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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years ago

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When I Have You - Chapter 66

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you'd prefer!

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(image a scene from When I Have You, comissioned by me, drawn by sigma_drawings on Instagram)

Chapter 66

Ron smiled, turning the pages of the handmade photo album Hermione had given him before their wedding. She’d been so worked up and stressed over it in the week leading up to gifting it to him, she’d almost broken down in the study when she’d finally handed it over and declared she was not an artistic person and she knew it was terrible.

Despite her insistence that he could throw it away, he’d kept it in the drawer of his bedside table, occasionally taking it out and asking Hermione to add to it. She’d always look at him with raised eyebrows, but there was an underlying smile of pride she tried to hide. He always grinned at that look, watching her as she waved her wand and added more recent photos into it — some from their wedding, some from days out, others she’d apparently forgotten about.

It had grown a lot since the first day, and Ron absolutely loved it. He loved looking at pictures of the two of them together, from their early days as a couple to now, and into the future.

He loved her. It was such a simple thing to say now, but triggered such powerful and strong emotions in him whenever he thought about it. Their relationship had changed in the near six years they’d been together, but it had only ever changed for the better.

He grinned, reaching the final page of the album where there was one large picture of the two of them from their wedding. Photo-Ron placed a kiss on Hermione’s temple as they continuously posed for one of the many photographs that had been taken that day. Photo-Ron looked so happy, engulfing the stunning photo-Hermione in his arms.

“You’re not looking at that again, are you?” Hermione asked, coming into their bedroom, a bewildered and amused expression gracing her face.

Ron nodded. “It’s the best thing you’ve ever given me,” he said. “I like being reminded of all the things we’ve done together.” He looked up at her from where he laid in bed. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Hermione responded by smiling at him. “I didn’t know if you would remember.”

“Is it like me to forget?” Ron asked. He could hardly remember what they had for dinner last night, but he liked to keep track of all the special occasions in his relationship with Hermione. Not that Valentine’s Day was that important. But he liked to at least acknowledge it and had started a tradition of buying her flowers or a small box of chocolates after work each year.

“I suppose not,” she said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. She was dressed in casual clothes, Valentine’s Day being a Saturday for once. “Your mum just sent an owl.”

“Oh, yeah, what about?” Ron asked.

“She invited us over for dinner tonight.”

“Since when does Mum owl us an invite?” Ron questioned, not sure whether he felt amused or put out by the fact that his own mother had written them a letter asking if they wanted to join them at the Burrow for a meal.

Usually, she would drop by or pass a message on via his dad at work, or most of the time they’d just go over with half an hour’s warning and she’d be busily making sure she had enough food to feed them all.

Hermione just raised an eyebrow, giving Ron an incredulous look.

“Oh yeah,” Ron said, feeling his face redden at the reminder of last month when his mother had stopped by unannounced and found them in a semi compromising position in their living room. Thankfully for everyone involved, it hadn’t been too bad, but Molly had not visited them since, and Ron had been unable to look her in the eye for two weeks after the incident.

“That was a really embarrassing moment…” Hermione flushed.

“Yeah, it was. For all of us.” There was silence for a moment, then Ron chuckled. “It was kind of funny, though. You have to admit.”

“It wasn’t,” Hermione said. “Oh, I really don’t want to go over. I don’t think I’m quite ready yet…”

“It’s not like Mum would have told anyone,” Ron said. “Probably not even Dad. She’s probably burnt it from her mind.”

“Yes, but facing your mother after…”

Ron looked at her for a moment, then said, “She has seven children. Nothing she hasn’t seen before. Besides, it’s a reminder that it’s our house and she needs to knock or give notice before she just lets herself in. She hasn’t done it since, has she?”

That didn’t seem to ease Hermione’s discomfort in any way, nor did it make Ron feel any less disturbed. He shook his head over what he’d just said and looked back to his wife, this time with a more serious expression. “When do you get to check to see if you’re pregnant this month?”

“I can try today,” she said. “But it might be too early.”

“Do you reckon it worked this time?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “I…” She frowned.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Well, I asked Mum what it was like, but she couldn’t really remember. She just said all she could remember was needing to use the bathroom a lot in the very early stages of pregnancy.”

“And?” Ron pressed, eager to hear some kind of good news. It wasn’t like they’d been waiting forever — really, this was only the second month of trying to have a baby — but he’d been immensely disappointed last month when the test Hermione had performed with her wand had come up white — negative. He hoped this month would be it.

“I haven’t had that,” she said after another moment. She must have seen Ron’s disappointed face, for she added hurriedly, “but that doesn’t mean anything. Everyone’s different.”

“Why don’t you test now?” Ron said. “What harm is it going to do?”

Hermione seemed to hesitate a moment before she nodded and pulled out her wand. She sat down on the bed next to him. “Just remember,” she said, “it may be too early for the spell to work.”

Ron nodded and waited, but felt the wave of disappointment quickly as he watched the white stream of light leave her wand and gradually fade in the air.

“It’s only early days,” Hermione said.

“Huh. Yeah.” Ron wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping for, because she had warned him, but it still didn’t help the disappointment he continued to feel. He knew he shouldn’t feel that, because it really hadn’t been that long, but when they factored in Hermione having stopped the contraceptive charms earlier than the beginning of the year, it added a few months, even if Ron hadn’t been thinking about it during those months. And even if Hermione had said it took three months for them to stop being effective.

Hermione stowed her wand away, smiling.

“Well!” Ron said brightly, forcing back his disappointment, “with any luck, we’ll know in a few day’s time for sure. Mum will forget all about what she saw; she’ll be thrilled and we can all move on.”

Hermione smiled again, shaking her head. “Are you actually ever going to get out of bed, or are you just going to lie there all day? On Valentine’s Day?”

“You can join me,” Ron said, pulling back the covers and shuffling over to make room for her.

“Really?” Hermione said. “After the conversation we just had?”

Ron pulled the covers back up, scowling. “I’d just wiped it from my memory,” he said. “Thanks for ruining it.”

She laughed. “Get up. Then we can actually do something.”

“Like what?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll think of something. How about a movie?”

Ron smiled at her. “Yeah… alright,” he said. “That sounds good. Just give me a moment to get up. I’m quite comfy here.”

Hermione left him alone, Ron grinning like an idiot as she did. After a moment, he groaned and got out of bed, rubbing his eyes. He stumbled into the bathroom and splashed his face with water, groaning again. He really had been comfortable in bed, staring at old photos of him and Hermione.

Once showered and dressed and having eaten breakfast, they were both ready to leave for Nottingham city — a place neither of them ventured into very often.

Being a Saturday morning on a popular holiday, when they quietly Apparated into a hidden street and stepped out onto the main road, Ron was not surprised to find the streets packed with people.

Some appeared to be doing regular shopping, and families were out and about, but there was a large number of couples walking around hand-in-hand. On one occasion, they even passed a couple so closely entwined that they appeared to be quite literally eating each others’ faces.

“Ah, to be young and in love,” Ron sighed in mock remembrance. “I remember those days.”

Hermione gave him a playful nudge, and he took her hand.

“They’re older than us,” she said. “By the looks of it, I mean. If we could see their faces.”

“Well, maybe that could be us in five years,” Ron suggested.

“I like to think we are a lot more sophisticated than that,” Hermione replied.

“Mum would disagree.”

They both laughed at that despite the embarrassment over the incident still raw for both of them.

The day was cold, but sunny, and they strolled through the city, hand-in-hand, on their way to the cinema. Ron could remember his first visit to one of them, six years ago now, and how intrigued he’d been by it all.

Now — like many other Muggle things he’d become accustomed to — it felt almost natural. He wasn’t sure it would ever feel completely normal, but he was semi used to visiting a cinema and seeing large, moving, talking pictures tell him a story. And at home, he had a much smaller screen, but with a lot more options. He enjoyed flicking through the channels when he got bored of one. It drove Hermione mad.

It seemed many other couples had the same idea as them. When they reached the building, the queue was long, winding out the door and part way down the street.

“Very unique idea, Hermione,” he said mockingly.

“I never said it would be unique,” Hermione replied. “Do you want to do something else?”

“No,” Ron said, throwing his arm across her shoulders. “We’ll just wait.” It felt like a nice distraction for him — from the disappointment of the baby stuff, and from his continued misery about his job. A movie was good for letting him escape reality for a few hours — and enjoy his wife’s company.

“You know, I did see a movie once,” he said as they stood in line. “It was a movie about people seeing a movie, and the people in it didn’t watch the movie at all. They just made out at the back.”

“Oh, Ron.” Hermione sounded both appalled and amused at the same time.

“I thought —”

“They were probably teenagers.”

Ron shrugged. “I don’t remember. Why didn’t you tell me that was something people did here?”

“Because it’s not appropriate!”

“What if we were teenagers?”

“We’re not.”

“But if we were, would you consider it? I mean… remind me again why we didn’t do anything like this when we were sixteen?”

Hermione turned to face him. “Because…” she began, “we weren’t even together then.”

“Yeah, but we should have been.”

Hermione smiled affectionately up at him, her hand reaching for the zip on his jacket. “Well, when you figure out how to make a Time Turner go back that far, maybe you can change things.”

Ron grinned. “Maybe I will,” he said. “Maybe that’ll be my new job.”

The line moved relatively quickly, some already having purchased tickets and just waiting to get in. When Ron and Hermione reached the counter, Ron withdrew his arm from Hermione and said quietly, “Let me have a go.”

Every day, he became better accustomed to using Muggle money. Hermione would always make sure they had a stash somewhere for occasions like this, having converted it at Gringotts. Ron was too afraid to do that, not trusting himself to work out whether the goblins were ripping him off or not, but actually handing over the right amount to Muggles had become easier for him.

The tickets were seven pounds each, and Ron gleefully handed over the correct amount of money. It was going well until the boy giving them the tickets looked slightly bewildered at Ron’s excitement with handing over their hard-earned money.

“Next time, just don’t look so excited,” Hermione laughed as Ron passed her one of the two tickets.

Ron grinned also, realising his mistake. If he’d been using wizarding currency, he wouldn’t have been as thrilled at saying goodbye to it. He supposed that’s how Muggles felt with their own money. Though, the only Muggles he really knew were Hermione’s parents and they never seemed upset about spending money.

“How about I try again?” he said after a moment, nodding towards the candy bar area.

Hermione passed him more of the money and Ron ordered popcorn and drinks, this time ensuring he kept a placid face the whole time. When he reached Hermione in the line for the theatre, arms full with sweets, he grinned. “I did it!”

She smiled. “I’m very proud of you, Ron.”

He couldn’t tell if she was mocking him or being serious, but she did look rather pleased.

The doors to the cinema opened a short while later and they both followed the line in. There were two options showing and they’d picked the most popular one, apparently.

50 First Dates.

Ron wondered how you were supposed to have fifty first dates, but he had learnt over the years that the film would probably explain it to him by the end.

“I wish I could relive our first date fifty times with you,” he said casually, taking two seats in the middle of the theatre.

“Wasn’t our first date seeing a movie?” Hermione questioned.

“Yeah, and then you dragged me into an alley and snogged me senseless. I think about that moment still. I liked that.” He turned to her, thoughtful. “Can we do that again. After?”

For a long while, Hermione didn’t respond — as if she was contemplating his suggestion. Then she said, “We were young and in love back then,” and turned to look back at the screen with a deadpan expression.

“Hey!” Ron said, “we’re still young and in love.”

“But we are both Ministry employees with a reputation to uphold.”

“No one here knows that,” Ron reasoned, but he turned back to the front, smiling to himself. He’d never actually expected her to agree to his suggestion. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d actually want to, even if she’d agreed. As much as he still loved kissing her, he really did feel slightly too old to be making out with her in a dark alley in the city. Those days seemed long past. He’d much rather do that with her in the comfort of his own house (with the Floo Network cancelled).

“I love you,” he said quietly, reaching for her hand as the lights dimmed. She gripped his back tightly and leaned her head against his shoulder. Ron nestled into her as best he could and fixed his eyes once more on the screen.

As the reel began, he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last time they came here together being just the two of them. Maybe in a few day’s time they’d be finding out that Hermione was pregnant and their lives would change forever.

…

“Well,” Ron said as they left the cinema nearly two hours later, “that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. As if that would work.”

“I don’t think its purpose was to be believable,” Hermione reasoned.

“Don’t tell me you liked it?” Ron admonished, taking her hand as they walked back down the street.

“Well… it was okay,” Hermione said. “For what it was.”

Ron laughed. “Ah, well, maybe if it was our world, it could work. I’d do it for you, you know?”

“Do what?” Hermione asked, smiling.

“What that bloke in the movie did. Whatever his name was. Henry. Get you to remember me every day if I had to… I guess he was kind of relatable. I understand him on that level.”

At that, Hermione burst out laughing and turned to face him in the middle of the street.

“I was being serious,” Ron said, a little put out. “I would do it.”

Again, Hermione laughed. “I know you would,” she said. “I just… it really was kind of a ridiculous movie, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, so when I say I would do the same thing for you, you suddenly decide it’s a ridiculous movie?” Ron huffed.

In response, Hermione reached up and kissed him. In public.

“I love you,” she said, pulling back and smiling up at him. “Today was nice. I don’t really think we’ve bothered to go out together in a while. Not like this.”

Ron engulfed her in his arms. “That’s because it’s been winter, and that’s my favourite time to snuggle up with you,” he said.

He felt her relax against him, and for a while, they just stood there. People walked by, paying them no mind, used to seeing people stop in the street to hug or kiss one another. Ron had to admit — one thing he liked about being in Muggle parts of cities was the anonymity. No one knew who they were or asked them if they could meet Harry or Ginny, or — much to Ron’s amusement and bewilderment — ask them a question. Here, they were just two ordinary people out to see a movie together on Valentine’s Day.

Ron liked that more than he ever thought he would.

After a moment, he let go and looked at her, smiling. “Do you feel like doing something really adventurous?” he asked her.

“That worries me,” Hermione said.

Ron grinned mischievously, taking her hand and pulling her in the direction they had just come from. “It’s midday,” he said.

“So?” Hermione asked.

“So,” Ron said, still pulling her along, “when have either of us ever gotten drunk at midday before?”

“Ron!”

He stopped, dropping her hand. “Well, we don’t have to, but I thought it would be fun.” He shrugged.

Hermione contemplated his question for a moment, her eyes darting around the busy city. “You’re not supposed to drink if you’re pregnant,” she said quietly.

“Oh, right,” Ron said. “But you said you weren’t sure.”

“So, I’d rather be cautious.”

Ron couldn’t find a reason to argue with that, so he nodded. “So, what do you want to do then? You don’t want to make out with me in an alley, you can’t get drunk… what else is there to do that’s fun?”

Hermione kissed him again, this time allowing her lips to linger against his. When she stepped back, she smiled up at him.

“Well…” Ron began slowly, her kiss reminiscent of many other times she’d kissed him like that and he’d been unable to resist anything else that followed. Except he had to for now, because they were in public. “I suppose we could always go home…”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Hermione replied.

Ron grinned. “I like the way your mind works, Hermione.” He grabbed her hand and began leading her back to the one Apparition point in the city. All that was on his mind now was how Hermione’s lips would feel against his, and wondering if she’d kiss him like that again.

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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, semi-public sex, foodplay, a lot of sloppy making out, creampie is not the only type of dessert involved, very soft dom!jin, sub!reader, unprotected sex but who’s surprised, dom!hoseok, waxplay, painplay, very explicit discussion about consent since waxplay is technically edgeplay, restraints, cuffs, flogging, hobi in his element is a kink in and of itself, degradation, discipline, subspace, scratching, rough sex, hoseok going the extra mile honestly, still unprotected sex, cumshot

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and sponsored by the red room

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

The vote is at the end of this chapter.

DAY TWENTY

Though it’s the weekend (as if that has any real significance when you aren’t really working) you wake up tragically early, before the sun’s even risen.

Unsure of what woke you, you rub your eyes and duck your head out into the hallway. To your surprise, there’s the distinct yellowish glow from a light on downstairs. It’s hard to walk down the stairs when your head is full of cotton, your eyes still bleary and your mouth constantly stretched in a yawn, but finally you stumble down into the main space.

Frozen, with a metal spoon hanging out of his mouth and his eyes wide and red, is the oldest man of the house. He leans dejectedly against the kitchen counter, haunting a tub of ice cream that’s definitely not intended for one person. You quickly realise what may have woken you is the obnoxious whir of the microwave, something in a covered glass jar twirling round and round inside.

“What-” you swallow and clear your throat when the word comes out croaky, “what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?”

Still startled by your presence, he blinks a few times and removes the spoon from his mouth, letting it clatter to the table. “I’ve been better.”

Your face drops in sympathy, ignoring the freezing tile on your feet as you approach him. Without waiting for permission, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close to you in a tight hug. “What’s up, Jinnie? You can be honest with me. If you let me have some of your ice cream, of course.”

That manages to pull a weak laugh from him as he hands you the spoon and ruffles your hair. “I am, as it turns out,” he explains, “incredibly stupid.”

“Ah.” You dig into the tub of ice cream one handed, dislodging a chunk of what looks like brownie. “First of all, I disagree, but more importantly, why do you think that?”

“Do you have an hour?” Jin sighs at the poor attempt at lightening his own mood. “To tell you the truth, and this may come as a shock to you, but-”

“Is this about Yoongi and you fucking?”

Jin pulls back, staring you down with a bewildered expression.

You swallow a cold mouthful, furrowing your brows apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

“I- How did you- Who knows?”

You hum for a minute, tapping the end of the spoon against your lips. “Oh, I’d imagine everyone,” you summarise. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” You wince as you recall a few particular evenings. “Nor is volume control.”

“Right.” Jin has the good grace to look sheepish at that, but gently tugs the spoon back. The microwave beeps noisily behind you, and he curses, rushing over to pull the jar out. “Anyways, yes, Yoongi and I have been casual for a short time now, but things are messy. And I suppose I sort of thought they were good messy, but last night I realised how very not-good messy they were. I haven’t been fair to Yoongi. Or you.”

You tilt your head, watching him uncover a lightly steaming jar full of what looks and smells like caramel. “Me? What does this have to do with me?”

Jin opens his mouth, grimaces, and closes it again. After a few moments of silence where he stirs the sauce and tastes a bit of it, he finally faces you to speak. “After the fight, you didn’t really...say anything about what you found out. My feelings for you, I mean. Not that you were at all obligated to, of course, but I wanted to give you space. And… I wanted to have space too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so when Yoongi expressed interest in me, I thought him and I could help each other out.”

He pours some of the sauce directly into the tub of icecream, but then puts it down and rests his forearms on the countertop, really leans his whole body weight onto them like it’s hard to stay standing. “Yoongi has feelings for me,” he explains. “I don’t know if you know that too, but- yeah. He said- even as recently as yesterday, he said he was fine, but I should know better. It’s irresponsible of me to take his words as gospel when I can so clearly see, as his friend and as a trained therapist, that he isn’t okay.”

You want to wait until he’s said his piece, but your chest feels hot, like your ribs are smouldering coals. You can’t stop your tongue. “I don’t need space.”

Jin blinks, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

“I don’t need space,” you repeat in a warm voice, “I don’t want you to be distant. Fuck Yoongi if you want, but don’t do it just because you’re avoiding me. You’re right; that isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I know,” he concedes, shoveling another spoonful of melted ice cream and sauce into his mouth to buy him some thinking time. “It’s getting out of hand, too. Just yesterday Jungkook asked to join and- God, this is such a mess. I should end it, shouldn’t I?”

Your tongue tingles with the urge to press about Jungkook. Feeling like that isn’t really Jin’s priority right now, you change tact. “Do you want to end it?”

Jin furrows his brows, deep in thought. Clad in blue and white striped pyjamas, his face seems far too serious for his attire, but it’s clear this is really eating away at him if he’s up so early thinking about it. Had he even gone to bed at all? “I don’t want to,” he admits, “being with Yoongi is so easy. And not like- not logistically, I’m not saying Yoongi is easy, but… God, I don’t know how to say this without it being soppy. It feels right. But at what point do I stop doing what I want and start thinking about others? I need to do what’s best for Yoongi.”

It’s hard conveying any semblance of intelligent thought when you probably have not even half of the whole story, but you do your best for him. “Is that a decision you should be making on his behalf, though? I feel like you should be having this conversation with him.”

Jin sighs, placing the spoon down so it doesn’t clatter. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been going over and over it in my head. My reasons for sleeping with him aren’t all noble or genuine or even fair. And I know he has feelings for me. I think if I let this continue I’ll be hurting him. So surely ending it is the right thing to do?”

You mull it over a moment. “It seems like you already know the answer, Jin,” you offer up softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Jin bites his lip, eyes distant. “If I text him, if I tell him that we need to talk, or that we shouldn’t do it anymore, then… You said you didn’t need space. So can we talk? About us?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, though your heart rate quickens at the thought, “that’s probably for the best, too.”

“Alright.” Jin wipes his hands on his shirt pants, whether it’s to get off the stickiness of the dessert or sweat you don’t know, but soon enough he’s slipping his phone out and hunkering down on the kitchen tile floor.

You join him, scooching up so that your shoulders bump. With your back against the cabinets and your lower half on those icy tiles, normally you’d be shivering. But Jin’s body is like a radiator, and he leans into you as he unlocks his phone and pulls up Yoongi’s contact.

For his privacy, you try not to look, but you can’t help but notice the name for Yoongi is Min City, and that their recent texts are calls for late-night rendezvous. Jin takes a deep breath, his thumbs hovering over the keypad. “What do I even say?” he muses out loud. “I’m a therapist; why can’t I even work out a good ‘we should talk’ text?”

You hook your hand under his arm, tucking it to your side. “Start off by apologising for texting him at ass o’clock in the morning,” you jibe.

