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#this was so shitty before i spent time revising
Valentine's Day...Gifts They Give You?? I Think. IDK.
HAH SCHOOL CAN KICK MY BUTT BUT BY GOD AND THE DEVIL WILL I SHARE A LITTLE BIT OF LOVE!! (I'm suffering Jesus fucking CHRIST this course is gonna eat my fried up brain for breakfast lunch and dinner) This is done assuming they're pining for Yuu, save for Ortho he's Idia's little wingman. GN reader as always bbssssssssss if anything seems canon divergent, check out my HCs lmao
Heartslaybul Ace: He thought about making it super romantic, like he spent the week leading up to Valentine's day brainstorming ideas on napkins and doodling on scrap paper, trying to come up with a way to ask to hang out that would make it feel different than normal, but not so obvious that he...you know, likes you. He ends up showing up at Ramshackle before class with a box of chocolates he bought the day before and a bit of a blushing mess. "I just got these because who knows how much Sam will have by the end of today, you owe me half, ok?"
Deuce: He absolutely called his mom to ask for some advice, and asked his dorm mom (Trey), to proofread the hand written note he had meticulously written and supervise while he tries to make a heartshaped quiche. Why quiche? Well he knows you guys have...Memories about eggs, and he remembers it fondly, and he knows that quiche freezes well, so if he makes a big batch, you can eat what you want and have a readily available breakfast to just pop back in the oven whenever you want it - hopefully you'll remember him each time you do, and you'll ask for more when you finish it! He ends up at Ramshackle a little disheveled and out of breath, trying to make the quiche early enough in the day that he could make it there before breakfast so maybe you could share a meal before class. "It's still warm??" "Yeah, I ran here as fast as I could once it was cool enough to handle." "You didn't have to..." "I wanted to! You're more than worth the effort it took to be here on time." Trey: Mans has a major advantage in that he is great in the kitchen, but he can't just make your favourite dessert. He can do that any day. No, for weeks ahead of time, he plans, makes, tests, and revises a new recipe, something that is unique and meant to be for you. It's more effort than he normally puts into his work, but it's so worth it when he shows up at Ramshackle in the evening to deliver his gift and a small note, though he gets shy. He leaves it on the front door step, knocks once, and moves to hide by the side of the house, relying on Grim's nose to bring you to the door if you didn't hear him knock. Seeing the way your face go from confusion to joy and excitement as you read the note is worth every moment he spent crouching. He knows tomorrow you'll want to talk to him in person, but for now, that's more than enough for him.
Cater: Consumerism Capital lmao. He has a really sweet, genuine gift to give to you, but the time he's spent with his sisters makes him second guess whether or not something is "good enough". So, yes, he will have spent 72 hours painting a fucking masterpiece on a phone case for you, or a pair of shoes you said you wanted, or a skateboard so you guys can skateboard together, or something you mentioned you wanted offhandedly months ago, but he's not sure if it's enough, so to "make up" for his "shitty handmade gift", he buys a shit ton of Valentine's day merchandise! He shows up with the giant teddy bear, the bouquet of flowers, the chocolates, the sappy movies, a trending perfume and some sort of specialty drink he picked up at a cafe. Depending on your reaction to all that stuff, he might actually give you the gift he worked on, otherwise you'll see it by accident or something and he gets embarrassed and a little flustered because What If You Don't Like It, Isn't Everything Else Better Than That Thing I Worked On Specifically For You. Treat him gently please. That's a personal request slkdjfhlskdjf
Riddle: He's new to this. So of course he researched long and hard on how to best express his interest in you without trying to push anything on you. Cater tried to show him cute stuff on social media, but it all seemed so scripted, disingenuous, or so over the top he couldn't see himself doing it that way. Or on the other end - they were couples, well into their relationships and living together- that wasn't where he was with you, at least....not yet. He ends up watching, reading and listening to tutorials on how to put together the perfect bouquet - his beloved rose garden would have more than an aesthetic use now, and with a little magic, a beautiful gradient came easily to the bunch of roses he arranged beautifully. Before you, this holiday just seemed ridiculous. Maybe it still was, but he would indulge if it meant it brought a smile to your face.
Savannaclaw
Jack: He can't be direct for the life of him, not in terms like this. The night before Valentine's day, he's still stumped on what to do for you that won't be...inherently romantic and obvious, but show that he cares about you!! His eyes end up settling on his little cactus and he ends up finally getting an idea. Somehow after class, but before you got home, he managed to gift you your own tiny cactus. He left it sitting in a box, a small knitted coaster of sorts sitting underneath the flower pot - he put it in the box just so that the yarn wouldn't snag on the uneven wood outside of Ramshackle- and a tiny cowboy hat sitting on top of your cactus. It had been from one of his little siblings dolls that ended up in his bag from the last time he'd gone home, but either they didn't even notice it was gone, or he could get them a replacement later.
Ruggie: "Do you have plans for Valentine's day?" "Yep. Wait for it to be over." He doesn't really care for Valentine's day, but the sale that starts on the 15th? Goddamn, yeah, he's gonna capitalize on that....and he might even like you enough to share a little bit of it...maybe while watching a movie....and snuggling up under the same blanket at Ramshackle...that he may or may not have snagged from Leona's pile of Really Nice blankets....all it takes is for you to say you want some chocolate or treats too.
Leona: He really doesn't care for Valentine's day and all the shit that comes with it, but his sister in law asked him to at least try to make the best of the day. Initially, he was going to...at least try to contest it, but ultimately decided there was a simple way to do it. He ends up firing you a quick text to meet him in the greenhouse. While the way he pulls you into his little nest for napping is rather unceremonious, once you've settled he tucks a pink camellia behind your ear before abruptly telling you he's going to sleep and you're welcome to join him or you can get out of there if you want. He hopes, that just maybe, you'll be able to identify the flower he gave you and find out what it means.
Octavinelle
Floyd: Azul is making him work overtime for Valentine's day, he doesn't get up early enough to do anything Before classes, and by the end of his shift he's EXHAUSTED and MAD. He likely has the wherewithall to bring you a serving from the special menu in a takeout container before flopping down on the couch next to you, then onto you, just looking for a little bit of physical affection. The next day he does feel a little bad for not making you feel as special as he could have, so he'll wake you up with breakfast in bed. Jade: Again, he's been working overtime but he was more ready for Valentine's day than Floyd. While he can't take you anywhere on the day of, he has an easy hike and picnic planned for the weekend if you'll join him. Despite being in the wild outdoors, he's determined to make you a dish that would be worthy of serving at the lounge. He will not handle being asked to stay home very well, but ultimately will if you want that more....but it's going to be in your backyard.
Azul: He had so much on his plate leading up to Valentine's day with marketing, organizing shifts and maximizing profit. But, some of that profit was already planned to be set aside specifically for you. It was about time that you got a bit of a leg up, right? I mean working for Crowley can only pay so much, and he's the head of the dorm that represents generosity anyways. So on the day after Valentine's day, he shows up in the evening with a laptop, and envelope with cash, and a grin, ready to show you the wonders of ✨investing✨. He may have forgotten you still...want to go home. He'll backtrack a bit and offer to help you find contractors that will renovate a part of Ramshackle for you.
Scarabia
Jamil: He didn't even bother trying to plan something for himself with you. How could he? It was a holiday, as ridiculous as it was, it meant that Kalim would inevitably want to celebrate it on the dorm level, and Jamil, of course, would have to plan and organize and arrange everything in order to make it work out. However, that didn't mean he wouldn't make sure to invite you. It didn't mean that he wouldn't make the time to ensure your favourite dish was served. Or that your favourite song would come on during the dance party portion of the celebration. Or that he wouldn't check on you just as, if not more frequently than he did on Kalim to make sure you're enjoying yourself. And if you're not, if it's all too much, he accounted for that already and will show you where you can stay until you feel okay again. Of course, if you show up an hour or two early and demand (you can't ask, he'll say no) to be given a task to lighten his burden, he might just admire you a little bit more (even if he still says no).
Kalim: Valentine's Day means partayyyyy time!! There's gonna be food, and dancing, and games, and lots of people, and live music because he, Cater, and Lilia are gonna perform, won't you come see him?? He needs you there so he can perform the best he ever has!! Come on Yuu, please??? They did actually practice, because they had to change a few lyrics so that it could be a better cover for Valentine's day and he was thinking of you when they modified it, so can you pleeeeeeeease come?
Pomefiore
Epel: He isn't sure whether he wants to continue a tradition he had from home or not, where he would show up at school with handmade lollipops and give them out to people....but his class at primary school was soooo much smaller, it wouldn't make sense to do it here for everyone. Not to mention, he usually had his grandma help him make them, he's never done it on his own. He likely does it for all the first years in his little friend group because he doesn't want to be obvious to anyone person that maybe...he likes them a little more...however your lollipop is the only one that seems to have no imperfections. Funny how that worked out.
Rook: Screw your alarm clock, he knows when you wake up anyways and will be outside your window, serenading you until you wake up. Even if you end up rolling out of bed lookin like a sewer rat and peaking out the window, once he knows you're awake he'll start reading poetry to you. He kinda just lingers until you're done getting ready enough to come great him outside, where he gives you a single rose and a few sheets of paper that he's written his poems about you on. He'll kiss the back of your hand and offer to escort you to class. ** I just want to say, for as much as I gripe about Rook in other posts, I genuinely believe that if he knew or found out you had no Valentine, no plans, and nobody treated you, he would, by the end of the day, at least have left a rose and handwritten note on in front of your door apologizing for not having asked to be your Valentine earlier and going through and complimenting you, though the note is completely anonymous. Rook is a bleeding heart (hehe Snow White ref) and regardless of his feelings for you/your feelings for him, he wants to make sure Valentine's day is positive for you.
Vil: Ugh, Valentine's day. It's a tacky, meaningless holiday that corporations push for the sake of profit. He agrees to model stuff still, sure, he has to in order to try and keep up with Neige, but he hates it. He gets his nails done so that they are jet black. Part of him wants to go goth for the day, but really that would be an overreaction to something so minor. He rejects any Valentine's day gifts, and likely won't want to do anything special, so if anything, you get to see a slightly out of character Vil as he either facetimes you to make sure you've been drinking water today and rant about the industry and how it's ruined Valentine's day, or. You send him a really cheesy gif wishing him a happy Valentines day and he very reluctantly replies, but tells you to never do that again (and it segues into Above).
Ignihyde
Idia (+ wingman/little shit Ortho): Ortho didn't really intend to snoop, but his big brother just left his phone out in the open...well he threw it onto his bed and mumbled something about being a loser. According to Ortho's analysis of Idia's phone, he hadn't been on a mobile game, so what got him so worked up? He sifted through until he found the culprit- the draft of a really sweet...and yeah, kinda cringey message he had written out addressed to the prefect of Ramshackle. Eugh he didn't need to read that...but...but Yuu should. He sends the message for Idia right before his brother comes back into the room, mumbling about how he needs to delete something. His eyes go wide as saucers as he sees not only has the message been sent, but the prefect has read it and is replying in that very moment. Idia reprimands Ortho immediately, but gently until the Prefects response comes through and Ortho confirms the tone is positive. Diasomnia lord help me it's one in the morning
Sebek: Wasn't going to do anything until Lilia mentioned...."exaggerated"...just how important Valentine's Day can be to humans. His decision to try and come up with a last minute gift only amplifies if he sees someone else give Yuu a gift, and ultimately decides with a certain degree of defeat just to buy something from Sam's shop. He decides something practical is best, but gets a little distracted around the candles. Surely in Ramshackle you would appreciate something small, aromatic and it even offers a small bit of heat! He decides to go through with it, but it's only noon, surely he can customize it a bit more before the end of the day. Lilia ends up walking into Sebek's room at around 10:30, only to see him struggling to stay awake as he wipes off paint from the lid. Based on the discarded tissues around, he hasn't been satisfied with any customizations he's tried to make. Lilia gently encourages him just to write a quick note, and he'll deliver it to the prefects doorstep for him so he can get to sleep. Sebek insists it's not perfect, but is forced to accept defeat as Lilia ushers him to bed, reassuring him that the prefect will still appreciate it.
Silver: He knows that he struggles to stay awake, so he starts on his project long before Valentine's day so that he can work on it whenever he has the wherewithall to do so. Come Valentine's day, he has the gift with him during class, and ends up sitting outside of Ramshackle, passed out next to the door waiting for you to show up so he can hand you his gift, which turns out to be a dagger. No, he didn't make it, but he wanted to research the best option for someone of your size and stature, the quality, where to purchase it reliably, to make a small write up on how to care for it properly, what it can and should be used for, and activities it's not suggested to use it for, but you technically "can". It also gives him an excuse to come see you more often to teach you how to use it- often teaching someone is a great way to learn and will add another layer to his training. Lilia: He's been around for so many Valentine's Days, he probably knew the fucking saint it was named after. That being said, he loves to make the most of life, and that doesn't stop here! Get ready for a home cooked meal, you don't have to worry about dinner tonight sweetheart, Lilia's got it covered. Or he'll pay for take out. Or both, to make up for the mess in your kitchen.
Malleus: He's been aware of the holiday for years, but has never really had a reason to celebrate it. But now there's someone who isn't scared of him. Someone who, perhaps if he asked, you would allow him to spend time with you. He ends up daydreaming about the activities the two of you could do together, from making gargoyles to learning to make ice cream together, he ends up spending the entire day like that. Though he's a bit frustrated at his loss of time, he writes out a heartfelt letter to invite you to join him in those activities at a later date. He'll either wait for you outside, or if its too late in the night, simply slide the letter under your door.
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I was gonna do Che'nya and Neige and even Rollo but its. its way too late, I'm hungry and I have a STATS class tomorrow RIP me.
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Can I ask for a blurb when reader and Matty haven't had sex in a while because they have been busy and she has been stressed. Maybe he has tried to initiate it a couple of times but as soon as he gets that she's not into he dropped of course. So she realise it has been a while and she apologises and feels guilty but he's super nice about it.
Sorry once again trying to heal my trauma through fiction. 😅
Hope your having a nice day💕
Of course, babes! Sorry about the delay. Looks like my writing is going through another shitty phase. I hope this helps in some small way. Remember that if anyone treats you with anything less than complete respect, then they don’t deserve you or your trust. Love you. 🥰
Monday.
It was already a busy week for both of them. Matty had spent most of the weekend in the studio, alone, with George, working out the production on a song they’d written and revised a thousand times. He’d come home really late Sunday night and found her asleep already, sliding into bed next to her as quietly as possible and going to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. So, when she woke up this morning, well before his alarm went off, she decided not to wake him, simply giving him a quick kiss on the forehead and dashing out the door to get an early start to the work week.
She waited around for him that night. Or tried to, at least. She’d cooked them a quick dinner, and set out a plate for him, but he never came. When she texted him, he replied, 39 minutes later, sorry, babe. Another late night. Enjoy dinner though. See you at home?
She wanted to see him. She missed him. So, she tried to stay up late, watching tv , snuggled up on the couch and counting down the minutes until she could hear his car pull into the driveway. But, she’d had a long day herself. Work had gotten wiped her out. Making dinner and taking a quick shower was just about all she was capable of after that. So, she ended up falling asleep right there on that couch. Well before Matty got home.
She had a vague memory of Matty carrying her up the stairs and into their bedroom, tucking her in, and giving her a kiss that tasted like toothpaste and smelled like cigarettes. So, he must have been getting ready for bed too, but she doesn’t recall seeing him change out of his clothes, or get into bed. She was out like a light.
Tuesday.
“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Matty grinned down at her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“H-how long have you been standing there…watching me sleep?”
Matty laughed and shook his head. “Please, I’m not that creepy. I was just setting down your breakfast on the night stand. Did I wake you?”
She propped up her pillow and sat up, looking to her side, where Matty had, indeed, left a cup of coffee and a pastry. “Oh, thank you, baby. When did you-“
“Woke up early to grab them. Wanted to spend some time with you before we both went off to work. Feel like we’ve hardly seen each other since….Friday?”
She nodded, taking a sip of her drink, and letting the comforting taste of her coffee order wake her up gently. “You’re an angel, you know that?” She reached out her hands, pulling Matty back into bed to kiss him.
“Don’t think angels would do what I wanna do to you right now…” he mumbled against her lips as she kissed him.
“Oh, babe, not that I wouldn’t love to, but- I have to get ready for work soon, and- I just, I don’t think it’d be fun to rush through it-“
“Oh, of course. Yeah.” She felt his hold on her loosen immediately as he pulled away.
“Sorry! Please don’t be mad! It’s not that I don’t want to- it’s just that work has been crazy, I’ve actually been going into the office early to catch up on stuff and I don’t think the mood-“
“Hey,” he cupped her face with a gentle touch. “Listen to me, it’s okay! You don’t have to explain yourself. Alright? I understand.” He smiled at her reassuringly as she studied his face for any signs of secret resentment.
“A-are you sure?”
“Course I am, babe. Just take your breakfast with you. You can pass on this body” he pointed jokingly to his torso, “Won’t have you skipping meals for work, though…”
“You’re the best.” She gave him a quick peck before springing out of bed and into the bathroom.
Wednesday.
“Matty? Honey? You home?” She called out from the entryway, frowning at the noise in the kitchen, as she hung up her keys and kicked off her shoes. She hadn’t expected him to be home before her tonight. So, she was a bit thrown off.
“Hello, my love!” He chirped, a carefree smile on his tired, sleep-deprived face. He gave her a greeting kiss. “How was you’re day?”
She let him help her take off her coat as she gave him the highlights, “what’re you doing home so early?”
“Finally finished that song that’s been bothering us for weeks. Thought I’d call it an early night and come make us dinner.”
“Oh, yeah? That’s great news!”
“You wanna hear it? I’ve got it on my phone, actually!”
She loved being his private audience. He always played her incomplete songs and ideas for melodies whenever he had them and he respected her opinion immensely. She was always humbled and flattered by the way his eyes would watch her carefully to gauge her reaction to any new music and she loved that he actively sought out her input and took her feedback seriously.
Much of their dinner conversation was, naturally, devoted to that song and what he might do with it. They discussed their favorite parts of it, Matty told her about how he came to write it, what George had done with it, and why it took so long to “get just right.” The conversation carried on, and strayed in several different directions as they cleaned up the kitchen and settled into the living room, with her in his lap, flipping through several streaming services for something to watch before bed.
“Or, we could just-“ Matty dipped his head down to kiss her, his hands traveling to her waist. She’d missed him. His touch. His scent. The feeling of his soft lips on hers. She really wanted this. She did. But, she didn’t want it to go any further. And, it was clear by how eagerly Matty had re-positioned himself on the couch to be on top of her, that he did want to go further.
She closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply, but the anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t let her. It’s fine. This is fine. She loved Matty. And sex was fun. And they hadn’t done it in a while. So, this’d probably be good. She’s not entirely into it now, but should get herself there. Eventually. If she kept going, right? All couples compromise at some point. So, what if she wasn’t feeling it. Worst case scenario, she’d just wait for him to finish. It’ll be fine.
“Everythin’ alright, darlin’?” Matty’s voice interrupted the small whispers inside her own mind.
“Sorry, what’d you say?”
Matty gradually withdrew, sitting up straight and getting off of her to give her some space. “I was just asking if you’re okay. What’s the matter, love?”
“Oh! Nothing’s the matter. I’m fine. Why?”
“Well….you seem…distracted. Pretty sure I felt you tense up a bit. Just makin’ sure you’re okay….”
She hadn’t realized that she’d clutched onto the couch reflexively when Matty’s arms began to run over her body. He was right. She was feeling stiff.
“I- umm, yeah, I’m fine. I just- well-“ the small flutter of anxiety that that had been moving through her now settled into real panic. She had no idea what to say that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.
“Hey, what’s wrong, baby? Did I- god, have I hurt you?” Matty looked at her, concern in his eyes, he was absolutely clueless.
“No, no! Not at all- it’s not - you’ve done nothing! I promise. It’s not you-“
“Well, what is it then? You can tell me…did you- do you not want this right now?”
Her throat ran dry at his words, she felt tongue tied. Too overwhelmed to speak. Matty watched her, expecting a response. Eventually, she shook her head.
“Oh, I see. That’s okay! Why didn’t you say anything?”
They way she looked up at him with surprised and confusion utterly baffled him. Like it hadn’t even occurred to her that it was an option to simply let him know.
