protests of your body, spurred by the painful fist in your hair that keeps you speared on him. His fine pubic hair tickles your nose, smelling like soap and his natural musk that is somehow more intoxicating than it should be. You’re so close; if you strained, you could give his crotch a sloppy French kiss.

“Then take it.”

You choke when he fucks in the last few inches, forcing his bulging cock down your throat. He pulls back only to repeat the action, earning himself a fresh gag. He seems to love that lewd squelch, imprinting it in his mind along with the tears coalescing at the corners of your eyes. Spit flies everywhere as he rocks his hips like a machine made solely for this purpose, abusing your aching mouth but even that turns you on. You don’t think you’ve never been this aroused by sucking a dick but Yoongi just has that effect on you, for better or worse.

You can barely hold onto his skinny thighs as the muscles ripple beneath your grasp in name of erratic, orgasm-seeking thrusts. They make him occasionally jerk his dick but if he grazes your teeth, he doesn’t show it. Just keeps pumping like a madman, getting himself off on how you take him so well – his good girl. Your jaw aches from his girth but you don’t dare pull away; not when he’s slamming into you like you’re the only thing in his world that matters right here, right now.

Now Yoongi’s the one choking when you lift your hand, cupping the sensitive skin of his balls. His lust-drenched eyes have flown open with surprise. Then he’s grinning, impressed with your eagerness. “Just like that—god—yeah, use your tongue, fuck…!” His moans are becoming increasingly broken, interrupted by gasps when you work your throat in tandem with fingers. “I’m gonna cum down your throat, baby,” he promises. “You better drink every fucking drop.”

You suck him harder as agreement, slurping with noisy abandon as if there’s nothing you want more than his seed coating your throat. Messy spit bubbles beside your lips but there’s no stopping you, not when his knees are buckling and he’s moaning your name in a hoarse voice that should be illegal.

“C-Cummin...!” Yoongi doesn’t even get to finish the word. Two hands on the back of your head force you all the way down. His shaft pulses and the first shot of cream hits your throat, followed by several hot strands that you automatically swallow down. He’s still gasping when he pulls back, tip profusely spilling the last remnants of bliss onto the tongue you leave exposed for his viewing pleasure. Then you gulp it down while you hold his heated stare.

With something like a growl, Yoongi yanks you up off the floor, crashing his mouth on yours to tangle your rather-numbed tongue with his own. One hand is still arrested in your hair but the other finds your waist, dragging you close to his body as he brutally sucks, bruises your bottom lip. You let yourself believe he needs to feel you, that he wants you even while his cock softens and carnal lust slips away.

“Y-Yoongi,” is the only thing you can exhale when he finally lets you go. The kisses only add to the arousal pooling between your thighs, demanding attention. But Yoongi makes no moves to take care of your need.

Instead, he wipes his lips of spit with the back of his hand. “Damn. That mouth of yours is something else.” He’s still panting, clearly having left most of his sanity on your tongue.

“I know.” You’re the one smirking now, feeling rather pleased with yourself. Looking around, you find a tissue and use it to clean yourself off. Yoongi does the same, and for a moment, it all just feels normal between you two.

“Thanks. That really cleared my head.” It only takes Yoongi a minute to get his pants back on. Then he’s planted himself in his chair again. Wait. Is that it? Your smile twists, droops into a frown as you watch him pull up the complicated software with all the soundbites back onto his screen, typing away as if inspiration has struck.

“Yo—”

“Looks like you’re not the worst coworker after all.”

…Right. How could you have forgotten? That word sends you crashing down into reality like an icy bath. You stare at the side of his face, focused squarely on his screen as if you’re nothing more than a houseplant. Not even giving you the title of fuck buddy, or friends with benefits. But, then again, you’re not friends in the first place.

“You can stay if you want, but I have to keep working on this.” That just sounds like an afterthought, a consolation prize that’s more bitter than the taste of his cum still lingering in your mouth.

You’re already moving towards the bag you left near the door. “No thanks.” You pull the strap onto your shoulder, twisting the icy doorknob. “Bye, I guess.”

Yoongi doesn’t even look back.

To set the record straight – you are not a coward. You are a rational adult making rational decisions that fit into your adult schedule. Begging Namjoon to switch shifts with you for the next month is just part of your regular plans, in no way influenced by the mixed, confusing, dizzying feelings that pop their heads up like groundhogs every time Yoongi crosses into your line of sight. Or your thoughts. Or really in any way whatsoever.

Okay... Maybe you’re a little bit of a coward.

But you can’t seem to help it. He’s too distracting, now that you’ve had a second taste of his poison. A poison that, instead of stealing your life, seems to have claimed your rationality as victim instead. You experienced the consequences of this robbery for the first time on Friday morning, when Yoongi showed up on time (shocker!) for his shift. Instead of being absolutely delighted, all you could think about was that he should have slept in a bit more because of the bruised bags beneath his eyes.

Friday was the first time you’d seen him at all since that visit to his apartment four days prior. Namjoon and Hoseok had taken Yoongi’s shifts throughout the rest of the week, you assumed to give Yoongi time to finish his song. You couldn’t muster up the courage to ask Yoongi about the piece; it felt like you were prying into a world that he wanted you to stay firmly out of. You still don’t understand why you’re so interested in the first place, when you should be hating him.

The rest of that shift had been a hodgepodge of awkwardness, what with the flinching every time Yoongi brushed past your arm reaching for the syrup, then the weird high-pitched tone your voice went to when he addressed you. By the time you left work on Friday, you were determined never to repeat that again.

So here you are. Today. Monday night. Except this time, you’re not spending it knelt on a musty apartment floor, swallowing Yoongi’s anger. That’s probably a good thing, you tell yourself. You need the time and the space to sort out your own emotions. To think about why the hell you keep replaying the sadness in his eyes, then corrupting that image with the coldness of his back in that chair and—

“Hellooo? Anybody home?”

A hand abruptly appears in front of your face and you jolt back to reality, whipping your gaze to find Hoseok grinning brightly at you. “There we go. I’ve been calling your name for ages.”

“Oops, sorry Hobi. I just spaced out. What did you say?”

“I said that I’m leaving soon, silly.” Hoseok leans against the counter, playful curiosity in his expression. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

“...Nothing important.”

“Well, guess I can’t blame you. All the downtime will do that to ya. And you’re staying for the next month?”

“That’s the plan.” A customer approaches the bar, bringing you their empty plate. “Thanks, have a good night!”

Hoseok chuckles. “I thought you had night classes. Don’t tell me you dropped out of college to avoid working with Yoongi.”

The plate you were holding clatters as you drop it, smack the porcelain against the counter. “W-Why would I want to avoid working with Yoongi?” How did he know? Oh god, did Yoongi tell him what happened?

“Because he’s always late?”

“Oh! Oh. Right. Yeah. Well, no, no, it’s not because of him…” You don’t sound convincing in the slightest, yet you have no choice but to plow on. “I’m just taking an online course this term. So why not take an easier shift because I have the time, you know?” To be fair, you were planning on taking the course anyway. It was just a matter of physically going into class or not.

“Makes sense.” Hoseok grins. “And I’ll always be on time.”

“Yup. I can always count on you, Hobi.”

He stares at his watch, watching the second hand tick the seconds away. “Aaaand I’m off. You’ll have to count on me next time because I have a hot date!”

You wiggle your eyebrows. “Hope it goes well!”

Hoseok is out like a whirlwind in the matter of minutes. Left alone in the shop, you run a hand through your hair, surveying the little café. One customer taps furiously away on their laptop. Another devours what remains of their quiche. A third jots down notes while they parse through War and Peace. You’re expecting no one else tonight, certainly not Yoongi to come bursting in like he had the last time you had a night shift. You’d better get started on cleaning.

As you wipe down the counters, remove the leftover food from the display case, the customers leave one by one. You hum a song beneath your breath, distracting yourself from any errant thoughts of a certain person that might be wanting to poke their head through. You’re not having any of that. Not today.

Time speeds by, and soon you only have thirty minutes left to go. You’re now alone in the shop, working quickly enough to ensure you’ll be finished right as your shift ends and not a second more.

Then the door chime goes off. Your head snaps up, and for a moment, for an infuriating moment, you hope it’s Yoongi.

Instead, another familiar face appears, that same, smooth, self-assured smile painted across his lips. Jiwon. This time dressed in a fitted suit, one that makes him look like he just stepped out of a magazine photoshoot. Still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. Still not Yoongi.

“Hi. Hi!” You correct yourself, realizing you should sound less disappointed. “Welcome.”

“Hi.” His easy smile widens as he approaches the counter, devastating with those melting chocolate eyes. “Wishing I was someone else?” He asks with a laugh as he pulls out his wallet.

Oops. Your face must have given you away earlier. “No! Of course not.” You force on a grin to match his, wiping your damp hands on your apron.

“Good. Because I was hoping for you. That you’d be working tonight.”

“Oh...” Your face automatically heats up. There’s no way he’s flirting with you, right? Him, who is so far out of your league you’re not even playing the same game. “I don’t normally work night shifts.”

“I noticed.”

“I. Um. Ahem.” You clear your throat out of sheer nerves. “What, uh, what can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee this time, please.”

“Got it. Go ahead and tap.”

When you hand over the hot cup, Jiwon takes it leisurely. This time, there’s no denying how he lets his fingers graze past yours for that extra half-second, how his eyes hold yours with something unfathomable and exciting.

“I’m working every weeknight for the next month!” You blurt out before you can stop yourself, not even knowing what the hell you’re hoping for. Shooting your shot with this incredibly good-looking man. Making a fool of yourself, apparently. “So, uh, yeah.”

To your great relief, Jiwon nods his head. He raises his coffee like a toast. “Then I’ll see you soon. Goodnight.” The way his voice lilts around and teases the parting word remains in your mind through the rest of your shift and even after when you get home, still thinking about how he’d smiled at you like a promise.

Maybe forgetting Min Yoongi won’t be so hard after all.

The weeks come and go. Before you know it, half the month has sped by, and you’re having more fun than you ever could have expected at work. You haven’t seen hide nor hair of Yoongi, working so well with Hoseok and a newly hired college kid Jungkook that you’ve barely had the time to think about him. Sure, it’s a bit odd not to have someone to bicker with every shift, but that’s more than made up for by the presence of Jiwon.

True to his word, Jiwon comes in practically every night, with that same casual smile that makes your heart unfairly quicken and flipflop. He always asks about your day, listening intently as you rattle on about what mundane thing has occurred like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Still, he hasn’t asked for your number in all this time, nor has he offered much information about himself. So, tonight, you’ve decided, after two weeks of this flirtation, you’re going to ask him on a proper date. Tonight is Friday night, one of the busier nights. So, to compensate, you’ll be closing together with Jungkook.

With that in mind, it’s no wonder that you walk though the doors of the café feeling nervous but excited. You love working with Jungkook though, and know he’ll dispel your nerves before too long with one of those wildly hilarious stories of his various exploits. The door chimes tinkle behind you as you take note that the place is rather busy. Gross. Then you sweep your eyes to the counter, expecting to see Jungkook’s bright smile.

It’s not Jungkook handing over a green tea Frappuccino, stacked high with whip cream to a young woman. It’s Yoongi.

“Yoongi?!” You exclaim, voice carrying across the café.