Jin pauses. “I’ll probably rephrase,” he admits, “but that’s solid.”

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. |

“Okay, what next?” Jin says in a shortened breath.

You let out a light laugh. “This is your message,” you remind him, “but fine. How about this? Tell him that you’ve been thinking a lot, which you have, and that you just can’t keep sleeping with him in good conscience because you don’t feel like it’s wise. And maybe, like, tell him to come find you when he reads it so you can have a proper chat. It shouldn’t just be done over text, you know?”

“That’s true… Okay, here goes.” Jin swallows hard as he types away, and were it not for the fact that these were your friends who were involved, you’d laugh at the cheesiness of the moment. Like something off a trashy k-drama, though your life felt more and more like one every day anyway.

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. i’ve been doing a lot of thinking after our talk, and i just really don’t think us doing this is a good idea anymore. please let me know when you get this. we can talk it over a bit. |

“Is that all I need?”

You shrug. “I guess so. Unless you wanna add an ‘xoxo’ to the end of it.”

Jin bites his lip. “That may send mixed messages.”

“It was a joke, Jinnie,” you protest, shoving him playfully. “Anyway, are you gonna send i-”

A loud ding cuts you off, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent house. Above the box of text Jin had been crafting, a new strip of grey appears.

The both of you freeze, staring in disbelief at the screen. “Did he just..?” Before you can even finish that sentence, a second chime rings out again, and the screen shifts to display more grey, slightly smaller than the first.

“Looks like,” Jin murmurs, scrolling up to view the new message. “Holy shit.”

I’m sure you’re still asleep jin-hyung, so just text me when you get this but yesterday i was lying when i said i was fine, because i’m really not and jungkook has really helped to give me a little perspective so i’m sorry if you still need someone to distract you but i’m not gonna be that someone anymore

No hard feelings btw, i still feel the same way about you but i don’t think we should have sex for a while, i just need some distance. I like to think that you’d want me to put myself first and i’m doing that now. I hope you can understand

“That… I guess that’s that sorted,” Jin says slowly, tapping the screen to delete his message. “Should I reply now?” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he locks the phone. “No, I’ll wait until later. He won’t be expecting a reply now, anyway. Hopefully he can get some sleep.” His eyes turn sad. “Do you think he was up all night stressing about that?”

“Hey,” you warn lowly, “don’t guilt yourself. The two of you can straighten things out later, and sleep better tonight. Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He releases a slow breath, his body heavy with unshed tension. For a moment, the two of you stay silent, you giving him time to process. When he speaks, he shuffles his whole body around to face you. “I know why you’ve been so hesitant,” he announces suddenly.

You frown. “Wait, what? Hesitant?”

“Yes,” he insists, “you haven’t really talked at all about if you return my feelings. I used to feel really confused and hurt by it, but I get it now.”

Your stomach rolls strangely, a feeling like being caught red-handed. “What do you mean?”

“Last night,” he explains, “I came up to tell everyone that dinner wasn’t far away. You weren’t in your room, and Taehyung wasn’t in his…” He trails off meaningfully, and realisation settles in your bones, not shock, but resignation.

“Oh.” You swallow, sitting up so you’re no longer leaning towards him. “You saw us? In Jimin’s room?”

“I won’t tell,” he begins automatically, “and it’s okay. I see that you’ve been answered for already. I’ll respect that.”

“It isn’t like that,” you say reflexively, “we - god, we weren’t supposed to let anyone know, I can’t believe we didn’t lock the door - but we aren’t together together. It would be too messy, and it was putting a strain on our relationships with everyone else, you know?”

Jin frowns, like he’s trying to work it all out. “So it isn’t a romantic relationship?”

You smile thinking of Taehyung’s loving brown eyes and Jimin’s gentle embrace. “It’s a promise,” you explain softly, wrapping your arms around your torso. “We aren’t making any commitments or ties now, and we obviously can’t be exclusive, so it’s a promise that once we’re out of here, we’ll try and explore our feelings. Do it right.”

The therapist takes in a deep breath, nodding. “Then where do I fit into all of this? Does that mean I have a chance?”

“I-” You bite your lip, avoiding his imploring gaze. “It would feel wrong getting into a relationship when I’d decided that I wouldn’t do it with them. If that makes sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he assures, “but that’s not what I mean. I don’t need to be in a relationship with you to treat you right, Y/n. I just want to know if there’s a chance in hell that you return my feelings.”

You lift your eyes at this, staring at the way his soften in response. Your heart thuds in your chest and there’s a liquid relief pumping through your veins that he’s willing to stay by you. If you didn’t already know it before, those sensations certainly make it clear. “I like you, Jin. A lot.”

He smiles in relief, a small and sweet one that makes his eyes crinkle. Rather than responding verbally, he slips one large palm around the nape of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

Eyes slipping shut the moment he comes close, you reach out blindly for him and fist your hand in the thin fabric of his pyjamas to steady yourself. His lips are so plush, and moving so slowly, that it feels like they could slow down time itself. There’s no urgency in the sensual way he kisses you, but you can nonetheless taste his elation sweeter than the remnants of caramel on his tongue.

In that same way, you have no idea how much time passes with your mouths locked together, slowly warming the kitchen floor with your body heat until your skin feels on fire. Even the slightest details, like his fingertips on the back of your neck and your inner wrist make you dizzy.

You break apart for air, still clinging to him like you’d drown without his touch. Panting, you try to slow your racing heart. Your lips still tingle, and reach up to brush your fingers against them in wonder. “Oh, wow,” you whisper dumbly.

Jin smiles, then, a brilliant one that warms his whole face. “Wow,” he repeats. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you like that for a long time, Y/n.”

Barely able to think, you find your eyes slipping down to his lips, how swollen they are, dusky pink. “You can do it again, if you want.”

Jin goes to lean forward, but halts, looking up to the countertop. “One sec,” he hedges, “I’m determined to continue my opportunist streak.”

“Your what?” You chuckle at first, but as he reaches up and drags the jar of caramel sauce down, your eyes quickly widen in realisation.

Jin catches your look, sending you a wink. “Open up,” he instructs, and you drop your jaw without hesitation, anticipation heightening your senses.

When he tips the lip of the container forward, and you feel that warm sweetness burst on your tongue, you moan, tilting your head back so it pools in your mouth. But instead of stopping, he continues to pour, until you feel it threaten to spill out. “Too much,” you try to say, but you can’t move your tongue or lips enough to enunciate it.

Jin only pulls the jar away when it begins to drip down your chin, and like a man starved, he leans in and licks into your mouth without abandon.

You moan as you feel his tongue cut through the molten sugar, running over yours, over your teeth and lips and even ducking down to messily swipe up the stickiness on your face. No matter how much he ravishes you, the moment you begin to kiss back, your tongue lifts and a thick wave of hot caramel slips between your mouths, no doubt getting on your pyjama shirt.

Jin doesn’t seem to care; on the contrary, he moans and clasps your face in both hands, nipping at your lips and deepening the kiss more than you even thought possible. Slowly, the sweetness of caramel gives way to his own taste, and you’re left licking each other filthily, entwined together on the kitchen floor.

Once your chest is aching with a lack of oxygen, you pull away with a gasp, wincing at the weird feeling of caramel on your chest. “So messy,” you groan, “sorry, I didn’t think you’d pour so much.”

Jin’s eyes just light up with mirth. “Messy is the point, baby. We probably have, what-” he pauses to consult the time on the microwave, “two hours before the early risers are up? Why don’t we make an even bigger mess? I’ve decided I’d like to have my dessert first.”

You press your lips together to prevent a moan, nodding frantically. “Fuck, please. I want you.”

The therapist’s chest hitches, but he reaches out to squeeze your thigh. “Lie back, then, baby. Can you take your shirt off for me?”

You’re in such a hurry to obey him, shivering violently at the cold tile against your bare back, that when you suddenly feel a cold burst on your chest you jump, getting a fright.

There’s not enough time to feel that burst of ice, however, as a hot tongue quickly laps it up, collecting every last drop. Jin even sucks the skin there, just above the swell of your breast, to make sure he’s cleaned you up.

You writhe on the floor, your panties uncomfortably soaked, but Jin just throws a leg and an arm over you, straddling you and caging you against the floor. His weight against you makes you moan, that delicious sensation of being trapped exactly where you most want to be.

This time, when he digs his spoon into the slightly-melted ice cream, he pops it into his mouth instead of on your skin. You almost assume he’s just taking some for himself, but then he’s dipping his head and wrapping those sinful lips around one of your nipples, making you cry out.

The cold is immediately overwhelming, tightening and stiffening your peak, and the dizzying mix of his hot tongue with that cold dessert has you clinging to his back, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Jin,” you gasp, “so cold.”

“Is it?” Jin quips, his hand reaching to his side. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.”

Without giving you a moment’s respite, he’s drizzling trails of caramel over your breasts, and lapping it up with ravenous enthusiasm. Though the caramel has gone mostly room-temperature, the contrast against your cooled nipple just makes it feel that much more electric, and you arch your back harshly until Jin finally reaches it and soothes it with his mouth.

You moan, wishing you had something to rut against, some type of friction where you needed it most, but Jin’s more focused on licking, nipping and sucking the sugar off of your body, leaving you trembling. “More,” you plead needily.

“More sauce? More ice cream?” he asks, panting as his own arousal presses stiffly against your lower stomach.

“More you,” you beg, arching up into him, making him curse lowly.

Like desperate virgins, you both quickly discard the last of your clothing, Jin just about popping the buttons of his shirt clean off, and it feels simultaneously like a second and a century before you feel his familiar girth pressing into you, stretching your dripping walls.

You groan, the back of your head knocking against the tile as you go slack, letting yourself focus fully on the sensation of him filling you up. “Fuck, Jin,” you gasp out, legs wrapping around his torso as he goes deeper and deeper.

When he bottoms out, however, Jin doesn’t begin fucking you straight away. Instead, he reaches for the jar. “Tongue out, baby,” he instructs.

Swallowing the drool that gathers in your mouth from the pleasure, you stick out your tongue until you feel it on your chin, awaiting the stream. Clearly wanting to be as messy as possible, Jin intentionally lifts his hand higher so that instead of a mouthful, you get whippings of sugar all over your neck, chin, and cheeks. Hardly any actually makes it in your mouth, but the therapist just chuckles and puts the jar beside him, bending down to run his tongue in a broad swipe up your cheek.

You squeal, turning your head to the side, but the surprise quickly bubbles into arousal as he laps up every last drop, sucking hickies into your neck all the way. The longer he goes, the more you need him, wetter and wetter around his cock. Rocking your hips just to get some friction, you whine into the silence of the kitchen. “Jin, fuck me already,” you plead.

Jin’s first thrust punches all the air out of you. He snaps his hips hard enough to push your body forward from the tile, then grabs your waist with a low growl, pinning you against the floor.

Though the tiles are still cold, your body heat is quickly taking the edge off, and being fucked against such a hard surface is a new feeling to you entirely. There’s no give, no bounce. When Jin begins fucking you at a greedy pace, you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, trying not to moan loud enough that the sound would travel upstairs, but barely able to even contain them at all. “Fucking me so go-mmf!” Your mouth is filled with a cold intruder, and you suck hard, swirling your tongue around the two fingers covered with ice cream. Jin curses lowly at the feeling, and suddenly he’s picking up the pace even more.

You cry out around his fingers, hands flailing to find something to latch onto and anchor yourself, but your knuckles whack into something solid. The ache in your fingers is quickly drowned out by the sudden rush of thick wetness on your stomach, and your eyes fly open, choking on Jin’s digits.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls his hand away and before you can say a single thing, the room is filled with the contagious sound of his laughter. Cock still buried deep inside you, and one hand dripping with caramel, holding onto the near-empty jar, Jin howls, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Hey!” you whine, pouting when the caramel disperses over you, soon dripping down onto your back and the floor. “Don’t laugh at me! You wouldn’t like it if your chest was drenched in caramel!”

Jin discards the jar beside him with a sticky clink, and composes himself, though that glint still remains alight in his eyes. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he’s bending down until your chests are pressed together, separated only by that slippery layer of sauce.

A muffled squeak leaves your lips when he captures them again, his fingers scratching lines up your sides, making you shiver. You try to protest his attempt at tickling you while you were vulnerable, but then he’s rocking his hips, shallow strokes that grind into you so deep.

You moan, wrapping your arms around his back. Every time you feel his nails cutting through the syrup, you scratch his back. Instead of deterring him, however, he just groans into your mouth and doubles his efforts at fucking you.

Slowly, his hands move around from your sides to your back, and you cling to him tighter as he lifts you off the kitchen floor. Still delving his tongue deep into your mouth, he pulls you up until your torso is arched against him and your head tips back slightly, a perfect halfway point between horizontal and vertical, and uses the extra momentum to thrust up into you harder. The angle hits your g-spot roughly with every snap of his hips, and your clit grinds against his cock.

You cry out and lose contact with his mouth, but he just latches it onto your neck instead, dragging his teeth over your shoulder to let the cooled caramel pool in his mouth.

“Jinnie, I’m close,” you confess in a rush, your orgasm quickly building with a pressure between your legs. Something in the way your toes curl and stomach tenses warns you that this will be a powerful one, and your cries increase in pitch and volume, every breath a moan. “Jinnie! Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-”

“Make another mess for me, baby,” Jin groans, and with those words alone your vision goes white.

Jin curses when you lock up around him - legs and arms and pussy alike - but continues to rut against you as you ride the churning wave of your high. Burying your head into the crook of his neck so that you don’t wake the others with your keening scream, you feel a sudden burst inside you that leaves you trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

You feel Jin’s chin pressing into your hair as he glances down, grunting with exertion, and suddenly he’s freezing, holding you tightly to him as he cums inside of you.

The warmth of him filling you is the perfect soother as you come down from that intense climax, and you sigh as he leans forward, lying you back down on the kitchen tile. The two of you fight to catch your breath, the only sounds in the room your joint gasps.

Above you, Jin’s chest heaves, dripping with caramel just like yours must be. He doesn’t take any bother though, wiping away the sweat on his brow with a clean patch of his forearm. “Man,” he exclaims with a cheery chuckle, “you really did make a mess, huh?”

“What?” you ask blearily, weakly propping yourself up on your elbows to glance down. Thinner and clearer than the caramel, a liquid drips over yours and Jin’s stomachs, running down to the tile. You’d squirted. With a weak groan, you let yourself collapse back onto the sticky floor. “It’s too early for this,” you whine. “Oh, god. We have to clean this up.”

Jin’s smile is wiped clear off his face. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t even think about that, my notes didn’t mention it…”

“Your notes?” you ask curiously, grimacing when Jin slowly pulls himself out of you, a stream of cum following and joining the mess of liquids on the floor. “What notes?”

The therapist lets out a nervous laugh as he gets up off the floor, grabbing a clean dish cloth from the bottom drawer. “I did some research, that’s all. Like, no spicy stuff near any mucous membranes because of the sting, no sugar in the vulva otherwise you might get a yeast infection-”

“Eugh,” you cut in, “I’m glad you did the research, but that just makes me want a shower even more now.”

“Go shower, then,” Jin allows with a sympathetic smile, wetting the cloth and beginning to wipe off the stickiness on his chest. “I can clean this up for you.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist, “I’ll quickly wash this off, but I’m coming back down to help you. The sun’s about to rise, so if we work together, maybe there won’t still be cummy sauce all over the floor when the others come down for breakfast.”

“It is probably a safety hazard,” Jin admits. “Okay, then, we’ll clean it together. I’ll have a quick shower once you get back.”

You beam up at him but, before you grab your clothes and rush up the stairs, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his sugared lips. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jin returns your warm smile, ducking down to steal another kiss, and another, and another until you’re giggling and ducking away. “I’ll do my best.”

“You aren’t being particularly subtle.”

Hoseok shrugs at Yoongi. “I’m not trying to be subtle.”

The doctor’s eyes narrow. “Then tell us what’s in the box.”

Hoseok hesitates. “I’m trying to be a little bit subtle.”

Taehyung groans, reaching out for the heavy cardboard box and glaring reproachfully at Hoseok when he smacks his hand away. “Could we have a clue?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly. “No.”

“Then why is it on the table?” the masseuse whines miserably. “You’re just teasing us!”

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered,” Yoongi notes, “it’s not even for you.”

Perhaps you’d be more bemused by the antics of the boys at the table were it not for your own rampant curiosity. As usual, your days were measured by communal mealtimes (courtesy of the fact that six of you were too lazy to cook for yourselves, and the remaining too were perfectly happy to make enough for you all) but this time, as you enjoyed a pan-seared fish of some sort, the flow of the table was interrupted by the package that Hoseok had so dramatically dropped down in front of him. “What is it on the table for?” you ask in what you hope is a casual, unbothered tone.

Hoseok sighs patiently like he’s been through this before. “It’s to create an atmosphere of anticipation,” he explains importantly. “This is reality TV gold, guys, this is exactly what the editors would put a close-up of right before the ad break.”

Jin furrows his brows. “I don’t think there are ad breaks, Hobi.”

“You get what I mean,” he huffs petulantly before clearing his throat, “anyway, let’s change the topic. Any gossip? Love declarations, plot twists; what have I missed?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, beside him Yoongi quickly places a hand on his thigh, and the younger boy sinks back into his chair. “Just the usual for me.” If you weren’t already looking at him, you might have missed the slip of a smile that he presses his lips together to suppress. “Except for the extra dicks I’ve been sucking.”

“Jungkook!” Yoongi shrieks, before sitting up straight. “Wait. Dicks, plural?”

“Well, yeah, Taehyung can’t fuck Y/n anymore, so…” Jungkook deflects. Across the table, Taehyung wordlessly throws his hands in the air in a ‘what can you do?’ type gesture. “It’s like an emergency relief fund but sex,” the youngest explains, “I’m very generous like that.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops open, his breezy demeanour fading. “Hey! You only sucked my dick because you said my technique was off!”

Jungkook smiles glacially at the rest of you. “I’m a giver,” he continues, “much like Yoongi, I teach on the side.” He pouts at Taehyung. “And your technique was off!”

“It was better than your sloppy toppy!” Taehyung defends. “I wanted a blowjob, not a shower.”

“Listen,” Jin says sharply as Jungkook lets out an offended cry, “the only way you’ll ever know for sure is if you have an objective party to compare the two directly.”

Jungkook harrumps, crossing his arms. “What; are you offering?”

Jin pauses. “To have...my dick sucked twice by two very attractive and enthusiastic people? Yes, yes I am.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Jungkook. “You’re so on,” he threatens, “when I win, you have to let me join your stream.”

Jungkook’s already leaving the table, dragging Jin up by a handful of his hoodie. “Such a shame you’re not going to, then,” he taunts, “when you lose, you have to give me a full-body massage and no skimping on the back.”

The rest of you watch in speechless bemusement as Taehyung huffs and throws his chair back, hurrying after them. “Maybe if you didn’t slump in your chair so much, you wouldn’t have a sore back in the first place! Wait, Jungkook, not so fast, I just ate…”

Once the three have left, Yoongi clears his throat. “The gossips have left,” he states carefully, eyes serious as they watch Hoseok, “so what’s in the box?”

Hoseok giggles and claps his hands together, clearly delighted with the attention this box has given me. “You know, the more you ask, the less likely I am to show you.”

Yoongi immediately makes his expression sour, turning up his nose. “I don’t even want to see what’s inside the box,” he insists, “I don’t care at all.”

“Sure thing, hyung.”

The academic is next to have a go. With gentle eyes and shy fingers, Namjoon props his hands on the very edge of the table and looks over to Hoseok. “What if you just showed us one?” he bargains. “It just seems like such a shame to get them delivered all the way over here and not get to show more people.”

Hoseok purses his lips, still unconvinced. At the head of the table, Jimin lets out a scoff and stands up, picking his plate and cup off the table to go discard them in the dishwasher. “It’s going to be something boring,” he drawls, bending over slowly to put away the dishes, letting the table get an eyeful of the tight black jeans he’s wearing. “He’ll wrap Y/n up in rope like tinsel on a Christmas tree and call it BDSM.”

An indignant cry comes from the table as Hoseok watches Jimin reach into the fridge, pulling out a single raspberry from the fruit drawer in there, and grin rakishly at the older man. “That’s not true at all,” Hoseok defends insistently, “I’m just easing her into it. Besides; let me show you something from the box and then we’ll see what you think.”

“How- wha-?” Yoongi’s mouth drops open as Hoseok reaches for the box and uses a knife from the lunch to cut the tape down the middle. “He doesn’t even like you! Why was he the one to convince you?”

Hoseok barely takes note, shielding the opening from your eyes as he digs around inside. It’s near impossible to restrain your curiosity, but you curl your ankles around the chair legs and force yourself to stay seated as he shoves his hand in.

You hear clinks, thuds, and scrapes, before Hoseok lets out a triumphant gasp and pulls his arm up, retrieving a braided leather handle, which he lifts out of the box to reveal a whip of sorts, complete with a neat pile of clean-cut leather strips. Your eyes widen as Hoseok sets it on the table with a weighty thunk, closing the box back up.

“Too boring for you?” Hoseok asks of Jimin with a challenging stare. One finger lazily trails along one of the tails of leather, neatly folded in a gathered loop on the table, making you swallow harshly at the thought of what one of those might feel like lashing across your skin.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jimin returns to the table, inspecting it slowly. “And what are you going to do with that, big boy? Such a big flogger; I must admit, it seems like you’re overcompensating.”

Hoseok scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’ve caught you staring enough times, Peaches,” he taunts, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

This time, Jimin seems almost expectant of the nickname, and just rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you noticed, seeing as your eyes are always locked onto my ass. Bet you wish you had a handful, huh?”

