#hand profile wheel for marble

[thelastofhyde]

prologue. rome.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. like all epic love stories, this one starts with a meet-(un)cute. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. i’m pretty sure there’s no warnings this chapter. word count. 845. hyde’s input. & so it begins! my goal is to try post a chapter every other friday, but it may be weekly if i write + edit on time. likes and reblogs are appreciated <3 next chapter - series masterlist

Under the buzz of a dying light, you assess the damage.

Tousled hair, smudged mascara, bags under your eyes. Chapped lips, wrinkled clothing, a missing earring. Nail indentations, dry hands, a bruise on your knee.

You'd call yourself a mess, had you not been travelling at full-speed in the air, trapped inside an overgrown Pringles can that grew wings, for the past who-knows-how-many hours.

With a snoring seat-neighbour, a kid kicking at the back of you and the embarrassing sting of tears in your eyes, you'd not known peace until the plane had landed on solid ground. And, even then, the nightmare had picked right back up where it had left off, shapeshifting into a mile long customs queue and the overwhelming dread of watching the conveyor belt spin round and round with not a single sign of your suitcase.

It took a whole hour and speaking to an airport staff member later for them to find your case, right down the other end of the arrivals hall, sitting amongst luggage from a destination you'd certainly not arrived from.

But none of that matters, not now. At least you tell yourself that as you splash some cold water on your face. Looking back in the mirror, you try out a smile. It doesn't look genuine, but it's been a little harder to do recently, and so you give yourself credit for managing to at least have it meet your eyes.

There's a series of disgruntled, irritated faces that greet you as you exit the bathroom. You walk past them, head down, trying to count the beat in your footsteps and feel the roll of your suitcase's wheels.

Finding the signs that point to the arrival gate, you keep a low profile, as if anyone would know you here. Why would anybody know you here? Still, the need to stay hidden, out of sight, it intensifies, even as you take in the welcoming sign above sliding doors.

Buongiorno, benvenuto in Italia!

An overwhelming wave of loneliness hits you as you take your first step past the sliding doors, the usual hustle and bustle of an arrival's lounge greeting you. Couples embracing in reunion, families excitedly catching up on all that they've missed, strangers meeting for the first time, men in suits holding up signs with names and-

A different kind of wave hits you, physically, and suddenly you're on all fours, the sound of your knees smacking harshly into the marble floor taunting you with yet another bruise that'll be making a cameo in every picture you’ll take.

The world continues to pass you by, even as you juggle turmoil and pain. It’s a feat you’re trying to grow used to, but, for now, all you can manage is to not feel your stomach knot. You straighten your back, hands off the floor and your weight resting back against your knees. Pull a deep breath in, ignoring the tremble in your lower lip. In a moment of pure desperation, you wonder what more awaits you on this holiday from hell.

An awful flight, a lost-luggage scare, several bruises and now a public humiliation. What’s next?

You’re plucked up from where you sit, strong hands taking a gentle grip of your forearm. A simple tug and you obey the stranger’s signal, shifting to stand up straight. Turning on your heel to face your rescuer, you’re met with the back of a head, dark locks adorning it as the man reaches back down to grasp at your suitcase’s handle.

The man’s face is revealed slowly, undeliberately, as he rises to level once more, steadying your case back onto its wheels. Handsome, you notice the etching of laugh lines around his eyes and the peppering of patchy, yet fitting, facial hair along his jaw. A pair of headphones, big and chunky and sporting a wire, rest on the back of his neck and the strap of a backpack rests over his right shoulder.

You notice you’re staring a little too late, when there’s already a frown line splitting the skin of his forehead. Clear your throat, take back control of your suitcase and your senses.

Raised with manners, you rather clumsily thrust out your hand for the man to shake. “Thank you for your help, I appreciate it. So much. I'm-"

"You're in the way."

There’s no time to respond, not properly, as the man side-steps you with a grunt, his shoulder catching yours as he passes by. He doesn’t stop to apologise, simply readjusting the sliding strap of his bag and continuing his stride out into the sea of awaiting people.

Involuntarily, frozen where you stand, your eyes follow him as he comes to a stop in front of a uniformed man, a printed sign in his hand.

Signore Miller.

As you scan the crowd for your own name, spotting a casually dressed older gentleman carrying it upon scribbled cardboard, you repeat that name, over and over.

Miller, Miller, Miller.

Whoever the rude man may be, you pray for all those who cross his path on his trip.

[femininenachos]

Do vacation clexa keep wells up all night when they go at it all night

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The taxi ride is a test of restraint. 

It’s only a ten minute journey, but it’s ten minutes of Lexa sitting right there, looking like that. Lips made even poutier from kissing. Hair finger-tousled and swept to one side, and Clarke can’t wait to tangle her hands in it again, itching to touch. 

Even cast half in shadow, Lexa’s profile is downright rude, the cut of her jawline sharp enough to slice someone’s thighs. And when she turns dark, dark eyes on Clarke, that burning look scorches right through her. 

At this point her underwear is a lost cause. She’s in serious danger of leaving a damp patch on the back seat, more than a little paranoid that the scent of her arousal is wafting through to the front where the driver is absently tapping the steering wheel in time with the song on the radio. (Hips Don’t Lie—and in Clarke’s professional opinion, Ms Shakira is correct. Because Clarke can’t stop shifting hers incessantly, unable to ignore the wetness pooling between her thighs, clamped as tightly as they are together.)

She winds down the window, hoping a breeze will help, but the dense, warm air that rushes in does nothing to cool her body. Neither does the covert stroke of Lexa’s little finger along Clarke’s own where their hands lay flat on the seat between them, or the faint smirk that’s tucked into the corner of Lexa’s mouth.

Blessedly, there are no signs of life in the villa once they pull up. The place is dark and silent when Clarke unlocks the door and leads Lexa inside; Wells, nowhere to be seen. Clarke prays he’s fast asleep in his room with noise canceling headphones on, because she has a feeling things are going to get… vocal. 

She toes off her shoes, grateful for the cool marble floor tiles beneath her bare soles.

“I’d give you the tour, but uh…”

A gentle tug on her wrist draws her around, and whatever glib thing Clarke was going to say dies in her throat. Mind gone blank, because Lexa is all up in her space and a mouth that was surely designed for sin is less than an inch away, so close Clarke feels the soft fan of breath on her face.

She only gets a second to admire the tiny freckle that adorns Lexa’s top lip before Lexa tilts in. Slides a hand along Clarke’s jaw and into her hair. Kisses her slow and searching in a way that makes her tremble from head to toe, a gradual build of passion that floods her body with waves of tingling warmth. 

While she could easily indulge in this for hours, she also craves so much more, and now is not the time for subtlety. 

Taking the initiative, Clarke guides Lexa’s free hand to her inner thigh and presses meaningfully, hoping Lexa will take the hint.

And, thank God, she does.

Long fingers trail up and up. 

When they brush against drenched cotton, Lexa’s sharp inhale sends a hot flare up through Clarke’s belly and she feels herself drip some more. 

Lexa breathes out, a half-formed whisper in the shape of Clarke’s name on her lips. She pulls away slightly to look at Clarke, hooded eyes scanning her face before they drop to her mouth.

“Can I touch you?” Lexa asks, her accent grown thicker, coated with desire.

Clarke’s only answer is to take hold of Lexa’s nape and drag her mouth back to hers. She runs her tongue along Lexa’s lower lip then licks inside, a groan catching in the back of Clarke’s throat when a thumb traces her through her underwear, rolling over her clit.

For a second, she thinks she might come from that alone. Feels it rushing up on her fast. All it would take is a little more sustained pressure. A few firm, circular strokes. But Lexa shifts away, cupping Clarke instead, and she groans again—this time in frustration.

She feels the slow stretch of Lexa’s grin as they kiss.

It‘s a provocation—and Clarke never backs down from a challenge. 

Ensnaring Lexa’s bottom lip, Clarke scrapes her teeth over the plump fullness of it. She relishes the hitch of Lexa’s breath, how Lexa’s fingers flex against the flimsy scrap of fabric that separates them. 

“Go ahead. Touch me. Put your hand inside my panties,” Clarke whispers, even as her face grows hotter and some small part of her squirms at the brazen words coming out of her own mouth. But she quiets that voice. Draws on her inner sex vixen. “Feel how wet I am for you.”

She punctuates it with a roll of her hips. 

A slight tremor goes through Lexa.

She kisses harder, rougher, the heel of her hand rubbing in to meet an urgent grind and before Clarke is prepared for it, she’s already shaking apart, releasing a choked whine into Lexa’s open mouth.

Her wrist slows to a stop. 

She draws back half an inch, eyebrows raised.

“Guess I couldn’t wait,” Clarke says with a small, breathless chuckle. Her cheeks burn.

Lexa just makes a sound, words apparently failing her, but Clarke understands, because she feels that same brain-melting lust too. It isn’t just Lexa’s good looks that are such a turn on (though she is beautiful—even more so with her mouth swollen and wet). She has this understated presence, an aura that surrounds her. Innate magnetism that draws you in. Clarke noticed it at the bar, the way Lexa’s friends seemed to be caught in her orbit. It’s the confidence she projects, too. Or did. Clarke is pleased to see Lexa lose a little of that cool now, eyes wide and jaw hanging slack.

But she swiftly recovers, luring Clarke back in for a kiss by the grip on her neck. 

Just before their lips reconnect, Lexa pauses. 

She looks over Clarke’s shoulder, a speculative gleam in her eyes.

“You have a jacuzzi?”

~*~

They’re incapable of keeping their lips to themselves while they wait for the hot tub to fill. Clarke’s stomach won’t stop fluttering. Every nerve in her body is tingling, charged by the heat and pressure of Lexa’s mouth moving hungrily against her own. Lit up inside by the way Lexa’s hand is curved around her jaw, the other gripping her waist to keep her close, how Lexa sighs and fucking pouts every time Clarke starts to pull away. And how can she possibly resist that? She’s powerless not to give in.

It’s only once the tub is almost overflowing that Clarke suddenly finds the presence of mind to separate, hurrying across the courtyard to shut off the water supply and turn on the bubble jets. She injects a little more seductive appeal in the sway of her hips on her return.

“Would you like a drink? The fridge is pretty well stocked. We’ve got beer, wine, all kinds of mixers if you’d like something stronger.”

Lexa shakes her head. “I don’t want to have…” she pauses, clearly searching for a phrase in translation, “brain fog? Ah, fuzzy memories.”

Clarke drifts closer, curbing a smile.

“I don’t want to be hazy on the details either.”

She doesn’t want to forget a single thing about this night, not when it’s going to figure prominently in her fantasies for the rest of the year.

(The rest of your damn life. Be real, girl.)

Lexa’s eyes raking up and down her body with intent is already locked into her memory.

Once she’s within arm's reach, Lexa snags Clarke by the waist again and draws her near. Their hips bump gently and Clarke leans in to taste the slight smirk that sits on Lexa’s lips, just because she can.

Things intesifiy quickly, and before long their hands start to wander, Clarke feeling her way to the hem of Lexa’s t-shirt. She pulls it up and off, both smiling when it gets caught in Lexa’s hair, only for Clarke to suck in a quiet breath as soon as she registers Lexa isn’t wearing a bra. Her eyes drift, taking in the expanse of Lexa’s sun-bronzed skin, tits the exact same golden shade as the rest of her, and Clarke absently licks her lips, wanting nothing more than to have those perfect pink nipples in her mouth.

She also gets her first full look at the tattoo that spans most of Lexa’s upper arm. 

Fascinated, Clarke lets her fingers trace the swirls and lines of black ink, three symmetrical bands stacked on top of one another. The design reminds her of the intricate carvings at the top of the crumbling stone columns that she saw dozens of pictures of online when she was researching accommodation options, remnants of the ruined temple that occupies the highest point of the island, only a couple hours’ hike from here, according to the Airbnb listing.

“This is beautiful. What does it mean?”

Lexa peers down at her arm. “It represents each generation of my family in Polis. My great-grandfather was born in a small village called Trikru on the mainland. He was only nineteen when he left his home, everyone he knew, and came here to make a better life.”

She lifts her chin as she speaks, a note of pride in her voice. “He built the taverna from nothing nearly a century ago, and it’s still standing today, passed down through our family.”

“The legacy continues. That’s wonderful.”

“Mm. Now my half-sister manages the place.”

“Not your parents?”

“They’re retired, but they still help out during the busy summer months.” She purses her lips. “Sometimes I think the power goes to Anya’s head. She enjoys bossing me around too much.”

Clarke smiles to herself. “I’m going to take a wild guess that she’s the older sibling?”

“By seven years. She says she’s preparing me to take over eventually.” Lexa sighs. A slight frown appears on her brow as her jaw shifts. “Duty and tradition is everything to her, but I have dreams of my own.”

Clarke runs her fingertips lightly over the patterns on Lexa’s skin, feeling goosebumps rise to the surface. “What do you want to do instead?”

A shrug. “Travel. See the world. Experience other cultures and far-away places.” She looks at Clarke, rolling her eyes a little. “I know, it’s a cliché.”

“Well… if you ever find yourself in Washington DC, look me up. I’d show you around the city.” 

It’s half tongue in cheek, but the way Lexa studies her for a beat, so solemn yet clearly unconvinced, Clarke finds herself saying, “I’m serious. You should visit. My work schedule is crazy but if I can wangle some time off, I’d be happy to play tour guide. Plus, I have a guest room.”

Another of those minimal smiles touches Lexa’s lips, her mouth just barely pulling to the side. “We wouldn’t be sleeping together?”

Suddenly coy, Clarke lowers her gaze. Eyes on Lexa’s ink once more as she feels herself flush again. “I mean...” She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and looks up through her lashes. “I could be persuaded to share my bed.”

“Yes?”

She nods. Whispers, “yeah” before the distance between them vanishes and they’re back to kissing. Hands gripping, running up and down, moving restlessly over dips and curves, and Clarke can’t control her shivers, a current buzzing through her, a million tiny sparks going off under her skin. 

Lexa palms at her breasts and the chafe of satin bra cups against Clarke’s nipples is enough for a moan to slip out between the seal of their mouths. 

A minute later she’s gasping hotly, “take off my dress” before recapturing Lexa’s lips, driven by the overwhelming need to feel skin on skin at last.

Nodding once, never ceasing contact, Lexa peels the straps from Clarke’s shoulders. She locates the zip at the back and drags it down smoothly. Tugs, and Clarke feels the dress slip from her body to puddle at her feet. The bra is next to go, unhooked with consummate ease. Warm hands move over her hips and waist, gliding up her ribs to take hold of her tits again. This time it’s Lexa who makes a sound, a low, throaty groan that only adds to the flood in Clarke’s underwear. 

They tip their foreheads together, breathing heavily as they watch one another, eyelids at half mast. Without a word, Clarke reaches for the button at the waistband of Lexa’s cut-offs, but the thumbs slowly circling her nipples make her far less dexterous than she should for all her surgical training. Finally, she pops the button and gets the fly open. It’s a joint effort to wiggle the tight denim down Lexa’s hips, taking her underwear along with the shorts, all smiles when she kicks them off to the side.

Clarke only gets a brief glimpse down Lexa’s body before she’s drawn back in by the cheeks for a greedy, open-mouthed kiss. As if she wasn’t already painfully aroused by everything else, the subtle definition of abs, the flare of wide hips, and the uninterrupted view of those legs pours further fuel onto the fire. Like an unstoppable force, Clarke pursues Lexa’s mouth relentlessly, recklessly, the forward momentum driving them across the courtyard until Lexa’s back meets the nearest vertical surface.

Unfortunately, it happens to be a vine-covered trellis and Lexa lets out a muffled yelp, wincing when something jags her bare skin. 

Twin puffs of air hit their cheeks, expelled through their nostrils, before they each dissolve into quiet chuckles, the absurdity not lost on either of them.

“Sorry,” Clarke says through a slight grimace, running a soothing hand down Lexa’s spine.

“Don’t be.”

Lexa is smiling, but Clarke still dies a little inside, already imagining Octavia’s reaction when she hears about this during their inevitable overanalysis of the entire evening at brunch. 

She takes a deep breath. “So…” Followed by a short laugh. “Where were we?”

Lexa inclines her head towards the hot tub, teeth dug into her lower lip.

And just like that, the awkwardness is forgotten.

Not taking her eyes off Lexa’s, Clarke needs no further instruction, pushing her panties all the way down and stepping out of them. Her heart is racing, but she holds still under Lexa’s appraisal, a flash of heat surging over her when that dark gaze settles low for a stretch of seconds and Lexa swallows, lips parting soundlessly on an exhale. 

And while she stands there on display without a stitch on, Clarke is really fucking glad she went ahead with that appointment to tame her bikini line, however painful it was getting waxed within an inch of her life. 

The ordeal was worth it for the spell she seems to have cast over Lexa. 

Not that Clarke isn’t equally entranced, legs and hips and breasts and that gorgeous face all competing for her attention.

She moves on instinct, curling a hand around Lexa’s neck and slanting their mouths together again. Barefoot, they’re of a similar height, and there’s something so exhilarating about the way their lips and bodies meld. Clarke can’t contain a string of tiny halting whimpers as they trade deep kisses, hyper-aware of every point of contact, from the skim of hard nipples to the brush of their thighs to the press of Lexa’s fingers at the base of her spine, sliding lower to grab at her ass, raising another desperate groan.

God, if this is what handsy making out with Lexa does to her, Clarke doesn’t know how she’ll survive once they dispense with foreplay and get down in earnest. At this rate, she might be flying home in a casket.

It doesn’t help matters when Lexa’s mouth strays, trailing along the underside of Clarke’s jaw, sucking shallow kisses down her throat to find that sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. Already weakened, Clarke’s knees nearly give way to feel the nip of teeth there.

Somehow, somehow she finds the willpower to slip out of Lexa’s grasp.

Worth it for the reappearance of the pout, the flash of consternation on Lexa’s face as her eyebrows dip together.

But that pretty scowl is erased by a dark look of a different kind when Clarke climbs into the hot tub. Eyes blaze over her naked form with enough heat to rival the Mediterranean sun, and it gives her such a rush.

People have wanted her before; that’s nothing new. It comes with the territory, being blonde and in reasonably good shape (considering her questionable eating habits, constant state of fatigue, and general disdain for working out). She hasn’t gone through life oblivious to the attention. Frankly, she’s sick and tired of male patients, young and old alike, salivating over her like cartoon dogs during consults, eyes practically on stalks while they stare at her chest. And it’s truly wild how often she’s been hit on by visiting relatives moments after breaking the bad news about their loved ones.

Hell, it’s become a grim bonding ritual to compare horror stories with fellow residents during breaks or on the rare occasions when she allows them to drag her out to a bar after work.

This, the way Lexa looks at her, is worlds away from what basically amounts to workplace harassment. 

Lexa’s desire is a thrilling, palpable thing, a thick charge in the air that makes it difficult to think or breathe. 

Half dizzy with lust, Clarke sinks into the water and reclines against the tub, pulse accelerating as she watches Lexa put her hair up into a loose knot. Lips subtly curling at one corner. Nothing unsure or shy about her as she advances, and Clarke wishes she could bottle some of that supreme confidence for herself, because it doesn’t always come naturally.

Lexa takes the spot opposite, lowering herself into the tub. Drapes an arm along the edge and waits.

One look, the slightest twitch of an eyebrow is invitation enough.

Clarke pounces, propelling herself through the water to swing a leg over Lexa’s lap and reclaim her mouth. Fingers dig into Clarke’s hips, pulling her closer, their bellies and breasts flush. Cradling Lexa’s jaw in both hands, Clarke pushes her tongue past Lexa’s teeth, slipping inside to flick across the roof of her mouth, revelling in the whimper it earns her, how Lexa’s grip tightens as the kiss turns greedier. Hot and wet and dirty enough for Clarke to start to grind her hips in search of friction. Already on course for a second orgasm when Lexa hasn’t even fully fingered her yet. Just the thought of this girl being knuckle deep, the reach of those long fingers, gets Clarke halfway there and she groans unabashedly. Kisses Lexa until they’re each short of breath, panting into the humid slice of air between their open mouths.

“Can I fuck you?” The hard ‘k’ hits Clarke’s lips in a hot puff and she shivers, despite the toasty temperature of the water churning all around her, steam rising off the surface.

She holds back a quip (it’s like you read my mind), sensing Lexa is serious about asking for permission by the way she searches her face so intently for any sign of hesitance, and Clarke melts a little to know that her comfort level and boundaries are at the forefront of Lexa’s mind, which is more than can be said for some of her past casual encounters.

“Yes,” Clarke says, leaving no room for doubt that they’re very much on the same page here, before she leans in to brush their lips together again. She makes a noise. Not lifting her mouth away, she adds in a heated tone, “God, I just need you inside me.”

It has the intended effect. Lexa surges into the next kiss with a ferocity that steals Clarke’s breath away and scrambles her brain. At Lexa’s silent urging and with a gentle squeeze of her hips, she’s repositioned so quickly that it’s kind of a blur how she came to be lifted up and sat on the edge of the hot tub with Lexa kneeling in the space between her legs.

“Is this okay?” Lexa asks, always checking in, and doing an impressive job of managing to keep her eyes up, showing far more restraint than Clarke would in Lexa’s place.

She has to remind herself to use words and not just shove Lexa’s perfect face into her crotch.

“More than okay.”

It’s automatic, how Clarke puts her arms out on either side to brace herself in anticipation. Held in thrall by the tilt of beestung lips as Lexa runs her palms along the tops of Clarke’s thighs and over her hips, dragging her that tiny bit closer, and Clarke doesn’t have the mental capacity to tamp down on a moan, beyond ready for this.

Green eyes dip down finally and Clarke sees that little smile falter. Lexa’s lips part, the tip of a pink tongue darting out to moisten them, and with it, the last of Clarke’s inhibitions fall away. 

She spreads her thighs wider, skin prickling all over as she feels the weight of Lexa’s stare, roaming freely now, voraciously taking in every inch on display.

When their eyes lock again, it sends a jolt through Clarke. A spike of need so sharp that her locked elbows wobble and she forgets to breathe for a second, hanging on Lexa’s every move as she leans in.

The eye contact, heavy and sustained, when she tastes Clarke for the first time, lashes flickering, a thick groan in Lexa’s throat that Clarke feels the vibrations of through her whole body—fuck, she nearly comes on the spot.

Helpless not to, she arches into it, biting down hard on her lip to stifle a moan as a warm, velvety soft tongue runs through her. 

A slow, deliberate lick around her entrance draws a whimper, Clarke shamelessly lifting her hips to ask for more only for Lexa’s hands to anchor her firmly in place. 

With Clarke at her mercy, Lexa uses the flat of her tongue, broad laps that make Clarke’s toes curl, slipping against the porcelain tub with a squeak. Lexa varies the pace and pattern, slowing down or speeding up to prevent Clarke from settling into a rhythm. Every little lick and swirl has her twisting and squirming, and a sob of frustration starts to build in her chest. 

But Lexa’s eyes are shut, lost in the bliss, a flush high on her cheeks. Mouth sliding over wet flesh, slick noises drowned out by the rumbling jacuzzi jets and the harsh, ragged breaths that Clarke expels into the night air.

She winds a hand into Lexa’s hair, nails scratching mindlessly against Lexa’s scalp as she works Clarke higher, drawing circles around her clit, the pressure in the pit of her stomach coiling tighter and tighter.

Sweat covers her skin and her calves tremble with the strain as she rocks forward, undulating against that mouth, chasing her release without a care for how desperate it might seem.

(It’s been six months without anything better than her own hand or a vibrator between her legs, so she’s willing to cut herself some slack.)

The hands curved around Clarke’s hips slide down, pushing her thighs even further apart, tearing a gasp from her. It feels like she’s being split wide open, exposed in a way that goes beyond mere nudity, but she trusts Lexa, finds safety and reassurance in the sweep of thumbs back and forth over the inside of her thighs as Lexa devours her.

She barely lasts another minute under the onslaught. Pushed so hard and fast over the edge that her jaw drops and a throaty moan flies out.

Every muscle in her body tightens, hips shooting up to hold herself against the firm press of Lexa’s tongue, suspended there for those glorious seconds of blinding pleasure that seem to stretch on and on. 

In her mind’s eye, Clarke pictures what this must look like: her neck tensed and head thrown back, giving herself over with complete abandon, and it only intensifies the feeling, the tremors working through her all the more forcefully.

And Lexa doesn’t relent.

She keeps on tonguing Clarke through the aftershocks, wringing out every last twitch and jerk until she can’t take any more, using her grip on Lexa’s wildly mussed locks to drag her mouth away, too overstimulated to endure another second or she might scream. 

Even so, Clarke shivers again once she catches sight of Lexa’s expression, the wetness shining on her lips and chin, pupils pushed to the outer edges, only a thin ring of green surrounding the void. She looks like she’s the one who just got eaten out expertly, and Clarke doesn’t know how to process that, not in her present state.

All she’s capable of doing is tugging on Lexa’s hair, urging her up, another low moan passing between them when she gets a taste of herself on Lexa’s lips, greedy for more.

They remain fused in deep, languid kisses. Just exploring each other’s mouths, keeping things at a low simmer, now and then turning up the heat to bring the sizzle back. Whenever a little more tongue is added to the mix, that molten, heavy feeling settles between Clarke’s thighs again and she attacks Lexa’s mouth with renewed vigour.