He turns his head, finds your surprised eyes. “That’s me.” His voice is as dry as ever, but he’s looking better than he did two weeks ago. Much better. You try to ignore the squeeze of your heart at the casual mess of his bangs, the falsely sweet smile that still lingers on his lips from interaction with the customer.

Just a coworker, you remind yourself. “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi’s gaze follows you as you move behind the counter. “Working.”

“Well, gee, I can see that. But you never work the night shift. You hate it.” He had said very vehemently so before, when you suggested he switch shifts if he couldn’t wake up in the morning.

“Yeah, well...” The floor suddenly becomes quite fascinating to him. “It’s just this once.”

Hoseok appears out of nowhere, his jacket already on. He swings his arm over Yoongi’s shoulder. “Nah, he doesn’t hate it! I heard him begging Jungkook to switch shifts with him a few days ago.”

“Hoseok, shut up,” Yoongi spits, spinning around pointedly to face the customer approaching the counter.

You giggle as Hoseok rolls his eyes quite dramatically behind Yoongi’s back. “You’re on your way out, Hobi?”

“Yup. Just you and Yoongi tonight.”

You nod, licking your dry lips. “Okay, got it. Have a good night!”

Yoongi may not be Jungkook, but that doesn’t mean that your plans have changed. You’re asking Jiwon out. You’re moving on from the unaddressed, oddly in-between relationship you and Yoongi have, and you’re hopefully going to have a date by the end of the night. You slip an apron on, determination in your veins.

Whatever downtime you usually have on Friday night (that you were worried would give you time to be pensive about Jiwon’s impending arrival) soon becomes a long-lost dream as the customers just start pouring in. It seems there’s a big event at the theatre across the street, causing an enormous boom in caffeine and snack needs that keep you and Yoongi on your toes, a fact which Yoongi looks especially irritated by. That might be because he looks like he has something to say to you every time you have a minute of break; but he can’t get out anything substantial past a ‘hey’ before he’s drowned out by another group of people.

It’s hours before the crowd finally dies down, leaving the shop sparse and you exhausted. As glad as you are for the break, it also means you have to face whatever Yoongi wants to say. You can’t fathom what he could possibly want, but it looks like he’s about to tell you as he turns in your direction.

“Hey.”

You take a sip of your water. “Hi.”

“Uh…” You say nothing, just stare at him. Yoongi looks decidedly uncomfortable, and you’re starting to worry he’s about to drop that he has an STD or something. “I, err, just wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” Bringing you food or sucking your dick?

Yoongi sighs, raking his hair back with a hand. “I finished my song because of you.”

“Oh. Oh.” Okay… You can’t deny it; that actually makes you pretty happy. It makes you drop the frown and walls you thought you had to put up around him, replacing it with a genuine smile. “Congrats, Yoongi! When do you hear back about the results?”

“Not for a few weeks. But without you, I think I wouldn’t have entered at all this year. I just couldn’t write anything decent after…” Yoongi cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Look. Even though the song’s still not perfect and I’m still not too happy with it, it’s done. So. Thanks.”

Your heart threatens to pound at the sincerity in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. “Anytime.”

Yoongi coughs, cutting off the moment prematurely. “Anyway, I’m gonna do inventory in the back.” You hate inventory, thinking it a mindless task that you would rather make a hundred lattes than do. You don’t know if Yoongi knows this, but you appreciate him all the same. You’re smiling faintly as you watch him disappear into the backroom.

Seconds later, the front door clatters, chime going off. You look up, customer-service smile already painted on, but it becomes that much wider when you find Jiwon’s friendly face grinning right back at you.

“Jiwon!”

“Hey! Can’t stay long today, but had to stop by for my coffee fix. And to see my favorite barista.” He winks, way too smooth for your health.

You fight the automatic flush of your cheeks. “No problem. Iced macchiato? Skim milk and light ice?”

“Yup. You get me.”

Your hands begin to tremble as you turn to make the drink, thinking about how best to ask him those difficult words. Oh god, you’ve never been good at this, but you’ll be kicking yourself forever if you never try. Do you want to go on a date? Nope. Too direct. Are you free on Saturday? Or maybe you should go with a simple do you like pasta? But what if he doesn’t? Oh gooood.

The drink is finished all too soon. You hand it to him, watching him take a sip. “Mm, you always make the best coffee.” The compliments come too easily to him, you swear.

“Haha, I try my best!” Okay. Now or never. “Oh, um, by the way…”

The door of the backroom swings open, interrupting you. Yoongi’s voice can be clearly heard over the music. “Hey, do you know where th—” He stops. His gaze rakes across the scene, taking in your silly, flustered grin, your faintly flushed cheeks. Then his eyes fall on who you’re talking to. His jaw slackens. “...Hyung?”

a/n: so uh,,, i’m sorry to end it like this again haha. what do you think is up? 👀 inbox is open; let’s chat! also the song i reference is “We Don’t Talk Together” by Heize and Giriboy, produced by Yoongi!

thank you to my beta readers: @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @hoseoksdior, @bigtiddiejoon 💞

and as always, a fat shoutout to my best girl @jeonshome for helping me brainstorm & hyping me up like always when i was struggling. don’t know what i’d do without you!! ♡

want to be on the tag list? the link is in my navi! (or send an ask!)

#btssmutclub #bts smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #coffeehouse au #e2l #college au #enemies to lovers #min yoongi #the early shift #rain writes #enjoy!!! <3

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artificial-daydream · 4 years

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Audacious

Rating: T Fandom: Bleach (Ichigo x Rukia) Summary: The way this orange-haired random guy smirked at each of her peculiar habits that definitely defeats the norms of college life shows it might be not so bad to actually agree with the date. Maybe.

Notes: Based on this otp prompt I saw but couldn’t find the post anywhere?? Please do tell me if you were the one who created this prompt or if anyone does know which blog was it so I can credit the person properly. Also posted this on my ao3.

When Byakuya insisted on buying her a unit on Seireitei Apartment rather than renting on the dormitory, Rukia had confidently claimed she preferred the latter. What was the point on trying to live normally if she was buying the most expensive residence in the whole district?

The first thing she thought on her eighteenth birthday was fucking finally. She had the opportunity to leave Kuchiki mansion and decide her own life for the very first time. Moreover, she had prepped herself so much about this. Rukia was very sure she had the common ethics of non-nobles memorized.

However, she soon realized the books covered barely nothing about college.

Her hair was tied into a messy bun; tangled strands were kept in bay with the ugliest scrunchie she kept for the last five years. Her eyebags were so palpable she could feel it weighing down below her eyes. The first week living on her own and she already had her seventh cups of coffee. It was barely Wednesday.

There were downsides on living as a normal college student, Rukia concludes. The most common things she could list were the rushed deadlines, the mountain-sized projects, and old professors rambling how youngsters have it easy these days while yet again, giving them more preps.

It didn’t bother her as much, surprisingly. She liked how she could stay all night working on her papers, it was better than learning etiquette on how to be a proper lady. Her professors were also far better off on their lectures compared to the elders back home. She definitely could get used to all of this. Slowly, but surely.

The first thing she most likely had to get used to was the room upstairs having very loud sex which leaves her hanging out for coffee in the kitchen every 2 AM.

Recalling the noise she heard barely twenty minutes ago, Rukia scrunches her face in disgust. She wouldn’t mind as much if they weren’t reciting every detail of their activities. By now, she had their routine memorized- no, stop. Bad brain.

Rukia groaned, she had another one hour and forty-five minutes to spend in the kitchen until the tenant upstairs finally remembered they were not wild animals supported with infinite stamina. Apparently, she has to follow their sleeping schedule if she wants to get any rest at all.

These past days, she would just bring all her papers and study to spend her time alone. However today, right the second she had finished all of them, her phone decided it was the best time to signal its low battery and die. With nothing left to do, she just entertains herself with caffeine and staring in a daze. She swears the floor starts to look like it’s inviting her to take a nap on it.

Her decision was put into an immediate halt, however, once she heard other footsteps coming along towards the kitchen. Huh, how strange. These past two days, she never encountered any other person. Everyone seemed able to stay calmly in their own rooms. She thought the weird one was her; that maybe she was just too used with the silence in Kuchiki mansion so she couldn’t stand the disturbing sound upstairs. Perhaps the person brings a phone charger that I can borrow.

Once the sounds of footsteps got even clearer, the first thing Rukia recognized was orange spikes. Then she darted her attention downwards and were met with furrowed eyebrows and half opened lidded eyes. The person was wearing the deepest scowl she had ever seen with his hand ruffling his hair in a look of annoyance. Looking at first glance, Rukia could only come up with one conclusion.

“They woke you up too, didn’t they?” Now don’t misunderstand her. Rukia is not the type to strike out conversations, especially with a total stranger. However, she was driving insane keeping herself awake and god forbids the floor looks so comfortable- she just had to distract her attention somewhere.

It took two good seconds before the uninvited guest blinked his eyes, as if still registering her words with his half-awake brain. “How long have you hung here?”

Rukia shrugs, “about twenty minutes.”

“Wow.”

The short talk ended uneventfully. The next thing Rukia knew, the random person just walked towards the fridge, opening it and scanning it as if looking for something, then frowning before closing it again without taking anything out. Rukia raised an eyebrow at his action, decided not to question it before sipping on her coffee and minding her own business. The peace ended shortly though, with the man suddenly sat across her and folded his arms, decided to create another conversation.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?”

Rukia blinks, unsure of how to respond with his sudden conclusion. “How did you come up with that?”

He smirks, “Either that, or you just don’t give a fuck. Nobody hangs out here anymore after Senna raided the place to make out with different partners every week.”

Rukia scrunched her face in pure disgusts. “What is up with college students deciding to make out in every corner of the dorm?”

“So, you’re new then.” He affirmed. “Name’s Ichigo, by the way,” He offered his hand as he introduced himself, which Rukia gratefully accepted.

“Rukia,” she responded, “and why are you here if you knew about it?”

The man called Ichigo shrugs, “I left my coffee sachets here last Friday, but apparently it’s all gone,” he explained, palpably confused, “which is strange because I had seven packs of them; maybe somebody mistook it as theirs?”

Rukia blinks. The coffees were not from the dorms? Her heads turned to look at her cup of coffee before looking back at the orange haired man with a sheepish smile, “Is that coffee brand, by chance, Soul Society?”

Ichigo furrows his eyebrows, “How did you- hold up,” he paused as he looked at her cup, eyeing it suspiciously before staring back at her, “don’t tell me you were-?”

“Unintentionally,” she quickly defended, “I had no idea it was yours. I thought the dorm provided it for students’ late night's study sessions.”

“What kind of dorm supplies something like that?” Ichigo scoffed, eyes staring at her amusedly.

Rukia bit the inside of her mouth, attempting not to counter back as she embarrassedly cleared her throat. How the hell was she supposed to know? Hotels usually provide stuffs like that, right? So she just assumed it was public common sense. Albeit, this was her mistake to begin with. She shouldn’t have jumped into conclusions.

She took a deep breath. “I apologize, I will repay you immediately. Tomorrow, I promise.” She emphasized, not wanting to be labeled as a coffee thief the first week of her stay.

“Sure,” he coolly agreed, “pay me back tomorrow by Urahara’s at nine?”

Rukia stills, “Excuse me?”

“You’re buying coffee, right?”

“Well, yeah,” she deadpanned, “I was thinking somewhere along coffee packets. You know, one with similar brand and flavor preference.”

Ichigo snorts, “You’re repaying seven packs with one strike. Don’t I get to name the repayment?”