Hoseok frowns, pushing himself away from the table. “Did I eat too much or did the thought of dirtying my hands with you make me physically sick?” he questions rhetorically, making Jimin huff. “Anyways, I’ve got a scene to set up. Best for last, and all that.”

With a flourish, Hoseok picks up the whip - or, as Jimin had said, flogger - handle between two fingers and throws the tail of leather strips over his shoulder, lifting the box into his arms with a light grunt of exertion. Suddenly, he turns his gaze to you, warm but firm. “The downstairs bathroom; be there in half an hour wearing your underwear and only your underwear.”

You suck in a breath when he suddenly leans in close, hoisting the box on his hip as he uses the opposite hand to reach out and fiddle with your bra strap, snapping it against your shoulder with a teasing smile. “If you want to make Master happy,” he says in a voice like crushed velvet, “pick something pretty.”

Hoseok disappears down the hallway with all the drama of a Disney villain, sans a cape to billow behind him, and Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, getting up from his chair. “Well, I’m going to go outside and try and forget about all the debauchery in here. Anyone else?”

Namjoon straightens up immediately, hips bumping against the table. “Sounds good to me,” he rushes out, still looking a little pale from seeing that sneak peek of Hoseok’s box of toys.

Jimin, on the other hand, glances up towards the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. “You two go ahead,” he states, “I think the little ones upstairs could use another judge.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift, almost looking like he’s about to reconsider his choice to leave, but Namjoon is already suggesting they could bring out some board games or a pack of cards, and as usual Yoongi is softer than he likes to think he is.

Once everyone has left you alone in the living room, you slump back onto the table, letting out a breath. Your skin is already tingling relentlessly wondering what those strips of leather would feel like raining down on your skin. And that tool must have only been taking up a small portion of that box. It was heavy, full with other surprises that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Taking a look at the time, you curse and scamper upstairs to track down something pretty for Hoseok.

It’s impossible to stop your mind from conjuring up countless images of what could be waiting for you. Big posts of metal or wood to tie a sub to, chains and latex and the Hollywood taboo of kink that comes to mind. But in the end, it seems trying to picture anything at all was a useless venture, as when you make it downstairs and knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after Hoseok let you, what’s inside is not anything you would have ever expected.

The bathroom itself is decently large, with flat tile all over, a row of showerheads without the luxury of cubicles, a large bath set into one corner, and a bench with a mirror.

But in the middle of the room, closer to the bench than the showers, sits Hoseok.

There’s nothing around him bar a single empty chair that he inclines his head towards, silently instructing you to sit. You glance around in suspicion, but the cardboard box is folded up just beside him and there’s nothing else to see.

Hoseok himself quite easily takes his spot as the centre of attention, though. As you sit gingerly on the wooden chair, grimacing at the scraping sound of the legs on the floor, you look him over. As usual, he makes his statement in black. Hoseok dons boots that lace up to just below his knees, tight leather pants, and a collared shirt that shimmers slightly in the light, like expensive silk. Around his middle is a belt that tightly cinches his waist, accentuating his chest and shoulders. With his hair parted and slightly curling to one side, you don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks up. “Are you quite done?”

Your cheeks heat, and you lean back until you can feel the chair digging in. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Sorry, Sir,” you stutter out as quickly as you can, lowering your gaze.

“Dear me, I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners already,” he croons with a faux look of disappointment, crossing a leg over his knee. “Lucky for you, our scene hasn’t started yet. I want to have a little conversation with you first.”

You swallow, eyes darting down to that cardboard box, curiosity eating you up from the inside. “What do you want to talk about, sir?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften slightly and he laces his fingers over the top of his knee. “You and I are going to have a talk together as two adults, princess. I know we have the consent forms and safewords, but this one requires a little more direct communication. Normally in a scene, you’d be kneeling or I’d be standing right now, but I want you to be fully aware that we are having this discussion as equals. Understood? You can ask questions, raise concerns, anything you need.”

Though your heart hasn’t stopped racing, you feel yourself beginning to calm, relieved for a chance to properly prepare yourself and see what’s going to happen. “Yes, understood. Sir.”

Hoseok’s eyes fleck with mirth as he tilts his head. “First of all; are you allergic to soy or paraffin? I know we have the allergy sheets, but I’d feel safer double-checking.”

You frown, brows knitting in confusion. “Soy? Like soy sauce? And no, I’m not allergic to either of them.”

When Hoseok smiles to reveal his teeth, you catch a glimpse of his dom side, even as he maintains a friendly disposition. “Soy candles, princess.”

A flicker of alarm rushes through you, and you clasp your hands together, fiddling your digits to keep calm. “Is this like, pouring hot wax? I don’t know, Hoseok…”

“It wasn’t a hard limit you listed,” Hoseok reminds gently, “has that changed?”

You swallow. “I- no, it hasn’t but it’s still a soft limit, and I don’t know if-”

“That’s why I wanted to sit down and have a talk with you about it,” he explains without missing a beat, “and if, at the end, you want to keep it as a limit, we’ll do something else. I don’t mind forfeiting the challenge and taking a week in the bunks; they’re perfectly comfortable.” You still don’t answer, feeling scarily vulnerable in a bra and lace panties, nothing but a loose satin robe over top to keep you a little warm and covered. Hoseok’s warm expression keeps you anchored. “Wax play isn’t explicitly pain play, it can be sensation play just like running an ice cube over your skin. And I’ve been doing it for years, princess, if you know what you’re doing, it’s perfectly safe. Do you want to hear me out? There are no obligations.”

You suck in a deep breath, taking a second to think. “I want to at least hear you first,” you decide, “but I really don’t know.”

“I understand entirely,” Hoseok says, and a strange change overtakes his face as he bends down to slip open the folds keeping the box closed. It’s a slight lifting of his brows, pursing of his lips while still being relaxed. The almost stern look of a teacher as he pulls out a weighty red candle, rolling it over in his palm. He glances back at you, presenting it. The two of you are seated close enough together that you only have to lean forward to take it from him.

He lets you look over it as he speaks, his voice soothing and practiced. “This is a pillar candle,” he explains, “see how it’s quite girthy? When you light a candle like that, the molten wax pools in the middle. So when you go to tip it, you can control how much wax you want to pour and when. Some people will have at least two candles burning so that they can alternate. These ones are soy, but I brought paraffin too in case you had an allergy.”

Out of curiosity, you dig your nail into the top, by the fresh wick, and watch thick red wax build up under the nail. “Doesn’t it burn you?” you question. “Like it got melted because of actual fire, surely it would burn.”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not with the right wax.” He takes it back from you, flipping it up to show off the base where a small white sticker displays some information about the candle in tiny print. “Soy and paraffin both tend to melt at roughly the same temperature, and it’s low enough that it won’t burn you. The further away you drop it from affects the temperature when it gets to your skin, too. But candles like beeswax melt at a very high temperature. Those can be dangerous, and you’d never catch me or anyone at Red using them. Now-!” Slipping the short, fat candle back into the box with a soft thud, he pulls out a second one. This one is black, and thin with a pointed end at the top. “This one is a taper candle. There’s no room for the wax to build up, so when you light it, it’ll drop the melted wax one drop at a time. The advantage is that it’s handy for constant use, and very easy to maneuver. One of my friends at Red actually uses it in suspension bondage. She’ll tie up her sub and slip a lit taper into the rope somewhere so that it drips on, say, the sub’s back or stomach. You can imagine if you where tied up and blindfolded, feeling a single drop of heat at a time would be a pretty intense experience.”

The dom breaks off with a laugh at the look on your face, and promptly slips it back in the box. “For our purposes, I’m going to use the pillar. It means that I can easily stop at any time and let the wax just sit in that little divot at the top without it getting everywhere. Still with me?”

You nod quickly, shifting on the chair. Perhaps it’s the hypnotic, soothing lilt of his voice as he walks you through it, or perhaps you’re just realising that it’s not as scary as it seems, but that soft limit is getting softer and softer. “You can go on,” you state in a small voice.

Hoseok’s beam is addicting, brightening the room as he lets out a pleased hum and stands up. Instead of approaching you, however, he walks right past to the bench, fiddling with something in the sink there before he’s filling it up. “An important safety measure,” he explains, “is to have a water source nearby. In case it’s too hot, or the candle catches on anything. I’m doing it in here so that there’s not really anything flammable like carpet or curtains, but there’s no such thing as being too safe.”

You watch him shake the water off his hand with a fond smile. He returns to sit across from you, nudging the open box with his foot. “We have some other surprises in here, but nothing too wild apart from the flogger. How are you feeling about it?”

Your heart skips a beat when you recall it, the satisfying whip of air as he threw it over his shoulder earlier. “I’m nervous, but I really want to try it.”

“Excellent,” he says warmly. “And the wax? We can take it slow, try it out a bit and then I’ll check back in, yeah? Just because we’ll be in the scene doesn’t mean this communication is cut off.”

You suck in a slow breath, biting your lip. Hoseok gives you time to think, waiting patiently and without expectation, but you know that you want to at least try chasing that thrill deep inside you. “I wanna give it a go too.”

Hoseok’s look of pride makes your decision feel all the more right. “That’s my girl,” he chimes, “so brave for me.” Without further notice, his eyes darken, and his smile turns less sweet and more sly. “You know Master will make it good for you, right?”

You shiver beneath the thin layer of satin and lace. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he coos, “I want you to make a choice now, princess. I’ll let you choose what you wish to have first? Candles or the flogger?”

You feel slightly paralysed by the sudden decision making, brain already beginning to slow down. “Flogger please, sir.”

“So polite,” he praises, “alright, then. I want you to stand up and take that robe of yours off.”

You do so with a quickening pulse, but Hoseok doesn’t even spare a second glance at you, instead shifting the box over to the bench, pulling out… something that definitely isn’t the flogger.

Hoseok turns to you with a grin, dangling a chain on a single finger. At either end, leather cuffs twirl and bump each other, familiar to ones you’d used on the show before. Unlike the other pair, which were pretty simple and basic, this pair look beautiful enough to be a regular fashion accessory. The leather is thick but not stiff, and they’re done up with silver buckles, adjustable for size. What really catches your attention, however, is the gorgeous red trim of the softest velvet, a deep colour that makes it look unbelievably expensive. As he approaches, you notice that the insides of the cuffs are embossed with the symbol you recognised from the box. Two Rs facing away from each other, with delicately curled strokes.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Hoseok asks rhetorically. “They’re from the dungeon, if you hadn’t already guessed. Show me your wrists.” You rush to obey, sighing when you feel cool velvet encase around your left wrist, Hoseok deftly fastening the cuff as he continues to talk. “We have a colour code for everyone that comes in our doors. All spectators wear a simple black wristband. If you’re there to play, doms get armbands and subs get cuffs. Green means free use, anyone inside those walls wearing a cuff or a armband can play with you-” he doesn’t miss the way you shudder at the concept of being totally at the mercy of a roomful of strangers, arms pulling closer to your sides defensively, “-blue means looking. You’re open to negotiation, but there needs to be a kink negotiation and mutual agreement before you begin to play.” Hoseok moves to your other wrist, making sure the cuff is snug, but not cutting off circulation. “Can you guess what red means, princess?”

You can’t bear to look away from the gorgeous cuffs that adorn your wrists. You can feel the weight of the chain that connects them as it swings below. “Taken,” you offer in an uncertain voice.

“That’s right.” Even though you aren’t looking directly at him, you can sense Hoseok’s grin. He gracefully hooks the chain on his finger, lifting it up and tugging it to watch your wrists jerk towards him. “And can you guess why I picked red for you?”

You think you know the answer. But you become overcome with the desire to hear him say it. You lift your gaze to his, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t know.”

Hoseok sees right through you, tilting his head. “I think you do,” he counters, “but I’ll happily tell you.” He yanks again, making you stumble forward into his chest. With an arm bracing you against him, Hoseok bends down to murmur in your ear. “Because you’re mine.” With the teasing slowness of a cat playing with its food, he brushes your hair back, fingertips light against the bare skin of your neck and shoulders. “Do you want to know something funny? The entire time you’ve been in there, you haven’t thought to look up.”

It happens quickly. Just as you lift your chin to seek out what he’s referring to, you feel a pull on your wrists. Hoseok’s grip on you loosens but the tug on your wrists continues until they’re stretching right up above you. The moment you set your eyes on the hook dangling from the ceiling - what looks like thick, industrial grade steel - you see the chain loop onto it and suddenly you can’t drop your arms anymore.

You tug them, a natural instinct to escape the hold, and the unforgiving way your body is stretched out makes your chest pound a little with alarm,heels only just resting on the floor. Hoseok’s hands are on you, palms hot as they smooth up and down your sides and back, soothing you. Your racing pulse starts to slow, even as your arms tremble.

“That’s better,” he remarks, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Would you believe that hook was there when we came?”

Your lips twitch. “Honestly? No, sir.”

He flicks you a wink, patting your ass fondly. “You would be surprised. Used to be a fixture for a chandelier. Who the fuck needs a chandelier in a bathroom?” You suppress a laugh, knowing that your nervous giggles will get the best of you if you give them a chance, but Hoseok sees that he’s managed to calm you down quite a bit, and slips back into the velvety depths of his dominant persona once again. His hand hasn’t moved from your ass, and you suck in a sharp breath through your nose as his fingers slip beneath the lace, gripping the flesh there, unable to move away from it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” he starts with a casual air, massaging your ass openly even as his eyes stay fixed on yours, monitoring your every expression, “been waiting to turn that pretty ass of yours red. Let’s take these pretty panties of yours off first.”

You relax your thighs to let the strip of fabric sneak past, and when he bares your bottom half, tucking the cream-coloured lace into his back pocket, you shiver for a different reason entirely. You feel the wetness between your thighs begin to run down now that it’s unhindered by your panties, and your nipples are stiff, begging to be touched.

Hoseok isn’t so merciful, however, and when he glances down and sees them, he flicks lightly at one with an amused chuckle. “Desperate little one, aren’t you? Now, princess, I’m going to go over to the bench and get my flogger. Are you okay here alone? I’m not leaving you; I’ll only be out of your sight for a moment.”

The tile feels so cold and unforgiving under your toes as you shift, the chain preventing you from going far. “Yes, sir,” you say, but Hoseok clearly senses your hesitance.

Eyes imploring, warm yet serious, he tips up your chin with his knuckles gently. “Do you trust me? I’ll be no more than ten seconds. How about this? In your head, chant ‘Master is a good kisser’ three times, and I’ll be back.”

Your eyes round, wetting your lips. “How would I kn-umph!” Your question is cut off prematurely as Hoseok ducks down and demonstrates; a firm, bruising kiss that’s only heightened by the bondage restricting your movements. You can’t touch him, or move closer. You just have to sit and take it, and your mind feels heady as his lips press roughly against yours, teeth tugging on your lower lip enough to sting. By the time he pulls away, you feel breathless, the tension of the cuffs the only thing keeping you on your feet.

Hoseok gently buffs you on the cheek with another wink. “Don’t forget the magic words, princess,” he chimes, “I’ll be right back.”

And, though only two weeks ago the feeling of having him out of sight and out of reach had freaked you out to the point of safewording, the tingle in your lips and that admittedly accurate mantra - Master is a good kisser - keep your mind occupied enough that before you reach the end of the third recitation, Hoseok has stepped back into your line of vision, giving you an expectant look. “Still with me?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod with it, though you can’t bring yourself to look at him, so captivated by the flogger in his hand. He holds it like a seasoned expert, which you don’t doubt he is. The handle is black braided leather, with two thicker balls on either end like a dumbbell, no doubt for ease of grip. His hand wraps around the narrower middle section, but loose enough that his fingers look relaxed around it. Though he holds the handle upright slightly, the strips of leather fall straight down in a single cascade, neatly kept together.

Observing your trained eye, Hoseok laughs and steps closer, sliding the leather over his palm to display it for you. “Shall we have a quick lesson? This here is a perfect beginner’s flogger. Perfectly balanced with a weighted handle and clean-cut leather. These strips here, they’re called falls. The less you have or the thinner they are, the more it stings like a whip would. This one has probably around 30, 35 falls. Proper garment leather. Expensive, but well-crafted.” His hand shifts, clasping around the ends, which he spreads apart with a thumb. “You see how the ends are rounded? Some falls have forked tips, pointed tips, or straight-cut ones. The pointier it is, the sharper the sensation. Rounded tips are best for a newbie like you.”

Suddenly, he drops the ends, letting them revert back to their single stream of leather spouting from the handle. The quick movement makes your eyes automatically jump up to his face, and you suck in a breath at how intense his gaze is on you. “You need to be very clear where your limits are, princess. Tell me if I’m going too hard. This is painplay, but it should still be pleasurable. Understood?”

You swallow. Now, with your body almost entirely naked, your body restrained and a very practiced dom standing in front of you with a flogger, the concept of pain is a little more concrete. But still, you trust him, and his ability to make it feel good for you. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Hoseok steps back, giving himself some distance as he eyes you up. With a smooth motion, his wrist begins to flick, and you instinctually recoil when the falls of the flogger start flying through the air in a graceful arc. They’re uniform in both width and length, probably just about as long as Hoseok’s arm, which stays perfectly still as he isolates the movement in his joint. Even if you weren’t in the metaphorical hot seat, this show of excellence and practiced skill would nevertheless add to the coil of arousal between your legs. He looks good like this, fully in his element. “Now,” he states, smirking at your telling reaction, “normally the best spots are the back of the shoulders, and the ass. But something tells me you’d rather see what I’m doing before letting me loose behind you. Would I be right in thinking that?”

You picture him going behind you and beginning to whip you with no context or warning. You nod your head quickly. “Yes please, sir.”

Hoseok smiles, slowing his wrist, before he begins flicking it the opposite way, the ends of the flogger curving downwards towards you instead of upwards. “Now, this flogger is a little thuddier than what I’d usually use on breasts, but since I’m only going to be very light, it’ll be just fine.”

You try to inch backwards, but the chain rattles and gives you away. “My breasts?”

Hoseok’s hand stills, his head cocking to one side as his brows come together. “Is there a problem, princess?”

His disapproval is clear, and you get the feeling that you’re treading on thin ice. But he said that communication wouldn’t stop here, so you forge ahead. “I’m not protesting, I’m just curious, sir. Why not somewhere easier like the stomach?”

Distaste wracks his features. “This isn’t going anywhere near your stomach,” he says firmly, “the organs there are unprotected. Anything vulnerable - joints, spine, the stomach and lower back, of course the head - they’re all off-limits. Do you understand that?” When he receives a nod, the line of tension in Hoseok’s shoulders relaxes. “Now, I need you to move your head back so that it’s between or behind your arms. Can you do that for me?”

Pushing your head through the gap in your upper arms, you shift until your whole face is between them, chin tilted slightly up. “May I ask why, sir?” you request in a small voice. Why did this whole thing feel so technical? And why were you still so wet from it?

“You may,” Hoseok replies bemusedly, “it just distances your face from the swings. Don’t worry-” he interjects quickly when your eyes widen in alarm, “the falls will be nowhere near your face. It’s just for our peace of mind. Do you still trust me?”

You manage to nod with your face bracketed by your arms, and with a rush of anticipation, watch Hoseok start up those quick circles, the leather whipping through the air in one bunch. Instead of stretching his arm forward, he steps in slowly, moving the falls getting closer and closer until the smooth stroke of impact flicks across your right breast.

You gasp, out of shock more than anything, but those strokes deliver a regular pattern, and it’s already lacing across your skin again, and again, an odd feeling that certainly isn’t unpleasant. There’s a distinct feeling of impact, without any real weight behind it, and the slightest hint of a sting that just serves to gradually warm the skin. Your chest is heaving, but Hoseok lands each blow with perfect accuracy, even stepping side-on between arcs and switching breasts.

The constant snap of contact helps you get used to it and calm down, and you can’t deny that it feels kind of...nice? There’s something satisfying and freeing about feeling those split second granules of pain and tolerating them, overcoming them. It doesn’t take long before you unconsciously arch your spine, seeking out something more than just light swats from the very tips of the falls.

Hoseok notices the moment you move and, frustratingly, he stops with a chuckle. “Did that turn you on, princess? Do you want more?”

You whine, tipping your head back further so he disappears out of your sight. Against the skin of your inner arms, your cheeks are raging hot. “Yes,” you admit in a defeated voice when he refuses to move on.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir?” you quip with a hopeful tone.

“Nice try,” Hoseok replies flatly, “I want you to say it, princess. Yes, what?”

You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s only silence. The heat has already left your breasts, and they feel strange without that lick of leather on them. “I want more, please, sir.”

“Good girl,” Hoseok coos, and in reward you feel the now-welcome flick of the falls on your breasts. This time, however, he stands directly across from you and twists his wrist over, casting figure eights, alternating left and right. You tremble at the feeling, squirming under it. Though it’s still light, every strike feels even more intense on your nipples, shooting sensation right between your legs.

“Sir,” you gasp out, “I w-want some more, sir.”

Hoseok answers without faltering, and his voice easily carries over the sound of the flogger. “Oh, do you? I can’t go any harder on these pretty little tits of yours, princess.” He pulls away, ceasing the motion. “If you want to continue, I’m going to have to go behind you. Are you okay with that?”

You push your reddened chest forward to no avail. “Fuck! Hoseok, yes, I’m okay with it,” you whine, unable to resolve any of the need in your core, needing more. Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval, and you curse internally at the slip. “Sir! Sorry, I’m okay with it, sir.”

“You better not forget your manners,” Hoseok warns, taking one step at a time, boots thudding on the tile as he circles you. “I’m flogging you for pleasure, because I like to treat and train you, but if you do that again, I can easily turn this into a punishment.”

