#(Also sorry for my lateness; shit happened and my muse died) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hongism · 4 years ago

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midnight rides - jjk ➻ 18+

➻ pairing: jungkook x female reader ➻ genre: angst, fluff, smut, s2l, barista!jungkook, bookstore worker!reader, soulmate au ➻ rating: M for Mature ➻ word count: 25.1k ➻ summary: you fall asleep on a stranger’s shoulder while riding the night train home. as it turns out, he’s not much of a stranger after all. ➻ pre-story a/n: honestly guys i have never felt more physically exhausted after writing a story in my liFE. i worked on this fic every day for the past week and a half or so and in the past few days i have been writing between 2k and 5k every night and i am so happy to be done. but also like,,,,i feel so very proud of this story and how it turned out so i hope you all feel the same :3 ➻ warnings: semi public sex, fingering, handjobs, cum eating, cum swallowing, creampie, cumplay, choking, biting, marking, hair pulling, nipple piercings, tattoos idek, thigh riding, oral: m and f receiving, size kink, dom jungkook, sub reader, sir kink, a bit of scratching, explicit sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up binches), breast play, nipple play, such sweet sickening aftercare, the gentlest, brief discussions of past trauma - car accident, death

☽ ☾

You’ve always despised trains. Since you were young, they always bothered you for one reason or another. When you were little it was because they were “too loud”, and seeing as one always passed your childhood home at obscene hours in the night, it makes perfect sense looking back. Then as you got older, you had to commute to school somehow and the train was your only option because the distance was so great between your house and the school. Once you entered university, you just festered a disdain for trains, and nothing was going to change that.

So as you sit curled against the window on the train, you can only think about how much you hate the thing. It’s still loud, loud as ever really, and you know that you are going to be stuck on the damn vehicle for a long while. You want nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. It’s late; you got off work at a ridiculous hour (honestly, 1 am? Is that even allowed for a day job?) and now you have to commute back home on the damn train.

To make matters even better, you can’t even curl up on the booth because someone is sitting next to you less than a foot away. You barely have space to breathe without bumping your elbow into his side. You aren’t sure why someone else is on the train at this hour. Honestly, it’s one in the morning, where is he going?

Regardless, you know you’ll be on this ride for at least another two hours because you were stupid enough to take a job this far from your apartment. Precious hours of sleep lost because of a damn train. The only good thing about this whole situation is that at least it’s a Friday night so you can sleep in some before having to go back to work yet again.

With a small sigh, you pull away from the window, the glass fogged up by your warm breaths. You glance around the train car, finding other bodies occupying the seats around you. So it’s not just this one guy next to me… I guess that makes me feel a bit better. It’s still a mystery as to why so many people are on the train this late at night. You make this trip regularly, and yet there are never so many people with you. Perhaps six or seven at most, but never a nearly packed car like this.

Against better judgment, you dare to look at the man next to you – although upon second glance, he seems more like a boy. As you move, a ringing resounds in your ears, something akin to Christmas bells, and you scoff at the idea of some kid carrying bells with them. He can’t be much older than you, if older at all. His eyes are squeezed shut, skin wrinkled around his eyes from the pressure, and his head lolls forward every once in a while. He is asleep by the looks of it, albeit in a very uncomfortable position. He – like you – must be returning home late from his job, a brown apron still tied around his torso. The overwhelming scent of coffee beans and espresso lingers in the air around him as well.

It’s a strange and small relief, knowing that you aren’t the only one working drastic hours and traveling a long way to get home. The train jerks; the boy’s head falls forward further, and his body slumps in your direction. You have to bring up a hand to defend yourself from the sudden weight of his body. His skin is warm to the touch, another welcome relief in the cold train car. Between the heat of his skin and the warmth of the scent emanating from his clothes, everything about him seems warm and comfortable.

You blink furiously before pushing him off you again. Sleep deprivation is truly getting to your head. Still, his skin felt like the warm blanket you have back at home, and you want nothing more to curl up against that warmth and bury yourself in it.

You steady his body against the seat then turn away, resisting the urge to brush the loose strands of hair away from his closed eyes. You nearly slap yourself to push that temptation away. The gentle waves of his dark brown hair look soft to the touch, a shine to the strands even in the dim train lights. It’s belated but you finally notice the ink decorating the skin of his arms, which give him a much older vibe than you initially thought. You only take a moment to scan the markings along his arms though before moving your gaze elsewhere. The noise coming from the train drowns out his breathing but you can see the way his chest rises and falls with each passing second. He must be exhausted beyond belief to be sleeping so hard on a train like this. Then again, you can’t blame him because you feel minutes away from sleep yourself.

The train rumbles on without cease, unbothered by your thoughts and musings. The boy sleeps on the same as before, completely unaware of his near tumble to the floor of the train car. And you, well, you let your head fall back against the cushioned booth and stare at the back of the seat in front of you. The lull of the train’s hum and rumble works like a spell. Exhaustion hits with the force of a rhinoceros, sleep washing over you, and you let yourself fall asleep without any further inhibitions.

You awake with a jolt, fingers tapping at your arm incessantly. The rumble of the train has died down to a faint hum, nothing more than a delicate purr. The previously dim lights of the train car have become bright and fluorescent again, harsh on your eyes as they flutter open and take in your surroundings. The first thing your senses pick up is the scent of espresso, then something brown in front of your vision, and the train car seems to tilt in your vision. A foreign weight rests on your head, weighing you down and pressing you further against the wall of brown in the edge of your vision.

A finger continues to prod at your arm, one poke every few seconds, and you slowly come to the realization of where you are and exactly what is going on. Before you stands a young woman, her head tilted like yours.

“Hun, you and your boyfriend ought to wake up before you miss the next stop,” she says, tone quiet. You peer at her, confusion etched onto your features, but she just continues to smile back at you before turning and walking away from your booth. My… boyfriend? I don’t have one?

Then it hits you. The scent of espresso, the brown clothing, the warmth emanating from your side: you’ve fallen asleep on your booth companion.

“I’m so sorry!” You blurt as you sit up, pushing away from the man next to you. The action brings him out of his sleep in a startle and his limbs flail as he jerks awake. It takes a few terse moments for him to gather his bearings and realize what’s going on, but once he seems to remember where he is, he turns to you with wide, doe-like eyes. He blinks back at you in shock. His lips part, either to say something or just stare without speaking. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you!”

The dark-haired man jumps into action at your words, immediately shaking his head. “No, no, no! It’s totally okay! I don’t mind – I mean, I know you didn’t mean to. Don’t worry about it, I swear it’s okay.” Despite just waking up, his voice is clear and melodic. The tone carries through the air like a song and reaches your ears with an unforeseen gentleness that fills you with warmth. He raises his hands above his shoulders. “I kinda – well I, I sorta did the same to you so we’re even.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat even though he told you that it’s quite alright. “A complete stranger falling asleep on you, how awkward is that?”

“Honestly, I’ve had worse things happen to me. A pretty girl falling asleep on my shoulder is the least awkward thing to happen to me.” You blanch at his words, as does he, and it seems that the words did not come out as he thought they would. “Not pretty! I mean, no! Wait, hold on. I’m – you are pretty. Yea, you really are pretty. Super pretty. Wow. Uh, I just – I di–didn’t mean to – you know what, I’m just gonna stop talking now before I embarrass myself further.” The red hue of a blush climbs his neck quickly, touching his ears in an instant, and his eyes dart away from yours.

You open your mouth to respond even though you have no clue what to say to his rambling. Thank goodness you don’t have to say anything because the man jumps up from the booth and stares at the digital banner above the open doors of the train car.

“Oh fuck, I missed my stop,” he blurts, one hand darting to comb through his hair. You glance over at the banner as well.

“Shit, this is my stop!” You yelp and rush to grab your bag from under the seat, not wasting any time in collecting your things. The man watches you in shock before kicking into gear himself. He reaches under the booth too and snatches up his own bag before following you out the doors of the train just before they slide shut on you. You both pant as you hop off the train. It slides away without care, oblivious to your struggles. A huff escapes your lips as you watch the vehicle speed out of sight.

“Ah, uh, would you happen to know how far this station is from Station 37?” The man beside you asks, a hesitant hand reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. Red tinges his ears again; either that or it’s the lingering remains of his earlier blush.

“Station 37?” You echo. “This – this is Station 45?”

“Oh god. So, uh, quite a ways then.” He chuckles but the sound comes out more forced than anything else. Something in your heart twinges in sympathy for the man as he peers along the tracks.

“I could – well, you could…” You trail off before the idea leaves your lips. Possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had, and no doubt one that your mother would lecture you over for days (if not weeks). So, you do a quick turn and alter your plan a bit before sharing it with the man beside you. “There’s a hotel near my apartment? You could stay there for the night then go home in the morning.”

“Oh?” He purses his lips, mulling over the words. Then, he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth a moment later. “Ah, no, I don’t really have any money on me at the moment. I don’t get paid until the end of next week so money is a bit tight for me right now. Thanks for the offer though. I can just wait here for the next train to come.”

“Then I can wait with you,” you announce as you step around him to sit down on a bench near the tracks. Tucking your bag between your feet, you glance up at him with wide eyes and a slight smile. “I would feel bad to just… I don’t know, leave you here to wait alone?”

“Well then, I would feel bad keeping you here so late. Besides, I should be perfectly fine waiting alone. People don’t really approach me because… you know.” He has a point there, and you’re inclined to agree with him but it does nothing to quell the nagging sensation in your gut that grows with each passing moment. When you refuse to move from your spot on the bench, he seems to get the hint that you aren’t going anywhere. He joins you on the wood, pushing his bag between his legs like you did with yours.

“Uh, I didn’t catch your name,” you state, a nervous grin playing at your lips. The embarrassment of falling asleep on his shoulder is still fresh, and silence would cause that embarrassment to soar further so making conversation is the only option.

“Hm?” He glances over at you. You open your mouth to repeat yourself, but he continues speaking a moment later. “Jeon Jungkook.”

The name stops you in your tracks. Figuratively, of course, seeing as you’re sitting down.

“Jeon Jungkook?” You repeat like a parrot, smile falling as you blink at him. Not at all how I pictured him to be. What? How is this even – how can you be the Jeon Jungkook?

“That tone doesn’t sound good.” He forces out a laugh. “But, ah, let me catch your name first?”

“Y/N L/N,�� you state through the disbelief. “We go to the same university, except you’ve probably not heard of me before.”

“No, no. Your name sounds somewhat familiar. I think we might’ve taken some classes together in the past? I don’t know exactly but something tells me you know me from something other than class?”

“I’ve only heard of you bec–”

“Taekwondo?”

“Taekwondo,” you confirm with a weak smile. “You are uh…”

“I’m uh? Well, that’s a new one.” Jungkook’s smile stretches across his face, cheeks scrunching up with the motion.

“I me–meant that you’re not what I imagined you to be?”

Jungkook tilts his head to the side at the words, the inquiry in his eyes. “What did you expect then?”

“I expected you to be – I don’t know, uh, bigger?”

“Bigger?” Jungkook reiterates, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. It takes a moment for the unintentional innuendo to sink in, and as you realize the double entendre, it’s your turn to have a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

“More athletic! Looking. Athletic looking. Not that you don’t look athletic now! J-Just – you know, you look lean…er than most taekwondo people?” The more you ramble, the more you embarrass yourself, that’s for certain. Jungkook nods along with your words, staring at the floor rather than at you. You’re grateful for that much because if he were looking directly at you, it would make things ten times more difficult.

“I think that’s meant as a compliment?” He muses more to himself than to you. You glance over at him, eyes raking over his face for any sign of emotion, and find a smile playing at his lips. “So thank you.”

“Yes, definitely a compliment.” You release a breathy laugh. “I, uh, I heard that you quit taekwondo though.”

“Yea, recently. Well, it’s been a while now, but it still feels recent.” Jungkook leans forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees. His eyes continue to glare at the ground. Perhaps you shouldn’t push the subject but your curiosity is getting the better of you so you prod further.

“Why did you quit? You were always the top performer and the best one on the team.”

“Well, things change. People change. It was time for a change of pace. That’s when I picked up my job and started having these shitty hours.” Something about Jungkook’s answer leaves the subject unfinished, an odd lingering sensation to his words as though he isn’t telling the whole story. You should be satisfied with the amount of information you got from him, and besides, it’s really none of your business at the end of the day. should be Satisfied.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I just assumed it was one of those lifelong passions,” you mutter. You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric absentmindedly as you continue to speak. “I understand what it’s like having shitty hours though. I’m in the same predicament.”

“Oh? Where do you work?”

“Uh, kinda near campus. There’s a small bookstore a little ways away, and I always go there in my free time so I decided to apply for a job when I saw they were hiring.”

“Wait – Omelas Bookshop?” Jungkook sits up straight again and points at you with his index finger.

“A-Actually yea, Omelas Bookshop. How – How did you know?”

“I go there all the time,” Jungkook admits through a smile. He laughs again, this time less breathy and fragmented, a full-bodied laugh that resounds through the empty air around you. “Whenever I have free time at least. I work at the coffee shop just across the street.”

“Wait, really?” It’s your turn to echo the shocked expression and tone.

“Yes, yes. Wow, what are the chances?”

“Ha, really…” Your voice trails off and grows quiet.

“Hey, uh, this may be a left-field question but… do you believe in fate?”

“Wh-What?” You stammer, jerking your head back in Jungkook’s direction. He’s looking at you again, doe eyes wide and waiting for an answer, and for a moment you find yourself utterly stumped by the question. “Fate?” You repeat to yourself. “I-I… no. I don’t really believe in fate or destiny or anything like that.”

“Oh?” Jungkook’s lips fall into a rounded shape before being quickly replaced by a weaker smile. “I do. Fate, destiny, soulmates – all of it. Some things are just too strange to be called coincidence.”

“I disagree with that,” you mutter. A twinge of bitterness sneaks into your tone that you didn’t intend to let through, and Jungkook immediately picks up on it.

“That’s sounds… rather personal but I won’t push you to explain it.” Jungkook hums before turning to look down the train tracks. “Uh, do you think another train will be coming soon? I don’t want you to keep waiting on me.” You blink down the tracks as he does, looking for any hint of an oncoming train, but nothing is there. Your eyes move to the back of Jungkook’s head. If I don’t offer something, he’s gonna be out here alone for another two or three hours…

Time for the bad idea, then, you decide.

“I-I, my apartment – well, I have a pullout bed in my couch. I never use it because I don’t have anyone come over but… I could give you a spare set of sheets and some pillows?”

Jungkook’s head whips back in your direction, and you immediately turn away to avoid eye contact. You can practically feel the heat of his stare on your face, and it only encourages a tidal wave of embarrassment. It feels like a dumb suggestion all of a sudden. It’s too late to take back the words now though because they are hanging in the air between you two, waiting for a response from him.

“I-I wouldn’t – I don’t want to intrude. That’s – it’s your apartment. I don’t wanna get in your way or anything,” he refutes through a string of stammers.

“I think we both know that another train won’t come around for at least two hours. My apartment is only a five-minute walk from here. That’s basically two extra hours of sleep.” Your logic remains sound. Jungkook can’t refuse the offer at this rate, and he seems to be considering it.

“But… I don’t… I would feel bad. Or that I owe you something?” He tries again to refuse the offer. A yawn passes through his lips as soon as he finishes speaking, and he blinks down at the ground with a growing expression of defeat. “I-I will bring you coffee sometime. Or buy you a meal?”

“No, no. You won’t owe me anything, I swear. It’s a favor! I don’t need anything in return.” You stand up, pulling your bag up as you go, and smile down at Jungkook. “I promise it’s okay. I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t. Besides, I feel a bit more at ease knowing that we go to the same school and vaguely knowing who you are.”

Jungkook hesitates one last time before standing up with you and grabbing his own bag. He slings it around his shoulder then extends a hand to you. You stare at the outstretched appendage. A moment passes in silence, then you blink up to his face and back down at his hand.

“Your backpack?” He says once he reads the confusion on your face. “At least let me carry it for you.”

“No that is really unnecessary. I don’t wa–that’s just really awkward isn’t it?”

Jungkook ignores your huffs and puffs, snatching your bag from your hands and throwing it over his shoulder along with his own. You sigh at the defeat, unable to say anything further to defend yourself.

“Okay, fine.” You motion for him to follow you as you round the bench and head away from the train tracks. He lingers a moment, then you hear the scuffing of boots along concrete and his form pops up in the edge of your vision.

“Are you sure this is alright? I don’t want to intrude or anything. Is your roommate going to be okay with this?”

“I don’t have a roommate. I live alone because my awful work schedule has driven all my other roommates off.” A laugh follows your words even though there’s no humor in them. More or less, it’s a sympathy laugh for yourself. If Jungkook notices, he opts not to comment on it, which you’re grateful for. “But yes, I’m sure this is okay! It’s no trouble at all really.”

“O-Oh, okay. I just don’t wanna get in your way.”

“You won’t! I promise! It’s not like I ever use my couch much anyways since I’m always out for work or school.” You shrug, trying to seem nonchalant and chill about the whole situation. In all honesty, your heart threatens to beat out of your chest, your throat feels like it might collapse on itself at any second, and you might pass out if you stop talking. You are absolutely crumbling on the inside and it is taking everything in your power to conceal that.

“That makes me feel loads better then…” Jungkook murmurs, voice fading as he turns his head away from you. “I’ve never been to this part of the city before. It looks so different from where I live even though it’s not too far from here.”

“The city seems a lot bigger once you go to new places, huh? I used to think everything looked like this but once I started working at the bookstore I noticed that everything was much larger than I made it out to be.”

“The world just gets bigger and bigger as you get older,” Jungkook says. You hum in response. “How long have you lived here?”

“Since I started college, but I lost lots of roommates along the way.”

“What year are you at university? Sorry, I don’t mean to be making this an interrogation or anything like that, I’m just curious.”

“I don’t mind! I’m a senior this year.”

“Oh really? I am too!” Jungkook nudges you with his elbow, another bright smile stretching his lips. You laugh along with him and turn to look at him. In hindsight, it’s a mistake to do that because as you move, the moonlight gleams down on him. You freeze in your tracks. The pale moonlight cascades over his features, feathering through the loose strands of hair around his forehead, following the gentle slope of his nose, accentuating the rounds of his cheeks as he grins, glistening over a set of straight teeth. Your brain almost malfunctions and breaks down as you look over him. He’s just so… pretty for lack of a better word, but you can’t really pinpoint what the right word would be for his looks. He continues to smile, eyes hiding behind lids squeezed shut as he scrunches his nose up. It hides your dumbfounded expression from him for the time being.

Still, you shake your head and slap your own cheek in attempts to force yourself out of the stupor you’ve fallen in.

“Still think it’s a coincidence?” He asks after a moment, one eye cracked open to look at you. A huff leaves your lips. You spin on your heel, and instead of answering, continue to walk along the sidewalk. Jungkook chases after you, a light and airy laugh carrying through the air as he does. “Fate is funny, you know. I think that’s why I believe in it. Crazy things can happen every day with no explanation, and yet fate comes in and takes all the credit. How about that?”

“Coincidence deserves more credit,” you counter. The smile on Jungkook’s lips falters, he looks over at you then back up to the clear night sky.

“Maybe it does, but not from me.”

“Here we are,” you mutter as you come upon your apartment building. Jerking at thumb at the door, you motion for Jungkook to follow you inside. A gust of warm air hits both of you as soon as you step through the doors, a welcome kindness compared to the cold spring air outside. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you make your way up the winding staircase, all the way up to the fifth floor, then you veer off and make a left at the top. After a quick fumble with your keys (which you nearly drop on the top of Jungkook’s chunky black boots), you manage to unlock the door to your apartment and bare the interior to the man beside you.

“Ladies first,” he says and motions inside for you. You roll your eyes ever so slightly, leaving him with a little huff of laughter to show that you aren’t being wholly serious, then step inside.

It’s not much to fuss about – a basic apartment with scant and ordinary decorations strewn about – but it’s home nonetheless. A cozy sensation of warmth seeps into your bones as you take in your surroundings, not one due to the actual temperature in the room, but rather one due to being home at long last.

“You can put your bag wherever I don’t mind. I normally just put mine on one of the bar stools or on the counter.”

Jungkook is too busy examining your apartment to hear what you have to say, his wide eyes dancing from wall to ceiling to floor back to the wall again.

“This is a nice place. Much nicer than mine at least.”

“Well, I’m sure part of that is due to the price of this place. It is meant for roommates after all, but I just can’t find a better place anywhere else. Maybe I’m too attached to it after four years though. I would offer the secondary bedroom but… my last roommate kinda stole the bed? So there’s nothing in there right now except for an empty dresser.”

“Stole the bed?” Jungkook snaps to attention at that. “How does a person steal an entire bed?”

“You’re asking the wrong person!” You raise your hands in defense. “I’m not the one who stole it after all. I just woke up one morning and the whole bed was gone. Along with him and all his belongings aside from a dresser full of clothes. So how about that? I got free men’s clothes and he got an entire bed.” Jungkook laughs as you recall the story, moving around you to set both his bag and yours on one of the bar stools.

“What if I told you…” Jungkook trails off. He slowly turns towards you, and there’s a sneaky and mischievous gleam in his eyes that you don’t trust one bit. He attempts to hold back a bout of laughter as he finishes his train of thought. “…that my current roommate brought his own bed when he moved in even though there was already one in the room.”

“Then I would call you a liar, Jeon Jungkook!” You exclaim when he can’t hold his laughter back any longer.

“Would you call it fate then?” He inquires through the laughter, and you respond with a roll of your eyes.

“I would still call you a rotten liar!” You persist as you walk towards your bedroom to retrieve some sheets for Jungkook.

“Do you need help?” He calls after you.

“No, it’s okay! I’ve got it.” You wave him away with your hand. “If you want a change of clothes, you could try scrounging around in my roommate’s old dresser. They should be clean but you never know with men honestly. No offense!”

“None taken, none taken. You’re right about that.”

You duck into your room after hearing Jungkook’s words, not waiting for any further comments, and instead focus on grabbing a fresh set of sheets from your closet. When you stumble back into your small living room, Jungkook is nowhere in sight so he must’ve gone into your roommate’s old room after all. You dump the bundle of sheets onto an armchair before turning to the couch. Frankly, you’ve never tried pulling the bed out; the only reason you know it exists is because you saw your roommate use it on multiple occasions. Peeling back the cushions, you sigh at the sight before you.

“Uh, Jungkook?” You call out.

“Yeah?” His voice is faint and distant to a degree, but it grows louder as he steps back into the living room. When you glance up at him, your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as he is in the middle of tugging a far too formfitting t-shirt over his head. Silver glimmers across his chest, small beads perked on either side of each nipple, and you nearly choke at the sight of them.

He wouldn’t… Jeon Jungkook? Of all people? Well then again, he does have a lot of tattoos… but do they even allow that in taekwondo? Maybe they are newer? He… no, no, no. I must be hallucinating. I mean – no, don’t even think about it, Y/N. Just – just ignore it.

You whip your head away to avoid seeing him half-naked and any more indication of those little beads around his pecs.

“What’s up?”

“D-Do you, uh, do you happen to–to know how to pull out?” Your brain malfunctions and stops the sentence there. It’s Jungkook’s turn to nearly lose his shit, and you struggle to fix the mistake without stammering. “P-Pull out the be-bed! Pull the couch out, pull a bed – you know? Pull the bed out!”

“A-Ah, yeah! Yep, bed. Yes, pull out the bed. From the couch. The pull out bed in the couch. Got it.” Jungkook coughs between words. Your attempts to recover the situation have obviously failed and the heat of embarrassment overwhelms your whole body. Jungkook doesn’t say anything further about your slip up; instead, he walks around the couch and grabs the handles of the mattress. “Wait – don’t you need to move this back a little?” He tilts his head in the direction of the coffee table, long hair flopping across his forehead, and you blink at him dumbly for a moment.

“Oh! Oh yea, of course!” You scoot the table out of the way with your legs, making room for the bed to extend completely. “We can move the couch back too if needed.”

“No, no, this should work just fine,” Jungkook says. A grunt follows his words, one that sends an unwelcome heat to your core, and you try not to watch the way his biceps strain against the sleeves of the white shirt as he pulls the bed out from the couch. He extends it with ease after the first tug. You bite down hard on your tongue all the while, eyes failing to leave his toned arms and the curve of his neck as he moves. “See? Easy.”

You nod in response, unable to form proper words, and move to pick up the sheets you brought out instead. “Uh, I-I–”

“Let’s do it together, yea? I’m honestly really bad at putting fitted sheets on.” Jungkook laughs and scratches the back of his neck. You toss the loose sheet his way, starting to tug the fitted one over the thin and dingy mattress. The action gives you a moment to breathe and regain your sanity because, in all honesty, you do not want to come across as a creeper to a man you just met, but you’ve probably already done that multiple times in the brief time you’ve been chatting with him.

Once the sheets are all secured around the mattress, Jungkook plops down on the cushion with a light laugh.

“That was the hard part,” he says. The smile on his face lightens the atmosphere around the two of you, a mellifluous sound that penetrates your heart like a knife. You can’t keep from grinning back at him, an action that you keep repeating over and over with him. You pass a pillow his way.

“Do you need any blankets or more pillows? I’m sure I can scrounge some more together.”

“No, this is fine! I tend to sleep late because I kinda sweat a lot in my sleep. Sorry in advance about the sheets.”

“Ah, it’s fine! I’ll just throw them in the wash anyway, so don’t worry about it!” You turn away from the couch, hesitate a second, then glance back at the man on your couch. “Sl-Sleep well. If you need anything, I’ll, uh, I’ll be in the next room.”

“Of course. Thank you again, Y/N. Really. Thank you so much.”

“No need to thank me. I’m happy to help.” You leave him with a smile, retreating to your bedroom before you have the chance to embarrass yourself more than you already have. As you are making your way back to your room, Jungkook’s voice stops you as he asks one last question.

“Do you still think it was all a coincidence, Y/N?”

Your steps falter and you nearly run into the wall but you still catch the question. You leave him with no answer, mulling over the question to yourself. It lingers at the forefront of your mind as you step into your room and shut the door behind you with a quiet click.

Coincidence is a funny thing, but then again Jungkook said the same about fate. He must have noticed the same things you did – all the little coincidences – and yet he calls it fate.

What kind of coincidence? Just happening to sit next to a random stranger on the bus at one in the morning, falling asleep on his shoulder, having to get off on the same stop, then finding out that you go to the same university, are in the same year at said university, have the same major, and work across the street from each other? How on earth is that mere coincidence? Then bringing him to your apartment where you just happened to have a dresser full of clothes that magically happen to fit him like a glove? Just happening to have a pull-out couch where he can sleep, along with a spare set of sheets for it? How many times can you call something a coincidence before it becomes fate?

You pull yourself into bed with heavy limbs and dragging movements. It’s hard to wrap your mind around the situation, especially given that it’s quite late in the night, but also because none of it really makes sense to you.

Too many coincidences. Is that a possibility? And fate?

You scoff to yourself when your head hits the pillow. Fate is a joke, at least it has always been that way in your eyes. Perhaps Jungkook is right: fate is funny, but only in that it’s treated your life like a joke from start to finish. Never done you any favors or given you blessings. Everything good that has happened to you has been a result of hard work and struggle, fighting through the obstacles that “fate” has thrown your way for years and years.

Or maybe your bitterness towards fate is all due to some past trauma. Your mother used to love talking about fate, believing in it, crediting everything that happened in both her life and yours to fate. It was always a blessing and a guiding light to her. She thought it was her friend, her protector, the light at the end of the tunnel. Of course, when the actual light at the end of the tunnel came for her it was fate that caused the eighteen-wheeler to crash into her car head on, landing her in the hospital on her deathbed. And even when you were at her side then, she credited it all to fate for guiding her to the place where she was and how her life progressed over time. She was fucking content with the end fate had given her, and yet in your eyes, it was unfair. It wasn’t just. It didn’t feel right or kind or like anything good. It was a cruel slap in the face to a woman who gave her all to a “fate” that could only be wretched and evil.

Yea maybe that is why you cannot handle calling this fate. It’s too good to be fate because fate only knows how to be cruel. You’re certain of that fact.

☽ ☾

Lips crash against yours. You hum against them, letting the warmth overwhelm you and fill all your senses. They breach your skin and attack with a gentle ferocity that is foreign to you. Deft fingers trail down your sides. You barely have time to moan before they hook around the hem of your nightshirt and tug it up. Up, up, up until it goes over your head and gets tossed to the side. You bare your chest to the man before you, looking up to find his face.

Rather than a face, darkness greets you. That’s when you realize that you’re living this reality in a dream and a dream only. You don’t have much time to think about the fact that this isn’t real because the man presses his warm lips against the juncture of your neck, nipping and sucking with soft licks. A moan passes your lips as he brushes over a sensitive spot. It feels real, and that’s all that matters to you.

“Hmm…” You hum out. Bringing your hands down against his chest, you tug relentlessly at the white shirt clinging to his skin damp with sweat. He must get the hint because he leans away from your neck to tear the material off as he did to your shirt moments ago. The skin across his chest is soft, pure, so bare of marks compared to his arms that you want nothing more than to lean forward and decorate every visible inch of skin with your lips and teeth.

Large hands come down against yours and trap your wrists against the mattress beneath you. A gasp passes through your lips next. Fingers latch around your wrists, effectively pinning you down, and the man above you brings one hand down to trace the column of your neck with his index finger. You whine at the action, more so at the fact that he’s only using one hand to pin you and how big he is above you like this. His knee wedges between yours and pushes your legs open with little effort. The show of strength draws another whine from your lips, your back curves off of the bed, and he pushes you back down with the flat of his hand.

That same hand trails a path down your bare abdomen, trailing over your dripping core, and drags two fingers through the wetness of your folds. The featherlight touch has you whimpering, writhing, struggling to buck up against his hand and deepen the touch. He teases at your wetness, fingertips barely pushing in, but a moment later thick fingers slip into you and begin to scissor you open. The pleasurable sensation has you curling off the bed as his fingers crook inside you.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, voice somehow managing to be both gruff and gentle at the same time. You want to lay back and lose yourself in the pleasure but something about his voice rings familiar in your ears and you cannot let it go.

Jungkook.

Your eyes widen as you look up at the man.

I’m having a fucking sex dream about Jeon Jungkook!?

The mere shock of the situation jerks you out of slumber, you wake up with a start, and light invades your vision. Sweat pools at your skin and brings dampness to your sheats. The space between your legs is soaked as well, proof of your less than proper dream. The wet dream you just had about Jeon Jungkook. A man you barely know. And the man who is sleeping in your living room. Fantastic. Wonderful. Incredible. Absolutely fucking amazing.

You let your hands fall to the bed, clenching around the slightly wet bedsheets. Embarrassment burns your body more than anything else at the moment, and it takes you several deep breaths to recover from the lingering memory of the dream you just woke up from. Once your senses recover some, you manage to let go of the sheets and pull yourself from the bed, albeit on quaking legs. The air in the room feels cold against your dampened skin. Aside from the warm temperature, a bright scent rises to your nose and overwhelms you. It’s one that invaded your senses so strongly last night as you slept on the train, a scent that emanated from Jungkook’s body the whole time you were with him, and yet it remains foreign in your apartment.

You never make coffee; rather, you just roll out of bed and grab some coffee on your way to university. So the overwhelming scent is too much for you to handle this early in the morning, and the thought of your wet dream about him only heightening the discomfort that bubbles in your gut. With a small shake of your head, you move for the bathroom to take a quick shower and wash away the dream lingering at the forefront of your mind.