By the time they pull apart for a breather, Clarke’s lips are tingling and her backside is half numb from being perched on the edge of the tub for so long.

Still, their lips cling. A string of saliva connects them as she backs off, just far enough to murmur into the gap, “Could we take this inside? I can’t feel my ass anymore.”

Lexa’s eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs and she gets this cute little crease above her top lip that Clarke could fixate on for days. 

As her gaze drifts around Lexa’s features, taking in the toothy smile and the sparkle in those big green eyes, Clarke’s heart thumps a little harder, a little faster, and she thinks: damn, I could really fall for you.

Without a doubt, it’s the flood of oxytocin in her system talking, but that half-formed thought causes an instant adrenaline spike, kicking up her pulse and drying out her mouth. 

She blinks and glances down, biting her tongue before she blurts out something far too recklessly vulnerable when they only just met tonight and she doesn’t even know Lexa’s last name, much less her views on long distance.

It’s safer to steer this back to sex. That’s why they’re here, after all. There’s no sense in deluding herself otherwise when she’ll be gone in two weeks and Lexa will have already moved on to the next girl that catches her eye.

So Clarke pushes all other thoughts aside and lets her palms slide down to cup Lexa’s breasts, pleased when Lexa pushes into her grasp and they both let out a small, grateful sigh.

Oh, yeah, this she can do with certainty.

“Anyway,” Clarke gives a slow knead, rewarded by Lexa’s hitch of breath. Hard nipples poke into the centre of her palms. “I’m still waiting for you to follow through on your promise to fuck me.” Her voice dips lower. “Or are you all talk, Lexa?”

They share a blistering look.

Lexa’s eyes flash, a glint that says challenge accepted.

“I’m just getting started, Clarke.” 

She isn’t sure what’s more arousing, the arch, almost arrogant tone, accompanied by the flex of one eyebrow, or the sound of her name from Lexa’s mouth, wrapped in an accent that just oozes sensuality. 

Either way, she pretends to be unaffected.

“Oh, yeah?”

With a hum and a slow, minuscule nod, Lexa tips her head to nudge into another kiss, but Clarke evades it at the last second, fighting a smirk when she spies Lexa’s little pout. 

“Well, then.” Clarke brings her lips close to Lexa’s ear. “Show me how hard you can make me come.”

[newtonsheffield]

Kate Sharma and Anthony Bridgerton in Nothing Good Starts by newtonsheffield (Moomin_94)

Tracks always smelled like burning rubber. Kate thought as she got out of the car and it made her smile. Made her remember all the times she’d sat in pit lane and watched her father speed by with a wink and a wave. He’d always smelled like this, even when he’d only been in the simulators or in some other kind of meeting, he a,ways smelled just like this. It was one of the things that had drawn her here in the first place.

Her sneakers squeaked on the marble floor as she made her way through the front doors, Bridgerton Racing emblazoned in bright blue above the desk.

The receptionist looked up, “How can I help you?”

“I’m Kate Sharma, I’m-“

“Yes!” The woman said, smiling, “Kate, Mr Bridgerton’s been expecting you. They’re in Sim at the moment and they asked me to send you over when you arrived.”

Kate swallowed down the anxiety in her stomach, trying not to feel as though she didn’t deserve the ID badge passed her way, tried to listen to the directions she was given, looking around unsurely as though a security guard would throw her out any second.

She walked further into the lobby, at the trophies lining the cabinet in the far wall, from Edmund Bridgerton’s own days on the track, before this team had even existed. She smiled a little at the photo printed on the wall, one she’d seen a million times, broadcast and reprinted. Edmund, smiling in Monaco with a trophy in one hand and his newborn son cradled in his other arm.

The Simulator room was bustling, engineers reviewing the footage of the last season, going over the performance stats, arguing as people always did. There was a man in the simulator, tucked into the seat in the centre of the room with people crowded around him cheering as the car on the screen spun the wheels out.

“I told you, there was space for burnouts at the end of that track!” The driver cheered triumphantly and Kate rolled her eyes, clearing her throat as she approached a kindly looking woman who was shaking her head,

“Sorry, I’m looking for Mr Bridgerton?”

The Driver’s head spun around and he practically vaulted out of the simulator at the sight of her and really, she should have known. Anthony Bridgerton. He was talented, everyone knew the story of how his father had refused to sign him when he’d started this team and held open trials instead, only for Anthony to show up under an assumed name and post times that no one else could even come close to, only to take his helmet off at the end and leave his father stunned. He was talented, one of the best, tipped to take out the entire championship this year, and that stupid documentary had only boosted his profile further. And here he was, playing around with millions of dollars worth of equipment as if it were nothing.

“You’ve found him!” There was an easy grin on his handsome face, his eyes dancing over his face and Kate scoffed despite herself.

“Not you.” Kate smiled, casting around the room for-

“Though I have to say, you might be in the wrong spot.” He ignored Kate’s raised eyebrows, ��they’re auditioning promo girls on the first floor today but I’d be happy to audition you myself over drinks.”

Anger flickered through Kate’s chest as her mouth fell open in surprise, half ready to tear him apart but luckily she was saved from having to by Edmund Bridgerton’s voice floating downstairs.

“Good! You two’ve met. “ He clapped his son on the shoulder as he appeared, “Anthony, this is Kate Sharma. She’d the engineer who’s going to be in your ear this season.”

[pi3tros]

INTO YOU

summary: jackson has been gone for months, and the worst thing about it was not seeing you. All he wants to do is please you and make you happy but how can he do that when the two of you are countries apart? Finally. The man was off tour and back home. And he wanted to do nothing more but to show you what you were missing for those torturing months.

pairing: idol! jackson x baker! reader established relationship, smut & fluff, reader is a bit black coded ngl

genre: romance

rating: 18+

warnings: groping, grinding, kissing, p in v sex, soft dom jackson, choking, creampie, spanking, slight degradation, little bit of food play with whip cream, hair pulling, overstimulation, daddy kink, raw sex (wrap it up guys), breeding kink, cum play, fingering, m and f receiving, reader is thick asf, size kink, both hands on the screen y’all PLS 😭, he is a freak like the dirty talk is jaw dropping, bros pwussy whipped, jackson is 8 inches 😝😝😝

Jackson drove quickly down the street, the moon out and street lights flickering on. He gripped on the steering wheel, rings digging into the expensive leather. When he said he needed to see you that was a understatement, the man was literally going insane with the thought of seeing you again. Jackson needed to breath the same air as you again, touch you, look at you.

When he got the call from his manager that the concerts have been cancelled due to the stadium having issues and he was on break for a month, he had never been happier.

Pulling into the driveway seeing your Porsche in the driveway that he had bought you for your birthday, looking through the house seeing that the living room and kitchen lights where on. He rushed out of the car grabbing his luggage, not even bothering to lock the car as he power walked to the door. With shaky hands taking out his keys, unlocking the door carefully. Rolling his suitcase onto the clean floors, leaving it by the door.

Rnb played in the background, the smell of honey and treats filling his nose. He sighed, feeling rather emotional as he took off his coat. He could hear you humming in the background as pans slapped against the marble countertops, it smelt like cookies and your vanilla perfume.

Walking inside the house, being met with your side profile as you cut up the bars of chocolate. Curls put in a ponytail and you were still in clothing rather than pajamas. Tight jeans that fit every single curve of your body, hugged the thickness of your thighs and behind. Then a new sweater that was tight as well, pastel pink and had a low cut showing your white Lacey bra that held your plump tits so well.

He felt like he could bust in his pants right there and then.

Looking up from the cutting board with wide eyes, not expecting to see your fiancé back home so soon. You weren’t complaining tho. The corners of your plush lips turned upward, smiling brightly. “Baby, missed you so much!” You sat down the knife, basically skipping towards him.

He yanked you towards him, muscular arms trapping you in a tight hug squeezing the air out of your body. His nose pressed against the side of your neck inhaling the vanilla perfume that he had missed so much. His right hand trailing down to your behind groping you as his fingers dug into the material.

“Missed you,” smooch “so,” smooch “much.” He kissed every part of your face to your neck, making you laugh from the ticklish sensation on his lips. You had him wrapped around your finger unknowingly. “You don’t even know girl,” he muttered, slamming his lips against yours. Large palm slapping against your ass making you gasp, taking the chance the slip his tongue in your mouth.

You tasted like chocolate and whipped cream, leaving him wanting more and more of your sweetness with ever gasp of your mouth. He made you dizzy, from his hands running up your body to his tongue gliding against the inside of your mouth. Stumbling backwards as his heavy weight pressed against you.

The oven dinged, you pulled your head back making him whine. Already missing the taste of your lips as you rushed towards the oven, grabbing the glove pulling out the pan, then the other. Thanks to Jackson’s wealth you had a luxurious kitchen, atleast 4 ovens for you to cook and bake freely.

Wiping the spit that trickled down his chin with his Dior shirt, following you like a puppy as he watched you press your finger against the hot sugar cookies making sure they where the right temperature. Then bending down picking them with a toothpick making a small opening for inside the cookies. Grabbing whip cream filling the cookies up.

Jackson cursed himself for having a dirty mind, waiting patiently for you to be done. Watching you as you put some of the home made whip cream in your mouth tasting it. “Don’t do that,” he said looking at you with a dazed expression.

“Do what?” You raised a eyebrow, filling your mouth up with more of the whip cream. Some of it dripping down onto your chest. He groaned shaking his head at that, growing a even harder through his sweatpants. Jackson was really trying his best to be a good man and let you finish whatever you were doing so after he could make you forget your own name. But that plan wasn’t going to last with your behavior.

His pointer finger trailed up your chest collecting the whip cream, then shoving his finger in your mouth. “Stop that.” He scolded you, feeling your tongue swirl around the tip of his fingers. At this point in time he was painfully hard, he could feel the pre cum leaning down his girth. Cock throbbing like a heartbeat. It was that bad.

“Your the one who put your finger in my mouth.” You sassed back as his finger slipped out of your mouth, earning a harsh slap on your behind. Giving him a look as you turned back towards the cookies. The counter was quite messy, all your packaging and ingredients displayed everywhere. Grabbing the plastic bags that had your bakery name on them.

Carefully putting the cookies inside humming to the summer walker song in the background. Feeling your fiancé hover on you once again, the taller man pressing into you as he watched you do what you do. Eyes not focused on the cookies tho, more on his crotch pressed in between your cheeks.

He let out a sigh, hips moving slowly as he got a tiny bit of relief from grinding against you. His large hand sliding under your sweater resting on your belly. “Jackson stop, tryna’ focus.” You whined, feeling your panties get sticky from arousal as he bucked against you. Trying to act unbothered even tho you met some of his thrusts.

“Take a break then baby,” he muttered, gently tilting your head to the side trailing wet kisses down your neck. Sucking and biting down leaving dark hickeys on some spots.

“But I have to have these done by the morning,” you let out a moan at the end feeling his hand squeeze your tit under your bra. His thumb rubbing slow circles against your nipple. He twitched against you, the sound music to his ears.

“I’ll do it for you.” He kissed your temple, turning you around in a swift motion. Grabbing the back of your thighs lifting you up easily. He gripped your thighs heading upstairs quickly, your stomach bubbling with anticipation. Opening your bedroom door that was clean as always.

He threw you on the bed, gasping as he yanked you back down by your ankles. Unzipping your jeans grabbing both sides pulling the material down your legs, undressing you himself. The man didn’t want you to lift a finger. He took off your sweater as well, hands slowly running down your side.

“Pretty,” he muttered, eyeing the matching lingerie set he got you before he left. Carefully taking off your panties, all of his movements slow and sensual. Grabbing your thighs spreading your legs. He let out a shaky sigh, thumb trailing down your cunt. Bringing his thumb to his mouth sucking on it lightly.

“So wet, all for me?” He raised a eyebrow looking at you, pressing against your clit rubbing slow and harsh circles. Your legs snapping close but he opened them back up immediately, he smiled at that. Laughing at you tauntingly as you where already dazed out from his simple movements.

“Uh-huhhhh,” you let out a yelp as he stuffed his two fingers in your hole, thick and long filling you up just right. Fingers pumping in and out harshly, his other hand keeping a strong hold on your thigh so you didn’t snap it shut once again. You felt your soul leave your body for a second, eyes rolling back as his fingers curled inside of you.

It’s been months, and you where so damn sensitive. Everything seemed 10x better since you was touch deprived, vibrator and your own fingers not doing as good as him. He had a wicked smile on his face, hand removing from your thigh pressing down onto your stomach to keep you down from bucking up. “You gotta’ stop movin’ so much babe.” He teased, keeping you in place as his finger’s relentlessly moved in and out.

Your arousal trailed down your butt to the sheets, the room loud with your moans and sound of your wet cunt. Legs shaking violently as he collected spit, spitting down onto your pussy watching it trail down. “J-jackson s-slow downnn t’ much!” You whined grabbing his wrist trying to get him to slow down, he slapped your hand away.

“Uh-uh sweetheart.” He grabbed both of your wrist with his free hand, tightly wrapping his fingers around leaning forward as your thighs rested against his. Placing your hands on the bed, he huffed curling his fingers once again. Bullying your walls, thumb working as well.

He groaned, eyeing the soaked bedsheets. “Your so wet, damn.” Watching as your hole squeezed his fingers as he pumped them inside you, taking them out replacing them with his tongue. His nose pressing into your clit, back arching as you let out loud moan that bounced against the walls.

Thighs squeezing his head as he leaned forward, your thighs pressing against your own stomach as his tongue curled pumping in and out. “Mmph!” You bit against your hand, trying to contain your moans since you were so damn loud the neighbors could probably hear. And with one last curl of his tongue you came hard, cum trailing down your fiancés chin as he licked it all up. Panting as he backed up, standing up again.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you daddy.”

“Good girl.” he gave your cunt a loud slap, untying his sweatpants taking them off. Then his shirt, then finally his boxers. His dick was leaking badly, tip angry and red. Veins extra purple. He was thick and long, curving to the right. Wrapping his hand around his dick hissing, stroking himself slowly.

“Ready?” He asked, giving your belly button a kiss as he pushed you farther down the bed, leaning down as his arms rested in each side of your head. You simply nodded, his lips pressing against your cheek as he lined himself up.

The both of you moaned as he slowly slid himself in, his eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. Letting out a grunt as you squeezed him dry. He fit in perfectly, he had been inside you so many times your pussy probably was shaped like him.

Leaning upward spreading your legs farther as he waited for you to adjust from the burning sensation that was painful to be honest. “J-jackson,” you whined, covering your eyes with your arm.

“Right here honey,” he ran his hand up and down your thigh, slowly sliding out then slamming back inside, hips beating against yours. You could barely think straight, his cock curving so nicely inside of you kissing your cervix each time. Mouth in a O shape as you let out the sluttiest moans.

“T-taking me so good sugar, d-doing so mmph good!” He praised, eyes focused on the way he slid in and out inside you. Your moans only hyping him up more, squeezing your waist as he pumped inside of you. Legs shutting close but he yanked them back open. It was to much, he didn’t even give you a second to recollect from your last orgasm.

“Keep these legs open baby,” he groaned loudly, hand sliding up in between your breast grabbing your neck squeezing it. Slowing down his thrusts, body flinching as he slammed into you harder and slower. Back arching further as he took the chance sliding his arm under your back lifting you up, heels digging into the bed as he thrusted into you from a whole different angle.

“O-oh my goshhhhh, w-wait!” You whined loudly, slapping his shouler as the feeling was getting overwhelming, eyes squeezing shut as he pushed his hips upward. Gripping your waist so hard it would probably leave a mark.

“Holy—baby your squeezing me so damn tight right now,” he muttered, hand moving down to your already red cheek. Slapping it harshly leaving a print, tears staining your cheeks as you let out a sob, biting onto his shoulder as he switched the position once again. Your ass in the air as he pressed your head down into the pillow.

“Gonna, fuck, put a baby inside you, stuff you full with my cum. You like that? Like the sound of that sweetheart?” He panted, arching your back as you slammed against him. Hand repeatedly slapping against the skin of your cheeks till it felt raw, grabbing your hair yanking you upward. Shoving his tongue inside of your mouth, sliding his hand down your stomach playing with your clit.

He leaned back, spreading your cheeks wide watching himself slide in and out. “Pussy to good, holy fuck.” You moaned against the pillow as he slowed down, fingers moving quickly as your legs shook. Cumming hard as it slid down his cock, he didn’t stop tho. Loud groans echoing in the room as he continued to hit it from the back so hard his hips turned pink.

“Fuckkkkkk,” he groaned, cumming inside of you. Pumping himself inside letting out a whine from how sensitive he was, panting as he slid out.

Cum dripped down in between your ass, but he was quick to collect it with two fingers. Stuffing it right back inside. “Can’t let anything go to waste sweetheart.”

[kivaember]

random o'keeffe/flatwell drabble go!

3:43.

The numbers blurred slightly in O'Keeffe's vision, loitering at the bottom right corner of his computer screen as he continued his methodical work. It wasn't anything urgent, and he could do it tomorrow in the office if he wanted, and it was beneath him anyways since this was junior analyst work, but the night was long and dark and the thoughts in his mind too loud.

Staring at numbers, scouring through profiles and names and linking together Mr What's-his-face with Mrs. So-and-So and the embezzled funds from This-or-That project or Thingiemajig budget that were spent on luxury yacht #54 or sunk into a giant swimming pool tiled with rare marble from Pluto and the water coloured crimson from heavily diluted recycled Coral (that is toxic it's toxic it's toxic but do the more rich than sensible executives care no no of course not), weaving through the byzantine corruption that spun the corporate wheels, that fed the kleptocracy that masquaraded as their democratic capitalistic society, all the same shit over and over, until O'Keeffe didn't even bother writing unique reports anymore he just copy and pasted names, dates and what luxury item was purchased that day.

It was menial work. It was tedious work. It was work that forced him to focus and so was the only thing that kept him sane, nowadays.

3:59.

This particular case he was working on was very minor, yet the executive involved was a little cleverer than most. He understood the concept of money laundering for one, probably because of his relatively junior rank, and so couldn't relay on his gold citizenship and executive status to protect him if Arquebus wanted to make an example. The guy had a side business of cakes for dogs or something. He laundered his money through there. It should've stood out like a red flag because cakes? For dogs? As a business?

But this was the society they lived in. Earth was a ridiculous place, utterly delusional and disjointed from the wider galaxy, where cold, harsh reality stepped on the necks of every day humans. There was a reason so many people ran the immigration gauntlet to get onto Earth, even if it was as a working class citizen. The great cult built around Earth was a siren-song, and even O'Keeffe had fallen for it all those years ago.

Still, even with hindsight, he'd make the same choice. If he hadn't accepted Arquebus's offer, he wouldn't even be here right now. He would've succumbed to Coral-Burn, and if it hadn't killed him outright from organ failure, then he'd be reduced to a witless vegetable, his grey matter chewed up and consumed by the crytallised Coral in his implants and his nervous system. Horrible fate. Awful. O'Keeffe was a stupid human through and through: he'd jump through so many hoops to keep his mind and life intact.

4:04.

This executive wasn't much different, but he just had more expensive tastes for what was 'survivable' for him. O'Keeffe wasn't going to submit this report, in all honesty. The guy was small fry. He hadn't stolen as much as the board director did for his three mistresses and that 'love basement' of his. Still entertaining to read into this cake for dogs business though. Really, who came up with these ideas?

4:05.

"O'Keeffe."

He blinked, the name a sudden intrusion into the focused zen he had fallen into. He half-turned, peering over his shoulder to see a silohuette standing at his office door, leaning against the frame with their arms crossed. He couldn't make out their face, but he could tell that they only had a shirt on, open, and not making them decent in the least.

"Flatwell," O'Keeffe rasped. "What're you doing up?"

"Fetching you, apparently," Flatwell sighed, pushing off the door frame and walking over to him.

O'Keeffe didn't move as Flatwell stood behind him and rested his hands on his shoulders, deft fingers slowly kneading into the tense muscles there. Despite himself, he slowly relaxed, Flatwell knowing exactly where the knots and tension were, ruthlessly coaxing it out.

"A dog bakery," Flatwell murmured after a lull. "I've seen it all now."

"Money laundering business," O'Keeffe explained. "Some small fry executive. Nothing important."

"But important enough to keep you up at-" Flatwell paused, checking the clock in the bottom right corner of the screen. "-four in the morning."

O'Keeffe grunted.

Flatwell pressed his thumbs on either side of O'Keeffe's nape, slowly running parallel to his vertebrae. He could feel the skin pull slightly against the metal implants embedded into the skin there, evidence of the life-saving augmentation upgrade that countered the Coral-Burn sizzling through his grey matter, even now: contained, but not gone.

"Bad night, is it?" Flatwell asked mildly.

"Something like that," O'Keeffe muttered.

"Hm." Flatwell patted his shoulders. "C'mon. Reading about dog bakeries won't do you much good."

"Failing to sleep won't do me much either."

"Then we'll fuck or something," Flatwell said dismissively. "Or, if you really want to be productive, you could let me access the restricted areas in Arquebus's database using your priv-"

"No."

Flatwell clicked his tongue, but the smile in his voice was audible: "Damn. Foiled again. Well, since my seduction attempts aren't swaying you..."

He drew away, this time pressing his palm against O'Keeffe's hair, ruffling it like he was a miscreant child.

"...how about coffee?" he asked, after O'Keeffe stoically waved his hand away. He lifted it up and waggled his fingers temptingly. "That favourite cafe of yours should be open by now. Let's get something."

"You hate going anywhere early," O'Keeffe pointed out, but he locked his computer and stood up, grunting when his joints popped loudly. "Ergh."

"I do, but I can't sleep while you're skulking around like a convict," Flatwell drawled. "And I'm up now."

And Flatwell struggled to go back to sleep once he was woken up, O'Keeffe knew from experience (had endured several kicks to the shin when he'd accidentally jostled Flatwell awake at some unholy hour of the night). Despite being able to sleep, which most augmented humans struggled with, Flatwell was woken up on a hair trigger on most days. It made them an incompatible pair as bed fellows.

Yet, they still kept sharing that bed anyways, despite O'Keeffe being who he was and Flatwell being who he was. He was a spy, and O'Keeffe his consensual mark, and together they tied themselves into a relationship that they knew wasn't sustainable but kept feeding anyways because, well...

There weren't many Old Gen left. They were a dying breed, and in Arquebus alone he and Flatwell were the only ones. There was no one out there who understood them like they did each other, and Flatwell was also a very experienced honeypot who really knew how to put his silver tongue to good use (both literally and figuratively), so who did it hurt to toss a few crumbs of info his way, to turn a blind eye to his snooping or stealing a few schedules for Arquebus's supply routes between colonies?

He scratched Flatwell's back and he scratched his. It was a mutual, professional arrangement between two fellow wetworkers, and if there was some selfish indulgence on the side, then hey, they were only human after all.

(And just as delusional as the rest of the people on Earth.)

[silent-dragon]

TWST OC Profile ~ Romeo Bandelli

This a rework of a old oc that needed to be redone

Theme song to listen to while reading ^^

Personal Info

Name: Romeo Bandelli

Alias: Ro,The MagiClown (art of this below)

Gender: Male

Age: 24

Species: Human

Birthday: 10/23

Zodiac: Scorpio

Height: 215cm/7ft

Orientation: Pansexual

Eye Color: Emerald Green

Hair Color: Dirty Blonde

Homeland: Queendom of Roses

Family: Father

Mother

Older Brother

Twist of the Ringmaster from Disney's Dumbo

Work Info

School: Night Ravens College

Years at: 2 years

Occupation: Practical Magic Professor,Circus Performer/Worker

Who he is twisted from

Other Info

Dominant Hand: Right

Favorite Food: Loaded Nachos & Blue Cotton Candy

Least Favorite Food: Unsalted Anything

Dislikes: Mundane Tasks,Being Confused,Upset Animals,Red Wine,People who dislike clowns without a good reason,That no one likes him casually,Marbles,Insects

Likes: The Circus,Obedient Animals,Clowns,Stripes,Making People Laugh,Showing Off,Top Hats,Teaching Animals Interesting Tricks,Telling Jokes,Magic Tricks

Talents: Contortionist,Performing with Animals,Making Magic Fun,Cheering Others Up,Being Silly,Dancing,Cart Wheeling,Card Tricks

Unique Magic: "Funtime Haze" - Only if he needs to can cast an ominous pink fog that causes anyone in it to start hallucinating different types of things depending on what they last saw.

Personality: He is very energetic and slightly intimidating. Super kind most of the time due to his work as a clown but he has been said to become snappy when things are not going his way. He lives to entertain people but also loathes them when they are annoying. Friends and animals he works with he treats with high respect and kindness.

Bio: Romeo is the second son of a famous Ringmaster in the Queendom. He strives to one day earn that title but his brother is far better then him so it is a tough goal. His father saw how he had a knack for teaching others around the circus and suggested he teach at NRC for a while. He finds it less stressful but misses the circus life so often goes back when he can. He is a lover of animals and tries to befriend even the wild feral looking ones…doesn't do good with insects though..kinda afraid of them.

Loves making magic fun to learn and uses this way to teach anyone some sort of magic even if just to light a dark room or chill a drink…all can be fun at least he thinks so.

Can contort his body in all sort of ways. Does it usually when back home or in a show but has a tendency to forget when at NRC and will see him bend his hands or fingers in ways that may look like they are broken but they are not just a talent of his.