“Well, you know, we…umm- haven’t slept together in a while, and…yesterday, I did. When you tried, I said no, cuz I had to go to work, and stuff…so, I just figured-“
“You figured what? You’d let me have it even if you’re not into it?” Matty smiled in disbelief, shaking his head.
“Sounds silly when you put it like that.” She looked down at her feet, feeling dejected and foolish.
Matty jumped from his side of the couch over to her, pulling her into a hug, immediately. “Listen to me, and listen carefully, you are NOT obligated to give me sex. Like ever. I don’t care how long it’s been, I don’t care how many times you’ve had to say now, I don’t care if we’re right in the middle of things, and I’m standing there, lookin at you with my fuckin dick out. If, at any point, you suddenly decide, you’re not feeling it, you just say the word and we’ll stop.”
She shook her head, “but that sounds so selfish!”
“Not as selfish as me ignoring all your cues. Letting you put yourself through something so personal when you’re not enjoying it just so I can cum for the night. Does that seem fair to you? Would that be right?”
Something about the way he’d described it matter-of-factly made the decision seem like a no-brainer. But, in the moment, it didn’t feel that way at all. “Nope.”
“I never want to take advantage of you. I never want to taint our relationship. You don’t owe me anything. Just because you’ve agreed to be in this relationship with me, it doesn’t give me the right to just expect sex from you. Any time it happens between us, we both have to be into it. Meaning, every. Single. Time. We have to make it an active choice. Yeah? Besides, it’s not nearly as sexy or enjoyable for me, if you’re not into it! Do you see what I mean?”
“…yeah, I do. Thank-“
“Fuck no. Not havin’ you thank me for being, like, a normal human being. That’s the bare fuckin minimum. If anyone’s ever made you feel like that’s something you have to be grateful for, then they’re the twat, not you. And if I haven’t made that clear enough until today, then that’s a failure on my part. I’m going to fix it. Starting….well, now! May I kiss you?”
“Yes, Matty. You may.”
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specialagentlokitty · 8 months
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Mr Evershed x student!reader - the reason behind it all
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I love your writing could we have another part of the reason behind it all? Maybe Bella goes missing again and they search for her, but this time Evershed finds her with a litter of puppies who was snuggling into her fur for warmth. Fluffy ending with Reader getting a puppy, but only when she passed a big test and it's a surprise? - @anon💜
Part 5:
You had been in kinship care with Mr Evershed now for a few months, and there had been a huge increase in your grades, attendance and a slight change in your behaviour.
You were doing better.
And now you were getting ready for a huge end of year test, and you were sat at the dining table trying to revise, but instead you were tapping your pencil against the table.
“You’re supposed to be revising (Y/N).”
You flicking your pencil at him and he rolled his eyes as he picked it up.
Walking over he set it down and picked up some of your notes.
“Yeah nah I suck at this.”
He sighed and sat down, and he set your notes in front of you.
“Maybe it’s because you’re revising math when your test is English? Your math one was last week.”
“Oh…”
Mr Evershed laughed a little and he took your notes and began to organise them for you, giving you the ones you actually needed.
You began to revise with some help for him, and after a couple of hours he made you take a break for dinner, and you began to looked around for Bella.
“Where’s Bella?” You asked.
“She was laying out back, she likes it out there recently.”
You made your way to the back door and stepped outside, and you whistled a little.
“She ain’t out here Evershed!” You called.
He came outside and called for his dog, but she never came.
“Bella come on!” He called.
He watched as you explored around the back garden, looking around everything and under everything.
“Have you seen her?!”
“Hold on!”
You went to the back, moving some things aside, and you crouched down, laughing a little bit.
“Well hey puppy…”
Bella whined a little and you laughed as you heard some quiet yipping and whining.
“(Y/N)!”
Mr Evershed jogged over and he stopped behind you, kneeling down.
“No way…” he whispered.
“Yes way, your dog has mini dogs.”
“Just help me get them all inside.”
You gathered up for of the puppies, and he took two of them and Bella followed you both in curiosity.
You and Mr Evershed took them all to the vets, and after keeping them in for a night, you could take them all home.
You spent all the time with Bella and the puppies, you did have them all in the living room, but she kept moving them under the table, so that’s where you spent most of your time.
Mr Evershed crouched down in front of you, and he held up your bag.
“You have a test to get to.”
“Aw but look, puppies!”
“I know there’s puppies but we’re going to be late so come on.”
You huffed and set one of the puppies down next to Bella and you ruffled her fur a little bit before you got out from under the table.
You took your bag from the headteacher and trailed after him out of the car.
“I don’t want to do this shitty test.”
“Will you stop swearing.”
“Nah.”
He rolled his eyes at you and shook his head.
“You’ll do perfectly fine, okay? You’ve been revising.”
“Yeah but nothing staying in.”
“You’ll do fine okay?”
You looked at him and shrugged a little.
“Plus you remember what I said right?”
“You’ll get me a surprise if my grades have improved.” You grinned.
He got out of the car and ushered you into the school.
“Exactly, so go on. Get.”
You laughed a little and ran away and he went into his office.
You did you best with the test, and tried you hardest, and you were relieved when it was over.
And you had to wait for your results, so instead you decided to ditch the last week of school.
Settling for staying home and watching as the puppies grew, and Mr Evershed decided to let you have it.
You earned it after the year you had.
On the last day, the students were all given the results from the tests, and their grades for the year, and he took yours home.
“Hey trouble!” He called.
“What?”
You came wondering out if the dining room, a trail of puppies following you.
You laughed a little and sat down on the sofa, watching as they jumped up trying to reach you.
Bella came to greet her owner, and he held out a bit of paper to you.
“Go on, I’ve not opened it yet.”
You took it and opened it, and you looked at it in confusion.
“I don’t understand it, all just numbers to me.”
He chuckled a little bit and walked over to sit next to you, taking the paper from your hands to read over them.
“All passing grades.”
You jumped up and looked at him.
“No way, really?!”
“You passed every single one.”
He smiled.
You grinned from ear to ear, and you took the paper form him again, staring at it in amazement and he stood up.
“You did absolutely amazing.” He smiled.
You set the paper down and you hugged him tightly, and he chuckled, hugging you back.
“Thank you…”
“You did this all yourself.”
You pulled away and grinned, and you ran around the house cheering and celebrating and the puppies all ran after you.
Mr Evershed wouldn’t tell you what exactly it was you would get as a reward, but he said you had to wait a little while longer.
Then he began to rehome the puppies, all but two of them.
Sitting on the floor, you were playing with the two puppies while Mr Evershed was talking to his ex wife in the kitchen.
“I think the girls would like one.” He said walking through.
“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” Gaynor asked.
“Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?” He chuckled.
She crouched down to playing with one the puppies.
“That’s Bolt, he’s a little heathen and he runs like no tomorrow.” You said.
She looked up at you.
“And who’s that?” She asked.
“This is Tessa, she’s really gentle.”
You held Tessa up and Gaynor carefully picked her up and stood up, smiling as the puppy snuggled a little bit into her.
“She’s perfect.” Gaynor smiled.
“Go on, I’m sure you kids would love her.” You grinned.
“Uh huh, this isn’t just a plot to get me to keep one of the puppies nearby right?” She asked.
You grinned a little at her and after a few minutes she left to talk to Mr Evershed before she left with Tessa.
Mr Evershed walked over to you.
He picked up Bolt and you held your arms open for Bella and she happily came to sit in your lap.
“I think it’s time to give you your reward for your grades.” He smiled.
He crouched down and you looked at him with a grin.
“I know you’ve been hiding Bolt away from everybody.”
You grinned a little bit.
“He’s my favourite…”
“I know, that’s why he’s yours.”
You gasped a little bit, and reached out, carefully taking the little puppy into your arms.
“I know you love Bella, and I know how much Bella helps you, so, after some thinking, I think you should have Bolt.”
You hugged Bolt and Bella lightly, and Mr Evershed smiled softly at you.
“You did so well, I’m so proud of you.”
You looked at him, and you smiled softly.
“Thank you…”
He smiled at you, and he stood up.
“You’re doing great.”
You grinned at him, and you handed him over Bolt.
“Now we’re both your problem.”
He chuckled and stood up, sitting on the sofa he set Bolt on the floor and Bella went to join him while Bolt came to play with you
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fentyjjk · 8 months
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synopsis she by tyler the creater and frank ocean
warnings stalking, implications of murder, stabbing, blood, breaking and entering, mentions of suicide, mentions of necrophillia, jimin is irrational, everyone sucks, fast-paced plot — unedited/revised
songathon m.list
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you were new in jimin's new life. you were the exciting that covered the mundane in his life. the boring, the repetition of everyday didn’t matter. the gym, library, gym, sleep. he hated it all. he was close to ending his life. he hated it every day the same shit, but then you moved in and he saw hope. almost immediately he knew he needed you to be his, you already were, you just didn’t know it yet.
he was so excited to make a move on you, just across the street from him he’d watch you get mail each morning and feed the stray dogs, you were so kind. you had such a kind heart and paired with your beauty—he was in love.
that first day when you came to his house offering baked goods your full cheeks pulling into a smile, he could’ve sworn he loved you the first time he saw you. you were curvy with detailed stretch marks, but he didn’t care. all the more he could love.
and he was going to, love you. in his mind it was time to make a move after carefully watching you from his window. mondays you worked from morning to night which was undoubtedly stupid because the neighborhood was dangerous, that’s probably why you moved in. cheap finacial housing due to the added risk of death from gun violence or rape that was also pretty common, but once you moved into his place he’d never let you be outside by yourself again. he’d protect you and kill any man that even tried touch you. that was true love. but back to the schedule. tuesdays were slower for you from morning to afternoon then you’d come home and stay inside all day. he could always see what you were doing. you weren’t keen on keeping your blinds drawn and when he got curious he traveled along the side of your house to your bedroom window. you had just got out of the shower, you were still wet. water traveled from your hair down.. down.. your body was beautiful even your stomach that protruded he loved it. soon it’d be bigger. he’d fuck so many little kids into you. then you’d truly be his.
the second time he watched you from the window you touched yourself, your moans were faint through the window, but they were all he needed to come untouched, your body slumped against the bed as did his against the grass outside, that was when he truly noticed the hold you had on him. he needed to do something.
saturday, your free day you were off and typically went to the gym on this day every two weeks. you weren’t serious about it he could tell. jimin managed to get past your shitty security after you left and overheard you on the phone complaining about how much you hate the gym when you came back. then the conversation turned to your new neighborhood. “its good here, shelbs, everyone here is so attractive and nice, and oh my God my one neighbor i think his name is jimmie or something like that, he was mowing his grass yesterday and he has this tattoo oh god, i wanna fuck him so bad.” you laughed about something your friend said before you began undressing putting her on speaker. “you know i rarely ever see him though, its like he stays inside all day, which i don’t mind more time to fuck.” jimin would’ve never guessed you were so provocative and horny, but he knew you were talking about him. his tattoo, his buffness, you wanted him. it was mutual.
thank god.
sunday rolled around and that’s when jimin was confident enough to ask you out. he spent most of yesterday in your bathroom cabinet and then in your bedroom watching you sleep.
so it had to be sunday, he wore his best outfit—a dark blue fitted shirt and dress pants. it was around four and now you were probably laying in bed watching tv, but you weren’t paying attention to the tv you were on your phone.
he checked your house through his window first before he unlocked his door slowly pulling it open when he did he slammed it shut again. junho was at your door with flowers behind his back he knocked two times and you opened the door. you smiled upon seeing him and then wider when you saw the flowers. you threw your arms around his neck and pulled him down hugging him.. maybe it was just a kind gesture. jimin thought you’re new to the neighborhood. there's nothing wrong with being friendly—that is until you began kissing him walking backwards into the house as he grabbed your ass. jimin's eyes became cloudy as he looked at junho’s arm littered with tattoos just like jimin's.
you weren’t talking about him, he never had a chance. you wanted junho.
“FUCK!” he threw the vase of flowers he bought you at the wall, crystal snow falling as a result. he went to his room grabbing the envelope of your photos. he tore each one slowly, enjoying watching your sleeping body being torn into two. he’d burn them later on tonight.
jimin sat there for hours surrounded by shredded pictures of your sleeping body. finally he stood. since when did you like junho.. was it always that obvious? was jimin oblivious to your attraction to him? did it matter? you fucking cunt! you led him on. you knew exactly what you were doing coming to his house in those tight ass jean shorts and that tank top. you knew! you did, you had too.
and for that betrayal he’d kill you and junho.
it was only fair.
he slowly crept into your house. he pushed open your bedroom door. there you were the cover barely hid your naked body, your body was perfect, he should’ve been the one to fuck you. walking over to you he trailed the dull blade across your bare thigh you shivered. fuck. you’d look so good pregnant. carefully, he lifted the cover and his eyes widened there on your stomach was a large gash junho’s arm across your body holding a bloodied knife.
he dropped his knife stumbling backwards. what the fuck, what the fuck. he heard laughing from the floor and saw junho climb over your motionless body knife in hand. he crouched in front of him as jimin whimpered tears spilling, “you know jimin the easiest way to get to a woman is through her heart not watching her through her window, and then once you’re in you kill her.” junho clicked his tongue, “no stalking, no planning, pure violent bliss.” he smiled, “i call it romantic homicide, and she was the easiest to get to.” jimin stared at the white bedsheets as they soaked up your blood. “she was so good too, her body, her moans, God, you should’ve seen her face when i stabbed her. i never came so hard.” junho stood, turning towards you. “tell you what ill let you fuck her too,” junho waved him up with the red knife, but jimin was still his ears burning hot, “what are you not into that kind of thing? its fun after a while, the girls can't tell you to stop it's better, i swear.”
jimin covered his ears rocking this wasn’t real this couldn’t be. “you’re such a little bitch, this is why you don’t have a girlfriend.” junho scoffed rounding the bed for his boxers. “her pussy wasn’t that good anyway man calm down.” junho faced him again, catching jimin's attempt to subtly grab his knife. junho approached him again, slamming his foot down onto his hand, crushing his knuckles. “don't do that.” jimin pushed at his ankle grabbing the knife with his left and junho swung kicking him in the head.
the world spun as he fell against your closet door, “maybe it’ll be easier this way i can just blame the murder on you.” junho’s words were faint as jimin faded in and out of consciousness. the world went dark. he was surrounded by a never ending abyss somewhere in the distance a white light appeared you were in the center walking closer to him in flashes you were right in front of him you cupped his cheek, you leaned forward and you whispered, “save me.” his eyes opened junho’s back was to him as he redressed rambling about how he was going to pin your murder on jimin, he was so stupid turning his back to him.
jimin grabbed the knife and stood swinging his hand he stabbed him in the neck retracting the blade blood sprayed from the deep cut as he collapsed spraying your sheets and the walls. jimin got on your bed shaking your motionless body. “you told me to save you, get up,” he shook you harder, “please, y/n, please get up.” he sobbed. “please,” he repeated, through tears he saw your fingers twitch, “yes, yes stay with me!” he grabbed your phone unlocking the device he smeared blood over the screen as he called the police, “i need an ambulance at ******** my girlfriend is dying.” he hung up softly rocking you in his arms.
“i-im dying..” you whispered your breathing labored he shook his head as a tear landed on your cheek.
“no, you’re not, you're alive and well, you’re okay.”
“i always knew..” jimin stilled, “i knew you were in my house and outside my window.” jimin shook his head.
“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“—on my cameras,” you continued, “i never saw anyone at your house.. i know you’re lonely, but you should’ve just approached me,” you said sadly as the world began to fade, “i would’ve dated you, i would’ve pretended i didn’t know because you’re cute, but you never did.” you coughed blood onto your chest. “thank you for killing that fucker.”
“why didn’t you call the cops?” he asked as you held his hand.
“i understand that loneliness and needing something to hold onto.” jimin's head spun you knew this whole time.
“i would have killed you tonight.” you reached up stroking his cheek with your bloodied hand.
“but you didn’t.” you smiled. “goodbye, jimin.” you said as the world went black. he screamed as you passed out shaking you vigorously to no avail.
you were truly gone.
that is until you got to the hospital and they started pumping you of the blood you’d lost.
and when you awoke he was there by his side waiting for you. “hi, y/n,” he smiled.
“hi, jimin.” you smiled back reaching for his hand. “i love you.” his eyes widened.
“i love you too.”
he didn’t know you were obsessed with him too, killing every girl that attempted to steal his attention from you and when you thought he’d never actually try with you, you tried to be with junho and he tried to kill you.
this was the universe telling you that you two were meant to be.
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maddiem4 · 1 year
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I wish I understood why I just feel fuckin' bad today. Like completely worn out and shitty. I think I had too many things to do this weekend and collapsed under the weight of the list without doing much stuff.
That said, I did do some initial condo pricing research, finished Season 2 of Dead End: Paradise Park (quite good actually), and I was up late last night doing that video project. Oh, and I wrote down some card game design concepts that turned into (the skeleton of) a game. It's not nothing, but I also spent so much time today just lying down feeling bad, and it's hard to give myself whatever permission my brain needs. I'd like to someday have a life where I feel like I can take a day off without guilt or panic, and I'm just so far from there still.
It's pressing on me that I want to revise Reposado Ch. 13 before it publishes, and possibly split it into two chapters, in addition to needing to write more chapters. It's pressing on me that my best bet for moving my stuff is gonna be early November, and the process is gonna be unbearable yet necessary.
I'm so tired and my brain doesn't work. Executive dysfunction kicking my ass as usual.
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fouralignments · 2 years
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(@xmcu-fietro here, hi! :D)
For the ask game:
D: What’s the most personal fanfic you’ve written?
J:  What’s your favorite fanfic trope?  Have you written it?
R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?
D: What’s the most personal fanfic you’ve written?
It's Shabbat Shalom, its 6522 words and 13 page fic. Its the last piece that I wrote before my father died. I kid you not I was editing/ getting ready to publish it (I just needed to press the button and that's it) it at the time of my father's passing. Some truth came to light about my dad's side of the family, intergenerational trauma and all around I have shitty grandparents, specially my grandmother. Who's a contemptible person. It made me reevaluate as to why my father didn't stay in contact with his parents except on mother's day and father's day and Christmas. He was a private man and didn't talk about his childhood.
Upon reflection, I went ohh.....it made me realize things about myself. Was I talking about Charles or myself? I went oh! I want to convert to Judaism; though it maybe hard b/c money is an issue and I can't afford the $200 fee for books. I have to wait until I'm financially stable before pursuing it.
I just let the timer run out on Ao3. I didn't want to publish it for a long time and there was a point in my life, I thought I didn't want to share with anyone. It was far too personal for me to share. I still cry when I go over it.
J:  What’s your favorite fanfic trope?  Have you written it?
Give me some modern AU domestic shit still have powers. That is my shit. Yes I have written it.
In Morning's light and Love's Embrace
Again for Shabbat Shalom
I find it to be relaxing and for that point in my life. It was a return to normal and reflection of found memories of childhood.
R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?
Getting into writing and how my style got started was with Tom Clancy's Hunt for The Red October and Conn Iggulden's Emperor series The Gates of Rome and The Death of Kings. If you don't know about Tom Clancy's style logical technically detail description finally McStories Rain Dogs (a fanfic that's no longer with us, sadly). Those were the authors that I tired to emulate. But after writing like a 45 chapter TNG fic and several bad semesters at uni; I stopped writing all together and just focused on course work. I just spent a few years just reading and honing the craft. I had to get good at writing, editing, outlining, organization and just straight reading a lot of books.
I planned a few stories in the Tron: Legacy space and Class of the Titians just worldbuilding; but I never actually wrote anything except the first chapter of my Tron: Legacy story; but I was never happy with it.
One of sister's writing friends during a dinner one night said to me. We were discussing why I couldn't write was because I was developing my artist's eye. I brought Word Painting Revised Edition: The Fine Art of Writing Descriptively by Rebecca McClanahan; The Elements of Style by William Struck Jr. & E.B. White and Writing Tools: 50 Essential strategies for Every Writer by Roy Peter Clark and a few others that I studied and I had to find a system of writing/ thought process that worked for me. At my first university wasn't the right environment for me to flourish it was very much understood and expected of you that you knew how to write already; my professors left me out to dry very much as they it so vague as to what they wanted. I needed structure, I got that when I transferred to my alma mater, every semester I had one or two classes that required essays and a lot of writing practices because of my peace studies minor and general course reqs and having a great Ph.D student as my history professor;
It forced me to edit and get good at my writing until it flowed out of me. HOLY SHIT, the professors gave me good feedback.