The urge to let your fingers trail down your naked body and toy at the heat between your legs is oh so tempting. You want nothing more than to release the sexual frustration pent up inside you. How easy it would be to just get off real quick in the shower and head out like nothing is wrong. And to be honest, the mental image of the delicate tattoos and piercings through his nipples are quite the encouragement as well. Of course, your mind would decide to have a sex dream at the most inopportune moment. As Jungkook would put it: it’s all fate. No. This is merely bad luck. Fate has nothing to do with it.

You manage to push the temptation aside, by the luck of a miracle for certain, and continue to shower in peace. When you step out, you’re quick to towel down and change into a fresh set of clothes. You take longer than usual to select something to wear mostly due to the fact that you are really trying to avoid going out and being in Jungkook’s presence. Both the shame of your dream and the embarrassment of potentially looking at him that way while he’s staring right at you are both ample possibilities. Unfortunately, you seem to be on a bad run of luck.

A knock resounds at your door, a series of three raps against the wood, then a hesitant voice calls out to you through the barrier.

“Y/N? I, uh, I made some coffee if you want some.” You purse your lips. Ah, so that was coffee after all. You make your way over to the door, cracking it open and sticking your head through to greet Jungkook with a strained smile.

“Yea, I’ll be out in just a moment.” He nods at your words and steps away from the door. You take several deep breaths, repeating a mental pep talk as you breathe. Come on, Y/N, this is your apartment. Not Jungkook’s. Just breathe. It’s fine. It’s all good. Everything is chill and normal and fine. You didn’t just have a sex dream about him. Act like that didn’t happen. Stop thinking with what’s between your legs and start thinking with your head.

The mental encouragement helps some, and when you step into the hall, your heart isn’t racing at a hundred miles per hour. You greet Jungkook in the kitchen with another smile, this one much less strained and awkward. He’s standing behind the counter, elbows propped on the granite top, and nurses a steaming mug of what’s presumably coffee. Upon seeing you enter, he stands upright and mimics your smile. His gaze drops a moment later, however, and he glances away from you with a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.

“I didn’t know, uh, how you liked your coffee. But I got a mug out for you!” He motions behind him at the coffee pot, which you’re surprised is still functional seeing as you seldom use it. “Sorry for rifling through your cabinets and stuff… I wanted to make breakfast for you as a way to thank you for letting me stay over. You don’t have much in the way of food though.”

“I’m shocked you even found coffee honestly.” You chuckle as you move to pour a cup of coffee for yourself.

“The shocking thing is the fact that you have coffee rather than food.”

“I-I never have time,” you protest. The smell rising from the pot entices you. It smells far different than whenever you’ve made it in the past but then again it’s Jungkook’s job to make coffee so he must know what he’s doing at least to some extent.

“Time to what? Eat?” His voice is a bit incredulous, and the accusation brings a pout to your lips.

“I work so late that I only ever eat dinner between shifts. I eat snacks throughout the day after getting breakfast at campus because I don’t have time to wake up even earlier than I do to make food for myself. I know it’s not a solid and valid excuse, but it’s the truth.” You shrug, digging through your cabinets for sweetener of some sort to no avail, then move for the fridge to get some milk. You’re too nervous to check the expiration date on the carton, although Jungkook saves you the trouble.

“It expired two and a half weeks ago.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, how about that?” You joke with a lilt to your tone. The look Jungkook sends your way is nothing short of pity. You settle for a cup of coffee without milk or sweetener. You half expect it to be more bitter than your outlook on life and yet when the hot liquid passes your lips, the taste is sweeter than expected.

“Special barista’s touch,” Jungkook comments when he sees your expression of shock. “But also… you need groceries.”

“I’m fine! Honest to god! I rarely eat at home anyways so any money I spend on groceries would be a waste.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. You think he’s going to send another pity filled glance your way, but he doesn’t. He instead downs the rest of his coffee in three gulps.

“I really shouldn’t stay longer than I’m welcome. I stripped the bed and put the sheets in your washer, but I wasn’t sure where you kept the detergent so I didn’t run it. I also put the couch back together and put it in place.”

“Wh-What?” You stutter, quick to glance around the living room. Sure enough, everything is put back in its original home, all evidence of Jungkook’s stay gone. “Oh wow, you didn’t have to do that! I would’ve taken care of everything. Uh, there’s – there’s no rush to leave! I don’t mind. I mean, unless you need to go! In which case, yes absolutely go ahead.”

“I-I would love to stay. Really. Love it. Uh, but I-I have work in a few hours. I should, you know, get back and get ready and stuff.”

“Yes! Yea, absolutely. One hundred percent.”

“Exactly!”

“Yes, work. I mean, going to work. I have to go to work too. Later.”

“Wow, what a coincidence! I mean, fate. It’s fate, right?”

“Sure? No, coincidence. All a coincidence.”

“Obviously.”

“Definitely.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Uh, the weather is really great outside.”

“Really? I didn’t notice. I was too focused on you – I mean, talking to you. I was busy talking to you.”

“Yes! Talking. Like old pals.”

“Because we are totally old pals.”

“Oh my god, this is awkward.”

“Ah thank goodness I’m not the only one feeling it.” Jungkook exhales a shaky laugh before setting his now empty mug in the sink. He moves to clean it but you stop him.

“Leave it! I’ll clean it after I finish my cup. Okay? Don’t do anything else!”

“Sure, yea, wouldn’t dream of it!” He steps away from the sink, hands raised in defense. Rounding the counter, he lifts his bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Thank you again. Seriously, I cannot stress it enough. Thank you so much for letting me stay over.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Again. I was happy to help.”

“Before I go–” Jungkook cuts himself off, thinking twice about the words about to leave his mouth. “You know what, nevermind. It’s not important.” He turns to the door and quickly twists the locks, then again, he hesitates and looks back at you. “Actually could I get your phone number?”

“My what?” You reiterate, face blank.

“Y-Your number?”

“Oh shit. That. Duh. What else would you be talking about? Yes, yea, sure.”

“So we can talk again. Like old pals would.”

“Wow, that’s is exactly what I was thinking. We’re just on the same wavelength or something.”

“Oh, like it’s fate?”

“Nope! Nice try though.” You reach for your phone tucked away in the waistband of your pants and toss it to Jungkook. “How about you put your number in and I’ll text you? Does that work?”

“Of course.” Jungkook taps away at your phone, inputting his number and tossing the device back to you in a matter of seconds. “I guess I’ll talk to you later? Have – have a good day.”

“You too! I mean yes, talk to you later. Good luck at work!”

“Thanks, you as well!”

You wave at Jungkook’s retreating form as he steps out the door. A moment later, it snaps shut and leaves you in an empty and silent apartment. You go to lock the door again, twisting the locks before turning back to the empty living room with a strange sense of loneliness. You should be used to this loneliness after living alone for so long and yet you forgot what you were missing out on when talking to Jungkook after waking up.

Waking up to someone. You haven’t had that in months. Talking to someone first thing in the morning. Drinking coffee with someone. Just being at home with someone.

You never thought you would miss the sensation, especially after your last roommate proved to be such a hassle, and yet Jungkook has left a rather large hole in your defenses and heart.

Of course, it’s only after you return to the sink and begin to wash dishes that you look down at your shirt.

You forgot to put on a bra after your shower.

And chose to wear the most sheer white tank top in existence.

Fucking brilliant.

☽ ☾

Despite exchanging phone numbers with Jungkook, the two of you don’t really talk all that often. You dropped a text a few hours after he left your apartment (ample amount of time so that you weren’t seeming too excited or as though you didn’t care), and he responded within ten minutes. After that though, you two seemingly forgot about each other. You went on with your life as though Jungkook never came into it. His little spiel about fate seems quite humorous looking back because you can’t imagine why something like “fate” would put him in your life only for him to leave so quickly after. Nonetheless, you don’t forget about his existence entirely.

Jeon Jungkook still exists to you, albeit solely in dreams and thoughts. You get the occasional wet dream about said man from time to time despite your personal vehemence before sleeping about how you do not want to have another dream about him. Your brain can’t seem to get the hint to stop though so they come as regularly as one would think: once a week.

In hindsight, it seems kind of odd and creepy to be dreaming so much about a man you met for less than 24 hours. You blame the fact that you haven’t been dicked down in a good eight or nine months. So you opt to do the only logical thing a person could do: hookups via dating apps. In all honesty, it is the most unsatisfying string of hookups in existence but it serves its purpose and drives the nagging sex dreams about Jungkook out of the picture. And once the dreams finally cease, you cease your relentless sex escapade.

That freedom must come to an end, as fate – or coincidence rather – would have it. Which brings you to now, a late Friday night at the bookstore where you are sorting through books mindlessly. Your store has always had a late-night policy since the location is so close to the university campus. Students apparently love coming in after eight o’clock, at least according to your boss. You rarely see a single customer after the clock strikes nine but you get paid to mill about the rows and read books to your heart’s content so the job isn’t as bad as it could be. It’s nearing midnight, however, almost time to close the store so you are spending your time making sure everything is in order. Your boss left an hour ago, leaving you with the keys and the task of closing the bookstore on your own.

Humming is your only company, a gentle and soft sound you sing to yourself as you work. The action occupies your mind so much that you don’t notice the ding of the door or the heavy steps of someone stepping inside. A shadow moves in your peripheral vision. You nearly jump out of your own skin, a loud shriek escaping your parted lips, and the newcomer flinches at the sound.

You pull away from the shelf to get a better look at him – and it is in fact a “him”, wearing all black from head to toe. Black combat boots bigger than your face, cargo pants tucked into the tops of the boots, a shirt that clings to the owner’s chest with too much gusto, and a thick leather jacket that shrouds his chest from your view. Dangling from the man’s hand is a helmet – a motorcycle helmet to be specific – and you finally drag your gaze up to his face.

“Jungkook?” A sound akin to disbelief passes after you utter the name. He blinks back at you with wide, doe-like eyes.

“Uh… hi?”

Well fuck. Your luck has officially run out. Right when you thought you had escaped his grasp for good, here he comes, waltzing in like he owns the place with a fucking motorcycle helmet as though tattoos and goddamn nipple piercings weren’t enough.

“I-I, what?” You struggle to form a coherent thought. The sheer effect his appearance has over you is embarrassing, and his outfit isn’t doing you any favors either.

“I’m really sorry for coming in so late, Y/N. I meant to come sooner but I had to get gas along the way and that took longer than expected.”

“No, no. That’s – it’s fine. I’m not – you’re ho–fine.”

“I wanted to drop by and grab a book or two, if that’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice trails off as he grows shy, free hand reaching up to scratch at his highly decorated ears. You didn’t even notice the jewelry hanging from each lobe in your shock, but you should’ve expected him to be pierced in places other than his nipples. Oh my god, Y/N, can you stop thinking about his nipples?

“That’s perfectly fine! What we’re here for after all. Can I, uh, can I help you find anything?” You offer as you step away from the shelf at your side.

“I’m looking for a Lovecraft collection actually. I haven’t been able to find one recently but maybe… maybe you know where I can find one?” Jungkook places his helmet beside the register, rubbing his hands together while glancing around the shop.

“We have quite a few actually! Only one or two out here in the front though. More in the back, but I can show you the ones we have on the shelves out here first?”

“Absolutely, yea, that sounds perfect.” He moves closer to you, and the second he’s in your general vicinity, the scent of coffee strikes your nose. Warmth emanates from his body despite the cold night air outside, and you already feel yourself losing the last shreds of sanity you’re clinging to. You step away, moving for the shelves at your side instead.

“Okay, so Lovecraft… That should be in the mystery/thriller section.” Your fingers trail along the books as you walk. Eyes scan each label and name before reaching the section in question. “What sort of collection are you looking for?”

“I’ve been looking for a complete collection, but most bookstores either don’t carry them or have limited collections.” Jungkook steps closer to your form. The scent increases tenfold, and you nearly choke on the overwhelming smell.

“Yea, yea, uh…” You shake your head, trying to clear your mind of the scent but it doesn’t leave. “Do you – do you smell that?”

“What? Smell what?” Jungkook’s eyes widen, bright irises gleaming down at you in wonder. “It just smells like books in here.”

“No, I… I smell coffee?”

“Coffee?” Jungkook purses his lips and glances around the shop. “I don’t smell anything except books.”

“That’s strange,” you mutter. “Well, anyway, here is – this is our Lovecraft collection on display. I believe we have more in the backroom but I don’t know what specifically.” Jungkook brings a long finger to trail over the books, moving from H to L in search of Lovecraft. He pauses over a book and pulls it out. You can’t keep your eyes from following the deft movements of his fingers, those very fingers invading many of your dreams in recent months.

“You know…” He starts as he cracks the book open. “They say that when you meet your soulmate, you smell the thing they like the most.”

“They also say that you hear silver bells.”

“And? Have you heard any silver bells?”

“Are you insinuating that we’re soulmates, Jungkook?” You ask, tone incredulous as you blink up at the taller man. He chuckles at your question.

“What’s your favorite thing, Y/N?”

“Chai tea,” you utter through gritted teeth. Jungkook hums at the comment but doesn’t say anything more than that. Your heart rate has picked up, a frantic beat that drums against your ribcage and fills your ears with the sound of blood rushing through your veins.

“Could I see the books in the back? These are more partial collections,” Jungkook says as he pushes the books back into their designated places on the shelf. You nod, making a quick motion for him to follow you. You go to the backroom often and frankly it’s nothing special – it’s just another room lined with bookshelves and dusty books – so when you flip the lightswitch and unveil the interior, you aren’t expecting Jungkook to exhale a gasp of surprise. “Wow.”

“What?” You inquire, glancing over the expression on his gentle features.

“There’s so many books back here. I didn’t know you had so many.”

“Ah, yea, the owner wanted to expand the shop but didn’t have the funds so he turned this room into a book room instead. It’s open to the public but most people choose to focus on the main portion of the store instead. Give me a second to figure out where Lovecraft is; we don’t organize these shelves the same way as the ones in the front.” You mill between the shelves, quickly scanning each one with darting eyes, and Jungkook trails after you without a word. “I, uh, I didn’t know you rode a motorcycle.” You attempt to make conversation in the hopes that it will both quell your racing heart and alleviate some of the awkward tension lingering between you.

“Oh? Yea, I kinda picked it up after quitting Taekwondo.”

“Is that when you started getting tattoos as well?” You ask. Jungkook coughs, the question obviously catching him off-guard. “S-Sorry if that was intrusive!”

“No, it’s okay! I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. But yes. I started getting tattoos around then. I guess it was a little rebellion but…”

“But?”

“Ah, nothing. It’s not important.” You come to a sudden halt in front of a shelf, and Jungkook must not see you stop because his body crashes into yours and nearly topples you over. You reach out to grab the shelf, bracing yourself on the wood. Jungkook slams his hands down on either side of your head, his hips brush your ass, and you have to bite down violently on your tongue to keep a whine from slipping out.

Silence lingers in the air. Neither of you moves. Heat radiates from Jungkook’s body, along with that damn coffee scent, and your heart has begun to beat at the speed of light. You’re sure that if one more incident occurs to raise it further, you will go into some form of cardiac arrest. That familiar itch between your legs rises. Jungkook’s hands leave the shelf. The heat disappears as he moves back and you exhale a shaky breath.

“I-I, uh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you mutter, continuing to face the shelf rather than him. If you turn around now, he might see how blown your pupils are, clear evidence of the effect he just had over you. “He-Here’s the rest of our Lovecraft collection.” You point to the books beside your head with shaky fingers. Before you have the chance to move out of his way, Jungkook opts to reach past your head and pull one of the books off the shelf. You press your thighs together with so much force that it hurts.

“This is the exact one I’ve been looking for!” He exclaims, tone bright and loud against your ears. You twist around to face him and look at the book in his hands. It’s an old one; spine greyed from constant use and pages yellowed from age. Nonetheless, Jungkook smiles down at it with a childlike wonder in his eyes. You cannot help but to laugh and smile along with him.

“How about that? Coincidence much?”

“No…” Jungkook trails off as his fingers trace the faded title on the book. “It’s fate.” You begin to sigh, ready to deny his ever insistent claims about fate, but his eyes flitter up to meet yours. Your words catch in your throat. The gleam in his darkened eyes is so intense that your chest clenches (along with your thighs – again).

“Jungko–” You don’t manage to get the name out. Instead, your breathing is cut short by a sudden pressure against your lips, and it takes you several moments to realize exactly what is happening. Jungkook is kissing you. Kissing you. Now you actually do whine, a faint sound that reverberates against his soft lips. The book in his hands falls to the ground with a soft thud as he presses against you harder. The lines of the shelf dig against your back, but you cannot bring yourself to care much as Jungkook’s arms snake around your body and press you tighter against him. You drop your hands to his shoulders, bracing yourself on his form as he pushes you further against the bookshelf. His lips never cease their movement or pressure, a continued force that engulfs your core in heat.

It only takes a moment for his warm tongue to prod at your lips, soft yet domineering in its movements, and you quickly give way to the touch. You gasp into his mouth as his tongue moves over yours, the cool feel of metal greeting you. It takes a moment for realization to sink in but when it does, you just about melt against Jungkook. In one swift movement, his hands slip from your hips to your ass and lift you up. Your legs move around his waist by instinct, a pleased hum leaving his lips as you do.

His tongue retracts from your mouth, and he pulls away so you both can catch your breath. The tension lingers between you, silence carrying it, and you can't keep your eyes from trailing over his lips as he breathes.

"A-A tong... tongue piercing?" You huff out.

"Shush," he mutters, lips coming closer to yours again. You nearly meet him halfway but he hesitates. "What's your favorite thing, Y/N?"

"Wh-What?" You stammer, shocked by the sudden question. Lust clouds your thoughts, and you can barely think straight beyond wanting Jungkook to pin you down and fuck you senseless.

"What's your favorite thing?" He repeats. His fingers draw small circles against the skin of your back, hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt.

"Coffee. Fresh coffee." You murmur back. His head dips to your exposed neck, lips pressing against the skin there.

"And what's mine?"

"Huh?" Again, the question throws you off-guard, and you aren't sure exactly what he's asking you or why. "Your what?"

"What's my favorite thing?" His breath is hot against your neck. Your lashes flutter from the contact then his tongue slips out to drag against your skin. You still don't understand the question even after he repeats it, and it takes you a while to understand what he's trying to get at. You take in your surroundings, glancing over the shelves as though they'll help you figure out what he wants to hear.

"Lo-Lovecraft?" You stutter. Jungkook's teeth sink into your neck, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to leave a mark for certain. "Books. It's books."

Jungkook pulls back to look you in the eye. His pupils are blown, nearly completely black from the lust. A smirk plays at his lips.

"Oh..." You trail off. Your hands sit loosely on his shoulders as the information sinks in.

“They say that when you meet your soulmate, you smell the thing they like the most.”

“They also say that you hear silver bells.”

"Y/N... I think you might be my soulmate," Jungkook whispers. His forehead falls against yours, and a breathy laugh leaves him. You don't know how to respond in all honesty. You've never believed in these sorts of things before, and considering the effect it had over your mother, you never wanted to put your trust into it all too much. So, rather than responding, you grip Jungkook by the nape of his neck and pull him closer to you. Your lips clash in a mess of skin and teeth. He nearly bites the tip of your tongue off when you collide, but it quickly melts into the same lust-filled passion from before.

"You talk too much," you murmur against his lips, earning you a laugh from him in response. He reconnects your lips without any further comments. His force takes you by surprise and knocks the breath from your lungs. Another light moan leaves you, and Jungkook eats it right up, filling all your senses with his presence.

Your fingers tug at the material clinging to his muscled body and push the leather jacket off his shoulders. He helps you along, discarding the layer on the floor with the book from before. Your shirt is next to go, his hands frantic at the hem. You part with a gasp as he pushes it over your head, only to meet again with the same level of fervor as before. His body is hard under you, wandering hands tracing unknown patterns along the black shirt still stuck to him. They linger on his nipples. Brushing over those little metal beads you spotted before, you lose your sense of reason and yank at the material in a desperate attempt to tear it off.

Jungkook chuckles against your mouth. He leans back and pulls the shirt off ever so slowly. Your eyes trail over his body under the yellow light, taking in every inch of bare skin before you before landing on those elusive little piercings. With hesitant fingers, you reach out and brush a light touch over them. Jungkook’s muscles instinctively clench under the touch. The pads of your fingers travel over to his arms next and trace the patterns of his tattoos all the way down to his wrists. Each tattoo is delicate and unique, so much ink along each arm that you can hardly see an inch of bare skin beyond the tattoos.

It’s fascinating, intricate and elegant yet harsh on the eye.

“Something on your mind?” He asks as your gaze fails to move.

“They’re beautiful,” you mutter as you bring your touch up his arms again. Goosebumps rise in your wake.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Huh? Why is that?”

“Because you’re going to see a lot more of them in the future.”

Lips part in shock at his bold words, the shy boy you met on the train gone and replaced by a lust-filled man who knows exactly what he wants. His lips come down against the column of your neck, massaging the skin under his tongue, while his hands work around your back and toy with the clasp of your bra. You can only throw your head back and bask in the pleasure washing over you.

Cold hits your breasts at the same time as your bra hits the floor. Nipples perked and waiting for attention, your chest is now bared to Jungkook. He leans back to take the sight before him in, and a low whistle leaves his lips as he rakes his eyes over you.

“Gorgeous. So so gorgeous,” he mutters more to himself than to you. The pads of his thumbs stretch out to tease at your perked nipples. You moan at the touch, his fingers squeezing and tugging. “How the fuck did I get so lucky? Lucky enough to have the most perfect person on the planet as my soulmate? Unbelievable.” You have no chance to respond because he dips his head towards your chest and takes one nipple between his lips, hand still working at the other one.

He pushes his thigh between yours, settling the muscle flush against your crotch, and you gasp at the doubled sensation of pleasure. With gentle pushes, he flexes his leg against your crotch, and you instinctively buck your hips up to meet his small thrusts.

Whines and moans fall from your lips like a chorus as Jungkook’s tongue worships your breast. The little bead sitting in the middle of his tongue rubs against your skin just right, bringing waves of pleasure down on you. You bring down your hands against his back, clinging to him and pulling him as close as possible. Your nails dig into his skin as he rocks against you, the obvious tent in his pants pressing up against your leg. All the while, you continue to bounce along his thigh. The sensation sends sparks throughout your entire body, clit twitching with each flex of Jungkook’s thigh. That combined with the attention he’s giving to your breasts makes your whole body feel like jelly.

“Ju-Jungkook, I-I–” You fail to complete the sentence, moans interrupting your train of thought. He doesn’t stop to listen to what you have to say; instead, his hips buck against yours. The pressure builds against your clit. Electric shocks of pleasure shoot through you. One of your hands trails down his back, leaving a path of red behind no doubt, and snakes around to cup his groin. A breathy moan reverberates against your skin, his hips jerking forward from the contact.

You struggle with his belt, trying to undo it and throw it aside as quickly as possible, but once it’s loose, you discard of it with ease. You have to pull your other hand from his back in order to pop the button and tug the zipper down. He sighs in relief as you tug the tight material away from his strained cock. You glance past his head of long hair to peep at his crotch, eyes nearly bulging out of your head when you see the sheer size of his bulge.

“Ju-ungkook, the-there’s no way – you aren’t gonna f-fit,” you stammer through the pleasure and moans. Jungkook pulls back as your words register, eyes meeting yours. You must be showing more concern than imagined because his brows immediately furrow at the sight of your expression.

“Hey, hey,” he says. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek, and you lean into the touch. “We don’t have to go all the way right now. We can take it slow until you’re comfortable.”

“Bu-But I… I want you,” you whisper, fingers coming to rest on his chest.

“And you can have me.” The words only serve to send another surge of heat to your core. “When you’re ready and comfortable.”

“O-Okay,” you mutter in response, eyes trailing the curve of his Adam’s Apple as he swallows. “I wa-wanna suck your cock.”

He groans at the words, hips instinctively bucking against you again. You release your grip on his waist and let your legs find the floor. It’s a good thing that you don’t have to stand long, because your legs nearly give out under you. You stay standing long enough to push Jungkook against the opposite bookcase, then drop to your knees before him. Face first with his bulge now, you’re more than glad that he told you to take it easy, because it’s even more daunting up close like this. Lust still stirs in your gut but now it’s coupled with anxiety. With shaking fingers, you dug the band of his underwear down, freeing his thick member. Jungkook hisses as the cold air hits him, but the hiss turns into a choked moan when you fold your fingers around his cock. He’s so thick that you can’t quite wrap your whole hand around him, nor does one hand come close to covering his whole length. Out of all the partners you’ve had the pleasure (or not so much) of being with, he is by far the biggest. It’s a bit daunting as you drop your lips to the head of his cock, but you quickly recover and push the sensation aside in favor of pleasuring him.

The tip of your tongue teases the slit of his cock, bringing the leaking precum into your mouth, and you slowly take him in inch by inch. You drag your tongue along each vein and curve of his member. The slow movements of your mouth draw a low whine from his lips. It encourages you to move faster, and you build up a slow speed, bobbing your head up and down on his cock. His breath quickens as your pace does. You pull off to unleash a string of spit at the base of his cock, letting you pump him without so much friction, and then take him back into your mouth with hesitation.

His hips buck against you, but you can tell that he’s trying to hold back from slamming into your mouth too hard. Part of you wants him to fuck your mouth with reckless abandon, just to feel him lose control and have his way with you, but his restraint is too strong at the moment. Your eyelids flutter as you gaze up at Jungkook, his thick cock stretching your lips in a way that has him groaning above you. His fingers find your hair and bunch it together in his grip. Slowly, still with the same amount of restraint, he helps you bob up and down on his dick as far as you can take it. He pulls back every time the tip of his member touches the back of your throat, but as his pace increases, your throat suffers constant abuse. He pulls out, allowing you to catch your breath and gasp for air. You don’t let him stop for long though and take him back between your lips after a few deep breaths of fresh air.

The grip on your hair falters as you swirl your tongue around his hard member, and his hand moves to the bookshelf, clinging to the wood as a string of curses leaves his lips. His voice is raspy and low. It sends pulses of heat straight to your core, and if you could, you would bring your own hand down between your legs and finger your drenched folds as you suck him off. Instead, you have to keep one hand braced on the dip of his hip and the other on the part of his cock your lips can’t reach.

His hips stutter in their half-hearted thrusts. His climax is coming soon, and as soon as you realize that, you work harder to lavish his cock with your tongue. You’re in the midst of pulling away from his member when his orgasm hits all of the sudden. Hot semen splatters across your chin and neck, a bit falls into your unsuspecting mouth, and drips from your chin onto your breasts. Jungkook releases a broken moan as he cums, head falling backward to watch the ceiling. The second he recovers from the orgasm, he tilts his head down and takes in your appearance. His half-hard member twitches in your grasp.

You do nothing except smirk up at him, fingers dragging across your chest to collect the cum decorating your skin. You smear some of it into your skin but scoop up more of it to push onto your tongue. Jungkook groans at the sight of you toying with his cum. He brings a hand down to cup your chin and lets his index finger run through the white strings across your face before fucking the cum into your mouth with two fingers. You lap at his fingers as though your life depends on it, the bitterness of his cum hot against your tongue. Jungkook doesn’t stop until all evidence of his cum is gone from your body.

“Move back,” he growls out. You scamper back, pushing yourself with the palms of your hands and dragging your ass against the cool wood floor. He lowers himself to the ground as well but keeps a moderate distance from you. Once you’re where he wants you, he stops you by placing both hands on your knees. It locks you in place and you blink at him in wonder. He doesn’t explain what on earth he’s doing, but you figure it out soon enough as he continues to move closer to your abdomen. Deft fingers loop around the band of your underwear and your shorts. Your core coils in anticipation, this very image beneath you the thing that has haunted your dreams for months.

Jungkook’s touch remains delicate as he tugs the articles of clothing off you in one fell swoop, tossing both to the side without care. You can feel your heart racing against the confines of your chest, his hot breath dances over your now exposed core, and he pushes your knees further apart to have better access. Two fingers ghost over the folds of your pussy, thick strands of arousal coming off as he moves across you. The touch is barely there but it still causes your whole body to spasm. Jungkook braces you against the floor with his left hand, pressing against your abdomen so that you sit still under him. Again, his fingers tease your sopping lips.

You release a high-pitched whine, twisting under him in attempts to get more contact out of the man, but he leans back instead. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth.

“Behave now, princess,” he mutters lowly. The timbre of his voice compels you to obey, and you go slack under his touch. “Good girl.” He rewards you with another touch, fingers pushing past the wetness of your folds and toying at your entrance. He starts slow; with one finger he pushes into your heat. Immediately you tighten around him, clenching your walls as he pushes all the way in. He wiggles the finger inside you a bit before deciding to slip another one into your heat. He nearly growls as you eagerly take the next finger, scissoring you open with as much restraint as he can manage.

“A-Ah, J-Jungkook, more. More,” you stammer out through the shallow thrusts of his fingers. “More, please. I ne-eed more. More.” Jungkook hums, cocking his head to the side as he smirks down at you.

“I don’t know if you deserve it,” he says, a teasing lilt to his tone that has you whining under him yet again.

“Pl-Please, please more. I need more, sir.” The title slips out before you can stop yourself, pleasure too heavy on your mind, and you can’t think beyond the fog of lust over you. Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up upon hearing the title, pupils growing in size even more if possible. He actually does growl this time; a low and animalistic sound coming from his chest. In one swift movement, he drags you closer to him, pins your body to the floor with his hand, and plunges another finger into your needy cunt.

“Fu-uck, you’re so pretty like this,” he growls as you whine at the sensation of his fingers plunging into you. He curls them inside you, brushing your sweet spot and causing you to bend off the floor. “So fucking needy.” You can’t say anything in response; the pleasure has taken over you so much that you’ve resorted to strictly gasps of air between moans. Jungkook continues fucking you open with three fingers, scissoring and stretching you in the best way possible. He brushes against your g spot with each thrust, and you can feel your high already quickly approaching.

You bring a hand down to Jungkook’s shoulder, digging your nails into the skin there in attempts to anchor yourself to reality. Your climax approaches like a wave, but right before it crashes over you, Jungkook retracts his fingers. You whine at the loss of warmth. He smirks up at you, eyes on yours as he slowly lowers his mouth to your dripping cunt. With the smallest kitten lick, he drags the flat of his tongue across your folds, picking up the threads of arousal as he moves. The ghosting sensation nearly sends you spiraling. You buck your hips up against his face; at least, you attempt to but his hand still pins you to the floor.

“You have to say please, princess,” he purrs, purposely letting the heat of his breath brush over your clit.

“Pl-Please. Please let me cum. Please, please, Jungkook. I need it,” you beg, embarrassment and shame gone.

“Please what?” He demands before blowing against your clit.

“Please, sir!” You spit out, trying to fight against his strength to no avail.

“There we go,” Jungkook chuckles with a pleased smile stretched across his lips. “Good girl.” He dips back towards your cunt, pushing your lips apart with two fingers, and presses his tongue into your heated core. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream of pleasure, the sensation of his tongue along with that dangerous piercing in the middle of it sending you so far into pleasure that you can’t move anymore. Jungkook carries you to your orgasm like that, dragging his tongue up your pussy to nip at your clit only two times before the crashing wave of an orgasm hits.