Arms are kinda jacked from all his work handling circus animals. His figure is big up top but skinny below that helps him balance on things during a show. His grip is strong though.

Is coming to terms that no one really likes him when he not showing off or isn't in his clownsona form at the circus. Just a boring man who just trying to figure out who he truly is.

[serpentmythos]

Madame Azalea Paradigm, Head of the Soul Intake Department within Heaven. Part of her duty is to ensure that paperwork pertaining to every blessed soul entering Heaven's gates after being judged is properly logged and filed away, along with maintaining and updating said profiles as needed.

She's best described as being dignified, calculating, and meticulous. Azalea takes her job very seriously, and thus the Soul Intake Department is run like a well-oiled machine. To help ensure that the department continues to run smoothly, and that no soul falls through the cracks on her end (because even Divine Bureaucracy is not infallible), Azalea utilizes a trio of Throne-like "familiars". These golden wheels are emblazoned with dozens of eyes and periodically fly around the record halls, ensuring that all aspects of the filing process are being completed to the best of everyone's ability. Any mistakes or slip ups are promptly reported to Azalea, and she handles them personally. Though stern, and priding herself on running a tight hall, Azalea only shows true cruelty to those who disrespect her.

But she's not without her softer side. She cares deeply about her colleagues and underlings alike, and even fusses endlessly over her familiars if one of the many-eyed wheels gets sick or injured. She'll often end a lecture with a motherly sigh and coming over to the perpetrator of a screw up. She'll either stoop down or fly up to their height, whichever way is better to look them in the eyes, place her hands on their shoulders and proceed to tell them that the only reason she is so hard on them is because she knows how capable they are, and how much faith she holds in their abilities. She's not truly angry with them, merely disheartened, and that she knows they'll do better tomorrow.

Like most Cherubim and Lucifer himself, Azalea sports marble-like white skin and platinum blonde hair. She keeps her hair long and prefers to have it styled in loose curls, with the tips of her hair brushing the small of her back. Her eyes are a soft bluish green color with the same long lashes standard of high-ranking angels. Being a more serious and business-minded angel, Azalea wears a sort of suit-dress combo.

Her body is well-proportioned and balanced, and though she is primarily a records keeper, I have a headcanon that after Lucifer fell, all angels (regardless of rank) are trained to fight with a chosen weapon, with Azalea's chosen weapon being a poleaxe. She's about as tall as Alastor, roughly 7' or so. The largest of her 3 pairs of wings span roughly 10' across, as such she typically keeps them folded tightly against her back rather than loosely folded and relaxed. Usually this is to keep any air currents generated by their movement to a minimum, and thus avoiding scattering paperwork everywhere. Her feathers are primarily white, but her largest flight feathers are tipped with gold.

[aquagirl1978]

hello! congrats for the 500 followers milestone :D can i request ikepri Leon + touching foreheads please?

Thank you @devonares for the request!

Invitation - Leon Dompteur x Reader

Pairing: Leon Dompteur x Reader

Prompt: touching foreheads

Tags: fluff

It was dark when you opened your eyes; through the window you could see a star filled evening sky. It only took a quick glance to realize you were alone in his bed. With the stars shining bright, you had a sudden inkling as to where your prince had stalked off to.

Putting on your robe, you made your way through a maze of corridors and soon found yourself outside in the rose garden. There, hiding amid dark shadows, you found your lover, his beautiful face tilted towards the night sky.

You admired him from afar, not ready to intrude on his moment just yet; his golden gaze glowed in the moonlight, his strong profile looked like it was carved from marble. Leon carried a regal air unlike any other, he was clearly born to be king.

“Leon?” you whispered, not wanting to startle him. He turned around, a bright smile spread upon his face when his eyes met yours.

“Should have known you’d find me out here,” he replied, holding out his hand to you. You slipped your hand in his; his hand was cool to touch, he’d been out here awhile.

He tugged you close to him, enveloping you in his arms once you were close enough. “That’s better,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head.

You nuzzled against his chest, savoring his scent, before looking up into his eyes. “Another nightmare?”

He sighed, but forced a small smile. “Not exactly...”

Placing your palm against the side of his face, you gently caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Worried about the meeting next week in Obsidian?” You knew this meeting concerning slave trading had been heavy on his mind; he had purposefully avoided discussing this topic each and every time you had broached it previously.

In typical Leon fashion, he chuckled. “Worried? No, not at all. I’m bringing Licht with me and some of his troops, so there should be no problems,” he added confidently.

He is worried if he is bringing Licht, one of, if not the, most skilled swordsman amongst the princes. You took Leon’s hands into yours, holding his gaze steady into yours. “I know I’ll be far away from you, and I’ll miss you, but I hate feeling helpless. I wish there was something I could do to support you in any way.”

You could see the wheels moving in his mind as he pondered your words. “There is something you could do.” Eyes wide, you hung on to every word he spoke.

“Come with me,” he offered.

You blinked, not expecting that response.

“Come with me,” he repeated. “There isn’t anything I’d want more than for you to be by my side.”

“Supporting me,” he added, dipping his head and brushing a kiss on your lips. “Loving me,” he whispered.

You swallowed nervously. “Are you sure about this?”

He ran his hands down your arms, his touch comforting. “Of course. Think of it as your first of many diplomatic trips you’ll accompany me on.”

Despite the crisp, evening breeze, your heart warmed at his words. Standing on tip toe, you returned his kiss. “Yes. Yes, I’ll come with you.” Your body burst with joy, knowing that there was something you could do other than pace the palace alone while your lover was away.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you close for a passionate kiss. Any worries you might have had about this upcoming trip were washed away as you deepened the kiss.

He pulled back and rested his forehead against yours. The tender way he looked at you tugged at your heart. His eyes twinkled, much like the stars in the sky above you; his love for you shining bright like the moon.

Tagging: @redheadkittys @alixennial @atulier-mururun @rhodolitesrose @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @devildomwritersposts @talfollowingstuff @altairring @kpop-and-otome @lucyw260 @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome

[alpacaparkaseok]

Lost & Found - 7

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: as always, THANK YOU for reading! Thank you for reblogging (which is literally every author’s dream), liking, commenting (I DIE OVER YOUR COMMENTS/ASKS, THEY ARE THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY) and just reading in gereral! Enjoy!

Chapter 7. Lie to Me

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Jimin finds himself robbed of breath as he watches that red thread dancing in the wind, the twin to his own. His heart is unsure of whether or not it wants to beat like a drum or stop altogether, leaving him clutching his chest.

Slowly, so slowly that it almost hurts, he brings his eyes up to the girl’s face. Only catching her side profile, he can’t help but be taken by surprise.

Soft is the first word that comes to mind when he catches sight of her eyes, her cheeks and nose. Her lips are pursed from where she must be biting them, making him emit a choked sigh. Her hair, falling around her shoulders, is deep with color.

He watches with no small amount of devastation as her eyes land on Elle’s figure, the cat already bounding down the stairs to greet her in the street. Coming to a stop, the woman crouches down and sets her groceries beside her. She reaches out to scratch Elle’s ears, and Jimin is unable to do anything but watch as those pursed lips ease out into a soft, beautiful smile.

It’s a smile, Jimin realizes, that he was meant to wake up to for the rest of his life.

Stuck in his trance, Jimin sees the woman pull her phone out and type out a quick message. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she grabs her groceries once again and begins to trek up the stairs.

Like the sound of a nail being hammered into his coffin, his phone pings with a text notification. He doesn’t look at it just yet, refusing to accept the reality. He keeps his eyes glued to the girl, his heart throwing itself at his ribs with undeniable vigor.

Step.

She turns to head up to the top right-hand apartment, Elle leading the way.

Step.

Now she’s fishing keys out of her pocket, saying something to Elle as the cat leaps through the window with ease.

Step.

She’s pressed up close to the door now, fumbling a little with the lock before the door gives way.

Step.

Making sure she has everything, the girl does a quick inventory of her bags, giving Jimin a complete view of her face for a split second before stepping inside.

Close.

The minutes tick by, but Jimin remains frozen in place, staring at that door with the number 6 hanging from it. The inside of his head turns into a hurricane, not giving him enough time to batter down the hatches before everything comes pouring down. Bringing a shaking hand to his mouth, Jimin finally tears his gaze from the door as it all becomes too much and the tears begin to stream down his face.

It’s there, quietly sobbing in his car, that Jimin realizes that he will be forever haunted by the image of his soulmate. And it’s there, one hand wringing the steering wheel while the other tries to silence his cries, that he curses the cruelty of fate.

Cutting the thread wasn’t enough, he knows that now. Just because his soulmate - Jolie is his soulmate’s name, how can a name be so beautiful? - cut the thread, doesn’t mean that she stopped fate. There are other common threads that bind them together.

Who could have expected it to come in the form of a cat?

Hands shaking violently, Jimin turns the key in the ignition. The bawdy tune on the radio is turned off the instant it comes on, and he’s left staring at his phone that sits atop his console.

Closing his eyes and grabbing it, he does his best to control his breathing. With tears still escaping his eyes, he looks at the message that arrived what feels like eons ago.

Jolie (Elle): Thanks for dropping Elle off! I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.

Jimin is at a complete loss for words, so he does the only thing he can.

He calls Namjoon.

✂

“Did you enjoy your night out?”

Elle preens on the kitchen counter, looking like she definitely did. I shoo her away, setting the groceries down and immediately beginning to put them away.

“Well, I’m glad. Good to know I was worried sick over nothing.” When Elle doesn’t begin to miraculously speak, I sigh. “You know, I went and saw that therapist today. The one my boss talked about a couple weeks ago.”

I pause for a moment, staring at the can of soup in my hands. Reading the nutrition label but hardly seeing it at all. It’s still early in the day, but I find myself already at a loss as to what I should be doing with the rest of the day.

“Now that you’re home, wanna go on a fieldtrip?” Elle perks up at my offer, tail lazily swishing back and forth. Putting the rest of my groceries away, I fumble around for my jacket. Then, staring at the envelope Namjoon gave me that still sits on my nightstand, I walk past it and grab a small business card sitting atop my dresser.

I have some homework to do.

If I’m supposed to come to terms with the events of the past couple of weeks, I might as well start with the person that assisted me in this entire process. That, and Christina may very well be the only person that doesn’t want to strangle me at the moment.

Chung-hei and Namjoon are supportive, but they see this as one thing and one thing only: wrong.

Elle is already waiting for me by the door when I reemerge, slipping the jacket on. She bounds out the door as soon as I open it, heading toward the small path that leads toward the park. I chuckle, the sound at odds with the uneasy feeling in my chest.

“Not that way,” I call to the confused cat. “We’re taking a bus to Itaewon.”

✂

Jimin is sitting on a stool by the kitchen island when the boys come stumbling through the door. He hardly flinches at the sudden change, only staring at the marble countertop. Staring at it like it might come up with the answers he needs, but not getting any input.

Namjoon received a call about an hour ago from Jimin, the younger boy nearly hyperventilating into the phone as he told him two things before dissolving into some sort of shocked silence.

“It was her.”

“Help.”

It didn’t take much for Namjoon to piece it all together. He had just been on the phone with Chung-hei that morning, trying to remember if Jolie had a white cat named Elle, and if Jimin was indeed in possession of that same cat.

Chung-hei had confirmed it, although she was just as shocked as Namjoon. What are the odds?

Apparently better than they thought, if Jimin’s current state is any indication.

Namjoon had wanted to stop Jimin, but after a long chat with his soulmate, he decided that it may be best to just let fate run its course.

Now, looking at Jimin who has finally lifted his head, he wonders if he was a fool for letting it go this far.

“Jimin-ah we’re home,” Taehyung announces, heading straight toward the island and taking a stool on his right. Yoongi takes the one on the left, Jungkook settling for wrapping his arms around Jimin’s shoulders and nuzzling his nose into his hair in the way that only Jungkook does.

Jin, j-hope, and Namjoon all weave around to stand on the opposite side of the island, exchanging worried glances. Unfortunately, none of them are experts in severed soulmate bonds. However, they do consider themselves to be Jimin experts.

Hopefully that will be enough.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” The question comes from Yoongi.

It falls silent as everyone waits for Jimin to speak. The quiet seems to be pressing in from all sides, nearly suffocating them.

Raising his head a bit more but not looking anywhere but the countertop, Jimin relinquishes his lip from where he was chewing on it.

“Her name is Jolie.” Jimin’s voice is still a bit shaky, but he pushes forward almost as though this is his only chance to get the words out before they’re forever locked up inside his mind. “Elle is...her cat. She was grocery shopping, I thought she was nice.”

“You talked to her?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin shakes his head. “No...not face to face. I had her number, when I thought I was just texting Elle’s owner. She seemed friendly.”

It’s quiet for a moment until Namjoon can’t fight the guilt anymore. “I’m...she probably is, Jimin. Good people make horrible decisions, sometimes.” He barely gets the words out without confessing all that he knows. He’s dying to, but he can’t. Something stops him, begging him to wait a little longer.

Nodding absentmindedly, Jimin sighs. “Elle loves her.” He stares burning holes through the countertop now. “She ran like a puppy once she saw her walking down the street. I think...she is a good person. So why…?”

He doesn’t need to finish his question, everybody is already thinking the same thing.

“Did she see you?” Taehyung wonders aloud, looking at his best friend with nothing but sweet concern.

“No, I was already in my car. But she...she texted me.” Jimin takes a moment before choking out the rest. “She thanked me for returning Elle. Said that she hoped it wasn’t too inconvenient for me.”

Once again, silence reigns in the apartment. It’s a rare occasion; these four walls are rarely quiet.

Hobi shuffles on his feet. “Have you thought about...you know…”

“What.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Texting her back?”

Jimin finally looks up, focusing on Hobi. “Text her back? What would I even say? Why….why?”

Namjoon jumps in. “I think it might be good, Jimin. It may help you to get some closure? Just get to know her a bit better. Maybe you’ll find out why she made this choice in the first place.” What he doesn’t tell him is that he’s been meticulously checking the mail every day for any sign of Jolie’s letter. If she hasn’t written to him yet, maybe this is another way for his friend to get closure?

Jimin shakes his head. “I’m the last person she’ll want to talk to.”

“She doesn’t have to know that it’s you,” Jin chimes in.

“And besides,” Namjoon continues. “I think that maybe today was some sort of sign. She can’t turn away forever, you know? Fate will always find a way.”

What he was hoping might be uplifting instead has Jimin turning to look at him, some sort of cold fire flickering in his eyes before sputtering out. “I don’t want fate or whatever this is,” he holds up his thread, “to just exhaust her into finally coming back to me! Is it too much to ask that she actually wants to be with me?”

“I didn’t mean it like-”

Jimin rises from his seat, prepared to walk away. “I’m not you, Namjoon!” His voice echoes through the house. “I didn’t get the girl! She took one look at me and thought that it would be better to ruin my life than be a part of it!” Jimin’s chest rises and falls, his breath rattling with the threat of sobbing.

Jungkook keeps his arms wrapped around Jimin, planting him in place. He’s always known Jimin so well; he knew that he would try to run and hide at some point during this conversation, to lick his wounds in peace without having to hurt anyone else. They’ll take it, though. They’ll take all of the barbed words in exchange for some sort of breakthrough. For Jimin to feel something again.

Jimin shakes his head, angry at himself for the tears and sobs that try to break through. “I’m so tired of crying, Namjoon.”

Namjoon remains on the opposite side of the island, unable to come up with anything to say, other than, “I’m sorry.”

But it’s Jungkook who musters up the courage to speak next. He’s quiet, still practically laying on Jimin and knowing that he’ll get away with it. Resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder, he sighs.

“Jimin-ah,” he begins, “You’re right, this is exhausting. But don’t you think that maybe she’s just...scared? And don’t you think she wouldn’t be so afraid if she got to know you? The Jimin that we all know isn’t scary, but all she’s ever seen are the promotions and concerts and suddenly she’s been thrown into a world where the one person that’s supposed to be her’s belongs to the entire world.”

The icy exterior that Jimin had been clinging to melts a little, his chin dropping to his chest. Jungkook sees the encouraging glances from his hyungs, and continues.

“It’s harmless to text her a little bit. Just get to know her. Let her get to know you. You can wait, to tell you who you are. But if you quit now, you will always wonder what could have happened.” Jungkook squeezes Jimin’s shoulders a bit tighter. “Do yourself a favor, and let it hurt a little more now so you can feel better in the future.”

“Rip off the bandaid,” Taehyung mumbles.

Yoongi stares at the countertop as well. “We’ll be here to help you know what to say, if you need help. But just because she shut you out, doesn’t mean that you should return the favor.”

Jimin closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before letting it out. When he opens them again, the pain is still there. Like a splinter caught in his skin. Painful, but not unbearable. Not when he’s got more important tasks to attend to.

He looks up at Namjoon, his cheeks a little red from embarrassment due to his outburst. “I’m sorry, Joon. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

Namjoon shakes his head, offering up a small smile. “I know. Don’t worry about it.”

At that moment the doorbell rings, everyone looking at each other with confused expressions. Jimin’s heart rate picks up, his imagination running while.

Did she see him? Does she somehow know what he’s planning to do? Is she angry and here to-

“Chicken!” Hobi shouts, bolting from the kitchen to the front door. Everyone dissolves into laughter, the uneasy tension from before dissolving a little.

Once Hobi returns with several boxes of chicken, explaining that he called for it just before entering the house, they turn back to the matter at hand.

Jimin stares down at his phone, wondering how on earth to begin. Jin coughs around his food before speaking.

“Just start with something that you have in common,” he suggests.

That common thread that is trying to no avail to bring them together.

Elle.

✂

Elle, I have come to learn, believes that she is above taking the bus. She must have gotten a hint of the high life last night with whoever she stayed with.

She’s currently poking her head out of my bag, which she immediately burrowed herself in upon finding boarding the bus. I smirk down at her, keeping my eyes averted from everyone else. It’s nice to have a little friend with me. It helps me ignore all of the people staring at me.

Or rather, my thread.

No one has dared to ask about it. Yet.

It should only take about twenty minutes to get to Itaewon. Hopefully that’s enough time for me to slip away before someone plucks up the courage to talk to me. If they approach, maybe Elle will hiss at them.

Judging by the way she’s nuzzled into my bag, I suppose that may be too much to wish for.

Riding the bus and watching the city slip past through the scratched windows has always been the strangest form of therapy for me. It’s crowded at times, loud and overall an awkward experience for many. However it’s often one of the places where I can just slip away. Dream with my eyes open as street shops and people drift into the rear view.

I’m just entering that dreamstate when I feel my phone vibrate. Slipping it out of my pocket and ignoring the whispers coming from a group of friends a couple of rows behind me, I glance at the new message.

It’s from the person that dropped Elle off, finally returning my message of gratitude.

UNK: It wasn’t inconvenient, don’t worry. If I’d had it my way, I would have hung out with Elle all day. 😸

I snort at the message, leveling Elle with a glare. “Sounds like you two are close.” Elle stares back up at me almost as though challenging me to do something about it. I roll my eyes. “You think you’re wrapped around their finger, huh? Watch and learn, princess.”

ME: Did you use the cat emoji bc of Elle or are you the kind of person that regularly uses cat emojis??

I wait with my phone in my hands, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I watch the person on the other side appear to be at a loss. Those three dots pop up for a moment before disappearing again.

It happens again and again, and I finally decide to put my phone away instead of watching them struggle to make up their mind. There’s only about ten minutes left of the trip, anyway.

Another five pass before my phone vibrates. Giving Elle a pointed look, I take a look at the response.

UNK: ...so what if I use cat emojis?

UNK: they’re there to be used, you know. Maybe you should quit ignoring them and give them a chance. 😿

“Ha!” It takes a moment before I remember that I should try my best to not appear like a crazy woman. “See?” I whisper madly. “They’re practically begging me to keep chatting.”

ME: Wow.

ME: I feel like you took that very personally. Elle didn’t tell me that you’d be like this.

There’s another stop, a few people getting off but many more getting on. Most of them sit down without sparing me a glance. Only when they’ve all settled down and gotten lost in their conversations or phones do I allow myself to relax.

UNK: are you the kind of person that talks to their cat??

I give a startled chuckle, delighting in the distraction this conversation is allowing me. Before I can fire off a response, another text comes through, making me stifle a laugh.

UNK: 😼

Maybe it’s the silly conversation, or the fact that Elle has gotten to a position where she can rub her head against my leg. Maybe it’s the view outside, the late afternoon sun pouring down on the people outside, and me, watching the world through the bus window.

For the first time that I can remember since I cut my thread, life seems a bit more manageable.

I feel like I can breathe.

✂

Jimin can’t breathe.

Not with the way all of the members have crowded around him on the couch, Jin still munching on some chicken while he peers over Jimin’s shoulder.

“I liked that last text. It was a nice touch,” Yoongi croons from Jimin’s side. “Gotta stick to a theme.”

The others grunt in agreement, hardly noticing the absolute strangeness of the situation. Taehyung slings his arm around Jimin on the other side, never once looking away from Jimin’s phone screen. He hums to himself while they wait for those fated three dots to appear.

Jungkook’s neck is about to break from the way he’s craning it, sitting on the floor before Taehyung’s legs. It’s a miracle that he can see anything at all.

“Is she texting yet?” He asks, hissing as he rubs a sore spot on his neck. He gives up trying to see what’s going on, facing forward again. Hobi, sitting beside Taehyung, automatically reaches down and begins massaging the younger’s neck.

“No, not yet,” Hobi sighs. “I wonder what - OH SHE’S TEXTING!”

Everyone presses in closer to Jimin, the boy in question gritting his teeth with anticipation. “Do you think she suspects? Have I been too obvious?”

Jin produces another chicken leg from somewhere, offering a bite to Namjoon who doesn’t hesitate to chow down. “No, she doesn’t. You’ve been totally aloof.”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Namjoon says around his food.

Together, the seven of them stare at those three dots rippling across the screen. When they disappear for a moment, everyone groans. It doesn’t take long before they reappear, and suddenly a message appears.

“What does it say?!” Jungkook scrambles to his knees, struggling to get a good view.

Jimin groans, shouldering his way forward until he’s leaning in front of everyone. “Shh, let me actually read it.”

Jolie (Elle): Haha, touché. I feel a little weird texting an unknown number...do you have a name I could save you under? Or should I just settle for a cat emoji?

“...what do I do?” Jimin turns to face the others, a flicker of panic painting his features. “I can’t tell her that it’s actually me...she’ll quit talking to me!”

Yoongi shrugs, completely unbothered. “Just give her a fake name. Like, Jaemin or something. Close enough.”

“Ha! Yeah, do Jaemin. Reminds me of James Corden trying to say your name,” Jungkook cackles.

Jimin looks at the other members with big eyes, waiting for some other offer. Something better. Taehyung pats his shoulder.

“I know you hate lying but...I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

Sighing, Jimin types in a response. He holds up the phone for everyone to see, waiting for their grunts of approval before hitting send. A knock on the door has everyone except for Jin turning their heads.

“Don’t tell me you ordered something else,” Namjoon gripes. Jin just chuckles quietly, reappearing a few moments later with an armful of boxes. Jimin recognizes them immediately: it looks like an assortment of churros and other treats.

“Hyung,” Jungkook watches the procession with wide eyes. “What’s this?”

“Would you go grab the rest?” Jin asks instead of answering. Jungkook leaps to his feet, bounding toward the door where more treats await. His shouts of excitement drift back to the boys.

When everyone gives Jin an appalled look, he just shrugs his shoulders. “What? I figured that we’re going to be here for a while. Might as well get comfortable.”

✂

UNK: No, I won’t make you stoop so low as to use a cat emoji. Park Jaemin should work fine.

I nearly stumble down the steps of the bus as I make the mistake of pulling my phone out to see the latest response. Once Elle and I have made it safely to the sidewalk, I proceed to stare at my phone in utter horror.

Rereading that name again and again until I’m sure that I’m reading it correctly.

Why did it have to be such a similar name?

There’s a slight tremor to my hands as I try to come up with something to say. Saving the number, I take a deep breath. Elle watches me from the safety of my bag, mewling softly.

“Gimme a sec,” I sigh. “Is this some sort of cruel joke?” My mind is spinning too quickly to think clearly, so I pocket the infernal device and take a moment to orient myself. Heading down the street, I wait until I’ve made it a block before attempting to form a reply.

It would appear that my new friend is a little impatient. By the time I stop on the corner, there’s already another text waiting for me. The new contact name has me gritting my teeth, but I push past the initial shock that rocks me.

Park Jaemin 🙀: Unless you don’t like that name? I could always choose a different one.

“He’s a little...weird.” I glance down at Elle, who seems inclined to agree with me. “But nice, I think.” Mustering up all of my courage, I punch out a reply and send it before I can think twice about it.

ME: That’s fine. Jaemin it is. I just didn’t realize you were a guy? Elle always seemed wary of guys.

I set off down the street, finding it a bit different in the daylight than it was at night. That, and this time I’m not a hyperventilating mess. It doesn’t take long before I’m turning down an alley that I realize I’ve been seeing in my dreams lately, heading toward the tell-tale gray apartment with the warehouse attached to it.

There’s another text notification reaching my ears, but I ignore it for the moment. Knocking hard on the door, I wait to hear footsteps.

It takes a couple of attempts before a distant voice shouts, “Coming!” A few seconds later, the door is cracked open to reveal a disgruntled Christina.