I got into reading again, one semester I read around 15 books on topics ranging from the 1953 overthrowing of Mossadegh in Iran, Fair Food; the Working Poor; Robert O. Paxton's the Anatomy of Fascism; Populism and Nationalism by John B. Judis; The American coup in Guatemala over bananas; Pro by Katha Pollitt; Weapons of Math Destruction by Cathy O'Neil and I had a love affair with Henry A. Giroux I have about five of his books. I just was bored between classes and I just read in between them.
I believe one of the reasons why my work is so scholarly is that I actually do reference what I've been reading and for certain characters I reference certain books and writers
For Charles and his philosophy him being a professor, I believe its a good bent for his character, its Henry Giroux who leading voice in critical pedagogy that sees neoliberalism isn't just an economic model but permeates everything. Education and universities can be places of resistance aren't just places the corporations use to get educated workers.
For Erik its Hannah Arendt, who need no introduction. But one day I will read her book on The Origins of Totalitarianism. I've read some of her work called the Crisis of the Republic
En Sabah Nur its my textbook from my Middle East politics and society class called: The Modern Middle East: A History by James L. Gelvin.
I might just have go back and re-read some of theses books because my description has gotten sloppy and needs a bit of work to refresh myself
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25/30 dop~ 15/7/22 ( late post)
Today was a shitty day. ok well not completely but hear me out. first half of skl was ok and the second half, Jack in the box came out so obvi I was hyped up( equal sign<<<<). I came home and practically did nothing for an hour except for attending a class. I had too much shit to do and I felt rlly overwhelmed and anxious. With my exams in less than 10days and the debate being on mon ,I was just feeling lost and my mental health was deteriorating.(idk if that makes sense) Ig I just needed a breather. As if my day wasn't already getting worse, one of my debate mates texted and said that they CHANGED THE TOPIC. Like excuse me? Aren't u like supposed to ask my opinion too and wdym u just changed the topic without asking me? I spent 5+hrs researching and reading endless number of articles and was almost done with it and u dare to text me and say u guys changed it? Like u could've atleast told me that when we were in skl. I wasn't angry that they changed the topic it was just they've could've asked me if I was okay with changing it and like they just changed it just like that, as if I'm not a part of the team•_•
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Bcoz of this chaos, I totally forgot that I had to pick up my anxiety meds from my doc, so I had to rush tot he clinic 20mins before they closed to get em. Just revised some phy and did olevel past Yr qs and researched for the debate. I could've not given a fuck abt the debate and should've prioritised studying for exams but I had to get extra credits:[
Sotd: Arson by Jhope( yea burn it all)
26/30 dop~16/7/22
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Today was a much better day. I surprisingly woke up around 630 without my alarm and went on morn run. The weather was rlly chilly and calm. I did a deep study session for 3hrs after. Did a whole lot of physics and practiced Ray diagrams, since that's my weakest link. Had a grp call with debate mates to discuss and finalise the speakers for the debate. We're doing it in British parliament style this time ,which none of us has ever done before so we're all a bit nervous( mostly me lol) I also watched some debates that was on the topic we had and got some rlly good arguments and counterpoints. So that was it for the debate. Went for dance class later and we learnt this new piece which was sm different than the other pieces we've learnt. It's a fusion of various types of dance forms and we're gonna perform it in a upcoming event so I'm rlly excited for that!( atleast I have one thing I can look forward to after exams lmao). Came back home and did some qs on polygons and mensuration. I'm also done with her last mistake, this was the first book I've read in the Gina Harte series and I loved it. I might even check some of her other books too.
Sotd: Stargazing by The neighbourhood and STOP by Jhope
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feyariel · 1 year
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I think I'm giving myself excessive stress.
Background. The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, a friend of mine from undergrad died suddenly (and, since we still don't yet have the results from the autopsy, mysteriously.) I didn't find out until Thanksgiving. I spent the next few weeks searching high and low for funeral-worthy clothing, knowing that if I had any dress clothes that came close to fitting, they did so very poorly and looked more like I'd just come off of work at a place slightly more formal than Best Buy. This endeavor was stressful on its own: I'm poor, I'm picky, and I'm significantly overweight such that it's difficult to find clothing that fits. I managed, but it took close to the funeral.
This friend happened to be one of the few people I talked to on a regular basis -- "talked" because it was through Facebook posts. Since the pandemic (and subsequent closure of the pub where I'd go for trivia), the closure of my FLGS, and finally the dissolution of my gaming group prior to last summer, I've basically been without a social life.
X-Mess was stressful, as was much of January. Most recently, my car's engine started smoking; the shop repaired it, but now there's something else wrong that might be their fault.
So on top of all of that, I've decided to backtrack and try to pick up a gaming system I threw away in disgust for being 4e and stupidly complicated (Pathfinder 2e). And of course I'm resenting every moment of it. I don't hate Paizo; their business model isn't nearly as deplorably evil as Hasbro-WotC's and they tend to stick up for the wants of the community, even if they sometimes make a mess of things. Pathfinder 1e started out excellently: it tried to make things in 3.5 work better and it had nifty ideas; it just gradually got weirder and wonkier (especially around the time Occult Adventures came out, which signaled to us that they were going to make a second edition). I had looked through 2e when it came out and hated literally everything about it, down to the layout -- just as I had done with 4e, and in many cases because PF 2e looked like D&D 4e. So now that it looks like it might pick up 5e expats en masse, I'm just giving myself neuroses reading it.
All so I can run a blog that is already hard to run. Everyone talks about wizards on here. When they don't, it's warlocks. There's no love for sorcerers.
I'm glad this is coming back to smack WotC in the face (again), though I suspect even that was part of their ploy (anchoring bias + age of leaks = we can reveal a slightly but meaninglessly revised OGL and continue peddling our shite while killing Paizo et al; the fans will forget and/or be too new and ignorant [exposed only to our brand ubiquity] to care, especially in a few weeks when some new internet drama replaces this one).
Basically, I'm not hopeful for much good to come from this and am resentful of learning one shitty system I avoided (2e) after already having to do that once (5e). I want my 3.x back.
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mppmaraudergirl · 3 years
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Marigold Mornings (4)
chapter 4 on AO3
5 minutes late on TPT oops @petalstosarah 😬
 Presently though, they have ten more days at the beach house and James is avoiding the subject at all costs. He wakes up as usual and is about to extract himself from bed when Lily speaks.
 “Where do you think you’re going at this early hour?” 
 Before he replies, her hands are braced on his shoulders and suddenly she is pressed into his back. Her bare skin sets his aflame, breasts pushed against him as she starts kissing his neck. He shivers slightly from the sensation, eyes closing, a strange mixture of contentment and arousal within him. Her hands massage his shoulders as she works on his neck, and for a moment he wonders if she is aiming to remove the tension in his shoulders or create more. But then her hands trail down his body and land on his thighs.
 “You’re insatiable, Lily,” he tells her roughly.
 He feels her laugh. “Not true. I am certainly satiable. I simply like to be satiated often. By you.”
 “Is that right?” He hopes she can’t feel how fast his heart is now beating at her words, or at the very least hopes she attributes it to her running her hands over his thighs. “And is that what you’re looking for now? To be satiated?”
Read on AO3
Start at the beginning
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starlit-bri · 3 years
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submitted my oklahoma history paper an hour before the deadline 💃🏻
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thebluespirit83 · 3 years
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debunking pro-snape/anti-james arguments and putting it on the internet because clearly i hate myself. buckle up. this is gonna be a VERY long post. im ready for the amount of hate i will get; im willing to take one for the team. 
1. james forced lily into dating/marrying/etc him 
this literally never happened? because its almost as if lily is her own person who is able to stand up for herself-
“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” said Lily.
“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.
She turned on her heel and hurried away [from james]. 
-and so she would not allow someone to walk all over her. its almost as if james (canonically) matured as a person, and she appreciated this, realised he was a good person and got feelings for him? because james’ only negative traits were that he was conceited and a show off. people are able to mature and grow from these things! james did this! he did not ‘force’ lily to go out with him!
2. james and the other marauders bullied snape
you know what, i cant even disagree with this one. you’re right - they did bully him. but lets look a little bit at the context. 
sirius and james were both upper class, naive white rich boys. they are idiots. they were both stupid smart teenagers!! they were popular! and while this does not excuse the gross bullying snape was subject to-
Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him
Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular ... Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.
-it (unfortunately) makes sense with context. james and sirius also stopped bullying people, and even expressed discomfort/regret with the way they acted-
“I’m not proud of it,” said Sirius quickly.
“Of course he was a bit of an idiot!” said Sirius bracingly, “we were all idiots!
[sirius talking to remus] you made us feel ashamed of ourselves sometimes
A lot of people are idiots at the age of fifteen. He grew out of it.
-when they were younger! i’d also like to point out these little lines i noticed when i was finding quotes for my argument which snape stans like to ignore:
James and Snape hated each other from the moment they set eyes on each other
I mean, he [snape] never lost an opportunity to curse James
there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood
wow, look at that. the hate they felt for each other was mutual! snape also jinxed james! but oh wait - james was the one who matured! snape was the one who bullied his son twenty years later because he looked like james! 
3. snape didnt abuse the kids at hogwarts 
here’s a real argument i saw when looking through some pro-snape posts: ‘snape wasn’t an abuser, because abusers don’t let their victims retaliate, but snape did let the kids talk back to him’
what. the. fuck?! 
this is the dictionary.com definition of abuse: ‘to treat in a harmful, injurious, or offensive way’ or ‘to speak insultingly, harshly, and unjustly to or about’. i’m pretty sure snape did both of these things-
“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!”
“So,” said Snape, gripping Harry’s arm so tightly Harry’s hand was starting to feel numb.
Snape threw Harry from him with all his might.
[hermione’s teeth]  "I see no difference."
‘Idiot boy!’ snarled Snape [at neville]
-on multiple occasions. i’d also like to remind you guys that neville’s worst fear is SNAPE?! his TEACHER, a figure that is supposed to be there for emotional and educational support is his worst fear in this entire world?! above the woman who drove his parents to insanity? over failure, over his abusive grandmother, over everything? his teacher? and for the pro-snaper that used this quote-
Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically.
-to claim that it was a joke, it isn’t a joke. because when snape came out of that cupboard, he was terrified. yes, it’s an embarrassing thing to have as your boggart, but the point is is that it is. he is terrified of that man. 
4. james only joined the order because his wife was a muggleborn and he ‘had to’
this is just factually incorrect. james had been sticking up for muggleborn rights since he was in school, far before he started dating or even became friends with lily: 
“Apologize to Evans!” James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.
“I’d NEVER call you a - you-know-what!”
so this is literally not true!! plus, at least he did join the order, whatever his reasons where (which were canonically good). snape didnt join the order. snape was friends with someone who suffered discrimination in society, and instead of using his privilege to help her and support her, he joined a group that was set on murdering people like her. when james had a friend who underwent oppression (remus/lycanthropy) you know what he did? he illegally became an animagus. 
5. snape had to be a death eater to survive at hogwarts as he roomed with blood supremacists
this is the shittiest excuse i have ever seen in my entire life. as a poc, this comment really reminds me of the argument ‘i was raised in a racist white household! i cant control my beliefs!’
you can always control your beliefs. i understand not going on big rants about blood inequality in front of a bunch of supremacists, and i understand wanting to blend and fit in (especially because he was unpopular and needed the support the slytherin boys provided), but i will never understand then becoming an active member of the group yourself. he got the dark mark. he helped voldemort. he was a death eater, and a proud one at that! no-one forced him to join. this argument literally makes my blood boil. 
6. snape had a lot of trauma from being raised in an abusive household
okay? so did sirius. so did neville. luna was bullied at school, just like snape. harry lived in an abusive household. did any of those people bully children? did any of those people join a blood supremacist group? and dont get me wrong, im not calling any of these people perfect - they all had a lot of flaws - but none of them hurt another people to the extreme that snape did. 
7. snape saved the trio’s lives many times
this is the absolute bare minimum. ‘oh wow, he didnt let harry die!! what a king! he should be respected and praised! we should excuse all of his other actions because he didnt let people die <3′ 
8. snape is not a perfect person, he also did good that many people overlook
you’re right, snape did do some good things in his life. but unfortunately, for me and many others, doing a couple of good things doesnt excuse all of the shitty, abusive things he did too. we’re not ignoring them - we just dont think they’re good enough reasons to forgive him. 
‘but james and sirius hurt others! you ignore all the bad things they did in favour of the good!’ you do the same thing with snape, first of all. second, they did a lot of good stuff. james’ and sirius’ only crimes were being annoying. for being a bit of a dick, conceited, knew they were hot and were a bit entitled. while these things are annoying as fuck, they were also stupid teens that eventually grew out of their behaviour and became better people. not perfect! better. while snape just stayed bitter at the marauders, long after their deaths, and even took his anger out on an innocent child. 
9. people only hate snape because he was poc and queer coded
as a poc and queer person, please stop. this is a very bad excuse. being poc and queer (which im pretty sure he isnt, but anyway) doesnt excuse you from your actions. plus, a huge amount of harry potter readers are poc and lgbtq. why would they hate snape for those reasons?! 
so thats all i got for today. im not gonna go into a deep snily/jily thing because i literally cannot be bothered. anyway im done. i need to go revise, i’ve already spent long enough on this. 
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bakugohoex · 3 years
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hii !! idk if you've done this but uh what about a reader who has toga's body transformation quirk,, and uses it to transform into someone from the bakusquad to get info out of katsuki (like to see if he has a crush on them) ?? idk it sounds fun hehe
“you really think i wouldn’t recognise you”
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pairing: katsuki bakugo x female reader
cw: language, kissing and fluff
word count: 1200+
a/n: hi i hoped you liked it and this is the first ever time i’ve done a transformation quirk (i was about to right kink whoops) but yeah hope you enjoyed it as much as i did writing it
summary: in which you have a transformation quirk and whilst trying to find information from bakugo about his crush, he reveals his love for you but most importantly how easily he could see past your quirk
↞ back to my hero academia masterlist
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Mina had stopped by your room after having a long revision session with Denki. You knew the instant she said Denki and revising in the same sentence that they got nothing done and she wanted to instead gossip with you.
You had been watching some anime already having revised for the day but had had to pause it due her barging in. She collapsed on your bed and began to vent about life and the hero course. Before speaking about something that caught your ear.
“Wait what?” You closed your laptop, the hoodie you wore encasing your frame.
She looked up confused already having forgotten what she said but remembered at how you had gone wide eyed, “Bakugo, i over heard him talk about some girl he liked.”
Your heart ached; in an instant your head went through all the girls Bakugo even talked to. You hadn’t seen him talk to anybody but Mina, yourself and Ururaka but even then, he only remembered your name.
Or was it someone he used to know in middle school. “stop worrying about it, you could always use your quirk and become Kirishima or someone to find out who it is.”
“But then I’ll feel bad.” It was a low whisper, but she raised an eyebrow at you glum look.
“Go, I’ll distract Kirishima.” She got up walking out the door and you knew that you now had to do this.
You followed in suite, thinking of justifications if he ever found out. You could always just say it was an accident but hell who would believe that.
Having always crushed on the boy, who wouldn’t with his flashy quirk, his looks and even with his personality you could see something more through the anger that made you fall for him.
You saw Mina talking to Kirishima, a sly wink on her part. Grazing past him you accidentally touched his arm, he hadn’t noticed but, in an instant, passing the window.
You had become an exact copy of the boy, his quirk and all. You have never transformed into Kirishima or a male for the matter, it felt weird with a dick, but you tried to forget it was there.
You wanted to try the quirk but knew you had little time. Seeing Bakugo sit on the couch, arms sprawled out as if he owned the place. His legs were inviting, and you wished to just place your pretty self on his thighs.
You sat across from him, “where the fuck’s the drinks?”
“We ran out.” You lied easily, he scowled chucking the empty can into the bin as he grumbled. “Back to what you were saying before, about your crush.”
“It’s not a crush.” It was a growl, and he could sense something off, you had sat down eager to hear more even though five minutes ago the real Kirishima had just said to confess and left to get drinks. “She’s just in my head.”
You tilted your head another movement Bakugo had never seen Kirishima do so unironically. “Who was it again? I seemed to have forgotten.”
“I never told you who it was in the first place.” It was another grumble but Bakugo acknowledge he wasn’t talking to Kirishima.
The only person he knew he could be talking to was his crush herself. He smirked looking at the red haired, “didn’t you say you snuck into Y/n’s room last night.”
“What?” You shouted which gave him more evidence that you weren’t who you said you were. You regained your composure, “i mean, no i don’t remember saying that.”
“Oh it must’ve been shitty Denki then.” He paused looking at his alleged friend, “she probably enjoyed spending time with him, she could’ve spent time with me instead.”
“Why would she want to spend time with you?” Your eyeline moved to his arms and veins that were rigid and rough and all on show.
“I can’t get her out of my mind.” In those words everything clicked it was a confession but the way he looked at you in his best friends body it was something else. “She’s got a shitty quirk too.”
Anger pierced through you at the last comment, “you don’t need to be such a twat.”
“Me, a twat, come on Y/n.” He had a smirk plastering his face, “you really think i wouldn’t recognise you.”
You signed undoing the quirk and making you transform back into the hoodie and face. “It was an accident.”
He scoffed, “come here.” It was a command which you obliged to ease the tension. Instead of sitting beside the boy, he grabbed your hips putting you onto his thighs that you had ogled at in Kirishima’s body. “That’s a shitty excuse, if you wanted to know that i liked you, i was going to ask you out anyway.”
“I didn’t.” You didn’t meet his eyes sitting on his thigh you could see the imprint of his cock through the grey joggers.
“So you don’t want to go out tonight, maybe I’ll ask ro...”
You interrupted the boy, “don’t.”
It was almost a plea to not say something like that, to not disregard you. “I wouldn’t.” It was a calming tone, and his hand was on your back. “Your quirk would’ve worked if you knew how to speak like Kirishima.”
“I’ll have to spend more time with him to learn how to get your secrets.”
“You could always spend that time with me.” He grumbled.
You finally met his eyesight; his piercing red eyes were enchanting, and it felt like being fed an eternal hope. “I would like that.”
“It wasn’t up for debate shitty woman.” You smile at the loud boy, bringing your hand to his cheek. It was soft against your palms and he sort comfort in it.
Even with his callous nature he was comforted and less insensitive to you. He turned his face to kiss your palm and, in an instant, grabbed a hold of your waist making you turn to face him directly.
His arms underneath the hoodie as you felt the shock of his quirk hit your sides. He captured your lips as your hands went into his hair a soft moan erupting from your mouth. His tongue moved at the third moan moving along with your own tongue. It was fast and almost erotic but pleasurable that it made you feel in paradise.
He bit at your bottom lip whilst letting go, feeling how numb it had gotten between his teeth. Your forehead leant against his own, feeling love come from both ends. “Kirishima was right.” He spoke aloud.
“What?” You questioned.
He looked into your eyes bringing you closer onto his thighs, “he said I’d get a kiss from you if i asked you out.”
You rolled your eyes before laughing at the boy, “they’ll be a lot more.”
“I don’t expect anything less.” He smirks tilting his head to go in for another kiss.
Mina and Kirishima had heard it all and even if Kirishima was annoyed you had transformed into him he was more annoyed at seeing himself and how he looked. Complaining about his hair and clothes, Mina laughed at the boy smirking at the relationship she had helped to form.
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i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x
if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx
@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @missmultifangirl @tvwhoresblog @kuroos-world @chrrylevi @ukaisgratefulwhore @answer-the-sirens 
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Text
Paloma, Part II
Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II
Word count: 8900+
Rating: explicit, 18+ only
Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)
Warnings: “plot bloat” (trying to get Paloma where she needs to go); fully legal age gap; curse words; alcohol; Whiskey acting like a bastard; a little sprinkling of angst; open-mouth kissing; protected P/V sex; some extra-soft!Frankie
On your third Monday at Statesman New York you led a planning meeting that should have been easy. Jack Daniels made it anything but.
The worst part was that you hadn't even been properly introduced yet. Where Champ had rolled out the red carpet for you at Louisville HQ, Whiskey was a phantom, too busy to meet with you during your first couple of weeks. That made what happened in the meeting even more humiliating.