You barely register how his hands slip up to grasp at yours, letting your fingers interlock and cling to each other as you move through your orgasm. He pulls you under his body at the same time. Soft kisses brush your temple along with gentle coos and soft praises against the shell of your ear.

You both remain in that position for who knows how long, it feels like hours but you know that can’t be right. Nonetheless, by the time you recover from the brutal orgasm, you feel as though you’ve run an entire marathon. Chest heaving, you feel around for Jungkook’s head, slipping your fingers through his ombre locks and combing through the strands matted by sweat. It’s the softest and sweetest moment you’ve had after sex – even if the two of you didn’t go all the way. It’s both ironic and strange in your mind.

You’re lying naked on the floor of a bookstore under a tattooed and pierced barista who rides a motorcycle, but also who used to compete in Taekwondo on a national level. Never in a million years would you have ever said that was a possibility. Add that to the growing list of coincidences surrounding you and Jungkook.

Sitting next to a random stranger on the bus at one in the morning, falling asleep on his shoulder, having to get off at the same stop, finding out that you go to the same university, being in the same year as well as having the same major, working across the street from each other, bringing him to your apartment where you just happen to have a dresser full of clothes that fit him like a glove, having a pull-out couch where he can sleep along with a spare set of sheets for it, him always smelling like your favorite thing, you always smelling like his favorite thing, running into each other by some magic coincidence after months of not communicating, having the exact book he was looking for.

How many times can you call something a coincidence before it becomes fate?

You move your hands down Jungkook’s face, cupping his jaw and lifting his head so that you can look him directly in the eye.

“Jeon Jungkook…” You mutter, voice strained by your exhaustion. “I think this might be fate.”

☽ ☾

“Two,” you say after a sip of coffee. The liquid is hot on your tongue, coating your taste buds in the most pleasant way, and the man across from you scoffs at your comment.

“Two? Two out of ten? Are you out of your mind?” He asks incredulously. It’s almost adorable seeing Jungkook get so worked up over your comment, but you push that thought down in favor of sipping at the coffee again. In all honesty, it’s quite delicious; maybe the best coffee you’ve ever had, but you can’t tell him that. It would go to his head.

“Coffee is my favorite thing. I have to be harsh in my judging. Otherwise, it seems like I settle for all coffees, good or bad.”

“So two?”

“Hm… maybe three and a half?” You tease, the smile on your lips stretching against the ceramic mug in your hands.

“This is a personal offense,” Jungkook mutters, turning away from you. “I blame your shitty instant coffee packets. That’s the only reason it’s not good. If we were at the cafe, I would make you the best possible coffee in the universe.”

“That’s quite the promise, Jeon Jungkook.” You sigh against the mug, and a cloud of steam billows up from the liquid. It’s still early in the morning; the bright sunlight not quite peeking in through the curtains over your living room window. After your little “excursion” with Jungkook, you closed the bookstore and decided to head home on the train, but he told you that he couldn’t in good conscience let you go alone. Thus, he offered to take you on his motorcycle; however, you were quick to shoot that offer down thanks to the fear of riding the damn thing.

“Maybe some other time?” You had said, to which Jungkook shrugged and told you that he would go back on the train with you regardless after putting his bike in a safe place. Thus, yet again, the two of you rode the train to Station 45 and got off together, only to end up in front of your apartment door with hands ghosting by each other.

Even as you stumbled into your apartment in a fit of giggles, Jungkook’s lips merely ghosted past yours before he crashed on the couch without even bothering to pull the bed out. You opted not to push him to join you in the bedroom, too tired and nervous to pose the question.

Neither of you has mentioned what transpired in the bookstore the night before, and a large part of you is quite nervous to do so. Regardless, Jungkook doesn’t seem to harbor any awkwardness about the whole thing, which is reassuring to some degree.

Something in you wants more. You aren’t sure what more you want – you’ve gotten more than you deserve from Jungkook – but you can’t help but to feel greedy when it comes to him.

“What’s on your mind?” Jungkook asks after seeing your blank expression. You purse your lips, debating whether to answer the question truthfully or not, but end up shaking your head in denial instead.

“Nothing much. It’s funny, you know.”

“What is?”

“It’s Saturday morning. We must have a knack for meeting each other on Fridays. Is that one of your fate things?”

“Did you not say you thought it was fate?”

“I take it back,” you huff over your coffee, sending a wisp of steam in his direction. The emotion that flashes across Jungkook’s eyes almost resembles hurt. For a moment, the stable ground underneath you quakes and trembles.

“Ah, yea… I forgot you aren’t one for that sort of thing,” Jungkook mutters. His thumb runs along the edge of his own mug. Silence hangs in the air between the two of you.

It only took you four words to ruin not only the calm ambiance between you but also Jungkook’s pleasant mood. He glares down at his coffee, eyes glaring such an intense daggers that it frightens you.

“I was joking…” You mutter in attempts to patch the situation.

“Except you weren’t,” Jungkook says in response, chin jerking up so that he can direct that deadly glare at you now. Your breath catches in your throat. “I’m sorry. That came out harsher than I meant for it to.”

“It’s okay,” you mutter. “I deserved it.” Jungkook doesn’t deny your words, which only serves to make you feel worse about the whole situation. Rather, he redirects the conversation to something new.

“Why are you so damn adamant? Even when there are ten thousand pieces of evidence showing that it is real you still deny it. Why?”

You drag your tongue over the front of your teeth, neglecting to answer the question at first. Jungkook waits, however, in silence for a response from you, and you slowly realize that you can’t back your way out of this.

“I-I… I just don’t believe in it, okay?”

“That’s bullshit. You wouldn’t admit to it being fate if you didn’t think for a sliver of a second that it was real.”

“Well, I take it back. It’s not real, and I don’t believe in it. Fate is–” You stop yourself from spewing the words, knowing that what you might say will hurt both you and Jungkook. He doesn’t let you off that easy though and continues to prod for the information regardless.

“Fate is what? I’m trying to understand where you’re coming from, Y/N. I truly – honestly and truly – believe that you are my soulmate. I believe in fate, I don’t believe this is a coincidence, and I know that you must be my soulmate. I know you think it’s stupid and it’s all a joke to you but… I’ve heard the silver bells, I know my favorite thing in the universe is books, and I know that you smell like books every single time I’m around you.”

“Except you can’t possibly know that!” You counter. You push the mug in your hands down, letting it slam against the marble with a clatter, and hot coffee splashes over the edge. “You can’t know that! You don’t know what you heard. For fuck’s sake, it could’ve been some random ass kid with a bell on his backpack. You don’t know that I always smell like books because you’ve only been around me what? Two? Three? Maybe four times? That is not enough for you to go around claiming that I am your soulmate!”

“Maybe if you weren’t so fucking insistent about it being a lie, you would realize how ridiculous you sound!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Me?” You hiss through gritted teeth. “I am the one who sounds ridiculous? Well, I’m fucking sorry that I don’t feed into pathetic children’s stories that are nothing more than stupid little lies parents can tell their kids so they’ll sleep at night! Fate isn’t real, soulmates aren’t real, and you are the one who sounds absolutely fucking ridiculous because you are insisting that silver bells and the smell of books is what determines your one and only for the future!”

Jungkook is stunned into silence at your rant. You hardly realize that tears are streaming down your cheeks until you stop speaking. Jungkook sets his own mug down and leans across the counter, but you slap his hand away with a choked sob.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you spit before drawing your arms tight around your chest. “If you are so damn desperate to why I know that fate is a farce, then I’ll tell you. My mother sacrificed everything in her life for fate. Her first husband, her job, her home – everything. She gave up everything to move halfway across the world and be at the job fate had supposedly chosen for her. Divorced her first husband to do so, leaving me without a father for years until she met her supposed soulmate six years later. She married him in less than four months, then proceeded to be miserable and unhappy throughout the entire marriage because her supposed soulmate was a piece of shit. And after she got another divorce, she was fired from her dream job that fate had handed to her. She fucking put everything on the line for fate, and what did it give her in return? Two ruined marriages, getting fired, and then to wrap up the whole miserable package she was hit head on by an eighteen-wheeler on the highway. Even on her damn deathbed, she still looked me in the eye and said she was fucking happy with everything fate had given her. So tell me how the hell I’m supposed to put all my faith in fate when all it’s done is give the people I love a shitty hand?”

Jungkook’s lips snap together, jaw clenching so hard that you can see the strain along his face. His gaze falls away from yours and lands on something on the counter. You can’t find it in you to care about what he’s looking at; instead, you rub at your tears in desperate attempts to hide them. Jungkook doesn’t speak as you try to pull yourself together. He stands stunned into silence for a good five minutes before shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Without a word, he takes his still full mug of coffee and pours it down the drain, not even bothering to wash it out before stepping away from the sink. The way he avoids your stare, ducks away from you so as to miss looking at you entirely, hurts more than you wish.

He picks up his jacket from the couch, slinging it around his shoulders, and moves for the door. For a split second, you think he’s going to stop, look back at you, maybe say something in response. At least something. Anything.

He doesn’t. Instead, he twists the handle and steps out into the hallway. The door falls shut behind him, a sharp snap that feels like a knife in your chest. You can do nothing more than stare at the spot where he just stood and grind your teeth together to keep from breaking down in tears again.

How long did it take for things to fall apart this time? If fate exists, then she truly is a cruel mistress, and you don’t want her to be your mistress any longer.

☽ ☾

Since that awful morning you shared with Jungkook, you haven’t seen him or spoken to him. No late-night train rides, visits to the bookstore, not a single word from him via the phone – it’s as though he never existed in your life. Perhaps it’s better that way, but things still feel unfinished in your mind. There was no closure; hell, Jungkook didn’t even utter a word to you after you tried explaining your view of things. Although you should have been a bit more gentle and understanding of his views as well…

Nonetheless, life goes on as though Jeon Jungkook never stepped foot in it. At least, on the outside it does, but on the inside, you are struggling to push any thought of him aside. Your less than proper dreams have returned – of course – but they don’t leave you high and dry anymore. Rather, the end in a cloud of fire with Jungkook accusing you of everything under the sun until you wake up with a start.

That should’ve been the first sign that something was wrong. However, you neglected to pay any attention to the frequency of your nightmares until they started impeding on your sleep schedules and subsequently your work and school performances. Apparently, falling asleep at the cash register isn’t quite “work appropriate”. Thus you started taking melatonin as a supplement for the countless nights spent lying awake in bed and staring up at the dark ceiling without any thoughts in particular.

It only served one purpose: drawing out your nightmares even longer.

Frankly, there is no winning in this situation, so here you are three months later standing in the bookstore and thinking about the last time Jungkook was here.

“Oh boy, I can sense the anger radiating from all the way over here.”

You level the speaker with a stony glare, but he laughs in response, the ding of the door chiming along with his all too cheery laugh.

“What was it this time? Get stood up right before the good part?”

“Oh take a stick and shove it up your ass, Seokjin,” you counter, shoving the book in your hands back onto the shelf so hard that the case shakes.

“Hm, I’d be down for that, not gonna lie. But anyways I smell baggage, and about 170 pounds of it.”

“Excuse me?” You ask. You finally turn to face your coworker, and he just smiles back at you, full lips stretched wide.

“Did you most recent boy toy ditch you?”

“You’re insufferable, Kim Seokjin.”

“And you are quite attractive when you’re angry at me. It reminds me of the good old days.” Seokjin sighs at empty air, blissfully staring up at the ceiling.

“What? The whole three times you made me orgasm?” You bite under your breath, but Seokjin hears your words anyway.

“Oh, don’t undermine yourself, Y/N. As I recall, you were screaming my name in pleasure a lot more than that.”

“Maybe in your dreams.”

“Oh, to dream of the devilish vixen that is Y/N L/N. Mm, I wonder if the sex dreams would be as kinky and hot as your daydreams about your mystery man.”

“Are you just going to pester me left and right? Or is there a purpose for your annoying chatting?”

“There is, there is. Indeed, a method to the madness. And sadly no, I do not want to fuck you again. It’s nothing against you but I find myself rather stable and happy at the moment. The extra baggage that you’re dragging with you would not do well for me.”

“Oh, is that so? Kim Seokjin? Satisfied with life? A miracle truly.”

“You know, your mystery man visits incessantly. If he didn’t buy so many books, I would think he’s obsessed with you,” Seokjin comments, tone light and airy. He says the words as though it’s the most normal thing in the world. You stare at him, eyes wide, but he just continues scanning books at the register without a care.

“He what?”

“Hm? Did I say something?”

“You fucker,” you hiss, spit nearly flinging from your lips as you speak. Seokjin cackles.

“I fucked you, yes. But anyway, he must have terrible luck because he always comes on the days when you aren’t here.”

“No… luck has nothing to do with it.”

A sigh leaves Seokjin’s lips, and he sets a pile of books to the side. For a moment, he just stares at you with wide and perceptive eyes without saying anything. You nearly look away but it feels too much like defeat so you maintain the stare.

“Y/N.”

“Seokjin.” You mimic the serious tone of his voice in attempts to mock him. Rather than reacting as he normally would, he stays still, dark eyes unblinking.

“What did you do this time?”

“This time? Wow, you have so little faith in me–”

“I have faith that you fuck things up.” The words shut you right up, and the tension in your shoulders drops. “Something happened between the two of you, didn’t it?”

“What happened was that I had something fucking perfect right in front of me and I still managed to fuck it up. If fate really does exist, I fucking hate its plans for me.”

“If you truly didn’t believe in fate, you wouldn’t say that.”

“I don’t need fate to help me know what’s right and wrong in my life.”

“Obviously you do because fate put your biker boy in your life.”

“And very swiftly took him right out of it.”

“Had you not fucked it up, then that wouldn’t have happened,” Seokjin chimes in again, side-eyeing you with pursed lips. He leans away from you, almost expecting the book you hurl his way, but it makes contact with the wall rather than his head. “Excuse me, ma’am! You are at an off the wall eight right now, I’m gonna need you to calm down to an icy seven please and thank you!”

“How the hell am I supposed to know what path fate wants me to take? This isn’t some fucking fairy tale!”

“Listen, Y/N.” Seokjin plants his hands on the counter, shoulders shifting as he glances around the bookstore before bringing his gaze back to you. “Do you remember that poem?”

“That poem?” You reiterate. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than “that poem”, Seokjin.” A sigh escapes you, and you’re just about ready to go smack Seokjin upside the head when he continues.

“Just hush for a second, please. God, I swear you never let a man finish.” You yank another book off the shelf and poise to chuck it at his head again. He’s too close to the window for you to throw it this time though, so you regrettably have to put the book back on the shelf.

“Kim Seokj–”

“The poem about getting back up after you’ve fallen and can’t get up or something like that? Or maybe it was about not quitting? I can’t quite remember…”

“What on earth is the point you’re trying to make with this?”

“It’s – listen, Y/N. Sometimes we have to take several steps back in order to move forward in the right direction. Sometimes we see the road most taken and decide that that’s the one we have to take, even though we’re supposed to take the road not taken instead. Sometimes – even when we really don’t want to – we have to leave the past behind. You don’t ask a flower to grow when it’s surrounded by weeds, do you? Even if those weeds have been there for as long as the flower can remember. In order for a flower to grow, you have to take away the weeds. I’m not telling you that you have to burn the weeds to the ground. But… Y/N, I know you. I know how much your heart has been hurt in the past. But I also know that your heart – a flower of its own – is surrounded by weeds. If you take them away, set them aside, lock them up, just get rid of them for now, you can grow. You are holding yourself back so much so that every time you try to take a step forward, you just get shot further back.”

“I hate you,” you mutter. No matter which way you look at it, Seokjin is right. He has a knack for saying things like that, always has, but this time it hits a bit different. You don’t know how to express your gratitude, but the smile he sends your way shows that he already knows how you feel.

“I love you too, Y/N.” He hums as he returns to his pile of books, prepping another stack for scanning. “Oh! Before I forget, little lover boy left something with me. He asked me to give it to you, so…” Seokjin trails off as he extends a thin book in your direction. You move towards him slowly, wary of the item he’s holding, and he laughs at your suspicious movements. “Quit being so weird, Y/N! It’s a book!”

You retrieve the book from his grasp, thumbing over the cover. 101 Famous Poems… Why did he want to give me this of all things?

“You’re staring at it as though it kicked a puppy. Damn, Y/N, you’re more savage than I remember.”

You scoff at Seokjin’s comment and turn away, heading back towards one of the tables in the back. You lower yourself on one of the chairs even as Seokjin protests and claims that it isn’t time for your break yet. The second you put the spine of the book on the table, it falls open to a dog eared page. You blink down at the paper, mind almost completely blank for a moment, and when you jerk back to reality, you still aren’t sure if you can believe your eyes.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost… Kim Seokjin I swear…

“Hey!” You call out to your coworker. He glances over at you over the stack of books. “Did you look at this before giving it to me?”

“Look at what?” Seokjin inquires. Even from a distance, you can spot a slight smile playing at his lips. You begin to call him out and complain, but he continues speaking before you have the chance. “He seems like a decent kid actually. Good taste in poetry, and he seems to have the same message for you that I did. What’s it the poem says? Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by. What comes after that bit?”

“And that has made all the difference,” you murmur more to yourself than to Seokjin. Your eyes trail over the pale pages of the book again, drinking in every word as though it’s a personal message from Jungkook himself.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

It’s a subtle message, one hidden under layers of nuances and mysteries, but you wouldn’t expect anything less from a man who loves Lovecraft with such a burning passion. The corners of your lips quirk up as you think of the thrill in his eyes upon finding the collection.

“Seokjin,” you say all the sudden, standing up from the chair and looking over at the man in question.

“Yes? Did you have another coincidental revelation?” He inquires, seemingly unbothered by your sudden movements.

“No.”

His eyebrows shoot upwards, lips quirk into a strange frown, and he taps away at the register as you move for the door of the bookshop. You snatch your jacket off the coat rack, slinging it over your shoulders in haste and pushing the small book of poems between your coat and shirt.

“I’m taking the road not taken.”

“Ew, you’re so cheesy. It’s gross. Little lover boy better make sure that grossness stops or else we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Do you ever shut up, Kim Seokjin?”

“Only when you’re going down on me!” He calls after you as you step out the front door. You nearly spin on your heel to knock him upside the head but a customer steps past you to go inside. Instead, you grumble under your breath, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket when the cool autumn airs hits your skin. For a moment, you refuse to move.

The building across the street looms before you, daunting even in its unassuming appearance, but it’s not what is on the outside that is terrifying you. Rather, the person inside who will hopefully be there. If he isn’t there then maybe you’re saving yourself the trouble. However, something tells you that fate will have something to say about that.

With quick steps, you move across the crosswalk along with a crowd of students. The closer you get to the cafe, the more terror builds up inside of you, and you nearly decide to turn around and leave well enough alone. Still, something tugs you towards the cafe, something you can’t ignore, and you pull the handle of the glass door.

Warm air greets you along with the overwhelming scent of coffee. Bells ding above you, and you glance up at the top of the door. Three silver bells hang from red thread just beside the corner of the door, jingling on and on as the door swings back shut.

Silver bells and red thread… how cheesy. You exhale a deep sigh, cheeks puffing out with the motion, then move for the cash register. There is no need to look around for Jungkook, his clear voice rings loud in your ears. He’s standing behind the register, taking the order of a customer in front of you. Laughing, smiling, making jokes – it’s all so different from the last time you saw him, and oddly it causes the pit of anxiety in your gut to sink further.

The girl in front of you laughs along to some joking quip Jungkook makes, hands folding behind her back in an obvious attempt to push her chest in Jungkook’s direction. It shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t make you feel any sort of way. You shouldn’t be bothered in the slightest, and yet here you are feeling jealous.

She steps aside a moment later, which is good for your unnecessary jealousy but not good for the anxiety in your stomach. You step closer to the counter with hesitant steps. Jungkook’s eyes are still stuck on the register, tapping away at the screen with a small smirk playing at his lips. Meanwhile, you can’t peel your eyes off him. A black turtleneck clings to his body like a second skin, dark brown apron tied over it so tight that it strains against his chest. Earrings dangle from his ears in multiple places; he’s definitely gotten more piercings since you last saw him and it happens to suit him quite well.

“How can I help you today?” He asks with a typical clear voice. He doesn’t look up at you quite yet, eyes still set on the register. A sad smile plays at your lips.

“I, uh, someone once told me that they could make me the best coffee in the universe here?” You trail the words off into a question, tone hesitant because the second the first word leaves your lips, Jungkook’s chin snaps up. He looks you in the eye, doe eyes wide from either shock, disbelief or both.

“Y/N…” His tone becomes quiet, so faint that you almost have to lean in to hear him. “I thought I smelled books.” He laughs to himself, but it sounds as though he is mocking himself for the words.

“And I thought I heard silver bells when walking in so…”

“You haven’t changed one bit, have you?”

You purse your lips at the question before tugging the book he left for you out from under your jacket.

“Actually,” you start as you set the book down on the counter. “I changed paths.”

Jungkook’s eyes follow the book, watching it slide across the counter and closer to him. His lips part. “Y-You–”

“Something about taking the road not taken. A bit cheesy, but still… meaningful.”

Jungkook’s lip quivers as he struggles to find the words to respond to you properly. There isn’t much to say, and if the right words are there, you certainly don’t know what they are. Anxiety bubbles away in your gut, no thanks to Jungkook’s minimal and unreadable expressions.

“Best coffee in the universe coming right up,” he says after a tense moment of silence. Now it’s your turn to fail to respond, eyebrows shooting up as he speaks. “And don’t worry. It’ll be on the house.”

You smile, and Jungkook mirrors the expression before looking down at the register and tapping away at the screen.

“Does the coffee come with a side order of fate?” You ask, bringing a teasing lilt to your tone. Jungkook releases a huff of laughter.

“That depends on whether the buyer believes in it.”

“She was told in a variety of creative ways that clinging to the past won’t let her grow.”

“Is that so?” Jungkook inquires. Despite the levelness of his voice, you can see the smallest hint of dampness in the corners of his eyes.

“Very poetic, actually. You can’t ask a flower to grow when it’s surrounded by weeds.”

“Beautiful.” Jungkook stops his work at the register, glancing up at you. “There’s always a possibility that… maybe the flower doesn’t quite want to let go of the weeds though.”

“Well, I think this flower really wants to give fate a proper chance. Herself. Not because of what happened in the past or what happened to people around her. Fate gave her a good thing. She wants to pursue it this time.”

“What an interesting turn of events,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. A small laugh escapes right after. “A very pleasant and happy turn of events though.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, struggling to find the words, and Jungkook just keeps smiling at you like nothing else in the world exists. Behind you, someone clears their throat, and you jolt into action. Stepping away from the counter, you duck over to a booth in the corner of the cafe, eyes trailing over Jungkook all the while. He exchanges the same longing stare as you move, only turning back to the customer in front of him when she begins speaking.

You aren’t sure what any of this means. Yes, you admitted to believing in fate, maybe even soulmates, but there are still so many uncertainties swirling in the waters around you. For a moment, you wonder if this is how your mother felt. You’re quick to squash that thought though.

Jungkook disposes of his customer rather quickly, turning to a coworker and exchanging places with him. Once he has his hands on one of the coffee pots, he turns to you, eyes dancing with a playfulness you can see from all the way across the room.

He dances along to a mesmerizing song as he works, an inaudible one that you can only see in the way he moves from counter to counter, machine to machine, a smile playing at his lips all the while. As you watch him dance from place to place, you silently wonder how you could ever believe it wasn’t fate that brought you here. That allowed you to meet Jeon Jungkook.

He moves with delicate grace, so at home in his surroundings that you nearly cry from the sight of watching him so happy. Never in your life have you felt so at peace. You thought that the bookstore would always be your happy place, the home away from home, an irreplaceable lover, and yet in less than five minutes, Jungkook has wedged his way into your heart. He plays at your heartstrings as though they’re an instrument, dancing along to his created melody without even knowing it. How could you ever think that this wasn’t where you were meant to be?

“Fate…” you mutter to yourself. With shaking and hasty fingers, you whip your phone out and pull open a new browser. It’s a quick search, a hastily typed “what are soulmates”. You aren’t sure why you searched that specifically or what came over you; maybe you just needed some sort of confirmation that this is what you’re feeling. Maybe you need just an explanation to tell you what is going on with your heart and head. Yet, deep down you know that this is not something the internet can answer. No matter how many times you ask or how many people you ask – you will never find an answer that satisfies you. So the first result that glares up at you from the browser doesn’t help one bit.

A soulmate is someone who gets you and understands you on a deeper level. Connected in mind and heart, respect for each other, unconditional love no matter what. Complete and total understanding. Comfort knowing that you can always be honest and be yourself around someone. Someone who understands your thoughts and emotions. Someone who sticks by your side through thick and thin. A soulmate is someone you never knew you needed, yet once they come into your life, you know you can’t live without them.

You pull your gaze away from the screen, heart beating so fast against the confines of your ribcage that you feel close to a heart attack. Jungkook doesn’t stand behind the counter anymore when you look over there. In a flash of black and brown, someone comes up on your right and sets a pristine white mug on the table before you.

“You were so focused on your phone that I thought I was going to scare you,” he jests, nodding down at your device. You hastily flip it over in attempts to hide the search. Jungkook turns to leave the table but stops himself just before walking away. “I, uh, I hope the coffee is good. And after I’m done with my shift – you know, maybe, well, we could–”

“Yea, yes,” you interrupt, knowing what he’s intending to ask before he says it. “Yes, Jungkook. I would love to.”

“Yea, cool. Great. Yes. Amazing, uh, my shifts ends – it ends in about 40 minutes.” He motions behind him, jerking his thumb in the direction of the counter.

“Oh, great! Wonderful, yea. That’s perfect.”

“Of course.”

“Yes.”

Jungkook backs away from your table, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he goes.

“I’m fine!” He proclaims while steadying himself.

“Totally!” You laugh. Jungkook’s cheeks flush dark red, and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Jeon! Get back behind the counter! We don’t pay you to flirt with customers!” Someone calls out from behind the counter. Jungkook’s blush deepens if possible, and he rushes to get back to his station without any further interruptions. You can’t keep from laughing as you watch the man go, so boyish in his actions and movements despite having such an intimidating appearance between the tattoos and piercings.

You lift the mug of coffee he left for you, daring to peek over to the counter again. Jungkook has his stare on you yet again. Once you lock gazes, he ducks away in embarrassment. You laugh against the ceramic, stirring up a cloud of steam, then take a hesitant sip of the dark liquid.

It tastes like nothing you’ve ever tasted before. You have had a great variety of coffees in your lifetime – it’s your favorite thing for a reason, so you are somewhat obliged to drink it religiously – but never have you had a coffee like the one Jungkook made for you. Sweet and bitter at the same time, perfectly balanced with each sip you take. The liquid is completely smooth, just as water is, and yet the coffee tastes nothing like water in the slightest. It is by far the best coffee you’ve ever had, and you’ve only had two sips.

With a small smile on your lips, you pull your phone back up and swipe away to open your messages with Jungkook. The two of you haven’t texted in months so you have to scroll down a bit to find him, but once you do, you send a simple message that you know he’ll appreciate.

Ten out of ten.

You watch for a reaction from Jungkook, and it comes a moment later when he digs through his apron to pull out his phone and check the screen. Bright eyes trail over the screen then over to you. A blinding smile comes next, nose scrunched up as his cheeks round. You return the smile with one of your own then return to sipping at the coffee.

A strange sense of peace lingers in the air. Instinct tells you to be wary of it, fear what might go wrong, and prepare for the worst. Part of you wants to be defensive and assume that things will fall apart in seconds as they did last time, as they did with your mother time and time again. But a larger part of you cannot be bothered to care about those things at all. You want to sit still and bask in the moment, the scent of coffee around you and warmth in your bones.

“Perfect,” you mumble against the rim of the mug. “You’re absolutely perfect, Jeon Jungkook.” Without another word, you return to the browser on your phone, closing out of the tab without bothering to look at the results any longer.

Instead, you busy yourself by staring out the window on your left, watching the cars and pedestrians rumble by without a care in the world. You don’t know how long you sit there, but it must be long enough for Jungkook to finish his shift because sometime later, the man slides into the booth across from you. His brown apron is gone, leaving him only in the dastardly black turtleneck that hugs his body far too much. Now that the apron is gone, you can see the hint of the piercings underneath the fabric. If he notices your lingering stare, he chooses not to comment on it; rather, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“So,” he starts as he brings his elbows to rest on the table. “What do you, uh, what do you feeling like doing?”

“Um… I don’t know.” You purse your lips, blinking back at him. Your nails drum against the side of your mug, the coffee inside completely gone now. He glances down at it as you make the sound and smiles at the sight of an empty cup.

“I told you I made the best coffee in the universe.”

“Oh, hush. I’ve had better.”

“That’s a lie.”

“How would you know?”

Jungkook leans across the table all the sudden, lips coming dangerously close to yours, and you hardly have time to lean away. He grips your chin between two fingers. Eyes dart over your stunned expression. You see the glint of metal as his tongue pokes out again. Hot breath ghosts over your lips, and you begin to lean in to close the gap, but Jungkook pulls away. He leans back as though nothing happened, the only evidence of his games being the coy smirk stretching across his lips.

“That’s how I know.” He folds his arms over his chest as you let out an indignant huff. “I wanna show you something though.”

“What’s the catch?” You ask, seeing the hesitance in his eyes.

“Well, there is no catch… not necessarily, at least. It depends on what you call a catch.”

“You’re quite the catch, Jeon Jungkook,” you tease. Jungkook coughs on his own saliva before choking out a laugh.

“Not that kind of catch. I need you to ride my motorcycle.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Y/N, what even–”

“I’m joking!”

“What kind of euphemism would that even be?”

“The kinky kind, I don’t know.”

“Oh my god, you’re a mess.”

“I’m a mess? I’m sorry, have you looked in the mirror recently?”

“It’s called looking rugged. The ladies love it.”

“Oh, and what ladies are you trying to impress out here?”

“Well I’m only after one, and I think all I have to do to impress her is flex my chest a bit. She seems a bit fascinated by what’s under my shirt.”

It’s your turn to choke, and you look down at the table as a fit of coughs falls over you. Jungkook all but cackles at your reaction, slapping the table and making the mug quiver under his touch.

“Please,” he says once he recovers from the bout of laughter. “I’ll give you my helmet to make sure you stay safe.”

“Ugh, it seems I have no choice, Mr. Jeon.”

“Oh, Mr. Jeon now? I think I prefer ‘sir’.”

“Shut the fuck up! Oh my–”

“I’m teasing and you know it!”

“You sound like my damn coworker,” you mumble, arms coming to rest over your chest.

“Oh? Seokjin, was it? I think I met him. He had a lot to say about you.” Your expression melts into a frown.

“Please tell me he didn’t mention anything unsavory.”

“Are there unsavory things to mention? Do I sense a secret past, Y/N? Maybe I’ll have to stop by again and ask for more details.”

“No! Nope, not needed. Did I say unsavory? I meant, uh, unsatisfactory. As in… work-related. Unsatisfactory things about my–my work performance.”

“Your work performance. Ah, I see, I see.”

“Haha, yep. You know me. Always worried about my work performance.”

“Oh, of course, you are. Such a diligent worker never wants to be left with unsatisfactory reviews.” Jungkook chuckles, sliding out of the booth to get back to his feet. The gleam in his eyes tells you that you two are not talking about the same thing, and Seokjin most definitely shared more details than necessary when talking with Jungkook.