“Fair enough.” Rukia calculatedly stated, eyes still looking at him purposefully. She raises an eyebrow, “Just to make this clear; are you asking me out?”

“If you put it that way,” he answered with no hesitation, one hand hidden inside his pocket and for Chappy’s sake what is it with boys and their tendencies to hide their hands in their pockets? He shrugs, “Unless you don’t want it to be.”

“I don’t mind in particular,” Rukia wouldn’t lie, he is attractive. It was one date, which definitely won’t hurt anybody. And the way this orange haired random guy smirked at each of her peculiar habits that definitely defeats the norms of college life shows it maybe not so bad to actually agree with the casual agreement. “Can you make it to ten, though? I still have class by nine.”

“Deal.”

Maybe.

#ichiruki #ichiruki fanfiction #ichiruki fluff #ichiruki fanfic #bleach fanfiction #bleach fanfic #bleach fluff #ichiruki one-shot #anime #OTP Prompts #prompts #OTP AU #University AU #College AU #Dorm AU #IchiRuki AU

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anexplanationofunfortunateevents · 4 years

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the voting ends today but the fight almost certainly does not

Republicans are filing increasingly desperate and ridiculous lawsuits trying – emphasis on TRYING – to have votes thrown out because they’re big old losers who know they can’t win legitimately.

If you’re the kind of person who can get into the weeds of federal court filings on elections, you probably already have your hair on fire. If you’re not, I don’t recommend picking up the habit right now. It’s just going to make your head swim. These are so incoherent and meritless that even our corrupt federal judiciary and plenty of conservative state judges have frequently brushed them off. I get the sense that Trump’s lawyers are more hoping to win those cases than trying to win them. What they seem to be trying to do with these lawsuits is some mix of the following dishonest things:

depress turnout by making people feel like he can just have their votes thrown out so why bother;

set something, anything, up on track for the Supreme Court, which Trumpworld is (not unreasonably) confident they have sufficiently corrupted;

create a general sense that there’s some authority other than the voters who get to decide this election.

That is what makes me think Trump’s plan to barricade himself in the White House and tweet out a declaration of victory the first moment Fox News reports a good exit poll for him is only mostly about his pathetic need to self-soothe with an autocratic display. He’s also making one last go-for-broke play for the public narrative. He thinks – again, not unreasonably – that if he says he won, then he’ll get a bunch of “Trump Declares Victory” headlines and chyrons, which puts a thumb on the scale in terms of how people frame any resulting developments in their own minds. It’s not a good strategy, it’s more of a hail Mary, but it’s the only potentially helpful option he’s left for himself.

All of this has, once again, summoned the specter of the 2000 election.

We can’t look one day into the future. But we might be able to prepare ourselves for it if we look about twenty years into the past.

There’s kind of a fable that’s built up around the 2000 Florida recount that Republicans were just tougher and savvier and wanted it more, while Democrats clumsily Ned Starked everything up. It’s important to reject that premise as fundamentally abhorrent. In a functioning democracy, campaign strategy is irrelevant after Election Day, because voters are in charge. The Gore campaign, to its credit, was buying into the basic premise of democracy, and had therefore planned their campaign around trying to win an election fair and square. When you punish or condemn people for that, you are ceding ground to the fascists and agreeing to fight on their terms.

The Bush campaign was just fundamentally not operating from the premise of democracy, but from the premise that elections are merely a weak opening bid from the electorate. Before anyone even knew there would be a recount, they had already gamed out a scenario where they could win even if they lost. The contingency they’d planned for, that struck them as most likely, was actually that Gore would win the Electoral College but Bush would win the popular vote. They planned out a whole pressure campaign to create enough of an uproar to give some friendly Republican state legislatures somewhere just enough of an excuse to award electors to Bush even if their constituents had voted for Gore. That wasn’t the scenario they ended up facing, of course. But when you do those kind of war games, you have to think about what your opponent would do, which means the Bush team was ready to hit the ground running with a whole bunch of things they had been expecting Gore’s campaign to do. The core point of whatever they were going to do was always to create an excuse for the nuclear option of having Republican state legislators send Republican electors to install George W. Bush no matter what their voters wanted.

One major difference between then and now is that generation of Republicans knew what they were doing was abnormal and wrong, so they kept it under wraps. Now they’re so high on their own supply that they brag about it to The Atlantic, because they genuinely don’t realize that people will object and try to stop them if they give up the element of surprise.

In 2000, the nuclear option of state legislatures just ignoring their voters to install Bush was not something the Gore campaign could have reasonably foreseen, and even if they did have an in-house psychic to warn them about it, it’s not something they could have realistically stopped except by winning with the biggest margin possible, which they were already trying to do. In 2020, Republicans are basically trying to run the same play, but against Democrats who very much are as prepared as they could possibly be, and by “Democrats,” I mean Democrats at every level. Inside the campaign, Biden campaign senior adviser Ron Klain ran Gore’s recount effort in Florida, and is therefore the last person to have any illusions about the opposition. Their lawyers are fucking beasts. Outside the campaign, Democratic voters have already voted, dragged their friends out to vote, and are amped for whatever fight tomorrow brings.

And, unlike 2000, any formal government processes are going to have to go through House Speaker Nancy D’Alessandro Pelosi, and honey, she is not having it. Remember, Pelosi has already thwarted not one but two Trump regime connivances to steal elections. In 2018, she successfully deterred any attempt to undermine Democrats’ midterm victory. And with her crisp, digestible, precision strike impeachment strategy, she neutered the HUNTERGAZI plot that Trump had every intention of using to sabotage the election this year. (God only knows what other schemes she headed off by making an example out of the pressure campaign against Zelensky. Any foreign leader or official who might have been tempted to cave under similar pressure by Trump got put on notice that trying to appease him quietly was not going to make their lives any less complicated.) No wonder she felt emboldened to tell the Trumpist wing of the Supreme Court to sit their asses down if they know what’s good for them.

What Democrats – and other small-d democrats and progressives – can do, we’re doing. You need to take heart from that, and brace yourself for a couple of stressful weeks.

Unfortunately, we can’t control everything. We can’t control what Trump will do to seize the narrative, and we can’t do much about how the press responds. And again, I’d point back to 2000 as a cautionary tale. Did you know that most of the networks actually called the race right, and they did it pretty fast? It’s true! Early-ish that night, they called Florida for Gore. And, as a subsequent investigation showed, Gore got more votes in Florida! But the ballot count was tighter than it should have been – a lot of registered voters who were likely to have preferred Gore were kicked off the rolls in a racist purge – so they did a reasonable thing and retracted the initial analysis to say the state was too close to call.

I did say most of the networks. I’ll give you one guess which was the outlier. John Ellis – head of the decision desk (ie, the decision of when to call a race for one candidate or the other) at Fox News and first cousin of candidate George Bush and Florida Governor Jeb Bush – somehow knew something about the Florida vote count that the Associated Press didn’t. Late that night, as Gore’s numbers were actually ticking up, Ellis called Florida for Bush. (I might’ve been more circumspect making those implications five years ago, but these people have forcefully rejected the benefit of the doubt.) The other networks, embarrassed by the earlier retraction and exhausted after a long night, leapt after Ellis like lemmings in five minutes flat.

This created a narrative that seamlessly dovetailed with the Bush campaign’s evolving strategy: a Bush win was a fait accompli, so why was sore loser Gore insisting on this recount, wasn’t it taking way too long? Of course, the truth was that nobody actually wins an election before the votes are counted, so if Bush really wanted to get this over with, why was he so resistant to having so many votes counted even once?

Because, of course, while Bush’s top campaign people were out in front of the press loftily insisting that this recount was an irrelevant waste of the country’s time and attention, Republican lawyers were down in Florida doing everything they could to run out the clock. Deadline after deadline loomed and then passed with a bunch of Federalist Society hacks badgering and haggling over every single ballot. Said Federalist Society hacks included John Roberts, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett.

So legal correspondents and voting rights advocates, unfortunately, aren’t crazy to have their hair on fire about the Supreme Court once again doing what happened next in 2000: the court ordered all the counts to stop until arguments that it scheduled for the day before an arbitrary deadline. Then they handed down a decision that even they knew was so incoherent and indefensible that they said it wasn’t supposed to be used as precedent in any other case, even though the Supreme Court’s job for over two hundred years had been to hand down rulings that lower courts could use as precedent.

(Seriously. Guys. If Doc Brown ever tosses you the keys to his DeLorean, your mission is to go back to 1999 and run Chief Justice Rehnquist over with it. Then – and this is important – back up and run over him again. Twice. Then you can go buy stock in Google or feed Trump to zombie vampire bats or hit up a Borders or whatever.)

If you’re not really familiar with this story, you’re saying “wait, what? Why did people stand for this bullshit?” FAIR QUESTION. There are a lot of reasons, though no excuses. One reason that’s been previously underrated, I guess, is that Bush hadn’t spent the week before the election running around telling everyone who would listen that “what we’re gonna do is, we’re gonna make ourselves a huge pain in the ass while people are trying to count votes, and then we’re gonna whine about, ‘why is it taking so long to count all these votes?’ Heh heh heh.”

If he had … well, I’m pretty sure at least 538 Floridians would have been alarmed enough to make a better choice than they ultimately did.

I always want to be able to share an action item. This time, I can’t. (Unless you can vote but haven’t yet, in which case, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING ON TUMBLR, GET YOUR ASS IN LINE AND STAY THERE.) I don’t know what the world is going to look like six hours from now. It’s entirely possible that there’s a Biden blowout big enough that Trump just gives up and flees the country. But assume we’re not going to get to take the easy way out of this. Get organized and stay fired up. WE RIDE AT DAWN, unless Florida and/or Texas breaks our way by 10:30, in which case, WE DRINK AT 10:31.

#2020 election #2000 election

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ellipsesarefun · 6 years

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for @linabeanwrites for the @keitorexchange event!!!

I”M SO SORRY I”M LATE... I tried a domestic AU for this fic from one of your prompts... the blade of marmora au is only mentioned... I took so long to finish this... I’m really sorry..

Six in the morning seems like the best time to be up and about, Lotor muses as he prepares himself a warm cup of tea. He settles down on the table by the It's the city's silence blending with a gradual wave of sunrise that alerts his mind yet soothes his nerves. But that's probably also the tea, he snorts to himself.

He gets up from his seat and ambles to a small alcove where the light caresses his face and his mind blesses him a sense of serendipity. This planet seems to have quite the resources. Far off from the star quadrant Daizabaal resided, this one seems to have its own mixture of hell an paradise. Though-

His ears catch light footsteps from behind and he smiles.

-mostly paradise.

Lotor had known Keith for awhile, being a de facto Commander for some time in the Blade of Marmora during the war against Zarkon. That delegation amongst the Galran Empire and the Altean allies was where he found a lone Blade of Marmoran skulking in one of the small balconies. It was quite an awkward night, him and Keith, but after then Keith had been assigned as one of his Generals and they stayed in touch since.

And now, they're here.

"How long have you been back?" His companion yawns as the footsteps come to a stop by his side. Lotor casts a dazed look at the black bedhair, sleep-glittered eyes and rumpled clothes. He never imagined that he'd found the time to be here. With Keith. At this deca-pheeb where the border duty and paperwork lighten enough for him to sneak away for a seven quintant cruise beyond his star quadrant.