The thought makes you moan, and your wrist jerks as you fruitlessly try to cover your mouth. Actually relieved he’s behind you for once, you let your head duck forward, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckles. “It seems like you’re more of a painslut than you realise, princess,” he teases, and you’re given no warning before you feel a strike against your ass, making you jump with a yelp. Though it’s the same light figure eights as just before, these ones whip up from the bottom, so that every hit lands on the meat of your ass, avoiding your lower back. If the ones before were easy, these feel like child’s play. Whether you’ve gotten more used to the sensation, or the skin on your ass just isn’t as sensitive, you find yourself immediately wanting more, trying to lean back into it.

The dom isn’t pleased. “Did I say you could move?”

You don’t answer, hands reaching up to grip the chains that bind them as you bite down harshly on your tongue. “I can take more, sir,” you begin, but Hoseok cuts you off with a gruff noise of disapproval.

“Did I say you could move?” he repeats sharply.

You whine low in your throat. “No, sir,” you admit, “but I can-” You yelp and flinch when a single swat hits below the swell of your ass, across your thighs. It feels different there, stingier and less hazily pleasant. “I’m sorry-”

“That’s right, I didn’t,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind you, cold and unforgiving. “In fact, I hung you up here to keep you still for me, so that I could play with you as I wished. If you insist on defying that, I’ll quite happily fetch a spreader bar so that you can’t move an inch.”

You furrow your brows, hating the feeling of making him mad. Hating even more that the sharpness in his tone and the filthy word he says just make you even needier, tightening your thighs together. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll behave,” you mumble shamefully.

You jump slightly when you feel something on your ass again, but it’s just his hand, cupping the flesh. “I’m doing this to warm you up. For your own safety. I’ve been doing this for years, princess, don’t forget that Master knows best.”

“Master knows best,” you repeat mindlessly, feeling yourself begin to slip. It’s a comforting thought just as much as it is an arousing one; Master knows what he’s doing, and all you need to do is take it.

“Exactly.” Hoseok sounds pleased, and just as your heart lifts in relief, the hits resume.

Eyes slipping closed, you let yourself tune everything else out. When you focus, when you really actively feel it, you can recognise every shift in his posture, or change in angle by how it feels on your skin. The strips of leather lash up, gradually causing the skin to heat up as the thuddy feeling stays longer and longer after each strike.

Before he ups the intensity, he simply speeds up his strokes, and you let out a pleased whine as the constant ebb and flow of pleasure-softened pain lull you deeper. The more you take, the less it hurts at all, even as the skin on your ass feels like it’s radiating heat.

The warmth floods to the rest of your body until even your toes aren’t cold against the tile. You feel like you could stand here forever, strung up and lost in the sensations he’s giving you. In fact, those dull edges of pain are so soothing that it feels almost therapeutic, worries and aches melting away, irrelevant in this space.

Hoseok finally deems your skin is sufficiently warmed up, and you whimper when the hits shift. Instead of friendly, playful flicks of leather, every strike echoes in the room, the thud of impact delivering a bolder note of pain.

Not that it’s bad, though. On the contrary, if the earlier flogging was lulling you into a sleepy bliss, these ones wake you up like a burst of energy with every swing. Without even realising, a dopey grin stretches your cheeks, and you find yourself no longer trying to muffle the pleased sighs that stutter out with every flick of Hoseok’s wrist.

“Fuck, look at you,” the dom croons, “a painslut indeed. You’re dripping onto the tiles, naughty girl.”

You moan openly, knuckles aching with how tightly you’re gripping the chains that hook your cuffs to the steel loop above. Your pussy aches with the need to be touched, but to do that Hoseok would have to stop whipping you, and your mind hisses at the thought. All you want is more, you can take more, you want to show him, to show yourself you can take more. Every burst of pain on your flesh is another victory, and it feels euphoric.

You stay in this headspace for a while as Hoseok maintains the same, regular hits. Eventually, the scream for more overwhelms you, and you seek out something more intense the quickest way you know how - disobedience. “Hoseokie,” you whine, “hit me harder.”

You could sob when his hand freezes, the next strike coming down without any bite, just a loose draping of the leather falls. As they linger on the skin, you realise just how sensitive and raw it’s gotten, feeling every edge of leather in sharper clarity. Hoseok holds it there for a moment, then drops, the silence in the room palpable. “Are you giving me orders? And without the proper title, no less.”

Pain bursts across your skin like a line of fire, the sharpest and strongest hit yet. Like the one across your thighs, this comes at an angle instead of the upstrokes of his circles or figure eights. You can imagine him holding it back, and whipping it down with a single, swift flick. The residue heat on your ass just makes you want another.

Instead of another hit, however, you cry out when you feel nails digging into the flesh, not scraping, just groping the globes of your ass in each hand. You can even feel the stiff leather of the handle pressing into your flesh on one side, and you whine at the sensation.

“I know what you want, princess,” Hoseok growls, his voice startlingly close as his breath wafts hot on the back of your neck. “And if painplay was the purpose of the scene, perhaps I’d whip you until you cried like you deserve.”

You sob. “Master, please-”

“It’s too late for that,” he cuts off sharply. “The time for begging is over. You’ve disappointed me. I was going to lift up your legs and fuck you right here, but you’ve showed me that you don’t deserve that yet.”

Unprecedented, your eyes brim with tears. Hoseok slips back into your line of sight, face stern as he tucks the handle of the flogger in his belt at the back, and reaches up to unhook you. Your legs are weak, but he carries your weight with ease, letting the chain dangle around the back of his neck as he walks you over to the bench.

Instead of propping you up on it, or sitting you on a chair, he helps you lie down on the cool tile, an immediate balm for the deep-set heat radiating from your ass. Even as his face is stiff with disapproval, he handles you so gently, ensuring you don’t knock your head on the way down.

“Just stay here a moment,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your eyes, “calm down a little bit. I have some candles to light.”

You feel strangely floaty, your emotions all over the place, but Master had asked you to calm down, so you try your best to settle them. It’s not a bad sensation once you relax a bit. Need burns fiercely between your thighs, but the last thing you want to do is upset him by breaking the rules, so you simply let your eyes slip closed and your thighs clench together. You’ll wait until Hoseok comes back to you, and then you’ll make things right by being extra good. The thought of pleasing him makes you smile, and when Hoseok’s voice wraps around you, checking that you’re still with him, it’s only too easy to chirp a contented, “yes, sir.”

When he returns, he’s slipping one hand under your head and the other behind your back, lifting you ever-so-slowly so that your head doesn’t spin. Once you’re up, you lean forward and cling to him, wanting nothing more than to be close. Hoseok lazily cards his fingers through your hair. “You’ve misbehaved,” he states slowly, “you haven’t earned an orgasm, princess, but I’m soft on you. I’ll give you the chance to win one, how about that?”

You blink dazedly, feeling clarity begin to seep back in. “Win?”

Pulling back, Hoseok smirks down at you. “We’re going to play a little game, you and I. Come; I want you on your hands and knees.”

Hoseok guides you over, though you’ve mostly gotten your strength back. On the floor, near the box, are two lit pillar candles. The flames dance cheerily, leaving behind wells of molten wax. One is the red candle you’d inspected earlier, and the other is a pure white, the wax melting clear. You prop yourself up on your hands and knees beside it, but the dom quickly corrects you, leading you to instead assume the position over the box, which almost reaches your stomach.

Upon receiving your questioning look, Hoseok rubs one hand over your reddened ass cheeks, soothing the flesh. “I don’t want you losing your balance and creating a large angle,” he explains shortly, “the wax could drip forward into your hair or, worse, drip back where I’m sure you don’t want it.”

You shudder at the thought, your pulse steadily quickening as the reality of what he’s about to do sets in. This feels even more unfamiliar and alien than the flogging did at the beginning, but you feel safe beneath his touch.

Hoseok gets on his knees behind you, and you could cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle clink, and then a zip lower. It takes no time at all for you to feel the blunt head of Hoseok’s cock pressing against your entrance until it begins to sink in.

You moan, arching your back enough that you fee the texture of cardboard on your stomach. After only receiving external stimulation - pain, nonetheless - until now, suddenly being speared on his tongue has you speechless, tongue heavy in your mouth and drool pooling in your cheeks.

“Feel good, princess?” Hoseok questions, giving your raw ass a playful swat when you cry out the affirmative. “I bet it does.” But when he bottoms out, leaving you deliciously full, he remains perfectly still. “Sadly, that’s all you’ll get for now. Do you want to hear the rules of the game?”

You sob lowly in your throat, elbows almost buckling as your walls clench around the unmoving intrusion. “Please, sir.”

“I’m going to write a word on you, princess. A special word. But it just so happens that I don’t have a pen on me, so I’ll use this wax instead.” The glimpses of red and white blink out of your peripheral as Hoseok drags them closer to himself. “You can guess each letter, and if you manage to get the word right once I’m finished, then I’ll let you cum. Does that sound fair?” Your reply is garbled, incoherent, but Hoseok doesn’t seem bothered. “Then let’s begin. Pay close attention, now.”

Your body naturally tenses up, eyes squeezed shut as you wait for a burst of pain, of searing heat. When something touches your skin, you automatically cry out, but quickly realise that it doesn’t hurt at all, instead, it’s like viscous warm water that slowly stiffens on your skin as it cools. The tightness in your chest loosens.

“That was a test patch, princess,” Hoseok says in a calm voice, devoid from his usual dom smugness. “Too hot? Not hot enough?”

You swallow. “It wasn’t hot,” you admit, “it’s not bad.”

“Understood,” he confirms, squeezing your hip in reassurance as you clench again around him, but the safety monitor Hoseok quickly takes a backseat to the Master persona. “First letter, princess. I’ll only do each one once.”

This time, when lines of warmth bloom on your back, concentrated in the top corner by your shoulder blade, you focus your mind on picturing the shapes they create. Something straight, then a small loop. The wax isn’t painful; on the contrary, it doesn’t feel hot when it first makes contact. As it sits, the skin heats up, but before it gets too warm, the wax has already cooled to mostly solid. Your fears melt away fully, and you tune back into the game. “D?” you guess.

“Close,” he allows.

You rack your mind. “P?”

You moan when Hoseok’s cock suddenly moves inside you, pulling out slowly and giving you a single, snapped thrust. “Correct,” he confirms, “next letter.”

This one feels similar, starting with the same straight line, slightly to the right of where the first patch fell. A straight line, something wobbly again with a line to end it. Your breath catches. “R? Is the word ‘princess?’”

“Guessing so soon,” Hoseok chimes, humour lacing his voice, “but wrong on both counts. It’s a vowel.”

You go down the list, comparing them against the already-fading memory of thick warmth on your skin. “E- no, A?”

“A is correct. This one’s easy.” After fucking into you once another time, he does a single stroke that you easily identify as an I, and then you hear the thud as he puts down one candle and picks up the other. “Let’s see how you look in red, princess. Next letter.”

It gets harder and harder to correctly name the letters as you go on. With every right answer, you’re rewarded with a second of pleasure before it ceases, and that paired with the arousing feeling of warm wax drizzling over your skin just has you feeling hazy. It takes you whole minutes to guess N, but lucky it’s followed by simple strokes of S, L, and U.

By the time he’s switched wax a couple times and is readying you for the last letter, you already know the word. But Hoseok drops the wax from a little lower every time, and you relish the heat more and more with each letter, and you’ll take whatever else you can get.

At this point, the only space left on you is low on your back, just in from your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut, already knowing that he’s going to paint two strokes: one horizontal and one vertical. So instead, you allow yourself to just feel it for what it is.

He tips the pillar candle - red or white, you’ve long since lost track - and you moan openly as you feel fluidity, then heat, which crests and settles into a seal of solid wax. Hoseok wastes no time before completing the letter, one longer line going down in a thick trail that threatens to drip down your side.

“‘s T,” you slur out before he can even ask, tightening your walls around him as he snaps his hips a single time so that you can feel every inch of him. Even the sound of the one movement is obscene; you’re so wet that it runs down your thighs and soaks his cock, but Hoseok’s not complaining.

Instead, you whine as you feel his nails on your shoulder, dislodging the fully hardened wax from the beginning. It’s a strange sensation, there’s a minute suction to breaking that seal, but it lifts off so smoothly when he’s careful like that. “And can you tell me the word, princess? I picked it out just for you.”

Sighing out, you nod shakily. “Painslut,” you gasp.

“That’s right,” Hoseok replies warmly, even as his nails curl and drag down rough enough to crumble the wax in his path, leaving stinging lines over your skin. “You’re my little painslut, aren’t you? Say it, and I’ll give you your reward.”

“I’m your little painslut,” you moan out, back arching under the relentless way he dislodges slivers of dried wax, exposing the sensitive skin beneath.

Without further preface, Hoseok bends over to quickly blow out the two candles, shift them further away, and then straightens up to grip your hips with hands slightly slippery from the soy.

When he begins fucking into you properly, with the full force of his powerful hips, you’re pushed forward onto the cardboard box, a cry punched from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time, just as steady and unforgiving as the circles his flogger made earlier.

You feel the weight of his balls slapping against you, his hip bones pressing into your sensitive ass, and his nails dig in sharply to give you that delicious pain that had become just as potent as pleasure. You feel him inside you, too; mercilessly parting your walls and stretching you around him until it feels like you can’t breathe.

Your mouth spills a constant stream of garbled moans and pleas, doing your best to fuck yourself back on him to feel him deeper. “Fuck, Master, I’m so close,” you manage to make out, “can I cum, sir?”

Hoseok growls deep in his throat, and you squeal helplessly as his pace picks up until you can’t even stop yourself from drooling onto the tile, jerked about within his grip. “Cum for me, princess,” he commands, “cum on my cock now.”

In your body’s final effort to please your Master, your orgasm follows only a few thrusts later, and you go limp and shivery against the support of the cardboard box, clinging to it as Hoseok chases his own high.

Having cum from g-spot stimulation alone, the orgasm seems to reach as deep as your bones, and you ride the wave longer. By the time you’re finally beginning to come down, pleasure slowly turning to oversensitivity, Hoseok’s thrusts are stuttering, and he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grunting as a different kind of heat spurts over your back.

You’re panting, hugging the box you’re curled over as you feel Hoseok’s cum run down the divot of your spine, slowly cooling. You can still feel the dry flakes of wax that cling to you, and even as Hoseok gently helps you off the solid tile floor, you see shavings and slivers of red and white falling to the ground.

Hoseok’s dropped the Master persona entirely by now, and you hum happily as he checks you over, fingertips running across the skin of your back and ass. “No pain still persisting?”

“Well, my ass still kinda stings,” you admit, “but nothing seriously painful, no.”

He furrows his brows in concern as he straightens up in front of you. “And the wax was okay?”

You smile shyly and a little dopily, still coasting on the endorphins the pain and temperature play had released. “I’m probably going to go to Sejin and get him to change it to a definite interest, actually. It was great, Hoseok. You were great. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm as he fondly buffs you on the underside of your chin. “Well; I say we have a nice shower and clean you up, and then we can go into the kitchen for some ice cream. Get your sugar levels back up, how about that?”

You could laugh, but you feel too blissed out to even exert that much energy. “I’m not sure there’s any ice cream left, actually.”

FAN FAVOURITE

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week Three only. Vote here. You need to sign in to prevent spamming, but I delete the survey after the 48 hours is up. All I take note of is the pie chart at the end. I’m very excited to see what the results will be !

And so we meet our fourth guest... Confused? Check bonus content four, five and six for the other three teasers ;)

#cypherwritersnet #bts smut #jin smut #hoseok smut #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut

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starshiningsirius · 4 years ago

Text

The most sweetest thing(Yandere Trey x reader)

Thank you to @swirly-writes for sending me yandere prompt from which I gained my inspiration

BAKERY BOIS BIRTHDAY! NO DENIAL IN SAYING HE'S MY FAVORITE IN HEARTSBYUL!😍🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🎊🎊🎊🎊🎊🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂

A new bakery opened up in town, it's popularity sky risen in a short amount of time. It was known for its sweets that taste like another food entirely. An astounding feet something that no one could understand how he did it, almost like magic.

Said baker and owner named Trey Clover was deemed a master at what he did. His smiles toward customers who would enter where his pearly white teeth would show had any girl fall for him instantly. He wouldn't pay them any mind though, he was only focused on making his bakery a success that was until he met someone that changed his goal.

It wasn't as crowded in the morning when he first opens the shop. No one would come in until about three hours later. That is until one day she did.

Her name was Y/n who was beautiful in looks standards but with an expression of apathy on her face you'd think she was nothing more than a doll. Trey had heard her enter with the bell above the door alerting him and immediately went to the counter to serve her.

At first he was surprised seeing such a beautiful young lady enter his shop, he couldn't even deny the blush that was visible on his face. Something about her seemed off though as he examined her for a quick second he noticed how empty she looked. He didn't know why but it did make him a bit curious.

When he caught himself staring for awhile he cleared his throat a little and put on his best smile.

"Hello, Ms. Is there something I can get you?"

"A slice of cake."

"And what would you like it to taste like?"

"Nothing the way it is would be just fine."

This answer actually surprised him seeing as people come here for desserts that taste like whole other foods. No one ever asks for the things he makes himself without the help of his magic.

His bewildered expression didn't go unnoticed by the female in front of him as she thought about how easily his expression changed with her order. She assumed he didn't get orders like hers often.

"Ah, coming right up Ms."

He wouldn't admit it but he was actually giddy for once like he wanted to be famous for his sweets in general, he did run a bakery after all. He served it to her and she ate it inside the small cafe like place.

He actually pretended to clean the counters while she indulged herself with the blank expression she came in with. He couldn't deny the anxiety pounding in his heart when he saw the fork come up to her lips as she took a bite.

That's when he saw it. A small smile grace her angelic features. He was sure it was real and rare at that, but he couldn't believe nor get it out of his head. From that day forward she started to come in around opening time and Trey would anticipate meeting with her. She would order different sweets all tasting how Trey would make it and bringing a smile to her face that Trey would long to see. Energizing him every morning and keeping him eager to see the sun rise on the next day.

After about the first five meetings with him she gave him her name, Y/n L/n. As nice as it sounded to roll off his tongue hearing her repeat his name was far more appealing. They would now exchange more conversations with one another in the mornings that was barren and empty with no other customers. She would wait for Trey to make a sweet she had asked for that he didn't have in stock already which left some time to conversate.

She actually brought up how he didn't mention her emotional detachment not once.

"Everyone has their reasons for who they are I wouldn't want you to have to explain yourself just for the sake of my curiosity."

"Th -thank you." That's the first time he heard her stutter before, he found it cute.

"To be honest I really like your sweets, they are divine, and I can't help but feel happy when I eat them." Her words offered Trey to chuckle a little seeing a small smile on Y/n's face he could feel his heart beat faster.

So he responded with,

"Keep smiling like that. It makes my heart happy."

🥳🥳🥳 . 🥳🥳🥳 . 🥳🥳🥳 .🥳🥳

Of course not all good things come to an end. Trey had gotten closer with Y/n and knew she was not the apathetic girl he first saw, he was able to decipher her feelings a lot better. She was shy, kind, polite, and virtually loved his sweets. With how she was raised by a high classed family that undermines women expressing themselves he could understand the general picture of why she had an apathetic look on her face half the time.

It did anger him to some extent but at the same time if he had seen her smile so often it wouldn't be so precious as when he had first met her. The fact that she likes his desserts for what they are also stood out to him as what made her different. There were so many things Trey could list in his head that would entail why he had fallen for the lovely lady that entered his shop every morning.

At this point he was head over heels for her awaiting to bake any treat the girl asked for the very next day. Until she didn't come one morning and that had him worried.

'What could possibly be holding her from coming here? She never misses a day.'

Questions and inquiries ran through Trey's head, running a hand through his green hair throughout the morning up until he heard the bell ring. It caught his attention except it wasn't her, it was just a normal group of customers that came a few hours after the store opened. He hadn't realized how long he had been standing there.

It was going to be a long day.

. 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 .🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 .🥳🥳🥳🥳

Finally the day was almost done, at least in Trey's head he praised being able to close the store. His mind was still running rampant on not seeing the sweet angel that would bless his morning with a ray of sunshine and motivate him to move on with the day.

He sighed with exhaustion seeing as everyone always ordered their dessert to taste different which meant no breaks on using his magic.

As he pushed up his glasses the little bell above the door leading in rang again. He took a breath and plastered on a fake smile to hide his exhaustion. It was a couple that came in, he couldn't hide his shock though when he saw the female paired with a man.

She didn't look happy as she did the previous morning with anticipation to try his sweets. Instead she had the expressionless face that she usually had except it looked more sad. Trey had gotten better at reading her emotions often over the course of their encounters. She was wearing an expensive dress which contrasted with her casual clothing. Of course Trey thought she looked stunning, but the look on her face wasn't making it very complete.

He didn't realize he was staring for a while as the couple had already stopped at the counter. The man cleared cleared his throat obnoxiously and Trey could already tell he was someone already unfavorable to him.

"What would you like sir?"

When he ordered Trey had to try hard not to let his smile falter, clenching his fists behind the counter in agitation. He took a quick glance over at Y/n who had avoided his gaze and looked as though she was repressing a frown for an empty look instead. It was like she was pretending not to know him which he couldn't deny did sting quite a bit. Trey being the calculating person he is went along with the charade as he deduced it had to do something with the man next to her.

"And for you Ms.?" As soon as the man had finished he glanced over at Y/n and secretly winked at her.

"Ah, for her just a dark coffee is fine. You've look like you've been gaining more weight recently which is unbecoming of you my dear fiancee. So make it taste like a salad please."

Trey couldn't help but looked toward Y/n who looked like she wanted to speak but shut her mouth immediately after opening. It definitely rubbed him the wrong way, not only was this guy arrogant and rude, he blatantly insulted his angel on her weight of all things when she looked as though she hadn't gained anything. Not only that but he was going to be married to her! The world was unfair and hell had frozen over with such a man like that Trey could only imagine how miserable Y/n already was by the look on her face. She always loved his sweets and only ordered that when she came, and he would always adore the smile adorned on her face that would shine light brighter than a sunrise in the Afterglow Savanna.. He decided to at least try and speak up for her.