You started by outlining the research that your team had gathered, the analysis that they had carefully done, and presented the options and outcomes. When you were done, Whiskey threw his copy of your report down on the table and said, "That's horseshit."
You felt your face heat with embarrassment, but you tried to hold your ground. "Excuse me?"
Jack waved his fingers dismissively, "That's alright, I'll excuse you. This isn't the kind of work I expected from our new 'hotshot' team lead. Why isn't there information about the facilities we'll be targeting?"
"There are no 'facilities' at this location, Agent. It's a one-and-done for a drop and extract. There's nothing to raid, nothing to seize, and nothing to see."
"Really?" He arched one eyebrow at you and rubbed his thumb over his lower lip. The sheer cockiness of it made you burn with irritation. "So how come the information we got last Friday tells us that there's a production facility the next block over? You really gonna send our agents halfway around the world without botherin' to target the facility next door?"
You froze. Was he correct? That didn't seem possible. How had your team missed that? You held his gaze with as much assertiveness as you could muster, trying to match his attitude so that you wouldn't appear to be weak. "I don't have information about any facilities."
He cracked a smirk, "Well then, you're not very good at your job, are you darlin'?"
You swallowed hard and tried not to let tears rise. How dare he talk down to you? What the hell was his problem? Another agent spoke up, saying that if new information had come in recently, then you could review it and reconvene later to discuss its impact. The meeting disbanded.
You felt like you had been sucker-punched, and you weren't sure if you wanted to flee to your office, or sit gripping the edge of the table and glare Whiskey down. You opted to stay, waiting for everyone else to file out. Finally it was just you and Whiskey left, sitting at the big conference table and having some kind of a stubborn staring contest. This was not how you wanted to start your new job.
"What the fuck is your problem with me?" You gritted the question out and held his gaze. You knew that cursing at a senior agent, not to mention the one who was the face of Statesman Whiskey and de facto head of the New York office, probably wasn't the wisest way to start your tenure... but neither was backing down and letting him roll right over you.
"Nothin' personal, darlin', but I can't let you give my agents incorrect or missing information. Your team should have known about the facilities at this location."
"It sure felt personal, Agent Whiskey. If you have a problem with my work, you take it up with me privately. I don't mind admitting when I've made a mistake, but it's shitty to treat people like that in front of others." You glared at him, trying to look as fierce as you could.
He finally looked away from you, and muttered something that might have been an apology.
"What's that, Agent Whiskey? I didn't quite hear you."
"I said, 'I'm sorry.' You're right. That was unfair of me."
Before you could stop yourself, you found acid on your tongue. "Well, well, the great Agent Whiskey lowers himself to apologize. No wonder you flash that charm at everything on two legs. Your manners can't stand on their own, can they?"
If you hadn't been so focused on gathering up your paperwork, you would have seen a flicker of hurt cross his face. Instead you stomped out of the conference room and thanked the stars that you hadn't cried. By the time you got back to your office, a cold ball of regret was starting to form just below your ribs. You prided yourself on being able to work effectively with everyone, and you were extremely proud of your track record at Statesman so far. Why hadn't you been less confrontational, or tried to smooth things over? Why had you jumped straight to a pissing contest?
---
"God, what an asshole!"
"I told you, he's kind of a lot to take." Ginger's voice on the other end of the phone came through calm and sweet, as she always was.
You spun your chair to lean back and stare up at the ceiling of your office, trying to keep tears from forming. "Ugh, he's such a colossal jackass. I cannot believe he tried to undermine me like that in the meeting. I could have strangled him!"
"Just stay out of his way as much as you can. I'm sure he'll calm down once he sees what kind of work your team produces. You're doing great."
"Yeah, well... not so great actually. It turns out he was right. There was a report on a facility that came through very late on Friday, and one of my analysts went home sick, so I didn't get it in time for the meeting. That's the worst part: he was right, the bastard."
"Oh, Paloma. I'm so sorry. I'm sure that stung."
You let out a deep sigh. "I'll be okay. I just hope I get the chance to catch him making a mistake, and then I'll shove it in his stupid face. Make him lap it up with that ridiculous mustache of his."
Ginger giggled. "As much as I'd like to imagine that with you, I gotta run. Call me later? I miss you!"
"I miss you, too. 'Bye."
You hung up and spun your chair around, coming face to face with the sight of Agent Whiskey leaning in your office doorway. His arms were crossed casually, one foot propped over the other, looking like he could stand there all day. Your stomach leapt into your throat and then dropped down to your shoes. How much had he heard?
"Oh, kill me now," you breathed.
"Not just yet, darlin’. We have work to do." He popped up from his perch in the doorway and took a seat in one of your visitors chairs.
"How can I help you?" You kept your tone respectful, although it verged on frosty.
"Well, we need to revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence. Then we need to have a talk about civility."
You arched an eyebrow. "Oh, civility? I see. What kind of ‘civility’ did you have in mind, Agent Whiskey?"
"Well, for one, you can call me Jack. And for two, I was comin’ down here to apologize again, but apparently there's something you'd like to shove in my face and have me lap up with my ridiculous mustache?" He twitched one eyebrow up, looking smug and amused by the double entendre.
You closed your eyes and suppressed a groan. Maybe this was a hallucination and you were still in bed at home. Or maybe you hadn't actually left Louisville. You cracked one eyelid open, finding Whiskey’s deep brown eyes still on you. You decided to try to be the bigger person and smooth things over.
"I'm sorry. I was venting to a friend, and obviously that wasn't intended for your ears."
"Well now, I’m a big boy. I've heard worse and survived."
"I apologize. I let myself get irritated by your behavior in the meeting. It wasn't professional, and it won't happen again."
"Well, for my part, if I think you've made an error, I'll be sure to talk with you privately instead of calling you out in front of the team. Deal?" He stuck one broad, well-manicured hand out to shake.
You reached your own out somewhat reluctantly, then warmed to it, feeling how large and soft his hand was when it wrapped around your fingers. "Deal."
He gave your hand one final squeeze. An involuntary tingle ran up your arm, and you found yourself wondering whether he was as talented with his hands as he was smart with his mouth. Oh god, what was wrong with you?
You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away, trying not to jerk it back like he’d burned you.
“I’ll, um, I’ll have my team revise the mission plan to include the new intelligence, and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow. Sound good?”
“Sounds fine, darlin’.” He winked at you and you felt something flutter just below your navel.
---
Despite the conciliatory conversation with Whiskey, you still felt awkward and hurt, not to mention confused by some of the warmer feelings that had popped up uninvited. You spent the next six weeks trying to fly low and avoid Whiskey. You sent your senior analyst as your replacement for every meeting that you possibly could, and when you did have to attend them you timed your entrances and exits so that you wouldn't be in the conference room any longer than necessary. You transferred reports to Whiskey's office electronically, and when a hand-delivery was required you sent whoever happened to be closest to you. It worked great. You hadn't said more than "hello" and "goodbye" to Whiskey in so long, you were starting to feel like maybe you had escaped the awkwardness, the horrific start to your time in New York. It felt like a bad dream from another era.
One late Thursday afternoon, your plan fell apart. You got a request from Whiskey's assistant for a hard-copy file, and the entire office suite was empty. Each of your team members was off doing other things or had left early. You avoided it as long as you could, running to the ladies room to pee and then lingering in the hallway outside your office, just in case someone from your staff came back. After 10 long minutes you realized that you were "it" and that nobody was going to come save you. You sighed and trudged to the elevator. It seemed to move too quickly, depositing you at Whiskey's floor in no time flat.
As you rounded the corner you saw that Whiskey's assistant was gathering her things to leave for the day. After one too many disasters with "pretty young things," Champ had put his foot down and assigned someone to Whiskey who would keep him on the straight and narrow. Mary was what you called a "motherly hard-ass," while Ginger called her a “saint.” Mary had worked for Statesman almost as long as Champ, and she knew her stuff inside and out. Most importantly, she was completely immune to Whiskey's flirtations. He had tried once or twice to charm her, but after finding that her warm exterior concealed a brick wall of professionalism and a razor-sharp wit, he had relented.
"Hi Mary!" You kept your voice cheerful and light, trying to hide the twisting in your gut. "Here's the file he requested."
"Hi Paloma, you can go on in." Mary smiled wryly, "He actually asked to see you if you showed up. Sorry, kiddo, you're a lamb to the slaughter." She patted your back in sympathy.
Your shoulders slumped, "Ugh." Just as you were about to air your disgust in stronger words, Whiskey's door opened.
"Paloma! Glad to see you, darlin'. Come on in."
You shot Mary one last look, pleading for reprieve. She patted your shoulder and bid Whiskey a good night.
You forced your legs to move, and when you got inside Whiskey's office you perched on the edge of the sofa in the visitors area. Whiskey preferred to entertain visitors away from his desk, so he had a cozy corner of the office set up with two large chairs, a coffee table, and a black leather sofa that seemed to take up half the room.
You tossed the file on the table and spoke in a monotone that bordered on rude. "Brought you the file. Need anything else?"
Whiskey gestured to the bar cart. "Can I get you a drink, darlin'?"
"No." You shook your head. "But thank you."
Whiskey shrugged and poured himself something amber in a small glass. You couldn't take your eyes off his hands as they deftly maneuvered around the glassware and ice bucket. They reminded you a little of Frankie's hands: strong and thick, sure and precise in their movements. But where Frankie's hands were warm, work-worn and calloused, Whiskey's were primped and clean, just as manicured as his sharply tailored suits and slick mustache. You bit the inside of your lip to bring yourself back to reality before your brain could wander any farther down the path of what Whiskey's hands could do.
You focused your gaze on the file on the coffee table and waited. Whiskey settled himself into the big chair closest to your end of the couch.
"Paloma, darlin'. Thanks for coming up."
You cringed internally and tried to screw up the courage to ask him to just call you Paloma. The nickname of "darlin'" was starting to grate. For a moment you weren't sure if it was because you found it unprofessional or because you wanted to hear it more. Shit. What was wrong with you?
"What can I do for you, Agent Whiskey?"
"Please, call me Jack."
"What can I do for you?" You refused to give in, drawing your mental line in the sand. You could have a whole conversation with him without calling him Jack, couldn't you?
"Well now, I was hoping we could finally chat a bit - outside of a meeting, that is. You've been here almost two months and I'm sorry that I haven't taken the time to get to know you better." He winked.
You suppressed an eye roll and pursed your lips. "What would you like to know?"
You weren't going to make this easy for him, you decided. If he wanted information beyond your resume, or even a friendly conversation, he would have to work for it. You weren't simply going to open up like a flower under the sunshine of his charm.
"Well, I understand you're from Louisville. Beautiful place." He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to close the space between you.
"Yes." You scooted all the way to the back of the sofa and crossed your arms, somewhat amused at the difficulty you were giving him. He hadn't expressed any displeasure yet, but you were certain that he was going to get frustrated sooner or later.
"Well, darlin' I had no idea that we were growin' them so smart down there, not to mention so pretty. If I'd known, I would have lured you up here to the big city a lot sooner." He looked like he was about to wink again, or try to devour you.
"Is that so?" God, he was really buttering you up, wasn't he? You crossed one leg over the other, keeping your arms crossed over your chest for good measure.
"Yes, it is. I was awfully impressed by your analysis on the Rex Smith case ‘bout a year ago. I had no clue there were that many shell companies in the mix. I would've thought three, maybe four, tops. But you found thirteen!"
Your jaw dropped a little at that. Not only had he seen your work on your first case as Assistant Director in Louisville, but he had reviewed the case file thoroughly, remembered such a tiny detail, and was also giving you credit? You were starting to think that you had underestimated Agent Whiskey. His charm and sass were legendary, but you now realized that those traits didn’t indicate anything missing in the brains department.
He smirked at your reaction and teased you gently. "Better watch that mouth, darlin'. You're liable to catch a few flies if you don't close it."
Goddamn him. You closed your mouth and tried not to sulk. You didn't like making mistakes, especially not such idiotic ones. If you weren't careful, he was going to knock you on your ass.
"Can I get you that drink now, darlin'?"
"No, thank you. I need to get going." You uncrossed your legs and stood up. Whiskey stood at the same time, and you found yourself entirely too close to him, your bodies just inches apart as you tried to negotiate your exit from the seating area. Something warm that smelled like cedar and smoky bourbon was emanating off of him, and you were certain it was from the expensive side of the cologne department. His coffee-brown eyes held yours, and you caught yourself staring at him while your brain sent you panicky messages to, “Move! Speak! Leave!”
Whiskey let the moment hang, seeming to enjoy every second that passed like torture for you. His eyes were twinkling so hard you thought you saw sparks. You heard yourself exhale a breath that was far more shaky than you would have preferred. He put his hand out to shake yours, and you found yourself imagining what would happen if you bypassed the polite gesture and wrapped your arms and legs around him, knocked him to the floor and kissed that stupid mustache right off his face.
Instead, you reached out to shake his hand and accidentally brushed the front of his hip, just an inch from his crotch.
"Oh my GOD! That was an accident. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!" You scrunched your eyes closed and buried your face in your hands. Mortification consumed you as you heard Whiskey guffaw. You felt like you were going to die of embarrassment, and you were pissed off that it wasn't a real possibility. Death would have been extremely welcome.
Whiskey put his hands on your shoulders and squeezed. His laughter died down to a soft wheeze. "Hey, look at me."
You dared a glance through your fingers. His eyes twinkled and his white teeth still showed in a wide smile. "I'm sorry I laughed, I know it was an accident. You weren't trying to take advantage."
You moaned and Whiskey chuckled again. "It's alright, darlin'. You didn't break anything."
“Argh! I’m so sorry. That’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done.”
“It’s okay, I didn’t think anything of it.” He pulled you gently toward him, and you did something you never imagined possible: you let him wrap you into a hug.
“I’ll forget it if you will, darlin’.” His deep voice rumbled against your body and you felt yourself melting a little. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.
You sniffed and pulled back. Whiskey let you go, but kept one hand on your elbow. He looked at you warmly and smiled. “Really, darlin’. Don’t think anything of it.”
You found yourself staring into his dark brown eyes, warm and shiny with humor. The mood shifted almost imperceptibly, turning him magnetic. Something in you snapped and you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.
Whiskey hummed a surprised noise against your lips for a moment, then opened his mouth to let you in. His mustache was softer than it looked, and hardly tickled at all as you wrestled each other for satisfaction. You found yourself tumbling down to the couch. Whiskey lay over you with one strong arm wrapped around your lower back, keeping you pressed close against him. His lips and tongue were eager and searching, and you responded in kind, nibbling his plush lower lip and flicking your tongue across the back of his top teeth. The taste of his liquor intermingled with the scent of his cologne, and it sent your senses reeling. He tasted and smelled and felt so good, and you wanted to stay there and drink him in forever.
Your lips parted from Whiskey’s and you took a gulp of air, looking into his brown-black eyes above you. The inrush of oxygen kicked your brain into gear and you felt cold; both from the absence of Whiskey's mouth on yours and from the dose of harsh reality that washed over you. This was wrong... wasn't it? As good as it felt, it wasn't right to make out with the boss in his office, after hours, on a couch for God's sake. What the hell were you thinking?
"Oh, shit!" You shoved Whiskey's shoulders up and away, rolling him toward the back of the couch as you slithered out from underneath him. You landed on the floor, then crouched and stood up. Whiskey shifted on the sofa, turning to lay face up on the plush leather and folding his arms behind his head. His grin hovered somewhere between 'Cheshire cat' and 'kid let loose in a candy store.' You groaned at the sight while irritation and the desire to flop back down on top of him fought equally within you.
"Well now, darlin'. You need to be off somewhere?"
"Yes. This was not a good idea." You waved your hands in front of you as if you were trying to erase a blackboard. "I think I need to leave."
"Feel free to come back anytime, darlin'. I'll be right here."
You took three swift steps toward the door and then spun to face him. "I need you to stop calling me 'darlin''. My name here is Paloma."
He cocked one eyebrow at you as you continued. "And another thing, Agent Whiskey: this never happened."
Before he could respond you yanked his office door open and jogged to the elevator. What the hell was wrong with you?
---
"Ginger, you have got to help me. I don't know what's wrong with me." You shuddered out a breath as you kicked your shoes off and sat down at your kitchen table. At your elbow was the biggest drink you could pour without causing a hangover.
"Are you okay? What happened?"
You gulped. "I kissed him."
"What?! Why?"
"I don't know! I just... I was in his office and he was standing really close to me and then I went to go shake his hand but I accidentally touched his crotch and..." you trailed off as Ginger laughed. "It's not funny, it's embarrassing!"
She giggled at you. "That sounds kind of funny. You'll laugh about it later."
"I won't. I wanted to die of embarrassment, but then he was so nice about it and he was looking at me softly and I just- I kissed him! What the hell is wrong with me?"
"Try not to worry too much. You're not the first lady to make that mistake and you won't be the last. He'll forget about you as soon as someone else catches his eye.”
"Yeah, I know." You weren't sure if being one in a long string of women made you feel better or worse.
"… although it does seem like you have a ‘type’ now.”
“What?!”
“Well he is tall, dark, and handsome. If he weren’t such a jackass I’d say he reminds me of Frankie.”
“Oh, hell no. That is not a fair comparison. They’re nothing alike.”
“You’re right, Frankie was a gem. Listen, just avoid Whiskey and keep your eyes on your work. He'll forget about you and it'll be like it never happened. And as irritating as he is, I know he's not a gossip. Don't worry, this won't get around."
You threw back your head and let out a long breath. "Okay. You're right. All I have to do is my job."
"That's right. And you're really good at your job, Pal. Don't let this derail you, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, Gin. I appreciate it."
"No problem. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to tell you that I’ll be coming to New York next week. I have to do some training with, uh, a consultant. And when I’m done we can have a girl’s dinner out, okay? Just try to have a good weekend."
"Thanks, I will. You too."
You sighed and finished your drink. The idea of calling in sick tomorrow floated up, and you seriously considered it. But you had already spent six weeks avoiding Whiskey, and your integrity wouldn’t let you call out without a good reason. You could make it one day until the weekend, right?
---
You awoke Friday morning with a pounding headache and a cotton-dry mouth. You were dreading going to work, but duty called. You showered and dressed as slow as you dared, and found yourself dragging into the office only 15 minutes late. Fortunately, there was enough work to keep you distracted, and at your 10:00 department heads meeting you found out that Whiskey was out of the office for the day. Relief washed over you, and you suddenly felt lighter. You could survive until the weekend without worrying.
The rest of your day was uneventful until around 4:00, when an assistant brought you a vase of fresh flowers that had been delivered to reception. You frowned and looked for a card. The arrangement was beautiful, featuring dark yellow daisy-shaped flowers with fuzzy chocolate brown centers, and pinky-purple blooms shaped like bottle brushes. Both types looked oddly familiar. You leaned closer to examine them as your brain twisted in confusion. Were those...? No way... orange coneflowers and dense blazing stars? Who the heck would send you an arrangement of Kentucky wildflowers? Mom? It wasn't your birthday yet.
You felt an icy ball of lead punch you in the stomach as you opened the notecard: "Even though nothing happened, I had a hell of a time. Hope to see you again. -Jack"
That motherfucker.
Just as you were about to sweep the flowers into the trash, there was a heavy knock on your doorway. You looked up, and your emotions spun from anger to elation so fast you almost threw up. Frankie stood in your doorway, looking soft and rumpled in a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his sweet curls escaping the same well-loved baseball cap he always wore.
"Frankie!?" You leapt out of your chair and practically ran to him. He swept you up in a bear hug and pulled you six inches off the ground. "Oh my God, Frankie, I'm so glad to see you!"
"Hey, Paloma. I missed you. How's the big promotion? They make you head of the New York office yet?" His deep voice rumbled into your ear softly, and you laughed with joy. You never wanted to let go.
Frankie set you down and broke the embrace, and you immediately grabbed his hand and guided him to one of your visitors chairs. You took a seat in the chair next to him, turning it to face him and get as close as you dared without looking too desperate.
"Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?"
"I'm doing a quick consulting job for Statesman, helping Ginger train a few folks for an extraction. I have to work on the project Monday and Tuesday, and then I'll be in town until Saturday as a tourist. I took the whole week off, so I don't need to be back in Florida until next Sunday." He smiled broadly at you.