"A few vargas ago." Lotor replies, snaking his arm around Keith's waist. The firm build of muscle beneath his embrace reinforces that the this long-awaited reunion is a reality. That they have the freedom to do whatever they have been wanting to do for so long. These months of only seeing his face on a virtual screen bares no comparison to this. He listens to their hearts thrum together and his grip around his lover's waist tighten. Keith reciprocates with his own arms around Lotor's waist and a small kiss on the shoulder.

"M'glad I came..." Lotor whispers, nibbling his lover's earlobe between his teeth, "It's been far too long..."

"Yea." Keith finishes for him, dropping another kiss, this time on his cheek. Their foreheads meet, lavender irises adoring one another.

"Wanna help me make breakfast?" Keith asks.

Lotor smirks, "With pleasure."

Sigh.

They had merely began the day with breakfast and a varga of sparring but he's already returning to his procrastinated paperwork. He had only outlined most of the documents but he had forgotten that there's some that he needs to submit a final draft at the end of the seventh-quintant vacation. He has an idea on the middle and last portions but-

Agh. He should've known to at least check thrice if he had brought all his notes on the allocated sources between the warring races in Daizabaal without before slipping away to his own castle ship. Lotor rarely is careless, and he always makes sure he's steps ahead, makes sure he's quintants away from the deadline, but the moments where his infallibility slips in is one that he cannot fully tolerate.

He squeezes his fists into his eye-sockets. Emperors don't make slip ups. Especially emperors who still needs to gain the loyalty of many warring races; especially the one warring race he grew up as.

A heavy thump on his shoulders disrupts his wallowing and he looks up to a pair of lips pecking his cheek. Immediately, Lotor softens and deflates under his lover's touch and he gives a kiss of his own on Keith's nose. Suddenly, the paper is almost forgotten and his lover's face is pure bliss.

He looks down, however, and pauses, searching through his written prose and finds the ridiculousness that he's using Keith's spare fountain pen to draft such an important document. He hasn't had to before, not unless he forgot his virtual documents back in Daizabaal--which he did...

A hand smaller than his own suddenly grasps the fountain pen he's holding. The hand then gently pries the object from his and sets it on the table, replacing it with his own bare hand. He gasps at the warmth it emanates, realizing once again how long ago since they've shared a room this wide and have talked politics in his briefing room when the generals were out to who knows where.

"Relax." Keith's smooth sultry voice tingles his entire body. Lotor feels his tension receding. "You have seven days to finish it. You've been here for three vargas already." The warm palm around his hand gives a reassuring grip. Fingers start to uncurl his, now lacing them together.

"But-" Lotor tries to protest but his lover is already pulling him out of the sofa. Keith turns the knob of the door and continues to haul Lotor out of the apartment. They stop by the balustrade, where the sun gleams down its morning glow and the people and the vehicles hustle and bustle about the streets. Lotor stares, in awe for a moment, imbibing the view beneath them. He turns and he can't help but gaze at those gargantuan shimmers in his lover's violet eyes.

What gorgeous eyes.

"Let me ride you." Lotor blinks but curls his lips at the admission. One of the things he loves this man is his straightforwardness.

"Well, we haven't done THAT here today so-" Lotor leans in and strikes out his best suave look and puckered lips. It garners a guffaw of laughter from Keith and Lotor preens at his own little accomplishment. Many occasions he's seen Keith pull a frown and it's always a wonder to hear such a beautiful laugh.

"Well sure, but what I mean is," He grins, "Let me ride you around. There's an open field not far from here."

"But," he pauses, leaning in as well, "We could do it while-"

Lotor giggles and pulls Keith close by his shirt, "Later." He whispers, planting a kiss on his nose. Keith nods, cheeky grin still apparent.

"Later." He agrees.

The motorbike zooms past the blur of buildings, pas the light traffic of a Sunday afternoon and out to the open road. The wind smoothly blows against them as Lotor feels his white locks stringing along the breeze. He shuffles his grip around Keith, settling his chin on the shoulder. The sky blazes in a shade of violet, dappled down into a mixture of brown and red-yellow. They clash against the rolling fields of green and oak yellow brushstrokes and violet hazed hills, where a small house not far from where they're driving.

The first time Keith had strung him along like this was months after the delegation they first interacted in. He had been burning himself out on his new position as Emperor, as there had been a tremendously larger amount of disapproval than he anticipated. With Zendak looming over Daizabaal in hopes to take over the throne and civil war propagating in planets everywhere, there didn't seem to be a time to breathe and indulge in recreational activities.

It was then on a mundane night where he was busily rummaging through his files did someone knock by his door. Puzzled, Lotor paused his reading and opened the door to a black tousled hair, bright violet eyes, and Blade of Marmoran armor. It took only a smooch and a few dobashes of playful convincing before Lotor was ushered out of his own quarters and onto a motorbike by the gardens below. They had spent the night in clandestine dalliance beneath the teeming violet sky, whispering sweet nothings of each other until the sunrise spilled through the horizon...

"We're here." The statement snaps Lotor from his stupor and releases unwinds his arms from Keith, roaming around the meadows surrounding the cabin. He steps foot into the open space, indulging the cotton-soft grass as he ambles towards the front porch of the cabin. Twilight air filters through his lungs, luring him into blissful relaxation.

Keith is already laying a carpet on the grass, arranging two baskets full of, what he supposes, food and drinks. He beckons Lotor over with batting eyelashes and an elated grin. Shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and exasperation, Lotor approaches. What this outing entails he still has no clue. It was only halfway there did he notice a black dagger aiming towards him.

Lotor immediately catches the dagger with ease, throwing it right back at his lover. Keith jumps off a few ticks after, the dagger barely missing him as it hits the grass, and draws out another blade from his pocket. Lotor mirrors the movement, bringing out a dagger of his own. They begin to circle around each other, letting the ticks pass by.

They both take first move, their swords clashing with one another. They simultaneously paced backwards, dancing around each other in a flurry of parries and offenses. In the early days of war, Lotor had taken joy at beating Keith and the other new recruits during training. Now however, Keith can endure the blows, even to the point where he was able to triumph over Lotor at least more than twice. It was great pride as a mentor to see his student flourish.

But doesn't mean he's letting Keith earn his triumph with ease, Lotor muses as he twirls the dagger out from Keith's grasp and into his palms.

"I win." He says, still twirling the dagger as a sign of victory. Keith narrows his eyes at him for a tick or two before smirking again.

"There's still tomorrow, anyways." Keith obligingly relents, returning his dagger back into his pocket. Lotor doesn't restrain his ebullient smile at his lover's admirable perseverance. Keith responds with his own as they gravitate into their warm embrace. Lotor exhales a long breathy sigh, a smile still on his face. They walk back to their safehaven and settle down on the carpet, where they converse over a billion things as random as the twinkling stars above.

Keith is a bountiful of surprises today. Kisses everywhere and anywhere at anytime, having breakfast together, a spar for a varga or so, Keith listening to Lotor's complaints while helping with his procrastination.. and then this.

This breathtaking landscape; empty of civilization yet vibrating with life and color.

And of Keith.

Keith when he's in ruffled clothes and bedhair after a nap. Keith with the Earthy breakfast of bacon and eggs and a cup of coffee. Keith with his avid concern and motivation while Lotor drafts his treaties. Keith with his motorbike and firm build that Lotor holds onto while the wind rushes through his face. Keith and his elegance with the dagger under the sunset. Lotor is struck with the realization that wherever he goes, no matter how many lightyears he travels, an essence of Keith will always be present, a comfort to his own heart.

Daizabaal is still his home yet here, where his lover scintillates brighter than the star-light canvas draped upon them, is his also his home on its own.

The Inspiration I’ve used is the picture on the bottom right.

#keitor #voltron #keitor exchange #I'm sorry this took so long :((((#Canon Divergence AU #Domestic AU

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viollettes · 7 years

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“Worth It”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (College AU)

Summary: In which a friendship drastically changes due to an all-campus text alert about a strange man wandering the campus.

A/N: Another one from draft-purgatory. It feels weird releasing it into the wild.

"I hate you. So. Much," Bucky deadpans, looking up from a stapled packet of papers. "It takes me two weeks to write something of this quality, yet you pulled it off in two hours.”

"We'll know if it's really 'quality' when Professor Coulson gives it back," you yawn, snatching the 18-page research paper from him.

"How do I obtain your kind of focus? What's your secret?"

"The startling realization that a deadline is actually 8am and not 8pm."

The brunette stares at you as if you just grew a third eye on your forehead. "You're either completely insane or a brilliant genius," Bucky sighs with either admiration or exasperation.

"Well, all this insane genius wants to do right now is sleep," you sleepily murmur as you slide your paper back into your bag.

"Too bad Coulson docks points if you're absent." Bucky swings his messenger bag around and swiftly zips it open and pulls out a bottled iced coffee. "Take this," he nudges.

"For me?"

"No, for the unicorn behind you," Bucky sarcastically says, pushing the iced coffee towards you. "I can tell by your dark circles that you didn't sleep much. Take it, you have class until 8pm today," he insists.

Touched, you take the iced coffee and scrunch up your face in a cute way, but you don't know that, of course. "You're one of a kind, James Barnes," you grin.

Bucky crosses his arms against his chest, a slightly peeved look crossing his face. “How many times did I ask you not to call me 'James'?" he defeatedly sighs.

"A little less than a million times." You laugh as Bucky looks like he can’t decide on laughing with you or strangling you, but both of you know that you're absolutely right.

Like many college friendships, it started with alcohol. During a fraternity house party, you both were on the same team for a series of drinking games. By the seventh game, a pissed Bucky clung onto you, drunkenly explaining the Burr-Hamilton duel. He threw up your dress before passing out on your dorm room floor, only to profusely apologize and buy you brunch the next morning. The rest of your friendship was history.

It's undeniable that the friendship often straddled the line between platonic comfort and flirtatious tension. There were moments you found yourself staring into his eyes, wondering what would happen if you acted on your deepest instincts. Too bad Bucky would frequently kill your courage by saying something stupid or poking fun at you.

Just as you're about to comically bat your eyelids and bring up more details from the vomit story, your phone beeps - a text message.

"What? Your boyfriend?" Bucky nonchalantly asks, his eyes peeking over in attempt to check out the screen. "A secret admirer who also moonlights as your stalker?"

"Funny, James," you cajole while dropping your eyes to check the message. "And no, a campus text alert. Apparently there's been a strange man spotted around the greens. It's just telling us to be careful," you shrug, pocketing the phone.

Worry clouds over the brunette's blue eyes, but it disappears rather quickly, as most students ignored these alerts. "Okay then," Bucky brushes off. "I'll see you later?”

"Bye, boo," you saucily say, wiggling your fingers goodbye as you make your way to the ivy covered building on the right. You look over your shoulder and laugh as Bucky watches you leave with an exasperated expression.

You saunter away, only quickening your pace when you realize you're about to be late. In doing so, you miss Bucky's exasperation turn into a look of adoration and longing.

- - -

When clock finally strikes eight, and you sprint out of the building, spreading your arms out to bask in the cool air wafting through the dark campus.

Your stomach starts the ring the bells of hunger, so you turn on your heel and head towards your off-campus apartment. Music blasts through your earphones and you can't help but do a little dance as you strut your way down the college green.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You ignore the campus alert text and tap on the group chat you share with your housemates.

WM: (Y/N), some of the girls in 1B and 3C spotted a creeper lurking around the apartment complex. Be careful when you walking home! NR: Scream if you need us WM: Not the time for jokes, Nat. WM: Wait, but actually scream if you do.