“Remind me to beat Seokjin up next time I see him,” you groan as you pull yourself to your feet as well. Jungkook merely smiles down at you but doesn’t say anything else. Hesitant fingers reach for yours, bridging the small gap, and he links his fingers through yours. The tips of his ears burn red with embarrassment, or perhaps it’s nerves, and your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as he takes hold of your hand.

“S-Sorry,” he says upon seeing your gaze on your linked hands. He starts to pull away but you stop him by squeezing his hand tighter.

“No, no. It’s okay. I… I’m comfortable with this.” You squeeze his hand a little tighter. The reassurance spurs Jungkook on, and he tugs you towards the door. Cold air hits you in a large gust, but Jungkook keeps moving forward without a care in the world. You let him pull you along until you round the corner, a parking lot coming into view. A motorcycle sits parked next to the curb along with a helmet strapped in place near the handlebars. Without Jungkook telling you, you know who it belongs to, and he confirms it when he brings you closer to it.

“Okay, so it can be a bit scary for first time riders,” he explains, letting go of your hand. He releases the helmet’s straps and holds it in front of him. “All you have to do is sit still and hold on tight. I think you’ll be able to manage both those, right?”

“Yea, yea. Easy. I can do that.” Jungkook smiles at your response and places the helmet atop your head. It slides on with ease, a bit big for you, but seeing as its Jungkook’s helmet, that much makes sense. He locks it in place with the straps then pops the visor open.

“You look cute in my helmet.”

“Shut up,” you mumble.

“It’s the truth though. You look so small and adorable.”

“Hm, do I smell a size kink?”

“Ouch, right through the heart. I can’t deny that though.” You weren’t expecting that answer from him. He turns away too quickly for you to comment on it or even choke out your embarrassment. “Alright, I’m going to get on first. You can climb on as soon as I pop the brake and steady the bike, okay?”

You nod a few times, watching him move carefully. You honestly weren’t that scared of riding the damn thing until now, because watching it wobble under Jungkook’s weight is a bit unsettling for certain, especially seeing as you are about to add to that weight.

“Okay, you can go ahead and get on now.” He motions to the space behind him. You stay rooted to the spot for a moment, unsure of how to approach the motorcycle or even get on. Jungkook notices your hesitation in an instant. He props the brake again and climbs off, moving over to you with a light smile. In one swift movement that has you squealing, he lifts you and places you directly on the back of the bike. He climbs on after making sure that you are securely seated, settling back into the main seat in front of you.

The engine roars to life. The sound causes you to jerk forward, arms folding around Jungkook’s chest in a heartbeat, and you squeeze yourself against him. His chest reverberates as he chuckles. The vibrations send surges of relief through you. You press your head against his muscled back which proves difficult thanks to the helmet shrouding your head, eyes fall shut, and you do your best to focus on the feeling of his warmth rather than the lurching sensation that happens next.

“You’re going to want to hold tighter than that,” Jungkook calls back at you. You do as asked without thinking twice, gripping his body so tight that you fear he may not be able to breathe properly. He seems satisfied with your hold though, and the motorcycle slowly moves. You dare to crack an eye open as the motion speeds up. Even through the haze of the visor, you can see all the cars, people, and buildings whizzing by. Strangely enough, the faster the motorcycle moves, the more secure you feel. Cold air breezes through your hair although Jungkook blocks a majority of the wind. It’s a strangely freeing and relaxing feeling. You would never want to be the driver yourself – that seems like much more stress and anxiety than you could handle – but just riding and enjoying the feeling of the air and world whipping past you is more than enough.

The drive, however, is over before you know it. Within minutes (or what seems like minutes, rather), Jungkook pulls the motorcycle into a new parking lot, swerving into an empty space with ease. He climbs off first, popping the brake before reaching around to help you stand up. Your legs feel a bit like jelly, and they nearly give out upon touching solid ground again. Jungkook holds you up the entire time, helping you undo the clasps of the helmet, and once he slides it off your head, he secures it to the bike as it was before.

You finally take a moment to drink in your new surroundings. A large building looms before you along with a myriad of other buildings all around it. It reminds you a bit of your own apartment complex, and you’re assuming that’s just what this building is too. Which begs the question: why did Jungkook bring you to supposedly his apartment?

A warm hand slips into yours again, and you instinctively grip it tighter, letting Jungkook tug you towards the entrance without any explanation.

The warmth of the inside air is welcome and brings goosebumps across your skin within seconds. There’s barely any time to think about the atrocious interior decorating of the main lobby before Jungkook is pulling you along to a rickety elevator. You vaguely remember him making a comment at some point about how your apartment seemed a lot nicer than his, but honestly, your own building is in the same state as his.

The doors of the elevator ding as they close behind you. Once the two of you are safely inside the confines of the elevator, you dare to turn to Jungkook.

“What is it you wanted to show me?” You ask. Jungkook grips your hand a bit tighter. A smile overtakes his face, top row of teeth glistening as he does.

“You’ll see. My roommate recently moved out so I had to make use of the empty room somehow.”

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival on a new floor, and Jungkook eagerly steps out before the doors are even fully open. You have to jog a bit to keep in pace with him. His much longer legs are taking too many wide strides for you to keep up with, but he comes to a sudden halt moments later. You crash into his back, hand still linked with his, and crush your arms together awkwardly. Jungkook moves with too much enthusiasm to care. He unlocks the door in front of him, pushes it open, and tugs you inside with increased fervor.

“Ta-da!” He announces with a bright voice as he pulls you into a dark room. Releasing your hand, he flips the light switch and allows brightness to illuminate the room. Your jaw falls open at the sight before you.

The walls are lined with old wooden shelves, books back to back on every shelf. There are so many shelves that you can’t even see the wall, and so many books that you can hardly see the back of the shelves.

“Oh my god…” You utter through the shock. It’s like Jungkook’s own little bookstore, a vast collection of books of all sizes and shapes and ages. Some are old with cracking spines and yellowed pages, others newer with paperbacks and dog eared pages. Yet, Jungkook doesn’t seem to want to just show you the room. He tugs on your sleeve, bringing your gaze back to him, and motions to a shelf with his head. You trail after him, unable to keep your stare from wandering to the other shelves in the room.

“This–” he points to a shelf lined with old books “–is where I keep my Lovecraft collection.” You whip your head over to him. “And this…” He lifts a finger to one book in particular. Its spine is familiar, words faded and hard to read from the wear of the years, yet you still know exactly what it is.

“It’s the collection you got from the bookstore.”

“Out of all these books, this one is by far my favorite,” Jungkook says under his breath as his finger trails along the faded words of the spine.

“Why?”

“Easy…” He trails off, pulling his hand away from the shelf. Next thing you know, he’s leaning closer to you. His hands find your hips and guide your steps until your back hits a shelf. “It gave me you.” He pushes his face closer to yours, and you meet him halfway, lips crashing together in a mess of skin and teeth.

It’s a moment of self-gratification for certain; the feel of Jungkook’s lips against yours is like fine wine, and you don’t want to stop drinking. However, it is also more than just self-gratification and lust, because Jungkook kisses you with such passion and fervor that all your thoughts leave your head. He slots his lips against yours in a way that feels like home, something comfortable and warm and perfect in so many ways. It feels different than the first time you kissed him in the bookstore. That was a heat of the moment lust but this seems more romantic in a way. You have never been one for cheesy nuances or being a hopeless romantic, yet the way Jungkook is kissing you is dispelling all your previous uncertainties with the simple action.

You fold your arms around his neck and pull him in closer and closer until his chest crashes against yours. The two of you move with haste, gripping and tugging at each as though your lives depend on it even though you have all the time in the world. His hands slide across your hips to cup the curve of your ass. He hoists you up with a small grunt, lips parting as he lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist to secure yourself.

“W-Wait,” Jungkook huffs against your lips, pulling back to look you in the eye. “I wanna… I wanna get it right.”

“You will,” you reassure. With a gentle touch, you trail your fingers along his jaw and trace the line of his lips, moist from saliva. Jungkook shivers under you then leans into the gentle tracings of his features.

“Bedroom,” he mutters after a moment of reveling in your touch. “I want you in the bedroom.”

“Perfect,” you whisper against his lips. “I want you to take me in the bedroom.” Jungkook groans at your words and pulls you away from the shelf. You prepare to hit the ground, but Jungkook keeps you flush against him, walking out of the room as though you weigh nothing. You don’t have any more time to think about that though because his soft lips find yours again and pull you out of your thoughts.

Your first roadblock hits when Jungkook reaches his bedroom door. He fumbles for the handle, struggling to get to it with you so securely in his hold, but after a string of muttered curses, he manages to push it open. Within seconds, you find yourself flat against a mattress, Jungkook’s warm lips still hovering over yours. You detach from each other only to scramble further back on the bed, and Jungkook leans away to peel the turtleneck clinging to his body off his skin.

You drink in the sight before you, Jungkook’s bare skin heaven to your eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the room, his skin seems to glisten, a honey-toned glow across his chest, and the small glint of his piercings entices you to reach out and brush your fingers across them. Jungkook twitches under the touch, leaning in to capture your lips with his yet again. His own fingers tug at the hem of your t-shirt, and you let him pull it up over your head, exposing the plain black bra underneath. It’s a sight Jungkook has seen before but he looks just as enamored as he was the first time he saw you like this.

He moves slower this time, gentle and hesitant in the way he reaches around you to spring the clasp loose, and his fingers barely brush your skin as he slips the straps off and tosses the bra aside. Rather than driving straight in, Jungkook stays up for a minute and fumbles with the button of his black jeans. He tugs them down, bulge already evident through his underwear, and tosses them to the side along with your bra. You add your pants to the fray as well, tugging them down as best you can, and when they get stuck around your ankles, Jungkook helps you kick them off.

He finally dips back down to join your lips again, chest warm against yours. Your groins brush as he scoots closer to you, and you wrap your legs around his waist again. Fingers find his ombre locks and sink into them, tugging and pulling as he pushes his tongue between your lips. Fire burns in your gut. You’ve waited months to have this opportunity again but it feels so different this time, so much more special and meaningful, and perhaps for once you honestly and truly believe that the man in your arms is your soulmate.

Jungkook tugs the band of your underwear down, wasting no time in getting to business, and frankly, you are quite thankful for it. Your folds are already dripping with threads of arousal. Jungkook releases a low groan as he brushes through the dampness between your legs. One finger slips into your heat, and it draws a high-pitched whine from your throat. Your hips buck against his hand in attempts to increases the friction, but Jungkook uses his other hand to hold you in place.

“C-Can I–would you be alright with me ch-choking you?” Jungkook stammers out, chest heaving. All of the sudden, he seems shy again, the same nervous boy you met on the train. Rather than answering with words, you take hold of his wrist and tug his hand up to the column of your throat with a small nod of your head. His grip remains hesitant as you let your hand fall away from his, but as you grind your hips against his finger again, he gains confidence. With a light squeeze to your throat, he pushes a second finger into your tight heat. The lethargic speed he’s moving at only causes your pleasure to spiral further out of control, desperate for him to pick up the pace and fuck you into next week.

“P-Please go faster, Jungkook. Please hurry up. I need you. I need your cock,” you plea as you bat your eyelashes, hoping to have some sort of effect on him. However, rather than giving in to your desires, he squeezes your throat a bit more, just enough pressure to push your pleasure over the edge, and his fingers crook inside you. A choked moan leaves your lips, and Jungkook eats it up, lips slotting over yours as he slowly fucks his fingers into you.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more patient than that if you want my cock,” he hisses against your lips. Leaning back, he redirects his attention back to your throbbing core and pulls his hand away from your throat to deliver a light slap to your swollen clit. You thrash under the contact, another whine rushing from your mouth. “Last I remember, you were worried about my cock not fitting in your tight little cunt.” The words are foul, but they sound even more foul coming from Jungkook’s lips. As he sees the pleasure radiating off of you in waves, his confidence grows, and you can clearly see – and feel it – in the way he scissors you open at a new angle.

The pads of his fingers brush against your sweet spot with each thrust, just the right length to be teasing it when he crooks his fingers, and you shake under him. You can taste the orgasm mounting, you want it, need it, but Jungkook keeps dashing past that spot as you get more desperate. Another light slap comes down against your clit, and you nearly cum right then.

“Ju-Jungkook, ple–please. Please, oh god, let me cum. May I please cum?” You beg, writhing under Jungkook’s teasing touch. His eyes refuse to leave your sopping pussy though, so you persist and try to bring his attention back to you. “Sir. Sir. Please, sir.” His eyes snap up to meet yours the moment you use the title, pupils widening, and his dick twitches against your thigh.

“Go ahead and cum then, baby girl,” he says with a growing smirk.

A third finger squeezes into your heat, brushing against your tight walls, and you subconsciously clench around him. Jungkook groans as you do, fucking his fingers into you a bit faster now. Your orgasm rushes forward, spurred on by one final slap to your clit, and with a cry of pleasure, you cum around his fingers. Jungkook uses his free hand to take hold of one of your hands, squeezing your fingers between his as he guides you through the orgasm.

“Good girl, good girl,” he mutters against the inside of your thigh. He presses a series of kisses against the skin there before nipping at it and replacing the soft pecks with small bites and marks. You come down from your high relatively quickly, although it’s probably only because of the promise of him fucking you for real soon. Jungkook pulls back, eyes raking over your sweat-drenched form, and he climbs off the bed to pull his own underwear down. You start to sit up, reaching out for his throbbing cock, but he stops you by climb back on top of you.

“B-But I wanna ma-make you cum first,” you mutter as he cages you in with his arms.

“And you will,” he reassures, small smirk toying at the corner of his lips. “Because I guarantee that the second I see my cock inside you, I will be ready to cum right then and there.”

“Then hurry up and fuck me,” you whine. Jungkook chuckles at your impatience and presses a chaste kiss against your temple where beads of sweat are starting to form. His left hand takes hold of your right, fingers slipping between yours and interlocking there, while his right one slowly guides his member towards your drenched folds. He moves slow for you, pushing just the tip in at first and letting you shift on the bed to get more comfortable. Then when you give him another nod of approval, he pushes deeper and deeper until he’s buried to the hilt in you. His cock twitches inside you, the stretch an unimaginable pain that you’ve never experienced before, so much more than any other time you’ve had sex in the past.

The two of you stay like that for a few minutes, deep breaths causing your chest to heave as you grow accustomed to the stretch of his cock, but as more time passes, you grow needy for him to move.

“Can… can you please fuck me now?” You ask, lips right next to Jungkook’s ear, and his hips jolt upon hearing the words. Your words are permission enough for him. He sits back a bit, fingers close around your hips, and he pulls out to give an experimental thrust back into you. A loud moan leaves your lips as he moves. He takes it as encouragement to keep going, building up a steady pace with his thrusts. His cock seems to hit deeper with each thrust, filling you up in the best way possible. You reach around to grip him by the hair and tug him closer to your face. Your teeth clash before your lips do, tongues intertwine in a fight for dominance, and he groans with each pull you give to his long locks. There’s no time for talking, not that either of you could try to speak in the first place because all you can manage are grunts and moans for the time being.

Jungkook slides a hand down your stomach, hesitating over your abdomen for a moment before slipping between your legs to tease at your clit. The added stimulation draws louder noises out of you and spurs your orgasm to approach faster. His thrusts are beginning to stutter a bit, so you know he much be close as well.

“…want you to cum with me,” he grunts against your jaw. That decorated tongue of his teases a path down to the juncture of your throat, sucking dark marks against your skin. His fingers work faster, hips speed up, and your orgasm crashes over you as he gives one last thrust. Warmth fills you, and you rake your nails across his back as your orgasm continues.

You don’t know how long you lay there, spent and exhausted from the sex, but warm and comfortable, still filled with his softening cock and cum. Sometime later, Jungkook pushes himself up, and your chests nearly stick together because of the layer of sweat covering your bodies. He slowly pulls his cock out of you. The sudden coldness is unwelcome, but Jungkook peppers your thighs with kisses, murmuring soft praises against your skin as he does, and that causes your heart to swell with a foreign emotion.

“I’ll get a warm towel for you then run some water for a shower, okay?” Jungkook says as he climbs off the bed. You nod in approval, still too spent to try to move. That strange warmth in your chest doesn’t leave, even after Jungkook heads into what must be his bathroom. You bring a shaky hand to hover over your chest as though it’ll give some explanation as to what you’re feeling.

“Jungkook?” You call out. He reappears in the room a moment later, a fresh set of pants on, and rushes to the bedside.

“Are you alright?” He asks, worry coating his tone.

“Y-Yea, I just… I just had a question.”

“Oh okay, ask away.”

“Wha–What are soulmates?” You ask without looking at him. Tears prick the corner of your eyes and you can’t figure out why until Jungkook gives his answer.

“Soulmates are… people who find each other in every life, no matter the obstacle.”

“Ah,” you exhale. “That’s all I wanted to ask.” He nods down at you, eyes still full of concern even as he steps away. You take the time to sit up straight, pulling a blanket from the foot of the bed to wrap around your naked body, and climb off the bed on shaky legs.

A soulmate is someone you never knew you needed, yet once they come into your life, you know you can’t live without them.

Perhaps it is a day full of revelations because as you watch the man work in the next room, drinking in all that’s happened in such a short period of time, you think you finally understand what soulmates are. And, maybe after all, you understand what fate is meant to be. Despite her moments of cruelty, you somehow found Jungkook. That’s enough for you.

“Jungkook…” He turns to where you stand in the doorframe of the bathroom, eyes wide in question. “What are we?”

His expression softens upon hearing the question.

“Soulmates,” he answers, matching your quiet tone. “Y/N L/N, we’re soulmates.”

☽ ☾

a/n: oKAy hi hello you made it to the end!!! wow!! i’m sorry this is so long deadass it was supposed to just be a drabble and now look where we are this is awko and longo well anyways please give me feedback and let me know what you think!! please don’t just like and reblog without saying anything, please send in feedback on the story, my writing, anything, i live for feedback and it helps me become a better writer!

rather than sending me a ko-fi, i ask that you consider donating to the BLM movement!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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star-killer-md · 4 years ago

Text

Actus Reus, Mens Rea

@contesa-lui-alucard asked:

Hey hey happy sleepover my friend!! If it’s alright with you, I have two prompts from the Smut list that I’d love to see you combine for... mob Kylo and lawyer reader! Oh snap!! 15 & 37, if you please. If not, no worries, I still hope you have an awesome sleepover 😁 (“Make it hurt, baby.” + “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.”)

Anon asked:

hello, may i request clingy/possessive kylo,, thank you

Thank you lovlies for your requests and sorry from the bottom of my depressed ass heart that it took me so fucking long. Anyway here ya go, hope you enjoy some mobster Kylo deliciousness. I’m so excited you liked him Contesa, and I hope you’re into it as well too nonny! Sorry it got long, I truly have no control over that.

And thank you so much to @sacklersdoll for reading over this for me!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: Angst (its me), Smut (its me), mentions of predator/prey dynamic (mostly as metaphor), possessive Kylo Ren, semi-public sex, no pronouns for the reader by they are afab, dominant Kylo Ren, some brat vibes, Kylo Ren is not nice, allusions to guns, some sorta stalking behavior

Ship: Mob Boss!Kylo Ren x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: You’ve started to take on some pro bono clients as a favor to a friend and Kylo Ren is Not A Fan™ of all the attention this guy has been paying you. After a few months of consulting on the side, you’re beginning to wonder if life working for a mob boss is something you’re really cut out for. Though you quickly learn that you very well may have passed the point of no return when Kylo shows up at your office to remind you just who exactly you work for.

“I really can’t thank you enough.”

You shook the woman’s hands and returned her smile. Her son stayed quiet, looking at the ground, but mumbled his thanks as well. He was a good kid. Just pissed off the wrong neighbor. One of those ‘get off my lawn,’ ‘good ole American dream’ types who thought welfare was a sign of the devil, and had it out for everyone in the lower tax brackets.

“Really, it’s no problem,” you walked them to the door, leaving her your business card. “I’ll see you both at the courthouse on Monday.”

Evan was waiting in your office when you returned. His patent leather shoes rested precariously on the corner of your desk and you knocked them off with a huff.

“See you’ve made yourself at home,” you said, crossing your arms and staring down at him in your chair.

He shrugged and stood under your scrutiny, moving around to take the seat across from you. Evan Goodman was an old friend from undergrad. You often got the impression he was still that same cocky frat boy in the head. Still flashed the ‘my daddy has more money than you’ smile on occasion when he really wanted to get under your skin. With his slicked back hair, unnervingly straight teeth, and his annoying prosperity despite never putting in much effort it was somewhat shocking the two still spoke. He was simply not the type of person who had ever needed to try. Success came naturally to him, and much to your dismay.

“What can I say? You’re a very gracious host,” he mused and leaned forward on the desk. “So, how did it go?”

You sighed, “They’ll be alright, might get saddled with a fine but the charges aren’t that serious.”

“Good, Rosa’s an old friend. I would have helped her out myself, but not really my deal ya know?”

“Yeah, Mr. Tax Attorney, I get it.”

Evan was kind of a dick, but he was also the kind of friend who would sit on the bathroom floor with you, hold your hair back and sing horrendous parody versions of ABBA no matter who heard. So you couldn’t hate him entirely. That also meant that when he came to you with cases like this, a favor for a friend or whatever the situation may be, you had a hard time refusing.

It was also a convenient front for you not-so-legal legal work you’d been invested in for the past few months.

“Seriously, I know I’ve been asking a lot of you recently,” he flashed you that god awful grin and kicked his feet up again. “You can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”

He had been coming to you for pro bono work with increasing frequency, especially over the past month or so, but again, you didn’t wholly mind it. You went into this kind of work for a reason. Though, you were starting to get the feeling that a certain, brooding, less than lawfully abiding businessman did not feel the same.

Kylo Ren dealt frequently with the shady, black market underbelly of capitalist society, but you were less accustomed to his world and not completely ready to throw yourself to the hounds just yet.

You had already missed more than a few meetings and canceled on dinner tonight to meet with Rosa. To be fair, it wasn’t as if he’d made any indication this ill-defined whatever-it-was going on between the two of you was anything serious. And you were only his consultant, for now, so this took precedent anyway. At least that’s what you tried to convince yourself of. Definitely not a way to avoid thinking about fucking your boss who also happened to be in with the mob.

Definitely not.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to help if I couldn’t manage it,” you yawned softly and stood to collect your things.

It was late and you were beginning to fantasize about how soft and warm your sheets would be. If you got back in time you could pop them in the dryer and get in an episode or two before bed.

“Hey, let me at least buy you dinner or something since I kept you out so late,” Evan parked his skinny frame in your path to the doorway.

“You’re going to apologize for keeping me out late, by keeping me out even later?”

“Do you want free food or not?”

Pursing your lips, you stared at him for a few moments. He really did know all your weaknesses. You had skipped out on meeting with Mr. Ren—or Kylo or sir or whatever the hell you were supposed to call him now—already tonight, however, Evan was sure to take you somewhere nice and it wouldn’t be so morally repugnant if it was just as a ‘thank you….’

“Okay, fine,” you conceded and let him lead you out to the parking garage, locking the office up behind you.

***

The next morning you stumbled past reception in a haze. Both from lack of sleep, and the bitingly cold winds battering your building despite the neighboring high rises blocking the brunt of the gale. The young woman at the desk informed you tersely that a Mr. Goodman was already waiting for you in your office and that you should really get here on time if you were expecting clients this early.

You agreed that, yes you probably should but, you know, “trains and all that mess,” and tried not to judge her too harshly. After all, she was the barrier between you and the hundreds of calls this place received daily.

Before slipping through the door with your name plate, you hung your coat on the rack and switched your phone on. It’d died on you last night amidst the allure of fancy, late night dinner and your sleep deprivation riddled brain had not cared enough to plug it in before bed. Fuck Amazon, but thank god for its speedy delivery of portable charges.

You chewed your lip as the lock screen came to life. One missed call and a text. Both, of course from the most anxiety inducing sender, Kylo Ren. Because why would it be anyone else? His name menacing even typed out in standard black font.

The text read:

Meet me at 8am.

It was very much like him—a command with punctuation and absolutely no details. The message receipt showed it was sent two hours ago, and it was already half past eight. Shit. Your fingers shook as you pulled up his contact and called. Every interaction left you coursing with adrenaline. Even now, miles away listening to the dial tone was nerve-wracking. Your heart pounded, hands slick in their grip on your phone. Maybe it was because you were never sure where you stood with him. Maybe it was because he was handsome and he knew it. Strong and he knew it. Intimidating and mysterious and closer in some ways to a Greek god than a man. He was all encompassing, and filled every available space in any room he occupied.

Sometimes you thought you might choke on his presence.

It rang once, twice, three times before cutting out completely. You stared down at the blank screen, biting your lip and shooting off a quick text. You were sorry, something important had come up, you would meet him the second it was convenient.

Evan slapped you heartily on the back when you came into the room. He was holding a bouquet of flowers, evergreen with small white blossoms.

“So, how many hours did you manage last night?” he asked, smiling his shit eating smile and seemingly unaffected despite the fact that he had to be running on just as little sleep as you.

“I’m not even sure at this point,” you groaned as you tossed your bags down behind the little metal desk. “Time ceases to exist when you take trains past midnight.”

“Fair enough. Hey look,” Evan waved the greenery in your face, “courtesy of Rosa’s shop. She insisted I bring you something as thanks. I figured you could put them out in the front or something to brighten things up.”

“They’re lovely. Please tell me you’re only here as a glorified delivery boy.”

His shoulders slumped at your lack of amusement, but before he could quip back the landline in your office rang. You answered, holding a finger towards Evan and leaning against the edge of the desk. It was the receptionist, Jess was her name? Maybe? You could never remember, someone else always addressed the holiday gift cards anyway.

“There’s someone here to see you at the front desk,” she clipped, almost more exasperated than before.

You told her you’d be right there and hung up. Evan grabbed his coat as you headed out, holding the door for you and following into the hall.

“I’ll leave you to it if you’re busy, but give me a call after Monday and tell me how it goes,” he continued rambling as you came out into the front.

You had a smart comeback prepared, something about how simple the case was, he should have more faith in you, he was the reason you were busy in the first place, etc…but every word turned to ashes on your tongue when you saw him.

Kylo Ren, standing right there at the desk and glaring at your receptionist. His suit was dark blue and ironed to perfection. Each leg was creased perfectly down the front and the jacket sat flawlessly on his wide set shoulders. He was a wall of unimaginably expensive fabric and what looked concerning like barely contained rage. You could see it in the twitch of his eye, the set of his jaw, and in the way his gaze landed on you the second you walked in.

The way a predator immediately hones in on its prey.

You froze just feet from him in the lobby, floundering like a fish on a hook.

Evan, for his part, seemed not to notice the tension at all and continued to say his long winded goodbyes, placing the flowers in your hands and completely unaware of the slow, measured tightening of Kylo’s massive hands into fists at his side.

“I’m free on Monday evening so we should—”

“She’ll be busy.”

Evan frowned, turning to face the man standing before him, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Kylo’s voice was a dark thing, low and rumbling, “She will be otherwise occupied.”

His words were punctuated by a step towards you, one paw of a hand easily gripping your entire jaw. Lucky he did too, otherwise it would have dropped straight to the floor when he shot one last cobra strike glare in Evan’s direction, and pressed his mouth to yours. Right there. In the lobby. For everyone to see.

The absolute bastard.

His lips were pillow plump and softer than the silk lining of his suit—and even through the surge of shock and embarrassment and more than a touch of anger—you felt your heart throb at the way he licked into your mouth.

The flowers tumbled from your hands onto the floor as everything in you went limp under his touch. This was nowhere near the first time you’d tasted him, but it was like this every time. Like drinking ambrosia. An otherworldly experience.

But that didn’t stop the sharp pain of his crushing grip on your arm, the way he nearly lifted your feet off the floor when he pulled away to drag along behind him. You could hear Evan spluttering in the hall behind you, the receptionist going back to clacking at her keyboard as if nothing had happened.

When Kylo opened your office door he just about threw you inside. You tripped as he tipped you in, stumbling and catching yourself on the edge of your desk. The power behind his hand alone was undeniable. You shuddered at the thought of the array of purple fingerprints he would leave behind. It made your mouth dry and your heart sink. Confusing and delicious.

And left you seething nonetheless.

“What the fuck was that?!” you were not calm, so you didn’t attempt any semblance of it.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said, level as he always was.

The quiet before the storm and all that.

“About the meeting? I tried to call, my phone died—”

“Because you were out catching trains at all hours of the night, I’m aware.”

You paused, glaring at the wall of muscle between you and the door, “How did you know that?”

“So you’re not denying it?”

Kylo stalked towards you like a beast in his tailored suit and polished leather shoes like talons. You could hear your heartbeat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. Just like a rabbit in the sightline of a hawk, you were clearly being hunted.

“Why would I deny something I’m not trying to hide?” your voice came out horse as he caged you between the desk and his chest, arms on either side to block any route of escape.

“No you are certainly not adept at subtlety,” he said and you couldn’t take your eyes off the way his tongue moved behind his teeth. “This is the fifth time that idiot in the hall has distracted you from work.”

“That’s not an answer,” you tried to spit the words but his eyes were boring into you. The honey of them spilled down your spine and made you shiver. “How did you know? You are not entitled to any information pertaining to my personal life, regardless.”

“Watch your mouth,” he growled. “Entitlement has no part in this.”

You were entering dangerous territory, though stopping curiously did not occur to you.

“I don’t think you have the right to be throwing out commands right now, not after that display.”

“Have you forgotten who you work for?” Kylo hissed at you, hands wrapped around the metal of your desk so hard you thought it might warp under his fingers.

“Of course not,” you desperately tried to keep your voice down lest anyone get even more a spectacle.

“Then what is this?” one hand left the desk and pulled a phone from inside his jacket.

The screen lit up, and you looked in horror at pictures of yourself. Pictures of yourself from last night. Pictures of yourself from last night at dinner with Evan, interspersed with shots of you crossing the street, waiting on the train platform, and stumbling back into your apartment. Each was clearer than you’d expected, presumably from some insanely expensive surveillance equipment. You had been out for hours, and you had been watched the whole time.

You narrowed your eyes, flicking back and forth between Kylo’s face—the graceful bridge of his nose pointed down at you—and gaped.

“You had me followed…” you breathed the words into the slowly shrinking space between your bodies.

He simply nodded, as if, somehow, you were foolish for not having considered this before. Perhaps you were. Perhaps you had no idea what you had gotten yourself into. Perhaps you had signed on for much more than a paycheck when you agreed to work for Kylo Ren.

“I can’t have my employees getting distracted.”

Kylo slowly drifted ever closer, shoulders bent so he was eye level with you. He pressed further into the desk, pinning you between his body and the hard surface that bit into your ass. Something long and thick and hard nudged your thigh.

“I don’t know why you though having me followed was necessary—”

“You’re an arrogant little slut who needs to be reminded of your priorities,” his hand snatched your leg and wrenched it open so he could stand between them, “ I am not something you do on the side.”

You could hear the way his teeth grit out the words, the way they formed as a growl deep in his beast’s throat. The hand still settled on the desk, skimmed up your hip and chest, his fingers

biting into your jaw.

“Do you understand me?”

Your lips were shut tight in a thin line, eyes wide and staring up like the prey you were. The silence only provoked him more. Snarling, two thick fingers wrenched your mouth open, pressing hard on your tongue and making you gag around them.

“Answer.”

Kylo Ren almost always spoke in commands. Having power did that to people, and rarely did it ever compel you, but his words sunk deep into your bones. Dredged up some dark, instinctual need to obey. To submit to this show of control.