You felt your own face split into a wide grin. "Do you need a tour guide? I've been here two whole months. I can show you my favorite coffee shop and we could go to a few museums."
He smiled warmly back at you, and you felt like you had been wrapped in the world's softest blanket. "I'd like that. Statesman gave me an apartment for the week. Should be close by, if you don't mind showing me where it is?" He pulled a slip of paper out of his wallet and read the address.
You threw your head back and cackled.
"What's so funny?"
"That's my apartment! Statesman owns a few units in the same building." You grabbed the piece of paper from his hand to read the apartment number. "You're literally one floor below me for the week."
He grinned. "Well, shit. If I'd known that, I would’ve just told them to let me bunk with you."
You frowned and handed the paper back. "Wouldn't your girlfriend be upset with that?"
Frankie looked down at his shoes. "She's, uh, not my girlfriend anymore. We broke up."
"Oh, Catfish. I'm so sorry." You reached out to squeeze his forearm, and the feel of his warm skin over ropey muscles made you tingle. You vividly remembered how much you used to love grabbing those forearms as he pounded into you, how good they felt wrapped around you in the shower, how strong and safe Frankie felt at all times. You pulled your hand back and cleared your throat.
Frankie stood. "Listen, I gotta take care of a few things this afternoon, but can we go to dinner later? Nothing fancy, if you know anyplace I can go dressed like this," he gestured to his worn jeans and work boots.
"Unless, uh,” he pointed to the flowers on your desk. “Is there a boyfriend who would be mad if I took you out?"
You stood and smiled, biting your lip. "No. There’s no boyfriend, and I'd love to go to dinner. I'll come down to your apartment and pick you up at 7:00? 7:30?"
"Seven is perfect." He hugged you, and the smell of him spun you right back to Louisville. Frankie smelled like clean cotton and hard work, with a faint whiff of mechanic's grease just under the scent of his laundry soap and Old Spice deodorant. You used to tease Frankie about his habit of buying the same deodorant that he’d been using since junior high, but he always swatted you away with a, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Now the scent of it made you want to buy every package in the world and always have the smell around you.
When you broke the embrace it was so hard to let go, to not lean in for a kiss like you used to. He seemed to feel it, too, lingering just a moment longer with his arms wrapped around you and smiling wistfully as you finally pulled apart. You wanted to stay in his arms for hours, maybe even stow away on his flight back to Florida.
“I’ll see you at seven, Paloma.”
You felt your goofy grin reappear. “Okay. I’m so glad you’re here, Catfish.”
---
The hours until dinner crawled, and you spent more time than you thought wise trying to get ready. You showered and put on your nicest outfit, which was really just the all-black, most-recently-purchased version of your normal work clothes. Your job at Statesman didn’t call for anything very dressy, so you hadn’t expanded your wardrobe beyond work staples. Still, you spent entirely too long arranging your hair, sweeping it one way and then the other, trying to figure out what jewelry to wear, and then changing your hair again for the third time. You were contemplating another shoe change when your phone alarm went off, warning you that it was five minutes to 7:00. Oh, well, too late to change anything now. You brushed your teeth frantically and hoped Frankie wouldn’t care.
You floated down the stairwell and found yourself grinning idiotically as you rapped at Frankie’s door. He opened it looking exactly the same as he had at 4:00 that afternoon, and you chastised yourself internally for trying to dress up. Your irritation turned to pride, however, when Frankie looked you up and down with a low whistle.
“Jeez, Paloma, you look fantastic. Should I change?” He looked worried.
“No, you look fine! We’re not going anywhere fancy, I promise. I don’t know why I changed clothes, it was silly.”
“No, you look amazing.” He opened his arms for a hug. You felt warmth rush to your face as you leaned in. Frankie was always so eager to please and to compliment you, to make you feel good. You had missed him so much.
The walk to dinner was easy, conversation bouncing between the two of you as you made your way to the restaurant. Frankie filled you in on everything going on in Florida, about his friends and his parents and his job. You spoke enthusiastically about your new position and how much you loved New York. You decided not to share information about either one of your run-ins with Agent Whiskey.
Dinner passed in a swirl of giggles and wine and good food. Frankie made you laugh so hard you almost choked twice, and before you knew it, nearly three hours had passed.
“Frankie, I think the restaurant is going to kick us out if we don’t scoot soon. Do you want to go walk around a little bit?”
He drained his water glass and nodded. “Yeah, where to?”
“We can window shop down the street, and there’s a cute little park nearby.” You arched one eyebrow at him, “Wanna go play on the swings?”
He laughed and nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.”
You fought Frankie for the bill before letting him win. “Okay, but the next one is on me, Catfish.”
When you emerged into the summer night, you both took a deep breath, trying to clear your heads of the alcohol haze. You weren’t drunk, just pleasantly buzzed and a little silly. Without thinking, you tucked your arm into Frankie’s and snuggled yourself against him as you wandered along. Store windows were lit up against the dark, and you stopped here and there to look and giggle at displays.
You paused in front of an antique store. The window behind the bars was lined in red velvet, and on each of the little red display pillows sat a piece of vintage jewelry.
You were quietly gazing at an enamel bracelet and a sparkly tiara when Frankie’s voice broke the silence.
“You ever want one of those?”
“A tiara? No. I mean, it might be fun for a hot bubble bath, but I can’t exactly wear it to work.”
“No,” he nudged your arm and tilted his chin toward the far left side of the store window. “An engagement ring.”
You froze and suddenly couldn’t breathe. Your eyes shifted to a sparkly, square-cut sapphire ring sitting on the smallest pillow. You couldn’t form rational thoughts, and you weren’t sure exactly what kind of answer Frankie was expecting.
“I mean- uh, I guess I never thought about it. I haven’t seen anyone since we-” you swallowed hard. “I’ve been single since we broke up.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and when he didn’t respond right away you found yourself filling the silence with nervous chatter. “I mean, I tried dating but it never went past a second date, and I don’t know anyone who would propose that early, and anyway I just- I mean I didn’t think- and you left so I didn’t…” you trailed off, realizing that you weren’t making any sense.
Frankie’s voice was low and serious. “I thought about it.”
That broke the spell and you turned to face him. “You thought about it? About me?”
He looked at you, almost shy. “Yeah, I thought about it a couple of months after we started dating. But with your job and my work, and… Well, you know what happened. You were there, same as I was.” He reached out a hand to cup your chin. “I was sorry it didn’t work out for us.”
You sighed and melted into him, “Oh, Frankie.”
He wrapped both arms around your shoulders as you gripped his waist. Your mouths found each other in the dark as if your last kiss had been yesterday. Frankie was warm and solid and familiar, and you found yourself aching to hang on to him, to keep him there with you for as long as you could.
You stood on the sidewalk together for what seemed like hours, exploring each other and passing silent messages back and forth with your lips and tongues and teeth. Slow swirls of the tip of his tongue around yours told you he missed you, and the tiny nips you bit against his bottom lip conveyed an urgency, a need that you couldn't express in words. You found your fingers entwined in his belt loops, pulling him as close as you could, mimicking the kind of connection that really required nakedness and absolute vulnerability together.
You turned sideways to loop your arm around his waist and walk unsteadily back to your apartment building, stealing kisses again and again as you strolled, then paused, then continued on your way. The trip took twice as long as it should have, but neither you nor Frankie was willing to break apart for longer than it took to step down off a curb or glance at a walk signal. You just kept kissing, drunk on each other and wanting more and more; silently cursing the fact that the apartment was still so far away, but reveling in the moments that you could seize right now to embrace each other as you walked.
When you reached your block, you murmured against Frankie’s mouth. “Do you have anything? I don’t have any protection at home.”
He cursed softly, “Shit. No, I didn’t bring…” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you kissed him again.
“Don’t worry, that’s why I asked. There’s a drugstore right here.”
“I always knew-” he kissed you softly, “... that you were smarter than me.”
You giggled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re the one who can fly helicopters. I just stare at data reports all day.”
You walked into the pharmacy holding hands and made it through the checkout line in record time, urgently kissing again when you reached the sidewalk, navigating the final dozen or so yards to your building.
The elevator ride consisted of one long kiss, broken only by Frankie’s urgent, “Mine or yours?” You murmured, “Mine,” and pressed the button for your floor, folding yourself back into his arms. You unlocked your front door while Frankie held you from behind and peppered kisses down your ear and cheek and jaw, distracting you as you fumbled with your keys. When you finally got the door open, you tumbled inside together and slammed the door shut.
Now that you were someplace private, you could undress, fumbling against one another as you struggled to open buttons and zippers and bra clasps in between kisses; to continue your soft caresses while you kicked shoes and pants off and away. Finally you were both standing, wearing only underwear while you continued to embrace. You pulled away from Frankie and picked up the box of condoms where it had dropped, then you took his hand and led him to your bedroom.
You tumbled onto the bed together and continued the makeout session that had started miles away and what seemed like an eternity ago in front of the antique store window. Frankie’s strokes along your ribcage and thighs were light and almost ticklish, so familiar that you wanted to cry. You had no expectations of getting back together and attempting a long-distance relationship, but he was here right now. And that was good, right? It was familiar and lovely and sweet.
Frankie hadn’t changed a bit since you parted 10 months ago, except for a few more grays in his beard and one or two more crinkles when he smiled. You ached and ached for him, even though he was right on top of you, kissing you and touching you and murmuring your name. Your brain kept raising the idea of what would happen in a week when he had to leave, or what might have happened a year ago if Statesman hadn’t demanded so much from both of you. The knowledge that you had missed becoming Frankie’s wife because of shitty circumstances, combined with the threat of losing him again in just a few days time punched you in the throat, and a sob escaped your lips as tears sprang to your eyes.
“What’s wrong, babe? Did I hurt you?” Frankie looked you over, rolling to one side to examine your face with a worried scowl. He propped himself up on one elbow and hovered over you.
“No, I’m just-” You sniffed back another sob. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and I’m so glad you’re here. It’s just a lot, that’s all.”
He brushed a tear from your cheek. “We don’t have to do this right now; not if you don’t want to. I didn’t come here with the expectation that you would jump back into bed with me.”
Your heart leapt at that. Same old sweet Frankie, doing everything he could to treat you tenderly, to care for you. You knew that if you tried to explain everything you were feeling, he would probably take it personally. Frankie hated to see you hurting, and doubly so if he thought he was the one who had caused it.
“I might just need a minute. I’m okay, I promise. It’s just been a weird week.”
You decided to joke, to lighten the mood and try to ease Frankie’s worry. “My old boyfriend is back in town, and I just found out that I missed out on him being my husband, and I also kind of kissed my boss yesterday, so I’m not in a real ‘steady’ place right now.”
Frankie frowned at that. “You kissed Bill?”
“Oh, no! No, not my boss-boss.” You paused, unsure of whether or not Frankie would hate you for your next words. “I kissed Agent Whiskey.”
Frankie’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his forehead, but he didn’t sit up or let go of you. He didn’t run out of the room screaming. “Is there something I should know?”
“It was a mistake. I was in his office and I accidentally touched his crotch-” Frankie’s eyebrows raised another impossible inch as you continued, “Truly an accident, a horrible, embarrassing accident. And then I think I just felt really vulnerable and lonely and I kissed him.”
Frankie nodded. “It happens, I guess.” He looked at you tenderly. “Although I’ve never kissed my boss. He always has food in his beard.” You erupted in giggles and tucked your face against Frankie’s chest. He stroked your arm and shoulder, laughing against your hair.
Your giggles subsided, and you rolled away from Frankie, laying on your stomach and folding your arms under your chin. You sighed and turned your face to him. “I am glad you’re here, though. I really missed you.” You paused, trying to formulate your next words.
“It took me a long time to get over you, and I’m honestly not sure I ever did. If we hadn’t both had so much work and conflicting schedules, if things had been different-” Frankie leaned over and cut you off with a soft kiss.
“You don’t have to tell me how things could have been different.” He stroked your temple. “After we broke up I just couldn’t handle working around you. I didn’t hate you, I just had to leave. It hurt too much to stay.”
“I’m sorry, Frankie.”
“No, don’t apologize. It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me, it was just life.” Frankie leaned over and kissed your cheek, stroking your back with feather-light touches, raising goosebumps as silence settled over the both of you.
His touch felt amazing, conjuring electricity where his fingers met your skin. Tingles started to form in your pelvis and you found your breath shuddering in time with Frankie’s caresses. You sat up and moved to straddle him, entwining your fingers with his and pinning his hands to the bed next to his ears.
Neither one of you spoke as you rolled your hips gently on his and stole kiss after kiss, feeling his erection grow and press harder against your vulva, still separated by the fabric of both your underwear and his. Finally you broke your grip on his hands and Frankie reached up to cup your breasts. You arched your back to press yourself into his palms, and your nipples stiffened with the friction and the heat of his touch. You grabbed the backs of his hands and pressed them harder against you, as if you could multiply the sensations that were zipping through your body.
You leaned down for another kiss and then swung your leg off and over him. You stood next to the bed and pulled your panties off, then reached over Frankie to grip his waistband. He lifted his hips to assist you, and when his cock sprung free you nearly gasped at how much you missed him and missed this, the intimacy and the raw electricity and the closeness. You reached out to stroke his length a few times, running the pad of your thumb gently up the underside and over his slit. He was damp there, but not leaking yet, and you let go only to grab the box of condoms and rip it open.
“Here,” you handed him a foil packet and let him put it on. When he was covered you gripped him again and gave him three firm, slow pumps, pulling a moan out of the deepest part of his chest. You straddled him again and hovered over him, making eye contact as you lined up to insert him, taking him into the most intimate part of you. He stroked one large hand from your knee to your ass, then cupped both cheeks and pulled you slightly apart to help guide him in. You closed your eyes and let out a soft hiss as he entered. Everything felt so good and familiar, like no time had passed at all, like he had never left.
When you were fully seated on him, you placed your palms on his shoulders for leverage, watching with delight as the tendons in his neck flexed and his Adam’s apple bobbed, veins throbbing on either side of his beautiful throat as you rode him. He reached one hand down to thumb your clit, pressing and petting it and drawing whimpers from you as the pleasure swelled within you. Neither one of you spoke as you gazed into each other, moving together in a practiced rhythm, increasing the pace and the tempo and the force until you were shaking the whole bed. Then your head spun and you found yourself crying out his name as you climaxed around him. You slumped over him and buried your face in his neck, that gorgeous soft crook between his throat and his shoulder. He braced his feet and thrust up into you. Chills wracked your body as you squeezed and fluttered around his cock. He grunted and clenched his jaw, “I’m coming.” And then he pulled you closer and froze, holding you there as he filled the condom. When he relaxed his thighs and arms, you reached down and gripped the base of the condom to keep it on him as you rolled sideways and off.
You both lay staring at the ceiling, recovering your breath, trying to remember where you were and why anything outside of your shared pleasure mattered.
---
Frankie stayed at your apartment all weekend. The two of you kissed and caressed, showered and fucked, made breakfasts and dinners, watched movies and slept curled together, until you almost forgot how much you had missed each other, almost forgot the fact that he would have to leave.
On Monday you and Frankie walked to the office together and kissed at the front desk, parting ways for the day. You ran into Ginger in the hallway and squealed and gave her a hug. She smiled at you and wiggled her eyebrows. “Did you see who our consultant is for this project?”
“Yes! He came by my office on Friday and we went to dinner.” You leaned over to lower your voice and murmur, “And we spent all weekend together.”
Ginger laughed and you grinned and rolled your eyes. “It’s nice. I don’t know if we’re ‘back together’ or anything, but I’ll have fun hanging out with him while he’s here.”
Ginger bit her lip, “I’m glad. I know you guys really missed each other, but I’m happy you can see him while he’s here.”
“Me, too.”
You and Ginger made plans to have lunch together that afternoon, and your mood was light as you entered your office. It dampened a bit when you saw the flowers from Whiskey that were still sitting there. And it dropped further when you saw a note from one of your staff saying that Whiskey had requested that you come see him when you arrived this morning. You decided that you would just have to treat him like nothing had happened, and keep your head up. After all, you were on cloud nine with Frankie in town, so what’s the worst that could happen?
You found Mary’s desk empty, so you squared your shoulders and knocked on Whiskey’s door. He could try to irritate you all he wanted, but you were going to be cool as a cucumber.
When he opened the door, Whiskey grinned at you and motioned you in. You opted to stand next to his desk with your arms crossed. If this was business, you would keep it businesslike. He walked up to you and raised an eyebrow, still grinning like a fool.
You looked at him and frowned. What was his deal?
He started the conversation cryptically, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Did you get my flowers?”
You opted for the driest tone you could, “Yes. Thank you.”
He nodded, “Good. Listen, darlin’-”
You interrupted him. “Paloma.”
“Right, Paloma. I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime and apologize again for behaving like a jackass in that meeting a few weeks back.” He placed both of his large, warm hands on your arms and squeezed. “If we could see our way clear to some kind of understanding, I think I’d like it very much if we could-” a knock on his door cut him off.
Mary opened it and stuck her head in. “Agent Whiskey? I have the consultant here for your 9:00 meeting.”
Whiskey hissed out a breath and sounded disappointed. “Right.”
You pounced on the opportunity to escape. “I’ll just get going.”
Mary opened the door all the way and Frankie walked halfway in, freezing at the sight of you and Whiskey standing so close together. Guilt creeped up, even though you had no reason to feel that way, and you fought the urge to apologize to Frankie.
You and Agent Whiskey spoke at the same time, words jumbling together as Frankie approached to shake hands with Whiskey.
“Hi, Agent Whiskey. You can call me Ja-”
“Frankie, hi. I was just-”
“Oh, do you two already know-”
“We used to-”
You found yourself standing next to them as they shook hands and sized each other up. Your own discomfort was so strong that you almost didn’t notice that they were jostling each other as if they were fighting for dominance. A strange energy settled over the three of you as they stared at each other. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it felt like they were fighting over you.
“Whiskey, this is Frankie Morales. He and I used to work-” Frankie cut you off, something he normally would never do, and his next words mortified you.
“Paloma and I used to date when we worked together in Louisville.”
You groaned. You weren’t embarrassed that you had dated Frankie, but the less information Whiskey had about your personal life, the better.
“Is that so? Well, I didn’t know that.” Whiskey’s voice was as smooth as the leather on his couch, and he cocked an eyebrow at you. Instead of irritating you, it had the effect of sending a flutter to your crotch. You gulped, hard.
Whiskey turned back to Frankie. “Any big plans while you’re here in New York?”
“Paloma and I are going out.”
“We’re what?” Your voice was louder than you had meant it to be and both men turned to look at you. You felt stunned by the double gaze, the two pairs of dark brown eyes, the strong noses and lovely mouths; features so similar to one another now that you saw them together. Maybe Ginger was right, maybe you did have a “type.”
Your brain did a somersault, throwing up the most shocking and simultaneously wonderful idea, and you wished you could banish the thought back to whatever delicious hellhole it had sprung from. You almost burst into tears, thinking that the stress of your job had finally broken your brain. Under normal circumstances, the idea and all of its implications would have been curious, but under the current circumstances it was absolutely ridiculous. The absurd, impossible word had popped into your head entirely uninvited: “Threesome.”
Frankie and Whiskey stared at you for three long, agonizing seconds, then they both spoke the same word at the same time.
“WHAT?”
“Oh, shit. Did I say that out loud?” ---
"Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist
Tag list: (Please message me if you're on here and don't want to be!)
@honeymandos @driedgreentomatoes @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @honestly-shite @anaaaispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @dihra-vesa @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @anxiousandboujee
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curly-bangtan · 4 years
Text
Heatwave Drabble #9: sweet night (M)
[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- must read first!
Pairing: Taehyung x reader
Summary: After a series of miscommunications and immaturity that lead to a rip through both your friendship and ambiguous relationship, this last turn of events could be the deciding factor of whether or not you’ve lost each other from your lives forever.
Genre: angst, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l
Warnings: SO much angst and feels, slight slow burner and a lot of build up, unprotected sex, hot tub, oral (m&f), food play, crying, i don’t want to give too much away eeee
Word count: 23.8k a monster i know ;-;
A/N: The end is finally here!! It’s late but trust me when I say I worked all day on this and did not do an ounce of revision today because I wanted to get this done. I’ve been writing this series, and this ending in particular, for so long and have been so nervous about getting this perfect. So please enjoy~
(quite a few ppl also couldn’t be tagged from the taglist and it’s 3am so i honestly dk how to fix it ;-;)
.