Just as you're about respond back to the girls, your phone dies, leaving you with a blank screen. Without the musical stylings of Bruno Mars blasting through your earphones, you suddenly became more aware of your surroundings.

As a tour guide for prospective students, you're very familiar with the campus, but today the place you call your second home seems very cold and unfriendly. A wave of dizziness passes you, it was the feeling people get when looking down at the edge of a tall building.

The moon is a strange kind of brightness, an unnatural light hanging in the clouds. The tall shadows of the buildings loom over you, and at that moment you realize you're alone. The wind whistles a low mystical tune in your ears, and a cold sensation suddenly tickles your spine.

Goosebumps scatter on your arms and you will yourself to shuffle along, cautiously peering at your surroundings. Uneasiness washes down you make your way down the street. You're about three minutes away from your apartment complex, and you quickly pick up your pace.

All of your senses jerk into high-gear when you hear the sound of leaves crunching behind you. Your hand automatically reaches for the small pepper spray you carried in your bag. Your blood freezes cold when you realize you left the spray in a small clutch bag in your room.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you continue on. You think there might be the sound of footsteps following you, but you don't dare look over your shoulder. As you walk, you remind yourself of self-defense steps you learned at the community center.

Hit the solar plexus. Strike the nose in an upwards palm strike. Poke the eyes. Go for the groin.

Apartment 1A appears in your line of sight, but it fails to bring you comfort as you notice the footsteps behind you quicken to match your fast pace. You're about to make a run for it when a hand grabs your right shoulder.

"NOO!!!!" you wildly scream.

All internal hell breaks loose, and you immediately forget about everything you learned at self defense class. In a split second, your eyes flash shut and you blindly throw a punch.

"OWW!!"

"Oh my God, Bucky! What are you doing here?!"

Bucky lets out a groan as he clutches his left cheek. "The hell, (Y/N)?" he lets out. A shaky exhale escapes his lips as he scrunches his face in an attempt to control the pain. “I -”

"STRANGER DANGER!" a female voice screams from behind.

Bucky opens his mouth to protest but is silenced as Wanda runs past you to deliver a Brazilian Kick. Her leg slams into the side of Bucky’s shoulder, effectively knocking him down to the floor. The brunette barely lets out a groan when the lean and fit figure of Nat practically flies down and kicks him in the center of the chest, flattening him to the ground again.

"I swear to God, lurk around here again, and I will personally cut off your ba -" Nat suddenly pauses as she gets a clear view of the person she just cleanly kicked in the chest. "Bucky Barnes?"

Bucky lets out a guttural moan as his hands switch around to clutch his cheek, shoulder, and chest. "Hi Natasha," he hoarsely says. Bucky attempts to sit up but quickly gives up and flops back on the street.

Both Wanda and Nat whip their heads around to where you're standing frozen, a look of shock permanently stamped on your face. The three of you stare at each other, silently communicating through your eyes. "I said to scream?" Nat hesitates. Looks of guilt flood onto your housemates' faces, and they quickly murmur their apologies to a moaning Bucky before scampering back into the apartment.

You rush to Bucky's side and help him sit up. "Oh God, you weren't supposed to be the person behind me... I'm so sorry, Bucky. I got freaked out because of the whole creeper text alert and everything," you pleadingly explain.

"All I wanted to do was surprise the girl I like, and I almost died doing it," Bucky groans, rubbing his chest. A laugh and smile makes its first appearance since the girls’ stealthy attack. "This never happens in the books and movies,” he self-consciously snickers.

"I thought you were a - wait, what?!"

"Are your all of your housemates MMA fighters or something? I know about Natasha, but that other girl. Girls that small aren't supposed to be that strong. How the hell is she stronger than most men?"

"Wanda's actually a ranked champion in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, but wait, Bucky you just said -"

"And you! Since when did you know how to punch like that?" Bucky lightly strokes his cheek with a crinkled wince. "Oh no, this is going to bruise badly," he bemoans. “God, I have to reschedule my senior portraits. I can’t show up with a big bruise like -”

"BUCKY! Shut up for a second!" you loudly exclaim, gently shaking your friend's collar. You wait as Bucky's mouth moves up and down a like a guppy before he obliges to your rather loud request. "Did you just say you like me?"

A beat of silence snaps by, but Bucky's face scrunches up in an incredulous way. "Out of everything I just said, is that the thing you only picked up on? (Y/N), you just punched my face, and your housemates -"

"Stop deflecting," you demand, giving him a knowing look.

Bucky exhales and his tongue swipes across his lips. "Damn, I wasn't supposed to say that out loud," he dejectedly sighs. Uncertainty reflecting in his eyes, he looks at everything but you. "Yes, I do like you, but... But, this wasn't the way I wanted to tell you."

"How would you have told me?"

"I don't know. I've been struggling to come to a decision. I don't want to ruin the friendship we have. I give you a lot of crap, but you actually mean a lot to me," Bucky slowly admits, his eyes finally meeting yours. He isn't aware of it, but the tables have turned and you’re trying not to squirm under his intense gaze.

"Um, you mean a lot to me too," you say before falling silent.

There have been multiple times when you've wondered about your reactions and feelings if you and Bucky ever crossed the line separating platonic friendship from something more. Now that it's actually happening, you have no idea what to do or say.

Bucky misunderstands your silence for rejection, sadness dimming his eyes as he pushes out the side of his cheek with his tongue. He quickly musters up a friendly grin and shakes his head. "Hey, don't worry about it. I can just fold up my feelings, and I promise that -"

"The county fair."

"- it won't be awkward, and - What?" He quizzically glances at you.

You gather up all of the courage resting in your heart, and say, "Would you like to go to the county fair with me? It's in town, and I'd love to go with you. But maybe not as friends. Maybe… like, on a date?”

Without a word, Bucky slowly ambles to his feet, softly groaning as he massages his aching shoulder and chest. He slings his arm around your shoulder and pulls, a move that brings your body flush against his. A gleeful smile has replaced the hurt and he chuckles. "Maybe getting punched and kicked by three freakishly strong women was worth it," Bucky cheekily grins.

A smile of equal amount of glee appears on your face when it hits you what Bucky's implying. "Really? Worth it?"

"No. Kind of. Yes? I don't know. But yeah... Worth it."

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes #modern!bucky #modern!bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky #marvel imagine #ourpeachskies #ourpeachskies writes

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btspornfavor-blog · 7 years

Text

A Detrimental Passion

Part IV || Part I | Part II | Part III

It was like the strike of the match, catching the side of the box but not quite lighting, only just giving off a tiny spark.

A/N: This is long asf and I apologize if its not very good...

--Week 3--

Today of all days.

As if Jin wasn’t already running late, the weather decided to take a turn for the worst and now it was pissing down the rain. Not that he spent a ridiculous amount of time on grooming, because lets be honest, even on his worst day he managed to look like he stumbled graciously off Gucci’s F/W runway show. And never once has he been tired of it. But the last thing he needed was the possibility of this day even going south. He spent months researching and preparing for this presentation, it needed to go well, it needed to go smoothly… it didn’t need him in damp clothing and rain matted hair standing in front of roughly 500 students, who were all equally rich and snobby as one another, although by the way they acted you’d never suspect any of them would be on the same planet.

'He got his sweater wet… can you believe? My mom almost cried when I let my vicuna sweater get one droplet of water on it… I just insisted that if it was as ruined as she said it was, she could buy me a new one.’

He rolled his eyes at the fictional conversation playing out in his head, one girl whispering to another. Besides, this sweater was just cashmere… not vicuna. As if they’d actually know the difference anyways. Grabbing an umbrella, he looked in the decorative mirror next to his front door, admiring his perfect appearance before it had the chance to be ruined. He clutched his backpack to the front of his body, bracing himself as he traveled down the hallway, down the stairs, and out into this shit-show type weather.

Why did he have to choose to live “close to the university, only in walking distance”. The campus was large and spread out, and yes, he may be close to the buildings where his classes are, but his presentation wasn’t for his classes. It was for much younger students. He didn’t have much of a choice whether to present or not, and he kept a tight schedule due to working and school and wasn’t the type to break plans, especially when they came to academics. Due to his major and his continuation onto med school, his internships and practicums and opportunities off campus came with the price of: spending all of his time working, most of the time that work being unpaid, having to pay to have the job, and also having to write countless papers on what he learned and have to share it with students within the university.

The study wasn’t even something that could be half-assed, which in all honesty, thats how he spent a lot of his time in his first few years of college. Blowing his way through classes to charm girls around him, and the other reason his parents weren’t so happy with: partying. This worked out well for Jin, because female professors were so caught up in his looks, and how calming his voice was, that he didn’t even have to try to ask for a later deadline. Even male professors had a thing for him. Even if he turned in something late, it was above and beyond. A lot more than professors were looking for, because it was much more than they could get out of the average student.

But Jin was never an average student anyways. He was good looking, charming, and had the brains to match. And he knew how to use each and every one of those things to get what he needed, when he needed it. Not to say he wasn’t fair, or that he bribed people, because he really didn't have to do much. He was able to do it in a way where people couldn’t even ask themselves if he was just pulling some shit on them, because each person fell for him way too easily.

So when it came to the last year of his undergrad, he tried to put away the charms and really focus on what he needed to do to get into medical school, to get a nice scholarship and keep up that whole honors student facade without his parent’s relentless questioning about what he did over the weekend and just where he was last night and how many girls has it been now? It got tiring, and fast. The change wasn’t fun but it was probably for the best. He went out less, studied more, did what he was supposed to do. Not that anyone really doubted him anyways.

But his latest study was still in progress, he’s only talking about the one he did before this one began, and how it will relate to this one and just where he’s wanting it to go. This city is like a gigantic mess anyways, if theres anything worth doing here, its looking at the people around you, and definitely questioning their sanity. He’ll even be silently judging the students listening to his lecture today in the back of his mind, while they talk amongst themselves in loud whispers, about his appearance in some way.

Late, late late. You chanted this word to yourself frantically as you grabbed your things, rushing to your appointment with your lawyer this week, the dreaded one of dividing up belongings. And of course, it just has to be raining.

You stood by the front door of your house, looking at a small table where you put things occasionally like mail, your keys, your purse... and of course. Umbrellas. Either you were overlooking the thing in your frantic stress haze or it really wasn’t there. And if it wasn’t there... then it would be in your car. Which is great. Because instead of just parking in the garage, you parked in your driveway. Which means you’ll have to run to your car in this monsoon without getting wet. If only you could perform magic...

All you could even do was hope that your purse would do the job.

It worked well enough going out to your car, and going into your lawyer’s office required less walking time, which equals less time in the rain. You were dry save for the little bit of your shoulders and fronts of your jeans, and your purse was absolutely covered in water. You just had to hope that the leather (or faux leather whatever this even was) refused to absorb the crazy amount of water on it that way all of your old receipts and half used chapsticks could stay dry.

As for the packets of divorce papers inside, you could care less.

This meeting was ridiculous, if it was anything. All of your husband’s proposals were laughable. Every. Single. One. Not really in the ‘this is silly’ kind of way but in the ‘what is your deal, are you 12?’ kind of way. It was really a petty statement... and somehow strangely genius, and cruel.