“Yes,” you mumbled around his fingers in your mouth, drool slipping past your lips when they moved.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

You watched him suck his teeth, grabbing your face tighter and dragging you close so he could spit directly into your open mouth. He slammed your jaw shut, nearly taking off the tip of your tongue and hissed into your ear.

“Swallow.”

Again, you did without a thought. And it was disgusting, but invigorating, sent off some spark in your stomach with how easily he bent your body to his will. There was no man like him, you decided. And maybe this was simply because Kylo Ren was not a man. That term alone would never do him justice.

In one shockingly smooth motion, you found yourself flat on your back, ass hanging off the edge of the desk with his hands on your hips. He ground himself against you, the throbbing of his cock evident even through the layers of clothing. That feeling on its own had you soaked through, thighs sticking with liquid excitement.

“Remember who you work for,” he growled into your neck, licking a long stripe up your throat and sucking at the exposed skin.

But it was very clear to you what he really meant.

Remember who you belong to.

You slapped a hand over your mouth as he bit down on the skin just above your shoulder, laving his tongue over the stinging flesh. Kylo pulled back, frowning down at you and yanking the hand away from your face. One held both your wrists in a vice lock while the other ripped your panties straight down your legs and left the dripping fabric discarded on the carpet.

“No, they’re going to hear you,” he grunted, and pulled one of your hands down, pressing it to your slit and running your fingers through your slick. “Go on, touch your fucking pussy and let them know what a little whore you are for me.”

It was something about his voice. Something in the way it left him, its timbre, its wonder, unquestioning. You could never refuse him.

So, with a small nod you parted your folds, head resting on a stack of files as you drew slow circles around your clit with a shaky hand. His eyes never left your cunt, tracing the movement of your finger and the trail of wetness that seeped from you to the desktop. Softly, you gasped as the familiar placement of your fingers made you clench and arch up. Kylo’s rubbed small circles into your inner thighs with his thumbs, kneading the flesh there.

When the spark was there, the lovely pulsing in your nerves alight, you dipped down, teasing and slipping inside, grinding down as best you could on your hand. It wasn’t enough, but nothing ever was since you’d been ripped open on Kylo’s cock.

Evidently he did not find your work sufficient either.

Another finger joined yours, stroking your lips and circling your entrance. His touch made you whine, the promise of hands that were not your own never ceasing to illicit a new gush of pleasure.

“I said,” he murmured, his touch so terribly feather light. “Let them hear you.”

He was like a gunshot, sudden and forceful and almost instantly had you screaming. Kylo slammed his fingers into you, so full and so deep, curling hard against that lovely spot inside.

“Kylo, god, please—” you moaned long and low, your face burning with the knowledge that the walls were barely thick enough to keep your phone calls private, much less the shameful noises he pulled from you.

“What was that?” he panted, adding another finger and pumping them deep into your cunt. “You can do better.”

Your teeth dug so hard into your lip you thought it might bleed, but you couldn’t take much more. The ledge was approaching—Kylo Ren knew it—and he was determined to push you straight into the fire.

You choked when his deliciously thick fingers were ripped from you, walls fluttering around the awful emptiness. Your head lolled back as you listened to him work the buckle of his belt and slacks open, and when you did glance down your mouth watered at the sight. Kylo—impossibly long cock throbbing in his hand—stood between your legs, stroking himself from root to tip. You watched little pearls of precum bead at the head while his thumb swiped across to smear them along his length.

“You are insane,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

Did you need to keep this position? No, technically you would be more than well off on the salary Mr. Ren so graciously provided. However, you could not mentally deal with being terminated for getting dicked in your office during work hours.

Kylo smirked, the edge of his perfect cupid’s bow cocked back and aimed straight at your chest. Without warning, he sunk into you, straight to the hilt and threw his head back as you sobbed with the sharp sting of being split in two on his cock.

“This is what you do,” he growled into your ear, hands on either side of your head as he worked his length back out only to pound into you again. “You work for me and you take my cock and don’t ever fucking forget that.”

Your legs were wound so tightly around his waist that had he been any other man, his ribs would have cracked under the pressure. His hair, falling in black, satin waves, was gorgeous even in the sterile office lighting. You threaded your fingers into it at the roots and held him while your body rocked against the desk. It’s metal surface pinched at your sink and made your back ache, though that was nothing compared to the burn of Kylo’s thrusts, sliding against your walls. You felt him in your throat. You always did. That was simply the way things were with him. He filled you painfully, thoroughly, took over all of your senses until it was just him.

And, strangely, it was the most alive you’d ever felt.

He was unlike anyone you’d ever known.

You couldn’t scream for him, but you could still let him taste the desperation, the willingness in your body to mold against him. So you kissed him, dragged him by the hair to meet your lips and licked past his teeth, gasping and moaning on his tongue as you sucked it hard and cried into his mouth.

And he drank you down, picking up a punishing rhythm and breaking blood vessels where his hands gripped your hips. One drifted lower, thumb pressing down hard on your clit as your cunt clenched around his length. The desk was lifting off the ground with every thrust, the room filled with the wet sounds of your bodies and you were quickly melting under him.

Warmth was spreading, growing, building out from your pussy, igniting in your veins. He was right. This is what you did. This is what he did to you. This toe curling, lip biting, bone shattering kind of pleasure.

Oh you were so royally fucked.

“I—oh shit—Kylo I’m,” you pulled back just enough to pant out a warning before the wave took you.

So hot, it washed over your skin and made your legs shake and your hands leave his hair to dig your nails into his chest through the crisp white button down he wore.

“Feel that?” he grunted as you convulsed and shuddered under him, “Feel how this pussy was made for me.”

You nodded, buried your face in his neck and held on as he worked you through your climax and straight into his own. Once, twice he ground his cock deep in you, feeling how tight you were around him until he was spent and spilling hot, thick ropes of cum that coated your walls and dripped out around his length.

He panted, lazily rolling his hips, fucking you slowly until finally, he came to a halt with his softening cock still sheathed inside you. Seconds past, or maybe hours, you couldn’t tell. Kylo tended to have that effect on you. Time slipped away so easily in his presence, like there was never enough of it.

When he did pull away, you stayed with your back firmly planted amidst the mess of scattered paperwork and manila envelopes. He rose to his full, towering height and tucked himself away, straightening the wrinkles in his suit and eyeing you only once from the side. You admired his profile, you never understood until now what the meaning of the word “regal” truly was.

Under the dictionary definition, his picture surely would be there, staring at you down the bridge of his marble carved nose.

You sat up on your elbows as he stalked towards the door.

“Was that all you came for?”

Kylo paused, broad back still facing you and leaving the room feeling irrevocably empty with just the intention of his absence.

“We’ll reschedule for five tonight,” he said, filling the door frame completely. “Don’t be late.”

The door clicked shut behind him and the sound of it made you collapse back onto the desktop. You laid there for a moment, leaking your combined spend and aching. The throb of him settled in your muscles and festered. But the worst part was the other ache, the pain of being without. And maybe you had been a bit avoidant. Maybe this work really was so you didn’t have to see him. Because if you saw him you’d end up fucking him—which was fine, which was good, which was great actually—but then he would leave. And you couldn’t decide which wanting was worse. The wanting before or the wanting after.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

You had more important things to think about anyway. Like securing the receptionist an incredibly large holiday bonus, assuming you still had a job here at the end of the day.

Maybe that didn’t matter either.

It might be high time you made a commitment to whatever the hell kind of mess you’d stumbled into. Kylo Ren was an enigma in the best kind of way. Maybe you should stop running from it.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren smut #mob!kylo ren #lawyer!reader #dr. b writes #requests #adcu fanfic

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morwensteelsheen · 3 years ago

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I struggle with figuring out what the expectations are for aristocratic marriage in Gondor and Rohan. One thing I’ve toyed about with in my head is treating LOTR as not just unreliably narrated, but as super unreliably narrated, and taking ‘the Steward and the King’ not as gospel, but essentially as a bit of PR/marketing. Because wow, isn’t it really, really convenient that the Steward of Gondor/second most powerful man in the realm gets married to the most powerful woman of the Riddermark, Gondor’s closest ally? Isn’t that a little too convenient? What if Frodo just copies down the press release given to him by Faramir and instead of being this stunning high romance, he and Éowyn are basically just a run-of-the-mill political marriage?

(Obviously I don’t believe this fully, but it is an interesting thought.)

Here’s where it becomes harder to justify though, and here’s why I’m really confused about how marriage works for both Gondor and Rohan’s nobility.

If political marriage were a thing in either of them, it stands to reason that it’s quite strange that neither Boromir nor Théodred are married with kids. The appendices say that Denethor ‘married late’ for having married Finduilas when he was forty-six, but when Boromir dies he’s forty-one. So he’s not far off at all. Théodred is the same age as Boromir, and we know that Théoden was married to Elfhild at least by the time that he was thirty, though he probably married her before that. So Théodred’s really late.

So not only do neither of the heirs have kids, they’re not even married. Even if they didn’t have kids, you would think that, if political marriages were the norm, they’d be shipped off post-haste, right? Dol Amroth was secured in its loyalty to MT through Denethor marrying Finduilas (and obviously the whole happy go luck proto-nationalism shit that’s going on), and it seems like the rest of the major provinces are mostly in line, so why not use a marriage to secure the alliance with the Mark? I would have Boromir married off to Éowyn ASAP since there are no women to marry off to Théodred. But the fact that that doesn’t happen is interesting, I think. And also really complicates my HC that Éomer/Lothíriel is mostly a political thing, tbh.

It’s all even more interesting in light of Faramir’s line in TTT where he’s explaining why the Kings of Gondor fell apart:

Childless lords sat in aged halls musing on heraldry...

Because, like, buddy, you are a childless lord sitting in an aged hall. And not only that, but since his brother was unmarried and childless before his death, he was probably always going to become the Steward at some point anyways, even if only briefly. So it’s not like he gets to claim amnesty via spare-status, because until the moment Boromir had kids (which he never did), he was constantly in secondary heir mode. So??? why wasn’t Faramir married off either? My dude was THIRTY-SIX during the war. He could’ve had fuckin hunners of kids by that point, but you’re telling me everyone was just gucci with him maintaining bachelor status?

Also, Faramir pointing it out does have the effect of politicising marriage somewhat. We know that Faramir’s somewhat out of step politically with the rest of Gondor, at least that in he appears to be very, very obsessed with bringing back the Númenor stuff and criticising Gondor over the last five hundred or so years. So if he’s diagnosed this childless lords problem as a problem that led to Gondor’s decay, he’s probably doing it because others don’t really see it that way. ‘Others’ here could be either Boromir (see the bottom of this post) or it could be Gondorians generally, we can’t know. Either way, Lord Faramir, thirty-six years old and unmarried, seems to think that lords not ensuring there were heirs to their houses was a problem. That contradiction/incidental hypocrisy is noteworthy!

I’ve typically taken this in my fics as an indication that the war was quite an intense and cataclysmic thing even before the official War of the Ring starts, and that all of these guys are way, way too busy dealing with that to consider marrying, but that opens up the question — when did things get so dire that securing the future of the ruling houses got deprioritised? Sauron openly declared himself in TA2951, but twenty-six-ish years later both Denethor and Théoden get married, so marriage is still at play in ~TA2976. Not a huge amount happens between 2976 and 3018 in explicit canon. We know that Elrond recalls Arwen from Lórien in 3009 because everything east of the Misty Mountains is becoming dangerous. By this time Boromir and Théodred are 31 and Faramir is 26, which made me wonder if it would be reasonable to have expected any of them to be married at that point. I did some quick math to see how old the title-holders were when they were married, stopping at the fifth generation back to accommodate Thorondir, who was the first Steward to not crack a century of life. Here’s what I’ve got:

(Where an actual wedding year wasn’t given, I based it on the year their eldest child was born.)

(Worth noting that Denethor’s not that much older than Ecthelion likely was when he married, so the ‘married old’ remark could instead be a reference to when Gondorians got married generally, not specifically to the Númenórean lot.)

There’s a chance all these guys got married way, way earlier and just spent ages childless, but… I sort of doubt that. Also I’m doing this based on what I can access from my laptop, so both HoME and PoME might contradict me or give more specific dates. If that’s the case — sorry!

It is interesting that if we accept HoME’s dating of Faramir and Éowyn’s wedding as TA3020 as canon, then Faramir (married at 37) is actually younger than the average for the previous five generations of Stewards. So is Éomer, because by marrying Lothíriel in 3021 he’s actually just getting in early by a a year or so.

Regardless, it makes statistical sense that neither Boromir nor Faramir are married by 3009, though Théodred is sort of pushing it. Certainly by 3018 when he dies he’s really taking the piss, but Boromir is still sort of in the clear (but getting up there), and Faramir’s kind of fine.

We know, at least, that there’s a canonical acknowledgement of Boromir’s bachelor status, per Appendix A:

Rather he was a man after the sort of King Eärnur of old, taking no wife and delighting chiefly in arms.

No accounting for Théodred, though based on Faramir’s bitching about Rohan and Gondor becoming more alike, you could probably chalk it up to the same thing as Boromir. I note, however, that Théodred’s need is slightly more urgent because in absence of an heir from Théodred, the throne would then pass to Éomer. I think we might reasonably assume that he wouldn’t have a problem with this (Théoden might have, given how effective Wormtongue’s manoeuvring was), but we can’t know for certain.

Worth pointing out as well that Elphir’s son Alphros is born in 3017, so it’s not like nobody is getting it on.

I was interested in what the numbers for the ladies would look like, and obviously this is complicated by the fact that there’s like twenty named human women and even fewer with birth dates/marriage dates, but here’s what the table looks like:

(Because so many of the women we know of are women who crossed between Rohan and Gondor, I put them in columns based on their birth culture, not where they married into.)

Also here’s some fuel for the age gap discourse:

(Can you tell I’m procrastinating my dissertation???)

Anyways, outside of some apparent liberalism towards the ol’ begetting of heirs, there’s not a huge amount of information floating around to help us understand how or if marriage was understood politically in Rohan and Gondor. You get bits and pieces (Aragorn’s ‘no niggard are you, Éomer’ comment at Éowyn and Faramir’s trothplighting, for example, Wormtongue being after Éowyn, for another), but nothing extended or particularly explicit.

Just one of those things, really…

#just having some Thoughts really #lotr #long post #also lmao just realised that alphros being born in 3017 buggers my AFTA timeline for fuck’s sake

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maskved · 4 years ago

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hello, besties ! this is ami (she/her) and i’m probably late with this intro ! first i’m sorry for mass-liking every post but i’m already in love with all your lovely muses. also i must confess that i’ve only read the first book ( years ago ) and watched the show because i have an attention span of - 10 seconds. but at least i’m a soc hoe, so we can scream about that ... please ... !!! so if i get anything wrong pls let me know or you can also not let me know and i’ll continue being embarrassing 😔. anyway, if you are interested in some juicy plotting pls LIKE this post or message me ( if you want to plot on discord we can also do that 💖). I’M EXCITED.

PINTEREST . discor*d six of hoes🔪#7888 // YEVA

[ viktoriya zobova ], an [ twenty six ] year old grisha in the little palace. she is a [ tailor ] and are known in the little palace as the [ viscerotonic ]. they are known to be [ resilient ] and [ elusive ] and vaguely resemble [ kristine froseth ].

death tw

- viktoriya zobova ( however, prefers to be called vika because every time one calls her by her full name she might as well be in trouble ) had never been more than average. born to average parents ( although grisha their powers pale compared to others ) into an average family and of course as the middle child, vika strived for more than simply being overlooked.

- truth to be told, she dreaded to be tested. to her it seemed like the final reminder that she was nothing special, average, merely an extra to someone other’s story. she even wished, she wouldn’t be a grisha, fearing that like her parents she’d belong to the lower ranks. however, if she turned out to be a simple human without any power, at least she’d be special within her family or could even try to make a story up that she was adopted or something ( i hate her -- ).

- however, the moment she found out about being able to alter people’s appearances with her ability *atla vc* everything changed -

- truth to be told she knew she was considered to be lower rank among others but what really fueled her arrogance and the sudden feeling of self importance was her knowing that she possessed a rare ability. she didn’t care others treating her badly for her rank because “hey i can alter appearances and that is lit ( she probably didn’t say it that way - )

- ALSO ( here comes the moment i throw in my found family trope bcs i’m a soc hoe and this actually plays a big role in her story ) she’d found comfort in the friends she met.

- (lemme add my childhood friends trope bcs why not ) as vika was never close to her parents ( to be fair her being taken away for the training at such a young age did not really gave her the time to really bond with her family ) her little group of friends became her second family. they called themselves “blood is thicker water” ( gang ???) bcs 1) vika really thought the saying was blood is thicker water and not blood is thicker than water 2) they thought they were incredibly funny.

- they were pretty much known as troublemakers, especially with vika being a tailor it was easy to sometimes shift the blame on others. truth to be told, it only caused vika to be more frivolous. all the fun they had blinded her judgment and she viewed her ability as harmless.

- well, lets say vika becoming more reckless did not end up being the best character development (lmao). as usual , everything started out as a harmless joke. her friend asked her to change his appearance. however, this time they wanted her to change their whole face. not just the colour of their hair or eyes. vika was reluctant at first, she’d never done it before but in the end she agreed to it and much to her surprise she succeeded. she even bragged about it and told her friends ( of the bloody “blood is thicker water” gang (???) ) .

- to cut a long story short, their friend ended up dying because of it. i have two versions for their death ( i haven’t decided on it yet *clown emoji*)

1) the person they changed their appearance into apparantly was involed in some shady stuff and had some pretty morally questionable people around him. they thought vika’s friends was that person they were looking for (bcs of the changed appearance) and killed them for some reason.

2) vika’s friend was supposed to be part of some mission they didn’t want to go to, thus changed their appearance to escape from it. however, ended up having to do another mission and ended up being killed.

RIP nameless but vital character to vika’s bio

- vika pretty much blamed herself for it and maybe her friends of their friend group as well. this incident also ‘humbled’ vika and now instead of being proud of it she hates it.

- right now, she doesn’t really know what to do with her future. she has this ‘oh so grand’ plan that one day she might be able to change her appearance (permanently) and then leave the little palace and live under a new name and lead a life where she wouldn’t need to use her abilities anymore.

personality ( i’m trying to keep it short i swear, i’m just adding a bunch of sentence here bcs i’m throwing all my ideas into this paragraph)

- she’s known to be pretty social. she loves to talk and honestly doesn’t know when to shut up. she can’t deal with silence because it forces her to think about things she doesn’t want to think about. although, her tongue is sharp and trouble seems to follow her, she also loves to dance around the issue, pushing her feelings away and replacing it with a witty joke instead. as if everyone does it the same way, as if everyone is supposed to understand.

headcanons

- although she was tempted to change her own appearance many times. she never did because she is a coward and doesn’t trust her skills as much others might think she does.

- she views her ability as a form of art, perhaps that is also the reason she used to love to paint. honestly, she was never really good at it. average and above average with practice. her friend ( the dead one lmao ) used to paint with her whenever they could sneak away but with them gone, she doesn’t see a point in it anymore.

- she secretly envies the other grisha’s who can use their ability to fight. recently, she’d find herself trying to practice some punches so she doesn’t feel that useless in case of a dangerous situation. she also sucks at that so she’s probably in need of a training patner aka someone who is willing to train her or she has annoyed that much that they were willing to help her out ( wc ???)

- being personally trained by the darkling, one might assume that she’s loyal or even thankful towards the darkling. however, contrary is the case and she wouldn’t even grant him a dust particle of her trust. she doesn’t believe that he has the best interest of anyone in his heart and if she could, she’d probably spread rumors about him and telling others that he has some serious case of stanky breath.

wanted connections ( just some ideas, which can be changed ofc ! or some wcs can be connected )

(0/3) “blood is thicker water” friend group : they pretty much grew up together. the death of their friend ( the friend needs a name - i swear...) caused tension within the group. while, one might have blamed vika for their death the other doesn’t and just wants them to be how they used to be. nevertheless, no one can deny that nothing was what it used to be). (( honestly these are just some ideas and we can plot wtv sddm )

training partner ( can be more than one ): connection mentioned in the hcs ! they help her a little out to become physically fit and level up her combat skills of -10. maybe they want something in return for it. help her out bcs they’re just nice or bcs vika annoyed the heck out of them etc.

person vika changed their friend’s appearance into: honestly we can do wtv with it. i just thought it’d be fun to play with the idea and having the person running around when they actually “died” and everyone belieed them to be dead until they found out that it was vika’s friend. might be angsty bcs it might remind vika of their friend.

angsty exes: listen, i love some angsty shit and i love to blame vika for all the problems. they might have dated before the whole dead friend fiasco happened. although, viktoriya acted as if she was fine after the incident ( which she wasn’t ),it only made muse a realize that vika and them weren’t as close as they believed and how much vika tied to hide from them. BUT tbh anything would work i love a good angsty ex connection djddnd

random idea but i just liked the thought that this person once went to vika for some enhancing stuff. however, this day vika was not really herself, distracted, head in the clouds. so she accidenally might have gotten rid of some important scar or something.

enemies : lbr, vika might prbly be the type who has some enemies. she has no filter and might has stepped on someone toes because of it. (Also maybe gimme some enemies to lovers trope , adding this here quietly to not expose myself as a hoe for that trope )

HONESTLY GIVE ME EVERYTHING, gimme angst, fluff, tropes !!??? more friends, unusual friends, shippy stuff, platonic stuff, family connections djdsd GIMME

#this got super long sddsn i'm sorry #she's super dumb thats her story just being dump #also i'm not ignoring my ims i will answer them asap !!!#ravkahq:intro #not me having to reedit the edit bcs i misspelled her surname *clown emoji*

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schrijverr · 3 years ago

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'Till Death Do Us Part

Part 12 out of 13

When Alex has to bring Philip to work, he and Thomas discover that they both have something in common: they lost their love. They form an unexpected bond and connection about this that grows into something more.

A medium burn with parental feelings about Philip and flowers.

On AO3.

Ships: Jamilton

Warnings: grief, self deprication, mentions of death and unhealthy coping.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 12: Green Locust Tree Means ‘Affection from Beyond the Grave’

“Where is Thomas?” Alex asked, coming down into the kitchen to find Mary the only one there. He had thought Thomas would already by up, but he wasn’t anywhere else in the house and now also not in the kitchen.

“Ah, uhm,” Mary look away unsure.

“Did something happen?” Alex frowned.

“No, not- No, no,” Mary gestured vaguely, “He left this morning.”

“Left?” Alex repeated, voice shrill.

“Not left left, he just drove off,” Mary assured him, “He’ll be back.”

“Do you know where he went?” Alex asked, voice still a bit higher than usual.

“Yeah, but…” Mary trailed off.

“It’s personal,” Alex filled in understanding, seeing Mary nod gratefully. He checked: “Does it have something to do with Martha?”

“He talks about her to you?” Mary sounded surprised.

Alex laughed mentally, but outwardly he just smiled gently: “Yeah, I- uhm, my husband died a few years back. That’s- that’s what got us talking. Is he okay?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t-”

“I know, it’s okay,” Alex assured her, “But Thomas? Did he look okay?”

Mary bit her lip, then said: “He looked pretty upset actually. I think he’s visiting Martha, she’s buried near here.”

“Is the date important?” he asked.

“Not that I know,” Mary looked helpless.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on Pip today? I’m going to check on him,” Alex told her, “Can you give me the location?”

Mary nodded and wrote it down while Alex got dressed in record speed, kissing Philip on his forehead as he told him he would be back later and to behave for his Auntie Mary and to play nice with Francie and Kitty.

Then he got into Mary’s van and drove to the cemetery. At the drive over he wondered if he was making the right choice to intrude, but Mary had told him Thomas had looked upset and he just wanted to make sure he was okay, that he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like drive. Which he had.

He stopped at the unfamiliar rows of stone, feeling out of place as he scanned them for Thomas’s figure.

In the end, he saw a familiar magenta coat in the distance near a field with a tree. Alex walked over to him softly, clearing his throat once he was nearby.

Thomas startled slightly and looked back, mouth opening and closing without sound when he saw Alex as if he wanted to explain, but couldn't.

“I would ask if you were okay, if I didn’t already know the answer,” Alex broke the silence, “Want a hug?”

Nodding wordlessly, Thomas opened his arms for Alex to stand in, wrapping the smaller man in them and resting his chin on Alex’s head as he continued to look at the tree. Alex could see the stone in front of it. It read:

Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson

1985 - 2014

Loving wife and beautiful woman

A dearly missed soul

“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us”

After a long silence in which Alex could only hear Thomas sniffle softly, Thomas spoke up: “She wanted that quote on her stone, she actually made it. Except the date.”

Alex hummed and rubbed Thomas’s back, giving him the time to gather his thoughts.

“She had a heavy attack on this date,” Thomas said after a while, “She died on the 6thof September, but-” his voice broke and he took a shaky breath, “but today is the last day we ever spoke.”

Mentally Alex did the math. They had been staying at Monticello for a while now, so it was already the 8thof August, which meant Thomas hadn’t spoken to Martha for nearly an entire month. He asked: “What happened?”

Thomas shrugged: “She had an attack, they put her under for surgery and she just never woke up again.”

“Must have been hard,” Alex sympathized, he couldn't even begin to think how it must be to sit next to the one you loved most, having to wait and hope for them to wake up, while they never would again.

“It was,” Thomas said, then picked up steam as he got more upset, “It fucking was. I spend so long knowing she would go and then it happened and I still didn’t see it coming and I just had to wait and sit there for it to finally happen. And everyone always acts like the date it happened hurts the most, but it doesn’t because she was just a living corpse and I had to sit there and watch her die. I didn’t even get to talk to her,…”

Alex felt him buckle against him, so he softly lowered them both to the ground and held Thomas as he cried.

“I- I did- dn’t get- get to say good- goodbye,” Thomas sobbed, “I- I did- didn’t get to- to say I lo- love you.”

As Thomas cried, Alex scratched the back of his head, while he whispered: “She knew, it sucks you didn’t get to tell her, but she knew.”

“What?” Thomas rasped, eyes red and puffy.

“She knew you loved her, she knew,” Alex repeated, “I know how fucking much it sucks that you didn’t get to tell her again, but she knew it.”

Thomas looked at him for a moment, then back to the stone, then up to the tree, before looking back to Alex. Alex could see him swallow, then blink away a few tears, before scowling. Thomas broke eye contact and huffed: “How do you know that?”

Alex took a deep breath and reminded himself that Thomas was hurting and didn’t really think about those words, so instead he softly said: “Because I have to tell myself that too.”

He hadn’t gotten to say anything to John either. Sure, he didn’t have to watch John waste away and he didn’t know if he could have, but he had to live with the fact that he had brought John to the airport and waved with Pip’s little hand as John walked off on a tour he would never come back form.

“God, I’m- I’m sorry, ‘Lex, I wasn’t- I wasn’t thinking,” Thomas mumbled.

“I know, it’s okay, you don’t have to say sorry,” and Alex meant it, he had said many things in times like these that he didn’t mean because his head wasn’t on straight, he got it.

“Still fucking dick move,” Thomas chuckled out humorlessly.

“Maybe,” Alex shrugged, “But I did mean it. And she knew. If I know you, then I know you were there the entire time. She knew. It might be a small comfort and nothing substantial, but that one moment wasn’t defining. She knew.”

Thomas quieted and stared at the headstone. With a distant voice he repeated: “She knew.”

They sat side by side in front of the grave under the shadow of the tree in silence. Alex just let Thomas take his time, not interfering but being a calming presence for him to lean on if he needed it.

“Being here again with you and having this, it just- it made me realize how much I wanted to say to her and how unfair it was that I never got to,” Thomas said after a while. He hadn’t broken down like this in a long while over her death date.

Alex nodded, then suggested: “You can tell her now.”

“She won’t hear,” Thomas told him bitterly, “There’s nothing after death.”

“And John doesn’t hear me either whenever I go to his grave, nor Pip,” Alex replied, “He might’ve believed in Heaven, but I don’t, just like Martha believed she’s up in the sky. Talk to her, just in case she’s right.”

Thomas hesitated, so Alex offered: “I can give you some privacy if you want.”

“No,” Thomas grabbed his hand, then softly repeated it: “No, no it’s okay. Stay.”

“Alright,” Alex squeezed Thomas’s hand like the other had done so many times for him, hoping to give him a bit of comfort.

“Hi, Martha,” Thomas said awkwardly after clearing his throat, “I’m sorry for saying that, you might hear me. I- uhm, I wanted to tell you that I love you. I always want to tell you that, but back then I wanted to tell you it even more, I didn��t want my last words to you to be ‘hold on,’ because I know you were trying and-”

He took a shuddery breath, then went on: “And I know it was a selfish request and I’m sorry for that. Instead I wanted to say thank you for being there for as long as you have, for brightening my days even though you were the one fading. So, thank you and I love you.”

Alex laid his head on Thomas’s shoulder and Thomas leaned back to him and whispered: “I love you too, Alex. Thanks for looking for me.”

“Of course,” Alex simply replied, “I love you too.”

After a beat Thomas said: “It’s a green locust tree. Martha said it reminded her of ferns and she thought it was funny that it looked like ground covering plants had just randomly turned into trees.”

“The leaves do look like ferns,” Alex agreed after he had studied them for a moment.

“It was smaller when I was here last” Thomas mused, “Almost like she’s still growing. Maybe her spirit is in it, she always did like the idea of joining nature. Even if the stars spoke to her more.”

Alex hummed in agreement.

“Fuck I haven’t been here in forever,” Thomas sighed.

“It’s not a requirement to come,” Alex told him, “Sometimes life happens.”

“I avoided it, even ran to fucking France for a few years, Alex, that’s pretty shitty to do,” Thomas replied, “I’m just being shitty.”

“You’re not shitty,” Alex said, Thomas shot him a look and Alex correct, “Or everyone does something shitty when these things happen.”

“Somehow I find it hard to picture you ignoring John’s grave.”

“Because I didn’t-”

“See.”

“Because instead I threw myself into work and was there so much it was fucking unhealthy, Thomas. Those first few weeks, Eliza cared more for Philip than I did. Washington threw me out the office every day for a month until I stopped staying so late,” Alex told Thomas, “Maybe running to France was a healthy thing to do.”

Thomas was silent as he thought about that.

“Maybe,” he said, then sighed, “Yeah, maybe, but I still feel shit about it and I hate that I didn’t talk to my Ma because of it and I hate how I rarely came home just because I didn’t want to face this.”

“Luckily you can start now,” Alex nudged him slightly and didn’t add: like I did by being a decent parent for Pip.

“You’re right,” Thomas got up and held his hand out to Alex to hoist him up.

Alex let him, but quirked a brow at the sudden change in attitude. Thomas shrugged: “What better time than now? I think Ma mentioned hiking today.”

“Lead the way,” Alex smiled as they left the cemetery, not seeing how the tree lit up with sunlight and the wind made the branches wave.

When they got back to Monticello, Philip asked: “Where did you go Da?”

“I just went to say hi to your Auntie Martha like you and Papa go say hi to your Daddy from time to time,” Thomas explained.

“Did you tell her about everything that happened?” Philip asked.

“Sort of,” Thomas answered, “Where is your Mawmaw? I think we were going hiking today, wanna come too?”

“Yes!” Philip cheered, before pointing towards the kitchen while he raced off in a different direction to Kitty and Francie, who were terrorizing Sir Poof.