You used to think heartbreak was for the weak, after all you can only hurt as much as you let yourself be hurt. So... maybe you are weak. Because that ever-constricting ache in your chest has not diminished even a bit since that day you left him.
Four weeks. Not a word to each other.
It’s a hollowing feeling - someone you’ve had in your life every day for the past few years, a constant companion, suddenly completely absent in a blink of an eye. You don’t think you could put it into words even if you tried how this affected you. Life feels so foreign, your personality dulls.
The anger you felt for him dissipated quicker than you’d anticipated, but the anger at yourself only grew. No matter how you look at it now, you can only see it as being your fault.
But the decision to part ways was for the best, you have to keep reminding yourself. You shouldn’t be around each other anymore.
Whenever you see him around campus, you spin around and speed off the other way, hoping that he doesn’t see you too. Okay, you are weak, okay. But your heart twists at the sign of him, not just squeezes but twists into thorned knots. It’s the sort of pain that takes from you, makes you a different person unrecognisable to yourself.
You had moved in with Lotta. When she asked you what happened, all you had said was that you two had a massive fight and fell out. She knew better than to prod further from the telltale signs that you were close to tears from a simple question: the trembling throat, pursed lips, uncharacteristically quiet voice. And you were grateful because you knew you couldn’t afford to be asked about him without breaking.
The bed feels awfully cold in the nights of early February. And every night, you stare at his name on the screen of your phone, contemplating. One tap and you can hear his voice. One tap and your longing could be absolved. You always almost give in to this overpowering urge itching within your fingers. But you wouldn’t even know what to say to him.
Hi. How are you. I miss you like crazy and I think about you everyday but I know we should keep our distance but I’m just so sorry for everything.
You liked to think that maybe this break is just temporary, you both need space from each other because the toxicity built up so quickly that neither of you could think or breathe. But the longer time is spent away from him, the more you convince yourself that it wasn’t meant to be. It was never going to work; you knew this from the start but had been too optimistic.
And the mistakes you both made… You can’t forget them and the scars you’ve left on each other; you don’t think he’d be able to forgive you, not any time soon anyway.
You wonder if he’s doing the same, if he too is agonising over every wrong step he took to lead you two to this state, or if he’s cursing you for destroying everything. For his sake, you hope he’s moving on. Because that, for some reason, feels so much better than knowing that he’s crying over you.
The strange thing is that you had been the one to break things off. The look of lostness in his red-rimmed eyes laced with an unmissable reluctance will always be an enigma to you. Because he was furious, distraught. So why was he shocked by your ending? How was he not done with you?
That day you left, he wordlessly stood next to you as you packed your things. When you handed him his grey hoodie, the one you had gradually claimed as your own under mutual tacit agreement over your months together, it had truly felt like the end.
“Are... Are you sure? I don’t mind if you keep it.” He had said, voice raw from the arguing but also the tears he was fighting back.
You couldn’t look at him, you knew you would fall apart if you did. “I think it’s best if you take it back.” Why did he want you to keep it anyway?
Something was missing in both your voices when you spoke to each other, reflective of the heart-shaped void you had carved into the other. Everytime you think back to that moment, you want to kick yourself. You could have at least kept the hoodie - that way you could at least have a piece of him to cling onto in your lonely desperate nights.
Because now you have nothing. Nothing of his in your life, no reminder at all that he ever existed with you except the memories embedded so deeply in your heart that it hurts.
No one ever mentions him to you; you think they got the hint from Lotta not to. He’s a ghost.
Haunting you with his heartbroken eyes that shattered at the sight of Jimin. You’ll never forget that.
Sometimes, you’ll just be having dinner with her, and you’ll be crushed with this suffocating wave of missing him. It knocks the breath out of you. Because you can momentarily forget that it’s over, and mistaken Lotta as him. So when you look up and realise that it isn’t him, he’s not here, it’s as if someone is digging their nails into your scabbing wound and releasing the blood of your heartache once more.
And Lotta would look up and ask you, “What? Is the rice overcooked?” And you would want to cry because he would always overcook the rice.
And sometimes, you would just want to blurt it all out to her, right then and there. Tell her everything that had happened with you and him, because - god - keeping it inside is exhausting. But the words get trapped at your throat, unable to be enunciated. Which is just your forte, isn’t it? Not being able to say how you feel...
You are a competitive person, that has never been a secret. You are used to winning at everything you wish to win at, it is in your nature.
So losing Taehyung has been the biggest loss of your life. It had been a gamble from the start, whether it would work or not. There were so many signs pointing in the direction of yes, this is going to work, you love each other so much. Because still to this day, you believe that you are soulmates, and you were one step, three words, away from a happy ending. But then, caught up in this game you played, you hadn’t realised that he had been yours from the very start if you had only just accepted him. And that was your downfall: your failure to see his love for you in the form of his actions, rather than the words of validation you were seeking.
And thus, you had lost your lover, your best friend, your other half, completely of your own doing.
The realisation haunts you every night.
.
It’s Galentine’s Day. In this household, you don’t say the V word.
Lotta has booked a weekend trip to celebrate your mutual [forever alone] relationship status. Some strawberry farm in the countryside for friends to pick berries and make jam and bond over their mutual loneliness. Apparently that’s a thing nowadays.
It would have excited you before, a trip like this. The idea sounds much like a sweet attempt from her to cheer you up, (you haven’t been trying to hide how down you’ve been), so as much as you wanted to just wallow on this shitty holiday, you agreed to go with her.
And to be honest, this might be exactly what you need. A weekend away with your best friend away from the city could heal you. Best friend? Should you call her that? You’re not sure because that title has always referred to someone else previously, someone you shouldn’t be thinking about.
To your credit, you’ve been doing better. You think about him less and less each day; you stopped crying after the first week. You’ve always been a progressor with astounding growth. It’s not to say that you’re doing fine - that would be a reach - because small things such as a cup of hot chocolate would still remind you of him and the string of memories that come with it. But you think your heart is finally slowly starting to stitch itself back together.
Galentine’s weekend just so happened to fall on the weekend of Lotta’s Geophysics trip to Barcelona, as inconvenient as it is. But, rather than letting this disrupt her plans, Lotta had been adamant about going.
“My flight lands at 7am. That’s two hours before we are supposed to meet and depart from the coach station. That’s plenty of time.” She had waved away your concern when this topic of discussion came up last week.
“You never know with flight timings. We could just blow it off and have just as nice of a weekend at home watching movies.” Strawberry picking sounds great for the soul, but so does Netflix and ice cream. “We could have a Saw marathon like we’ve been wanting to.”
“Saw marathon on Valentine’s day?” Lotta scoffed at your suggestion
You blinked. “What’s wrong with that? We love scary films, it’s our thing.”
“It doesn’t matter, I’ve already paid for the trip and it’s non-refundable.”
“I’ll subsidise the cost, there’s no point forcing this trip if it won’t work with your schedule. You haven’t even let me pay you back for my half of the trip yet.” Lotta is like that with money, overly generous when completely unasked for. If you don’t mention paying her back, she would never have asked you to.
“It’s my treat to you, shut up. Just trust me, Y/N, I’ll make it to the coach on time, I always make it on time.” She shook you by the shoulders. “We’ll make our separate ways to the meeting point Saturday morning and everything else will go smoothly. There’s no reason to cancel the trip. Plus, V day is on Sunday, so do you really want to see all those shitty ass rom-com Netflix suggestions or would you rather be enjoying the great outdoors? Trust, we need a break in the countryside. It’s going to be an amazing weekend, you’ll thank me later.”
Right now, as you make a final check through your lightly-packed bag before you leave the house, you find yourself agreeing. You do need the fresh naturally strawberry-scented air to expel all these negativity from you. You want to feel yourself again, be happy and loud and excitable.
Collecting for your trip ticket that Lotta had left on your desk before she went to Barcelona, you decide right now that: yes, this will be an amazing weekend. Law of attraction and power of manifestation. Lotta’s flight will be punctual and you will make some fond memories together.
You’ll be okay.
You arrive at the meeting spot twenty minutes early because you are known to be prone to tardiness. The tour guide welcomes you keenly. He is a young, twenty-something you reckon, tall man, graced with dimples and honey skin. You think you would find him attractive in different circumstances, but you haven’t gotten to the stage of feeling attraction for anyone else yet.
“Your ticket with the barcode, miss?” His smile is charming, you guess. It’s more an observation than an enticing quality. You hand it over to him wordlessly and watch him scan the creased piece of paper. “Great, that’s perfect. And your partner?”
“Partner?” You frown, but realise what he means. This is a Galentine’s programme, of course he expects you not to be alone. “Oh, she should be coming, we came separately because she’s just getting off a flight right now.”
“Oh! That’s very sweet of her to rush back to spend this weekend with you.” The endearment in his smile heightens.
“Yeah… She’s the best.” There’s no particular reason for your awkwardness. You’ve always been a social butterfly, yet lately, you’re keeping more to yourself, avoiding unnecessary conversations because your mind is always too preoccupied.
“I am Jae, by the way, and I’ll be your guide for the weekend. I hope you have a wonderful time with us this Valentine's day. Hop on board.” Giving him a polite nod, you climb onto the empty bus, noting the swirly hearts beside the large red words ‘STRAWBERRY LOVE’ on the side of the big white vehicle. Kind of tacky, but the idea of this programme is kind of cute so you guess it’s suiting. After assessing row after row, you plop down at a window seat you deem worthy and settle your bag on the seat beside you, head leaning on the glass as you await your partner.
Dear partner, please don’t be late, you text her.
Soon, other participants of this trip start arriving, filing a crooked queue in front of the tour guide to register. You don’t pay much attention to them except to examine for Lotta’s face. The coach is set to leave at 9:00 on the dot in order to arrive at the farm at noon, it is now 8:56 and Lotta is still not here. You don’t want to lose faith in manifestation magic, but worry is settling in. If it comes down to it, you will beg Jae to wait for you. With your texts unread, you decide to phone her.
Come on… Just let this one weekend go smoothly for you.
Nervously playing with the ends of your hair, you exhale in relief when she picks up. “Oh thank god, Lotta. Where are you? The coach is leaving in like two minutes. You’ve landed right? I’m not sure if I can convince the people to wait for you that long but worse comes to worse, I could ask for the address of the farm and you can commute there yourself. ” A silence replies after your slur of panicked words. “Hello? Dude, hurry.”
“Wait, so he’s not there yet?” She asks hesitantly.
“Who? The tour guide? No, he’s here. Where are you?” Just then you hear a thunder of running footsteps. Expectantly, you look out the bus window for your friend’s arrival, only to find…
“Wait, Lotta… What the fuck did you do?” Something drops in your stomach.
“Look Y/N, don’t be mad. This is for your own good, you need this.” You can practically hear her stealthy smile through the phone.
An icy chill strikes down your spine. You simply cannot believe what you are seeing out the window. She-
“Lotta…”
“Trust me, okay? You have been so fucking depressed the past month. You need to fix this problem, please. I hate seeing you like this, so if not for yourself, then do it for me.” There’s some guilt in her tone, you’ll give her that. But you are in a state of utter disbelief, borderline shell-shocked, the groves of your brain tangled in itself.
“Lotta, where are you? Are you even fucking coming?” Absolute mortification fills your chest to the brim at your gradual realisation of her ploy.
This can’t be happening.
“I promise, this is all for your own good. Please have a great weekend. I love you. Bye!” And with that she hangs up, leaving you wide-eyed, jaw-dropped, staring out the window...
At a panting, slightly sweat-beaded Taehyung handing his crumpled ticket to Jae.
“Made it just in time, mate.” You can just about make out Jae’s words from the shape of his mouth as he greets Taehyung and proceeds to recite his ‘I’m your tour guide for the trip’ speech. Taehyung nods interestedly, reciprocating with that sheepish smile of his as he scratches the back of his bedhead.
What did your best friend do? Did she just… set you up…? As you hear his loud unmissable steps stomping up onto the coach, you know you’re doomed. It’s over for you. You might as well fling yourself off a cliff.
Looking around the bus, you realise that it of course is completely full except for the seat beside you.
The power of manifestation is fucking bullshit. You’re stuck with this bad luck for the rest of your life.
And this weekend, you’re going to die.
You see him as a blur at the start of the aisleway, a mere figure in swatches of peach and brown and black. You hear pounding, a booming pulse in your ear.
It’s Taehyung. Taehyung. Your, but also not your, Taehyung.
Each step he takes approaching the only available seat he sees, you shrink lower in yours and keep your eyes pressed shut, but for what reason you’re not entirely sure. There’s no hiding now.
Your confrontation is inevitable, a few steps away. Then he finally sees you.
“Y-Y/N?”
Your heart soars to your throat at the sound of his voice as everything around you vanishes. This can’t be real.
Slowly, you turn up to face him. When your eyes meet, it’s like someone has driven a sharp object into your chest and twisted. His face is exactly how you remember, but also not quite. His big brown eyes are wide with surprise in a pitiful expression of bewilderment. His sleep rumpled hair, grown out to almost cover his eyes, yet still very much permed in the style you loved. His lips are jutting out, slightly parted in confusion at your unexpected presence that reminds you of how it felt to kiss him.
And the look of disgust that you had expected - absent.
You want to throw your arms around him. There is always a warmth emitting from Taehyung - the kind of warmth you feel when you enter your house on a snow ridden day and the gust of heat accompanied by the smell of home simply swallows you like a wave. But there is also something different, unfamiliar almost, about him. He is rougher round the edges, hints of facial hair dotted below his nose, dressed in slacks that he only usually wore strictly as pyjamas and never to go outside in.
As your eyes fall to the rest of him, you notice his fists tighten around the straps of his backpack, the balls of his knuckles whitening.
“Taehyung-” Saying his name feels like a release. A rush of satisfaction at the way the syllables roll off your tongue so naturally, then a flood of emotion that comes with all the memories his name invokes.
Then you’re at a loss for words again. You are so utterly unprepared for this situation because you didn’t think you would meet him again so soon, not until you’ve moved on. You’re not ready to face him.
What do you say? How are you meant to act around him?
He looks equally as lost, though you read him easily. There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, the same that you’re sure you had. But it dissolves much quicker with him, almost into relief and content as if he’s glad to see you.
You know from the slight downward angle his brows are pointing that he has definitely missed you. Perhaps in a completely different way from you missing him, but he’s missed you.
“If I could just have everybody's attention!” Jae’s voice booms from the speaker, startling every passenger. “Young man over there, please be seated.” You quickly snatch your bag into your lap to let Taehyung sit next to you. The seats aren’t the most spacious; despite pressing your side against the window as much as you can, Taehyung’s shoulder comes brushing past yours as he settles into his own seat. Your heart flutters. “As all our participants are now present, our ride will begin immediately. The duration of the ride will be three hours, but a pitstop will be made at around halfway for a quick snack or toilet break. Please ensure all seatbelts are fastened during the entirety of our journey...” He drones on.
Three hours, you bristle. Everything is happening all at once and your mind can’t catch up. You’re going to be stuck on this coach for three hours next to Taehyung. No, worse. You’re stuck with Taehyung for this whole weekend in a strawberry farm.
Glancing over, his lips are pressed into a thin line, no doubt with the same chaotic thoughts racing through his mind. There isn’t much leg room, and though his thighs are purposely clamped together to avoid touching you, you know he can’t keep them clamped this tightly for three hours without cramping. Your legs are going to touch at some point.
God, why are you even losing your mind over something so juvenile? You’ve been reduced to a pre-teen girl so easily flustered by the thought of touching thighs amidst this turn of events.
Everything is gonna be okay, you tell yourself. This is gonna be fine. You don’t have to speak to each other. Just put in your earphones and fall asleep against the window.
But you have so many questions, for Lotta, for Taehyung. Did she plan this? How did she know that he’d be here? Hell, did he know you’d be here? No, there’s no way. The shock on his face was genuine.
He stares ahead, though visibly extremely puzzled. You suppress the urge to glance over at him every second to check that it’s really him.
“Thank you everyone for joining us so promptly. As you already know, I am Jae and I will be the guide to your trip to our beautiful strawberry farm over this Valentine’s weekend.” You pause. Right, this is a Valentine’s weekend trip, you had momentarily forgotten. And you’re stuck with Taehyung here. Two days, two nights. You’re not sure if you could withstand his presence for that long. Will you ignore each other for the entirety of this trip? You would be fine with that, and in all honesty, you think you might prefer it over speaking to him because that would only sprinkle salt on your wound.
A sharp pain in your palm reminds you that you’ve been gripping onto the programme leaflet that was handed to you. You smooth out the creases of the paper and flip it open to skim through what you have to tackle ahead of you.
Day 1: Go strawberry picking with your partner at our scenic farm in the lovely spring weather while the sun is out. A heavenly spa awaits you afterwards to wind down and indulge together. For an amorous evening, go stargazing under our cloudless skies...
Alarm bells start ringing immediately, from the cursive font of the strangely-worded phrases, to the shades of reds and pinks of the background. You skim further down the page, the kernel of anxiety growing exponentially at your throat.
Day 2: Make delicious strawberry jam and learn our signature recipe for a splendid strawberry tart. When dusk falls, enjoy a romantic candlelit dinner with your partner amidst the symphonies of our string quartet.
Fuck. Wait, what the fuck.
You flip back to the front page.
Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend
Strawberry… Love…
“What the fucking shit?” You can’t help but cry out loud. Lotta- She-
The passengers of the bus all turn to shoot you at look of concern at your outburst, Taehyung included. His eyes dart around the features of your face to search for an answer. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong… What’s wrong…? What isn’t wrong at this point?
You feel defeated, absolutely fucking defeated that you don’t even have it in your to be shocked or angry. There is no way you can ignore him for the whole weekend when the programme of your trip - a couple’s Valentine’s trip - obligates you to spend time with him. The thought of making stupid little strawberry tarts with Taehyung… Your blood can’t even boil, you’re just fucking speechless.
Lotta, that conniving genius that is your best friend. How did she manage to pull this all off? Galentine’s trip your fucking ass. She tricked you into a romantic holiday with Taehyung, fucking hell...
But that means - she knows. The mortification hammers into your stomach. There’s no reason for her to do this other than for the purpose of getting you two to make up. Lotta fucking knew about you and Taehyung.
How? For how long? And why does she think that this will benefit you in any way? You and Taehyung are over and you were slowly (fine, excruciatingly slowly) moving on. Until now.
Letting out a huff of your frustration, you turn to look at Taehyung, properly look him in the eye for the first time. You can’t stop your chest from constricting. He regards you with that confused expression of his, eyes holding your glare but barely just, bashful from your sudden undivided attention channeled towards him. “I need to know what you’re doing here first.” It comes out harsher than you mean for it to, but it stems from your desperation to stay inert while your emotional sanity is precariously threatened right now.
“Me? I… Well, Lotta told me that she had a ticket for this weekend-trip to a strawberry farm type thing that she couldn’t go to anymore, so she asked if I wanted to go in her place because she knows that I like strawberries.” He furrows his brows. “Okay, that sounds really stupid out loud but I swear I didn’t know that you were gonna be here.” He throws his hands up, nothing but honesty flooding his chocolate eyes.
But of course, Taehyung doesn’t lie, you are sure from the times you’ve witnessed him not being able to muster up an excuse to get rid of an annoying relative on the phone. What’s more convincing of his truth is that he would not be the most difficult person to fall victim to Lotta’s scheme - drizzle in mentions of food and he is completely your pawn. You almost feel bad for this unsuspecting fool; he still has no idea.
But Lotta, that sly bitch… You are going to wrangle her when you get back.
“Taehyung… She lied to you.” You sigh, watching his features slowly contort in deeper confusion.
“Wait what? So we’re not going to a strawberry farm?” He sits up in alarm, looking around the bus as if that would grant him any insight whatsoever. You almost laugh at his naivety because as much as you want to uphold your cold exterior, something about him, his ever present innocent boyishness maybe, never fails to penetrate through to you.
“No, that’s not what I meant. She lied to me too; she told me that this would be a girl’s trip because we’re both single and bitter for Valentine’s. Get it? It was just a setup. For you and me.”  As the clockwork finally turns as he processes your words, a visibly distressed grimace forms. “Look at the programme, Taehyung, it freaking says: Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend!”