You were left to keep the house, the car, whatever was inside the house except his very own belongings, (as if you had any use for them anyways), and have a money allotment for his children obviously to help with their living expenses. And you could’ve bargained for living money for you also, since you were used to a certain lifestyle at this point, but you barely cared. As long as he did something for your children. But since he very blatantly refused to give you any money for yourself, without you even saying you wanted any to begin with, you were stuck to pay for the massive house you owned, the bills, the car, and anything else at all that you may need.

It was safe to say he had the money to replenish his losses, whether it be clothes or tv’s or a whole new house. Probably even dinners and jewelry for his little twinkie. Definitely.

That was the cruel part. He wanted his kids to live well of course, he loved them. He just wanted you to be miserable. How could you even be happy? You were the one who wanted a divorce after all. He was the one who was ‘innocent’. And he was trying his hand a everything he could just to catch you off guard and make you seem unstable or unfit to be a single mom. Trying to make you angry, trying to get you to yell at him, be late to pick up your kids, anything. He was even trying to start fights over text just so he could have some evidence, but you’ve kept your cool this far. And now that you were thinking about it, you looked at the clock as your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach.

No... you thought, watching as the minute hand swung around closing in on the 30 minute mark. You needed to pick up your kids. Maybe you were starting to lose your cool, starting to slip up a little after being so consumed with paper work and thoughts so angering that your line of vision would get a little fuzzy, and you had to stop or your teeth would start grinding together. You were close to becoming the you he wanted you to be.

But the hand moved slow, and so did your lawyer, taking his sweet time. He was only paid by the hour. If you didn’t have kids you probably would’ve gotten a cheap lawyer who wold have this whole ordeal done and over with in the first meeting, but you needed the best for your kids. And you needed someone willing to go into great detail and make sure your husband wasn’t fucking you over anymore than he already did. So the guy moved slow. You were barely even through the cars part when you started to feel like you needed to just escape your body and leave it here in this office and go pick up your kids. Your blood was creeping through your veins faster than a bullet and you just wanted to scream Hurry up!, but you couldn’t. You needed to keep your cool.

Jin sighed as he picked up soccer balls in the gymnasium connecting to the clubhouse. Looking out the open door, it seemed that today’s rain was relentless. Although practice had ended about 30 minutes ago, he hadn’t bothered to change back into his nicer clothes, he was still wearing joggers and a hoodie and a baseball cap, all complimentary in color. He figured that his cashmere needed a break. Of course his mom would always buy him a new one just like every other kid in this city, but at this point he liked to do things on his own. Take care of his clothes like an adult and buy his own cashmere when he fucks this one up for real. As if he didn’t have a section just for cashmere sweaters in his closet.

You however, were outside fighting the rain, so focused on the ground, making sure not to hit any big puddles on your way or even trip. Lately you’ve had quite the time with injuries, no matter how easily they could be avoided. Keeping your head down as to block the angled rain from smacking you right in the face, you tried to reach the clubhouse as quickly as possible. Why is it so damn far from the parking lot?

You pulled the door open quickly, your hair sticking to your face, rain dripping down your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, your clothes sticking to your skin, but you didn’t care. You scanned the lobby area of the building, moved to the locker rooms, to the side, opening doors and shutting them quickly, your cold, wet hands sliding over the door handles struggling to get them open and closed fast enough. Maybe in the kitchen? With each room, you searched with nothing to be found and your worry grew more severe. If they were going to be anywhere, they’d be in this building somewhere.

But there weren’t a lot of rooms. Lobby area, changing rooms, kitchen, and the connecting gym. So you ran to the gym, pushing the bar to open the metal door and swinging it open loudly. Of course they would be in here right? Its raining out, they would be having indoor practice. They had to be in here.

Except they weren’t.

But someone was. The closet room door was open, noise coming from inside, and you could see the shadow of someone moving around against the door propped open by a wooden wedge. No matter who it was, they could tell you something, right? So you dashed in that direction, your wet and water filled shoes squeaking against the waxed wooden floors, your feet sliding around with little traction inside.

“Where are they?” You almost screamed at him, and he jumped slightly, turning to look at you from his position opposite the room, placing supplies back on their rightful shelves. He was clearly startled, but somehow still beautiful, shoulders raised on instinct, deep brown eyes wide as can be.

“Who?” He asked, placing the cones back on the shelves neatly where they belonged, and not where he had managed to put them when your presence surprised him.

“My sons!” You’re beginning to get angry. What does he mean ‘who’? ‘Who’ else would there even be? What did he think you were there for? Grabbing some soccer balls just for fun? You stood in the doorway, your hands balled into fists, beginning to lose your strong composure almost as soon as it overcame you. Your eyebrows were furrowed in worry and your bottom lip was beginning to do that dreadful thing where it begged you to let out a sob.

“They got picked up?” The look of confusion was still plastered all over his beautiful face. You hated how calm he was about this, as if your kids not being here wasn’t his problem when you specifically remember him telling you that it would be okay if you were late sometimes, granting how busy your schedule was.

“Picked up?” Your voice was almost a whisper, squeaking at the last word. You could feel the tears brimming in your eyes, full of absolute fear. You always pick them up. You do. You always have. That was your job. The mom to always be there on time, never late, only you.

“Yeah? Their dad picked them up, I believe.”

And then it hit you. Of course, he was picking them up. It was part of the deal now, he got his time with them. They would be at his place tonight. The fear faded away almost as quickly as it came and replaced itself with regret, and you started choking on your tears before they even really hit you. This was so embarrassing! How could you even let yourself do this? You wanted to run away but suddenly you were aware at the lack of breath you had, probably from running everywhere and the thought that you had lost your children somewhere to some stranger. Hiding your face in your hands the best you could, wishing that you could just disappear from this place, go back and try to not get stressed to the point where you forget what you’re even supposed to be doing today. Your original daily plan didn’t include coming the the sports complex and breaking down in front a guy you let your thoughts drift off to in the evenings.

You heard to quiet scuff of shoes on the concrete coming in your direction, his smell drifting towards you, somehow calming you out of this state you were in, trying to hold back your tears then best you could, no matter how much you needed to get them out.

“Y/n,” he said softly, a hand gently touching your arm as if you calm you. “Are you okay?”

You groaned internally, lifting your face out of your hands enough that you could wipe away your tears with the edges of your sleeves as best as possible, hoping that no ugly mascara marks were anywhere on your cheeks, or smudged around your eyes now. But the jacket sleeves were wet, barely even making a difference at all. Sniffling a little then taking a deep breath, blinking back your next wave of tears, you prepared yourself to explain what just happened. You focused your eyes away from him, and out the closet door into the gym, studying the lines on the floors and the metal on the walls.

“I’m sorry.” You said with a groan, so embarrassed now you could feel your cheeks getting hot. “I just… I had to meet today with my lawyer and everything is just such a mess, I’ve been so stressed out I just completely forgot that he was picking them up. I got so scared. I should probably just go home.” You began to walk out the door but the hand that was rubbing your arm grabbed it and held you in place.

“Thats fine, but at least wait a couple minutes. Let yourself calm down before you go back out. If its any consolation, I didn’t have that great of a day either. That makes the two of us.” He squeezed your arm a little bit at the last sentence, a bright smile on his face. You laughed a little although you still had tears in your eyes.

“Really?” You noticed your mouth was moving slowly, and that your cheeks were practically frozen. When did it get so cold in here? “What happened?” You sniffled again, your teeth beginning to chatter slightly, and Jin noticed.

“I’ll tell you, but we need to do something about your clothes first. Look, I just wore these for practice, I have my clothes from today in the changing room. How about I change out of these and back into my regular clothes, and you can put these on so you don’t have to wear those anymore. Sound good?”

You managed to nod through the shivering, and you followed him out of the gym and back into the lobby area, toward the changing rooms. Standing outside the door waiting while he changed, you used this time to take a couple deep breaths and try to clear your mind. How bad could this be? You spend some of your time just thinking about Jin as a distraction, so why can’t you just shake these bad feelings away? Why can’t you just calm down and be yourself in his presence without all this emotional bullshit following you and pulling you down?

“Here, they might be a little big. I also found a bag you can put your wet clothes into.” He handed his clothes to you and the bag, and you gave him a smile. You sighed as you entered the changing room, closing the door slowly behind you. You laid his clothes down on the bench and began stripping off your own clothes, which at this point were making a desperate attempt to stay onto your goosebump ridden body. The air hitting your skin as you removed the layers and tossed them in the bag wasn’t helping either. Before you knew it, you were standing in your bra and underwear, staring at his hoodie and pants, contemplating what to do. The rain had practically soaked you to the bone, the padding on your bra taking it upon itself to soak up as much water as possible, and your underwear were clinging to you desperately, although they were only wet near the top, it would still be annoying to wear them.

‘It’ll be no big deal,’ you thought, stripping your underwear off and sliding on his joggers, tossing the wet fabric into the bag with the rest of your clothes. Next came your bra, going into the bag as well. You’ll just wash his stuff before you give it back to him. And when you go back out there, just hide well enough inside his hoodie that he can’t see the lack of support around your boobs. You picked up the pink fabric, sliding it over top of your head, the hood falling right into place on your head as you covered the rest of your torso. God, what kind of cologne is this? It’s almost hypnotizing. You were so used to the stuff your husband used to wear that the new scent was almost intoxicating, and the fact that you were covered in it now was absolutely amazing. You grabbed ahold of the neck and pulled it up to your nose, taking in a big whiff, letting it into your lungs and allow it to fill your body as much as possible. You wanted to live in this scent. Hell, you could even die in it.

Having no choice but to slide your still soaked shoes on, you returned back to the lobby so he wouldn’t think you were having some serious issues changing. The shoes were sloshy and miserable, but there wasn’t much you could do about them at this point.

“How’s that? All better?” He was sitting on a bench across from the door, next to one of those word indoor plants.

“Much better.” You said with a nod. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do. Now, where were we?” You sat down on the bench next to him, dropping your bag of wet clothes on the floor next to you. “I was going to tell you about my day. Firstly, this rain is the worst. I think thats what started it for me. I had to do this presentation for a class today, and it was pretty important and I really wanted to do well, but then I was running late, and I walked to it in the rain… and then I got there… and the presentation for the most part was alright I believe. But I was a few minutes late which looks bad for me, and also I was a little wet from the rain, so my appearance probably wasn’t very good either. Not to mention I walked over here also.”

“I’m sure you did fine. Try not to worry about it. Would you like me to give you a ride back to your place?”

“Sure, that would be great. Unless its out of your way or something.” He protested slightly.

“No, Im sure its fine. Actually… I really want to get these clothes back to you. We could… or— no— never mind.” You shook your head in embarrassment. Where did you expect to go with that? Of course you need to get his clothes back to him, especially with no suspicion from anyone around.

“No, no. Go on.” He encouraged, wanting to know what you were going to say in the first place.

“I’m sorry I think it was a little inappropriate. I really shouldn’t.” You shook your head again.

“It will be fine, Im sure. We’re both adults. I don’t have anything to do this evening, so if you have things you need to do you won’t be keeping me.”

“Oh. No, I’m not busy either. In fact, since my kids aren’t home I don’t have anything to do at all. I thought maybe… You could come over, that way I can change and get your clothes back to you without any hassle. And if you’re hungry I would buy you some dinner since you’ve been so kind to me lately.” You said shyly, turning our gaze from him to the ground. Are you insane? Inviting him over? Your slight nighttime fantasies are really getting then best of you aren’t they? But here you are again, adding some sense to the madness. It wouldn’t be bad to invite him over, its harmless. It’s innocent. You want to give him his clothes back, and do something nice for him to show how grateful you are for treating you and your sons so nicely.