"Excuse me sir but that doesn't look like what your fiancee wanted to order." The venom in his voice when he mentioned her partnership with the man was clear as day.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion sir, I choose what's best for my future wife she is one of a kind in her looks and I want to keep it that way." Trey's entire body flinched seething with rage as he stayed in his place and smile visibly twitched into a frown.

He did learn to keep his mouth shut and have patience, if serving under the former dorm leader back in his NRC school years taught him anything it was that first and foremost losing your cool wouldn't do any good.

He apologized maintaining a cool facade before going to the kitchen. Where he could quietly say a few profanities to himself. As he did almost finished the order with all that was left being to change the taste with his magic, he considered changing the flavor the man had ordered on her coffee.

With a wave of his pen it tasted just like the cakes she'd ask for on the usual mornings. Serving their food to them both he kept his golden eyes on her reaction when she tasted it.

Her eyes did in fact widen with shock not expecting sweetness to touch her tongue afterall. It caught the attention of the young man who had asked her what was wrong. She quickly fixed the look on her face to go back to expressionless.

"Nothing it just amazes, the amount of talent this baker has. It really does taste different." Her words were enough to send his heart up in the air like fireworks.

He could see the light coming back in her eyes again. It gave him life he cherished it and begun to crave it.

🥳🥳🥳 . 🥳🥳🥳 . 🥳🥳🥳

Over the next couple of days the same routine occurred. She'd come in with her husband to be and he'd ask for different things. All at different times of the day though, that part wasn't consistent. Trey believed he was hoping for Y/n to gain more interest in eating healthier even though Y/n told him when she came to the bakery it was her first time eating sweets.

He did notice over the pass few days even with him secretly changing the taste to something sweet her eyes were getting duller. She no longer smiled like she once did before.

So once he heard yelling outside his shop before closing time after yet another day, he took a peek through the glass windows near the entrance. It was Y/n and that man with not a single soul to be seen. Except her eyes were beyond what is considered life like.

It was emotionless and still empty would be a better definition. The man was yelling at her, he couldn't hear why but it didn't matter. She heard a few brief words about her not wanting to marry him and the situation was easily pieced together in Trey's mind.

He saw the man's rage and his own was overflowing. Not to mention when he came inside and he finally saw her. Still in a beautiful dress, but with a bruise on her cheek. He was about a second from killing the man across from him.

Trey was a gentleman meaning he'd never hit a lady even if they cheated or whatever the case. He didn't have to do any of that because she denied his marriage. More than likely she was quiet and shy when she told the man.

Lucky for Trey he was just given even more of a reason to kill him. Pretending everything to be fine when he ordered. As Trey went in the kitchen yet again he changed up his usual ingredients for a few more deadlier ones.

It didn't take long for the one of the two to fall asleep peacefully and the other to have a face full of cake taking his last bite of anything he'll ever eat again. Might as well make good use of all NRC has taught him afterall.

🥳🥳🥳 . 🥳🥳🥳 . 🥳🥳🥳 .

"Oh, I see your up." A pleased smile came on to his face as he walked into the upstairs room of the bakery.

She sat up from the bed she was resting in still feeling her mind hazy and the bruise on her cheek aching.

"Trey? What happened where's Dylan and-" She was already wide awake and asking for information on what had occurred.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down I talked to him and he said he'll cut off the marriage. Okay? I managed to convince him since he loves to come here to eat so much I gave him a recipe he wouldn't forget. 'He was going to make millions off of it', so he said. He had no need for your families riches anymore."

"Wha? But that doesn't make much sense." She was trying hard to process the information but the headache she had made it hard.

"Hey it's okay, it's okay. I know it's a lot to process you passed out from the shock so I kept you here overnight." He said trying to take her mind off the situation.

"I know this isn't the best time but here I know how much you wanted another slice." Before he could hand it to her she hugged him tightly to where he almost fell and dropped the cake while he was at it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you Trey! Your the most sweetest person to do something like this just for me." She even had tears in her eyes. She really didn't like Dylan apparently. That made him happy at the very least.

"Don't mention it, I'm just happy to see your okay. Why don't you stay here for the day all the shock must have drained you. Not to mention that bruise has got to heal. You can have sweets anytime of the day you want." His heart was hammering in his chest and his face had turned up the heat like an oven. This reaction was far more than he expected but he wasn't unhappy about it.

He saw the sparkles of life in her eyes when he mentioned sweets. Chuckling to himself he handed her the slice of cake.

Seeing her take a bite of it always did bring him hapiness. He would have to give her a sedative toward dinner time and reexplain the all the false information again since her and her former husband to be was considered missing. They were supposed to come into the bakery but Trey feigned innocence when the authorities asked if they had come in. It would be fine though. He made a whole bunch of different treats with drug inducing forgetfulness just for her.

All he cared about now was protecting her smile. He admired her smile from afar seeing it as the most sweetest thing he'd never get tired of.

Masterlist

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere trey clover #yandere trey clover x reader #trey clover #twst trey

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eutaerpe · 4 years ago

Text

the escapades (m)

pairing — jimin x reader

genre/warnings— smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe

summary — the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.

notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol

The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.

You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.

You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.

Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.

The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.

In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.

Seulgi

[12.49]

With the baby talk comes the dick talk

You

[12.49]

Oh no the dick talk

Seulgi

[12.50]

man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???

You

[12.50]

option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you

Seulgi

[12.50]

we kissed ONE time

You

[12.50]

option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook

Seulgi

[12.50]

bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have

You

[12.51]

i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao

anyway I’ve had that D ;)

Seulgi

[12.51]

you’re officially cancelled

when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.51]

last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!

Seulgi

[12.52]

because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.52]

I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine

Seulgi

[12.52]

just say he got u off and go

You

[12.52]

anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.

Seulgi

[12.52]

hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are

You

[12.52]

I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get

Seulgi

[12.52]

are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink

You

[12.52]

no kink shaming in this house lady

option d: I listen to their complaints and run

Seulgi

[12.53]

option dick

man sorry I meant option d

You

[12.53]

you didn’t

Seulgi

[12.54]

ur right I didn’t

Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.

You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.

You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.

Well. Scratch that. You can.

Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.

(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)

You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.

So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.

He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.

Ah, fuckboys.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”

“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”

He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.

“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”

“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”

“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.

“What do you think?”

He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.

“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”

“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”

He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”

Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.

“What’s your take, officer?”

He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.

“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”

“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”

He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”

“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”

You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.

“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”

You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.

Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.

It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.

You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.

“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”

“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”

“He’s married. With kids.”

“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”

“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”

“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”

“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”

“Right, the fuckboys.”

He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.

“You don’t know us—”

“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”

“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.

The words hurt.

You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.

The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.

You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.

Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.

The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.

You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.

It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.

But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”

He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.

He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,

“Who says I wanna dance?”

Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.

“I want to apologize.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”

“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.

To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.

“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?

“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”

“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.

“Uh, body rolls?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”

“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.

His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”

“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”

“Hips rotation?”

“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”

He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.

“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”

“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”

“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”

“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.

“I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”

“Jin never talked about you either.”

“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”

His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”

“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”

“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”

“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, “I never kiss and tell.”

“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”

“You know what else is sweet?”

“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”

“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”

“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.

“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”

He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”

“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”

“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”

Oh.

“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”

It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.

“I can be very quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”

He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”

“Not your dick?”

“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”

A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.

Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.

“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”

He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.

Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?

The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.

He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.

You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.

It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.

“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”

The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.

“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”

You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.

If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.

“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.

“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”

He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.

“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.

The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.

Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.

Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.

“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”

“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”

“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”

“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”

“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”

“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”

“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.

“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”

“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”

“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”

Seulgi

[2.13]

wassup bitch

make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee

[location shared]

com n get me littl nuggrt

Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.

Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.

It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.

“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”

You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.

“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”

“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”

He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.

“Maybe only some of us.”

He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”

“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”

“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”

You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”

“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”

You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.

“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”

“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”

“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”

“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.

“And whose fault is that, babe?”

Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.

“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”

His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.

“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”

His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.

(“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)

The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—

“Nice to see you here.”

It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.

“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.

(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)

He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.

It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—

“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”

Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”

You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.

“A latte and an iced americano, please.”

The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.

It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.

He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”

The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.

“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”

He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.

“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”

He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.

You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.

The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.

Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.

Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“

“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”

“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”

“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.

It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.

You also came.

Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.

Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.

In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.

It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.

Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.

“I’m getting you my clothes.”

“Wait, what?”

His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.

“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”

He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.

There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.

You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.

Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.

You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.

Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.

It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.

But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.

Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.

“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”

It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?

You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.

“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”

Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.

One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.

So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.

Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.

Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.

It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.

“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.

And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.

You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.

He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.

You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.

You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.

“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.

He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.

So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—

He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.

“You can stay.”

His voice falters. “What?”

You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”

You do.

(to be continued. ily)

#BTS jimin #bts #bts fic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts smut #bts social media au #bts imagine #bts imagines #jimin imagine #jimin #jimin smut #jimin bts #jimin x reader

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softlass27 · 4 years ago

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here we go, a little robron-ified fix-it fic to soothe my anger after this week’s episodes. there’s slight divergence in that i've had debbie and cain not leaving for scotland just yet, but other than that everything’s still canon!

AO3 link here

There was a building headache throbbing behind Robert’s eyelids and it was called Chas Dingle.

He’d been in the pub for what felt like an eternity, listening to his mother-in-law hold court behind the bar, rehashing the latest Charity-related drama in excruciating detail with the rest of the Dingles.

Apparently Aaron and Robert had missed a lot during their week-long holiday to Scotland with Seb. They’d only popped in to pick up a takeaway, but within seconds of stepping through the door they’d been roped into sitting with the group, had two pints set down in front of them and now they were well and truly stuck.

“I mean, this is a new low, even for Charity,” Chas lamented for what had to be the fifth time, shaking her head and gesturing to Paddy, who was standing close by to nod in agreement to everything she said. “We’re done with her. She’s a liability, I can’t work with her anymore. The sooner she gives up her half of the pub and lets Marlon buy her out, the better. And I won’t have her under my roof, either.”

“Well, I’d offer her my room now that I’m staying in Jacobs Fold, but Mandy would probably put up a fight,” Belle said with a shrug. “Besides, Dad says he doesn't want Charity there either.”

Robert thought it seemed a bit harsh of Zak to dictate who could or couldn’t stay in the cottage, considering he didn’t actually live there – or even in the village – anymore, but he kept that to himself. Getting involved in the debate would take more energy than he cared to use.

“Well, she’s not still living with us, that’s for sure,” Chas insisted, her mouth pursed into a thin line. “She’ll have to go.”

“I’d let her stay with me and April, but we don’t have room,” said Marlon, looking concerned. “Not with Billy and Ellis, too. And I don’t think she’ll want to, now that she knows I’m the one buying her out of the business.”

“Oh, I wasn’t hinting, Marlon, it’s fine. Frankly, I don’t give a damn where she goes.”

“Hm, she can sleep in a ditch for all I care,” Debbie sniffed, nose crinkling like there was a bad smell hovering around the bar.

“Alright Debs,” Cain grumbled quietly. “We get the picture.”

“It’s no less than she deserves!” Chas cried, quick to back Debbie up. Robert didn't know when it had happened, but the two of them seemed thick as thieves ever since Debbie had come back to the village.

“Oh, come on, you two,” Marlon said tiredly, rubbing his temples. “Charity’s gone through a lot these last few months, she’s been struggling ever since she lost Vanessa. Maybe we should be tryna help her instead of letting her self-destruct?”

Chas snorted, hand propped on her hip. “What, after she dropped Debbie in it with Al? And tried to sleep with him? After what she did to our Noah?”

“What, stopping him from being daft enough to join the army while hiding a life-threatening medical condition?” Robert snapped before he could stop himself, his patience hanging by the thinnest thread. “Wow, better call social services.”

He found himself on the receiving end of a very familiar glare, Chas’s nostrils flaring as she looked at him with disdain.

“I was actually referring to the slap she gave him,” she said lowly. “Were you not listening?”

“No, not really,” Robert muttered into his pint, earning himself a small snort from Aaron.

As the Dingles continued bemoaning the current situation, Robert nudged his husband and leaned over to whisper in his ear.

“Can we please get the hell out of here? I can’t take much more of this.”

Aaron sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Still need the takeaway, I’ve been dyin’ for this burger.”

“Do you see Marlon going to the kitchen anytime soon?”

“Oi, Marlon!” Aaron barked, making the taller man jump. “How much longer for the food? We’re starving.”

“Oh, er, Luke’s in the kitchen, he’s sorting it.”

“Great,” Robert groaned, the pain in his head increasing. “They’ll probably be burnt to a crisp if that idiot’s the one making them.”

“Fuck it, let’s just finish these pints and go, pick up some pizzas from David’s or summat,” Aaron muttered, scowling when Paddy’s voice joined the heated discussion.

“I don’t care if she’s regrets it, she’s pushed things too far this time,” he said decisively, arms folded to match Chas’s. Robert absently wondered if he had a nice view up there on his high horse.

“I know what she did was terrible,” Lydia piped up. “And I’m not impressed with her myself. But she seems genuinely sorry, I’m sure she’d do anything to fix things.”

“Yeah, but that’s her all over, isn’t it? Act first, feel bad about it later,” Debbie drawled, swigging back her glass of white wine. “Honestly, I don’t know why any of us are surprised. She’s always been selfish, Noah deserves better.”

“Sure you’re not just sore about losing all that cash you nicked?” Robert asked, brows raised.

Debbie just narrowed her eyes at him and carried on talking. “I can’t see Noah giving her another chance, not after this.”

Chas nodded in agreement. “Even if the poor lad wanted to forgive her, I wouldn’t let him.”

“Maybe just let Noah and Charity sort things out for themselves,” Marlon tried, but that just had Chas’s finger flying up to silence him.

“No, I’m sorry, Marlon, but this is the final straw. I mean, we all know Charity’s never been a perfect mother but slapping him was a step too far. Some things are just unforgivable.”

“Bit rich coming from you.” Aaron’s quiet interjection swiftly brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.

After a brief pause, Chas’s head swivelled to look at Aaron in confusion, clearly uncertain as to whether she was the one he’d been addressing.

“Sorry, what?”

Aaron shrugged. “Just sayin’, if smacking your kid around’s an unforgivable offence, bad enough to get you kicked out the family, you probably shouldn’t be here. You and me wouldn’t even be talking right now.”

Robert held his breath and watched as Chas froze. He was aware of some of the altercations between Aaron and his mum in recent years. Aaron had told him during one of the many nights they'd spent curled up together, sharing all their memories, thoughts and secrets, about some of the things she’d said and done. Like slapping him in the face when she found out about their affair, for one.

Now, he could see some of those events playing out in her memory as she floundered, eyes darting nervously between Aaron and the rest of the family, who were all watching the pair in silence.

“Aaron, you and me, we’ve… I know we’ve had our ups and downs over the last few years, had our fair share of rows, lashed out… And I’m sorry, but that’s different, we’re both adults. Noah’s just a kid.”

“And what about when I was a kid?”

Robert stiffened at the words, and he quickly turned to look at Aaron’s hunched profile. That, he knew nothing about. Aaron’s face remained impassive, giving nothing away.

“What’s this?” Cain said, frowning.

Chas stared at him for a moment, before turning back to Aaron with a slightly bewildered laugh.

“I've got no idea. What’re you on about, love?”

“When I was, what, 11? 12? You hit me then, too.”

“No.” She shook her head quickly, before speaking over the sound of a few surprised intakes of breath from the group. “No, that can’t be right, you didn’t even live here when you were 12.”

“It was when I was visiting,” Aaron said. “Course the family weren’t there to see that one like they saw Charity and Noah. It was just the two of us, back there – ” He pointed towards the back of the pub. “ – in the kitchen. No witnesses.”

Robert saw the exact moment a flicker of recognition appeared in Chas’s eyes.

“Oh… ”

“Coming back to you now, is it?”

“Chas, is that true?” Lydia asked, looking shocked.

Chas ignored her in favour of staring at Aaron with wide eyes, caught off guard. “Oh love, that – that wasn’t – ”

“You had a go at me for not wanting to stay with you or preferring Sandra to you, I dunno. Can’t remember now. But I do remember you tellin’ me I ‘didn’t deserve a mother’ and then slapping me across the face. It left a mark.”

Robert's hands clenched on the bar as red hot anger rapidly surged through his body, and he glared furiously as Chas. She looked around helplessly, turning to Paddy for support. He just opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking lost and uncomfortable at the unexpected turn of events.

“Christ’s sake, Chas,” Cain grumbled from his spot next to Debbie, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“I’m – I didn’t – ”

“I was probably being a bit of a little shit to be fair,” Aaron cut off her stammering with a rueful smile. “Mouthing off – like Noah was doing to Charity, from the sounds of it.”

“Aaron love… I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you still – that you were still upset about that… ”

“I’m not,” said Aaron, matter-of-fact. Robert believed him, too. He knew his husband well enough to tell when he was lying or putting on a brave face to hide his hurt. This wasn’t one of those times. He wasn’t upset, he was frustrated.

“I’m not after an apology, this ain’t about me. All I’m sayin’ is, you might wanna take a look at that big glass house of yours, before you start chucking stones at Charity for doing the exact same thing you did to me more than once.”

He drained the last dregs of his pint and slid off the bar stool.

“You’re the last person who should be judging someone for making mistakes with their kids. I should know.” Aaron cast a quick glance over the group. “Same goes for the lot of you.”

Cain and Marlon had the grace to look somewhat sheepish, while Belle looked down awkwardly. Debbie just huffed and took another gulp of wine. Aaron rolled his eyes and grabbed his coat, shoving his arms in the sleeves.

“Robert, give Charity a ring, would you? Tell her we’ve got a spare room with her name on it.”

Robert pulled his phone out of his pocket. “My pleasure.”

“Er, no, hang on!” Debbie snapped, a hand flying up to halt them. “We’ve already agreed she’s not part of the family anymore, it’s decided.”

“I didn’t agree to anythin’,” Aaron snapped right back. “You wanna fall out with Charity, that’s your business. It’s got nowt to do with us.”

“Besides,” Robert waved his phone in the air with a smirk. “I’m technically the one inviting her and since I’m not a Dingle, your weird little rules don’t apply to me. Thank god.”

“Come on, Rob, let’s go.”

“Aaron no, get back here, this needs sorting! Aaron!”

Aaron ignored Chas’s protesting shrieks and started walking towards the door. Robert began to follow him, before pausing and turning back to the group, zeroing in on Debbie.

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but it wasn’t that long ago you were tryna do her in – ” He gestured to Chas. “ – for shagging your bloke while you were still with him. Threatened her with a… shotgun, was it?”

Debbie’s mouth twisted in displeasure.

“You weren’t even here then!” Chas cried, jaw hanging open in outrage. “That is none of your – ”

“If you can get past that,” Robert spoke over her. “Then you can stop calling Charity the devil for nearly-but-not sleeping with your scumbag ex. Get over yourself.”

Aaron touched the small of his back. “Come on. If we start listing everything this lot have ever done wrong, we’ll be here all night.”

They stalked out of the pub without a backward glance. As they stepped out onto the street, Robert exhaled heavily.

“Always fun catching up with your family.”

Aaron huffed a small laugh and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t even get our food after all that.”

He made to start walking towards David’s, but stopped when Robert gently touched his arm.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, m’fine.”

Robert hesitated, fingers curling on Aaron’s sleeve.

“You… never told me about that. That she hit you when you were… ” He trailed off uncertainly, not wanting to sound accusing, like Aaron owed him an explanation.

Aaron hummed and turned to face him, their bodies naturally swaying into each other.

“Haven’t thought about it in ages, if I’m honest. Not for years.”

“I’m sorry.”

For all Aaron said he was fine, that Chas’s actions from 20 years ago didn’t bother him anymore, Robert knew from his own experience the lingering scars that kind of event could leave.

“It’s okay.” Aaron gave him a small smile and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

They stayed like that for a few moments, until Robert’s phone buzzed in his hand. He pulled away regretfully to read the words on the screen.

“It’s Diane. She says she’s with Charity, found her crying in the gazebo.”

Aaron sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Come on, then. Let’s go get her.”

Robert fired a quick text to Diane, telling her they were on their way, before slinging an arm over Aaron’s shoulders as they started walking.

“We’re really gonna have Charity as a housemate again, then?” He asked with a teasing grin.

Aaron groaned and leaned into him. “Looks that way. But if she pervs on us in the shower again, she's out on her ear.”

Robert winced as that particular memory came rushing to the surface.

“God help us.”

#the dingles can choke #chas especially #charity deserves better #i might write a little followup with her in the mill #robron #my writing #also the incident aaron referred to happened on 20th feb 2004 #the episode is on youtube!

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onyourzeus · 4 years ago

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• certainty | kyh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: certainty pairing: kang younghyun (youngk of day6) & you genre: FLUFF words: 2.6k

author’s note: requested by @strxwberrifields :’) thank you so much for fueling the idea for this prompt. i think i strayed away a little, though, i’m sorry! i hope it is still enjoyable. also, youngk’s cover of when you love someone was playing while i wrote this, it helped set the mood a ton. (listen to it, you won’t regret it)

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

there’s something about being in love

that you can’t put into definitive words

it’s so sickeningly cliche, you know that

there’s nothing more annoying than hearing

someone gush about their significant other

over and over and over— we get it! you’re in a relationship and it’s great and just

don’t rub it in, please

kidding aside

—you don’t think your relationship with younghyun is like that

if anything, you feel somewhat lacking in telling him how much you love the guy

dating a pretty famous bassist, idol, vocalist, business admin major—

scratch that. dating someone like younghyun is already out of the ordinary for you

and so you can’t help but feel… insecure, at times

or feeling left out from his idol circle and the fact that

you can never bring yourself to fully immerse in it like he does

you don’t blame him!! you never blame younghyun for who he is

it’s just a bizarre concept to find yourself even crossing paths with the now love of your life

for almost a year, might you add

the thought still sends goosebumps all over your skin

and a silly smile that gets you weird looks when you’re in public

man, if they knew who that smile was about

who your heart is for

they’d be jealous, duh

or judge you because—

you? with a guy like him? scoffs

you should get out of your head sometimes, it’s healthy (try it, please)

you’re good to younghyun, right? you think you are

a guy like him is smart enough to know what’s good for him… right?