They went on a hike, with Randy telling the twins and Pip all sorts of things aboutthe plants they encountered on the trail while Mary and Jane talked about the market they’d gone to together yesterday and Alex and Thomas kept on the background, holding hands.

While they walked, they laughed and Alex was happy to see Thomas’s crinkles appear once Philip came to beg for a piggy back ride, which he got. Since Thomas couldn't say no to him ever.

After that Kitty and Francie wanted one too, so Alex and Randy were roped into that, which turned into a small race.

In short, they enjoyed their days in Monticello for the two weeks they were still there. Even when Mary had to go and take the twins back, because she wanted to spend time with her husband and Randy went back to college to move into his dormearly.

Alex learned to cook a few more recipes from Jane, in the end calling her Ma like Thomas did, just because it felt right.

Thomas swam with Philip and drank tea with Jane every night, before he and Alex would sit on the porch and watch the stars.

It felt like movie and all were upset when they had to leave.

Jane hugged Thomas tightly and told him to come visit more often as she pinched his cheek, before also telling him to be good to Alex.

“I will, Ma,” Thomas swore to do both.

She then turned to Philip and handed him a box with cookies, before she said: “You take care of both your dads for me okay? Be good for them”

“Yes, Mawmaw Jane,” Philip chirped.

“And I’ll put your drawing on the wall, make sure to come see,” she added. The drawing in question was the one Philip had made of Monticello with the dragon. He had given it to Jane and she had loved it.

“I will,” Philip said.

Thomas lead Philip to the car to buckle him in, while Alex shook Jane’s hand and said: “Thank you for letting us stay here, Ma. It was amazing.”

“Of course, dearie,” she told him, taking his hand to pull him into a hug, “You and Philip always have a home here.”

“Thank you,” Alex’s voice broke slightly and he tried not to let it get to him.

As Jane let go, she said: “Look out for Thomas will you, he can get on his own nerves.”

“You know I will,” Alex assured her.

“Good,” Jane nodded, “Have a safe trip.”

“Bye.”

And with that Alex got into the car as well, all of them waving to the lone figure on the porch as they drove back home for the new school year.

Since they had spend such a big chunk of time together at Monticello that summer, they had decided that the first week back they would stay at their own homes. This, however, came to a head on the 28thof August.

He and Philip were sitting at the dinner table with Hoppin’ Johns in front of them holding hands as Alex spoke: “Today John was taken from us and put into your care, Lord. We ask you to take care of him while we remember him. Amen.”

“Amen,” Pip said, before he started eating.

Alex took a moment to look at him and his heart softened as Philip’s little curls bounced on his head while he ate. He had started first grade this year and Alex was so proud of him and how much he was already growing.

Above the mantle hung a picture of John and Alex really wanted someone to share with how much Philip had grown.

And all of a sudden he felt very, veryalone.

He ate his food and set up everything for the next day, before he tucked Philip in while the loneliness hung over him like a fog. With Philip in bed he picked up his phone.

“Hi, darlin’,” Thomas greeted him, “How are you?”

“Good, good,” Alex said absentmindedly.

“Alex?” Thomas sounded a bit concerned.

“Well, actually,” Alex carefully began, now that he was calling, he suddenly realized why and how that might impact everything, “Actually, I called you, because I was feeling lonely.”

“Yeah?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah, house hasn’t been the same without you,” Alex shrugged, “Guess I just got used to you being around.”

“I get that feeling,” Thomas told him.

“You do?” Alex tried to hide his surprise, but he was pretty sure he failed.

“Yup,” Thomas said, then he carefully added, “Your house has a more homey feel, with all the pictures on the walls.”

Alex picked up on the subtle testing of the water and replied: “Well, there is plenty of room on the walls left.”

“Are you…?” Thomas didn’t finish the sentence, cutting himself off.

“Am I what?” Alex wasn’t falling for it and suggesting it first.

“Are you implying what I think you’re implying?” Thomas said.

“That depends on what you think I’m implying, but probably,” Alex answered, holding his breath anxiously.

“Well, I thought you were implying that maybe we could talk about moving in together?” Thomas sounded unsure, ready to take his words back.

“Then you are absolutely correct in your observation,” Alex told him.

Thomas let out a relieved breath, before saying: “That’s a big decision.”

“Just putting the thought out there,” Alex answered, “I still need to run it by Pip, but I would be up for it.”

“Well, that certainly is an idea I’m willing to consider,” Thomas said, “But this is more a conversation to have face to face, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, probably,” Alex agreed, “Want to come over tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he could hear the smile in Thomas’s voice.

Alex wanted to just sit and listen to Thomas right now and not feel so alone. He noticed how much better he’d felt the momenthe’d heard Thomas’s voice. So, he settled on the couch, curling up against the side as he asked: “Tell me about your day?”

And Thomas did, he just talked about nothing for the most part. He told Alex about the dog he’d seen on the way home, the book he was reading, what he and James had talked about last time they’d called, something stupid Lafayette had send him.

As Thomas talked, Alex let himself relax, just softly humming at the right places. The sounds of home filling up the space and making his heart less empty.

The next day Thomas was the one, who went home early to pick up Philip from school. When Philip walked out and saw him, he yelled: “Da! Da! What are you doing here? Papa said you wouldn’t be home until the weekend.”

“Well, I wanted to surprise my favorite little kiddo,” Thomas ruffled his hair.

“‘M not little,” Philip pouted, fixing his hair, “I’m already in first grade.”

“I know, Pip, I know,” Thomas grinned, “Since you’re such a big boy, I’m sure you can drive us home.”

Philip crossed his arms: “That’s mean, Da.”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Thomas told him, “Just had to tease. Come get in and tell me about your week. How is school going? You adjusting okay?”

Doing as he was told, Philip said: “We’ve been learning to write and I’m doing very well and I got a star next to my name today.”

“Really?” Thomas asked.

“Yup,” Philip answered, “And were learning about addition and that’s kind of hard, but Theo gets it. She’s good with numbers and she explained it to me.”

“Oh wow,” Thomas listened to Philip talk as he drove home, thinking to himself that he definitely wouldn’t mind hearing Pip talk about school everyday.

That evening during dinner Alex brought it up, he and Thomas had briefly talked about it during lunch, so it didn’t come as a surprise. He said: “Hey, Pip. Can I ask you about something and get a serious answer from you?”

Philip stopped eating and nodded: “Did something bad happen?”

“No, buddy,” Alex assured him, “It’s just that me and your Da wanted to have your thoughts about Da moving in here, so that it’s not two houses anymore. Since you live here as well, we wanted your opinion too.”

“You’re moving in!” Philip exclaimed, eyes bright.

“We’re thinking about it, nothing certain yet, but I take that as a yes from you,” Thomas chuckled.

“It’ll be so much fun if you move in, we can read stories every night and you and Papa can smile all the time,” Philip rambled excitedly.

Thomas and Alex met each other’s eyes and it was almost decided there and then.

They did sit down and talk about it more in depth after, but soon after it was decided. When the decision was made, it quickly turned into a whole circus.

It began with Eliza and Maria finding out from Pip after they’d picked him up from school the day after Alex and Thomas had told him. So when Alex got Philip from them, Eliza put her hands on her hip and asked: “When we’re you going to inform us that Thomas is moving in with you?”

“I was hoping once Thomas was putting his house on sale,” Alex told her, “But I suppose that’s no longer the case, because a little rascal talked?”

“You bet you, now come on, tell me more,” Eliza said, pulling him into the house.

“It’s just what it says on the tin, Thomas is moving in with me,” Alex said, “We both wanted it, so why not. We just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Eliza smirked: “It’s too late for that.”

“Oh no, what now?” Alex asked, fearing for his life – metaphorically, well, partially metaphorically.

“You really think that if me and Maria know and Pip is excited about that Angie and Laf won’t find out,” Eliza told him, “If you want them to not attack you, they should hear it from you.”

“Fuck,” Alex said.

“Exactly,” Eliza grinned, before she called Philip over and waved them off, “Good luck.”

He dialed Laf frist, right after dinner: “Hi, Laf.”

“Bonjour, Bonjour, Alexandre,” Lafayette greeted him cheerily over the phone, “What can I do for you?”

“Depends on where you are?” Alex asked.

“Do you need someone to surveille Philipe?” he asked, “Because then you need to find someone else, I’m afraid. I am eating lunch at Le Cinqin a bit.”

“No, you not being here is perfect,” Alex told him.

“Now I am offended.” Lafayette said.

“It’s nothing bad,” Alex assured him, “Just that Thomas and I have decided to move in together and I love and appreciate you, but I don’t want you to freak out.”

“You’re moving together!” Lafayette screamed into the phone.

Alex held the phone away from his face, already anticipating that. He carefully held it back and answered: “Yeah, it’s not happening right now, but we’re starting to plan it. You weren’t going to know yet, but Pip told ‘Liza, so felt only fair.”

“Alexandre, you will have to tell me more,” Lafayette said, “Will you move into one of your houses? Is there going to be a housewarming party? What’s happening?”

“Thomas will move in with me and Pip, probably not, we’re moving in together,” Alex went down the list.

“I am so excitéfor you,” Laf beamed through the phone, Alex could practically hear it, “Tell me if you need help moving when the time comes.”

“I will, Laf, I will,” after that he hung up, not sure if he was going to keep that promise.

He then called Angelica: “Hi Angie?”

“Alex, is there a reason you’re calling me this late in the evening?” she greeted him.

“Well, I’ve been told you liked to be kept up to date, since apparently you’re living vicariously through my relationship, but if you don’t wanna hear I can hang up,” he told her.

“No, no, stay. Tell me,” Angelica stopped him.

“Me and Thomas are – at some point in the nearby future – moving in together,” he said.

“Really!”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so happy for you both,” Angelica told him, “I would offer to help move, but I’m not carrying furniture, make Herc or Laf do that.”

“If Herc offers to help, I’m asking him,” Alex assured her, “I don’t trust Laf with throw pillows. I love him, but he’s clumsy.”

“Tell me about it,” Angelica rolled her eyes fondly, “Remember that time at the press conference, the whole world saw him eat dirt.”

“I don’t think he ever recovered from that.”

They both chuckled at the memory of a young Lafayette falling on the podium at his first live press conference.

“So, anyway, that’s why I called,” Alex said, “Thought you would like to hear it from me, not from Pip or something.”

“Who did he tell,” the amusement was heavy in her voice.

“Betsy and Maria,” Alex answered.

“Oohh, lucky, that could have been worse,” she replied.

“Yeah, it could have been you,” Alex teased.

“Glad you know your place in my life,” she grinned.

“Har har,” Alex said, “But how have you been, haven’t heard from you in forever.”

“Been good, been good,” she replied.

They talked a bit more before hanging up. And with Laf and Angie knowing, it wasn’t long before more text started to pour in as news spread through his friends. Most of them reminding them to call them if they needed help with the moving.

Together they shook their heads and laughed at their friends, but warmth spread through them as well when they saw how quickly everyone sprang to their aid.

Thomas called his Ma as well, who told them she’d start knitting a blanket for on the couch and which colors it should be.

Green and purple, was their final choice.

He didn’t tell Alex, but his Ma had done the same when he and Martha bought their first house together. It had been purple and orange. It was disgusting looking and both had loved it until it had perished.

As time passed Thomas spend more and more time at Alex’s house while his own turned into a kingdom of boxes as he sorted through his stuff, seeing what had to come with him, what he might store for later and what he didn’t need anymore and had just been collecting dust. While Alex did the same to make space for Thomas’s stuff.

They had also decided to make a few decorating choices together, which mostly consisted of painting a few walls. That had been an interesting weekend for sure.

Philip had also been allowed to paint his walls a different color. They were still yellow from when John and Alex had decorated way back when, but now Philip wanted them light green. He would also be painting new stuff on it, claiming that ‘I can draw much better now Papa, you’ll see. I’m drawing dragons and they’re going to be much, much better.’

When the big moving day came, they called upon all their friends, who had texted them. It would also function as their house warming party, which basically meant that at the end they would buy everyone pizza.

Herc and Thomas had been dismantling furniture and carrying it all day, while James and Maria drove back and forth over the small distance between the two houses, while Philip and Peggy helped with getting boxes into Alex’s house.

Alex was delegating inside the house, both carrying and unpacking since he knew which boxes where supposed to go where. While Eliza unboxed the more basic stuff that already had a spot in the home.

Lafayette was on charity shop duty, bringing everything that was no longer useful to the charity shop. Though, they send Angelica with him to supervise just in case.

That evening most of the boxes where unpacked and Thomas’s house was empty. They were all sitting around with pizza and beer or soda.

“No one is allowed to move anytime soon,” Herc said rolling his shoulder, “If any of you do, I’m not helping.”

“Boo, boo,” Peggy jeered and Angelica joined immediately.

“Oh shove off, you didn’t carry heavy stuff all day,” Herc complained.

“Faible,” Lafayette yelled.

“I don’t know what that means, so I’m gonna take that as support,” Herc huffed.

“He called you weak, Herc.”

“Alexandre, you betray me like this?” Laf clutched his heart as if wounded and fell backwards, nearly missing Herc’s shove.

“Y’all are rude, I’m never helping you again,” Herc bit his pizza moodily, though everyone knew it was a joke, Herc would always be ready to help any of them.

Still, that didn’t stop Eliza from innocently asking: “Even me, Herc?”

“No, not you, never you, Eliza. You’re sweet and much better than anyone else here,” Herc assured her.

Immediately there was an uproar as everyone accused him of playing favorites, which Herc deflected by saying: “It’s not playing favorites, if you’re all mean to me.”

“Exactly,” Eliza said, before her grin turned shit eating, “Herc, wanna help me move tomorrow?”

Laughter roared through the group and Herc yelled: “Et tu, ‘Liza?”

She just blew him a kiss.

When everyone left that evening, Alex got out a hammer and nail and walked up to the picture wall in the hallway. Before he could hammer, Thomas asked: “What are you doing?”

“Adding an important finishing touch,” Alex replied mysteriously.

He put a nail in the wall, then got out a picture frame. He shuffled the stuff on the wall around a bit before he hung up the frame.

“Hey, that’s me and Da,” Philip pointed out.

Thomas smiled when he recognized the picture from their second date at the park. He and Philip were busy with the kite, both laughing. He commented: “I didn’t know you took that.”

“At first I thought it might be a it much, then I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Alex explained, “Initially it was going to be a birthday present, but I thought this moment more fitting wouldn’t you agree?”

“It’s perfect, ‘Lex,” Thomas kissed his cheek.

“Ieww,” Philip giggled.

“I see it’s bed time for you, buddy,” Alex grinned.

“Nooo,” Philip shrieked as he quickly ran away, laughter floating down the hall as Alex set off behind him. Thomas watched the two go, then looked back to the picture as he smiled.

The next day was a Sunday and they used that to unpack the rest of their stuff as well as putting the furniture back together, which was also a real test of their relationship.

“Alex, I dismantled this table, okay. I know where this is supposed to go,” Thomas huffed pointing at the table leg.

“But it looks weird like that,” Alex frowned.

“Well, maybe it’s a weird table.”

“Why would we want to keep a weird table?”

“Papa, Da? I think these belong to the chair, not the table,” Philip tiny voice spoke up. He had spotted a few dismantled chairs near the table, with more legs that looked like the ones they were trying to put on the table and made the conclusion that the legs must not be from the table, but the chairs instead.

Both looked at the table, then to the chairs, then back to the table, before meeting each other’s eyes and bursting out in laughter.

Alex ruffled Philip’s hair and said: “I think you’re right, buddy.”

Thomas laughed: “Oh my God, we’re both stupid.”

“According to my teacher, stupid is a bad word,” Philip said.

“Yeah?” Alex asked.

“Hm-mh,” Philip nodded, “Because no one is stupid and that kind of says that a person who just didn’t know something, because no one told them is not as good as other people. You should say that you weren’t informed properly.”

“You’re a wise little man, Pip,” Thomas said, “I stand corrected, Alex, we were misinformed about this not weird and perfectly good table.”

“Dork,” Alex said.

“What’s misinformed?”

“It means that you got the wrong information,” Alex explained.

“So what I said.”

“Exactly, kiddo,” Thomas agreed, “So, how about you help me with the table while Papa goes to put the frames on the wall, because you have a sharper eye for this than him.”

“Excuse me, you grabbed the wrong legs,” Alex said, even if he did start to move away.

“Yeah, and I’ve put a nail into the wall exactly once and that was a disaster,” Thomas told him, “If you appreciate your plaster, I would suggest you do it.”

“You can’t put a nail in the wall?” Alex laughed.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Thomas moped.

“I’m not laughing, just wondering how you got stuff on your wall in your old house.”

“I called James, okay. Martha did it before that.”

“My Auntie Martha?”

“Yeah, Pip, your Auntie Martha,” Thomas confirmed.

“She’s coming to hang with Daddy right?”

“Jup, putting the nails in now,” Alex said, still chuckling slightly as he gathered the stuff.

Above the mantle, they were putting four pictures. Two of them portraits of both Martha and John and two wedding pictures. The portraits were bigger and the wedding pictures would hang underneath, neither acknowledging the fact that a third picture couldfit between them.

John’s was him standing in the park under a tree with baby Philip in his arms. He was wearing his hair in a pony tail and he just looked back, smiling at Alex behind the camera. Martha was sitting on the swing in Monticello, her white summer dress flowing in the wind, perfectly still along with her frozen laughter.

They watched over the house, both adding warmth and laughter to their main family space.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:

I am once again telling you to not use my fic as a guide to deal with grief, just in case you have forgotten, this is not really the medium to get information from.

Also Laf was pretty clumsy, he actually got laughed off the French court for his dancing, so my clumsy man.

Me at the pictures: “Is this foreshadowing? Did I do it? Oehlalala (pls I’m really proud of all the little stuff I managed to bring back in later chapter, pls notice my hard work)

#RR writing #tw: grief #tw: death mention #tw: unhealthy coping mention #tw: self deprecation #Hamilton #Hamilton AU #Alexander Hamilton #Thomas Jefferson #Philip Hamilton #Eliza Schuyler #Angelica Schuyler #Lafayette #Marquis de Lafayette #Hercules Mulligan #Jamilton #'Till Death Do Us Part #'Till Death Do Us Part Part 12 #'Till Death Do Us Part AU

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Things That Were (Branjie) - pureCAMP

A/N - … Hi.

I won’t get into it, I don’t think I need to. But here’s a return no one expected, at least.

I wrote this based on some Feelings I have and also Jinkx’s song The Auld Lang Syne Song from… Christmas Queens 3? It has this beautiful sad, wistful, nostalgic kind of feel and it made me nostalgic for love and that strange time between Christmas and New Years. Largely sad, mostly bittersweet. Dedicated to my love Ortega, and in part for the nostalgia fic challenge.

I appreciate any and all support I’ve been given over these past months.

You have a new memory from (1) years ago!

Brooke swipes across absent-mindedly. She doesn’t think much about it, they pop up all the time in the holiday season. There’s a little loading screen, decorated with animated tinsel, that flashes in her face before every ounce of breath is knocked out of her body.

This is what dying feels like. Brooke wonders if there’s a loading screen before entrance into the afterlife. She supposes it would allow the dead some time to adjust, at least.

It’s a perfect, filtered picture. The Christmas tree looks beautiful, even as the pine dies, all decked in shades of red and gold, glittering twists and lights that twinkle gently enough to lull you to sleep. It stands tall in the background of the photo, illuminating everything with a cosy glow. At the forefront of the image, Brooke is that kind of happy, sleepy, warm drunk. Full of Baileys, probably, and little mini mince pies and leftover chocolate from boxes opened and half-finished. There’s a glass of red wine behind her, slightly visible on the table. She’s cradling Henry to her chest, kissing the top of his head.

Vanessa is next to her. The remnants of plum lipstick still on her lips, grinning, Apollo in her arms. She’s beautiful. She looks and feels like how Christmas is supposed to - welcoming, kind, gentle, sweet. And Brooke knows that she’s drunk too, and right after this she burst into laughter and her foghorn voice shattered the cosiness and it was so right and so them. And she knows how her stomach had twisted horribly after they took it.

It’s perfect. She won’t share this one. It will stay in her archives. It’s really been a year, huh.

The cats look at her accusingly, as if they know. They probably do know. They know everything about Brooke. Every flaw, every fault. If they could speak, she knows they’d ask for Vanessa instead of her. Well, tough. Vanessa’s gone, Brooke thinks, almost aggressively as if she’s trying to telepathically tell them so. Vanessa’s been gone for a year.

Or has she? Vanessa isn’t the one who left. Vanessa isn’t the one who walked out without warning, who pretended the bliss was as blissful as it looked and then ran from it all. No, no, that was Brooke.

She shuts off her phone, clicks the button to make the picture fade to black. The switch from warm and bright to black is jarring. It’s probably how Vanessa felt, waking up to an empty bed.

“Brookieeeeee,” Vanessa sings. She’s grinning, cheesing so hard that her eyes have disappeared, nothing but the flicker of a fake eyelash visible from them. “Brooklyn Briiiiiidge…”

Brooke turns, laughing, and waves away the whistles and teasing mumbles from their friends. “Vanjie?”

She pushes her lips together and makes kissy noises, wordlessly begging. Brooke gently holds her chin, lifts her head, kisses. She tastes like cinnamon and nutmeg and chocolate, a festive concoction of things that Brooke usually hates but loves on her. Vanessa looks amazing in gold and she’s an Oscar from head to toe, sparkling, beautiful.

Akeria makes pointed eye contact with Brooke, then mimes gagging herself with two fingers.

Vanessa rolls her eyes, the fondness on her face so evident that it could light up the entire bar. “I love you.”

And Brooke kisses her. The kiss says what it needs to.

Christmas a whole year ago. Brooke made a series of decisions. Stupid ones, maybe. Definitely. She doesn’t know who she’s kidding.

Funny how she finds it so hard to kid herself. Apparently, she had no issue kidding Vanessa.

A little while after Silky comments that Brooke really shouldn’t still be living in the shithole apartment she rented at 20, she realises that as rude and bluntly honest it had seemed at the time, she’s right. She resolves not to mention this to Silky, in case her ego inflates too far and she flies away like Aunt Marge (she thinks this with love), and starts looking online. And it’s impossible.

So out comes the phone, because there’s only one person to go to for this. For anything. Because she’s always there and she’s always willing and she only ever wants some quality time as payment.

B: Vanjie [8.22pm]

B: Vanjerella….. [8.22pm]

B: Vanessaaaaaa [8.23pm]

V: brooke lynn hytes [8.24pm]

B: Not the full name… am I in trouble? [8.24pm]

V: do u wanna be? ;) [8.24pm]

B: Hmm… I’ll think about it… [8.24pm]

B: Anyway I need your heeeeeelp [8.24pm]

V: i gotchu boo [8.25pm]

V: what u need baby [8.25pm]

B: Cutie [8.25pm]

B: I’m going apartment hunting, help me look? Idk what to even look for [8.25pm]

V: exciting!!!!!! [8.26pm]

V: babyyyyy this is so exciting for u omg!!! I love moving [8.26pm]

V: i hope i can help!! im usually terrible at this but i think we’ll have fun!! [8.26pm]

V: although i gotta wonder what made u ask me instead of somebody smart like nina [8.27pm]

B: Ah shit, great point nvm I’ll ask her [8.28pm]

B: Jk. Asked u because ur always here visiting, may as well find something u like as well <3 [8.28pm]

V: u bout to make a bitch cry [8.29pm]

Vanessa was over in maybe ten minutes tops, Brooke remembers. It was like she could read Brooke’s mind, and she’d brought coffee for them both to keep them going and even a little bag of kitty treats from the place she’d stopped at (“a guy was sellin’ them outside and I felt a little sorry for him in the cold so I bought ‘em. They’re good, the ones you usually get!”). They were up for hours scrolling, and then searching in person just so that she could act as a second opinion.

Brooke stands up from the couch and walks slowly, heavily, towards the window. Her Christmas tree is silver this year, silver and purple, and as pretty and icy as it had seemed when she decorated it, it feels cold and desolate now. It reflects on the glass and for a moment it’s hard to focus on the world outside when the world inside is so disturbed, but she manages. Dark as it is, the lights of the city are never gone, and she has a beautiful view of a metropolitan paradise laid out beneath her.

Vanessa loved the view. She picked it, in a way. Brooke was unsure about the viewing, and Vanessa wheedled, tugging her arm and telling her she’d love it.

She did love the view. But it was Vanessa’s view, that she saw first, that she loved first. Now it just makes Brooke feel sick. Sick at herself. Like it’s not hers to look at, and she shouldn’t.

She looks away.

A change of scenery helps to calm the mind, Brooke thinks. Nina told her that once, she vaguely recalls, as she sobbed helplessly into the arms of the only one who would listen. The only one who didn’t think of her as a raging evil bitch, and more of a hopeless coward instead. It’s not much better, but it’s a small comfort given how much she hates herself for it. She’s more inclined to go with what the rest of them all thought after it happened.

It’s late, anyway. Maybe it really is time to read a book and push down the thoughts and try to sleep away the regret.

“Oh god, oh god. Vane- fuck,” She breathes.

Waves of pleasure shoot through her, beginning deep in her belly and sending shockwaves all up Brooke’s back. Her hands grasp at the sheets around her head, desperate, clinging, her mind and body totally incognizant of each other. Her body is on fire, and her mind isn’t even functioning correctly.

Vanessa’s mouth is hot and fast and her tongue is skilled, and every time she grazes over her clit with the swift, feather-light touches Brooke thinks she’s going to pass out. Her fists grab tighter and her toes curl and a gasp floats from her lips, accidental, unstoppable. She manages to tear one hand away and threads it into Vanessa’s dark hair, urging her to keep going.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck…” She manages.

The goddess between her legs doesn’t stop, not until long after the inaudible mumblings have stopped falling from Brooke’s lips and her breaths are finally starting to slow, and she wonders how Heaven is meant to be above them when she feels herself sinking into it right now. Brooke thinks absent that maybe Heaven is here and everything else is Hell because nothing feels like being with Vanessa feels, and when they’re naked and intertwined and breathless and warm maybe they’re closer to God than they’ll ever be.

She catches herself before three words make their way out.

“God, this fucking mattress…” Is what she ends up producing. It’s digging into her back, lumpy and old. She’s only just noticed, in truth.

Vanessa’s head lifts, her makeup smudged in a way that feels beyond sinful to look at. She licks her lips coyly, sucks off her finger, and offers a lazy, heady sort of smile.

“The mattress? That’s all you got, boo?”

She’s laughing, happy, delirious. Brooke laughs too. “I don’t have to say anything about you. Isn’t the state of me enough?”

It is. On her back, chest peppered with bruises not yet formed, chest rising and falling beyond her control, legs still twitching slightly. Brooke’s completely spent, blissed out, exhausted. Vanessa’s still worn out from hers and yet her tongue is musical and the melodies were handcrafted by all the muses of the ancient world.

Still smiling, Vanessa shifts so she’s hovering on top of Brooke and then leans down to kiss her, their bodies colliding, Brooke tasting herself on the lips of her lover. It’s nights like these that make her feel like the world is a good place to be. That everything is fixable, everything is brilliant.

“We should get you a new mattress, baby,” Vanessa tells her when they break apart. “And I’ll probably never leave.”

Brooke forces a laugh, but the idea isn’t laughable. Vanessa and Forever go hand in hand, somehow.

And they do go shopping for a mattress for Brooke’s place. They wander through stores and discuss mattress firmness and size and height and flop down until they feel as though they’re ready to drop, and then Vanessa lands on one and yells “BROOKIE!” so loud that her voice - that goddamn voice - almost shatters the glass. She’s laying down with a beam on her face like nothing Brooke’s ever seen, pure sunshine, and she clearly has the best taste in mattresses because when she buys it, Brooke’s never slept so good in her life.

The bed is cold. Brooke deserves a cold bed. She left Vanessa in one, so it’s the least she can deal with it.

They weren’t always at Brooke’s - sometimes it was Vanessa’s too, for the sake of variety. Looking back on those memories makes Brooke feel like the biggest idiot in the world. Which she is, of course, and she knows it. But even here, the mini Christmas tree is cold and isolated, and Vanessa gave it to her as an early gift last Christmas, and Vanessa chose the mattress, and Vanessa picked the view. Brooke stares at everything that Vanessa has touched in her life and wonders why in the world she let herself ruin something so good. It’s selfish and stupid and self-sabotaging and that angel of a woman deserves so much more.

She thinks about sharing the picture. She could caption it with that song, ‘Now I’m in the house you chose and the bed you bought to face your perfect view’, and that could be her apology. Because she knows all too well she’s too much of a blind coward to say it properly. And Vanessa won’t see it even if she does share, because they’re not friends anymore. Someone will get it to her - probably Silky - but that’s not worth it.

Brooke opens her phone again, and swipes away from the picture before she does something stupid. Then she opens her texts.

B: Are you busy? [10.11pm]

B: Oh shit sorry, just saw Yvie’s insta, u guys are out tonight. Ignore this x [10.13pm]

N: No no! They’re out, I’m home because I was working all day and I was too tired :( [10.19pm]

N: What do you need hun? <3 [10.20pm]

B: If ur tired it’s okay, I’ll talk to u another time x [10.20pm]

N: Shut up. I’m here [10.21pm]

N: I think I know what’s going on. Right time of year [10.21pm]

B: I’m just an idiot, idk [10.22pm]

N: Nope. Stay where you are, I’m coming over. [10.22pm]

N: Did she text you? [10.24pm]

B: She’s not that stupid lmao why would she [10.24pm]

Nina is the only one who bothered to ask what the hell was going on when it happened. It’s not like Brooke can blame the others, and she doesn’t either. If someone did that to her best friends, she would be the same. And she is the same - she hates herself passionately for it. But Nina has this untraceable kindness to her, this unfathomable tenderness that seems to have no beginnings, no ends, no limits. It flows so freely from her, like a gift.

She has no idea how much time passes by crying and looking blankly at her phone, or even any idea when she started crying, but the doorbell rings and Brooke answers it already in tears and Nina sweeps her into a hug like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and maybe it is. To love your friends is easy and natural, like taking a breath in clean air.

To love someone special is like inhaling in water, drowning, getting lost. And you have to be content with the helplessness in order to survive it, or at least strong enough to swim and keep it going. You can’t just sink. Brooke couldn’t handle drowning.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” She weeps into Nina’s arms, once her choking sobs settle into streaming tears. It’s not better, just different. “I wanted to be with her forever and that was so fucking scary.”

Nina rubs her back. “Breathe, breathe. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“Is- is she okay?”

Stupid question. Brooke isn’t sure she even wants to know.

The hug finishes; they’re on the couch again. Nina pulls out her phone, frowning, and pauses like she’s thinking. She looks guilty, which is unusual.

“I would never normally show a friend’s text, y’know? It’s private, I don’t do all that betraying trust stuff. But I know she’ll delete these tomorrow morning and I think you should see them before she does.”

V: so its been a ear then hasnr it [10.56pm]

V: a year of fwithout brook [10.56pm]

V: honestly fuck her yknw what i man [10.56pm]

V: she fuckin broke mt heart man why did she do that [10.56pm]

V: i miss her an the stupid vats so muhc [10.57pm]

V: tha sonf auld lang syne plaed earlier in the bar bef4 eht club [10.57pm]

V: very apropaotye hahahahksjkdh [10.57pm]

V: may rhe acwanriance be forgot forever and fuckung ever [10.57pm]

V: is okay i can lobe w the bitternness [10.57pm]

V: i just kisd girls unt il it dont hurt [10.57pm]

Brooke sobs. Again, loud, shaking, broken. Because Vanessa is hurting so much even a year after it happened and everything feels so raw and it’s entirely her own fault for crushing the dream they were building.