“That sounds great.” He flashed you that heart-stopping smile he has, and you began to feel content for the first time today. “Let me grab my things, and we can get going."

He disappeared into the changing rooms once again, reappearing with a backpack slung over his arm and an umbrella. He motioned to the door with his hand and you led the way, stopping on the small concrete patch right outside the door under an awning, somewhat still safe from the rain.

“Here, you hold onto my umbrella and try to stay dry okay?”

You took the large black umbrella from him, holding it high enough that it would cover both of you, and he trailed closely behind as you both started to walk, and you hoped that you were able to cover him from this ridiculous rainfall.

Your pace was a little quick, and being the gentleman that Jin is, he wanted to keep a safe distance as to not step on the heels of your shoes, so he was stuck with his head almost safely under the cover of the umbrella but his body oddly and uncomfortably out in the rain. Which by the way, was still acting ruthless. Today’s sky was determined to supply your city with enough rain water to support all of California for about 5 years.

Jin climbed into the passenger seat as you closed the umbrella hurriedly and plopped your body into the driver’s seat with a huff. Looking over at him you winced at the damage caused, the shoulders of his sweater thoroughly soaked, spreading happily down the rest of his torso as if it knew no boundaries.

“Good thing I’m getting your clothes back to you, right?” You started the car as he laughed at your statement, and you drove off into this crazy rain the best you could. With headlights blaring and wipers at full speed, you drove slower than you normally would, due to the weather and of course, the precious cargo beside you.

Jin tried wiping at the back of his neck with his sweater sleeve, in attempt to remove the water droplets hanging out there, but with no such luck. Cashmere. He though to himself, half tempted to roll his eyes, but remembered almost no sweater on the face of the earth can actually absorb water to any extent.

Jin really wasn’t phased by the size of your house much less the size plus the fact that you were now all alone in it, save for your kids. He examined all the walls surrounding him, half tempted to tell you that your house was charming, but decided not to. You looked frazzled enough as it is, a type of fear on your face that only a person breaking the rules would have, if they happened to care just as much.

It was something he didn’t quite understand, the part of you with so much fear. But it wasn’t really his place, unless you wanted to tell him. But you noticed the way you were acting, the way you were looking around the room, hesitant to do anything at all.

“I’m sorry, you must be so uncomfortable. Let’s get you a towel, okay? C’mon.” You waved your hand in the direction of your bedroom shaking off the ridiculous feeling, and he followed you until you reached the small closet in your bathroom where you kept all of your bath towels and some other miscellaneous items.

Pulling on a towel that was basically stuffed into the shelf space in an uncomfortable way, you caused what could only be described as a towel avalanche. The second the first towel started to fall off the shelf, Jin rushed to your side to grab as many as he could as you held your hands in front of your face to ward off being covered completely in terry cloth.

You couldn’t help but to laugh, it was embarrassing but it was also really funny to you that both of you were being attacked by a shelf full of poorly organized towels. You were soon on your knees, picking up the towels and folding them the best you could, and Jin helped also. You were both laughing at this point because this was such a mess, this whole day was such as mess, but your cheeks were burning. This could’ve been easily avoided, if you would’ve just took the time to actually roll the towels up and stack them like you normally did.

Biting at your lower lip, you folded a towel and placed it on the pile in front of you just as Jin was, your hands touching briefly before both pulling back in apology. You giggled at this small mishap too, and looked over to him as he waited for you to put your towel on the pile. He was smiling slightly, that little smirk that was sweet, playful... and then it faded. And yours did too. You didn’t know why, or how it happened, maybe it was just being so close to him for once.

But his eyes left yours and glanced down at your lips, and you couldn’t help but to stare at his since the moment his smile deserted them. It was so quiet, all you could hear was your own ragged breath, your heart beating in your ears.

He leaned in slowly, but with confidence, and your body followed his actions without even asking your brain first if it was all okay. It was the same type of rush you get when you’re about to head down a hill full speed on a rollercoaster, terrifying but exciting, your stomach floating in midair, consumed by angry, burning butterflies anticipating what was to come.

It was soft, the touch of his full lips to yours, perfect placement, feeling his top lip in-between yours and his bottom lip catching the area where your own bottom lip ended. This feeling was something that you hadn’t had in a long time, that feeling when something is brand new, and you’re excited for what will happen and where it all will go, and its refreshing, and cool, and makes you happy to see another day, and just live in this moment.

If only you could just live in this moment.

But you pulled away quickly, probably too soon, panicked and a little ashamed. Jin barely had a look of regret on his face, it was there, but just a dash. Mixed in with a few other things, like the simple joy he always radiated and maybe an ounce of affection. It was just a kiss of course, something you’ve always considered to be innocent, it could mean everything or just a little. Either way it only held that importance to those who were doing it, whether they reciprocated the feeling or not. A kiss is a kiss. So why are you afraid?

There was no silent apology floating in the air, somehow you both knew that it may have been a little out of boundaries, but still fine. You couldn’t be angry at him, its almost like he’s been reading your thoughts. And who knows when he realized himself how bad he wanted to kiss you, how much he thought you deserved the satisfaction and the warmth a kiss brought.

You swallowed thickly, somehow your mouth dry now as you folded towels in silence, almost done withe the unwanted task. Standing again, you looked down at the floor, scratching at the back of your head a little bit to act as if nothing had just happened between you, although you were feeling the aftermath of that simple kiss pretty strongly throughout your entire body. It was like the strike of the match, catching the side of the box but not quite lighting, only just giving off a tiny spark.

“If you’d like, since you’re here, I could wash your clothes for you so they don’t have to lay around soaked in rain water. It’s not really good for them.” You offered, wanting to move forward with your night as quickly as possible, far away from that amazing... kiss... You watched as his plump pink lips formed a smile once again, something so charming that never failed to make your heart jump a thousand feet in the air every time he sent it your way.

“That would be really nice of you, if it isn’t too much trouble. I think my sweater is the worst part, my pants are probably okay. They didn’t get that wet, and I’m not that worried about them honestly. They’ll survive either way.”

He pulled at the neck of his sweater, lifting the soft fabric over his head as you watched with wide eyes, that match striking the box again, begging to just ignite. His tan broad shoulders where finally exposed, and he tilted his head to the side to study your expression as his slid the sleeves off his arms. The kiss can mean little, or it can mean everything. The kiss was the strike, you the match, him the box, waiting for you to catch on.

When your teeth tugged at the soft skin of your lower lip he knew he had gotten you, but he also knew that you had gotten him too. Sweater in hand, he reached out to hand it to you, and you walked forward as if to take it, but bypassed it completely, your hands tangling in the hair at the back of his head as you pulled him into a kiss, his full lips inviting, warm, and everything you had previously imagined them to be.

It was crazy how much you wanted this, how much you had thought about it in your wine drenched mind, every movement soaked in a deep red liquid. But this was different, it was the bright light of your bathroom, his hands dropping the sweater and wrapping around your waist to lead you backwards into the warm, intimate lighting of your bedroom. His lips working against yours with expertise, wanting you to just give in, to steer you away from the ‘this is so bad’ mentality that you were currently living in. Because you knew it wasn’t, you were single, you husband had freely done this type of thing even when you were still married.

If only you could just coax your entire being into just letting this whole thing happen... because his scent was beginning to take up every available thought in your mind, swallow them up and consume them so that all you could even think about was him and how he smelled, how he felt, how he looked, how his lips tasted.

His skin was firm, warm, soft, running your hands over his bare chest as if you were feeling the finest velvet in a fabric store. You couldn’t even decide where you wanted your hands on him, there were so many places to touch, to explore that your hands could now maneuver when only your mind used to be able to. His chest, back up to his neck, into the still damp hair at the nape of his neck. You wanted to pull on it, to see what would happen if you did, but you refrained.

This was messy. Even if you felt like it was a mistake it was so good that you couldn’t even bring yourself to consider it. His tongue was to against your own, it was sloppy, it was deep, pushing far, caressing yours gently but harshly. Everything was done with a type of seriousness that made you feel like it was the realest thing you’ve ever had in your whole life. It was just so raw, the gasps leaving your mouth as his teeth tugged at your lip, your neck, your jaw, everywhere he could even get his mouth was not safe from his lips or his tongue or his teeth grazing it. It was sickeningly sweet. Painful, but sweet. Like he wanted to treat you roughly but only in the right way that was sugarcoated twice over.

You barely even wanted to try, in fact he physically made it clear a few times that he was the one running the show. He let you tug on his hair, groan his name softly, touch him anywhere you could get your hands on, but tonight was not going to be run by you. And it wasn’t something that even made you feel bad, he wasn’t being greedy, it was done with a type of gentleness that made it feel like he just wanted to take care of you, that he was doing all the work, but it was all for you.

And that was fine by you. Because everything he was doing at this point was damn good.

All the gasps, the heaving breathing, everything between the two of you was causing an intense heat, whether it just be the excitement or just the fact that this was literally so hot, you needed to get out of his sweats, and fast. The flame was now burning deep red.

Whatever you needed, Jin felt it too. He began a kiss that was insanely slow, and painfully deep, as his hands reaching underneath the hoodie you were wearing, lifting the bottom hem lazily, exposing your skin one swipe of his tongue at a time. He only pulled away long enough to release you completely from the thick cotton fabric, a whiff of his cologne embracing you once again, before fading away as quickly as it came. Being apart even for that split second felt like a million years too long. However, he took his time taking in the sight, tossing his hoodie onto your wooden floor, eyes scanning your chest, honest and satisfied.

His lips pulled into a smirk, a sultry play on what would be his usual smile. He moved to place his lips on yours again, a hand placed on the back on your head, tangled within a few strands of almost dried hair. You might’ve been angry at the slight pull it caused, your hair still having not completely dried, and being matted with rain water with little defense. You kinda embraced the pain, though a wince may have appeared across your brow for a millisecond. In turn you moaned into his mouth, and he took that as a sign to move even further.

He sat with his legs outstretched as far as they could be in his position, holding onto your thigh and waist as he pulled you across his legs, so you were then straddling his thighs. From this angle he was able to look at you through hooded eyes, through his eye lashes, and you down at him, holding each side of his perfect face with both of your hands. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and held you close enough that your breasts were brushing the chiseled edges of his collarbones.

He let out a small laugh in a single breath at the feeling, and all you could do was smile. He leaned in only slightly, pressing his lips to yours gently, teasingly, then nipping at your lower lip with his own. You had never had such amazing time with someone, and all you’ve even done was kiss. Jin felt lucky, he loved this angle of any woman, but for someone reason it was perfect for you in particular, he felt. In a way, he was lifting you up, on some sort of metaphorical pedestal, holding you high and treating you to kisses across your skin, your neck down to your shoulder, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. Sucking on the skin and soothing it with his tongue, you tilted your head back to enjoy the feeling, maybe a little too much. But who’s to say what the right amount is? Especially if they weren’t here experiencing this moment themselves.

His lips found their way back up your neck, his hands wandering ever so low, dipping underneath the band of his sweats you still had on. You knowing that in your pantiless state you probably have a wonderful wet spot inside because his lips were driving you insane, specifically when they reached that spot a little below your jaw, behind your ear. When you gasped, he took it as another hint to keep going. His fingers hooked on the band of the joggers, pulling them as far off your ass as possible with you sitting on his lap.