STOP IT STOP you have a mission to do today

and that’s to bring the very same guy—

(plaguing your mind and disrupting the rhythm of your heartbeat every waking second)

—his lunch today

it’s just him in the studio; him and his bandmates have been doing their own thing for a few months now

which is a refreshing change of pace for everyone, you heard

but work is still work; and younghyun is recording yet another single to upload sometime soon

you’re excited, and jealous of how his mind works 24/7

but with that much thinking and execution comes a lot of hunger; and younghyun is not immune to not having an appetite

man’s stomach is the blackhole, anything that goes in there is nowhere to be found

(as if it never came in the first place)

you text him you’re by the entrance, and there’s a lot of typos

“hrre> i hv lunch. its heavy”

you know he won’t respond because there is no second wasted recording; you still do it, anyway

just in case

you’re greeted by a few people working in the bldg, some of them recognize you already which you’re still shy about

finally, you enter his studio, careful not to topple over the take out stuff you have in the bag

as expected, younghyun is inside the soundproof room where the ~*~magic~*~ happens, eyes closed and headphones on

immediately, your heart soars at the sight of him. it’s not a new thing for you to see him in his workspace

but it’s always a new feeling to watch how he lets the music flow in his presence

he can’t hear you but you’re careful in taking out bowls of ramen, broth, rice, and other side dishes on the coffee table. he’ll probably be done in a few minutes—

door opening louder than you anticipated

“you’re here!! and there’s FOOD,” younghyun exclaims, the headphones slung around his neck with the cord hanging in midair

you’re shook at his speed, but then again the one thing he loves the most is right in front of him

yep: food

you laugh, greet him with a kiss on the cheek (that warms your own face up, you’ll never get used to doing that) and let him know about his probably expensive headphones just dangling around

“eh who cares,” younghyun casually shrugs but you keep reprimanding him with an expectant look

“fine fine, i’ll put them down safely”

“good, have you eaten today?”

“yep but that was like an hour ago”

that’s younghyun for you, and you expected it. so you tell him to dig in

“it’s from the ramen place we tried a month ago, thought you’d want some soup since it’s getting colder”

his eyes light up like a kid opening his birthday present which he already knew what would be inside

“this is amazing, babe, thanks!” he reciprocates your kiss on the lips this time: short but sweet

you squeal, and temporarily feel calm and collected about his “approval”

you sit next to him, just watching him attack the noodles first, then slurping the broth with utmost grace (spoiler alert: he is chowing down like it’s his last meal)

and yet you’re falling so deeply in love again as you try to picture the image of him happily eating in your mind, framing it and keeping it stored there safely

“you’re not eating?” he asks in between bites of kaarage and takoyaki. it was practically a meal for three

you shake your head. “i ate before coming here” which wasn’t a lie, and he’d know if it was since he’d hear your stomach grumble

but that takoyaki sure looks tasty…

“wh—” younghyun shoves one right inside your mouth, chuckling as he watches you struggle to chew it so suddenly

“you know you wanted some,” he teases. pouting, you finish the takoyaki before trying to defend yourself

but younghyun had something else up his sleeve; or rather he grabs a tissue and dabs it on the side of your cheek

“someone was hungry,” he sing-songs, slanted eyes glinting with amusement

“you have the nerve to say that considering you finished a full course meal!” you sneer at him, feeling his gentleness as he wipes your cheek clean

you keep bantering back and forth like that; it’s natural, it’s what you like about your relationship

he finishes and it hasn’t even been an hour since you got here. someone can study this man’s digestive system and find new wonders of the human body in him

buuuut you kinda wanna keep younghyun to yourself for now— as much as you can, really, seeing as he’s an idol…

“that was sooo good,” he sighs, leaning back against the couch with one hand around your shoulders

you rest your head against his, cradling up to his warmth

he’s so cuddly when he’s just finished eating

not to mention

“zzz”

“younghyun, you have a song to record!” you shake him awake, and he’s not kidding either

the man just falls asleep!

“mm five minutes…” he dozes off, hugging you even closer to him. both arms around your frame this time

now that you’re face to face, you can clearly see the exhaustion smearing his perfect features

without make up on, his eyelids are veiny, there’s a shadow underneath them and his face just physically looks dull

the more he eases into you, the heavier his body feels sinking into the couch

and your heart sinks with it

younghyun works so incredibly hard— literally every single day, there is no stopping him from creating and doing and sometimes

you just want to tell him to slow down, pause for a moment

it makes your chest tighten, to think that younghyun thinks time is moving so fast for him

that he needs to accomplish so much before time runs out

you lift your hand up and card your fingers through his hair (he had it dyed black recently, and you’re all for it)

he hums in satisfaction and nuzzles his head against you even further

then, you move your hand over to his cheeks, tracing its height and going over the tip of his nose

boop

and steal kiss

he can really fall asleep like this, right next to you

you might doze off with him too

but, just like younghyun, true to his word—

he’s awake and back into recording mode less than ten minutes later

he stretches like a cat, and leaves you bewildered at the amount of energy he’s recharged himself with in such little time

“you give me energy, what can i say?”

“shut up”

he tries to clean up the empty bowls and used utensils, but you shoo the musician away

“go. work, i’ll handle this” he knows he can’t argue with you on that

it makes you feel useful to him, somehow, just doing these little things to accommodate for his lifestyle

you wonder if it’s enough

you spend the rest of the afternoon in the studio. while he records and edits and goes back to recording, you brought your laptop to do some work remotely

he lets you hear some of the recorded lines he’s done, and you nod your head all the time and say they sound perfect, they sound like him

he doesn’t really like that

“there’s bound to be something that’s missing. what else would you have liked to hear from this verse?”

he looks so serious, brows knitted, lips curled forward whenever he listens to himself in the audio

you feel bad; you don’t know much about music mixing and all that— plus you’re not lying when you say you like what you hear

but maybe in this area, there’s not much you can contribute in his life

and these are the moments when you think you fail as an equal partner

younghyun realizes the abrupt quiet in the air as you make yourself feel smaller than you do

“just a little more and i’ll be done for the day,” he tells you, patting your head reassuringly

you give him a meek nod, not meeting his eyes, and go back to some work

at least, you try. for distraction

he sounds disappointed— maybe you need to learn how to analyze beats and harmonies and such next time?

before you know it, younghyun finishes up and saves his progress

you’ve also fallen asleep a little there while sitting down on the floor, and your head on top of your laptop

“babe?”

when you wake up, the take-out bags are nowhere to be seen and your laptop is inside your messenger bag

“can i hang out at your place tonight?” younghyun asks, and you try to regain your senses

“yeah, yeah of course,” you say absent-mindedly, concerned thoughts swirling your consciousness

younghyun doesn’t bring a lot when he goes to the studio, he leaves the instruments in the room and only carries his phone and USB on him

upon exiting the place, he grabs hold of your bag and slings it on his arm

on the other, he invites your hand in his

you don’t say anything, still feel guilty for the incident a while ago, but accept his intertwining fingers

he squeezes yours tight, and gives you a slow, reassuring kiss on the cheek

“i’m sorry if i pressured you back there,” he apologizes firmly, looking at you straight in the eye

it’s a little intimidating, if you’re being honest

because when younghyun owns up to something— or even when he’s just determined about his words

he wants you to look at him, and see the truth in what he’s telling you

in retrospect, that’s how you fell in love

as that’s how younghyun confessed his own feelings

but now, he’s saying sorry for something you should be sorry for

before you even feel the tears well up, he has his hands cup your face, rubbing alongside your temples

the air is still outside, and there’s a faint noise of people chattering, walking, and existing in the world

but what you see is younghyun, and the way he presents you all of who he is at the moment

“it’s not you,” you start off the cliche, so you stop yourself

“i just feel like i don’t do anything…”

“anything?”

“in this relationship… that’s beneficial to you…” finally, words that explain some of your true, insecure feelings

you shut your eyes as tight as you can as to avoid confronting younghyun’s gaze

he’s quiet

probably mad

possibly about to break up with you

realizing that you’re right

instead, a slight pain on your forehead and you mutter a surprised, “ow.”

“that’s what you get,” younghyun says, seriously but his eyes show that of worry

you pout, and he tries to resist but he can’t so he kisses you

“for thinking the opposite of who you are to me,” he continues, letting go of your face and sliding his fingers in between the crevices of yours once more

you leave it like that, feeling just a tad bit calmer than before

but younghyun keeps looking at you, poking at your side which causes you to be ticklish

and he knows that

“you hungry?” he asks once you reach downtown

“just a little,” you say, thinking of what to cook dinner for the both of you soon since he said he’s coming over

“let’s get some galbi,” he urges, tugging you towards the restaurant with the glowing sign

“but you just ate…” you say quizzically, and as if on cue your stomach grumbles

well it has been a few hours for you

but for younghyun, technically he should already be full for the rest of the day!

“c’mon, my treat,” he doesn’t take no for an answer and you guys sit at a table with the stove in the center

for the rest of the night, he grills you your meat

doesn’t even let you put them on your plate, it has to come from him as you feeds you some of your favorites, galbi, gobchang, hangjusal; the whole nine yards

of course, he’s eating too, and laughing, and making you smile

“room for dessert?” he asks, and you shake your head no too many times

“get yourself some, i know you want to” you tell him, and he’s already calling for the waiter to bring him a mochi or two

he eats it while walking back to your apartment with you; and he seems like such a satisfied kid

you can’t go on throughout the day being all sullen with younghyun; it’s impossible

back in your apartment, you ease into the familiarity of the place

and so does younghyun

you ready some clothes for him that he’s left in your dresser to prepare a warm bath

but he calls you in the living room

“just a moment, younghyun”

“no no i need you now :(“

well, can you resist that tone? no

“what’s up? don’t you want to freshen up first?”

“i want you first”

:( “okay,” you say as shyly as your pounding heart can let you say

and you’re back in the same position as in the studio, right after he ate

arms around you, and he coaches your legs to rest on his

basically you’re koala-hugging him on your couch

“what’s this?” you say embarrassed. even in your own goddamn apartment, he makes you feel so many things at once

“being extra clingy”

“i can see that— but why?”

“so you don’t doubt yourself”

you’re taken aback

“there’s nothing that you need to change or do in front of me, or for me to make me love you more,” he starts off, and there goes his eyes again. staring, watching you. steady, serious but.. calming, in a sense

“because i already love you, so much. for everything that you do for me. all the little things.”

“i love you too,” you whisper, finding it hard to find words to describe how lucky you are to have him

again

but this time, you know he doesn’t mind

just having you right here by him is enough, having him recognize the small yet appreciated gestures that you do

and how he manages to check up on your own feelings so quick, and remedy the sadness just like that

there’s just something about being in love with younghyun

that words can’t express

but this moment with him right now can at least make you feel

that much loved by him too

#young k imagines #young k scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 scenarios #young k x reader #brian kang imagines #brian kang scenarios #day6 au #by:jiae #dot series

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sirphillipcranestanaccount · 3 years ago

Note

Okay how about 10 for franchel?

Hello Darling, here I am 3 weeks later with the story! Once again in the L&F AU

Francheal- Skating

Michael was sitting in the open trunk of his SUV waiting for John and Francesca to arrive. It was a beautiful day and he was excited to see his cousin and do an activity that they loved as kids.

He looked down at his roller-blades. He wouldn’t admit to Fran and John that he had gone out and bought a new pair just for this occasion. In fact, he now was retracing his mental steps as to how the three of them had decided on the activity.

“Michael!” he heard a sweet feminine voice shout. Francesca came rolling up to him on a pair of white roller-skates with pink wheels. She was breathtaking. Her hair was in a messy bun and the sun kissed her auburn hair in the most beautiful way. Also, the combination of the shorts she was wearing and the skates did wonders for her legs.

He tried to distract himself by looking for his cousin.

“Hey Frannie, where’s John?” he said.

“Oh, he got caught up with something at the office and can’t join us today.” Francesca replied.

“Oh,” Michael said, trying to hide his anxiety, “that’s too bad.”

“Yes, I’m afraid all you’ll have is me for company” she joked.

“If only you knew,” he thought. Michael found it easy enough to distract himself from the admiration of his cousin’s wife when John himself was around, but when it was just Michael and Fran, he felt completely bewitched.

It didn’t help that Francesca showed an interest in his conquests, and would no doubt ask for every scintillating detail of what happened with the girl she had seen him take home from the bar the other night.

“Are you ready to roll?” she asked, tilting her sunglasses down showing her gorgeous blue eyes,

“Uhh, yeah, in a second” he said, scrambling to put his roller blades on, “I’ll be honest with you it’s been awhile since I’ve been on a pair of blades.”

“I’ll be sure to go easy on you,” she smiled as she skated with grace, doing small spins while she waited for him.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Michael asked with curiosity.

“I did figure skating when I was a kid and roller derby in college,” she said.

“You did roller derby?” Michael said, “That makes no sense and a lot of sense at the same time.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“I mean, when I first met you, I thought you were like, a delicate girly-girl, but you’re actually a competitive monster.”

“Okay, I changed my mind, I’m not going to go easy on you,” she said.

“Vindictive too,” Micheal joked as he stood up.

Francesca replied with a punch to his shoulder.

“Ouch!” Michael cried.

“Oh come on, that wasn’t even that hard, you big baby” Francesca said, “come on, let’s roll.”

Michael pushed off and was doing much better than he thought he would. The movements and engagements of his muscles were coming back to him rather quickly and he was able to keep up with Francesca.

“So, Mike,” Francesca said, slowing her roll so they could converse more easily, “what happened with that blonde from the other night?”

Micheal gulped and put on an unaffected air.

“You mean Trixie?” he said.

“Oh my god, is that her real name?” Francesca laughed.

“That’s what it said on her driver’s license.”

“Oh that’s too good, did she tell you what she does for a living?” she asked.

“She’s actually an aerial artist with Cirque Du Soleil” Michael responded. He looked over at Francesca to see her smile and eyes wide with delight.

“So she’s pretty flexible?” she asked.

“She sure is,” Michael said looking down, somewhat embarrassed.

“Oh come on Micheal, don’t be shy, I want to hear everything.”

Micheal took a deep breath and looked ahead, trying to think of ways that he could tastefully allude to the flexibility and prowess of his most recent conquest when he saw something on the trail ahead of them.

Oh no.

There was a small child tottering across the trail chasing a ball and they were coming up too fast to break without Micheal running into the kid and Francesca falling flat on her face.

“Frannie, look out!” Micheal said, quickly swerving, taking them both off of the trail. The second their skates hit the grass they went tumbling down the small hill off of the trail.

They were rolling for what seemed like a full minute before they came to a stop. Michael was on top of Francesca. And it was only for a moment, but he looked down at her, and his chest ached. The feeling of having her underneath him, breathing heavily, her hair mussed in the most beautiful way possible, was something he would never get to experience outside of this very moment. He wanted it to last longer, but he knew it couldn’t. She was his cousin’s wife, his best friend’s wife. He pulled himself away, practically jumping off of her.

“I’m very sorry about that,” he said in short tones, “there was a little kid on the trail.”

“Yeah I saw him right before you moved us out of the way. Thank you.” Francesca said, gathering her breath.

Micheal needed to be somewhere else as soon as possible. He didn’t know where he needed to be, but he needed to be somewhere that Francesca wasn’t.

He stood up and helped her back on her feet and back to the trail, but then he decided to put on an act.

“Oh,” he said, looking at his phone, “speak of the devil, Trixie is texting me.”

“Really?” Francesca asked with excitement, “what did she say?”

“Uhhhh, her cat is stuck in a tree,” Michael said, thinking he wouldn’t be teaching improv classes any time soon.

“Is that some sort of euphemism?” Francesca asked.

“No, her cat is really stuck in a tree,” he said, “she needs me to help.”

“Isn’t she an acrobat?” Francesca said.

“That doesn’t mean that she can get her cat out of a tree,” he snapped.

Francesca looked taken aback.

“I’m sorry, I just have to get going and help her, I’ll see you later. Give John my love,” he said, and he skated off leaving Francesca a little bit frustrated and very bewildered.

#writing prompts #june prompts #francesca bridgerton #michael stirling #michael x francesca #light angst I guess

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angelicmichael · 4 years ago

Text

Hoax - Prologue

Michael Langdon x Mallory

Summary: After failing to kill murder house Michael; Mallory must travel back in time to Sojourn era to try again. However; she finds to her horrific discovery that jumping through time repeatedly does not come without its consequences.

Words: 3.0k+

Warnings: Death, They both almost die (or do die) so.. a lot of describing wounds and nearly dying and that jazz ✌🏻, major wounds, lowkey a dark fic, Mallory discusses wanting to kill Michael and finds celebrates it??, angst, Mallory goes and sees his dead body, blood

A/N: this takes place right after Mallory drives away from Michael in the finale btw!! I literally didnt intend on making it this dark but it just happened LOL. I feel like most of the dark stuff is vague so.. it should still be chill. This is the first time ive written millory/character x character so please go easy on me!! I also tried to follow canon and stay accurate to details the best I could but knowing me I probably fucked up somehow LMAO but enjoy 💖💖 major plot twist is coming in the next chapter btw! Also Mallorys thots are italicized.

As soon as Mallory drove away; she knew nearly immeadietly that it was too good to be true. Things could never be this fucking easy.

She felt a pit in her stomach almost instantaneously once she was in the year 2015; Even though she couldnt decipher if the anxiety was a warning or something else.. She continued on with the dark destiny she was put on this earth to fulfull.. to kill the antichrist.

Even though she was fully aware of this; and had come to terms with what she had to do - she learned the hard way that it didnt seem to make things easier at all; like how she dreamed it would. Although, even now as she continued to speed away from the infamous 'murder house', the drop in her stomach seemed to only grow; along with her self doubt.

Was he really dead??

Did I really do it??

She knew that the answer to both of those questions should be yes; but the longer she remained driving in her car, getting farther and farther away from where the incident had occured.. she knew something was wrong.

Mallory suddenly jolted the steering wheel into a sharp left; continuing to turn it until she was doing U-Turn.. She couldnt help but to feel completly bewildered at her own actions - never doing something so impulsive, like going back to a crime scene let alone commit murder, in her life.

Although Mallory felt a bit disgusted with her recent previous actions; she couldnt help but imagine how disgusted she would feel with herself if she didnt pull this off. She mulled over the previous thoughts she had had about this moment and how dreamed it would feel; she thought she would feel joy, elated, and at peace but.. instead she still felt as if she was being suffocated by his presence.

He wasnt gone. Not yet.

She pressed her foot down on the gas, she knew she hadn't gone too far away from Michael's residence yet it seemed as if it was a millenia away. The task she was supposed to complete was starting to seem more and more increasingly impossible the less distance was put between them.

If running him over with a car three times wasnt enough to kill him, whose to say anything else would? What if Constance had brought him inside?? What if she was still out there with him?? Mourning?

Mallory wasnt a monster; she wasnt going to tear away a dying boy from his grandmother in his (hopefully) final moments, even if he was the antichrist.

She felt as if she was a total loss for what to do; which made her grow sick to her stomach because she knew that was a cruel form of denial. She was destined for this moment; every moment thus far had led up to this.. so why did she feel like such a failure? Her thoughts grew more foggy and distant with panic; her throat became entirely dry as she slowed the car down. The murder house now in view; the first thing she noticed.

The red bricks and stained glass windows shined brightly in the sun. The house, which Mallory was sure typically looked beautiful, radiated a terrifying aura.. even more so this time versus when she was here only a mere minutes ago. The expanse and exterior of the house was intimidating; it held a certain danger to it that she couldnt pinpoint her finger on where the source came from.. it certainly was not Michael. Mallory knew that even if he wasnt dead; his powers would fade out for atleast a few minutes from being so wounded.

Mallory stopped the car once she saw Michael's dead body; which still resided in the middle of the road. Her feelings of panic and nausea only amplified once she saw his body - her gaze lingering upon it. She approached him with no hesitation; she could nearly feel that he was gone.. his spirit momentarily missing.. somewhere else.

She studied him carefully and nearly pitifully as she crouched down to kneel next to his body. His body was littered and splattered with bright red wounds. His pants looked as if they were dip dyed in red paint; His once pale skin along with the majority of his clothes was covered in a bright red splatter. Long, dark red lacerations decorated his face. His mouth was still agape; his once white teeth were coated in the same shade of red his clothes were.

Even though he looked absolutely horrible; Mallory still felt absolutely no remorse for the antichrist. Knowing what he would become, and his sick ways of manipulation deserved no mercy. However, knowing only seconds ago he was nothing but a mere bloody, suffering child.. she couldnt help but to not fight the tears she felt budding at her eyes; letting one slide down her cheek before quickly wiping it away - she knew it was naive to assume she wasnt being watched.

Mallory wasnt stupid - she knew her powers and what she was capable of, like the back of her hand by now. The past few months practically consisted of her testing and expanding on her limits... She knew that healing Michael in this exact moment wasnt out of the question. In fact, it almost seemed to be more difficult to restrain herself from healing him.. but she knew better.