She gives me a long look, recognition sparking in her eyes even as she looks entirely unimpressed by me. She eyes Elle, who stares right back at her.

“You know I don’t do refunds, right?”

There’s another text coming through, but I ignore it again. Instead I plaster on my best smile, which Christina sees right through.

“I know. That’s not why I’m here.” Glancing up and down the alley, I rub at my arms. Fighting off the sudden chill. “Mind if I come in?”

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[johnsontools]

Vacuum brazed hand profile wheels for marble shaping

[angsty-omi]

pull the trigger.

CEO!Akaashi x Agent!Reader

synopsis: You were assigned to kill one of the richest businessmen in Japan, Akaashi Keiji. How? by getting close to him. By pretending to be an innocent, naive little girl. By pretending you actually enjoy his company. By pretending that you actually loved him. The plan was simple enough, and if you were successful, you’d be rich enough to retire for yourself and your future grandchildren. So, what happens when you couldn’t pull the trigger? Even worse, why didn’t he flinch?

“Agent Y/N, you’ve been assigned.” your boss notified.

It’s been so long since you had been assigned. After you accidentally blew up the evidence last mission, your boss hasn’t been to keen depending on you. This was music to your ears, so what did you do? Jumped gleefully and instinctively squeezed your boss. You realized what you were doing and how unprofessional it was, so you slowly latched off of her. Your boss just coughed awkwardly before she began, “This assignment is a big one, meaning there must be no flaws to this plan. One mistake and you’re done for, literally.” ending with a slit-throat gesture. You were confident in your skills, and aside from that one mission, everyone depended on you. No wonder why your boss came to you for this. You glad-fully shook her hand, in which expressed your disparity for a new high.

To start, you had to change your look a bit. See, you researched Akaashi Keiji, from his likes and dislikes to his convictions. Every conviction he got away with money. Dirty bastard. Every single job left you guilt-less because you knew these people were corrupt and somehow reasoned that your job was ethical. First, you started with a trim. Your split ends would’ve definitely caught the eyes of the girls from his front desk. Then, you used the budget money for this mission to buy luxury items. From Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Hermes, was this really for the mission or for yourself? No one really knows. Finally, and most importantly, you had to snatch a job as his personal assistant. The organization already falsified documents for you. After today, you go by ‘Akiyama Ami.’ As you walked out of your office, your coworkers couldn’t even recognize you. One even put a gun to your head, and having to state who you are.

You smirked, “Matsuda, I am deeply saddened if this is how you treat your advisor,” whispering in his ear. 

“Senior Y-Y/N?,” he stuttered, putting his gun away immediately. You grabbed his arm and forcefully pushing it to his back, “please make sure you never make that mistake again,” you stated. 

“Y/N, leave him alone already,” a voice joked.

You knew that voice. It was your long time partner, Atsumu. From when you both were rookies, you guys worked cases together quite often. Never more than that. 

“Atsumu, this is my first case without you... aren’t you going to miss me?” you pouted. 

“Don’t give me that look, idiot. Be safe out there okay? I can’t always save your ass like from that time you exploded our only evidence.” he shook his head in disappointment.

You punched his shoulder, and he ‘over-dramatically’ ached in pain. “I’ll be fine, Atsumu. Plus our person literally looks like a prissy privileged boy, doesn’t he?” you pulled up Akaashi’s Business Insider profile. For the next ten minutes, you guys were bullying the hell out of him. Until finally, you had to go. Your cab was already ready for you, so you hugged Atsumu goodbye. Platonically, you always thought you’d get married to him. He was handsome, strong, and witty. And he knew your job situation, so you never would have to feel judgement from him. 

From the cab ride, you got to fly in a private jet. There, was your boss, two intelligent analysis, and a linguist. This was your team, and who’d you tell your intel to. The whole flight consisted of breaking down the plan, even down to what time you have to walk in the elevator. The destination was in Tokyo, where Akaashi’s main headquarters lived. 

“I’ve made an appointment for your job interview,” One of them said.

“Here’s your resume,” The other said.

As you skimmed through, you spit your drink.

“I can speak more than five languages?!” your eyes widened.

“壊れた日本語で話せます” you quoted.

“What does that mean?” your boss asked looking at you surprisingly.

“It means I can only speak broken Japanese,” you nervously scratched your head.

“It wouldn’t matter, the job application is asking for english-speakers” the linguist stated.

As the plane started to screech, due to the wheels contact with concrete, you knew it was your time to shine. You practiced all your lines during the flight, so confidence soared through your body. On sight, there was a limo waiting for you. You waved goodbye to your team, and entered the lanky vehicle. 

The condominium the organization gave you was luxurious, their budget must’ve been high-grade. Broad birched doors, huge window panels that let in a lot of natural light, and a master bedroom. Your first move was to jump on the feather-light bed. Your feet sunk deep into the mattress every hop. Leaving you tired, you went straight to sleep. 

Today was your job interview. Even though everything was fake, you couldn’t help but feel nervous. If you didn’t go down the agency path, is this what you would’ve felt as a normal person? While the coffee was brewing, you decided to look at your grand closet, not knowing what to wear. There was already an outfit set out for you. With it, there was a note:

Good luck! ;) -Atsumu

As you read it, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. The outfit he picked wasn’t even that bad. It was an emerald green two-piece, with a pale blouse underneath. 

“Not so bad,” you thought, while looking at yourself in the mirror. 

There, stood the building where the infamous person lived worked. Heels tapping the black marble, you stood in front of the front desk. The girls that worked there looked roughly young, around their early 20s. As they stared at you up and down, you could feel their judgement. 

“Welcome to Fukurodani Headquarters, how may we help you?” One girl asked.

“Hi, I’m Akiyama Ami, I’m actually applying for the personal assistant job. Where could I meet my interviewer?” You warmly asked.

The girls bursted into laughter. What was so funny? Did you miss out on the joke?

“Excuse us, its just... that’s one way to call Akaashi Keiji,” 

“Akaashi Keiji... is the interviewer? That’s even more stressful than a random person. It does make sense though, as a personal assistant there should be a close relationship,” you sighed.

“Close relationship? Please, you’ll be lucky if you can even give him coffee. Get in line.” The front desk scoffed in agreement with each other. 

“That’s enough,” a voice commanded.

“Are you Akiyama Aki? I’m ready for you.” 

Your face went pale. As you slowly turned around, there he was. The man himself, Akaashi Keiji. As an agent, you’ve went through strenuous training, so from the outside you looked relaxed as ever, but on the inside the butterflies in your stomach started awakening. He was a very attractive man after all.

“You must be Mr. Akaashi, let’s begin!” you enthusiastically smiled, while following him into his office. 

“So Akiyama, tell me about yourself?” Akaashi read off a list.

“Well I was born in the states, but my parents are foreign. They enforced me to take a lot of language classes, hence why I know quite a lot.” You were dying inside. It was a half-true statement though, you were from the states and your parents are foreign.

“It says you speak French, Aimez-vous boire l'eau des toilettes?” He smirked. 

You had no idea what he just said. The silence was deafening, so you just laughed it off. You’ve been told your laugh is very contagious, so you used that to your benefit. Your laughter increased, his did too. 

After you both calmed down, he continued with his next question, “Out of all of the candidates, why should I hire you?”

“Well I guess my stats match up with everyone else, but what’s not on the textbook is my characteristics. I am dependable, calm, and honestly easy to work with. I will do my best to help you any way I can, and keep your stress levels at ease.” You smiled with confidence. 

“Any way huh?” Akaashi whispered to himself. You acted like you didn’t hear his whisper. As an agent it was also one of your many talents to keep an ear out for anything. 

“Akiyama, congratulations! you’ve gotten the job.” Akaashi put his hand out.

“R-r-really? That was only two questions” you tilted your head to the side. You could feel his glare as a response.

“Well, thank you anyways! My parents will be pleased.” you gushed as you shook his calloused hands. Parents? Please, more like your boss. You swore you could hear a ‘cha-ching’ sound effect in your head.

Over the next couple of months, you’ve been working under Akaashi. If he was staying up til’ 2 AM at the office, so were you. Continuously brewing coffee, while also printing papers, and keeping him company. 

However, one day the routine changed. Prior to this day, your boss had just kept you up for the next order, so you were extremely tired. During the 2 AM session, your eyes slowly started to drift off, feeling the wave of drowsiness pound into your head. Akaashi walked into your office and was going to ask you for copies, until he saw you sleeping head down on your desk. At first, he was going to viciously shake you awake, but seeing your dainty face in the moonlight he couldn’t bring himself to. This was the first time he saw you vulnerable. Typically, when he would ask if you were tired, you would just shake it off with a bright smile. However, he knew. He could tell that you were pushing for him. So, he draped over his blazer around you, in hopes to insulate some warmth and went back to his office. Minutes later, you jerked yourself awake. You felt a strange piece of clothing around you, so you pinched at it while analyzing. Does it look like a weapon? No. Does it have any toxins? No. Could this harm you in any way, shape, or form? It honestly just looked like a plain blazer you thought. As you checked the shoulder pocket, there was an ID. 

“Akaashi’s jacket huh?” you said to yourself, not even noticing the smile that crept up on your face. As soon as you caught yourself, you immediately slapped your face. Oh no. Quickly, you sent a picture of the ID, so that the agency can create a replica for future secret documents and shoved it back inside. 

Knocking at the entrance to his office, he looked up at you with bagged eyes. His sleepiness radiated off of him, so you did what you promised on the first day-- relieve his stress levels. You pulled down the shutters of his clear office so no one could look in. In addition, setting up the couch to where there was a pull up bed under it.

“Miss Akiyama, if you’re trying to seduce me you could’ve just said so,” He flirtatiously grinned. You rolled your eyes in response, and grabbed him to the bed.

“I like where this is going, Ami, I didn’t think you were so bold.”

“Just shut up and get some rest, I’ll appoint some things out so your projects aren’t due.”

As he opened his mouth, you anticipated that he was for sure going to deny. However, no words came out of his mouth, instead he grabbed your wrists and pulled you onto the bed with him. 

“I’ll accept, on the conditions that you, too get some rest.”

Too tired to argue, you complied. As you both fell asleep, with his arms wrapped around you.

a/n: i was planning on making this a one shot but i feel like this might be a multiple part-er(?)

[jimlingss]

Until Yesterday

➜ Words: 10.4k

➜ Genres: 75% Fluff, 22% Angst, 3% Smut

➜ Summary: You and Taehyung are hopeless as you are hopeless romantics. But five months after tying the knot and saying "I do", you're hospitalized after a car accident with him. But upon waking up, the doctors tell you that you don't have a husband.

➜ Notes: Inspired by the movie The Vow (2012) and a bit of The Notebook (2004). This is purely an indulgent fic for all my hopeless romantics out there, so it’s a bit different from my usual!

cr.

Marriage was nothing like they told you.   It’s true that not much has changed from when you were dating or engaged, that merely the title of your relationship has slightly altered, but you have no regrets doing it at all. They always told you to wait until the honeymoon phase was over — that you'll find yourself tired and driven crazy by him. They told you to wait a few years down the line when you’re not having sex anymore and you’ll be so sick of each other, it’ll be like living with an awful roommate-child than being a couple in love. You’ll be bored when something becomes a normal routine, they said.   But it isn’t like that at all.   If anything, you’re more in love with Taehyung than ever.    “We should put the couch right here.”   “Well, we need to buy a couch first, Tae.”   “Didn’t you like the leather one we saw today?”   “I mean...I didn’t love it and it’s a bit pricey, don’t you think?”   “It’s fine. Leave it to me and the bank account!” The blonde grins and pats his own chest and it only garners your scoff. “I’ll take care of you. It’s the least I can do.”   “I make the same as you, idiot.”   It took years of hard work and dedication for the two of you to get to where you are, to have landed your dream jobs and built your dream house together. But of all the sweat and tears, you wouldn’t trade the outcome for anything else.    The house was newly built in a developing neighbourhood, the scent of cut wood and paint still lingering in each room. The white picket fence surrounds the seashell home with the dark brown roof, glass windows large and bringing light into the open concept structure along with the skylights. It has the cherry wood door reminiscent to that of your old dollhouse and a swing out back tied to the tree that Taehyung wanted. It was all the two of you could’ve ever dreamed of and you’re eager to move in, to bring in your furniture and allow this home to grow with you.   “Why is the master bedroom larger than I remembered?”   Taehyung’s laugh echoes down the hall and you hear footsteps becoming louder against the wooden floorboards. “Maybe the construction team came in during the middle of the night and expanded the room for us for free.”   “Yeah maybe,” you playfully quip back at him. “Maybe they’ll consider expanding our backyard too, so we can put that marble fountain in. It might cost more than this house, but you said I could trust in you and the bank account, right?”   Taehyung peels you off of him when you glue yourself to his side and giggle. Batting your lashes at him has little effect. “Fountain is still a no-go, sweetheart.”   You grin at him and waltz to the adjacent room, peeking your head into the modest space. “We still need to decide what to do with this spare room, Taehyung. If we want to turn it into another bedroom for when your mom visits or maybe an office.”   Suddenly, arms wrap around your waist and you ease as your husband props his chin on your shoulder. It’s one of his many habits of his that you love. “How about we save it for a nursery?”   The corner of your mouth quirks and you turn your head. “Are you sure?”   “As sure if you are.”    You spin around in his arms to plant a kiss against his mouth — one where Taehyung steals the opportunity and deepens it, catching you off guard. He pulls you in by your waist when you threaten to pull apart and he smiles at the whimper that comes out of you.   When the pair of you finally part, you’re unable to resist the smile that spreads into your cheeks and your arms loop around his neck. “Kim Taehyung, aren’t you blessed? There’s no one I’d rather have a baby with than you.”   His mouth forms into a rectangular grin. “You shouldn’t tempt me when we’re going to be late for our reservations already.”   “Late?” Your lips fall and you check your watch before your eyes grow wide.    Taehyung laughs and strolls behind you as you rush out, grabbing your coat and screaming at him to get the car started.   It’s another one of those date nights. One where intimate conversations are shared over a candlelight dinner. Until Taehyung accidentally catches the tablecloth on fire and the candlelight is removed by an exasperated waiter and the intimacy in your discussion ends up with him doing something dumb and water nearly spewing out of your nose from laughing, and the other patrons are glaring at the ruined atmosphere.   Still, with a generous tip paid, you leave full and happy.   “Anything you want to watch tonight?” you ask as he’s driving. It’s peaceful with the roads emptier at this time of night and the radio playing some generic pop song in the back. You count the lamp posts that pass by.   “Hmm...how about we do something else tonight.”   Your head turns. “Like what?”   Taehyung steals a glance at you and smirks. “I was thinking that we would drive back to the new house and break in that mattress we just got. Maybe get that kid you were talking about.”   You scoff, looking straight out the windshield as you feel your face heat. Even after so many years with him, he still knew what to say to affect you. “It’s not that easy, you know, and that mattress is still wrapped in the living room.”   “It’s fine. Better start now than later. And it’s our house, we can taint it however we want to.”   It doesn’t take much for you to agree — and you do so in the midst of laughter.   You shamelessly stare at Taehyung’s profile, the strands of his blonde hair that desperately needs a trim, his long lashes that you’ve always been envious of, the slope of his nose and his thin lips that always knows how to kiss you right. Taehyung’s thick brow cocks when he notices your blatant staring, but you don’t care. You’re just filled with joy and at a loss for words at how he’s with you.   He’s yours.   The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to pay mind to the car behind you. To the piercing beam lights. The wheels that screech against the asphalt. The sheer speed of the vehicle and recklessness of the intoxicated driver.   So when the rear of the car is slammed into and you both lurch forward into the intersection of the road, it’s a shock.    //   The white fluorescent burns your eyes.    It’s hard to see and you can’t feel your body. Not even your fingers that begin to twitch. You’re disoriented and delirious, not sure what day it is, how long you’ve been out, where exactly you are. It’s all muddled in your mind. All you can discern is a constant rhythm of beeping beside you and the odour of disinfect filling your senses. You’re scared — but you’re overwhelmed with the thought of Taehyung.    Taehyung.   You jolt in your spot and the rhythm of the machine quickens until it’s like an alarm, sounding aloud and making you panic even more. But then there’s a rush of people entering the room, white coats and scrubs checking the machines and lines hooked up from you.   “Ms. Y/N, I am doctor Jeon.” There’s a man looking down at you and you blink blearily at him. “You’ve been in a coma for three days now. Is there anyone we can call for you?”   “M-My husband,” you cry out with a parched throat.   The doctor looks to the nurse but she frowns and shakes her head. “The patient doesn’t have a husband.”   You don’t have a husband?   At once, sobs wrack through your entire body and you thrash despite the aches in your bones and your ankle wrapped in bandages. The doctor and nurse are alarmed and you choke out the words— “I-Is he okay? Is he dead?”   “Ma’am,” the doctor calmly says, “you were the only one injured on the scene.”   Before you can utter a word, a man comes from the doorway. His hair is dark, matching the hue lined underneath his exhausted eyes. His features are soft and evidently tired like he hasn’t slept in the past few days. You don’t know who he is but he stares right at you — and then a relieved smile draws upon his features, one that is too comfortable and familiar.   “Y/N?” His voice is deeper than expected and he closes the distance. The nurse is visibly confused, but he quickly introduces, “I’m her partner, Min Yoongi.”   You recoil back before he can touch you, even when the hurt comes across his expression.    “I-I’m sorry.” You don’t know who he is. “I think you have the wrong person.”