“I miss her so fucking much, I don’t know why- I don’t know why I walked out,” She babbles, helpless and hopeless and hurt. “I’m fucking lying, Nina, I know why, I know why I did it. Why did I fucking-”

She knows all too well. Because Vanessa helped her pick an apartment and Vanessa picked her bed and Vanessa loved her cats. Because Brooke could imagine them getting married and growing old and it had barely been four months by the time Christmas and New Years were rolling around and everything seemed so serious and so intense, and that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun but it was scary in the same breath because speed was terrifying.

Brooke is bitter, but only at herself.

New Years Day. January 1st, a brand new year, a bright new start. The frost glistens freshly on the undisturbed morning, and all across the city, singles and couples sleep through the dawn, hungover or still passed out drunk, party hats akimbo, party blowers still suspended in smudged lipsticky mouths.

It’s early, enough that the daylight is blinding but pale and faded. Vanessa’s bedroom has the huge window that she never covers, and she sleeps through it like the dead. Brooke wakes up and looks around.

She looks at everything but Vanessa, but eventually her gentle snuffling is too much to ignore and she looks down at her beautiful sleeping form. She’s a disaster, hair everywhere and glitter still all over her face, and she’s the most breathtaking woman in the entire wide world. Something heavy and all encompassing sweeps into Brooke’s chest, and she can identify it by name. It’s only four letters, but it strikes a fear in her like an old god from a lost world. She needs to vomit. She needs to run. She needs an escape.

Before she even knows who she is again, any of the things that ended up staying half their time at Vanessa’s are stuffed into a couple of carrier bags and she’s in her dress from the party and out of the door into the cold winter air, panicked, unable to breathe.

It’s a heart attack, she thinks. Or a panic attack. It’s an attack that feels like it’s going to kill her, and she runs away, and she runs all the way home and barricades the door shut, dropping her belongings on the floor, numb and confused and cold. It’s the start of the new year and she begins it alone, hyperventilating.

Within a couple of days the worried texts subside and the angry vengeful ones start flooding in, and just like that Brooke’s lost the best thing that ever happened to her and all of her friends along with it. Because she got up on new year’s day and abandoned Vanessa fast asleep and that was the end.

It’s ugly and chilling, how much she cries into Nina’s gentleness. The only thing that stops her is, ironically, the thing that makes her feel worse, the characteristic ‘ping!’ of Nina’s phone, undoubtedly more drunk texts.

V: i hoper he fucjibg bubble bursts this tie of year [11.23pm]

V: every jhanduary first for the rest of hersitnkin life [11.23pm]

“I deserve it,” Brooke whispers hoarsely, “But she doesn’t. She never did.”

“Neither of you do,” Nina tells her sadly. “They don’t all hate you, they hate what you did the way friends always do when breakups happen. You both deserve to be happy. And both of you have been dreading New Year’s for this exact reason.”

It hurts to hear, and Brooke wishes she doesn’t have to listen, but her friend is so goddamn wise it feels stupid not to.

“Two days until it’s officially New Year.” Nina kisses her hand. “Can you keep living like this, Brooke?”

It’s not like she even has to say it for Brooke to understand. “She hates me.”

Nina shakes her head. “No she doesn’t. She loves you.”

“That’s worse.”

“You love her.”

“I know.”

“You got scared.”

“I still am.”

“Face your fears.” Nina holds her at arm’s length, forcing her to look right into her face. “This hurts more than what blundering through it would, surely? Fire doesn’t always mean you get burned, sweetie. Sometimes it just warms you.”

She makes no fucking sense.

“I can’t play with Vanessa like that again.” Brooke swears. “I can’t.

The transitional period between Christmas and New Year doesn’t feel like real time. It’s just liminal space, a waiting room of chronology, a suspension in space. If she’s honest, trying now causes no harm, because it’s like it didn’t even happen. Maybe she should, maybe she will.

Eventually Nina leaves, pressing a kiss to her forehead and promising that somehow everything is going to be okay. She’s like a fairy godmother, Brooke thinks to herself. Always knowing, always positive, and total magic to behold.

She’s awake all night long just staring at the time on the top of her phone, lying in bed sideways and wondering if she’ll do it. It has to be right. It can’t be when she’ll still be awake and drunk and angry. But it can’t be on the anniversary of her biggest fuck up, because that just feels like some kind of sick joke and that’s not what she wants.

The entire night passes. At six am, her finger hovers over the send button for a full three minutes. She counts the seconds.

B: I fucked up. If u’ll have me, I’ll never mess u around again. I didn’t know I could love someone so much and then u came along and everything sped up and I wasn’t fast enough. I shouldn’t have thrown away what we had when it was as close to perfect as anything can get. This message is all me me me I I I but if ur okay with it, I think new year should begin right this time. I’ll hold u and I won’t let go, and u don’t even have to hold me as long as ur here. Everything is up to u. I’ll learn to live with what I did if u say no. Because I totally get why u should hate me. I hate me too, kinda. U did nothing wrong. U were and will always be perfect. [6.03am]

B: Full disclosure is I was scared of how much and how quick I loved u. But it didn’t go away even when I hurt u. I was stupid to do that, and I don’t wanna do another year in the shadow of that massive mistake. [6.05am]

B: I won’t say it here, because thats cheap for u. But I’ll say it when I see u again. I promise, and I want to [6.13am]

She falls asleep with her phone in her hand after being awake all night long.

She wakes up four hours later.

V: ur dumb [9.51am]

V: theres a party at yvies for new years yknow [9.52am]

V: im not saying ill kiss u at midnight but [9.52am]

V: fuck around and find out [9.52am]

(tags: purecamp, branjie, brooke lynn hytes, vanessa vanjie mateo, lesbian au, things that were, fic challenge, nostalgia challenge, nina west)

#rpdr fanfiction #purecamp #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #things that were #fic challenge #nostalgia challenge #nina west #s11 #(you will always have a place here! -v)

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solasan · 4 years ago

Note

on the touch prompts, 2 for june and adam uwu

2. with relief.

Before coming to Wayhaven, Adam du Mortain could count on one hand the number of times he had been seriously knocked down by one of their foes.

An impressive statement, certainly, given his nine centuries of service, but no less accurate for its weight. Indeed, he has ever been in his prime, striving to prove his capabilities since the first dusk he faced with immortality thrumming in his veins.

Farah would doubtless find it funny, how much his exemplary record has been muddied by their stay in Oregon. This is what he thinks on his way to the bruising ground, his lungs rattling around the wooden stake buried between his fourth and fifth ribs, three inches deep. She would— she would make some sort of joke about it, probably. And the detective might laugh.

Or perhaps it would be her jesting in the first place?

The Trappers are getting desperate to catch her, he muses as though from very far away, and then — for the second time in the last year, and also an entire millennium — he passes out.

He could not say how long he was unconscious for. It is not like sleeping; he does not dream, and that is almost a relief, given how frequently the detective has been haunting his nights as of late.

But it does leave him a little disoriented when he wakes, still collapsed across the concrete, a roaring pain in his chest that reaches a sudden crescendo when something in that area is ripped free. Cold floods in, filling his rib cage, his lungs, every breath hard-won and edged with ice.

He cannot— he cannot see properly, his eyes rolling uselessly in his skull, vision blurred and skittering sideways when he tries to focus. Nothing has form for long; he thinks he catches sight of Nate’s cheek or perhaps his chin, and a spray of something red beside him, but beyond that—

Beyond that, he cannot be sure.

He swallows thickly, mouth acrid and vile, coppery in a way he is ill-used to; his own blood, he thinks, not another’s. What happened? How— how did it get there?

“Adam, you have to stay still,” Nate rumbles from a great distance, and so it must be him at his side.

“Wha—” Adam begins to slur, concentrating on the mastery of his tongue, which feels thick, blunt and clumsy in his mouth. “Wha’ hap—”

“Adam!” comes a cry, and then shoes pounding on the asphalt, the sound of something stumbling or slamming to the floor beside him.

“June,” Nate is saying, “be careful, don’t overwhelm him—”

“Fuck! Shit, sorry, sorry, are— are you okay? Nate, is he okay?”

“June,” he manages, following the sound of her — breath, heartbeat, and voice — with his still-uncooperative eyes.

“Hey,” she breathes, and then something soft and cold is brushing his cheek, cradling his jaw.

He is too tired not to lean into her. He is too tired to pretend he does not follow her like a flower does the sun, blooming in her light. He knows only that she is safe, that she is home, that the world seems less terrible now with her hand on his skin and her scent filling his head.

He hears her swallow. Then, with a laugh just an octave off: “Wow, uh. You— you must be pretty fucked up, huh?”

Adam grumbles.

“That’s— shit, that’s like, a metric fuckton of blood.” She makes a high-pitched, anxious sound. “Is he— Nate, is he gonna be okay? What do we do?”

“I—” Nate swallows. “I need to contact the Agency. They’ll have to send out a team to get him. He’ll— he’ll be fine, he’ll heal, he just… he needs to be seen.”

“Okay, okay, cool, cool, cool— um, what should I—”

“Stay here. Put pressure over the wound; yes, that, hold your hand there—” and the rest of his sentence is lost to Adam as pain fills his chest again and his vision goes white.

He comes back to himself under a litany of her words. Not that many of them make sense. He thinks— he thinks she is telling him something, but he can’t figure out what. His ears are working, but his mind isn’t; if he could just focus, if he could only concentrate—

“June,” he croaks, and the hand on his cheek trembles.

“Oh, thank God, I thought—” June laughs again in that wobbly, wet kind of way, and his heart — quite independently of whatever was done to his chest — throbs. “I thought you might’ve died on me you fucking— you fucking asshole, oh my God, I’m gonna kill you.”

“M’not—” He inhales, exhales. Gasps for one breath, two, three. “M’not dead. Swear.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re damn right you’re not. Jesus, if you die on me, I swear to God I’ll— I’ll bring you back to life and kick your ass.”

Laughing is painful, he soon learns, his chuckle becoming a hacking, bloody cough that leaves him panting. You fool. You absolute fool.

“Sorry, sorry.”

June shifts with a low grunt, and then his head is pillowed on something firm but warm, her fingers combing through his hair. That’s nice, he thinks vaguely, pressing himself into her touch as much as he can. I like that.

“Yeah?” she asks.

Oh. Oh, did I say that aloud?

Adam blinks up at her blearily. It is perhaps not the most flattering angle — she has pulled him into her lap, he realises with distant surprise, his skull resting on her thighs — but that doesn’t matter. Her eyes are big and brown and a little bit wet, brimming with such concern that he can barely stand to meet them.

He swallows. Blinks once, twice. Wrestles control of his tongue from the dark edges of his vision with a clenched jaw and a shuddering breath.

“Are y’alright?”

June laughs again; high, wild, half-mad. “Are— are you kidding?”

He makes a rough sound he hopes she will interpret as negatory.

“Okay, I— I really should be asking you that, don’t you think? I mean Jesus, I leave you alone for one fucking minute and you go and— and get yourself turned into a pin-cushion.”

She sounds so scared. He has scared her. This is unconscionable.

“S’not a pin,” he croaks. “Stake.”

“Is— was that a joke?”

He hmms.

His chest hurts. By God, it hurts so much. He has not been staked in some time, and never so terribly — he had forgotten, quite. How could he have forgotten?

He reaches down to feel for the pain, but June catches his hand in hers, knotting their fingers together and squeezing.

“Okay, buddy. Don’t go doing that, okay? That’s— that’s a bad idea.”

Adam grumbles.

“Shut up, dipshit.” She squeezes his hand again. “Just— just stay there and wait with me, okay? They’re on their way. You’ll— you’ll be okay.”

Yes, he will. With her hand in his, how could he be anything but?

#the wayhaven chronicles #sh: du mortain x detective #lvllns #answered #my writing #ch: june lovelace #thank u caiti aaaaaaa #💖💖💖💖💖

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tinycaprisun · 4 years ago

Text

a song about it raining somewhere else

title: a song about it raining somewhere else characters: chuck taylor x trent beretta word count: 3822 part: 1/1 warnings: mild cursing, and like that’s kinda it? maybe mild angst? but also i’m a baby and it becomes fluff by the end? a/n: howdy, this is not another i’m back i’m back piece as much as it honestly is. no, see this time- this is actually a gift! 2 days ago was @trentjinshi’s birthday and i wanted to write him something! so i sat down for like 6 hours with my goopy goblin gay brain and spit out this obvious magnum opus. so, like, don’t hate it please. also hugest happy birthday to emil again!! yeehaw... i’ve technically already sent this to u

You know, of all days to have the soul crushing realization that you’ve secretly been in love with your best friend, Trent should have expected it to happen on Valentine’s Day.

The man had garbage luck anyways, and good things seemingly never happened to him. So when Chuck animatedly told him he had a date that night with some girl, Trent’s heart shouldn’t have blown apart like he had been shot. Sure, he pretended to be supportive of his buddy, returning his radiant smile despite the effect never reaching his eyes, And yeah, he wished him all the best, telling the taller man he hoped it went well.

But did Trent mean any of that? Fuck no! He was dying on the inside, mourning the loss of a relationship and love he didn’t even know he wanted! Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky that he didn’t start bawling his eyes out on the spot. The New Yorker had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the crying really was not out of the question at that moment. But he contained his feelings somehow, moving on through the rest of that afternoon like he was trudging through a snowstorm. Slow, cold, and slowly dying from the inside out.

So that led him here, sitting in his car as the rain started to come down, refusing to turn the damn thing on. He didn’t want to go back to his hotel room. Because if he did, it would remind him of the obvious. He went home alone tonight.

Chuck wasn’t alone. His friend had a probably beautiful person with a perfect personality sitting across from him at a fancy restaurant. A person who wasn’t him. Why couldn’t Trent be his perfect date? He would laugh at his jokes, softly hold his hand as they walked in from the parking lot, pull his chair out for him, admire him like he was the sun-

A harsh banging came from his left, rhythmically tapping against the glass of his car window in time with the rain drops. Trent’s head jerked up from where it had defeatedly slumped against the steering wheel to see who was trying to get his attention.

It was a security guard, holding an umbrella in one hand and wavering him off with another, politely telling him to leave the premises as the arena building they were at was closing. To be honest, getting a ticket from not leaving and instead rotting in that parking lot forever sounded like a far better time than he was having. But, he didn’t have a choice. Story of his life.

Trent started up his car, quickly leaving off into the vast night with only his thoughts to keep him company. And that was rapidly becoming annoying. The singular thing on his mind was one person, and how all this time, his feelings were so obvious. Every time he even glanced in his friend’s direction his heart rate would spike. Before now, he had chalked that up to coincidence or - considering it was Trent and how his body loved to torture him - underlying health conditions. Evidently, it was neither of those things.

One would think he would catch on to his festering crush sooner; considering he thought the entire world of Chuck and whenever he had to go more than a few days without seeing him, he would get a weird sense of longing to be back in his presence, but nothing ever wanted to work out that way. Life thought it would be much funnier if Trent felt like he was being ripped apart at the seams by a simple sentence.

Between the still processing of what it even meant to have a crush on your best friend, and knowing that right now he was out with some other person having the time of his life, Trent was not feeling great as he drove down the freeway. Grumbling under his breath, he flicked the radio on to fill the car with something other than his problems. A song the brunette had never heard before crackled to life, being about part of the way through.

By the time we get there, everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables and the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good, but we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm-

Fucking perfect! The last person to mess with the radio in Trent’s car was Chuck, and bastard left it on one of his stupid country stations. Trent didn’t even like country music! That didn’t stop him, however, from a few days ago when they were driving from city to city and let Chuck put on whatever he liked, even if it was something he was going to hate. He would make tiny sacrifices like that all the time for his partner, because he knew it would earn him one of those sunlit smiles. Trent really would do anything to make Chuck happy, and had been since they met.

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd when you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party if I'm late to the party with you

It... It was a love song?

“Throw me off a fucking bridge.” Trent mumbled to himself as he exited an off ramp. Seriously, who out there was tormenting him and making him have possibly the worst day ever? What omnipotent being did he piss off? He thought he was an alright dude, not getting into other people’s business and sort of keeping to himself. Most days he made an attempt to be somewhat nice to others and never did any of that vile or cruel shit. And yet, he was cursed to drive home while listening to a love song in a genre that he hated, and only helped to remind him more of his best friend.

Let's promise when we get in that we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations, make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into "Who's leaving here with who?" But I just want 'em all to see me come in late to the party with you

Wasn’t that a funny line. Wanting others to see the person you’re with because of how much you loved them? Trent understood that. Whenever he would go anywhere with Chuck, he would always want people to know he was there with him- whether he realized it or not.

He could talk for hours about him. It could be the simple telling of a funny story, or gushing about how good he was in the ring. Or how great of a friend he was. That made Trent wonder about what Chuck would be like if they were together. His mind wandered, dreaming up scenarios and infinite possibilities as he pulled into his hotel’s parking garage.

The musing didn’t stop when he killed the engine, happily ending that fucking song that was starting to piss him off with how cute it was. Trent pushed himself out of the car, gathering his singular bag from the trunk and wandering inside through the rain. Which, if anyone was curious, was even worse than it was when he left. It was coming down in buckets now, being slung into the New Yorker’s face by the wind.

Checking in was easy enough, having the briefest of conversations with the man at the desk who happened to have a thick southern accent.

Chuck had an accent, but only when he drank a lot. It took about 3 and a half beers for it to come out, but by that point he didn’t care all that much to hide it. He wouldn’t be trashed, as he was a pretty solid drinker and had made putting strong shit back a hobby over the last few years. Trent knew exactly how it sounded, though. A smooth Kentucky accent that always caused him to punctuate the last word of his sentences and pronounce certain things differently. Never anything like “y’all” or something southern like that, after all Chuck wasn’t that dime store cowboy they worked with.

The thing Trent remembered the most about Chuck’s accent was how he said his name. He would draw it out, almost like he was whining, except it was low in his voice and always accompanied by a wide grin. One that’s toothy like Cheshire Cat, and annoyingly sweet like bubblegum. Trent idly wondered if he tasted like bubblegum too, but the thought turned vivid fantasy was interrupted for a moment by the elevator reaching his floor.

The brunette slowly approached his room, still partially entranced by the ideas he had created in his mind as he unlocked his door and slipped in. From there, it felt like he wasn’t even alive anymore. Not in a morbid sense, but as in he wasn’t participating in the concept of reality at that moment. Trent was so disconnected from his actions, it was almost as though he was outside of his body and looking in from somewhere else. So much so, that when he snapped out of his revere from his phone buzzing, he was lying in bed wearing only his boxers.

Not that what was on his phone was of any importance to him. All Trent saw were notifications for things he didn’t care about, the only thing sticking out was a short text from Orange sending him more condolences over his current “issue”. Damn, he was acting like someone had died, not his friend’s heart being broken. Trent didn’t bother responding, tossing the device back on the bedside table and rolling over to face away from it.

The alarm clock on the other stand read “10:17 p.m.”, blinking at him like the piece of shit was broken. It also only now occurred to Trent that he had never turned the lights on while he was basically astral projecting. So he was bathed in darkness, with the only illumination being that digital clock and the street lights below outside the window.

Was he going to fall asleep at a respectable time? Because deep in his bones he could feel the shroud of tiredness creeping through him from all of the emotional energy he drained today. And with that, Trent grabbed one of the unused pillows and wrapped himself around it, cuddling it tightly and not bothering to get under the bed covers.

Maybe if he tried hard enough, Trent could pretend the pillow was something else. --

Who in the hell was knocking at his door at - the New Yorker stopped his angry brain tirade to peek at the clock again - 11:53 at night? He had only gotten to sleep an hour and it was cut short by who knew what. If this was Orange coming to tell him he had broken another hotel microwave by “forgetting to take the metal spoon out of his mac and cheese”, Trent was going to fucking kill him.

Getting up from where he lay, Trent stumbled blearily across the room to the door. In those few seconds, it processed with him that his hair must have come untied while he was sleeping because it was messily draped around his shoulders. Among that, he was still only dressed in boxers, riding rather low on his hips. Maybe he had a restless sleep even though it was quick?

He didn’t care what he looked like though as he slowly pulled the door open with a yawn and blinked from the harsh light flooding in from the hallway. Trent prepared to open his mouth and berate his shorter friend when he heard a sniffle come from in front of him.

Chuck was standing on the other side of the doorway, soaking wet from the rain. By the look on his face, it seemed as though he had been crying as well, with red eyes and a running nose. His eyes didn’t meet Trent’s as he all but whispered, “H-hey, man.”

Did the longer haired brunette care that his friend was ice cold and drenched from head to toe? No. That was why without words, he dragged his friend into the room and hugged him tightly, letting the hotel door slip closed on its own. Chuck didn’t need to be told twice to hug back, nearly crushing Trent from the strength of his shaking arms.

They stayed like that for a good while, with Trent rubbing soothing circles into his back and letting him rest his head on his shoulder when he began to weep again. That was before he slowly drew back, silently taking Chuck’s hand and guiding him to his bed so he could sit. Trent grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around his friend, figuring he could just use a blanket later when he needed to sleep.

“I... didn’t even tell you- what’s wrong..?” murmured the Kentuckian, slouching in on himself and bringing his knees up so they were closer to his chest. He must have been really cold. Trent paused for a moment, looking with a pained yet sympathetic smile.

“Don’t need to. You’re upset, and I gotta fix that.” He wasn’t sure who hurt him, or even what, but just let it be known he was going to destroy whatever it was.

“Well, uh, t-thank you?”

“Yeah, dude. I-” Love you. “Care about you. You’re my friend and shit. Hurts to see you cry.” With that, Trent carefully maneuvered around Chuck and hopped off the bed to go rifle through his clothes for something dry he could wear. And- probably some pants for himself. When he first opened the door, he couldn’t help but notice Chuck gave him the slightest look up and down, with his cheeks going red afterwards. Trent assumed it was only because he was cold, and the warmth from his bedroom had fucked with his internal body temperature.

While digging through his bags trying to find some of the clothes he always packed for his friend - and if it were any other day than today, Trent would have told you it was because he was just being a nice guy. He knew better than that now. - Chuck began to talk again. “Date ditched me...”

“They didn’t show up?”

Chuck sighed. “No, she did. But- when her ex came around... She would’a rather been with him.”

Trent grabbed the extra clothes and stood, turning around to face Chuck who was staring off into the corner. Considering how already destroyed his heart already was from earlier, he was a bit surprised it still had a few more pieces that could shatter at this sight. Coming back over, he set the pile to one side of him, then sat back down on the other. “Chuck...”

“I don’t know what I expected? Every girl, or hell- every guy, I’ve ever tried to date has never worked out for me. I don’t get it.” Oh, Trent should not have been so happy to hear those words. Well, he wasn’t happy to hear most of them, and was hurting for his friend, but two of them in particular stuck out to him like a sore thumb. Every guy. That meant Chuck had been on dates with men. That meant, even though it was fucked up to think about this at the moment, that Trent still had a chance.

“You just haven’t found the right one, man. None of those assholes from before deserve you anyways.” Chuck brought his gaze back over to Trent, eyes glassy and expression- disbelieving. His hair was matted to his head, still wet in some places, but mostly stuck in small spots to his forehead. Everything else about him was still about the same caliber as that, slowly drying and clinging to parts of his body that weren’t being disrupted by the comforter.

“Or maybe I didn’t deserve them...” Something- came over Trent then. There wasn’t a word for the mix of emotions he felt upon hearing that. But what he could feel were his hands taking either side of his best friend’s face and holding his head up to where he would look him in the eyes.

“That’s not true, you and I both know that. Anyone in the world would be lucky to have you.”

Chuck honest to god laughed at that and tilted his head. “Name one person.”

Fuck. For all intents and purposes, the answer he desperately wanted to give was ‘Me’, but that never came out of his mouth. Instead, it was like Trent was suspended in fear, unable to say what he wanted for the thought of being rejected. Or somehow even worse, him thinking it was a joke and getting upset with him. So, Trent said nothing, trying to think of a different response that would be true, but didn’t give himself away.

That was the nail in the coffin, though. Chuck took his silence as an answer, unable to provide a single person who could possibly want to be with him. The other man shook Trent’s hands away from his face, hurt welling up in his eyes with a grimace as he moved to grab the clothes that were gotten for him.

“See,” Chuck hobbled to a standing position, holding the clean garments close to his sodden chest like it was going to protect him from the pain he was feeling. Trent, just say something, anything, he yelled to himself whilst watching Chuck shuffle over to the bathroom and pull the door open. He flicked his eyes down to the floor for a moment before coming back up and locking onto Trent’s. “No one could ever love me...”

“Chuck-” Trent was too late, Chuck had already disappeared into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. And God damn it, his stomach had sunk to the depth of his being, twisting and turning like he was going to be sick. He should have said something. Even if it meant ruining the only thing he really had left to care about. There was his job, his other friends, his family and that; and while they meant a lot to him as well, he truly believed in that moment, and probably for some while now, that Chuck was his world.

As goofy and kind of bullshit as it was to hear, that’s what he felt like. That this guy he’s known for a good chunk of his life was his sun, moon, and every star in the sky. And Trent knew he’s never felt that way about another person. He knew that no other person on this Earth - or fuck, any other planet - could beam at him when they pull an upset and win a match together like he could. No one else made his chest feel warm whenever they complimented him quite the same way that Chuck did. There wasn’t a soul who had the same giggle, the wit, the determination, the personality- fucking any of it. No one had quite what his best friend had, and that was why he loved him.

Trent had no idea how long Chuck was going to be in there, or if he was ever going to come out. Knowing him, he could stay in there all night, not wanting to face the world again- let alone his friend. Even still, he got up from where he was and placed himself a few paces away from his bathroom door. Within his head, he hyped himself up, vowing that no matter if he got scared or felt like everything was going to go wrong, the New Yorker was going to tell him the truth.

Approximately 4 minutes later - if you asked Trent it felt like 10 years - Chuck finally emerged from his hiding place, dressed in some of his friend’s clothes and with shockingly drier hair. Not sure why he was so surprised that he had run a towel through it or something, but that didn’t matter. The taller man seemed confused as to why Trent was standing at the door, but before he could ask what was happening, Trent said, “I do.”

Chuck squinted at him with a, “What?” but it came out choked off and shaky, like he wasn’t prepared to speak.

“You said no one could ever love you, and that’s not true. Because I love you,” He wanted to protest, but now that Trent was talking, he couldn’t stop. “And I didn’t realize it until today, but I seriously am so in love with you that I don’t think I could picture my life without you. You mean everything to me and I would do anything for you just to see your beautiful smile or hear you say my name. And I know it sounds like I’m lying and that I’m trying to make you feel better, but I’m not. If I think about it, I feel like I’ve loved you forever but never realized it, and I wish I could have known sooner. Because you need to know that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and I would be the luckiest guy in the world to even have a chance with you-”

“Trent-”

“I love the way you purposefully send me a string of those stupid emojis over text because you know it annoys me. I love how you can make anyone feel better with just one smile and your passion for loving others. I love how much you love animals and how every dog you see, you consider kidnapping-'' Trent had become so caught up in his declaration that he hadn’t noticed his friend had moved from in front of him and Chuck’s lips were on his.

Before he could even do anything; not even get a gasp at the sudden action, Chuck was already pulling away, breathing as if he had just run a mile. His face was bright red and his hands were holding either of Trent’s arms as he searched his face for a reaction. Or anything really.

“I- I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” It felt as though Trent was living in one of those shitty romantic comedies he secretly liked to watch, because he was the one who cut Chuck off while speaking with an somehow even more desperate kiss. He felt him respond almost instant, bringing one of his hands up to Trent’s face to cup it gently as his own arms latched cautiously onto Chuck’s hips. And that was where they stayed, for who knew how long, but every second of it was exactly where they wanted to be.

You know, of all days to have the life-changing realization that you’re secretly in love with your best friend, Trent - and Chuck for that matter - hadn’t expected it to happen on (the day after) Valentine’s Day.

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a-little-dreamer-s-world · 5 years ago

Text

My Dear Brother

Hey guys! Sorry for being AWOL with my writing for a while. My mental health hasn’t been the best lately :( However! I did watch the new episode! And I had an idea for a story! This is going to be in the same vein as another story of mine Are We Cool? so I hope y’all enjoy!

@sympathetic-deceit-trash @fangirltothefullest @bluebloodstains @randomslasher I figured you guys might like to read this maybe??

Warnings!: Possible spoilers for the newest Sanders Sides episode, sympathetic Remus, sympathetic Deceit/Janus, sexual innuendos, gore mentions, odd body movements.

The motion of a brush on a canvas had always been calming to Roman. The sudden appearance of color on a plain white surface gave him a small thrill that couldn’t really be beat, other than being on stage with hundreds watching him. But in any case, the thrill that was usually there was absent now, the burning anger replacing that feeling altogether. It increased tenfold when fingers suddenly appeared at the top of his painting, crazed eyes looking down at him with a Cheshire cat grin following it.

“Remus, get off,” he grumbled, watching the other man laugh as he let go, the blue sky of his painting having strips of paint lifted up from where Remus’s fingers have been. The other side plopped down on Roman’s bed behind him, licking his fingers of where the paint imprinted on his skin.

“Well, dear brother, you’re in quite a mood,” Remus said, crossing his legs and putting his elbows on his knee, his chin resting on his palm as he gave the man a fake pout. “What, not happy to see me?”

“As if I’m ever happy to see you,” Roman turned in his stool to face his brother, crossing his arms with the paintbrush still in hand, glaring at him.

“Aw, Roman,” Remus cooed out, reaching like he was going to pinch the other brother’s cheek. He just grinned when Roman smacked his hand away, waving his own hand from side to side like he touched something slimy.

“Temper, temper,” Remus tsked, mirroring Roman by crossing his arms.

“Look, Remus, as much as you like to pester me into doing one of your messed up ‘adventures’, I’m in no mood to deal with you right now.” Roman turned back around to continue with his painting, flinching back when the scenic picture he had been painting just a moment was replaced with a graphic depiction of a head on the end of a stake staring back at him.

He growled out as he stood up with his brother laughing behind him, tossing the paintbrush to the ground as he pushed the easel over. The image dissipated back into his original painting once it hit the ground, not without creating a tear into the canvas. He let out a dramatic sigh, moving back to flop down on his bed.

Remus was still there, laying down on his stomach with his legs kicking in the air. His hair was an absolute rat’s nest, but that was nothing new. “My, you are in a mood,” Remus mused as he stared at his brother, who had his eyes closed. “Was today’s video not wanting to focus on poor Roman?”

“That’s not it at all,” Roman said, keeping his eyes closed. “It’s...It’s that snake’s fault! He’s been messing with us for all this time, and then he said that his name was Janice, as if Thomas would believe—”

“Wait a minute, Janus told you his name?” Remus interrupted, his eyes getting impossibly wider as he leaned in closer to him. “Oh, tell me about that~”

“Wait, you knew?” Roman sat up in his bed, looking down at his brother with a frown. It was from this angle he realized that Remus’s morning star was leaning against the wall next to his bed, something he was surprised he hadn’t realize sooner. “I thought he was lying again when he said that his name was Janice?”