He dug is fingers into your skin, grabbing handfuls of your ass then soothing them other gently with the tips of his fingers. Your own hands ran through his blonde locks, from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck, tugging on the hair, nails gently scraping against his scalp as you breathed into his mouth, wanting to kiss him until you couldn’t breathe, but you resisted the feeling, curious of what he planned to do next.

When his fingers gripped onto you this time, you couldn’t help but to move in the same direction of his hands, your hips moving back slightly, causing a brief but delicious friction against the dress pants he had on. You could barely even tell, either his willpower was amazing, or you just couldn’t feel anything through all the layers, but you were sure it was just thanks to the bunched up zipper you were able to feel that.

Also, why does he still have his pants on anyways?

Deciding to take initiative-- just for a second-- you slid back on his legs far enough that you had comfortable access to his button and zipper, trying to calm your nerves for long enough to undo them, but it seemed impossible. Acknowledging your struggle without a word, Jin picked both your hands up and kissed them, placing them back onto your lap as he freed himself from underneath your body.

He faced you as he stood up off the bed, taking his pants off with ease. He kicked them off his feet, then towards the area where he had managed to throw his hoodie earlier. As you took in the sight, he looked at your curiously, pondering what to do next. Cocking his head to the side, he stuck his fingers underneath the band of his underwear, testing your reaction before proceeding to remove them.

He wanted to take things slowly, so he stopped. You both needed to be in an equal state.

You looked at each other in a state of awe.

You didn’t want to stare, but you couldn’t help it. You had never wanted to wrap your lips around someone so fiercely in all your life. That being, you had only really been with your husband before, and you never much took a liking to sucking someone off at all. But with this, you were so tempted, just to try it. Its possible that you were becoming a little too mesmerized by it because Jin leaned into you, a finger under your chin to pull your lips up to his.

“Maybe next time.” He said against them, his voice deep as the Pacific and sweeter than fucking honey.

You both kept your lips at the same distance, but he kept moving forward, forcing you to lay back onto your satin sheets. They were cool and welcoming against your hot skin, but Jin’s hands made their way onto your body, causing another wave of goosebumps.

His hands worked smoothly on the skin of your stomach, each touch being followed by a kiss downwards until he reached the area where your leg and torso meet. At that point he slowed, looking up at you with curious eyes.

He kissed down your thigh until he was at equal level in between your legs, exactly where he wanted to be. Jin really was one for foreplay, he felt like it was necessary to have a really good time. And he was always one for oral because it was really pleasing for either person.

Just one soft lick up your entire core had your toes curling because God, its been so long since anyone has done that at all. And Jin knew it was really about finding the perfect rhythm for each girl, and thats what he was about to do.

His breath was hot against your skin, another good reason for goosebumps to raise on your skin again. He turned his head to kiss at your thighs and you giggled, his hair tickling across the skin of the opposite one. You could feel his lips curl into a smile at hearing your laughter, and then he was back at your core again, lips brushing gently at your clit making you want to squeeze your thighs tightly shut in anticipation.

What he did next was cruel, wrapping his full lips around your clit to suck so softly... and then to tease at your entrance with his tongue so gently before licking slowly back up to your clit again. It was exactly what you needed and you didn’t even know.

And he had you so entranced, so immersed in the feeling that it all seemed like an actual dream. Like maybe you really were just dreaming because this unbelievably good, and so quickly. Maybe it was due to the fact that you had only really been with one person and so used to just one style... A style that was outdated and boring and unable to change or fit what you may really need.

But there was not faking in this, there was no pretending to be close because you seriously were. Each hot breath, each soft kiss in between his tongue ??? and there was nothing else in this room beside you and him. There was nothing else in this world besides you and him.

Before you even knew it was almost there, and you realized your hands were tangled in his blond locks, tugging on the strands to bring him closer as if to intensify the feeling. He got the picture, and he wasn’t going to keep you waiting. But his lips left, and what was replaced by them was just a tip of his finger and you let out a small noise of disapproval. He rubbed in a circle a few times before sliding it down, now rubbing around your entrance before slipping slowly inside.

Then they were back, his lips back on your clit, sucking it into his mouth, his tongue working quickly at it as his finger was moving slowly in and out of you. It was so amazing, digging your toes into your mattress letting the whole feeling consume you. It really almost felt like too much, until it curled his finger upwards, and everything came spilling out at once.

Now the world only consisted of you and him and the sound of your heaving breathing and moans, and everything really truly felt like heaven. He let his tongue move slowly as you rode the high out until you absolutely couldn’t stand it anymore, then he pulled away, kissing at your thighs until he was at your knees.

You thought that maybe you might be dead, because your body felt weighted down so harshly and kinda tired, but you were alive somehow. You just guessed thats what a real orgasm could do to you. The weight on the bed shifted as Jin climbed over you, looking down at your face curiously.

“Mmm, you okay?” It felt like it took all the strength in your body to laugh at his words, you probably looked like an absolute mess. “You wanna scoot back, lay on some pillows?”

You nodded and crawled backwards, falling heavily back onto your pile of pillows at the head of your bed. God you felt exhausted already, but looking down at Jin crawling towards you on the mattress, dick bobbing with each movement, you suddenly felt so energized. It looked like it hurt, like it was little throbbing, you had no idea how he could go so long without anyone touching him at all.

The smile on his face was alluring, drawing you in. You leaned forward to pull him into you, crashing your lips against his, tasting yourself all over his mouth. He seemed to be just as impatient, spreading you legs apart with one hand as he propped the other against the headboard behind you to steady himself.

You were still kissing him passionately, tongues clashing, trying not to hit your teeth on his, but you couldn’t get close enough to him it felt like. The hand that was on your thigh was now rubbing over his dick, scooting himself closer to you so that he could rub the tip over the wet mess that he had created between your legs.

You smiled with a moan into his mouth and he took it as sign to keep going, that this was what you liked, what you wanted. So he eased into you little by little, both of you sighing sweetly at the feeling. Your mouths wanted to stay right where they were, at least for now.

His thrusts were slow, really making you feel everything he was doing,

It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was nothing like you ever really experienced before. You were used to it being a little quick, a little distant; not this close, not this personal, and not this sensual. It really felt like you were in a movie, the type where the camera lens should be fogging up, hot and heavy breathing everywhere only interrupted by a sweet moan on either end.

And it wasn’t desperate, although you were afraid you may be too grabby and too needy, wanting the full pleasure as quickly as possible, wanting to hold him tight and not let him escape. It really felt like you had all the time in the world, that you could seriously do this all night long and you considered that a real possibility but he really knew what he was doing.

You really could’ve settled for him eating you out, of course you could’ve because it was fulfilling, draining almost, in the most perfect way. It was the exact type of release you needed through every sexual encounter you have ever had. That one thing you didn’t even know really existed.

You really couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be on the other end of this, to be the one on top of him, what his face would look like then, what he would sound like. Because right now he was the most beautiful yet, eyebrows furrowed in focus, raising slightly when something felt particularly good.

At least you had time to enjoy all this. He was building you up perfectly, moving in every right direction and pushing you closer and closer until it was almost unbearable. Having things fast was fine, and it was really fun sometimes but it never really took you anywhere unless it was able to last for any amount of time, and lets face it, thats not a reality.

He knew well, that after having his mouth in-between your legs you’d still in some way be worked up and sensitive to anything at all. It worked out well for him in the past with various girls, and he always knew that it was a sure start to making them come this way too. And you really were no different.

God he had you so agonizingly close... He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours, both of you breathing so heavily into it you felt like you might suffocate, and you didn’t mind dying this way. But being this close gave him the right kind of leverage to thrust into that one place he sought out with his finger before.

His lips moved to your neck, that one place right below your ear and you could even hear in his breathing that he was struggling to hold on himself. He wouldn’t let it show, but the feeling was driving him insane. He was used to doing all of this. Not as often anymore, but he knew how good he was. And he knew how to change it up, and some girls were really, really good.

But you really had him right in this place he wasn’t used to being in. And it was unrealistic, and so wild, and you knew it. No one ever came loose at the same time, no one ever really got there on the same level unless they were absolutely used to faking it (which you used to do). But none of this was real to you, how could it be? It was too amazing.

It all happened just like that. That one spot, and your eyes widened as far as they could, and his screwed shut, his face still in the crook of your neck, feeling your clench around him in what felt like waves as you came undone beneath him. He tried moving as steadily as possible, letting you both finish so solidly and thoroughly but it was hard. And strange. It just wasn’t something that happens.

Both of you were completely spent, unsure of what even to do now except lay there together trying to catch your breaths. It wasn’t really Jin’s style, he liked to finish it all strongly, a few more kisses like he really meant it all, then work on cleaning it all up so that they could have a good nights rest after the evenings activities.

He forced himself to kiss your neck, now salty with sweat, and you laughed at the soft but ticklish sensation. His lips kissed their way across your jaw until they reached your lips, kissing you so deeply that you thought you might pass out. When he broke away he smiled at you, that same heart stopping smile that got you here in the first place.

You both made an uncomfortable groan as he pulled out of you, that empty usual feeling returning, and he disappeared into your bathroom to get a towel to clean both of you up.

He dipped back down in between your legs, wiping at the mess with a damp towel which was so oddly sweet, you had never had anyone take care of you like this before. Your heart ached a little. When he was sure you were clean, he tossed the towel onto the floor, and you reached for him to pull him beside you, crawling underneath the covers and taking him with you.

You sheepishly covered your face with the comforter, really feeling so happy in this moment that you wanted to hide your smile, the look in your eyes. He hummed at the sight, knowing what it meant. He felt something strange too, looking at you before, looking at you now. You had no idea what to do now... usually you would shake the whole evening off as if nothing out of the ordinary happened but this was not one of those times.

As tired as you both were, you had the whole night to get to know each other more. That exactly what you were going to use it for.

You felt at home. For the first time in a long time. It was strange to you because you didn’t really know Jin that well, just a few things, but he made a point to be in your life, whatever his real reasoning was. And he was interested in you, obviously. So for things to really be panning out this way, you just wanted to smile and scream and jump around like a giddy teenager when the boy she likes finally likes her back.

It was a good feeling. To have someone so close, so nice. Someone that you could be with so passionately, then talk to so comfortably for as long as you wanted about absolutely anything. It almost seemed too good to be true.

Jin watched you as your breathing slowed, steadied itself as you began to drift off. He wasn’t that interested in sleeping at the moment. Usually he would go right to bed afterwards, but things here weren’t like things with college girls. Even if what you needed was a fling, to have some fun, (and he considered that greatly because it would be the best case scenario, just a rebound) but he liked you. And he cared. It was different because you were older, you had been married already, you had kids. You weren’t exactly someone who could be flung.

You were someone who needed care, and solidarity, and actual love. You were deserving of romance, and kindness, and most importantly just someone who wanted to treat you well and would follow through. This type of thought is what Jin was stuck on, because he wasn’t really set on anything until tonight.

And he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He knew that he could treat women well, in many ways. And he’s never really had a bad experience in that area, because he is just that right amount of charming to save him from anything. Tonight though, was phenomenal, if that word would even cover it. He had never felt so close to anyone in his life, and he was wholesome, and refreshing. Just that feeling you want all the time.

Now that he’s found it, what is he supposed to do?

#jin fic #seokjin #bts fic #jin smut #bts smut #btsxyou masterlist

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