It’s hard to cope — your entire universe has been flipped upside down and you don’t know what to think. Suddenly by opening your eyes, your entire life has been swept from underneath your feet. Everything that you loved and cared about is gone. And you’re left alone to deal with it.   “I-I remember being with my husband. We were driving back from dinner and planning to take a detour to the new house, but then a car rear-ended us and we were brought out into the intersection,” you recall.   But the doctor’s brows furrow. “I see. Well, I can tell you that you weren’t in a car accident, Ms. Y/N. You were injured after falling down the flight of stairs at the subway station. You’ve been in a coma for three days.”   It doesn’t make any sense and you squeeze your temples. But it hurts. Everything feels like a dream, like you’re floating and not truly grounded in reality. Your surroundings are hazy and you wonder if this is just a hallucination — a very frightening one, a world where Taehyung doesn’t exist.   “What year was the car accident?” the doctor asks suddenly and you exhale, trying to remember the date.    “It was late January of 2016.”   “Ms. Y/N, it’s 2020 right now.”   It’s a shock through your system. At first, you sputter, choking on your own spit. The doctor is kind enough to give you a moment but when you press your hand to your chest, you wince at the bruises around your wrist. Then you open your mouth and close it, finding yourself rendered absolutely speechless. Your brain is melting into itself and you have an urge to get up and scream.   “What?”   “It looks like you have a four year memory gap,” Doctor Jeon says as if he’s prescribing you with cold medication and if you weren’t bedridden, you might just throttle him to the floor. “It’s okay, these things happen with your sort of injury. It should be fine and only temporary. You can get your memory jogging again after looking at mementos, pictures, or talking to the right people.”   “Anyways, we’ll keep you here for a few more days just to monitor that head injury, but it looks like your ankle is healing nicely. There’s no cause for concern, really.”   The doctor ends up leaving and you repress the urge to cry again.   You don’t know where Taehyung is and you miss him.   //   Your so-called partner appears days later to help with your hospital discharge and pack up your belongings. You learn his name is Min Yoongi and that he’s two years older than you are. He works as a car mechanic in a shop and you’ve apparently been with him for a whole year.    Yet, you can’t help but stay guarded, watching him from the corner with your arms crossed while you try to decipher his impassive expression. The man is quiet, but not in an angry or frightening way. He never asks you questions, makes demands out of you or once appears exasperated with your distant behaviour. He seems gentle somehow.    You wonder what your relationship with him was like.   “T-Thank you,” you murmur as he packs the slippers he had brought for you into the duffle bag.   Min Yoongi turns his head and the corner of his mouth pulls into an oddly warm smile. His voice is husky when he says, “You don’t need to thank me. I’m just happy to see you walking around again.”   You’re taken aback.   You aren’t used to receiving this kind of love and affection from someone other than Taehyung and from a stranger no less. It makes you unsettled. Conflicted.   The car ride is smooth. Yoongi helps you into your seat and buckles you in without making you speak much of a word. You’re not sure where you’re going, but you spend your time looking out at the window and taking in what you’ve missed for four years, or rather what your mind no longer recalls.    Luckily, it seems like the world hasn’t changed too much.   The streets are familiar, lined with lamp posts and bike racks. There are different billboards and some buildings you don’t recognize, but it looks like many things have stayed the same. The street names, avenues and boulevards, the people jogging and walking their dogs — it hasn’t changed.   “Hey, Tae—”    Except for the person driving beside you.    You turn your head and blood drained from your face, realizing that it’s not your husband you’re sitting beside. “N-Never mind.”   There’s a moment of quiet.   Then Yoongi’s lips part. “It’s okay.” He glances at you and your eyes meet. “It’s okay,” he repeats with a small smile that makes you even more burdened.   The apartment is modest yet cozy. A living room with cushions out of place and souvenirs on the shelves next to the television. The kitchen is to the left, cups in the sink and refrigerator haphazardly filled with take out boxes. It’s lived in, full of memories that you don’t have. But above all, you notice there’s only one bedroom and there are male belongings assorted with yours.    Shaving cream. Gel. Cologne.    “You live here?” you ask Yoongi, coming to the living room where he was giving you a chance to look around for yourself, perhaps hoping that you would remember something.   “We live together,” he corrects with a tiny smile. “But it’s okay. I’m planning on staying at a friend’s place, so you don’t have to worry about me being here if that makes you uncomfortable.”   “You…” Your mouth opens before closing, startled at how considerate he is. “You don’t have to. I mean, this place is yours too. It seems unfair if I kick you out. You should...stay.” Yoongi smiles and you shy away from his attention. “I...might not be comfortable sharing a bed with you though…”   “Okay.” He nods. “I can take the couch.”   That night, you lay awake in the foreign bed, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling. It feels like you’ve been asleep for four years anyways, although it’s technically only been three days.    Your brain is swimming in confusion. You’re not sure what to think. One moment you were with Taehyung and the next, you don’t have him beside you anymore and you’re with someone else.   Taehyung….   You reach over to the nightstand and switch on the lamp. A dim yellow light softly fills the room and you begin to truly investigate your surroundings. On a pinboard near the door are pictures of you and Yoongi, selfies taken where you’re both smiling with one another, one of you at a carnival and another at an aquarium. The vanity drawer holds jewelry that you don’t recognize, perhaps ones that Yoongi had bought for you. Your phone contains grocery lists and miscellaneous notes that make no sense. There’s nothing on your social media, no connection, nothing once you search his name up. All you discover is work-related things in your calendar, more pictures of you and Yoongi and affectionate texts between the two of you.    There’s no trace of Taehyung whatsoever.   But when you dig into the closet and find a box at the top shelf hidden away, your answer is found. It’s inside a box of paperwork — school awards, certificates of achievements, evidence of your first paycheck, your birth certificate, social security papers, and divorce papers.   You and Taehyung got divorced in April 2018.    Two years and eight months after getting married. And it’s been a year and ten months since.   The paper crumples underneath your hands and you gather your knees together on the floor as quiet sobs break through you once again. You don’t know what happened. Where it all went wrong.   //   When morning comes, you hope the swelling and redness of your eyes from crying so much isn’t noticeable. If it is, Yoongi doesn’t say anything and only regards you with a gentle smile.    “I was going to stay home today, but I thought it might be overwhelming for you,” he says before you can protest otherwise, “so I’ll be at work. Take it easy, okay? You can call me anytime you want for anything. My number is in your phone.”   You nod. “Thank you, Yoongi.”   His smile is sweet. “I already told you, it’s not a problem.”   But half an hour after Yoongi leaves, you prepare for your own departure. Hobbling with your weight on one foot and off the one with your injured ankle, you grab a coat and the car keys laying on the counter. It takes a moment to figure out which one is your vehicle in the lot but you find it after pressing the panic button. It looks brand new — apparently recently repaired and the reason why you had to take the subway and how you got your head injury in the first place.   It might be wrong to leave without giving a warning to Yoongi, especially when he’s so worried about you, but you can’t stay idle at the apartment. You can’t sit still. You need answers.   You drive to the house — turning down the familiar streets and roads before coming into the neighbourhood that feels like you had been in just a week ago when it’s probably been years.   But you don’t recognize it anymore. It's more developed than you last remembered. What once were empty lots have other homes built. All the sidewalks are paved, there’s an elementary school down the avenue, a new playground that shines, neighbours that have moved in.   What hasn’t changed is the house itself.    There’s still the white picket fence that surrounds the seashell white home, a shade you had personally picked yourself when building it. The roof is a dark brown and the front door cherry wood. The glass windows are large with baby blue curtains and you wonder if there’s still the swing in the backyard….   You get out of the car, feeling your emotions swell up to your throat and your eyes becoming watery as you gave upon the house. This was the place you had built with Taehyung. The place you both had planned to live in for years. The place you wanted to raise your kids, grow old and retire in.    It was perfect. The combination of your dreams.   Where did it all go wrong?   You close the distance, limping up the path to the door and knocking on it. After a moment, you ring the doorbell properly. But even then, there are no answers and you notice that the Kim nameplate under the mailbox is gone.   Of course. It’s been over four years after all.   You cross the street back to your car again, but not before catching sight of a woman bringing groceries up her driveway and towards her own house.    “Um, excuse me.”   She turns at your voice, brows lifted.   “Do you happen to know who lives there?” You point to what was once your home.   But unfortunately, she shakes her head. “Sorry, I don’t. I know that house has been sold a few times and the owners have recently changed again.”   “Oh. Thank you.”   It’s hard to leave the house behind you, but you keep your foot on the gas pedal and drive, never glancing out the rear-view mirror in fear of bursting into tears again.   You still have more questions than answers, so your next destination becomes downtown where Taehyung’s engineering firm is. The two of you had met in school, back when you were awkward and chasing after your ambitions of being a chemical engineer like your aunt while for him, he wanted to take his childhood lego dreams to the max and become a civil engineer.   Your neck hurts to look at the top of the skyscraper, the many windows reflecting the bright sunlight into your eyes and blinding your vision. If there was any place where you could find Taehyung, it would be here.    It’s his dream job. What he had wanted for so long and legitimately cried when he found out he got a position at. You remember that day, how proud you felt of him for achieving such a goal.   But when you approach the receptionist at the lobby’s desk, her response only fires the confusion further.   “Sorry. We don’t have a Kim Taehyung working here. Are you sure you’re not mistaken?”   You miss him. And you wonder at what point, he wasn’t a part of your life anymore.   //   In an attempt to find Taehyung, you contact your friends and work your way down your list of contacts on your phone. They’re happy to hear from you, some even knowing about your accident and asking if you’re alright.    But when you ask about Taehyung, they tell you that they haven’t spoken to him since the divorce. That they’ve lost contact. That the months leading up to it, the two of you were distant from them and they’re unsure of the reasons for what had happened. It was frankly unexpected.   “You always told me it wasn’t any of my business, dear,” your mother says over the phone. “You actually got quite upset when I asked, so after a while I didn’t anymore. Do you want to talk to your dad? He’s watching the news right now.”   “No.” You press your temples, holding in your sigh. “It’s fine.”   Frustration overwhelms you.    No matter where you turn, you can’t seem to get the reasons for yourself.   You can’t find him.   “Is the take out okay?”   At once, you’re snapped out of your thoughts and you lift your head to meet kind, cat-like eyes staring at you.    “It’s good,” you try to smile and nod.   He seems to sense how disconnected you are. “I’ll learn how to cook. I know you like carbonara, so maybe I can find a recipe this weekend and try to make it, so we don’t have to eat out all the time.”   You stare at the man across from you.   How tired he seems, his dark hair shagging in front of his forehead, his downcast head facing his food as his fork scrapes against the bottom container, never quite taking a full bite. Yet whenever your eyes meet, his plump lips always tugs into a small smile and his eyes crinkle.   “I’m sorry.”   Yoongi’s brows lift at the sudden apology. “What for?”   “For not remembering you.” Even if Min Yoongi is a stranger, you can feel how intimate the pair of you used to be by the photographs you’ve seen, by the way he still regards you. You feel guilty for not being able to return his affections.   “It’s fine. It’ll come back with time, right? Don’t stress out about it too much. It won’t do you any good.”   “Yoongi.” You have his attention by the way you say his name like he hasn’t heard it uttered from your lips in quite a while. “I went searching for my...ex-husband today.”   It’s foreign to call Taehyung that. It’s unsettling and makes you uncomfortable.   But your eyes never divert from Yoongi’s. “I need answers.”   “I know,” he murmurs in a low voice, still playing with his food. As intimidating as he might appear on the surface, you’re quickly learning how considerate and soft-spoken he really is. “And I want you too. I don’t want you to have any regrets. I want you to know you’ve made the right choice by being with me.”   Your heart squeezes at his thoughtful nature and you sigh lightly before stuffing your mouth with some of the noodles, trying to alleviate the tension. “You’re a good man, Yoongi.”   He chuckles, gummy smile emerging for the first time that you can recall. “Maybe that’s why you chose me in the first place.”   //   The avenue is nostalgic, a street that you and Taehyung spent many dates at with its cheap street food and cute stores. And when you were both working, it was the halfway point between your workplaces and where you’d meet to have lunch on those special occasions. A few things have altered from when you remembered them, the stationery shop closed and that ice-cream parlor changed into a pancake café instead. But for the most part, it remains the same.   You aren’t sure what you’re doing here.    Of all your ways and methods in searching for Taehyung, even you know that it’s unlikely you’ll find him on a Tuesday morning at such an obscure location. But it’s where you’re drawn too, where your body told you to go and your mind followed.   Otherwise, you’re not sure what to do anymore or how you should contact him. You wonder if it’s too drastic to drive hours away to visit his mom on the off chance that she’s still living in the same place after four years. If she moved, the journey would be for nothing. But even then, if you somehow found him and reached out, would he even be willing to talk to you?   A sigh escapes your parted lips. You tilt your head up to the sky, wondering where on earth he is. And in your reverie, you fail to notice the strapping brunette humming to the music he’s listening to. Not until your shoulder collides with his as he’s walking the opposite way.    But instead of an apology spilling from your mouth, you’re interrupted by a call of your name—   “Y/N?”   It's shock that has taken hold of his expression. His hand rips out his earphones and the loud music becomes silenced from his world. With the way he looks at you, it would be like he’s seen a ghost. A stranger from his past.    In your mind, it’s only been a week since you’ve seen him. And you’ve been missing him so much.   On sheer instinct, you wrap your hand around his wrist, afraid to let go. “Taehyung.”   //   It’s awkward, the stiff air almost suffocating your lungs. You’re sure that the first date wasn’t even as bad as this. But you don’t mind whatsoever, even if he’s shifting uncomfortably at the intent way you stare and how it makes him break out into a sweat. Even if Taehyung hates you now, as long as you can see him like this, it’s enough to bear.   Taehyung clears his throat, diverting his vision elsewhere. “So….you look like you’ve been well.”   “Not really,” you murmur.   Taehyung is still a man of intense habit. His drink order hasn’t changed, a cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings. At the same exact coffee shop since you were dating. And he’s taken the same table in the corner of the shop too, the spot of your many study dates.    It’s these habits that have led you back to him.   “I heard you weren’t working at the engineering firm anymore,” you say after another tense pause.   Taehyung’s brows curiously raise. “I haven’t been working there in years. You knew about it.”   “Did I?”   He’s wary that you can’t recall. “Yeah….”   “What are you doing now?”   “I’m in animation.”   Your eyes widen, surprised. “I never knew you could animate— well, I knew you could draw, but you never even watched much animation.”   Taehyung shrugs. “It’s a good fit. I didn’t know I’d like it either until I tried.”   Your expression softens, a tender smile pulling into your cheeks. Taehyung’s gotten older but in a refined way. His hair is back to its natural colour, a few wrinkles set into his skin but his features are sharper and less rounded and boyish. He seems less mischievous and irresponsible too, a little more mature and quiet. Or maybe he’s reserved because you’re his ex-wife.    The thought makes you nauseous.   He sips his drink. “So...what have you been doing?”    “Not great. I recently got into an accident, Taehyung.” That seems to grab his attention and his eyes become rounded while you brace yourself. “Apparently I fell down a flight of stairs at the subway station and I was in a coma for three days.”   “Oh shit. That...must’ve sucked. I...I’m sorry to hear that.”    “I’m fine now.” You pause, clear your throat. “But the last thing I remember is us, Taehyung. We were planning to spend the night at the new house and we got hit by that car…”   “I remember.” He nods slowly and murmurs, “But the accident wasn’t that bad, Y/N. We were only bumped.”   “I don’t remember that,” you tell, earnest eyes connected with his that makes him believe you. Even after all this time apart, Taehyung can still tell when you’re lying and telling the truth.    Your voice raises in pitch, in frustration and exasperation. “And...and I’m trying to understand how this happened. I’m trying to understand how we…..how we ended up divorced.”   Taehyung’s brows furrow and he fiddles with the paper cup. “What’s there to tell? We fell out of love.”   “That doesn’t make any sense!” Your shrill voice garners the attention of other patrons, but you don’t pay mind to them. “We got married and were planning to have kids and we just built a house in a new neighbourhood—”   “We lost that house.”   Taehyung doesn’t look at you. His downcast head allows his eyes to stay on the floor. He looks small — shoulders slugging and frame slumped.   “I lost my job and then we lost the house. It went downhill from there and one day, you couldn’t do it anymore and packed your bags. You were the one who divorced me, Y/N.”   You’re stunned, unable to get a single word out at the revelation he’s given you. An answer to your questions that you had never expected. That you didn’t want to hear.   Taehyung’s eyes are saddened and he never once meets your gaze. “You’ll remember sooner or later. I’m sorry this happened to you, Y/N. I really am. But it was still nice to see you.”   He gets up before you can protest, leaving as fast as he came into your life again.   //   Yoongi arrives home visibly tired, his hair in a disarray and his navy workwear stained with oil and grease. Still, he greets you with a warm, sleepy smile that you still aren’t used to.   “I saw my ex today,” you tell him during dinner, breaking the silence by deciding to be open and honest. It at least alleviates some of the guilt weighing on your chest. “I found him coincidentally.”   Yoongi’s eyes flicker up, peeking at you. “How did it go?”   “It didn’t help. I’m still confused.” You can’t understand why you would ever leave him, even if you lost the house and he lost his job. It didn’t make any sense. “Do you know anything about the divorce, Yoongi? Did I….ever tell you anything?”   “You told me that he was pathetic,” he informs but without any malice like he’s simply stating facts. “He was unemployed for two years and didn’t get off his ass to find a job. Hey, your words, not mine.”   The corner of your mouth curls even when you’re still stupefied.   “Are you alright, Y/N?”   An exhale leaves your lips. “I’m not sure.”   That night, you find another box in the closet while alone in the bedroom. There are pictures of you and Taehyung from when you were younger and just friends, small mementos like movie tickets and keychains won at arcades while you were dating, and photographs of the wedding day, the two of you with enormous smiles and swollen cheeks.   But they’re buried underneath your belongings with Yoongi.   //   His expression is one of repulsion, like he bit into a lemon or something bitter. But you don’t pay any attention to it.   “What are you doing here?” Taehyung is incredulous to see you in the morning, standing in the same café as if you own the place.   “I’ve been waiting since eight,” you complain and he repeats his question with increasing skepticism. You suppose it’s not everyday your ex-wife is waiting to run into you, so you don’t blame him for his apprehension. “I’m trying to understand how the two of us got divorced. I know this is probably really weird since for you, I’ve shown out of nowhere after two years.”   “You think?”   You ignore his playful quip. “But for me, my last memory is still going on that date night and getting into that car accident.”   Before Taehyung can utter a word, the barista is calling him as the next person in line. “Can I get—”   A cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings.   “A cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings,” he says without missing a beat and your mouth tugs into a smile. Lots of things may have changed in the time that you no longer remember, but the fact of how constant he is comforts you greatly.    You wait with Taehyung at the counter, feeling his eyes glancing at you every so often. When your eyes meet, he realizes he’s been caught staring.    “Once I remember again and make sense of the situation, I’ll leave you alone,” you say even if it hurts, but the last thing you want is to be burdensome to Taehyung. “I just want to understand and get over it and move on like you have.”   Taehyung sighs, never saying a word.   He picks up his drink and you follow along with him, quietly as to not disrupt the comfortable silence between the both of you.   He walks down the street and enters the modest grocery store, beelining to the deli to pick up a ham sub. But he notices your quirked brow. “What?”   “No.” You shake your head. “Just reminds me of uni. You used to eat those too. Same brand and everything.”   The man scoffs lightly, but he knows. You’ve pointed it out to him many times in the past that he has a tendency to stick to specific habits — the odd quirks that you once said you loved about him.    “Like what?” he had once asked when you mentioned it.   “Like you always put your beverages on your left side and you chug half a glass of water before going to bed and you always close the entire toilet when you’re done going to the bathroom and you have the same brand of cereal every morning and after you sneeze, you always scratch your nose every time,” you had said in the midst of giggles and then lifted yourself up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry. They’re cute and it’s part of why I love you.”   The two of you walk together down the street. The early morning air is crisp and chilly, slightly nipping at his nose. He grips his drink still steaming to warm his hand and Taehyung can’t help stealing a glance at you, wondering if you’re cold too.   “How’d you get started into animation?”   “Huh? Oh. Well, if you really want to know then after you packed your bags and dumped me, it was a pretty good wake up call.” Taehyung laughs as if he’s recalling a funny memory, but then his expression softens, touched with sorrow. “I decided to get myself picked back up and get a job. They liked my personality enough at the interview to give me a chance. At first I didn’t know what I was doing, but I learned and I like it a lot.”   He turns his head when your silence is prolonged.    But his eyes widen when he finds your tender smile. “I’m happy for you, Taehyung.”   And you really are — even in spite of him not technically being a part of your life anymore.   //   The next day, Taehyung is not any more impressed to see you there at the café.    You enthusiastically smile and wave at him. And when the barista calls the two of you in the line, you have no hesitation. “Can I get a cappuccino with extra whipped cream and chocolate shavings? And just an iced americano for me.”   Taehyung eyes you when you pay and stroll to the other counter to wait. “Don’t you have a job to go to?”   “I’m still technically in recovery and it’s not like I can work if my head’s a mess.”   Taehyung scoffs lightly. “What do you want to know this time?”   He can tell by the look in your eye that there are questions on the tip of your tongue. And when you take out a whole laundry list like it’s things you need to buy at a grocery store, a rectangular grin plasters on his face. Taehyung wouldn’t expect any less of you.    “Hey, I was thinking about it all night, alright? I was afraid I was going to forget so I wrote it down.”   He leans over to look at the list but you move away. “Don’t peek.”   “Okay, okay.” He laughs and gestures for you to start.   “First question. What did I say before I left?” You look at him, eyes meeting his. “What were my exact reasons for the divorce?”   He hums a low note, staring off into the distance. “I don’t remember well. You called me a motherfucker though,” Taehyung chuckles and becomes solemn. “Probably something along the lines that I’ve stopped trying and that you were leaving. There was a lot of crying and screaming. I…..don’t really like to think about it.”   There’s a pause and you clear your throat, paper in your hand crinkling and forgotten.   “Why didn’t you ever do anything to stop it?”   A sigh leaves his lips and he runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe because I’m an idiot. But it’s not like I could’ve forced you to stay with me.”   “I’m sure if you had said something, I would’ve stayed.”   Taehyung’s smile is meek and sad, not at all like how it usually is. You wonder just how much you hurt him, how much you hurt each other. “A lot can happen in two years, Y/N.”   A lot can happen in the two years they were apart too.   “Have you been seeing anyone?”   “No. I haven’t,” he says.    It’s a question that tumbled out of you, one not on the list.   //   The evening comes and you hear the front door open and shut. Immediately, you call out from the kitchen, “Hey!”   Yoongi emerges from the hall with another tired smile. “Hey.”   “I got takeout for us,” you say while heating said food up. “How was work? Busy again?”   “A little.” The man comes closer to see what you’ve bought but before he’s able to assess, he mindlessly leans in and plants a soft kiss against your cheek. You instantaneously freeze, the muscles in your body becoming rigid and tense, and Yoongi realizes. “I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit.”   He pulls away, disheartened and guilt wells up in your throat. “It’s okay.”   Yoongi nods and he shrugs off his coat, walking back towards the hall to hang it up, but you stop him before your conscience can berate you, before you hurt him further—   “I saw him again. This morning.”   He halts. He stands still as you watch his backside.   The both of you know who you’re referring to.   “How was it?” Yoongi inquires hesitantly as if he’s not sure if he even should.    “It was good,” you murmur. “I got a few more answers.”   His head turns, the black strands of his hair sweeping against his forehead. Yoongi’s gentle eyes are glossed over, his tone low and husky as he quietly asks, “Can’t you get answers without seeing him?”   “I…..I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   You divert your vision, but from the corner, you can see the way his mouth curls gingerly.   “It’s okay.”   But you know that it isn’t. It’s unfair to him to wait for your memories to return, for you to continuously see someone of your past as he waits for you to come to love him as you once did.   The man retreats into the darkness and you feel guilt overwhelm you.   //   When Taehyung wakes up, does his daily routine and heads to the café, he opens the door and expects to see you. Standing there, waiting for him as if you were the owner or a barista working full time.   “Are you sure you’re not healthy enough to go back to work?” He grins, brows lifted and almost impressed at how adamant you are.   “No.” You loll your head to the side. “I’m still feeling tired.”   Taehyung scoffs lightly, noting that you always show up earlier than he does. “Tired, huh?”   “You must be tired too. Your shirt is inside out.”   “What?” His line of sight follows to where you’re pointing and Taehyung looks down to see that his shirt is indeed inside out. He groans in embarrassment as you laugh.   “Did you not notice?”   He doesn’t answer, grabbing his drink from the counter once the barista calls his name and he books it out of the shop. But not without you following behind him and still giggling.   “Are you sulking?” You quickly catch up to him and quirk your head almost to his shoulder. “I’m just teasing, Tae. It’s not that noticeable.”   “You noticed it.”   “Well I’ve always noticed everything about you.”   He clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance and stops, making you halt on your heels. “Don’t flirt with me, woman. Didn’t you say you were seeing someone?”   You scoff, continuing to walk and this time, he’s the one who follows after you. “Who says I’m flirting with you? I think you’re terribly mistaken and quite frankly, full of yourself.”   Taehyung grins. “It’s not my fault I was born this handsome and have so many people regularly flirting with me.”   “Uh-huh. You’re beginning to sound like Seokjin.”   “He’s not half as handsome as I am.”   You burst out laughing, knowing that your old friend would probably throw a fit if Taehyung openly fought him for the position of most handsome in your group of friends. “I beg to differ.”   “Then why didn’t you marry him back then?”   “Should’ve,” you sing-song much to Taehyung’s chagrin.   The pair of you stop in front of his building, the destination of every morning journey. You know this is where you’ll have to leave him off and see him again tomorrow, wait for just these ten minutes of conversations and banter. But unusually, Taehyung doesn’t bid you farewell right away. He doesn’t run away with his tail in between his legs, shooting you a playful glare over his shoulder.   Instead, he stops with you and smiles. Taehyung lingers on the sidewalk with you.   “Y/N…” He gazes at you.   Your eyes connect with his warm irises and something lodges in your throat, an emotion that only seems to come with him. “Hmm?”   There’s held silence—   “There’s a bug in your hair.”   “What?!”   His palm slaps your forehead before you can flail, not enough for it to hurt, but enough that you’re stunned. You lift your hand to rub the spot and at the same time, a rectangular grin spreads into his face. Taehyung laughs childishly. “Kidding.”   “Are you five years old?!” you shout but it only eggs him on more.   “Sorry, sorry.” He bats your hand away and his fingers come to rub the spot for you instead. “I’m pretty sure it was your face cream and not a bug.”   The proximity is closed. You can feel his breath against your face, count his thick lashes, draw constellations through the tiny freckles around his nose.   You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks and Taehyung catches it. For a moment, his eyes linger against your lips and yours follows down to the dip of his cupid’s bow to the corner of his mouth. There’s a thick tension between the two of you, a kind of intimacy not found between a pair of old friends on a normal morning. It’s a kind of longing that you recognize in Taehyung’s gaze as it’s similar to your own…   You lean in to close the distance completely. But then Taehyung abruptly pulls away.   His vision is diverted to the ground.   All traces of mischief are gone. His mouth has fallen into a straight line, brows knitted together as if he’s in physical pain. “What are we doing, Y/N?”   He doesn’t wait for a response. Taehyung turns and walks away while the knots in your chest constrict you. But you run after him. You take three strides before he can vanish from your life — like what you found when you woke up in that hospital bed. The thought of that returning is terrifying.   “Taehyung!”   “No!” He turns around to face you, shutting you down before the way you call his name can affect him. You’re taken aback by the hurt etched on his expression. “It took me two years to get over you and even now I’m still not over you,” he declares angrily and your eyes widen. “And then you come out of nowhere to make a mess out of my head, playing these games.”   Your brows furrow, upset at his accusations and you shout back at him, “What games?!”   “I know that the moment you remember again, the moment you get over your stupid fucking amnesia, you’re going to dump me!” Taehyung swallows hard. “You’re going to make me go through all of that again. It’s downright cruel, you dense woman!”   “Don’t call me dense!” Without conscious decision, tears begin to shed down your face and you shake your head. “You know that that isn’t my intention.”   “I know.” Taehyung sighs. “But it’s going to happen anyway.”   The pair of you look at one another and then the doors to the building open. A tall man with dimples comes out and is absolutely bewildered at the ruckus. He’s seemingly familiar with Taehyung, perhaps a colleague of his. “Is something wrong, dude?”   “It’s fine.”   “Who’s this?” the stranger asks curiously, smiling at you.   “She’s my ex-wife.”   The man is caught off guard, eyes becoming rounded. “I didn’t know you were married.”   “Yeah, well, I used to be.” Taehyung peeks at you in a silent farewell and you watch his backside leave.

When Taehyung wakes up, does his daily routine and heads to the café, he opens the door and then his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t know why disappointment seems to overwhelm him when you’re not there and he wonders since when he expected you to be in the first place — standing there, waiting for him.   He stands in line by himself. Makes his order by himself. Picks up his lunch by himself.    Taehyung walks to work alone.   And every so often, he unconsciously glances to his side and then sighs when he catches himself. He’s not sure why he keeps anticipating you to be with him. Why he allows himself to feel frustrated when he remembers you’re not here.   You’ve become Taehyung’s habit.   And now you’re gone.