“Not Janice, dear brother, Janus,” Remus corrected him, sitting up as well. “Like the god with two faces! Oh, I wonder since he had two faces, would he have two di-”

“Focus, Duke, focus,” Roman said, snapping his fingers in front of the other’s face. His brother blinked a few times, bringing his head forward to snap his teeth right next to the hand before looking at him. “Now, how did you know that’s his name? You weren’t there with us for the video!”

“Ah, but that’s the thing, Princey.” Remus wagged his finger in Roman’s face, that grin shit-eating grin not leaving him. “You might have forgotten, but I’m unfiltered! Nothing gets past me and nothing is held back. I just choose to forget the stuff I think is too boring to remember until I have to bring it up.”

Roman frowned at him, letting out a huff. “But that’s not the problem! The problem is that he’s evil! He’s done so much to hurt Thomas, and now Thomas thinks that he should be part of the group? That we should forgive him?”

Remus had his head tilted to the side at an unnatural angle, a sight that hadn’t creeped Roman out in a long time. The thing that was freaky about it was the look that the darker side was giving him; he looked thoughtful, like he was taking apart his words to think over what he said. “Brother, dear, let me ask you something.”

“What? Is it going to be about how I want to do something nasty to Deceit? Or make him eat something disgusting you created?” Roman spat out, trying to hide how weirded out he felt.

“No, for once. What I want to ask is simple: Do you see me as evil?”

Roman sputtered a bit, looking at his brother in surprise. He looked for a sign of a lie, a flash of a sharp-toothed grin to show that Remus was pulling his leg. After an awkward silence filled the room where they just stared at each other, he looked away to rub the back of his neck. “Well, no, I don’t think you’re evil...”

Remus looked a bit surprised by the answer, saying, “But aren’t I worse than Janus? I’m ruled by desire; if Thomas didn’t have any self-control or any shame, then I wouldn’t have stayed away from your silly videos until he was too exhausted to keep me at bay.”

“Yeah, but you’re different! You’re...You’re...” He trailed off, trying to think of what he wanted to say.

“I’m not part of the group,” Remus said, looking at him with the closest thing to a serious look that Roman had seen on him in a long time. “And my input isn’t wanted, nor do I think it ever will be,” he added, and Roman could have sworn he saw a flash of sadness in his eyes before it was gone, his grin coming back. “Roman, I can’t help with whatever sexual tension you two have—”

“It’s not sexual tension, my god, have you been listening?”

“But don’t let it get in the way of what’s true,” Remus ignored him. “Janus is in the forefront of Thomas’s mind now, and there’s nothing to stop that. You’re stuck with him, so you two can either make up and make out, or you can ignore him until your feelings override and you two fu-”

“I’m not letting you finish that,” Roman said sharply, causing his brother to laugh maniacally. Roman huffed as he got off his bed, going back to pick the now dry painting off the floor, waving his hand over where the tear in the canvas. Almost by magic, the tear fixed itself, looking like nothing had happened to it at all.

“Either way, whatever happens, you might want to give a quick look at what you think is ‘evil’.” Remus’s arm was on his shoulder now, though when Roman looked behind him, he could see that Remus was only just then getting off his bed with his arm stretched out to touch him. Once he reached him, Remus looked at Roman with a raised brow and finished, “Because if you don’t think I’M evil, then you might need to really think about what evil is to you.”

Roman blinked a couple of times before he slowly nodded, a tired little smile coming to him. “I...I’ll think about it.”

“Good... now, would you like to follow me to that juicy tunnel that I found that I’ve been calling the Glory Ho-”

“Get out of here, Dukey,” Roman snorted out, pushing away a giggling Remus who was finally going to his bedroom door. Just before he left, he turned to look at Roman and said, “Oh, and one last thing.”

The creative side glanced back at his darker brother, who simply pointed in his direction. “I fixed your painting!”

“What? No you did- AH!” He had turned to see what he meant when he saw a sight worse than the one that Remus had made appear earlier: it was painting of a naked Aunt Patty.

“Why?! Why would you do that?” Roman cried out as he covered his eyes, and even though he couldn’t see him, he could practically hear the grin spreading on his face.

“It’s the one thing you can’t unsee!” he cackled before he pranced out, his morning star picking itself up to follow him out.

Roman cautiously looked past his fingers, seeing that his painting was back to normal. He let out a weary sigh as he picked his paintbrush off the floor, the brush primed with the shade of blue he needed to fix the sky that Remus had messed up. When he finished, he took a step back to examine his work.

The picture was of him, Logan, Patton, Virgil, and Thomas, all laying on a hill while cloud gazing. He examined the painting for a few minutes, nodding slowly before he went back to painting, his singular paintbrush changing colors to the one he needed at the moment.

The next time he stopped was when he was called down by Patton to eat dinner, leaving it behind. He would find out that night that Patton was briefly stopped by Remus to ask about him, and had gone to check on him instead. He would also De- Janus come in at some point, making himself a plate before leaving with it and only giving the four sides a nod. And he’d have to help Logan and Patton calm Virgil down from getting up to possibly deck him, much to the other two’s surprise.

And then there was Remus, who had snuck back into brother’s room with a rare soft smile on his lips, looking at a painting of all of them on a hill to watch the clouds go by, with him right there in between Janus and Roman.

#sanders sides #roman sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #ts deciet #ts janus #sympathetic deceit #deceit sanders #janus sanders #sympathetic remus #writing

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btsslowburnfic · 4 years ago

Text

Sonata Second Movement

The dear @omgalyssag17 asked: hi i saw you have your requests open and was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a story where yoongi moves into a haunted apartment/house (human!yoongi x ghost!reader pairing). i like giving authors lots of room for creativity so let your imagination flow.

Here is part one Series Summary: Yoongi travels to a lake house to get some work done in peace. While he is there he has several strange encounters that make him question his own sanity. Chapter Notes: Ghosty girl is catching feelings WK:6kish

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Previously... “Wow you look even better when you are soaking wet,” you mused from your spot by the fireplace mantle.

Yoongi shook his hair out of his face and looked over at you, “Thanks, but who are you and why are you here….” His eyes widened as he was finally able to see clearly.

Your eyes also grew wider and you looked behind you to make sure he wasn’t speaking to anyone else. You looked back at him, “You can see me?”

Yoongi slowly nodded his head. The woman definitely looked like she could be twins with [y/n] from the photograph. “Of course I can, you’re ogling me from the fireplace.”

If you were alive you would have blushed. “Yeah well...I didn’t think you would see me. Let a girl have a little fun.” You wrung your hands. “Go put on a towel or something.”

Yoongi laughed, his shoulders gently shaking up and down. “Sorry. I’m Min Yoongi. It’s nice to meet you. Are you [y/n’]’s sister? Didn’t you know the cabin is booked for the week?

“………..yes. I’m her sister.” You decided, what the hell? You’re dead. He’s not going to believe that you’re a ghost anyways. Let’s go with it. “ It’s nice to meet you. My name is Elise. I’m so sorry for staring at you. I didn’t know anyone was staying here. My parents are awful about letting me know the schedule.”

Yoongi felt his heartbeat slowing down. “S’okay. Uh...when did you get here? I didn’t see a car?”

“Late this morning. I had a friend drop me off. I saw your car out front but I thought maybe one of our family friends had stopped by to go fishing or something. When I came inside I headed straight for the guest bedroom to relax.” The lies easily fell from your lips and you felt a little bad. But an easy lie was better than a hard truth for today.

Yoongi was so shocked from the ghost incident and the surprise of having another person there he didn’t analyze the story too much. “OK. Well, like you said. I’m going to go put on a towel or something. Probably dry clothes, unless you’d prefer the towel?” He teased.

“Hey, don’t flatter yourself too much. Like I said, I didn’t think you’d be able to hear me,” you looked away embarrassed.

Yoongi smirked, not quite sure where his confidence just now had come from. He shouldn’t flirt with some random girl in an isolated cabin. He was here to work. He walked back to the bedroom to change.

You gathered a few logs and paper to start a fire in the fireplace. He would probably be cold and you felt bad for scaring him out into the cool rain. How on earth could he see you? You wondered. You tossed a match into the pile and waited for the flames to catch.

Yoongi came out with his hair still damp and dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants. “I’m booked here through the week just so you know. Oh,” he looked at the fireplace, “thanks for starting a fire.”

You sat down in front of it and held your hands out, imitating getting warm.. “No problem. And OK. Are you trying to kick me out of my dead sister’s house?”

Yoongi froze. “Well I guess when you put it like that, I was going to. But now I feel bad.”

“I’ll try and get a hold of my friend tomorrow to see if they can come back early. But you know how the reception is out here.” You said from your spot in front of the fire.

“Yeah. No worries. I just came up here to get some work done. So as long as that still happens, it’s all good.” He squatted next to the fire and began to blow on it to add oxygen. You had tried to blow on it as well, but of course your efforts amounted to nothing.

“Oh? What kind of work?” You pretended like you had no idea even though you figured it out the first night.

“I’m a music producer. I also write songs and rap. Sometimes I'm even forced to sing,” he joked as he stood up and walked over to the desk. “Was your sister a musician?”

“Yes. She was a concert pianist and also dabbled in composing. She had written a few things before she died."

"Anything I'd recognize?" he asked, putting his notebook into his bag.

"No, nothing you would have heard of. How did you know?”

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck and walked over carrying the letter. “Ah, here. I found this in the piano. Umm...it might be difficult to read. I think she wrote it when she was really sick.” He gently handed it to you. You took the time to read your words and reflect on them.

You gave the letter back to Yoongi and let out a deep breath. “Cancer. She was so young, they didn’t suspect anything. By the time they caught it, it had spread to her bones. She turned down treatment and moved up here full time. All she wanted to do was enjoy the lake views and play music.” You sighed, remembering the worst year of your life.

“I’m sorry. That must have been really horrible for both of you.” He nods in understanding and you don’t say anything, just staring into the fire.

Yoongi sucked in some air, making a whooshing sound and began, “Well, along with the letter she also left the music she was working on, would you like to hear it?” He sat down at the piano bench.

“Please,” you responded and turned to face the piano. You were absolutely relishing every minute that he was actually interacting with you.

Yoongi began to play the song as you had written it, along with the few notes he (and you) had added. Before you knew it, you felt something on your face. Tears? Ghosts couldn’t cry?? What was going on with you today?

Yoongi stopped playing and turned around to hear your appraisal. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t even know I could cry.” You responded, wiping the tears away. He didn’t notice your strange phrasing, just assuming you weren’t a very emotional person.

“Your sister wrote most of it, I added just a few notes. It’s really good. Hold on.” He got up and went hunting for tissues. He returned a moment later and gently handed you the box. “Here.”

“Thank you,” you said while wiping the tears from your face. “It sounds so gentle the way you play it.”

He mumbled a response you couldn’t quite make out while rubbing the back of his neck and sat down next to you on the floor.

“Would you like some coffee?” You asked, suddenly remembering the task he was trying to complete when you scared him earlier.

He shook the bangs out of his face, “Sure, if you want to make some I’d drink it. By the way, did you sit all the stuff out earlier?”

I mean. It wasn’t a lie this time, “Yes. I was going to make some this morning but then I got distracted.”

“Oh good. For a while I thought this lake house was haunted.”

“Ahahaha” you laughed way too much. Creepily, if you were being honest. You stood up, “that’s so weird. A haunted Lake house. Are you easily frightened?”

He leaned back on his elbows, enjoying the heat from the fireplace. “No. I mean, I don’t like horror movies, but I don’t think I get scared easily. Imagine if you thought you were alone and suddenly the groceries were in other places and doors were unlocking and locking.” He pouted.

You added water and coffee grounds to the machine. “Yeah yeah that’s fair. Sorry for teasing you, that would be pretty scary.”

“Plus I found that note, and the piano seems like it has a mind of its own. And it’s a secluded cabin.” He lists reasons, defending himself. You feel bad since he wasn’t wrong; the house was haunted.

“Hey stop, you’re starting to freak ME out.” You teased as you leaned against the counter. “So, are you on vacation or working or….?” You gestured hoping for him to finish the sentence.

He turned to face you entirely, his tiny legs folded underneath him. “Both. But I can’t stand not working. A lot of my teammates are traveling and spending time with their friends and family, but I’d rather work. I had dinner with my brother the first night and then headed here the next day.”

“I understand.” You truly did. You weren’t lying earlier when you had said you spent your last year up at the Lake house mostly by yourself. Your family and friends didn’t understand your decision. But for you it was easier to not see them sad. To not hear them ask “how are you doing?” every time they saw you. You were dying. How the hell did they think you were doing?

You poured some coffee into two mugs. “Milk? Sugar?” you asked.

“Sorry, I like it iced. Here, I’ll get it.” He stood up and walked over to the kitchen, taking the mug from your hand. In doing so he ever so slightly brushed up against your hand. You hadn’t touched anyone in ten years. Holy shit that felt weird. And Amazing. You quickly put the cup up to your mouth to hide all of your feelings.

“Well, I’m going to give you some space to work. I’ll try to stay in my room.” You mumbled into the cup and turned to leave.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Like I said, as long as it’s quiet I don’t mind. So you know, no karaoke parties or anything.” He teased as he put ice cubes into a glass and dumped the mug contents into it.

You smiled, “Ok ok. It was on my list of things to do while I was up here, but I guess I’ll hold back.”

“Oh well, if it’s on your to-do list, we can always try it later today,” He took a sip of the coffee. “Ahhh much better.”

He was nice. You thought as you walked over to the sofa and nestled in, watching the rain fall. Could you drink coffee? you wondered. You very hesitantly stuck out your tongue and tried to place it on the liquid. Success. Maybe you were actually in heaven now. A cute boy was talking to you and you could drink coffee again. And cry. And he actually was able to touch your hand. You tried not to freak out as you remembered. It was not a big deal. This was all totally normal. As normal as a day could be for a ghost. You heard beats quietly playing and saw that Yoongi had placed his headphones on and was working on his laptop.

You looked around for a book that you hadn’t read twenty times. The last family that stayed here had left in such a rush they left behind several paperbacks of various genres. They thought they would have a relaxing time in your house, reading on your deck. Oh no. Not once their children smashed on your piano and jumped on your bed. They had to go. Banging a few pots and pans, opening up their car doors, and opening up the windows had done the trick. And voila, you had new books. You picked your new Jojo Moyes’ book and laid back on the couch.

The rest of the afternoon passed relatively peacefully. Yoongi was really dedicated to his work. He occasionally would get up to refill his coffee, but that was it. Was he going to eat? Humans needed to eat right? Yes. You remembered. Humans ate 2-3 times a day. Sometimes more.You got up and started the rice maker.

You heard Yoongi sit his headphones down and walk over to the kitchen. “Did you bring any food? What were you planning on eating?” He asked as he opened the refrigerator door.

Shit. Shit. He started pulling out some vegetables and meat.

“Umm...I don’t know. I was just in such a hurry to get up here, I guess I forgot.”

Yoongi scoffed. “Forgot to bring food? For the weekend? Are you a careless person?”

Damn, he was very blunt for such a nice person “There’s a chalet on the other side of the lake that has a market. I was planning on going there in the boat.”

“Oh? I didn’t know about that.” He shrugged.

Well maybe it was still open. You had no clue actually. Shit. Fortunately for you he didn’t ask any follow up questions, suddenly immersed in his new task of chopping vegetables and meat. Apparently he could cook? So domestic, you thought as you stood there feeling useless.

You wandered over to the piano and took a seat, the wood creaking beneath you. You looked at your unfinished piece, still sitting there with the picture of yourself staring back. You placed your fingers on the keys and began to play. When you arrived at the end you tried a few other runs to see if they fit, but, much like when you were alive, none of them felt right. You sighed and turned around to see Yoongi staring at you with his lips slightly parted. “Wow, You play as well?”

You don’t know why but suddenly you felt very shy. “Yeah. My parents made me start taking lessons when I was three. Piano, eat, sleep. Then, Piano, school, eat, sleep. It’s ok though. I actually enjoyed playing so I didn’t mind. Especially when I got old enough to where I could pick my own music.”

“That’s nice. My parents hated that I loved music. They’re supportive now, but when I was in high school I got caught writing lyrics in class and they tore up all of them. Notebooks full of music all gone in a matter of minutes.” He said it with a smile on his face, but you could still sense the bitterness in his voice.

“That’s so awful. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

He shrugged, “They were doing what they thought was best for me at the time. Our parents are just humans too.” A timer went off in the kitchen. “I need to check on the soup.”

Apparently he had made soup. You turned back to the piano and played through a few more times, still getting stuck at the same place. Frustrated, you started playing some other songs so you could feel like you had accomplished something.

“Food’s ready.” You heard him call from the kitchen. You stood up and walked over to the countertop bar.

“Thank you. Wow. This looks amazing,” you commented as you stared at the delicious food sitting in the bowl.

“Ah it’s nothing.” He said, blowing onto his spoon, his cheeks puffing out with each breath.

“Well I haven’t had homemade soup in forever, so I am very excited.” You took a spoonful as well and began to try to cool it down.

The two of you eat mostly in silence. The soup is of course, very good. “I’ll clean up, you can get back to work.” You offered, taking the empty dishes over to the sink. Being dead was weird, you missed even the small things like feeling water against your hands; smelling soap. So many small everyday moments that you had taken for granted.

He mumbled his gratitude and headed back over to the desk, putting his headphones back on. You washed and dried the dishes. Looking outside, you saw that the rain had finally cleared up. You grabbed your book and headed out to the deck. To your amazement, you were able to feel the sun’s warmth. God. It had been forever. You had come out here almost every day for ten years but hadn’t been able to feel sensations like hot, cold, or wind. You gazed out over the lake, admiring the way the sun shimmered over the water.

You weren’t sure if hours or minutes passed by, but eventually you came to a good stopping point in your book and headed inside. To your surprise, Yoongi was asleep on the couch, a pillow tucked between his knees. He looked so tiny and cute. You walked over to the corner of the room and grabbed a blanket. You headed back towards the couch and covered him up, wishing for a moment you were still invisible so you could watch him sleep without being a total creep. You looked at him for a few more seconds, trying to memorize his features so when he left you would still be able to remember him. You decided it was best if you didn’t stare creepily at him and headed to the guest bedroom.

Yoongi woke up in total darkness and yawned loudly. How long had he slept for? He meant to take a power nap on the couch but had apparently rested for much longer. Constant traveling and insomnia meant he had a messed up sleep schedule anyway which is what made him lay down in the first place. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and stretched, the tips of his toes hitting the other end of the couch. He hadn’t remembered putting a blanket on. Honestly, that’s probably what made him sleep for as long as he did. Ah, he remembered his new housemate. He smiled. Something about someone putting a blanket on you when you were sleeping was so cute.

He sat up and neatly folded the blanket. Running his hands through his hair he took out his phone to use as a flashlight and made his way over to the light switch. He stretched once more and headed over to the piano to see if any progress could be made with [y/n]’s composition. This time he was able to string together a few more chords that sounded like they fit. The melody was difficult to categorize, but if he had to he would call it “nostalgic.” It was both happy and sad, and befitting of a dying woman, he thought sadly.

“That sounds great.” He heard a voice say behind him. He jumped slightly, he hadn’t heard you enter the room. “Ack. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you’re fine. I just didn’t hear you come in.” He scooted over on the black bench, making room for you. “Would you like to try?”

You sat down, trying to not notice that your legs were touching on the very small bench. You played through the piece, adding in the newest notes he had written.

“Hmmm...I think your playing style is better suited for this song,” he said. He leaned over and grabbed a pen and sheet music from the desktop and made some notes.

“I like listening to you play it, but I suppose since it was [y/n]s song, maybe I’m a bit more familiar with the style. We did have the same teacher after all.” You said as you began to play through it once again. “I like the progress you’ve made on it though. In just this afternoon?”

Yoongi smiled at that and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well at first it was easy for me to see what direction the song wanted to go in, but now I’m not sure. I can see why she struggled with it.”

“Well between that and the pain and headaches and nausea,” you added without thinking.

“Yes. Once again, I’m just so sorry that happened. When did [y/n] die?”

“Ten years ago.” You looked sadly out the large back windows. It was night now and the moon was casting it’s tiny crescent reflection on the water.

“Did she pass away here?” He asked, gesturing to the room.

“Right over on there.” You pointed to the sofa. “Don’t worry. They bought a new couch.” You quickly amended your statement when you saw his eyes bug out ever so slightly. “She sent our parents a message saying it wouldn’t be long. She sat out a bunch of food and water for Barley and then laid down for a nap. But she never woke back up.”

“Jesus that’s sad.”

“Yeah….Cancer sucks.”

“What happened to Barley?” Yoongi asked, reaching out to hold the picture of [y/n] and the dog that rested on the piano.

“He passed away shortly after. My parents said he died of a broken heart. Soooooooo, that sucks too.” you said and you felt tears starting to run down your face. Your poor dog. He didn’t understand. All he knew was that you weren’t waking up. No matter how much he barked or pulled on you or whined; you wouldn’t get up to let him out or play with him. Your parents arrived the next morning to Barley lying on top of you on the couch, trying to keep you warm. Of course, you weren’t ever going to be warm again at that point. It really sucked.

You felt a gentle squeeze on your hand that was still resting on the keys. You looked over at Yoongi, his face a few inches away from yours. “That does suck.”

You sniffled loudly and reached for the Kleenex box. “Yeah. Thanks. Sorry. Coming up here and hearing the song has made me an emotional wreck. I usually don’t cry.”

“It’s fine. I mean, I’m sorry it’s happening to you, but don’t feel bad on my account. Feel your feelings. It’s all good.” He said and gave you an understanding :]

“Thanks. I’m going to go lay down for a bit. Good luck with the song.” You stood up abruptly.

“Ok.” He was slightly surprised. “Do you need anything? Dinner? Water?”

“No, thank you. I’m not very hungry. I just. I need to go lay down.” You turned to go to the guest bedroom. Then you awkwardly turned around, “Thanks again. Really.” You felt your cheeks growing red and felt a sound in your ears that would have felt like a heartbeat if you were alive. Today had been so very confusing. You forgot what it was like to feel all of these things at once. You didn’t need to be trapped in a lake house, as a ghost, with a crush on a guy who you would never see again. Even you knew this was a bad idea. You just wanted to creepily stare at him. Not talk to him. Not like him. Not have a crush on him. Stupid ghost, you chided yourself as you laid down. You resolved to try to avoid him for the next 2 days. It would be easier to accept oblivion without missing somebody.

Yoongi sat on the piano bench, staring at the couch. Wow. What a sad story. He knew that people died all the time. He comprehended that young people died and that life was unfair. But it was still just so shitty. The more he thought about it the more angry and sad he got. He moved over to the desk and started to write some lyrics. The next thing he knew it was the middle of the night and his notebook was full of words and sentences; concepts and ideas. If there was one thing Yoongi was good at, it was turning pain and anger into music.

He stood up and raised his arms over his head, then moved side to side. You had never come back out so he assumed you went to sleep. All things considered, he thought, you were actually doing pretty well. He couldn’t imagine if his brother passed away, going to his house and having to think about poor Holly being left alone. Well he could actually, since he just got into that headspace to write lyrics, but it was still a shitty thing to think about, and even shittier that it actually happened to [y/n]. He grabbed himself a glass of water, skipping food, and went to bed.

Day 4

You woke up to the sunlight streaming in your room. Gross. You had planned on just trying to sleep a solid 2 days in order to avoid Yoongi but the bright ass sun was making it difficult. You grumbled and decided to take advantage of being able to drink coffee again today. You weren’t sure how long this being able to interact with food and beverages was going to last but you were going to take advantage. You listened for Yoongi, hearing nothing, you walked quietly out to the kitchen and prepared the coffee.

A few minutes later you heard Yoongi’s heavy footsteps in the hallway and saw him yawning with his hair sticking up. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

He stood there, blinking slowly. “Coffee.”

You laughed. “It’s dripping right now. Late night?”

“Mmmm…” was all he responded as he walked into the bathroom.

So much for avoiding him. You looked around and noticed everything was in the same place as last night. Had Yoongi not eaten dinner? You wondered. Humans need to eat. You poured the coffee over ice and sat it on the countertop.

Yoongi walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, straight over to the glass. He took a few sips. “Thank you.” He sat down at the counter and rested his head on his arms.

“Did you eat dinner last night?” You asked, checking the rice cooker.

“uh-uh... “ he mumbled, still not quite coherent.

You frowned, “That’s no good. I’ll make something in a few minutes after coffee, ok?”

“Mmmm….” was the response you got. Wow, he was really out of it this morning. It wasn’t often that a ghost had more energy than an alive person. You took your cup of coffee out onto the deck, determined to distance yourself. Even though you didn’t want to. You felt very conflicted.

Yoongi slowly came back to the realm of the living with each sip of coffee. He wanted to sleep longer, but the sunshine, magnified by the lake, wasn’t going to let him do that this morning. He guessed another afternoon nap was in his future. He stood up and wandered into the kitchen. Realizing you hadn’t eaten dinner either, he decided he should go ahead and prepare lunch.

You walked back in to refill your cup and found Yoongi cooking. “Hey, I said I was going to make something.” You chided.

He shrugged, “I like to cook. It’s nothing fancy. Kimchi fried rice. You need to eat. You can’t just feel sad sitting around your sister’s house.”

“Well I could if I really felt like it. It is sad.” You responded. “But, I guess you’re right. It’s not the best thing to do. Did you eat dinner?” You asked. He didn’t answer. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You teased. “Get any work done last night?”

“A lot actually,” he responded while moving the food around the pan. “Do you want to go out on the lake today?”

This sudden question caught you off guard. You weren’t sure if you could go out on the lake. “Don’t you need to work?”

He shook his bangs out of his eyes. “I wrote a lot last night. And experiencing things is a type of work for me. It influences my writing. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“No,” you quickly answered. “I want to go. I’m just nervous and I didn’t want to interrupt your work.”

“I suggested it, it’s no trouble. Why are you nervous?” He asked, taking plates down from a cabinet.

Uh because I’m afraid I’ll suddenly disappear if I get too far away from the Lakehouse, is what you wanted to say. Of course you couldn’t. When this had first happened, when you first died, you tried walking out of here. You made it to the end of the gravel path before you felt yourself being pulled back towards the house. A force physically repelled you away from going too far. It hurt. You didn’t know ghosts could experience pain until that happened. But how could you resist going on a boat ride with Yoongi on a nice sunny day? Wait. weren’t you trying to avoid him? You couldn't avoid him if you were in a boat with him.

“Why are you nervous?” he asked again, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Oh. I can’t swim.” You lied. When had you become such a good liar? You asked yourself. Oh well. What’s the worst thing that could happen? You wondered.

“I’m not a very good swimmer either.” He put the rice onto the plates. “I almost drowned in the ocean when I was a child. I assume there’s life jackets in the boat house though.”

“Yeah. There are.” You decided, what the hell? You’re a ghost. How often did you get to do anything fun. “Sure. Let’s do that.”

The two of you ate lunch and headed down to the boat dock, Yoongi putting a hat on to shield his eyes and skin from the sun. “I don’t have a license for the motorboat, so I guess we’ll take the rowboat.” He said as the two of you approached the garage.

“Yeah, my license is expired,” You said truthfully. Expired by about ten years.

He unlocked the garage and fished out two lifejackets for the two of you. To your shock he held one out for you to put one one. You walked over and slipped your arms through. “There,” he commented. “Nice and safe.”

You zipped it up and really hoped that this didn’t turn into a total shitshow. The two of you climbed into the rowboat, ensuring the weight was evenly distributed. Yoongi grabbed the paddles while you untied the rope and pushed away from the dock gently.

“It’s nice out today,” you commented as you felt the breeze blowing through your hair. The sun felt warm on your face and for a minute, you felt like the happiest woman in the world. You forgot about death and pain and loneliness.

“It is. I was worried there would be another afternoon rain storm. Without cell service it’s hard to tell what the weather will be like.” He said as he gently rowed.

“Can we stay closer to the dock? That would make me feel better.”

“Sure.” He let the oars drag against the water, bringing the boat to a gentle stop. The vessel gently bobbed up and down. “Do you ever go fishing?” He asked suddenly.

You shook your head, “No. The hook going through worms and the fishes mouth grosses me out. And I feel bad for the fish. Why? Do you?”

“Yeah, sometimes me and my friend go fishing. We don’t usually catch anything though.” He mused, looking into the water and trying to see if he could spot anything.

“Well I have heard it’s a good lake for fishing. You should bring your friend up here sometime,” you smiled and dipped your fingers into the water.

“Your parents tried to sell the Lakehouse?” He asked.

“Yeah, it was on the market for a while. But with no serious interest they started renting it out so they weren’t losing money on it.”

“I wonder why it didn’t sell. It’s a cute house, and the lake is quiet.” He pouted his lips in thought.

“Well there is that whole “ghost” thing.”

“You said there was no ghost,” you heard him whine.

You laughed, “I haven’t had any problems with a ghost. Other people on the other hand...maybeeee they have.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.” He pouted.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” you asked.

“I believe that there is no way human beings could possibly know everything about the universe. People once thought the Earth was flat. People one hundred years ago would have no concept of what the internet was. So I don’t know. Maybe. Just because something is unlikely doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.”

“What a diplomatic answer. Do you give interviews often?” You shook your hair behind your back.

He smiled shyly, “I mean actually yes. I do. But that’s not why I said it. I just think there are a lot of unexplainable things in the world. Maybe the house isn’t haunted to you because it’s your family's house.”

You shrugged. What an interesting guy. “Maybe. Why? You want to buy a haunted lakehouse? I’m sure my parents would sell it to you. At a discount even; boats included.”

He laughed and leaned back a little bit. “Maybe. Do you think they’d throw in the piano?”

If you had a heart it would have stopped beating at that exact moment. This was the opposite of avoiding him. This was falling for him even more. Ugh. Stupid stupid ghost. You suddenly felt very sad.

“Hey? Did I say something wrong?” He asked.

“No, no. Sorry. Just thinking.” You put on a fake smile.

“You could still come visit the house if I bought it. You don’t need to be sad about that.” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. How was this guy so nice?!?!

“That’s very kind of you.” You said quietly. “I’m sure you can get a hold of them through the agency.”

“You can’t ask them?”

“Ehhhh ever since [y/n] died we don’t really talk much. Things got weird. I’m sure it’s hard for them.” It hurt you at how true your words were. You missed your parents so much. They had come by the house a few times after you died, but it was too hard for them to be there after you were gone. No parent should have to bury their child.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure your sister dying is hard on all of you. I think I’ll do that once I’m back in Seoul. Get a hold of them about the house.”

You smiled. “That’s great. If you like it here, I’m happy for you.”

As the two of you talked, the boat had gently moved itself further out into the middle of the lake. You hadn’t even noticed since the two of you had been talking so much. Suddenly though, you felt it. The pulling sensation.

“Yoongi,” you said, the pitch of our voice higher with fear.

“Eh?” He responded lazily, unaware that anything was wrong.

“Can we please go back towards the dock?”

“Just a second, I’m taking some pictures for Jin.” He answered. He had his phone out and was capturing a panoramic of the lake.

Ouch. Ouch.Ouch. “Please. I’m very uncomfortable,” you said, but even as you spoke you could feel your words becoming less and less audible.It felt as though someone had taken a weighted blanket and placed it on top of you.

“Ok. All done.” He turned back to face you. You could tell immediately that something was wrong with the way he suddenly dropped his phone down onto the floorboards of the boat. His mouth came up to his hands. “[Y/N]?” You barely heard.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts scenarios #bts suga x you #suga x reader #suga x you #bts yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #yoongi x reader

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