As those words resonate from your mouth and the realisation finally dawns on him, dread settles itself in the pit of your stomach, cold, dry and coarse. Saying it aloud somehow finalises it - this is actually happening, you’re going to have to spend this weekend with the one person you’d least like to be stranded with right now.
“Lotta… But why would she…?” Deep red roses effloresce across the apples of his cheeks, and you feel yourself unconsciously mirroring his reaction as your mind flashes back to the planned activities of this tour. You’ll be made to pick berries and bake pastries together. And the romantic candlelit dinner… You can’t even finish that thought. Because even now, you find your eyes roaming every inch of his face, trying to memorise his details because it’s been so long.
This isn’t healthy for your heart. You were on a path of recovery, a path of forgetting him and forgiving yourself, and now you’ve been flung back to square one.
The bus jolts. His leg lightly knocks into yours and both your attentions momentarily divert to the touch, glaring at where the thick grey material of his joggers meets the thin cotton of your trousers. A long second passes before Taehyung lifts it away from you.
“I don’t know why she’d do this. All I told her was that we had a massive falling out.” You mutter. Except you do know, you know her very well. This was no mistake, but the result of careful planning. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“So maybe she’s trying to get us to reconcile?”
As soon as those words come out, you both seem to freeze in your spots, blinking in bewilderment at the slightest mention of the elephant in the room. It might be wishful thinking but you hear a sliver of hope in his question, and you think he hears how it came out too.
Reconcile.
Could the two of you reconcile after everything you put each other through in your last few days together? The thought tears you apart emotionally. Of course you want to reconcile, of course you want to be with him. But haven’t you proven enough that what you had didn’t work? Afterall, everything you had together came crumbling down at the smallest hitch in your path. What is there to reconcile but a dysfunctional relationship?
And how could either of you forget the torment you endured? The noises of Taehyung with another woman through the thin walls, your betrayal of his heart when you mistakenly slept with Jimin.
Reconciliation doesn’t seem possible in the foreseeable future.
“N-not reconcile in that way, I mean, like, for us to make up.” Taehyung stammers, hand waving about in his nervous state. “I mean- no, not make up, but like… make… peace. Yeah, make peace. Sorry.” He winces timorously at his spectacular fumble of words. It’s surprising how nervous and timid he is acting. He should be brutish to you, savage and hostile. But he isn’t.
“Yeah, I got what you mean… Don’t worry.” You can’t stop the corners of your lips from turning up, just a fraction. “But yeah, I think she wants us to make peace.” You conveniently do not bring up how you’re certain that she knows about your history and that this holiday she booked for you and Taehyung is most definitely for the purpose of reconciliation in that way.
“Right.” His bottom lip pinched between his teeth in a manner that makes it feel as though it’s a sight you shouldn’t be looking at, Taehyung’s attention shifts down to avoid your eye. Though, there’s a clear glimmer of expectation as he asks, “So… do you want to talk it out?”
The bus bounces, violently this time, as it drives over what must be a pebble. It rattles your thoughts so physically that you have to grip onto your trousers for support.
This is the deciding moment. Now is when you can choose how you go about this which will determine the rest of your weekend together.
Do you want to talk it out?
The painful memory of the last time you had tried to “talk it out” rakes its claws down your back. All the yelling, the hurtful accusations hurled both ways, the reluctance to accept blame… It haunts you so much so that your voices still ring in your mind, echoes embedding the misery you had both felt and inflicted deep in your bones.
The three stages of your fight painted clairvoyantly in your mind.
One: The Hurting Each Other.
You fuck guys without learning their names.
Two: The Guilt-Tripping.
I didn’t sleep with her. I couldn’t even kiss her for more than a minute on her bed because it felt so wrong it made me fucking sick. I stayed on her couch and thought about you all fucking night. Happy?
Three: The Falling Apart
I… I thought it was clear how I felt…
Always replaying in a loop.
“I’m not sure what there is to talk out.” You say, hating how callous you sound but knowing that it’s a necessary evil to convey your intent. That was in the past. Taehyung is your past. Talking about it would only drag you back into that perpetual cycle and there’s not much left in you to afford that. You look out the window at the open plains of grassland to avoid the hurt you know he can’t hide on his face. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance as much as possible and not make it difficult for ourselves.”
“Okay.” You hear him reply, but only a quiet mumble. From the faint reflection of the window, you see him tighten his jaw and fit his Airpods into his ears. The monster that is your guilt and bitterness sinking its fangs into your throat.
It’s better this way.
And so the bus continues to speed off to the countryside, driving you further and further from civilization and your chance of escape from this doomed weekend with the boy you’re trying to stop loving.
.
You wake up to someone gently shaking your shoulders. “Miss…” You jolt upright.
The first thing that elucidates in your sleep-fogged vision is your tour guide’s kind face smiling down at you. The second, when you come to your senses, is that you are leaning against Taehyung’s frame, his shoulders much harder than you remember them to be. The boy himself is fast asleep beside you, arm loosely linked with yours because you know he has a habit of holding things in his sleep. You hastily pull away.
“We’ve arrived, Miss.” Jae says politely, that humoured glow in his pupils eliciting a bashful blush from you.
“Oh right.” You look around to find the coach empty except for the three of you. “That’s embarrassing, I’m sorry.” The last thing you remember was the angry texts you spammed Lotta with before the songs in your playlist all blurred into one.
“No worries. Forgive me, I’m still learning names.” The heat of the sun is seeping through the glass of the windowpane, licking tenderly at your skin to rouse you awake. “I’ve tried to wake your partner, but it seems...”
“I’m Y/N. And don’t worry, he’s impossible to wake up.” You pause. There is a chance for you to rectify his misconception that you and Taehyung are a couple, except it would probably require some explaining or white-lying and now is not a great time if you’re holding up the whole group. “I’ll do it.”
Despite the conversation being had right over him, Taehyung shows no sign of his slumber being disturbed. His head is tipped back, mouth hanging open with a small dribble of drool beading at the corner of his mouth. Still the same deep-sleeping idiot.
“Oi.” You nudge his ribcage, scaring Jae with your coarseness. “Wake up, Taehyung.”
Nothing but heavy breathing.
“Dude, we’re here.” You grab his face between your harsh fingers and begin shaking vigorously.
Not even a stir. You remember how you used to like to joke that Taehyung could sleep through a burglary, and just to prove your point, you woke up in the middle of the night one time and screamed at the top of your lungs. He did not even move a toe.
“Uh-” There is a hint of worry in Jae’s face; perhaps he thinks that Taehyung has a health condition.
“It’s okay, I’ve got the trick.” This time, you pinch his nose with considerable force and clamp your palm over his mouth, ignoring the smoothness of his skin under your touch and the feeling of his lips skimming your palm. You glance up to find Jae’s eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, swaying uneasily at your method to wake him. “Don’t worry, it works every time.”
But true to your word, in a few seconds, Taehyung is sputtering for breath, eyes flying open in befuddlement, scrambling to sit up. You let go of his nose and smile at your tour guide only to find him petrified.
“What?” In disarray, Taehyung wipes at the corner of his mouth and pats his hair back down from its messy temperment. His heavy body no longer slumped against yours, you feel a weight lifted off your chest, though the fact that you had fallen asleep on each other plays at your mind, lingering to taunt you.
“We’ve arrived.” Jae winces.
You stare at the patterned seats of the coach, trying not to pay attention to Taehyung’s embarrassed apology and explanation on what a deep sleeper he is. You’re not going to think about Taehyung and sleeping. Mindlessly, you trail behind the banter men off the vehicle. You’re not going to think about how good it feels to sleep beside him.
The sun greeting you when you step foot onto ground instantly refreshes your mood, banishing away those thoughts that were slipping through the cracks. There’s something so healing about the air of the countryside, fresh and unpolluted and full of the pleasant crisp scent that one would associate with green and yellow. Staring back at you is a seemingly endless field of bushes dotted with red, the sweet berry smell already perfusing into your nose.
You ignore the crunch of gravel sounding from Taehyung’s steps not far from you and proceed to join the waiting crowd, their phones out to capture the stunning scenery.
As everyone gathers, it’s difficult to concentrate on Jae’s briefing of the weekend planned ahead, starting with an introduction to the farm which you frankly do not care to learn about. You try not to glance over at Taehyung at the corner of your eye, at how his hair is still sticking out awkwardly in the back, his eyes slightly swollen from sleep. You try not to notice his hesitancy, standing a distance from you despite everyone else standing in their couples.
It’s like a buzzing in the back of your mind, a constant tug at your consciousness, not allowing you to relax as much as you want to in this serene environment. You want to stop thinking about him but you can’t.
“In February, the weather is set to be nice and warm during the day and slightly chilly in the evenings, so I do hope that you have packed sufficiently as stated in the email. Now, if you look to your left...” Jae’s monologue drones on like white noise, because all you can focus on is not focusing on Taehyung.
Lotta has not replied to your hounding messages with anything of use, no answers to your plethora of questions. Just relax. Stop making such a big deal out of it, grow up and make up with him because you clearly aren’t over him. You wanted to tell her that things are not that simple, she doesn’t know how badly you both fucked up. Yet, you know her response would only be some pretentiously worded reply full of the condescending wisdom it always contains when she’s telling you off.
You’ll admit it, as stubborn as you are, Lotta’s advice is right 9 times out of 10. She was right when she said you shouldn’t have gone with Taehyung to Mykonos within two weeks of knowing him because he could have been a killer or psychopath. She was right when she pointed out that you act like Taehyung annoys the living shit out of you but you secretly care deeply for him.
But she’s definitely not right this time, you are adamant about it. It would be a miracle if you and Taehyung could even be friends within the next six months, let alone… And if anything were to happen, setting you two up on a romantic holiday together is certainly the wrong way to go about it. It feels so inorganic, like you’re forced to spend time with each other.
Out of habit, you steal a glance at him. It’s not a surprise to find him not paying an ounce of attention to Jae either. Taehyung is staring off into the strawberry field, face angled away from you such that the sunlight is hitting his skin in all the right places to glaze a golden aura over him.
It’s strange to see such a permanent sadness in his eyes, a melancholic nostalgia. You hate yourself - you did this to him, you broke him. Does he hate you? Resent you? You think you’d rather he did.
Soon, the group of you are whisked away down a pebbly path to a rustic looking hotel beside the farm where you will all stay in. It’s not the old run-down type of rustic, but more the luxurious kind that very evidently serves an aesthetic purpose. And that’s when you begin to notice, this “farm” is not really a farm at all, but more a boujee farm-themed resort. This trip could certainly not have been cheap. As much as you are here against your will, you can’t help but feel immense gratitude to Lotta for her willingness to spend such money on you.
You are stopped at a grand lobby, the style of which resembling a small piazza of Southern Italy - warm neutral-toned Roman concrete walls with a green flourish of vines and bushes. It’s absolutely stunning, a surreal setting that you only see in movies. It’s impossible not to feel the air of romance circulating this architecture. You glance over to find him, stood an awkwardly respectful distance away from you, gaping around at the interior of the building in awe. He is a sucker for art, especially architecture. You almost wish you were friends again only to hear him gush about the beauty of this place.
When Jae begins to hand out room keys, it suddenly occurs to you, perhaps the worst aspect of your predicament this weekend - you are sharing a room with Taehyung.
You are sharing a…
Heart sinking, you look over again to see if the same thought has dawned on him. It has. His eyes are fixed on Jae in an eerily blank way, his jaw tense, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of his forehead which you will excuse as the heat.
When Jae approaches you, Taehyung automatically joins your side in a dazed worry. Eye contact made was brief, not enough for you two to communicate whether or not you tell Jae that this was all a mistake and you would much rather be apart.
“Here you go, Y/N.” Your guide flashes you that charming grin of his as he waves your keycards before you. Instinctively, you receive it in your palm. “You guys have got the deluxe suite - wonderful choice.”
“We-” You begin, but he doesn’t seem to take notice. You’re starting to notice that he perhaps likes the sound of his own voice a bit too much.
“As I said, strawberry-picking will start at half past so that gives you a bit of time to drop off your luggage and freshen up after the long ride.” He continues. This will probably be the only chance you get to tell him that you and Taehyung aren’t a couple before it becomes too late, and you’re going to miss this opportunity because of another one of his monologues. The desperate itch in your chest grows an uncomfortable size. “Please meet here at the reception on time. And as for your luggage - oh, I see you two are lightly-packed. Low maintenance, my favourite type of people. In that case, your room is on the ground floor, if you follow that lovely couple down that corridor over there.”
And just like that, he smiles, retracts his extended arm pointing towards the direction of your room and turns to guide another couple.
“Wai-” You call after him weakly, but he has once again launched into the same speech he’d recited to you to a new audience.
And there goes your chance of rectifying this weekend.
You stand there for a good minute, mind trying to piece together how, just how, you will manage to survive this weekend. Taehyung is quiet beside you, equally as baffled at what to do.
“Should we head to our room then…” He mutters after too long a moment of unmoving stature. “I kinda want to change into some lighter clothes and we don’t have that long.”
You nod without looking at him. Because you can’t stand looking at his face right now, the face that you’ll be stuck with for these two days, the face that you love.
Silence between you now grows more familiar as you walk wordlessly to your room, the round corner of the plastic keycard digging hard into your palm. It’s painfully awkward. Your echoing steps provide the only stable rhythm against the storm between you.
Beep. The door opens at your will with a swipe of the card.
You weren’t prepared for what exactly the deluxe room entails. Its size could easily be a tiny studio apartment: a small seating area consisting of a pearly white sofa and a glass coffee table so delicately built that you would not trust yourself near; a mini-kitchen on the left side of the room accompanied by a generously stocked beverage bar; a king-sized bed in the far right wine-red in colour and excessively buried in frivolous cushions. But the belle of the ball is really the glass panelled-wall at the back of the room that you face as you enter, spanning from ceiling to floor, opening up to the patio hand-plucked out of your dreams. Rose bushes, circular beige woven garden daybed, and not to mention the hot tub.
You are completely in awe. Your mind instantly flashes to Mykonos. This luxury is the furthest from a farm experience whatsoever. It really explains how every couple on this trip looks like the child of a wealthy politician with their finely manicured hands and sickly cologne.
“Woah.” An octave deeper than usual, Taehyung expresses his wonder as he surveys the extravagance that is your room. “This… How much must this have cost?”
“I have no idea.” You whisper, still in your state of near speechlessness while your feet take you to the glass wall.
This is a place of romantic films, a place for honeymoons. Everything is in a rose-gold tint, glistening almost mockingly under the soft February sun. Why are you here? You almost hear the slabs of sandstone ask.
Behind you, you hear him huff out the marvel that he is submerged in. His backpack slides off his shoulder, swung carelessly towards the loveseat. And plop he goes, starfished onto the bed.
Then the fear returns, reclaims its usual residence in your throat. As you pry your eyes away from the opulence of the veranda to look at Taehyung, his head lifts up at the same moment. The short-lived mist that clouded over your reality finally disperses.
You blink again at his sprawled out limbs. He blinks back.
It is as if a switch has flipped, the speed at which he jumps back onto his two feet, fright jarring his mouth agape. “I’llsleeponthesofa.” The slur of his words are unintelligible to your ears, but his display of alarm is almost comical, threatening a smile from the corners of your lips at the hysteria of your situation despite the same alarm you are experiencing.
“What?”
“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” His voice is firmer the second time he says it, tilting his chin up as if to reassure you of his confidence.
“It’s okay, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” You sigh because you know how much Taehyung is bursting to sleep in a king-sized bed. It was his first time in Mykonos, and you had not heard the end of how it was the best sleep he’s had in his lifetime. So imagine him now.
He bristles, a genuine look of offence fleets. “Of course not, I can’t allow that.”
“Why not?” Your tone with him is foreign, lacking the playfulness it once had - just an aloof callousness.
“‘Coz! I’m not gonna let you take the couch while I sleep on this massive bed.” He gestures at the couch for emphasis, letting his arm dangle afterwards. He is less different with you than you are with him, you note.
“You just answered my question with the very statement I was questioning you on.” You cross your arms and lean against the glass, allowing the warmth to bask through your shirt.
Taehyung frowns and mirrors your action, the muscle of his bicep flexing more than usual from the agitation in his motion. “‘Coz you’re a light sleeper. Just stop being stubborn and take the bed.”
You’re not quite sure why, of all things, ‘you’re a light sleeper’ is what moves you. The consideration he still holds for you inhibits any protest you wish to sound.
He cares about you, he clearly still does. Just like how you would willingly give up the bed for him.
God, you don’t want to fucking be here. You wish it didn’t have to be so painful, every single little interaction between you just reminding you again and again of how much you loved and hurt each other.
Taehyung takes your silence as compliance and begins to unpack, ruffling through his bag for a change of cooler clothes with his shoulders tense in discomfort. You know what the mature person in you should say: we can just share the bed. But you can’t think of a single reason why that would be a good idea.
With this Valentine’s trip completely planned for you two, it feels like the universe presenting you with an undeniable temptation. Everything around you is telling you to just get back with him, to give in to your inhibitions and fall back into him. You’ve got the champagne in the cooler, hot tub in the patio, rose petalled bed all laid out in front of you at your disposal. An inner voice chanting make up, make up, make up. Because what’s stopping you?
What’s stopping you is that look on his face when he saw Jimin fixing the back of his shoe beside you as you were walking him out. What’s stopping you is the sound of another girl moaning his name right down the hall from you.
So maybe some could see it as strength for resisting the yearning, for being able to put up a front and speak to him so indifferently. But you see it as weakness, because you still cannot move on.
.
Despite the sun blazing down your back, the cool gust of spring weather eases what otherwise would have been scorching heat. Never would you anticipate that you would be spending this weekend sifting through strawberry bushes to find large red ripe summer fruit, yet here you are. You don’t even think it’s strawberry season.
You’ve never been a country girl, but the dirt feels strangely comforting under your nails. Well, comforting is perhaps not the best word to describe your state of mind right now. As much tranquility as this farm is bringing you, with Taehyung always no more than two metres away from you, you don’t think you could ever relax.
In black sports shorts, plucking his own berries on the other side of the same very row of bushes, sweat trickling along the veins of his neck… Of course your attention is scattered.
Not to mention, you keep catching his shifting eyes. You thought you ought to say something, but what exactly? The awkwardness is prominent as it is.
A heavy exhale. You find a particularly large berry, leaves curling upwards to indicate its ripeness as the strawberry expert (yes, strawberry expert) had taught you. Pluck. And off it goes into your basket.
This is definitely therapeutic. You imagine every strawberry to be your feelings for Taehyung. This one over here shall symbolise his musky scent that you fall asleep to. Pluck. This one, his stupidly attractive perm, so long that even you would tell him to trim it because it’s covering his eyes. Pluck. His eyes… Especially when he’s confused as he makes that wide-eyed puppy dog face, which is very often. Pluck.
You glance up, you can’t help it.
And he’s already looking at you. Caught red-handed, literally red-handed because his hands are somehow stained with strawberry juice. Instantly he whips his head back down at his basket that is rested by his crouching knees, though there is not much in there for him to look at.
“Stop making this weirder than it already is.” He almost jumps when you speak, clearly not expecting any sort of interaction from your end.
Slowly, he glances back up at you, dark wavy fringe swaying from the slow tilt of his head. “I- Sorry, I wasn’t- Um, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
There’s something quite breathtaking about Taehyung under the sun, the way the rays reflect off his honey-tan skin to give an effulgent finish like a marble statue of some Ancient Roman God worshipped by priests and maidens. The coat of sweat gathered at his cupid’s bow could possibly be your undoing.
You love him, despite all the strawberries symbolic of his traits that you were picking.
And you hate yourself for that. You don’t want to feel like this anymore. You’re so sick of this heavily-hearted feeling of being dragged down by your emotions all the fucking time. You want to be able to look at him and feel nothing, look at him and not be intruded by the echoes of that night.
It makes you sick, the thought of him inside someone else. Physically sick to the core.
“Well, you are. So stop looking at me.” You state coldly. You just want to forget everything and let go of him, but his presence is not letting you do so. If being a bitch is what it takes, you’ll gladly be a bitch
“No, you have dirt on your face.”
Embarrassment slams into you like a wave, wielding you to shut your eyes and take a deep breath of humiliation. It’s instant karma for being a bitch. “Oh.” You say, carelessly wiping all over your cheeks with the back of your wrist, more with the intention of hiding the rush of blood to your face than to actually clean. You keep your eyes trained on a tiny pale berry in the bush, hoping that he’ll look away from you.