There’s a timid knock at the door.   A moment later, it cracks open. “Hey, dinner is ready….” Yoongi’s puzzled to find you standing on a stool, reaching to the top of your closet but he smiles, glad to see you lively again. “What are you doing? Do you need help?”   “It’s okay.” You grab the album you were reaching for and wipe off the layer of dust that covers it. “I just remembered I kept old albums up here. Jeez, it’s so dusty.”   Yoongi’s brow lifts. “You remember?”   You nod, smiling at him. “I do.”   The album is flipped open and you step off the stool to sit on the edge of your bed. Yoongi watches you for a moment and exhales softly. “Well, I’ll leave your food on the table.”   You thank him and he takes his leave, shutting the door.   You guess no matter how bad your relationship with Taehyung got, you never had the heart to throw away or burn the photographs. And you’re glad. The photographs of your wedding day are still in tip-top shape, images showing the pair of you glowing in the sunset with his arms wrapped around you. You remember that wedding dress and that suit of his that had to be tailored twice. You remember being late to the ceremony and having to run with Taehyung who snuck out to see you beforehand even though he wasn’t supposed to...…   There are also photographs of your honeymoon, a vacation to the Caribbean, and another trip of Europe that you went on during your university days. But above all, there are photos of the pair of you in front of the newly built house. Proud and ecstatic. The seashell white home with the dark brown roof and large windows and skylights standing tall behind you two. Ready to house your future.   Some things change but these memories won’t.   //   The sprinklers spritzes across the freshly mowed lawn, a sputtering hiss that leaves a mist in the air. You step up the stone path to the cherry wood door, noticing the golden nameplate under the mailbox, but you don’t dwell. In your haze, your closed fist comes to steadily knock at the door.   It swings open.   Inside, you find someone with warm eyes, brunette hair and a boxy smile. He encapsulates the sunlight itself, so bright that it’s hard to discern who exactly it is. But you feel like you know. Like you had known before you even knocked and the door opened.   The man calls your name.   And you’re shaken awake from the beautiful dream. And you wake to an empty bedside, tears welling up in your eyes. It’s the middle of the night, darkness surrounding you and weighing heavily against your body. But you fight against it and rip the covers off of your body, grabbing a cardigan off your chair and rushing down the hall.   Yoongi is stirred from the noise and gets up from the couch.    “Where are you going?” he asks in a husky voice, running a hand through his hair that’s sticking in all directions. But the sleepiness leaves the man as he watches you shake your head, struggling to put on your shoes with tears in your eyes.   “I-I need to go, Yoongi.”   But for the first time, he reaches out.    Yoongi’s hand clasps around your wrist to stop you, having an inkling that you might never return. “I won’t let you.” His foot is finally placed down, but the decision has long been made.   “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”   “Don’t say that,” he desperately pleads.   “But I am. It’s unfair to you. That I’ve treated you this badly while all you’ve ever been is patient and considerate and understanding. But I don’t want you to wait for me anymore.”   “You’re not going back to your asshole of an ex-husband. He was horrible to you.”   “Yoongi, what do you expect me to do?” It’s a genuine question that you ask. You’re at a loss and the words choke out of you, but you had these feelings the moment you had awoken in that hospital bed. “I love him.”   The pause draws on and you lower your gaze.   “It’s not fair for you to wait for me to love you instead. I’m in love with Taehyung.”   Yet in spite of your words, Yoongi still pulls you into him. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight as if you might vanish between his fingertips. You come to realize that you never gave Yoongi a chance to express his love to you — you never kissed him or held him despite how long he waited.   You feel him tremble against you. The man who you had woken to presses his face to your shoulder, his quiet tears staining your thin clothing. You return his hug, arms lifted around his torso and grasping him close. You remember who he is. You know well.   He’s Min Yoongi, the man who you loved.   After a moment, he releases you. “Go.”   You nod. “I’ll always be thankful to you, Yoongi. More than you’ll realize.”   //   The car door slams shut.   You cross the street, approaching the house that still stands tall on the quiet suburban street illuminated by lamp posts. You’re not sure what you’re doing here at this time of night and you know you’ll just be disheartened when you see another family inside, living in the space that was meant for you and Taehyung. But you needed to see it.   It’s your home. What you made with Taehyung. Physical proof of your planned devotion to one another.   The house is dark and you assume that the people inside are long asleep. So you take a moment to gaze at it, heart aching inside your chest, and after ten minutes, you turn to walk away and leave your home behind. But then a car drives down the road. It’s a modest vehicle and as you wait for it to pass to cross the street, it instead pulls into the driveway of the house.   The headlights turn off. The engine dies. The car door opens.   And you freeze, watching the person emerge.   “Taehyung?!”   The strapping brunette man is unmistakable. He’s dressed in his work clothes, casual sweater and black trousers, his leather crossbody bag slung across his torso. He looks tired from what you can see with the glow of the many street lights, his hair messy and eyes weary. But he still has the energy to be shocked at your sudden presence.    Shocked as if he’s been caught in the act. “What are you doing here?”   You speak on an exhale. “Y-You bought the house back again?”   He bought it after the two of you lost it. Even when there’s no reason to.   Not unless it still holds sentimental value. Not unless the memories held in there were ones he still cherishes. Not unless he still loves you.   Taehyung murmurs your name, “Y/N…”   You run to him, closing the distance, throwing your arms around his neck. And you kiss the silly man breathlessly, pressing your mouth against his and swallowing the groan that leaves his lungs. His arms wrap around your back, holding you close and quickly reciprocating. His head tilts and his tongue slips into your mouth, drawing noises out of you like when you were young and still exploring one another.   But it’s a kiss of sadness and longing — yet still sweet even after so much time has passed.   After a handful of seconds, Taehyung pulls away.   “W-What are we doing?” He shakes his head, letting go of you.   But you grab hold of his hand. “I still love you, Taehyung. I love you.”   His earnest eyes search yours. “How….how do I know you won’t just remember why you wanted to leave me. How do I know it won’t happen all over again? We’re still the same people, Y/N. It didn’t work once.”    “I don’t care,” you spit at him desperately. “To me, it feels like it was until yesterday that we were still married and in love. And right now, right now I still love you, Taehyung. I miss you. I don’t care what happened, that you lost your job, lost the house and started to feel bad about yourself and gave up on us.”    Taehyung’s eyes are rounded and his lips part. “You….remember?”   You nod. “I have gradually for a while now.”   Bits and pieces had fallen together the longer you spent with him, the more you looked at pictures and mementos, and searched your memories. They were loose puzzle pieces, moments of time, until you fit them together to create a whole picture. To finally understand why things happened the way they did.   And you can finally recall the downward spiral of Taehyung all those years ago. How he abruptly got laid off, losing his dream job that he had worked so hard to obtain, how the two of you lost the house when your sole income was no longer enough and how depressed he became about losing that home. How he sat at his desk for two years in the dark, playing games and wasting time, giving up on searching for a job and refusing to get himself help in his poor mental state.   You remember how he ignored you until you felt like his mother and couldn’t take it anymore. How he pushed your sanity enough that you had to walk away before you were damaged.    But in spite of all that has happened…   “I still love you.”   He’s an absolute shit, but you love him.   Without being able to blink, Taehyung tugs you in by your waist and he presses his lips against yours, holding you close to him. You smile against his mouth before your hands lift to cup his cheeks, cradling his face as he deepens the kiss. It’s desperate, hungering to make up for lost time, fulfilling the yearning that has dwelled between the pair of you each time you spoke.   Taehyung kisses you like he’s missed you more and the pair of you barely manage to break apart to stumble into the house.   “I can’t believe you bought this place back.” It’s a whirlwind, nostalgia slamming into you as you step into the foyer. You’re overwhelmed with emotion, feeling a staggering urge to start crying.   “Had to do a lot of negotiating, but I did it,” he murmurs proudly, happy to show you how he’s picked himself up, how he found another passion and followed the path, that he’s no longer so pathetic. “All on my own too.”   “Taehyung…”   He kisses you again, less gentle than before. He’s merciless, hands placed on your hips and your back arches into him until the force of his body causes the two of you to fall backwards onto the floor. Taehyung catches your head so that it never hurts and he hovers over you, leg between your knees while he peels off his coat.    “I’m sorry,” he says softly, gazing into your eyes. “I never got to tell you that. I’m sorry for hurting you.”   You nod, grasping at his forearms that’s next to your head and he takes the opportunity to lean down. Taehyung lay pecks against your cheek until he moves his way down to suck bruising kisses into your neck. You cry his name, writhing against him as he palms your breast and leaves his marks all over you.   Taehyung eats you out on the cool tiled floors of the foyer entrance, filling the house with obscene sounds that make you embarrassed. But you can’t complain, not when you’re sobbing his name and your fingers are sinking into his hair.   You end up cumming all over his swollen lips and chin, and you bat at him when he grins and says it’s delicious. Before Taehyung can completely ruin the mood, you grab him and with little warning, his cock sinks into your cunt, head poking right at the entrance of your cervix. You feel full and he begins to pound into you, satisfying that itch you’ve had for so long.   Taehyung makes you look at him the entire time and as you hold him, it hits you just how much you missed him. Tears leak from your eyes and it only eggs him on to be rougher. His fingers sink into the meat of your thigh and his mouth leaves hickeys down the valley of your breasts to admire later. You cum again and then he presses his pelvis into yours and cums in you as well, painting your walls in white.   Despite being sweaty and sticky, Taehyung kisses you again and the two of you hold one another. He’s sweet and affectionate until he starts to push his cum back into you with his fingers when you begin to leak.   “Now you’re not even trying to hide the fact you want me to get pregnant.”   The man mischievously grins. “Last I checked, it was yesterday that we wanted kids.”   You burst out laughing, unable to argue with that but…. “We’re not even married anymore. What would your mom think?”   “She would probably cry tears of happiness if she knew we were together again. And marriage…” He interlaces his hands with yours. “We could make it happen again. If you want.”   You nod. “I do.”

It’s another chance. Another do over.   You wonder if you had never lost your memories and tried to chase them down, if you would’ve ever reached out to Taehyung again and reignite the spark between the two of you. Had you not found him again, you wonder if you would’ve known that he’s picked himself again and returned to the man you fell in love with. It’s hard to say but those things are yesterday’s problems.   Today, you look towards the future.   “Wake up, sleepy head.”   On any other day, you might kick him in the knee for waking you up on a weekend, but it’s been so long that you don’t mind whatsoever. Taehyung’s mischief is world’s better than waking up to an empty bedside or to someone you can’t genuinely love as much.   “Ugh.” You open your eyes and immediately slap a palm against his mouth. “Don’t kiss me. Morning breath.”   Taehyung peels your hand off, grins and smooches you anyway. You laugh and quickly reciprocate.   When it’s all done and over, he snuggles into you. “You know…” You’re wrapped in each other’s arms and you slowly blink awake, glad that you’ve finally woken up with him beside you. “...those brown walls in this room are going to have to change.”   Taehyung laughs. “Happily.”   There’s nothing been more certain of. You want to spend tomorrow with Taehyung and the day after that and the day after that.   Until eternity.

[whataboutmyfries]

Russian roulette

Hello Hello! As promised, the new chapter of Russian roulette! Thank you so very much to @ttylfedora and @asunshinepuff for being my wonderful Betas and giving this chapter some semblance of punctuation.

As always, credits for the cubs goes to @lumosinlove!

~

Chapter 4

Finn sighed, propping his head on a hand as he drove, the street lights flashing over the car in the dark. Finn looked over at Logan, his small form spread over the passenger seat, his head resting against the cold window while he slept.

Finn’s heart clenched painfully at the sight. The flashing lights made Logan look like an angel fallen from grace; incandescent, gorgeous and utterly unattainable. His breath hitched ever so slightly, gone in an instant as he turned back to the road.

He’d dealt with this for eight years. What’s a few more?

~

“Tremz, Tremz, we’re here.”

Logan woke to Finn gently shaking his shoulder, quietly calling his name. He slowly blinked his eyes open, “‘M awake, ‘m awake.” he shook his head blearily, trying to shake off some of the sleep.

“C’mon, up you get,” Finn grunted, tugging him out of the car, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Let’s get you in bed.” Logan groaned, leaning heavily on Finn as he muttered something about fishes and bedrooms.

By the time they got to the door, Logan was properly awake; though his arm stayed wrapped around Finn’s shoulder, the heavy warmth sending a shiver of delight down the redhead’s spine.

“Fish, I can walk back to my room myself, y’know.” Logan teased. He turned to look at his friend, his hand slipping off Finn’s body. Finn huffed a laugh, though he felt a strange sense of disappointment at the loss of contact.

“Go home, get some sleep, meet me back here tomorrow. We have to see what we’re going to do about Lizard and Leo .” it’s a little repetitive so i think one tomorrow works

Finn just looked at Logan, melancholy and regret swimming in the hazel irises.

“Go home, Logan. Get back to your own bed, it might help.”

“This is my home.”

“I know.” Finn sighed. “I know it is, but it shouldn’t be. Home should be somewhere you can be safe, somewhere you can call completely your own.”

“Is this not a place I can be safe? A place I can call completely mine?”

“Fuck, Tremz,” Finn shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. “Stop being so difficult, you know what I — you know what? Nevermind. Goodnight.”

Logan’s heart ached to say something, anything, to get that look off of Finn’s face, but he came up empty. He could do little but watch as Finn walked away, his lithe figure disappearing into the night.

Logan hated his flat, the empty space altogether too full of absent reminders of the person he had been, the person who’d let things go so horribly wrong. It had driven him mad; those one cosy, warm rooms once filled with laughter and merriment reduced to bleak snapshots of memories lost to time, black and white mementoes of love and companionship. The keepsakes on his mantle no longer bringing him laughter and happiness but left to rot like relics of a person who had once been.

His lungs grated against his ribcage as he let out a sigh, the breath making his shoulders slump lower, his head dipping as his feet dragged sluggishly on the polished marble floor. One foot after another, he reminded himself; one foot after another.

~

Finn parked his Maserati in the garage, letting out a deep, slow sigh as he let his head thump back against the headrest. He was so goddamn tired as of late. What with the recent loss of a high-profile asset — and friend— and the stranger-who-wasnt-really-a-stranger dropping by with seemingly perfect timing, it had all been a little much lately.

He ran his hands through his hair, relaxing a little in the star-flecked comfort of the night. His breath shook a little. He leaned forward, resting his head against the cool steering wheel, the light of his phone illuminating his face from his lap.

‘I’m sorry about today, but you know I can’t go back there’ No prizes for guessing who that was from.

Finn closed his eyes, thumping his head against the wheel gently. Ignoring the notification in favour of unlocking his phone, he connected it to the car’s music system, the soft, slow strumming of the guitar soothing his nerves, the heavy weight of being him falling away for a few blessed minutes.

With that, Finn pulled right back out of his garage and drove into the blissful peace of the night.

The tension leached out of Finn under the steady thrum of the engine. The smooth, cold texture of the steering wheel under his hands a comforting presence, the soft movements of the car a balm to his emotions.

Finn barely even noticed when the mechanical edges of buildings and skyscrapers faded to the soft, flat land of the country.

And then he was flying.

His beloved car pushing her limits underneath him, faster, faster, faster, until the world around him was a blur, until the steady thump of his heart, tangled with the rhythm of the soft bass coming from the speakers was the only thing keeping him anchored to his reality. He was soaring, higher, stronger, faster; battling the winds themselves to touch the stars, dancing with the soft moonlight, playing amongst the clouds.

And for a few blissful moments; Finn was nothing and everything all at once; a gust of wind trapped in a cage, a shard of starlight caught in a jar, a famed mob boss looking for freedom.

~

Finn walked into their shared office feeling infinitely lighter, the rumble of his vehicle a song in his blood and the flash of starlight dancing behind his eyes.

Logan looked up from his laptop, shoving his pencil behind his ear while he leaned back in his chair

“Well, you look like shit,” he grinned, nudging forward the cup of steaming coffee that Finn had just now noticed was sitting on his desk. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?

Finn’s mind flashed with the image of the sunrise on the horizon while he had driven straight to Headquarters and he flashed Logan a winning grin “Like a log, you?” he lied easily, sliding over the desk to sit on his chair.

“Lo, I have something important to ask you.”

The man in question turned around in his chair, tipping his head to the side as he looked at his friend. “Sure, what’s up?”

It took an unjust amount of willpower for Finn to ignore the way the light twined through Logan's hair, weaving through the chocolatey curls. He cleared his throat roughly, forcing himself to look anywhere but at him.

“Are we going to help our friendly neighbourhood Houdini?”

Logan scrunched up his nose in confusion, laughing when he finally realised who Finn was talking about.

“Houdini?!?! Of all the brilliant magicians, you went with Houdini?”

Finn crossed his arms, pouting. “Well, who else was I supposed to think of?”

“Literally anybody else, Dynamo, David Blaine, The Horsemen, Robert Angier? I don’t know, maybe his own father? Have you even seen the prestige?”

Finn’s sigh of exasperation was only betrayed by the way his lips twitched up at the ends. “Oh shut up, you know who I’m talking about. Anyway, what do we do?”

Logan’s smile faded into a frown as he chewed his lip thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. He did know Lizard’s name, besides, his father was an asset too. Liz knew him well.”

Finn hummed, a small knife already spinning around his fingers. “You’re not wrong, but how do we know we can trust him?”

Logan shrugged, “I can ask around if you’d like that better, but I think we’re alright. Bliz knows him too. Says he’s a good kid.”

Finn hummed, already lost in thought.

Logan sucked in a deep breath, “I think we should do it.”

Finn’s amber eyes snapped to Logan, and he nodded, a wayward red curl falling into his eyes.

“Yeah….I think so too.”

~

“Hey! Portami il vecchio mazzo di carte per favore? voglio provare qualcosa.” Leo called, shuffling his deck of cards in increasingly complex ways.

He missed a particularly risky shuffle, and the cards flew out of his fingers, falling to the green grass of Natalie’s backyard.

“Porca puttana” Leo muttered, stooping to pick up the cards for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

“Language!” Natalie called from the kitchen, stirring a pot of something that smelled absolutely divine. “And it’s about time you stopped anyway, dinner’s almost ready.”

Leo sighed, picking up his deck and tapping it on the side of his shoe as he walked into the house. He paused to kiss Natalie on the cheek before dropping his things on the couch to help her in the kitchen.

“Nat, you are a goddess, this smells incredible.” Leo sighed, stirring the pot Nat had put him in charge of. “Dio santo, Nat, could you take over for a sec? I left my phone in the yard. I’ll get Bliz on the way back?”

Natalie rolled her eyes at him fondly, shoving his shoulder as she took the spoon from his hands. “Of course you did. Go get it. And bring Kase too.”

Leo nodded, slipping his shoes on to walk to the yard, whistling as he went.

He was so preoccupied with looking for his phone; he didn’t notice the tall man striding towards him, his gait soft and even.

“Leo Knut?”

Leo could’ve sworn he’d had half a heart attack in the split second it took him to turn around to face the stranger, his heart beating double time as he looked around for something— anything— he could use as a weapon.

But the man just raised his hands, taking a step back.

“O'Hara and Tremblay want to see you.”

~

Leo’s leg bounced under the table, his eyes glazed over with the look of someone who wasn’t quite present.

“Knut, are you listening? We need the plans.”

“Huh? Oh, um, it’s actually pronounced ‘newt’ not ‘nut’. And how do I know you’re not going to take the plans and sell me out the second I walk out of here?”

Finn and Logan exchanged a look, a silent conversation clearly taking place as they met each other’s eyes.

“Because you’re planning the damn heist right here with us.”

Leo wished he could say he handled the situation like a normal person, casually accepting the information and moving on, but that would be a lie. Instead, it took him a solid 20 seconds to even begin to process the fact that they had said yes.

But in true magician fashion, Leo had his bearings back before anyone could notice.

“Pleasure doing business with you gentlemen,” He said, shaking their hands over the table. “But I hope you know that I have an insurance policy against you should you choose to fuck me over.”

Both Logan and Finn startled, Logan’s hand immediately going to his gun. “What the fuck did you do.”

“Don’t cross me and you won’t have to find out, Mio Signore,”

Leo could feel Finn’s searing stare on the back of his neck as he walked away. “I’ll stop by tomorrow evening with the drive and the laptop.”

~

Leo’s mind kicked into overdrive the second he entered his apartment. Drive, map, encrypted journal. He wasn’t quite sure what had possessed the two of them to help him with one of the riskiest plans he’d ever heard in his life, but damn him if he wasn’t going to milk it to his advantage.

It always gave Leo an electric sort of thrill to start a new project; dark rooms, hushed arguments, pages and pages of data and plans the heady adrenalin rush of it all. And so Leo flicked the lights off, settled in with a mug of coffee and cracked his knuckles. It was going to be a long night.

~

Logan stared at Finn as he paced the office, watching as his friend ran his hand through his dishevelled hair.

“Lo, this is going to be the single most dangerous mission we have ever agreed to.”

Logan swiped a bit of sweat off his cheek, going back to cleaning his gun as he replied.

“I know. I know it is Harzy. But we’ll be going in hot, we’ll plot out every possible outcome. You know we will.”

Finn turned to look at him, the corners of his mouth twitching at something he saw.

“What? What is it?”

“Nothing you just…” Finn walked over to Logan’s desk leaning over the table to run his thumb across his friend’s cheek wiping a stripe of black grease off his face.

Logan went so uncomfortably still he wasn’t sure he’d ever move again.

Finn, meanwhile, went right back to his pacing, rambling about men and ammo and whatnot. This mission was going to be a hell of a ride if they kept going on like this.

Logan wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

But damn if it wasn’t a heavenly way to die.

“Lo, you’ll train with me, won't you? I might be a little rusty at hand to hand.” Finn said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Logan winked. “Always, it’s been a while since I kicked your sorry ass.”

Finn’s expression morphed into one of mock hurt. “Next time at target practice, I’m pinning your face to the board”

~

[escapewithbts]

EARLY DATES WITH BTS: Headcanon

—————————-

Seokjin:

• “Dressy” was the attire Jin told you to wear for whatever he had planned for tonight.

• Therefore you picked your favorite dress from your closet, the one that showed off your most favorite body parts and hid your insecurities.

• You felt confident and beautiful, to be honest

• Jin apparently thought so too because as soon as you stepped out of the front door of your apartment building his jaw dropped, “Whoa…”

• He was in a navy blue suit, a white collared shirt underneath with a few buttons undone, his hair pushed back from his forehead revealing his incredibly handsome face

• You immediately felt butterflies

• “Whoa yourself! I see you’re especially living up to your nickname tonight” you said playfully as he opened the passenger door of his Lamborghini for you

• He grinned bashfully and let out a deep throated chuckle

• “I guarantee the eyes won’t be on me tonight, though”

• Your heart sped up at this comment and your shyness quickly returned

• The two of you zipped through the streets of Seoul to your unknown destination

• You could hardly look at him driving next to you; his long fingers curved around the steering wheel, the (assumingly expensive) watch wrapped around his wrist, his perfectly sculptured profile staring intently at the road in front of him, the frequent smiles you caused to appear on his face

• He was just so freaking handsome.

• Like he had been sculpted by angels

• And you were on a third date with him

• Oh but it wasn’t just his looks that you liked

• On those first two dates you learned he was funny (in the cheesy way you liked), incredibly polite, attentive, passionate, mature, silly, kind

• Really his looks were just an added bonus…

• Finally he pulled up next to a building with large wooden doors, no windows

• He opened your door and took your hand to help you out of the car, then tossed his keys to the valet

• When you stepped inside the building you were taken aback

• It was a beautiful restaurant, dimly lit by chandeliers, red velvet booths, marble floors, gold accents, the soft tune of a piano playing

• It was gorgeous yet cozy

• You were lead to your table which had a single candle flickering in the middle

• It was then that you realized you were the only ones in the restaurant despite it being 7:30 on a Saturday evening

• “Where is everyone?”

• Jin grinned at you sheepishly “It’s just us here this evening, (y/n)”

• “Wha- You mean... the whole restaurant? It’s just us?”

• “I, uh, rented it out for tonight”

• Your eyes got wide, so touched he would do such a thing. You placed your hand on top of his that was resting on the table

• “Seokjin... that’s incredible. Thank you.”

• The tips of his ears turn red as he smiles at you

• You order a pasta dish, Jin orders steak

• He also gets a bottle of white wine for you to share, and you have to hide your shock at the price of it when you glance at the menu

• But it’s the best food you’ve ever had

• You have endless talks about anything and everything

• You share cheesy jokes back and forth, sometimes laughing so hard you both end up crying and out of breath

• Your face hurts from smiling

• Your heart feels full

• Your body feels warm and hazy from the wine

• Everything is perfect

• Want to get some ice cream?” Jin suddenly asks after paying the bill

• It’s now dark outside, city lights sparkling around you as the two of you start walking the couple blocks from the restaurant to the ice cream shop

• To your surprise, Jin’s hand brushes against yours and he looks at you

• “May I... hold your hand?”

• You nod shyly but smile and look back at the ground as you feel his large hand wrap around yours

• Your heart pounds in your chest at the contact

• He squeezes gently and looks at you with such adoration you think you may melt into a puddle right there

• “What’s your favorite flavor?” He asks when you’re standing outside the small ice cream store

• You tell him and he holds up a crooked finger

• “Wait here”

• He goes inside and only a few minutes later reappears with a large cone, a scoop of your favorite on top of it and covered in rainbow sprinkles. He hands it to you

• “These past few dates with you (y/n) have made the inside of my heart feel like rainbow sprinkles” he confesses, clutching his free hand to his chest

• You laugh at his goofy line that doesn’t even really make sense but you find adorable

• And the two of you walk towards a small park that seems to be deserted and sit next to each other on a bench

• Just licking your ice cream cones and enjoying each other’s company

• “Thank you for another wonderful date, Seokjin” you say as you finish the last bite of cone

• He’s leaning against the back of the bench, his long arms stretched out, staring up at you with his sultry dark brown eyes

• All of a sudden he puts his thumb at the corner of you mouth and wipes gently

• “You have a bit of ice cream there”

• You furrow your eyebrows at him

• “Hey! I was saving it for later!”

• Wrinkles form at the sides of his eyes as he lets out a laugh

• You love making him laugh

• Then there’s a pause as you look down at your hands

• “I really like you a lot, (y/n)” Jin whispers softly, making you look back up at him

• You can’t help staring at his lips, they’re looking so red and plump

• You want them on yours

• “I like you, too, Jin”

• And then it feels like slow motion

• As if he read your mind, he sits up and places his hand on your cheek, leaning forward until your faces are mere centimeters from each other

• You close the gap between you as you put your lips to his

• They’re still cold from the ice cream, and he tastes so sweet and heavenly

• Your hand runs through his soft hair and he pulls you closer to deepen the kiss

• When you pull apart he keeps you close, foreheads touching

• “You taste so good... like ice cream” you say, then get slightly embarrassed

• But you both chuckle

• Jin tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and attaches your lips to his once more

*

[oftenderweapons]

Love talk - Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 10k words

Genre: fluff, smut

Rating: 18+

Hello bunnies! I know you’ve been streaming Dynamite (I’m doing so as I revise and edit). I decided to postpone publishing the piece, so that we can focus on streaming and then as soon as the 24h are over and you’re well-rested you’re hopefully all ready for this 😏

Basically, I’ll do a quick recap of Yoongi and Kitten’s sliver of backstory. They’ve been dating for a couple months on again off again (he’s quite busy with schedule) and have been on several dates, however the situation escalates when the two start playing a steamy late-night after-date 20 questions game.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Consumption of alcohol. Swearing. This is smutty, especially in the end. This is intended for an adult public. Some of the themes are only discussed by the characters. Strong language, alcohol consumption, masturbation both male and female receiving, same for oral (feat. face riding). Mild voyeurism/exhibitionism, quite detailed description of sexual positions and fantasies, discussion on STDs, mentions of previous relationships and past traumas (abusive boyfriend and one very sorry fuck). Choking, breast worship, mentions of restrictions, sensation play and switch Yoongi. This should be all. Also, watch Kitten thirst for Yoongi’s hands (and tongue. and lips. and all the rest of Yoongi) for 10k words. (On a second note, watch Yoongi drool -- only metaphorically, much to his dismay -- over Kitten’s tits).

Yeah, it’s date 10 and these two haven’t kissed yet, I somehow think that Yoongi is the kind of guy who would wait till he’s dying and then just pounce. Also these two just want to jump each other’s bones and I can’t wait for you to see them in Illicit Affairs (definitely my 2nd favourite couple -- ‘cause Joon will be A Lot™)

Wordcount is around 10k.

Since I need to start planning next scenarios, I need you to help me choose the theme, you can vote at the link in my bio!

Here is my masterlist, enjoy 💜

“God, what’s with the weather tonight?”

“Man, this is a nightmare, get in quick.” The arm around your shoulder loosened a little as he let you move quickly from under his umbrella to the passenger seat of his car. As you got comfortable and tried to fix your hair and makeup a little, he walked around the car, opening the driver’s door, sliding in quickly and, with a sleight of hand, shaking the umbrella, closing it and smashing the door shut as fast as possible.

“Damn it.” He moved the soaked object at the foot of the backseat, stretching in the process with a groan.