He deserves to fucking suffer. He deserved to rot in his personal hell; wherever that may be.

She couldnt help but to nearly laugh at the thought that he finally got what was fucking coming to him.

Mallory could feel herself shaking with how close she was to Michael now. She couldnt stand how he made her feel when they were this close - almost touching.

She now was kneeling next to his body on the concrete, her knees aching from the rough surface but she couldnt go just yet. Not when she still had no fucking clue where to go from here.

The world seemed as if it came to stand still; nothing seemed like it existed outside of the small bubble that Mallory felt her and Michael were suddenly trapped in.. The birds stopped singing, no cars happened to drive by.. everything just stopped.

All the spirits and souls that Mallory could feel that were trapped within the grounds of the house, didnt bother to make a appearance either. But she knew they were still there... she could still feel their eyes on her. Watching; waiting.

The sun's warmth, which normally Mallory chose to bask in, was starting to make her itch. She could feel her skin start to moisten with sweat.. Instinctively she knew that her sudden newfound state of being uncomfortable was her cue to leave... To go where though? She wasnt sure.

Why am I still here? If everything had happened correctly; if I really killed him.. then why havent I woken up yet??

Mallory continued to stare at him grimly; not quite brave enough to speak but still managing to maintain the courage to sit by him and look at the damage she caused. The most jarring feature of Michael's current appearance would be his eyes. Mallory couldnt help but to stare at them; and it certainly wasnt because they were beautiful.

His once vibrant, sky blue, irises were now starting to look oddly dull. A faint, milky white color looked as if it were painted over them instead.

His skin was now a bruised white; Mallory shakily extended out her hand - pressing the back of her knuckles softly to his forearm. She wanted to see how cold his body was; and when she made contact - she pulled her hand back so fast as if it had been burned. She hissed, the coolness of his skin stunned her. She stared at his body intensely - shocked that she even dared to touch him, let alone even stick around for this long.

The sounds Michael started to make is what finally drove Mallory to wake up out her near trance she found herself amidst in and to realize the reality of the situation. After minutes of silence and stillness, and sure death, Michael's chest finally started to move. The amount at which his chest moved was nearly minuscule at first; but he was recovering rather quickly.. too fucking quickly for Mallorys liking.

It was almost sickly ironic how Mallorys chest started to move faster and faster as soon as Michael's did; she couldn't help but to feel entirely panicked. The rest of her emotions; her thoughts; her feelings; everything that used to make up her was now fleeting.. rapidly leaving until as she could focus on was the oxygen briskly escaping her.

She watched the color from his skin start to return; the off putting stark whiteness leaving and a very subtle pink gracing his skin tone. More noticeably; she observed how the color in his lips and eyes returned back.. almost appearing normal.

She unconsciously found herself rising; panic still occupying all of her senses. She quickly unfolded her legs and steadied herself as she stood up.. One thought and one thought only rang through her mind like a sick mantra..

I need to get the fuck out of here.

Mallory tried to gasp as she suddenly felt her throat grow incredibly dry; she let out a desperate dry cough. Her eyes started to tear up unwillingly as she felt a enormous amount of self doubt suddenly surge into the core of her being - the feeling slipping momentarily into her soul.

The world around her began to spin and melt away simultaneously; until she felt her physical body melt away from Michael and the Murder House incredibly rapidly before she could even fully process what was happening.

She felt the harsh coldness of the bath tub water for a split second before she emerged; the black water engulfing her as she stayed partially concealed within the water. Immeadietly she found herself gasping and gagging on her tongue from not being able to breath possibly fast enough... The next thing she felt was otherworldly pain. She felt so much fucking pain.

Mallory gripped the edge of the bathtub until her fingertips turned white and her nails threatened to split. She stayed like that for a moment; spitting and gasping, trying to find a way to consume as much oxygen as possible while managing the nearly unimaginable pain. Her entire body throbbed but her eyes felt a different pain; a sickly stinging.

Keeping her posture and preventing herself from slipping entirely back into the black water was a fucking mission in itself, she quickly learned. She didnt even bother to pretend to be quiet.. Her breaths and groans were far too loud to even begin to ignore.

Is Michael still alive? Where is Myrtle?

Mallorys lungs seemed to return to normal capacity after a while, her gasping decreased until she was utterly and completely quiet. She arose from the water as quietly as she possibly could, biting her lip to prevent making any additional noise from the sudden cold air she felt against her body.. stinging and torturous..

Her eyes still ached, bringing her hands instinctively to her eyes to stop the pain - she realized ones of her hands was still balled into a fist.. holding onto something.

Was that.. is that MICHAELS hair??

Mallory stared at the once curly, perfectly golden strands of hair that lie in her balled up fist in complete horror - it was now a dark red from the blood that had washed off her skin and into the water.

There was no way this was HIS hair. It had to be someone elses; anyone elses! She refused to believe that she was holding onto anything that belonged or had to do with Michael... complete disgust and delirium rendered her from thinking that.

Her first instinct was to drop the hair; but something told her to keep holding onto the lock, it would only serve her well in the future.

Her vision was inky with blood; dark red clouding her vision and making her feel even more impaired and utterly hopeless then she already felt.. even with the large wound still gaping and bleeding from her stomach. Her stomach wound made her entire body ache, trying to stay conscious was a fight within itself.

It happened again. I failed.

She wasnt sure if she was just being cynical or if her thoughts were even to be trusted anymore when she was in this state.. she only knew she wanted this horrible nightmare to be fucking over with already. She wanted to wake up in Robichauxs and see her sisters; Misty, Madison, Queenie, Zoe and more than anyone.. Cordelia... Oh fuck.

Cordelia... She was still dead.. because of me.

Mallory blinked slowly a few times; taking her free hand and wiping as much blood away from her face and eyes as she could - just enough so she could fully take in her surroundings.

If she could feel her stomach; she was sure she would feel it drop because as much as she looked, she saw no one. Absolutely no one. Tears slipped down her cheeks but they werent bloody anymore. She knew she was completely fucked; he had her cornered.

Well not literally anyways. He still managed to lurk somewhere within the vast empty walls of Outpost Three; most likely looking for her.. but he had to know she was fatally wounded.. right?

That's when out of the thick silenceness, she heard the first sign of life. Loud; but distant heavy footsteps.

Michael.

She knew she was fucked right away. She could almost feel his spirit itself within Hawthorne; the feeling slowly flowing to her until it forced her to be frozen. Petrified, still sopping wet and with some left over blood dripping off her chin - she knew what she had to do.. and she only had seconds to do it. Mallory knew he was approaching closer and closer the longer she stood docile in the bathtub.. like a idiot.

She took deep, heavy breaths. Fully; for the first time, cherishing the feeling of oxygen in her lungs - knowing that she very well might not make it out alive. Preforming time travel once alone was a enormous feat; but she had already done it twice.. but three times?

The thought simultaneously scared and excited her; she continued take deep breaths before relaxing. Closing her eyes and focusing; searching for a moment in Michael's history to go back too.

There had to be another time Michael was weak besides when he was with Constance at the murder house.. Another time that he felt abandoned.. lost.. confused..

She swallowed as she felt and focused on the soft strands of hair that she held onto; trying to search desperately for the answer that she needed as she took the next step and plunged herself under the water, first barely managing to weakly whisper, "tempus infinituum".

The water tore at her skin as she felt herself letting go from the past reality... slowly yet rapidly her senses seemed to all melt away at once before she was floating- until nothing.

Suddenly Mallory opened her eyes, blinking as she kept calm as she adjusted to her new surroundings.. an open, nearly empty forest was what welcomed her as she slowly spun around.

The smell of pine leaves and the heavy scent of the forest consumed her senses. She first felt calm and at peace; the forest was beautiful. She almost felt tempted to forget about what she came here to do and to lose herself within the sea of greenery but.. something was terribly wrong.

More so; someone was here.

Mallory first stood still; puzzled as to why she was now standing in a vacant forest with pine needles at her feet.

She didnt dare say a word out loud, just in case, but she knew she was waiting for something before she dared to take a step.. she was waiting for a sign. She didnt bat a eye when she felt a soft, warm breeze tousle her hair forward. She felt it continue to crash against her body - almost like soft waves crashing upon rocks. She felt it on her warm skin; her skin getting goosebumps as she knew what this meant. She was getting her sign.

This is it. Is he here?

Mallory giggled at the mere thought; the anticipation and glee of imagining how this nightmare perhaps could be over in the near future was making her experience true euphoria.

She began to walk through the forest; passing several trees as she searched for what she was yearning for. The breeze was far gone by now but she knew to keep going; to keep looking. She looked at the forest landscape that lie ahead of her; a sea of moss and blended greens and blues. The forest didnt have the same magic it typically held though; something was missing.

It was because she was getting closer to him.

Mallory had to suppress a scream as she suddenly felt herself step on something that wasnt the forest floor. She felt a painful shiver run directly down her spine, almost as if someone was running a blade down her back. She was becoming consumed with panic once more; and with the sudden realization what was happening.. What this meant.

It was pure reflex which caused her to take a step back; even before she had the opportunity to look down and confirm her suspicions, she knew exactly what she had stepped on. A body.

She quickly looked down at what she had stepped on - not able to take the anonymity of the individual any longer.. and of course..

I fucking knew it.

She recognized who it was immeadietly, curly blonde hair that was mangled with dirt and a typical black outfit.. it was too easy to guess the identity of the body. He was face down, his body sprawled out unnaturally and in a uncomfortable manner..

It was once again; Michael Langdon.

Taglist: @mina672 @michaellangdonstanaccount @langdonsexual @jimmason @blakewaterxx @dark-mei-rose @9layerdevilfoodcake @prophecy-is-inevitable @matildaofoz @beautyiswithinchaos @frenchlangdon @beyond-repentance @lizzy-claire-fandom

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fanfic-corner · 4 years ago

Text

Wrapped In Red

Merry Christmas, @masterofevilmonkeyness! I’ve really enjoyed writing your secret santa for @destielsecretsanta2020 this year, and it has actually ended up being the longest fic I have ever written!

First of all, here’s the playlist. My friend found some perfect songs for the different scenes, and we had a lot of fun trying to find songs with specific vibes!

Without further ado, here’s the fic. And, if you’d prefer, the link to it on AO3.

{o0o}

“So you’ll do it?” his brother’s voice crackles though Dean’s cracked phone, and he sighs. So yeah, maybe he hasn’t been on a case in a while and has been going slowly insane just hanging around the bunker, but he also doesn’t want to leave Cas alone. Since his grace had faded completely a few days ago, the former angel had hardly left his room, and Dean wasn’t sure what he could do to help.

He rubs his forehead, already feeling a headache coming on simply from this conversation, and replies, “I’ll ask Cas.”

“Okay, text me if you’re going,” Sam responds, the phone making the muffled noises that Dean has learnt means that he is holding his phone on his shoulder, freeing his hands to talk to Eileen.

“Stop worrying, anyway,” Dean tells him, cracking his back as he stands up. “You’re on holiday. Leave the cases for a while, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Dean slips his phone into his back pocket and wanders down the hallway, so engrossed in his plan to invest in some thick socks because the bunker floor is freezing that he nearly walks straight into Cas. His dark hair sticks up in every direction and he is wearing an old Zeppelin shirt of Dean’s and a pair of Sam’s sweatpants, which look like they are being held up by some kind of miracle. Paired with the bags under his eyes which are so dark that Dean mistakes them for bruises, he could be mistaken for a ghost.

“Hey, uh,” Dean stutters, not sure what to say. “Sam has a case that I was thinking of going on, but we don’t have to, we can just pass it on to Garth or-”

“I’ll go with you,” Cas interrupts, his voice hoarse and croaky.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You don’t look...great. No offense.”

“I’m fine, Dean.” Cas’ steely blue eyes had always been able to pull off a frighteningly good stare, and Dean just decides to go along with it. It would do them both good to get out of the bunker, in any case.

“Okay,” he agrees, “shall we go in about an hour? That’ll give me enough time to pack for both of us and you enough time to have a shower.”

Cas nods, and they part ways, Dean watching the angel hoist his borrowed pants up and disappear around the corner before shaking his head and fishing his phone out to text Sam.

We’ll take it. Send me the details, setting off in an hour.

{o0o}

Dean had tried his very best to hold a conversation when they set off on the fourteen hour drive, but he had long given up and they were only at the two hour mark. Every question he asked so far had either gone unanswered or had been graced with a monosyllabic response. It was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall. Well, no one could fault him for trying.

Flicking his wrist out lazily, he turns on the radio without looking with the kind of graceful expertise that only comes from years of driving his baby at night. It takes a full ten seconds for him to realise that the sound of jingle bells is coming from the speakers before he groans. “Nope.”

A surprisingly warm hand shoots out to stop him before he can turn it off, and Dean looks up in surprise at Cas’ imploring face. “Please can we listen to it?”

Considering what the dude had lost recently - and the fact that apparently his puppy eyes are almost as effective as Sam’s - Dean was hardly going to deny him this one thing. He did, however, have one condition. “Okay, I’ll leave it on, but only if you fish out my Christmas mixtape from the box.”

Dean never took his eyes off the road, but he was acutely aware of the way Cas stared at him for a moment before excitedly rummaging through the old box of tapes. Eventually, he pulls it out, admiring the battered stickers and fading drawings that he and Sam had added when they made it all those years ago. Cas gently slides it in and the first few notes of Mariah Carey grace the air.

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, grinning wildly. “You, Castiel, are about to be educated in some proper Christmas music.”

By the time the mixtape finishes, they are both in a much better mood, so Dean decides it is probably a good idea to stop for a little bit to get some snacks and some gas. Frowning, Cas informs him that he needs the toilet, before disappearing towards the nasty looking bathroom. Dean can’t help but feel bad for him; as much as he loves being human, he knows it must be annoying to suddenly have the weird experience of a human body. They always seemed to hurt or need something, and he could tell that Cas found the whole thing incredibly repetitive and exasperating.

The gas station is like every other gas station Dean has ever seen; empty, with a layer of grime that seemed to cover everything and the bright lights that ensured that no matter what time of day it was, it always seemed to look the exact same. This one, however, is also covered in Christmas decorations. Glittery tinsel and rainbow paper chains swing from the ceiling, the air conditioning coaxing them into a gentle dance. Fake snow covers every surface, and flashing fairy lights force him to blink and look away.

Dean moves on autopilot, picking up snacks that Cas hasn’t tried yet and a couple of bottles of water, before reaching the counter. He has to yell to the cashier - who is decked out in a festive jumper and Santa hat - in order to be heard over the deafening Christmas music.

“Here,” she practically sings, disappearing into the back room for a second before reappearing with a ridiculous pair of reindeer antlers. “These are for you, sweetie! No charge. Cheer up, it’s Christmas!”

Dean tries to refuse the antlers, but the lady - Lucy, her name tag reads - is not taking no for an answer, so eventually he gives in, telling himself that it is just so he can leave this Christmas Hell and get back to driving. Cas is waiting for him outside, leaning on the car and watching as the first few flakes of snow start to fall.

Dean hesitates for a moment before offering the antlers to him. Cas just stares at them, his head tilted to one side. Sighing, Dean just steps closer and puts them on Cas’ head, laughing when the bells jingle as he tries to look up at them without taking them off. He slips his phone out and sneaks a picture of the bewildered former angel, hastily putting it away and bundling Cas in the car so that they can set off before the snow gets too bad.

“Why did you give me a pair of fake antlers, Dean?” Cas asks as they set off, turning them over and inspecting them in his hands. Much to Dean’s dismay, they wouldn’t fit in the car.

“Thought you liked Christmas stuff?” he replies, grinning.

“What do fabric antlers have to do with Christmas?”

And so, Dean finds himself spending the last leg of the journey attempting to explain Christmas traditions to Cas, who can’t help interrupting and pointing out the real facts, rather than Dean’s Christmas cracker knowledge. They go over Santa and his reindeers (“reindeers can’t fly, Dean”), the birth of Jesus (“I remember Balthazar telling me about that”), and mince pies (“why are they sweet? Mince isn’t supposed to be sweet.”). By the time they arrive Dean is so eager to escape the onslaught of questions that he doesn’t know the answer to, he hits someone with the car door as he gets out.

The actual reason that they have driven into the middle of absolutely nowhere dangerously close to Christmas is because a couple had gone missing last week and hadn’t been seen since. Usually, they would assume that this case wasn’t their kind of thing, but Sam had been asked to check it out by another hunter who knew them (and who apparently had some beef with a ton of shapeshifters), and so here they are..

Dean suggests that FBI agents might be a bit too suspicious for a small town in the middle of nowhere, so instead he and Cas decide to pretend that they are just family visiting them for the weekend. They knock on next door under the pretense of asking for the spare key, and are greeted by possibly the grumpiest people Dean has ever met.

“Fine,” the lady snaps, the half of her face visible from behind the door frowning at them in disgust before turning back into the house. “Harold, get the spare key for next door!”

“Do you happen to know where they have gone?” Dean asks politely, the pleasant smile on his face starting to ache.

“No.”

Cas raises his eyebrows at Dean, before he tries. “When was the last time you saw them?”

The woman huffs impatiently. “Probably when they went to that stupid office Christmas party. We could hear the music from here. It was so inconsiderate.”

“Oh,” Dean replies, sharing a look with Cas. “Where was this party?”

The door opens fully, a man appearing behind the lady - Harold, Dean assumes - who hands the key over to them. “It was those blasted Mitchells.” He turns to his wife, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Did you hear that they are throwing another goddamn party tomorrow, Ann?”

“Thanks for all your help,” Dean interrupts before they can get too carried away.

“Merry Christmas!” Cas adds, already backing away.

They speedwalk back across the victims’ house, making sure that the neighbours’ door is shut before they completely break down laughing. Dean can barely open the door, but when he finally manages to correctly align the key in the lock, they both tumble into the front room, shaking uncontrollably.

Dean collapses next to the couch, sliding to the floor. He takes a couple of deep breaths before managing to speak. “Sounds like we’re going to your first Christmas party, Cas.”

{o0o}

After making their way through most of the people in the town, two things have been made very clear. First of all, the last anyone had seen of the victims - Adam and Amelia Knapp - was at their office Christmas party. Which nearly everyone in the town had been at, and yet no one knew anything remotely helpful. Secondly, there was another Christmas party being held tomorrow night by the somewhat popular Mitchell family, and the chances of their mystery monster striking were high, in Dean’s opinion.

The most logical course of action would be for Dean and Cas to pretend to be guests at the party, so they could stop their creature before anyone else went missing and then they could disappear back home in time for Christmas. However, Dean had found that nothing in his life could ever be that simple, so instead he found himself standing in front of a wide array of hats, trying to wrestle a fez away from a former angel of the Lord.

Because of course it had to be a costume party, and just as the icing on the cake, it had to be a couples only costume party.

“Dude,” Dean says, finally managing to wrench the fez from Cas’ iron grip, “if we’re wearing hats, at least try a good hat.”

Dean plops an example on Cas’ head, laughing as it slips over his eyes. “These aren’t Christmassy, Dean.”

“Sure they are,” Dean says, grabbing a hat more in Cas’ size and a matching one for him. He strolls over to the till, grabbing a couple more things on the way. “You’ll see.”

Since they have a few hours to kill before the actual party, Dean decides that they can waste some of the day doing some Christmas shopping, especially after he finds out that Cas hasn’t got any presents yet. He drives them to a nearby mall, throws Cas a handful of notes and his antlers, and gives him strict instructions to buy some presents and then meet Dean in the food court in an hour.

“Why can’t we do it together?” Cas asks, and Dean could swear he was pouting.

“Because the presents are supposed to be a surprise,” he explains, shooing Cas away with his hands. “Look, I’ll see you in an hour, and if you need anything you can just call me, ‘kay?”

Cas nods and meanders off, disappearing into the crowd without further complaint.

It is nearly ten minutes later, while he is rummaging through some shirts in an attempt to find one in Sam’s size, when Dean realises that this is the first time that Cas has been alone since he lost his grace. A sudden jolt of panic rushes through him, and he has to force himself to take a deep breath.

Castiel was older than humanity. He had led armies of angels. He had fought against demons and archangels and every monster under the sun. He could handle buying a few Christmas presents.

But, at the same time, Dean can’t help but worry. The dude has questionable social skills at best, and he is still trying to get to grips with his brand new human body. He often has to be reminded to eat or drink water or sleep, and there were several embarrassing occasions in the beginning where he had forgotten entirely.

Dean’s hand itches, his fingers curling towards his back pocket, but he resists the urge to call and check up on Cas. He doesn’t need a babysitter. He tells himself that he should just get his presents for people and then he can meet back up with Cas as soon as possible.

The mall is packed, the usual last rush as people get the last few things they need for Christmas. Conversations and the sound of toddlers crying fight to be heard over the echoing music, festive music adding to the deafening noise. While dodging people, making his way to their meeting place, Dean tries to remember the last time he was in a mall. Certainly not recently - he thinks it may be some time before he met Cas - and he definitely doesn’t remember them making him feel this claustrophobic. The sea of people pushing against him makes him want to throw up, and he finds himself having to duck into the nearest shop to avoid the crowd, shutting his eyes and leaning heavily against a railing.

“Dean?” a deep, familiar voice asks him, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Dean cracks one eye open, laughing when he realises what shop he found Cas in. He knew he should never have introduced him to Hot Topic. “I’m fine, Cas. Just hungry.” he deflects, standing up straight and patting his friend on the shoulder.

Cas gives him a look that says ‘I know you’re lying but I’m going to let you get away with it just this once’ and instead says, “Let me pay for this, and then we can go and get some lunch.”

Not even twenty minutes later, Dean is watching Cas eat a taco for the first time and has completely forgotten that he ever felt bad, because he is laughing too hard to care. Cas looks highly bemused at the stain on his precious trench coat, but Dean thinks that, secretly, he doesn’t mind.