You set with your hands pressed together, shoved innocently between your thighs.

This was your tenth date with Yoongi and you were smitten over him. Also, horny, but that’s for another moment. You’d been dating without commitment for about two months, the timing absolutely awful – he was in the middle of promotion with the group – but he had been too hung up on you to wait. He had wanted to do things properly, but after two weeks of stalking your profiles on social networks and making a fool of himself anytime you accidentally met, he decided he needed to act, and quickly so.

You went for a coffee once, then he brought you lunch, then you started with your sneaky dates at the cinema, walks at Han river late at night and dark and discreet bars dominating the rooftops of Seoul.

But the cinema was your most recurrent. You were just back from one of your dates at your go-to theatre, at two a.m, the late night show allowing him enough privacy to sneak around and protect you from any prying eyes.

He started the car and asked if you needed the AC on. “You have goosebumps on your arms.” He commented.

He is attentive. And caring. Which really makes you want to jump him. But again, digressing.

“No, thank you, Yoongi.” You replied kindly.

“Okay.” Moving out of the parking lot he started driving to your house, stopping at a couple traffic lights, looking at you as he waited. You looked back at him, smiling affectionately. He took your hand, holding it and warming it up in between his.

“Who would believe it’s September, it feels at least November out there.” You commented, feeling extremely dumb in discussing the weather, but too afraid of letting your mind delve in more mature or appropriate topics.  

“Sure you’re okay?” He asked, as he placed your hand back, the lights turning green.

“Yeah.” You risked evaporation, looking at his focused expression as he drove. Could you believe he hadn’t kissed you yet? No. Could you imagine why he hadn’t done that yet? Hell, no. You had squeezed your brains trying to imagine why he hadn’t kissed you while at the same time keeping on asking you out, date after date.

The night lights reflected beautifully on his delicate features, on his cute nose and his round and soft cheekbones, on his pouty, blatantly soft, deliriously pink, wildly wanted lips, on his flashy silver watch, on his sparkly, delicate necklace, on his small and sober earrings. You wanted him. Your heart skipped a beat at the way your body and mind aligned in that statement. The pressure you felt within you was a living, beating, ravenous thing, enlarging its size like a bird puffing its feathers.

His hands on the wheel were extraordinarily pale and sturdy, skeletrical but also undoubtedly strong. You wanted them on you, grabbing and groping your flesh. And the way he seemed to chew on his lower lip, opening and closing his mouth in that gesture which is so his, as if he were tasting wine or coffee.

You didn’t even realise you had arrived at your place, since you were so caught in staring at him. “A picture will last longer, Kitten.” He teased.

You blushed, turning quickly to look out your window.

“Oh, you’re shy now...” He smirked. “Go figure, I had a proposition for you.” He commented, almost with disinterest, his mouth speaking through a fake pout, the corners of it turned downward.

“I’m curious.” You said, turning to him.

“I don’t wanna let go of you yet.” He admitted, catching your hand again. “I’ll be away for ten days. With the guys. We’re leaving tomorrow evening.” He explained. “Tonight is my last available moment with you and I know it’s two in the morning and all the rest, but I want to spend more time with you.”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised. “Do you mean…?” You hoped he had somehow sensed your longing. He seemed to have a direct line to your brain, reading you in a way that scared you too often.

He grinned. “I mean, whatever comes from this. Just talking. Just watching you as we talk. It’s not the same over the phone.” He said with a frown.

You nodded. “Do you wanna talk here? Would you like to come upstairs?” You asked, trying to feel the mood.

He bit his lip and laced his fingers together, placing them between his knees and hunching his back. “You see, I kinda wanted to take this to my place. But I promise you I won’t make a move. It’s really just talking.”

Please, do make a move. You silently begged – although you were too shy to actually speak.

“Yeah, nice. Okay.” You replied with a happy smile.

“It’s okay if you want to stay here. Or go upstairs. It’s just that I really wanted to see you at home.”

The tenderness of his domesticity killed that hunger rumbling in your insides and made your head float up high, with cute pink clouds and angels singing and stars glimmering.

This is a crush.

“Show me your crib, kitty cat.” You joked. He laughed adorably at that. He looked radiant.

As he started driving to his place you got back to your thirsting over him, this time openly oogling at his confident charm, at the way he looked so used to all of this. The way he lead you out of the car in the underground parking lot of the residence, the way he locked the car and punched in his passcode to the apartment.

“Here’s the crib, kitty cat.” He taunted right back.

The place looked immaculate. Spot on. Tidy. Neat. A bit cold but his. And it smelled so good. Like cinnamon and fir. Like a cosy, winter cabin. You wanted a blanket and a hot chocolate and a Christmas tree. You wanted him in an ugly turtleneck jumper and flannel sweats and furry slippers.

You wanted home.

“It feels very nice in here, Yoongi.” You couldn’t stop looking around, drinking in every small detail. You understood why he had wanted you here. He wanted to see if you could fit here.

He noticed you did.

“I got these, for you.” He said, offering you a pair of slippers, gesturing for you to take off your shoes as he did the same. He didn’t need to ask twice.

He led you through a quick tour of the house, moving quickly away from his most private places – the bedroom and the studio. You understood his reserve on those, giving his hand a quick squeeze in understanding.

“Finally, the living room.” He explained as he switched on the lights illuminating a large space with a thick cream carpet covering the cold white marble, the room completely dominated by a black leather couch. It looked very traditional and “grandpa”. It really resembled him. “Might as well settle in, we’re gonna be here for a while. Want to drink something?” He asked.

You. “What do you have in mind?” You asked, shutting up your inner slut.

“Well, I was thinking I wanted to do that ‘get-to-know-each-other’ kind of thing.” He said, opening a cabinet in the console under the gigantic tv. In the meantime ha started a slow rap playlist from his phone. “I know this will sound like usual fuckboy who’s trying to make a move, but I have no intention of getting you drunk. I’ll drink, and I promise I’ll be perfectly responsible for my actions, but you don’t have to drink or do anything you don’t want to.” He said, putting some whisky on the coffee table together with two tumblers.

However, you opened the bottle and poured some alcohol first in his glass and then in yours. “Now it’s me the one with a proposition, mr. Min.” You cocked your head playfully. “We play twenty questions. In turns we will ask twenty questions to each other. If you don’t want to answer you pass and drink.” You explained quickly.

“Okay. Let’s get it, Kitten.” He said with a smirk, as both of you sat down at the two sides of the L-shaped sofa, near the corner. “You start, ____.”

“Warm up round, yeah?” You asked.

“Play your advantage carefully.” He suggested.

You nodded, quickly leaving aside dumb and obvious questions, but still going for an innocent one. “How many exes do you have?”

“Okay, nice. Well. I’ve “officially” had three girlfriends and two flings. All the relationships ended because of my job and lifestyle.” He offered you a free piece of information. He didn’t mind anyway. “My turn?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m satisfied.” You replied. “For now.”

He grinned devilishly. “What about your exes?”

You nodded as if expecting the question. “Officially one. It was a long, painful relationship. I’ve had flings though. Maybe eight or nine occasional partners.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Okay. I really didn’t expect that but it’s cool to me.” He said. He really didn’t mind. You’re a woman in her midtwenties, and you have the freedom to do what you want with your body. “Next.”

You looked down and toyed with your fingers, then looked up with a curious smile and gleaming mischief in your eyes. “I’ve gotta ask. When was your first time?”

He smiled. “I was nineteen. I had been dating this girl for a few months. We did it on my birthday. She was two years older than me, showed me the ropes. But even if I really liked her, it all got to hell when we debuted. She was only in it for the fact that I was an idol, she wanted an in, I think. Changed her mind when she realised I was sort of a loser.”

“Well, look at that loser now.” You said, looking him up and down and licking your lip.

He laughed embarrassed.

“I won’t do that mistake.” You promised, this time with a serious expression.

“We’ll see.” He commented, looking you up and down himself. God, he was getting flirty. A pleasured shiver ran down your spine. It wasn’t the cold. “My turn. When did you do it for the first time?”

Again you nodded. “I was with a childhood friend. It wasn’t a relationship. Just, we thought it was a good idea to do that together, because we knew each other and we trusted each other. It was nice. It felt nice. It was the summer after our senior year in high school. He moved out for university afterwards and we lost each other. But it’s a good memory, I must say.” You reminisced fondly. “No unrequited feelings, though.” You clarified, afraid that he would misunderstand.

“Okay. I’m glad it’s a good memory. I was afraid that the painful ex had been your first.” He commented, leaning towards you slightly.

“No, thank fuck.” You muttered. “Let’s move on, yeah?”

He nodded.

“I kinda have to ask this one, out of curiosity and for personal reasons. Have you ever been tested for STDs?”

He blinked and crossed his legs. “I have. It’s part of my medical check-ins. Of course the tests are more for... completeness, so to say, rather than actual need. My sex life is not that active, and when it is, I always use protection. I’m quite obsessed with it, to be honest.” He explained, his defensive stance opening up. He answered thoroughly, not even thinking of how much he was offering freely. “Do you mind me asking the same question?”

“Not at all. I also got tested. After my relationship I had to. My ex wasn’t very faithful.” You replied, blushing. “During all my flings I’ve always used protection except once. I was a bit dumb back then.” You admitted, wincing painfully. “And after my last one I got tested. He didn’t make me feel like a condom was safe enough. Thank God, everything is absolutely fine and I’m clean.”

“Oh, yeah, same here.” He offered back, with a shy laugh. “Ready for question three?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to ask one last question, for my peace of mind. Do you expect monogamy from me?” You asked.

“Do you?” He deflected.

You smiled “I asked you, Yoongi. Do you want me to date you exclusively?”

“Well I do. Do you? Want to date just me? I mean.” He asked.

“Yes, I will date you exclusively if you’re dating me exclusively.” You replied, matter-of-factly.

He shook his head, incredulous. “Of course I’m dating only you.” He murmured with a pout. “Why would I be seeing someone else?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged.

“Well, I’m strictly monogamous, ____. I’m giving you my undivided attention and all my spare time. Don’t you ever doubt my commitment. I don’t cheat.” He seemed almost too serious for a moment.

“I needed to know.”

“It’s okay. But just because you got burned once, that doesn’t mean that everyone wants to burn you, okay? That’s a bastard’s move. I promise you I won’t.” He said. And for the first time you felt like believing in it.

You took a deep breath, then smiled. “Well, anyway, you already asked your question. So it’s my turn again.” You said, cheekily.

He huffed, offended, but let you go on.

“Time to start drinking, Yoongles.” You chanted in a sing-song voice.

He laughed silently. “We’ll see.”

“What’s your favourite position in bed?” You asked, trying to peek into his private life.

“Should I drink? At this? You have to seriously one-up your game, kitten.” He stared at you intently. He was desperately trying to keep a poker face to hide how much he wanted to climb over your body and hide in the crook of your neck, inhale your sweet scent, which was enhanced by the rain that had hit you earlier.

“I’m quite traditional. I like anything that allows me to see the face of my partner. So missionary, cowgirl and lotus. When I’m a bit angsty I go for doggy. Spoons is another one I like – and also an awfully underrated one. My past lovers all said that the angle is amazing. It’s very rewarding.” Again, he gave you more than what you asked for. He wanted you to know these random things about him. He was telling you everything he wanted you to know. Who cares about vulnerability and offering too much? His aim was to earn your trust. And for you to repay his prodigality in kind. He wanted you to open up and overshare things about yourself. He wanted to know what to imagine when he thought about kissing you. When he thought of you while touching himself. He wanted to understand what he could ask, what you could possibly like, what scared you, what you needed comfort in.

At this point you were imagining him behind you, a hand at your waist, the other on your breast, his low moans caressing your ear, eyes closed, lost in bliss. Snap out of it, slut. “Wide choice.” You commented with an awkward chuckle, still trying to get back from your fantasy.

“It really depends on my partner, though. Whatever works for them.” He shrugged, his arms leaning forward, palms up. “My turn, right?” He waited for your confirmation.

“Off you go.”

“What’s your most frequent fantasy?” He muttered, shy but also sultry, his voice a low rumble.

You inhaled deeply, noticing how close he had got to what you were thinking a few seconds ago. “Dammit, I might drink.” You looked at the glass, almost lunging for it. But it was a feint. ”Actually lately I’ve been thinking a lot about having sex in the kitchen.”

Fuck. He was out. He licked his lip. He almost thought you were done with your confession, but you went on.

“Being pushed up against the counter and bent over. Or being lifted up and sat on the counter. Having someone tease me while I’m spread on the table. Or having to keep a straight face while someone is toying with me underneath the table.” You scratched your cheek, “You pick.” You whispered slightly embarrassed, laying your hands on your cheekbones in an attempt to calm down your blush.

He lifted the glass. He needed to calm down.

When you noticed his gesture you sucked your lips in, trying to hide a smug grin.

“Are you proud of getting under my skin, Kitten?” He asked.

“Yes, of course.” You replied immediately.

“Well done, ____.” The way he almost moaned your name made your blood soar to your ear. “Your turn, kitty.”

“Are you more on the dominant or submissive side?” You asked. You honestly couldn’t figure this out. He showed small signs leaning towards both sides. He was traditionally courteous, giving you attention and taking care of you, paying for food and using his body language to show you were taken, that you weren’t hanging out with a friend or a relative, but a possible love interest. At the same time, he never initiated openly intimate contact, rather he waited for you to initiate. And he had never kissed you, nor shown any interest in doing so.

“I’m leaning dom. But it’s a slight preference. It has a lot to do with my partner’s preferences. I’ve both dommed and subbed in the past. I like the protective, possessive side of domming, but I also like the receiving, caring side of subbing. Still I enjoy the control that comes from being more dominant. I would say it’s 65 to 35 for domming.”

You nodded. That sounded good. “That’s nice. I’m also a bit in the middle. Leaning sub, though.” It felt natural replying. It felt like he should know.

“Thank you for giving that up.” He smiled, warming up to you, trying to associate a positive outcome to your sharing personal information about yourself. “Now, about my question.” He fumbled a bit in his head, trying to go for something intimate, but not openly sexual. “Okay, if you could kiss any part of your significant other but their face, what would it be?”

You smiled at the cute question. Because you honestly didn’t think of the sexual side of it. “Well, you said no face. Let me think... I think I really like giving hand kisses. They’re old school, but also so meaningful. They’re apparently platonic and innocent, but they have that side of worship and adoration that just makes me weak.” You hugged yourself, growing smitten at the thought.

He cocked his head to the side, looking at you with a curious and endeared expression.

“I also like kissing on the chest, like the breastbone, like the very center of the chest. Another not openly sexual spot, but I think it’s so tender. There’s the heart there, so it’s an especially fond spot. It sort of implies that the other person is hugging you, and that you’re laying your head on their chest.” You gushed, turning absolutely tender at the thought.

“What about the face?” He asked. He wanted your hand kisses. He wanted his fingers in your mouth, but that was not the point of the question at all and you were there smitten and cute and he should stop sexualising your cuteness outburst.

“Isn’t that another question?” You smirked, brow creasing.

“I should have asked for ‘anywhere but mouth’. Dumb me.” He huffed out and sulked.

“Then, forehead kisses. Underrated. Affectionate. Platonic but so tender. They go to a whole other level of intimacy.” You murmured, anything to stop his sulking, which was making your heart twist in your chest.

He grinned “Thank you.” He said, sinking his head between his shoulders.

“Well, pay up for it with question six. Thoughts on being vocal during sexy time?” You asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate one second. “Tendentially I’m not very verbal, and I try to keep it quiet. After such a long time with roommates, that’s kind of ingrained in me. Since I moved out, I kinda got more vocal, still not very verbal, but don’t expect pornographic feats.” He laughed, trying to relax the mood. “For my partner, any sound is a nice sound, as long as it’s not fake porn screaming. Subtle moaning and heavy breathing get me going quickly. Sensitive ears and stuff.” He scratched his neck. He was getting worked up again. Deep breath, boy. He scolded himself. “Anything else?”

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks. Come on, shoot it.”

“It’s my number six?”

“Yes, champ. Go get it.” You teased cheekily.

He took in a big breath, licking his lips.

God, any more lip game and you’d throw yourself at him.

“Quick reminder: you have your drink there, just in case.” He offered. “Have you ever had a sex dream?”

Yes, about you and your dirty mouth and naughty hands. Wait, do dirty daydreams count?

He misunderstood your pause for a sign of reluctance. “Your drink is there, ____, waiting for you.” He reminded you.

You took your glass.

He nodded with little movements of his head, his expression neutral. That’s how much is too much, he though.

“I’ve dreamt of a classmate performing oral on me, once during that relationship I mentioned.” You admitted after taking a sip. Indeed, liquid courage. “I felt awful when I woke up. But it was an epiphany of sorts. It really made me understand how fucked up it all was. I don’t usually have those dreams.” You admitted. “Although I have dreamt random stuff about being naked and sexual feelings related to non-sexual contexts. Like once I dreamt I was canoeing on a rough river and I had this complicated torso bondage thing going on.” You laughed awkwardly.

Breast bondage. He was salivating. Maybe he was overthinking it but his mind had reserved a special spot for your breasts and maybe you didn’t even like nipple play that much and he was just making it up in his head. He closed his eyes to avoid checking your chest. He knew it would kill him. He was already dealing with a semi, elbows propped on his knees to hide it, hoping that the angle and the dim lights would help him. In a part of his brain he started building a folder about your previous relationship, saving there all the useful information. He sort of assumed, because of the dream you had recollected, that oral was some sort of hot topic during that time.

“Thank you, Kitten. I was afraid I had gone too far.”

“It’s okay. It’s just… I do wanna open up to you, but there’s hurtful stuff in the process.” You admitted. “I’m a bit fucked up.”

“We all are, sweetheart.” He reassured you, wanting nothing but to hold your hand, bring it to his heart, to his face, to his lips.

“My turn!” You smiled excitedly. “Sleeping habits: pjs, underwear or naked?”

“My sleeping habits or my preferences for my significant other?” He asked, trying to understand the answer you expected.

“Well, since you asked, both? For the kisses question earlier.” You reminded him.

“Nice, okay. I often sleep in pjs, especially when it gets colder. Naked feels nice too, I guess. Usually in the summer. When I’m on vacation.” He thought about the other one. How would he want you to sleep next to him? “I think I like my partner in very loose clothing. Oversized t-shirt and panties.” No bra, of course. He wants his hands to move there freely. “Naked sounds nice, but I don’t expect it. Some people feel vulnerable like that. My ex did.” He explained.

You understood, people are different, et cetera, but at the same time you asked yourself who wouldn’t want to sleep naked next to him. Feel him waking up, his warm skin enveloping you, his hands and mouth having free access to anything he craved, being completely laid bare for his whims and wants.

He noticed you were distracted and asked you his question right away.

When you noticed him staring you moved your head forward, waiting for him to speak.

“I’ve already asked, but maybe you were distracted, Kitten. How would you rate your sex drive from one to ten?” He asked. “To understand your needs, you see.”

You settled back against the back of the sofa, smiling and thinking. “I’d say around seven? Maybe eight? Like, usually I fool around about two or three times a week. Maybe four if I’m feeling very spoiled and needy.” You explained, fumbling around with the words. Yeah, you have toys and use them. Yeah, you masturbate and have an healthy sex life. Getting laid helps you deal with stress and mood swings, and endorphins help you keep your mood up, what’s wrong with that?

“Reasonable.” He didn’t comment on your fooling around. He might as well try to figure that out with the next question.

“What about you?” You asked.

“Is that your question, Kitten?” He waited for your confirmation. At your lively nod, he smiled. “I think I’m also around seven. As you said, I fool around about three to four times a week, when I’m quite relaxed. Sometimes I might get too tired and just avoid it entirely. Sometimes I’m tired but nervous and just do it more often but take shorter sessions. My question now.” He wanted to speed things up a little. It was around three now and he was afraid you wanted to bail on him.

“Go.” You said, already expecting this one to be bad.

“Do you use any sex toys?”

You laughed. “Yes. I do.”

“That’s it?” He asked, impatient to know more.

“When did this conversation become so explicit?” You asked.

“It was you who started it. But since I’m interested in knowing what you like and what you need, I realised I could use it to my advantage. I want to build intimacy with you before I start actually messing with you. I want our first time to feel right. I want to be able to laugh it out, were things to get messy. I want to know how to make you lose your mind beforehand.”

“If you say so…” You smiled suspicious but also curious. “I have a vibrator. A simple, practical one. Very old school, a bullet number. I also have a double density dildo. Expensive ordeal, but most definitely worth the money. And nipple suction cups. They’re still new. It’s a gift from myself I did a few months ago after a tough time at work.”

Fuck, he wanted to shove his head in a frozen lake. Could you? For real? He dragged his hands down his face.

“I wish I could see what’s going on in your head right now.” You wondered, faking aloofness. You were most likely ready to spread yourself on the coffee table and ask him to feast on you. “Now, about my question.” You followed your intuition. “What’s the body part that turns you on the most?”

He took a sip.

Don’t leave me hanging, Yoongi, please. “I like eye contact. Makes me understand the mood of my partner. It really turns me on when my partner maintains eye contact during sex. And I’m a breasts man. A hopeless one at that.” Again he shrugged in an “I can’t help it” kind of way.

You laid your head back against the sofa, looking at him with a knowing glance from under your lashes. “Interesting.” How long would it take to convince him to rip your shirt, slip the cups of your bra under your tits and suck your nipples until you orgasmed a couple times and fell asleep?

He took another sip. He was blushing. You liked your nipples sucked. And he liked sucking them. How convenient. “What’s a blatantly nonsexual thing that turns you on?” He asked, putting down the glass.

You did consider drinking. Could you handle him knowing such a sensitive piece of information? To hell with reason. “If you cup my face I’ll go smitten. Pair that up with a term of endearment or a little praise and I’m ready to drop to my knees.” You admitted.

“Praise kink?” He asked.

“No. I just get soft when someone cups my cheek. It makes me want to please them.” You admit.

“You know I’ll use this against you the moment you allow me to, right?” He states openly.

“Yes. I don’t mind.”

“Ask your question. It’s number ten baby.” He looked at his watch. “It’s late. Tell me when you want to go. I’ll understand.”

“I want to keep going.” You said. In more ways than one. “What’s something you want to try in bed?”

He stared off in the distance. “Oh. Let me think.” He started bouncing his leg. “Specifically in bed?”

“Yes.”

“I’m pretty sensitive. Maybe I would try something with blindfolds and restraints and sensation play? Like a feather or silk or something along that line.” He blushed and his his eyes in his hands.

“That sounds interesting. You want to try that on someone else or on yourself?” You asked for clarification.

“Myself. But I’m not opposed to doing that to someone else. Okay, let’s go on, I’m suffering here.” Inhale. Exhale. “Do you want to take it down a notch or keep going?”

“Keep going.” You murmured, afraid of what would come next, but also excited.

“Kitten, what makes you wet in seconds?” He whispered.

“You want to use this against me too?” You suspected.

“Only in your best interests.”

“Do you mean sexual things that turn me on innocent ones?” You pushed your head behind your ear.

“Do your thing, kitten.”

“On a more innocent level, I’m really sensitive to voices. I must say that yours unsettles me a little.” You confessed on a small note, with a tiny voice. “On a sexual level, I’m a mess for anything around my chest and neck. It makes me weak at the knees, it really drives me wild.”

“Touching, kissing, biting, sucking, licking…?” He suggested, fixing his posture.

“Yes to all.” You whispered, stretching to get the glass.

“Yeah.” He took a sip himself.

You gulped and put down the tumbler. “Do you ever willingly deepen your voice?”

“Yes. I did it for you, when we met. I saw you shiver when I did it accidentally, the first time we met at the office. So I did it again. I wanted you to notice me, I wanted to get you flustered.” He admitted shyly.

You sucked you lip. “You did. I was squeezing my legs so bad. You know when you stood up and said goodbye?”

“You were holding the edge of the table.” He remembered, nodding.

“My knees were wobbly. I don’t think my legs could hold me up.” You confessed, shaking your head timidly.

“Poor Kitten.” He said, hiding his mouth behind his hand. “Can I ask you a tricky question, sweetheart?”

As you nodded he huffed out a question, scared to ask. “Oral: giving or receiving.”

“Giving. Receiving is a difficult matter. My ex didn’t really… enjoy that.” You spoke vaguely.

He did a double take. “He didn’t eat you out?”

You shook your head gingerly.

“He was shit.” He muttered, pouring himself another shot. You were eleven questions in and he’d drunk only sips. And it was not because he didn’t answer but rather because he needed to calm his nerves before he jumped you.

“I guess so.” You giggled embarrassedly.

“Never?” he asked again, shocked. “Never in 3 years?”

“Never.” You confirmed. “He said the taste made him gross.”

“Gross… And he wanted you to suck him, quite obviously.”

“I didn’t mind. I like the view”. You admitted with a playful gleam in your eyes.

He saved that for later, but at the moment he was too busy handling the matter of your ex. “Fucker.” He replied and took a sip. “But are you opposed to it?” Yoongi asked, curious and honestly worried. He would give anything to convince you to let him change your mind.

You blushed. “I’ve done it a couple times with a few flings, but just like you and noise-making, my mind is kind of set on giving rather than receiving. Still, I think I could give it a try.” You announced.

“I’m glad you’re not letting that fucker take that from you.” He admitted, keeping the glass in his hand and holding onto it like it were his sanity.