{o0o}

There is no question that they are in the right place when they pull up outside the address they were given a few hours later, if the ridiculous amount of fairy lights and assorted decorations are anything to go by. They can’t help but stare at the blinding display for a moment, before Dean turns to Cas to make sure he remembers the plan. “Okay, so we go in, find our mystery monster-”

“Sam thinks it is a shapeshifter.” Cas interrupts.

“Okay, so we grab this shifter, gank it, grab some food on the way out and then drive home in time for Christmas. You remember the cover story?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dean. We’re the Bassons, and we’re thinking about moving here. Do I need to repeat the rest?”

“Alright then, you ready?” Dean intertwines his fingers with Cas’ - in order to keep their cover, obviously - takes a deep breath, and then opens the door.

A wave of heat rolls out from the crowded house, contrasting with the painfully cold air outside. As they step inside, Dean picks up a delicious smell wafting in from the kitchen, a mixture of turkey and cranberry sauce and mulled wine and gravy. The third thing he notices is the music blaring in from the other room, loud enough that he can feel the vibrations thrum through his body. He laughs when he realises what song it is. Space Cowboy; he couldn’t have picked a more fitting song.

After they had come home from their spontaneous shopping spree, Dean had spent an hour making the perfect couple’s costume. Considering the only supplies he had were ones he had picked up from the dollar store, he was actually pretty impressed with his handiwork. Both him and Cas were wearing their normal fed suits, however, it was the hats that really sold it. Dean had affixed - using an alarming amount of superglue - a strand of purple and blue glittery tinsel to his cowboy hat, and a set of fully functional Christmas lights to Cas’.

Cas had protested at first - “How are cowboys Christmas related, Dean?” - until he had been convinced by the hidden practicality of it: any weapons they brought with them could be written off as part of the costume. Also, cowboys are awesome. Dean has yet to find someone who can prove him wrong on that point.

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand to get his attention, nodding towards two people who appear to be the hosts of the party. The music shifts into some Christmas classic, and they make their way over so they can start ruling people off the list of suspects.

An hour later, Dean officially decides that he is never attending a Christmas party again. Luckily, they’ve only had to deal with one homophobe, who Dean ‘accidentally’ dropped a whole plate of food on, but that doesn’t mean that none of the other guests are driving him up the wall. It seems that everyone is slightly drunk apart from them, and the only reason Dean hasn’t joined in is because of the dirty looks Cas sends him every time he so much as glances towards the punch bowl.

It’s the karaoke that does him in. Cas is somewhere (Dean couldn’t tell if he genuinely needed the bathroom, or if that was his attempt at saying he was going to scout the house) and there is a woman wearing a skimpy reindeer outfit and wailing along to Last Christmas. God only knows what caused her to get on top of the table and join in while crying, but Dean suspects the answer includes lots of alcohol and the fact that the man who she had arrived with had disappeared upstairs with an elf some time earlier. Her rendition certainly isn’t going to win any awards.

With Cas not there to see, Dean manages to finish two plastic cups worth of surprisingly nice punch before he can be stopped. Considering the dude has flashing lights on his head, Cas can be remarkably sneaky when he wants to be.

“Dean, I don’t think-”

“Oh, what wonderful costumes!” a woman interrupts, and Dean forces a smile back on his aching face before he turns around to face her, just in time to see wink at him. She is wearing a green dress and is covered in baubles and tinsel, and the man standing next to her is literally wearing a massive cardboard box, wrapped to look like a present. It takes all of Dean’s self control not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean wraps an arm around his waist in order to confirm that they are, in fact, a couple. The few times he had touched Castiel, he had been cold; it had felt like touching a corpse. As a human, Cas was like a hot water bottle, and even though the house was boiling, Dean couldn’t help but latch onto him whenever the opportunity arose.

“I’m Natasha,” the woman continued, staring at Dean in what he had to assume was her version of ‘seductive’ and completely ignoring Cas. “Oh, and this is Cole,” she adds as an afterthought.

Cole also winks at Dean. He has never felt so uncomfortable in his life, and he went to Hell. Although, he has also never had both members of a couple separately flirt with him while fake dating someone else.

“I’m Dean, and this is Cas,” he replies, pulling the former angel even closer into him. “My husband.”

“Oh,” Cole says, and Dean doesn’t think he is imagining the disappointed tone.

“Sorry,” Natasha adds, not sounding in any way apologetic. “I didn’t realise you were a couple!”

Dean didn’t think he could make it more obvious, but… if she didn’t believe them, then they might be at risk of blowing their cover. There were already at least seven people who had been avoiding them after the usual weird questions and some not quite realistic ploys to get them to touch a silver coin that they had brought with them.

“Why’s that?” he asks, and regrets the question almost as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“For starters,” Natasha proclaimed, way too eager for this to end well. “You’ve been standing under mistletoe this whole time and haven’t kissed!”

Dean’s whole body freezes as they both look up, and sure enough, the bastard plastic plant is hanging directly over their heads.

“I didn’t realise,” Cas says, somewhat dazedly.

Dean takes a deep breath - there’s nothing they can do now, not with these nosy, weirdass people watching and waiting and expecting a kiss - and pulls Cas closer, turning to face him so their bodies are pressed together. In the dim lights, the lights on Cas’ hat make his startling blue eyes twinkle like starlight, and Dean wonders how he never saw how gorgeous he was before now. Maybe he had, and it had just been buried along with everything else.

“Dean,” Cas’ low voice rumbles, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

Kissing a man is not so different to kissing a woman, and Dean can’t help but notice how much he likes the feeling of Cas’ chapped lips on his own. Something lights up inside him like a firework, and he realises exactly how much he wanted - no, needed this. He feels better than he has in a long time, as if a missing puzzle piece had suddenly slotted into place.

Cas pulls away first, and Dean’s mind suddenly catches up with his body. Holy shit, he just kissed Cas. He barely registers Natasha and Cole walking away, still transfixed by the fact he finds a former angel of the Lord - who is a man - devastatingly handsome.

“Dean. Dean, are you okay?” It is only the feeling of Cas’ body heat leaving him that gets him to look down, absentmindedly fixing the shorter man’s hat.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, choking on the words. “Yeah, I just gotta - I’m just gonna…”

And, like a complete and utter cowardly dick, he walks away.

{o0o}

It has been twenty minutes, so Dean can be fairly certain that Cas isn’t gonna come looking for him. Which is fine. It’s not like he was expecting him to. They only kissed to keep up the pretense, and Dean’s weird behaviour has probably ruined that anyway. It meant nothing.

The problem is that Dean can’t stop thinking about how amazing it had felt to kiss Cas. He had tasted like mulled wine and honey and the promise of a thousand lazy mornings. It had felt like flying and drowning all at once. Dean had never understood when people had described kisses as things that had nothing to do with the act, like earthquakes or lightning or fireworks, but the only way he could explain the ecstasy he had felt when their lips had touch was an act of God.

And that thought only spiraled into another: Dean had kissed an angel of the Lord. An angel. Even though Cas was human now, he still remembered the birth of existence and every word that came out of his mouth was fueled by eons of knowledge and memories and experience. He held himself with a grace that only a true warrior can execute, and to him, Dean must seem so small. How insignificant was he compared to that brilliant man?

Finally, there it is. The real issue. Castiel is a man.

It had taken some time, but Dean had taught himself, eventually, that John Winchester was a terrible parent. In fact, it was generous to call him a parent at all. It was Dean who had raised Sam, raised himself. And, even now, he couldn’t help but fall back into his old mindset, into an old version of Dean who would have done anything for his father’s approval. But, if he is being honest with himself - and, let’s be frank, it’s about time - Castiel was not the first man he had liked. He probably wasn’t even the third.

In that moment, Dean decides that he doesn’t want to be a coward any longer. If he never expected his life to be a long one, then it is all the more reason to go for what he wants now, rather than later.

Yeah, maybe he’ll lose Cas, but… the possibility of what could await him if Cas does reciprocate is far more frightening than the former angel laughing in his face.

{o0o}

Castiel considers himself very knowledgeable in Dean Winchester’s emotions. He knows exactly how long to avoid Dean after eating a slice of his pie, he knows that he can hold full conversations with just a look, and, as an example, he knows that after their kiss, Dean Winchester was panicking. Badly.

That was fine. Castiel was fine with that. It wasn’t like he had been secretly in love with a man who had repeatedly called him a brother for over ten years. Nothing like that.

Sighing, Cas gently puts his paper plate on the corner of the kitchen table, the food he had been so excited to try half an hour ago now making his stomach roll. He figured that Dean had just needed some air; he would cool down, shove all of his emotions down in true Winchester fashion, and then return and pretend that nothing ever happened. The problem wasn’t just with the fact that Cas would very much be remembering that kiss until the day he died, but that Dean had been a really long time.

Time moves differently now that he was human. As an angel, everything seemed to move so much faster. There was always something to do, the faint crackling of angel radio like a comforting background noise or a million particles to study. A blink of his eye and a century could have passed, and yet here he is, thirty minutes feeling like an eternity.

It’s by the time Cas has checked every room downstairs that he really starts to worry.

Dean is not in the kitchen stuffing his face, and he is not in the dining room drinking punch, and he is not dancing to the rather annoying upbeat song that is playing in the living room. He is not in the hallway, or on the stairs, or in the bathroom. When Cas starts asking, people give conflicting answers. A bauble saw him go upstairs, a Christmas tree could swear he was in the kitchen, an elf insists that he went outside.

Since it is the only place he hasn’t checked, Cas heads outside. There, on the floor, is Dean’s stupid hat, the tinsel loose on one side, dangling pathetically into a puddle of melted snow.

Cas immediately calls Sam, who picks up surprisingly quickly. “Cas? What’s up?”

“ImighthavekissedDeanandnowIdon’tknowwhereheis-”

“Cas, slow down,” Sam urges, forcing Cas to take a deep breath before continuing.

“We’re, uh, at a couples’ only party, and we had to kiss and then Dean freaked out but he’s been gone for ages and I think he is in trouble,” Cas says, only marginally slower than before.

“Shit. Okay, send me the address. We’re on our way.”

Sam, Cas thinks as he tries a door handle that he missed before, is excellent at coming up with plans. Maybe it’s the time spent in college, maybe it’s his years of hunting experience, but even over the phone he had pointed out things that Cas had failed to spot. Like, for example, the door to the basement.

Cas turns the phone flashlight on like Dean taught him, the beam still not strong enough to light up the impenetrable darkness. The music fades to a distant hum in the background, becoming distorted and frantic as Cas feels. His eyes have barely adjusted enough to see the familiar but unconscious form on the ground - “Dean?” - before something solid connects with the back of his head, and Cas tumbles forwards, crumpling at the bottom of the stairs.

{o0o}

“Cas?”

Cas groans. When he had finally fallen completely, he had been surprised by how much being human hurts. Something always aches, and everything is so easy to damage. Even the smallest of injuries - a stubbed toe or a papercut - hurts way more than it should.

Apparently, a combination of blunt force trauma to the back of the head and the general bruises one acquires from falling down a flight of stairs hurt a lot more than a stubbed toe.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” A familiar voice asks, and Cas tries to turn his head so that he can see Dean, instead finding out that that particular head movement causes his vision to blur and swim. When he attempts to bring his hands up to survey the damage, he can’t understand why they don't move for a moment, before his brain finally manages to catch up and he remembers the night’s events.

So, maybe he wasn’t expecting his first kiss with Dean to be followed by being kidnapped and tied up in a basement, but this is a Winchester they are talking about here.

“Come on, talk to me here.” Dean says, sounding worried.

Cas swallows, aiming to say something to ease Dean’s concern and instead causing a coughing fit. “I’m fine,” he eventually manages to gasp.

Dean snorts. “Sure sound like it.”

They are silent for a moment, the only sounds in the room an echoing drip and Cas’ raspy breaths. Cas isn’t sure how long they have been down there, but since Dean isn’t wriggling about in an attempt to escape, it has probably been long enough that he has already checked whether or not he can untie himself. From what Cas’ fumbling fingers can tell, though, the knots keeping them bound to this stupid pole are very good.

He feels utterly pathetic. He used to be a soldier - he had led armies, fought battles that humans couldn’t even comprehend - and here he was now, entirely useless, taken out by a baseball bat and kept prisoner by a length of rope. If he was still an angel this would have never happened. He could have saved Dean, he would have killed whoever did this, and they would have been back in time to enjoy the end of the party.

“What do we do now?” Cas asks, finally breaking the silence.

Dean sighs, and Cas can feel him against his back as his whole body sags down. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do but wait.”

Cas didn’t think he had ever heard Dean give up so easily, and it scared him. “What?”

“I don’t exactly see a way out of this, Cas. I’ve been trying to get these ropes off for half an hour and I think they’re probably just tighter than they were when I started.”

Cas gave an experimental yank, and Dean hissed in pain. Suddenly, the wetness on Cas’ hands made sense. “You’re bleeding, Dean.”

The hunter didn’t reply.

Cas had always thought that his death would be noble. Previously, it had always at least been in battle or a sacrifice, but this was just… pitiful. He was going to die at the hands of some random shapeshifter in someone’s disgusting basement, while wearing a cowboy costume.

“I - uh, I just wanted to say,” Dean starts, sounding unsure, “that I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” he replies, shutting his eyes in an attempt to block out the conversation. If he was going to die, he would rather not be rejected first.

“It was a dick move,” Dean continues, as if he hadn’t heard Cas. “I was just - I mean - I want to say…”

“What, Dean?”

Dean’s voice is barely a whisper. “I think I’d like to kiss you again.”

Cas’ eyes snap back open, and he hits his head on the pole in his confusion. “You would?”

“You don’t… I thought… I mean, I’m just kid-”

“Shut up,” Cas interrupts, not wanting Dean to panic all over again. “I would like that.”

“Oh. Really? Okay,” Dean replies, and Cas shuffles around until he manages to hold his hand. It’s sticky and wet with blood where Dean’s wrists have been hurt by the ropes, and every aching muscle in Cas’ body screams at the awkward position, but he thinks it might still be the happiest he has ever been.

{o0o}

Dean isn’t sure how long it is until he hears the footsteps on the stairs, but it’s long enough for him to feel much too tired for a fight. Can’t the universe just let him be happy for once? Is it too much to ask to not have to fight tooth and claw for one scrap of peace?

“Well, hello there,” a man’s voice says, and Dean feels Cas stiffen. It sounds oddly familiar, but he can’t quite place his finger on where he would have heard it before.

That is, until a second voice speaks. “What have we got here, Harold?”

The next-door neighbours. The old couple who had been complaining about the parties. Of course the only two people in this godforsaken town who they hadn’t checked were the bad guys. He should have seen it. They should have asked them more questions when they weren’t tied to this stupid pole in this stupid fucking basement.

“A pair of cowboys, Ann,” Harold tuts, and Dean cannot believe he is about to be killed by a weird old couple, of all things. He had prevented the apocalypse at least twice, had defeated God, and yet he was going to be killed by the monster of the week. Who looked like they were about three hundred years old, owned fifty cats and knitted in their spare time.

Ann walks around them, her heels clacking on the stone floor, until she comes to a stop in front of Dean. “What a shame,” she says, looking down at him like he was a stain on her shoe. “I was hoping we’d get a crier. Men rarely cry. Apart from that last fellow, of course.”

Dean’s stomach rolls, and he suddenly regrets eating so many pigs in blankets at the party.

“What are you?” Cas practically growls, his hand squeezing Dean’s to comfort him.

“Whatever do you mean, son?” Harold asks, and he sounds genuinely confused.

Oh shit, Dean thinks, letting out an amused huff of breath. Great. He isn’t even going to be killed by the monster of the week. He’s gonna be killed by an actual old person.

“Is something funny, sweetie?” Ann demands, frowning.

Dean smiles up at her, deciding that he may as well die how he lived: a snarky bastard. “Sorry, I just can’t believe that I got kidnapped by someone’s grandma.”

Ann steps closer to him, crouching down so she is his height. A sliver of silver reflects in the dim light like a shooting star, slicing downwards and cutting a thin line across Dean’s neck. “Don’t give me cheek, boy.”

“Let’s kill the other one first, sweetheart. Then that rude fella has to watch his boyfriend die.” Harold suggests, spitting out the word ‘boyfriend’ like it physically hurts him.

Dean clutches Cas’ hand tighter, trying not to let the panic that is welling up inside him, cold and merciless, show on his face. He tugs desperately at the ropes around his wrists one more time, hoping for a miracle that he knows isn’t coming.

“Say goodbye, now.” Ann says, and Dean shuts his eyes. He knows that he can’t deal with losing Cas again, even if he’ll be gone soon after. He spares a brief thought wondering where Cas will go when he dies; is he human enough to avoid the Empty? And even so, would he go to Heaven or Hell?

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered, because even though he is scared, he knows that Cas deserves to know.

If Cas says anything back, Dean doesn’t hear it over the gunshot.

{o0o}

Dying was not a new experience for Castiel, nor was dying as a human. What was a new experience was the pain he felt in his chest that no bullet or knife could replicate. It was the knowledge that he had the opportunity to be happy and it had been ripped from him. It was knowing that someone loved him and cared for him and was being taken away from him.

When Harold dropped dead instead of Cas, his heart fluttered. Maybe he did have a chance.

“Dean, are you alright?” Sam’s voice calls out, and Cas finally allows himself to relax slightly.

“Sam?” Dean asks, surprise and confusion and relief all mixed together.

Eileen appears from nowhere and stoops down, grinning at Cas and slicing through the ropes. She winks at him but doesn’t say anything, simply helping him to his feet when it becomes obvious he can’t do it by himself. Sam has backed Ann into the corner of the room, his gun pointed at her with an unwavering hand, but Dean whispers something in his ear and he lowers it slightly. He signs something over his shoulder, not even glancing away from the threat, and Eileen rushes off upstairs, essentially shoving the injured Castiel into Dean’s side.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?” Dean asks gently, wrapping his arm around Cas’ waist to hold him up. His wrists are still bleeding and they are both cold from sitting in a freezing basement for ages, but the simple action fills Cas with a warmness.

“I’ve been in love with you for twelve years, you assbutt,” he mumbles.

Dean smiles down at him, somehow looking charming even covered in dirt and blood, only looking up when Sam clears his throat.

“Look, we should get out of here,” Sam suggests, standing up. He’s tied Ann to the same post that they thought would be their deathbed only a few minutes ago, and he is shooing them towards the stairs back up to the party. “Eileen’s getting someone to call the cops and we don’t wanna be here when they arrive.”

Cas ducks down, for a moment, holding Dean’s hand so he doesn’t completely keel over, and grabs the two hats off the ground. Reaching up, he puts his on before gently placing Dean’s on his head. The tinsel is falling off on one side, the lights have run out of battery, and they are both caked in dirt, but it still makes Dean smile.

“Let’s go home,” Dean says, leaning down and softly kissing Cas.

{o0o}

Much to Dean’s surprise, Sam and Eileen said nothing about his new relationship with Cas. In fact, when he tried to bring it up - he knew Sam had seen them kissing for Christ’s sake - Sam just shook his head and rolled his eyes at Dean. “Jody owes me fifty dollars,” was all he said, and their discussion was over.

Cas didn’t seem too perturbed by the whole situation, and Dean found himself wondering whether it was just him who found their new relationship strange. Not that anything much had changed, for that matter. They both behaved the exact same way, with added kissing. So what if Sam thought Dean was weird for still calling Cas ‘buddy’? He wasn’t the one dating a former angel.

What Dean had decided, after their fun little kidnapping escapade, was that Cas deserved an awesome Christmas. It was his first one as a human, after all, and what kind of boyfriend would Dean be if he didn’t show Cas all the wonders of the holiday season?

And that is how they found themselves turning the drive home into a Christmas road trip.

Cas wore his reindeer antlers wherever possible, and Dean took a million photos of him. On the first day, they visited a Christmas market. Dean thought it was much too busy and annoying, but it was all worth it for the smile Cas had after drinking his first hot chocolate. On the second day, they went to a drive-in movie. Cas gave both the funniest and most irritating running commentary that Dean had ever heard, having to remind him every five minutes that “it’s a romcom, Cas. It’s not supposed to make sense.”

On Christmas Eve, they spent most of the day driving to make sure they got home in time for the dinner that Sam and Eileen had promised. They sang carols at full volume and blasted Christmas songs and Dean taught Cas how to play the air guitar. Dean couldn’t remember a time when he had felt such a sense of freedom and happiness. Maybe it was just a Christmas miracle.

Christmas day rolled around, and it was the nicest Christmas that Dean could remember having. Sam and Eileen had decorated the entire bunker with tinsel and streamers, and had even managed to bring in a huge tree from outside. So maybe not all the decorations on it were technically Christmas related, but the silver bullets were shiny and although no one was quite sure what the pentagram they were using a star on the top did, it looked pretty cool.

By the evening, they had eaten enough food to feed twenty people for a week and had exchanged presents. Sam was sitting at the table with his new fancy pens, Eileen had disappeared to take a shower with her new soaps, and Cas and Dean were firmly planted on the couch. Cas’ new fuzzy socks were warm and ticklish against Dean’s feet, and the angel was a surprisingly good cuddler.

All of a sudden, Dean sat up, dragging Cas with him. “Come on, dude. We should dance.”

Cas snorted but agreed, wrapping his arms around Dean tightly. They swayed slowly to the music, his head on Cas’ shoulder, gently singing along to the slow music.

Now you hang from my lips

Like the Gardens of Babylon

With your boots beneath my bed

Forever is the sweetest con.

Dean’s mouth twists into a smile. “I could spend forever with you,” he whispers, and he leans down to kiss his angel again.

#i hope you enjoy!#destiel #destiel secret santa #my writing #fanfic

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