“If I’m being honest, after that time we went to the park– you remember the ice cream right?”

Yeah, he remembered. Most importantly he remembered the huge boner he’d got as he watched you eating it, his body losing it like a teenager. He nodded.

“I think I’ve started to think about… Your head. There.” You were getting loose-lipped.

You were going to make him sin. He swore under his breath, downing the shot. Again you laughed, enjoying how you were affecting him. “Gonna show you how good it is.” He teased.

“Hope you’ll show me many, many things.” You joked cheekily.

“Trust me, I’m keeping a list, sweetheart.” And the final smirk made you want to rip your own panties and offer yourself to his pink, wet tongue. “Are you okay, Kitten?” He asked, reaching for your knee.

If he touches me, I’ll fucking explode. And there was his hand. On your knee. “Have you ever had sexual fantasies about a man?” The words left your mouth quickly.

He let his fingertips caress your clothed skin. He wished you were wearing a skirt. “I consider myself attracted to people regardless of their gender identity. I had a very brief fling with a man once, but nothing truly ever happened. We just kissed a couple times, but we weren’t right for each other, emotionally. He was too reserved for me. And he was incredibly untrusting.”

“So trust is the dealbraker? Trust?” You asked, immediately interested in something that had changed his relationship so dramatically.

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“Moving on. What are your thoughts on the last time you had sex?” He kept spurring you on, going deeper and deeper under your skin, getting closer and closer to your soul, trying to discover the very heart of you, and most importantly if he had any chance to settle there.

“Oh God.” You laughed. “It was almost eight months ago. It was traumatic.” Again you laughed.

“Is that an exasperated laugh?” He asked, worried but also interested in your ironic reaction.

“I’m laughing to hold back tears. Last time I had sex, the dude had a dick too big for his own good and didn’t know how to use it. I definitely faked the second one because he kept poking me with his fingers. I asked to change positions so I could touch myself and cum. It was awful.” You laughed some more. “When I went back home I just had to take care of myself.”

“Promise you won’t fake with me.” He almost begged. “Promise me you won’t go home and take care of yourself.”

“I can promise you the first.” You bit your lip. And drank. Don’t ask me the second, please don’t. Please.

“I’ll need the other one too, you know.” He said, pressing you in the matter.

You have no idea, Yoongi. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” He murmured, frowning.

Because I did that so many times already coming home from dates with you, every time silently begging you to kiss me, to touch me, to ruin me. “I’ll try to from now on.”

“I’m sorry if I sent you home frustrated before. But I honestly needed to take my time.” He shoved his hands in his hair, combing it back. “I tend to rush. Once I let go.” He confessed exhaling loudly. He looked at you with a lustful glance. “But I promise I’ll take care of you. Completely.” He was getting flirtier.

“Quickies or long session?”

“Is that your question, kitten? Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Answer me, Yoongi.” You laid back, opening your legs just lightly. Anything to lessen the discomfort lodged in your crotch.

He looked amused. “I can do both. But long sessions for the win. The devil’s in the details and the sex is in the foreplay.” He also leaned back and parted his legs, mirroring you perfectly. “What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

“A guy I was dating on-again-off-again, before I met my ex. I was twenty. I let him go because I was starting to fall for my ex. He showed me half the stuff I like. The other half I picked up myself.”

He wanted to know more. He wanted to know what you liked, what he owed some horny teenager and what you had discovered yourself. How you had discovered it. Most importantly, he wanted to excel in everything you liked. He wanted to please you again and again, till you were drunk in bliss and his taste, your skin glistening in a gross and divine mixture of his sweat and drool and your own perspiration. He wanted messy and loud and obliterating.

He wanted…

“Have you ever touched yourself while thinking of me?” You asked, bold, spitting the question out of your tongue like ripping off a band aid.

He threw his head back, groaning in something that looked like pain. It wasn’t arousal. You were quite sure.

He was burgundy with shame and effort. He grabbed the glass and downed the alcohol in one go. “Yes.”

You rolled your neck and exhaled, moaning.

“Almost every day.” He went on. “I can’t get you out of my head and I need it to stop for just. One. Second.”

You gulped, then took a big breath through you mouth. “I have too. Thought of you, that is.”

“I assumed so.” He whispered. “I’ve thought of things I’m not proud of, Kitten. I’m a grown, respectful man, but you’ve made such a sorry mess of me.”

“I am so sorry, Yoongi.” No, you’re not.

“You’re truly sadistic, aren’t you?” He asks.

“Is that your question?”

“No.” He pauses. “What’s your favourite body part on yourself and on me?”

Your heartbeat felt like a joke. You closed your legs. No need to try and play it cool. You were drenched, and you were afraid that by now it was actually starting to show. “I think I like my hands? Or maybe… I don’t really know. I think my hands are nice.”

“They are beautiful, ____, really.” So were your tits, but it didn’t feel quite right to point that out in that precise moments.

“Thank you.” You took a long break, biting your lip before going on with your answer. “On you... I’ve been thinking about those hands a lot”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You deadpanned. The background music shifted to something sultry and so slow you felt like desire was spiraling in your loins with that cool, rich drawl.

“What about them?” He continued.

You took a sip of your drink, looking at him from under your lashes. “Around my throat.”

Yoongi sat back, undoing one button of his shirt. “Keep going.”

“One around my throat, the other in my hair as you kiss me, drawing me in. Keeping me still.”

“Keep going.” He said, closing his eyes and rolling his shoulders.

“Maybe I’ve been thinking of your hand on my chest. Your fingers pinching my nipples.”

“God bless you, Kitten. What else did my naughty hands do in those dreams of yours.”

Your voice got breathy and shy. “Maybe… Just maybe they got between my legs.”

“And how did that make you feel.” He was going to lose it.

“Horny.”

His heavy breathing stopped for a second. “Did you touch yourself?” His eyes opened to look at your reaction.

You nodded slowly, trying to get some saliva in your awfully dry mouth. The whisky helped. “I needed it.”

“Good girl.” He praised your honesty, again trying to work on that association between your openness and a positive outcome. He thought it was over. Your confession.

“But to be honest what really made me cum was thinking of your pretty pout on my breasts, licking my tits and biting into the soft skin there.”

He growled, pushing the balls of his hands against his eyes. “Kitten, I think I just came in my pants.”

You laughed wildly at his honesty, rolling your head back and teasing him, showing the expanse of your neck and chest.

“Cruel, ain’t you?”

“I’m also sweet.”

“I don’t care, I’ll lick you up anyway.” He teased downing his glass. His second.

You both did a refill. You were tipsy and his eyes had a gleam that wasn’t there at the beginning of the evening.

“You won’t be able to drive me home.” You murmured.

“Do you really want me to?” He asked.

“No.” You answered.

“Remember, I promised not to fuck you tonight, Kitten.” He reminded you.

“Not even foreplay?” You pouted. “Not even making out? A small peck on the lips?”

“I’m hungry for you. That shit just ain’t it.” He growled. You knew he had deepened his voice for you.

You crossed your legs. “Do you like massage?”

“What number is that?” He asked, referring to how many questions you’ve gone through.

“Fifteen. Do you?” You pressed him, trying to get him to talk.

“I mentioned being sensitive. I do like that when I’m in a stressed mood. I like it after a warm bath, with warm lotion or massage oil. It really makes me weak. An ex introduced me to it and I think I got a bit addicted to it, whenever I feel like I need to be taken care of.”

“It sounds nice.” It felt like a nice pause from the kinkfest that had been going on until five minutes ago.

“Have you ever cried while you were in bed with someone?” He asked, his voice delicate as he reached for another intimate, although innocent side of you.

“The first time I hooked up after my ex. It was so liberating I cried. The guy beside me freaked out a little, but he understood. He was kind, just very emotionally dumb, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that. It sounds like he scarred you so much.” Yoongi commented, his boiling desire subduing at your vulnerable, tender side. A silly, egotistic part of him wanted to heal you. Try as hard as he might.

“It’s cool.” Your mouth quirked to the side. “Let’s move on to brighter themes, yeah? What’s your favourite thing to do, sexually speaking?”

He looked at you with doubt in his eyes. You knew the past scars conversation wasn’t over. Still, he smiled bright and replied. “I want to suck your nipples. Bite your soft, round tits, leave hickies all over them.” He leaned over, feeling bold as he let his hand catch yours. He scooted closer to you, his voice so deep he sounded like Hades, god of the Underworld. “That’s one of my favourite things in bed. And not just there, honestly.”

Could a person die from arousal? Because you felt your heart burst at that moment, explode like a match and light up your bonfire body. “Yoongi.” You murmured as he let the back of his fingers travel along the outer side of your thigh in a phantom touch.

“You wanna know what else I really, really like doing in bed? Another fantasy of mine?” He asked, his tone patronising but his posture all the opposite, respectful and tender, like a man talking to his woman. He leaned down, close to your ear. “I want you to sit on my face, Kitten. I wanna lick you up like you’re dripping in cream. I want my face covered in jour taste. I want to choke between your legs. Will you give me that?” He asked, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and placing a soft kiss on your temple. “Will you give me that, Kitten?”

You had gone completely still, afraid that even your smallest move could break the spell. “Take it now, please, Yoongi.” You begged. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m so wet. I’m so tired of needing you all the time!” You whined, grabbing his hand and placing it between your clothed thighs, where your wetness had started to diffuse.

“I can’t, Kitten. You know our promises. But what about my question, uh? Have you ever had a threesome, sweetheart?”

“Once. After leaving my ex I had some wild times. A couple of university friends asked me to join them. I sort of liked it.” You admitted, as your hips tried to grind against his barely-there fingers.

“Liked doing it with a girl?” He asked, gripping your thigh and pressing you down, stopping your attempt at release.

“I liked eating her out.”

“Kitty girl likes using her tongue. Good for her.” He murmured, trying to stop the image of you doing that. He needed to try. Needed to see. Fuck monogamy, he could try this before you became too his to share.

By now he was sitting at your side and you were doing everything, everything in your power to stop yourself from straddling his lap and shoving his head between your breasts. You took your glass and took a sip, his nose drawing a thin line following the outline of your throat while swallowing. You almost choked. “What’s your favorite part of sex?”

“Foreplay. But it was already clear, wasn’t it?” He taunted. “You need to focus, Kitten. Ask the right questions. Mirror sex?” He queried.

“Yes.” You replied. Alcohol spurred you on. “Honestly, I want to try giving a man a hand job while stading behind him, in front of a mirror. I’d like to feel the power of that.” You shrugged.

“That sounds nice.” He played it cool, the erection in his trousers now too blatant to even bother covering.

You almost wanted to ask him if he had a full-length mirror nearby so you could get started right there and then. But you didn’t like how cool and unaffected he seemed. You wanted him to get flustered and drink and undo another button. You wanted him to throw his head back so you could lick a stripe up his neck. “And I would whisper dirty stuff in your ear. Don’t think I didn’t notice how flustered you were during our gallery visit.”

“Darling, that was an exercise in restraint. I almost smashed you against the closest painting at least three times.”

“Only three times?” You lifted your eyebrows dramatically.

“I’m almost offended, Min Yoongi.”

“Careful there, Kitten.” He warned.

“Unless?” You provoked him.

“I’ve promised I won’t fuck you tonight.” He murmured.

“Such a coquettish tease you are.” You huffed, looking away.

“I want you to ruin me, Kitten. We can’t do that until promotion is over and you can leave marks all over me as much as you want.” His deepened voice made you squirm on your seat, legs crossing in desperate need to ease the pulsing under your panties.

“It’s almost four a.m. Are you sure you want to finish this?”

I want you to finish me. “Question...”

“Eighteen, babe.”

“Mh, nice. If your partner ever caught you touching yourself, would you keep going?”

“Depends, but yeah, I think so.” Pause. “I would put up a nice show for you.” He palmed his erection through the fabric, trying to get more comfortable.

Yes, you noticed. No, you did not comment. Self combustion is not your current goal, after all. “That’s all you’re gonna offer me?” You asked piqued, dragging your fingernail from his knee to his hipbone slowly. He didn’t manage to hold back a shiver.

You chuckled lowly. “Sensitive little thing.”

“My turn, little devil. What of masturbating while dirty talking?” He asked, his arm moving behind your back and climbing up, snaking around your shoulder, his hand grabbing your chin to shift your gaze from his lap to his face.

“Want to know a secret, baby?” You lured him in, carefully.

“Everything.”

“I’ve touched myself while listening to you.” You whispered at his ear, goosebumps raising everywhere, his whole body growing too sensitive as your hand moved to his inner thigh.

“Really?” Yoongi asks, trying to push his crotch in your palm.

You retreated your hand, offering only the tip of your index finger, which started lazily tracing the outline of his hard on. “I’m sorry. Does it bother you?”

He winced. He would really come in his pants like a teenager. Was your question about your hand or about using his voice to get yourself off? He didn’t mind, both. “I’m perfectly good with it, Kitten. I’m just surprised. What was I talking about.” His voice was neutral, but his eyes were closing, mouth hanging open.

You neared your mouth to his ear and started explaining. “It was a voice note. You were discussing a beat, describing the vibe of the piece you had just finished, murmuring stuff about the bass and not being sure of the tempo, maybe slowing it down.”

“And you came to that?” He asked, opening his eyes and meeting yours.

You were stroking him through his clothes and you hadn’t even kissed him yet. I told you. A slut. That’s what you are. You reprimanded yourself. “I came to the sound of your voice. The pattern of stresses. It was so relaxing. The way your voice resonated.” You kissed his jaw, taking courage.

He smiled. “Next time I’ll send you something more... stimulating, then.” He cocked his head to the side, showing you the soft skin below his chin.

You kissed there too. “I’ll look forward to it.” Another kiss. “Final question.” Another. “if you could do anything to me right now, what would you do?” You placed another kiss on his neck as he moaned, his hips moving shamelessly.

You offered him your palm.

He groaned when he started answering. “Tear your clothes off. Suck your panties clean ‘cause they must be soaked.”

You squeezed your hand around his shape. He was rock hard, the curve following the waistband of his pants. He didn’t feel excessively big, but still his thickness felt nice on your palm. You just wished you could see him naked. He emitted a low whine, his hand dropping from your chin and hitting your chest. “Keep going, Yoongi.” You encouraged him, needing to know what he wanted to do to you.

“I would lick you clean. Fuck you on the sofa, you on top of me. Riding me while I suck on those gorgeous tits.” His hand reached lower, holding your breast and rolling it expertly in his gentle grip. “I’d cum in your cunt while I’m balls deep inside you. And when we’re done I would fuck my cum back inside with my tongue.” He growled like a vicious beast and you just couldn’t help it, you needed your hand between your thighs. You obeyed to your need.

“You’re a filthy, greedy boy, Yoongi, aren’t you?” You asked, giving him more, rewarding for the glorious image he’d just gifted you.

“It’s with you. Just you.” He called out, his voice broken, his mouth desperate. “My final question. Why haven’t you kissed my lips yet?”

“I was waiting for you.” You murmured, bringing your lips upwards, against his throat. He was completely immobilised as you lingered a hairsbreadth from his plush pout. “Yes?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

That’s when you lowered yourself on him, once hopeless, starved and now finally hopeful and nourished.

He feeded you milk and honey, his assault sweet and rich, a balm to your tarnished soul. His lips latched onto your lower lip, sucking and sucking in a way that made you want to offer him every inch of your body. Yes, you would still wait for this. You would keep waiting. For this moment to come back, for this feeling to bloom and fill you over and over again, anytime he kissed you, from now to the rest of eternity. You murmured his name on his mouth and he spoke yours, with alarm over his features.

“Too much, too much, Kitten, please.” He whispered, pressing harder against your hand. “Want you. Please. Touch yourself. I wanna cum with you.”

He was lost and desperate, grinding against you like a fool.

You undid your zipper and put your hands on your sodden folds. You delivered a peck on his lips. “How close?” You asked.

“Very.” He replied, wetting your lips with the tip of his tongue, making you open your mouth and licking you up, flirting with your own tongue.

You pulled away to bite his jaw gently. “I’ve never been this wet, Yoongi. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Gimme...” You studied the geography of his lap, finding his tip and focusing there. “Yes.” He murmured, before intensifying his pushes. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Please, ____, let me hear you.”

You let out an embarrassed, tentative whine, then, trying to properly assist him, you started getting carried away, losing your damper, clenching your inner muscles and whispering his name. “Yoongi, I’m close.” You murmured. “Need you to…”

“Yes, Kitten, baby, please… I–” With a groan, he hid his head in the crook of your neck, biting on the skin, not too harshly.

It was all it took. “Yoongi!” You screamed, pushing into your own hand and collapsing against the back of the couch, dragging him with you.

When you regained conscience, he was already out of his high, looking flustered and sleepy and glowing. Beautiful.

“Can I?” He uttered quietly.

You nodded, barely coherent.

He helped your hand out of your waistband, careful not to stain your clothes. And granting you a fine view, he brought your hands to his mouth and licked them clean.

His tongue delved into every angle and plane, making sure he got every drop. Licking his lips, he stared into your soul and murmured deeply. “The fucking sweetest.”

And then he held you close. “There’s a spare bathroom, at the end of the hall. It has everything you need.” He explained. “I’ll get cleaned myself. Will you sleep in my bed?” He asked, his voice so vulnerable it shattered your heart.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

[firefly-in-darkness]

Misconceptions - 9/12

Misconceptions - 9/12

Characters: Y/N, Avengers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes overhears a conversation that he shouldn’t have…

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Panic attack, torture & violence, angst...

Beta: The always lovely, Stacey - @princessmisery666 - honestly she’s amazing // all mistakes are my own.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this part - we are slowly making progress!!

Catch up with the series here: Misconceptions Series List

Return to Firefly’s Library & Masterlist

Previously: 

Sam: Y/N and I are heading back to watch movies, wanna join? Ask the others too.

Nat: Wanda and I are just in town, be back about 11.

Sam: Okay, gives us a chance to talk about the Winter Soldier sized elephant in the room.

Nat: Y/N still hasn’t made a move? James won’t, you know that!

Sam: And that’s why we need to push them in the right direction.

Nat: I’m in. See you later.

Y/N had avoided Bucky in every way possible; at family dinner, she’d sit at the opposite end of the room and on movie nights, she’d squish herself between Sam and Wanda. She even managed to have minimum interaction during missions, keeping the unavoidable interaction strictly professional. They hadn’t been alone on a mission since she was held hostage by Davenport, but she suspected Sam had had some influence over that. He was still protecting her. 

Despite Sam’s interference, Y/N knew her luck would run out at some point.

Steve’s voice came through the comms, “If anything happens, head to our rendezvous point.”

Everyone had their part to play on the mission to look for evidence of new Hydra cells forming on the south coast of Brazil. Nat and Steve infiltrated the building to search for any intelligence. Sam and Tony were on the rooftops with the important roles of being lookout, instructed to only take to the skies to stop any incoming assailants. 

Y/N was stationed with Wanda and Bucky on the ground; civilian and surveillance duty. For once, the intel was correct; no enemies lying in wait as they scouted their areas, Wanda in the Northeast and Bucky to the Northwest. 

Y/N’s eyes scanned the South West section, watching the parents dragging their children across the crosswalk and tour guides giving their speeches. She leant back on the side of her car and sipped the coffee, her lipstick staining the polystyrene cup. Nothing out of the ordinary. She froze coffee partway to her lips again. He was only a short distance away and he was staring straight back at her. But it couldn’t be. Not here. Not in this crowd. His dark eyes glared back at her no matter how much she reasoned it couldn’t be him. Davenport.

He was only a road breadth away. Her heart pounded against her chest. Quicker and quicker. Her mouth dried and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. Sweat slicked at her palm and she didn’t feel the coffee cup fall from her grip or the hot liquid splashing across her legs, even though the thin leggings did little to soak up the hot liquid. 

Y/N’s ears buzzed as a lorry drove past, temporarily blocking the view of Davenport. And he was gone. She spun around looking for him, eyes flickering between the tourists and others gathered around. Nothing. He’s in jail; a maximum security prison. He can’t get to me. She conjured images of him handcuffed in a cell, then her thoughts flashed back to her captivity. 

Her wrists still ached from the restraints, could still feel the way he stroked her cheek before slashing a knife across her stomach. The laughter that ripped from him made her recoil, his stinking breath warm on her face, as he watched her attempt to hold back her screams of agony.

She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head, a feeble attempt to bring her concentration back to the mission. She reached down to pick up the coffee cup when a hand gripped her bicep and pulled her up. She spun with the arm that pulled her and struck out. Her fist collided solidly with a jaw and she took a great sense of satisfaction with the grunt of pain that followed it. The haze faded and her vision focused on Bucky rubbing at his cheek.

“Oh shit,” her eyes widened, “I didn’t see you. I-”

Panic bubbled in Bucky’s chest as Y/N ignored every call of her name through the comms. He knew she wouldn’t go quiet on purpose and his fear began to wrap around his brain like a fog. Y/N. His thoughts filled with her; laughing, crying, smiling, scolding. His heart pounded against his rib cage, threatening to break free. His boots thudded on the concrete in time with his panicked heart as he raced to her.

He spotted Y/N as he rounded the corner, standing in front of the car, her pale face staring into the distance, eyes unblinkingly locked on something in front of her. He followed her line of sight and scanned the crowd. He didn’t see anyone or anything that appeared hostile. But he knew something wasn’t right as the coffee cup slipped from her fingers, Bucky pushed past the people in his way to reach Y/N. He saw her knees buckle and drop to the ground. He skidded across the bonnet, grabbing her arm and pulling her up.

Bucky’s head cracked to the side; he hadn’t seen the fist coming in his direction. He backed away slightly, rubbing his cheek, in shock at her reaction. He pulled her close as she attempted an apology, holding her tight to his chest, wrapping his arms securely around her shoulders.

“Are you compromised?” Steve asked. 

Bucky scanned the immediate area. No one was looking at them. No one had noticed. “No,” Bucky answered quickly. “No, we’re fine.” 

“Take her to the safe house on Taunton Street, we’ll come by to get you both tomorrow.” Steve’s commanding voice was laced with concern. “Look after her Buck.” 

“Looks like we don’t need a plan to get them alone after all.” Nat’s voice snarked through his ear and he could hear the shit eating grin she had on her lips. 

Bucky shook his head at Nat’s comment and took out his earpiece, one arm still wrapped around Y/N. Her hands gripped his t-shirt, the fabric creased under her whitening knuckles. Her laboured breathing was hot and sticky against his neck. He rubbed soothing circles into her back and whispered sweet words, feeling her body relaxing second by second.

Bucky guided Y/N into the passenger seat of the car, fastening her seatbelt and walking around to the other side. He drove away from the town centre and into the winding streets of the residential area, glancing at Y/N as she leant against the car door, staring into the distance. 

Bucky’s hand rested palm up on the middle console, hope bloomed in his aching heart as he felt her fingers lace between his. The warmth of her touch filled his soul with comfort.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Bucky’s words were soft, weaving their way through the buzzing in her ears.

Y/N watched the world go by in a blur; buildings, trees, people disappearing as Bucky drove them out of the town. She collected her jumbled thoughts and went to move in her seat when she realised her hand had slipped into his. Her cheeks flushed and she pulled her hand away. A fake cough used as a cover to use the hand that had slipped into his to cover her mouth.

She glimpsed at Bucky’s profile, his focus on the road, his jaw ticking slightly as he moved his hand away from the console and back to the steering wheel. Guilt raked through Y/N, barbed wires scratching through her resolve to keep her distance from him.

“Thank you.” Y/N whispered, just loud enough for the Super Soldier to hear.

Bucky nodded and turned the car into an underground lot, putting it in park and climbing out. Y/N took the outstretched hand, he offered as he opened the door, and tentatively stepped out the vehicle. He dropped her hand the moment she was upright, the loss of his touch made her stomach drop. Get a grip. She steeled herself and followed him to the trunk. 

“I know we can’t talk about it yet but, I’m okay.” Y/N commented, sheepishly.

Bucky acknowledged her attempt at conversation with another nod and grabbed the rucksacks, closing the lid lightly. They approached the coded panel door, pushing through once the door buzzed from the lock disengaging and giving them access to the stairs.

Two flights of stairs and a long corridor later they were in a small apartment. The walls were white throughout, basic furniture adorned the living space and a two-seater fold down table was pinned to the kitchen wall. 

“Is your hand okay?” Bucky asked, rubbing his face with a slight twitch at his lips.

“Yes, I know how to throw a punch and you’re not made of marble.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Go freshen up if you want, I’ll try and sort some food.” Bucky offered.

Y/N gave him a soft smile and picked up the rucksack, as she approached the bathroom, she noticed there was only one other door. She pulled down the handle and pushed the door open to peek inside.

“Bucky…” She called.

He appeared around the corner, eyes alert, “Yeah?”

“Look.” Y/N gestured into the room.

He peered in and turned back to her with a frown, “It’s a bed?”

She rolled her eyes and pointed to the opposite door, “And that’s the bathroom.”

“So?” Confusion etched on his face and suddenly it clicked, his body rumbling with laughter, “Oh, there’s only one bed!”

Y/N glared back at him with arms folded across her chest.

“We’ll work it out, Doll.” Bucky turned away and headed back to the kitchen

Y/N turned to look at the bed once more before she reached in and shut the door. Hoping that having a shower and some food would help her forget about potentially sharing a bed with Bucky.

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