But he doesn’t. “You’re smearing it.” You look up to find his lips drawn in a tight line in attempt to hide his amusement. Everything is just working out wonderfully for you, isn’t it? Yet before your mind can process it, he rises from his crouch and leans over the short bushes.
When his thumb meets your cheek, it almost sears you. As his eyes are focused on the dirt on your face he’s brushing away, yours are locked on his gaze - gentle, warm, familiar. The collar of his shirt droops low, exposing his chiseled collar bones, protruding so enticingly as if for the sole purpose to catch your attention and remind you that it was one of your favourite places to bury your nose in.
Taehyung’s touch is heartbreakingly gentle; the rest of his fingers come under the side of your jaw for support, though only fleetingly. The whole exchange is brief, the dirt brushed away as swiftly as your relationship had crumpled.
You feel it in your nose first, that overwhelming wave of sadness, and then behind your eyes. You want to cry. You want to cry as he pulls away, as he realises that he has unconsciously acted out of familiarity, as a shyness reaches his eyes when he meets your glare.
It was only a mindless sweep of his thumb on your face, yet its impact is explosive under your skin, reminiscent of a time when such a touch had different implications, elicited a different response.
You quickly blink it away - the tears, but not the heartache. That wretched feeling in your throat does not permit you to thank him, so you just stare at each other, the world around you a mere blur of blues and greens. You watch his chest rise as he sucks in for air, wondering if the same memories are now visiting, no, haunting, him.
You can’t do this because you’re not strong enough. For you whole act of indifference in front of him, your constant resisting against the urge to fall back into him, you’re still not strong enough.
But to your surprise, or perhaps even gratitude, he’s the one who picks up his basket and paces away without another word. You watch the back of his calves, the slosh of his overgrown hair, as he walks away.
.
You stare out the glass door at the patio. It’s dark, you can scarcely see a thing with the lights outside switched off. It acts as a perfect canvas for your imagination, for scenes of your past together to materialise before you.
It’s not been a full day yet, and you already feel so drained. This is impossible. You want to call Lotta to pick you up, but upon deeper consideration, you don’t think you have the heart to. This must have cost her a considerable amount of money to book. She had the full intention that this will bring you and Taehyung back together, yet it is doing everything but. You don’t want to imagine her disappointment when you return in streams of tears.
After the session of strawberry-picking, your baskets were handed over for your fruits to be washed and prepared for your baking class tomorrow. Following that is your free time, when you are left to your own devices, at liberty to roam around the farm, dine at their organic restaurant by the hotel. Taehyung had taken Jae’s recommendation of visiting the spa; you opted to stroll (sulk) about, as far away from him as possible.
It’s unhealthy, this continuous bombardment of thoughts of him. Your month’s worth of progress has reduced to ashes.
Maybe you don’t even actually have feelings for him anymore. It could purely be a deception of the closeness you’ve developed for each other that you mistaken for love. You had spent almost every single day of the past two and a half years together, under the same roof, sharing a bed towards the last few months. It’s the safety and intimacy that your brain associates him with that forbids you from moving on.
Maybe you’re actually over him romantically. But the wanting, the missing him as your best friend still lingers.
The door to your room opens abruptly. Hair damp, Taehyung strolls inside in a white bathrobe and slippers, his clothes bunched up under his arm. Tiny beads of moisture dot the sparse view of his chest you have.
“Oh, you’re here.” He says, his step faltering at your clearly unanticipated presence. Or perhaps the sight of you, staring out into the dark, completely alone in this room is just awfully strange. “I thought you’d be eating at this time.” Eyes dropping to the ground as the door shuts behind him, his movements are clearly timid and weary, an rare expression on Taehyung.
“Not that hungry.” You mutter. “How was…” You ask out of habit, but immediately catch yourself. Quick eye contact before you both look away like docile animals. It’s too late for you to take back the question now anyway. “How was the spa?” And to make it appear that you don’t really care and was just asking out of courtesy, you turn back around to face out to the patio.
Completely unnecessary and petty move, whatever.
Except you see his reflection on the glass from the illuminated room all too well. Visibly easing that you’ve looked away, he plops his clothes down at the end of the bed and trails into the bathroom to fetch a towel for his hair. “Was really nice, they give good massages. You should give it a go at some point.”
“Okay.” He gives his head a good shake before drying with the towel. It feels creepy that he doesn’t know you are watching his reflection, so your eyes drop to your feet. You wonder if his masseuse was female. Not that it matters at all.
“What time are we meant to meet them for stargazing again?” He is speaking a lot - well, relatively. It saddens you that his usual tone of endearment when he would speak to you is now missing. It’s like speaking to a stranger, but worse, a stranger who takes a stab at your heart after every word.
“At 9, so that’s in…” You raise your wrist to find your watch absent from where it usually sits on your wrist. Right, you had removed it before strawberry-picking so it doesn’t get dirty and left it on the coffee table. Just as you turn around to retrieve it, you are met with Taehyung slipping his robe off. Your eyes widen.
The fluffy material glides down his shoulders like he’s made of gold, revealing the sculpture of his upper body that you scarcely recognise because he never used to be this toned. You thank any higher power there is that he is wearing his boxers, but they do nothing to conceal the faintest V at his hips and the bulk of his thighs. He isn’t bursting with muscle, but body definitely more well-defined than you remember.
“Have you been working out?” It just slips out. You wish, as the heat floods to dizzy your mind, that you had the capability of holding your tongue for once in your life.
Taehyung hesitates, Adam’s apple bobbing at his jugular. That shy awkwardness returns when your eyes meet. “Yeah. I mean a little, here and there…” Self-consciously, he brings his arm across his chest to rub at his bicep, but the gesture only flexes the muscle he has gained.
Your knees feel slightly weak. It’s the lack of dinner, you tell yourself. It’s not just your knees that feel weak though, your heart is thumping haphazardly into arrhythmia.
“But you hate exercise.” The stability in your voice surprises you.
“Yeah I did, but Seojoon said it’d help me take my mind off… things.” Lip between his teeth, Taehyung searches around for a top. Sheepishness in the form of a soft pink tint on his round cheeks turns you soft.
‘Things’, meaning you.
When you realise you’ve been staring, you immediately look down, fingers fiddling with each other like you’re some virgin freshly exposed to the spectacle of the male body. You’re anything but yourself, and so is he. Taehyung exercising? You almost scoff.
“You don’t have to… You’ve seen me naked, you know.” Taehyung mumbles, finally locating the sweatshirt he intends to wear. When you hear him pull it over himself, you sag in relief, the immense weight that his starkness strangely bestowed on you finally alleviated.
“Yeah, but it’s different now.” Now that we’re not together anymore. Not that we were ever together.
You know he feels it too, the sting of those words. The hurt in his eyes fill you with a sort of bitter self-resentment that you cannot wrap your head around. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me feel like a bitch. Just stop hurting me.
“Yeah, it is.” But for some reason, it stings even more when he says it. His agreement should be a triumph, yet it feels more like the acknowledgement of the broken bridges between you.
When it comes from your mouth, it’s you convincing yourself more than anything. When it comes from his, it sounds like the truth.
.
Of the many things that are slowly killing Taehyung this weekend, the painfully awkward silence is among the most unbearable. It’s the loud kind of silence that he hates where there is clearly so much to say to each other yet none of it is coming out. There’s a vast ocean between you, roaring waves engulfing any sort of message he wishes to communicate.
This has to be one of the strangest experiences of his life - being set up by your friend on a couple’s trip to a resort disguised as a strawberry farm for Valentine’s day with you - and he has experienced a lot of weird shit in his life.
To be honest, he hasn’t been doing so great the past few weeks.
All the anger and bitterness had taken two days to melt away into miserable wretchedness. Two days, that’s all it took for him to not be angry with you anymore because there was one person he was angrier at - himself.
Because Taehyung was quick to realise that losing you is miles, miles, worse than what you had done to him. It was a sudden sort of realisation, the kind that hits you in the middle of doing something. What had he done?
The way he yelled at you, the things he said. His chest always sinks at the rememberance.
You didn’t know it was Jimin, you truly didn’t. But he exploded on you nonetheless, impermeable to your explanation. That wasn’t him. That raging bellowing man wasn’t him. If only he had just calmed down and talked it through with you, maybe he wouldn’t have been sleeping alone in your bed that your scent still clung on to.
And when he thinks about how you had heard him with that girl from the club, the bar, wherever his inebriated state took him that he doesn’t even remember…
Taehyung regrets everything.
How you got to this point was so extremely stupid. He should have just confessed to you, simple and easy, no complications needed. You are a commitment-phobe, he always knew he’d have to be the one to say it first. So why didn’t he? What the fuck was holding him back?
All he had to say was to not go on that date with Junho. That’s all you wanted. Why why why didn’t he just say how he felt?
Taehyung never knew himself to be a crier before this. He had shed a tear or two when he found out about Ryujin’s cheating and his friends’ betrayal; that was a stab in the back that left him gutted from the inside. Yet still, he got by, he survived because he found you. And he had naively thought, I managed to bear through this so nothing can really be worse than this now can it?
It can, and it did.
Once it starts, it won’t stop. The tears. A great tempest swallowing him whole and dragging him under until all he could hear was his own pounding heart. It is always before bed, when he would have the time to himself to truly think and reflect. But sometimes it comes during the day as well. He will be doing something as mundane as washing his hair in the shower, and he would suddenly break down because you had left him your shampoo that you would always get annoyed at him for using.
The house just feels empty. The absence of your voice, your warmth, your lips pressed on his neck every morning before his eyes even fully opened. Gone.
Yet, every corner is etched with the memories you share, your ghost lingering by the sofa that you adore whenever he’s watching TV, or curled up beside him every night in bed. It’s impossible to forget you.
Even as Seojoon moved in to fill your vacated room and help with the rent, the place was cold. It will never be the same because nothing could ever replace you. Everything he had and cherished - swept away just like that by none other than his own mistakes.
Yes, you had hurt him a lot. At the time, that pain felt insurmountable, like the worst thing you could ever do to him. But ultimately, upon the endless nights of thinking, he has realised that what hurt him the most was not you, but losing you. Not Jimin, not Junho, but how what could have been between you two fell apart so quickly by the poor choices you both made.
“Now if you look up to your left, you might be able to see one of our February constellations, the Pictor.” Jae announces, voice full of an enthusiasm that Taehyung could only envy as he guides the tour group towards the centre of a large plain field behind the hotel where you will all be stargazing. It is a lovely, breezy, cloudless night. You are several paces ahead of Taehyung, keenly reading the constellation manual leaflet lit up by your phone; he knows just how much of an astronomy geek you are. “It consists of four stars, as shown on your Star Guide, that are actually very dim and usually not easily spotted. The name Pictor means the Painter’s easel.”
Taehyung stops. Despite the darkness, he sees your shoulders tense too.
The easel you had gifted him on his birthday sits in his closet, stowed away from being a constant reminder of how much you loved him and how much he should have held on. It just sits there, collecting dust, untouched since the day you left.
The halt in Jae’s walking indicates your arrival to the intended location. “Here we are. Let’s settle down, love birds. I’ll set up this gorgeous telescope for anyone who wants to explore the sky in greater focus which I highly recommend.”
Spreading across the field, the group unrolls the picnic blankets you’ve all been given, dropping down to rest atop the covered grass.
No time is wasted from everyone else to snuggle up to their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives. The atmosphere is sickly, even for Taehyung. The couples around him have done little to hide their affection for each other since the beginning of the trip. It is a romantic vacation after all, but is it really so necessary to display your love so publicly?
You stand static and poker-faced on the other side of the mat, clear signs of reluctance to participate plastered all over you.
Taehyung has never stargazed before, let alone in this context. The stiffness in your movement as you sink down onto your knees and lie down in discomfort makes him wince. He realises now that neither of you have a choice but to put away any ill feelings and lay beside each other.
As he gets down next to you, his head nearly tumbles out his chest at the sudden proximity that he has grown so unused to. In the dark, your scent washes up to him like a timid tide lapping at the shore, hair swaying off your shoulders as you get onto your back. The size of the mat does not permit him elsewhere other than immediately beside you, no more than five inches from touching shoulders. Five inches from touching.
Truthbetold, Taehyung feels himself going insane. It started from the moment he saw you on the bus, your wide eyes, parted lips, so pretty despite the look of terror you wore. He didn’t think he would have the chance to see you any time soon. He hadn’t truly comprehended the magnitude at which he missed you until he saw you again.
And he has been spiralling since. Every gesture making his senses scream in agony, the desire to just talk to you mangling at him. He misses you like crazy. Not necessarily in that way, but just your presence, your funny comments, your feign annoyance when he annoys you. He misses the companionship.
You are both on your back now, the blanket feeling either slightly damp or too cold for comfort. The star-speckled sky hanging above you both is endless, a panoramic painting from east to west. You stare at the sky like it’s your lover, so Taehyung does the same. Astronomy doesn’t interest him as much as the meaning and purpose behind the act of stargazing. The people he’s with and the memories he makes.
Wordless, you stare at the sky, ignorant to his presence. The soft hum of everyone else’s whispers accentuates that frustrating silence between you. Taehyung is so fucking tired of the silence because he’s bursting with things to say to you, to ask you.
“Are we just not going to speak?”
His question startles you for you almost, almost, turn to look at him. The slight angling of your head before you catch yourself does not go unmissed by him.
“What do you want to speak about?” Taehyung hates the coldness in your voice. The unfeeling sounds so real. Why are you being this way? Do you seriously want nothing to do with him? That possibility scares him above all else.
Someone giggles a few yards from you two. On this large grassland, the couples are dispersed in their own little bubble of sweet affection, but not enough for his ears to not pick up these little sounds that send courses of envy through his vessel.
“What do you think?” The four weeks you spent apart were four weeks of lamenting over all the things he should have said, and all that he shouldn’t. And Taehyung’s is done with regretting unspoken words. He just wants to get everything out in the open, out of his system, so he can move on.
“I mean-”
“Look, Y/N. This is stupid, the whole ignoring each other thing. Don’t you just want to say your piece and get that weight off your chest?” In the distance, crickets chirp faintly. The discomfort shuddering in the five-inch area between your shoulders is screaming volumes. Taehyung doesn’t turn away from the sky for the fear of the expression he would see you wear.
He expects a note of irritation in your voice, for you to start arguing with him which he truthfully doesn’t mind because that is at least progress. But instead he gets a quiet defeat. “I don’t want to reopen wounds that are already ripping open, Taehyung.”
It wrenches his soul, truly. He doesn’t recognise you when you speak anymore, both with the things you say, and the way you say it. “Talking will help it heal.” Because that’s both your final goals here - to heal, to be cured of the ailment that is heartbreak.
“How exactly is it going to change anything?”
“I don’t know. We’ve had time to calm down and think and I think we should have some closure so we end on a good note.”
It’s funny now, how Taehyung is the one pleading to speak to you when he should be the one who’s angry at you because you were the one to commit the last and biggest fault. He doesn’t see it like that though, that’s all in the past. To be friends with you again, that’s all he wishes for, he doesn’t care about anything else at this point.
“So this is about amicability to you? You want to end on good terms.” Neither of you still dare to look at the other, eyes locked on the stars but somewhere distant.
“Well, yeah. Do you not?” He asks. He hadn’t expected you to be this uneasy, he thought you would have liked the idea of peace amongst you. “Everything towards the end happened so quickly, wouldn’t you like some closure?
“I would rather take my time and heal in my own way. To be honest, I don’t have anything to say to you about that topic except that I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that. It’s pointless.”
You’re coping with this differently, Taehyung understands. But it doesn’t take much effort to be pleasant towards each other, to smile and greet each other like normal people instead of scrambling away from every eye contact. How do you suppose you’d be able to move on like that?
“So not even friends right now?” He tries one last time. A soft breeze washes over you, wafting your scent towards him.
“No, I don’t want to be friends right now.”
Your bluntness stings. Taehyung finally gives in and turns to face you. Your striking profile greets him, your eyes still stubbornly glued to the sky. Your unwillingness to budge or compromise even a little bit is frustrating.
“We were best friends for the past two and a half years. More than best friends, we were literally two peas in a pod; we lived together, ate together, studied together, slept together. And now we don’t even talk. You’re okay with losing that? You’re telling me that I’m the only one who misses it more than anything else?” His angry whisper sounds ridiculous as he tries to keep his volume down, conscious of the setting he’s in.
But then he sees you blink, hard. Then blink again. Your pursed lip trembles. Another two consecutive blinks. When you look at him, your eyes are so glassy that they reflect the entirety of the galaxy above. “How am I supposed to be your friend right now when I can’t even look at you without feeling this great pang of sadness every time?” Taehyung immediately wishes he hadn’t pushed you.
“I… just would rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you at all.” His voice softens to a tone more apologetic. He is the reason for the tears you’re holding back right now and he despises it.
“I would rather not have you in my life at all while I slowly get over you than have you as just a friend because my heart can’t take this constant torture. I just want to be over you but I can’t do that if I have to pretend to be okay around you. And I just don’t get it Taehyung. How are you so willing to be friends again? After what I did, how could you look at me and not hate me?”
Taehyung frowns at you because he doesn’t see how you can’t understand it’s not about that anymore. It’s not about the blame, the who did what to who. He doesn’t care anymore but the fact that you do is alarming. You still can’t let it go.
“Okay, so is this about you not forgiving yourself?” He prods, and watches the brief flash of confusion on your face.
“I-” You’re quick to dispute but stop. Because it’s the truth.
A long silence ensures. You stare at the collar of his sweatshirt, zoned out. Taehyung knows you’re in deep contemplation, you know his points have strong grounds. There is no reason for hostility or callousness between you because it would only hurt each other more.
“Look,” He takes a deep breath. “I just think that it’s unhealthy for you to act like this. You’re burying and burying what you’re feeling without actually facing it. Trying to be friends is a good first step in accepting that we’re not together anymore; being cold to each other isn’t. Think about it.”
Another long pause. He watches you blink, watches your chest rise and fall at every breath.
“I understand your point, I know my coping mechanism isn’t healthy but it’s all that I know right now. We’re different, we’re hurting differently and healing differently. I’m sorry for acting out on you when it’s myself who I want to punish. But I seriously don’t have the strength to be your friend right now, I wish I did but I really don’t. Just give me time.” The fact that you’re not arguing with him says a lot; you have both matured from this experience. It’s sad that this is what it took for you to do so.
“Okay. I respect that.” Taehyung says. “I’m sorry for pushing this onto you, it’s selfish of me, sorry. I just… I don’t know, I guess I’m pathetic. You were my best friend and I want to salvage it as much as I can. I just miss you, that’s all.”
You don’t say anything, but Taehyung is okay with that. Because he knows you miss him too, you miss the friendship, the having each other to lean on.
The difference between you and him is that you can’t compartmentalise your lingering feelings for him and put that aside right now, whereas he can. You need to rid those feelings before you can be his friend, and he’s okay with that.
He stares at Pictor, it’s four weak stars that dim beside much brighter constellations yet somehow call to him. And he almost smiles.
.
You stare at your own reflection in the mirror.
That conversation with Taehyung resonates with you more than you’d care to let on. You let every single word he said sink in, your inner turmoil contemplating the points he made. Because he definitely has a point.
What resonates with you most is the word closure.
He’s right, everything between you ended so quickly that there was no time to process and accept it until it was already over. Maybe that’s why you’re finding it so hard to let go. If you were to be friends again, you could at least normalise his presence and gradually move past this.
Twisting the faucet on, you splash some water on your face to clear this dilemma from your head. And after wiping yourself dry, you exit the bathroom into your room with a great sigh.
Taehyung is wearing the grey hoodie - that’s the first thing you notice. As in the grey hoodie you would always claim as your own because of how soft its material is. The grey hoodie that you regret giving back to him. The grey hoodie that he would always wear when you guys gamed at midnight and it would always end with you on his lap, his locks tangled in your fingers while his mouth explored yours.
You take it back, fuck being friends, you’re back to square one.
He glances up in the dark, eyes surveying your silhouette from head to toe as he places a pillow on one end of the couch. Ever since that conversation, there’s the most subtle difference in his permanent expression - his lips look inclined to smile, his eyes hold an understanding for you that makes you feel vulnerable.
And, god, it makes you want to try. He deserves it, to have his best friend back in his life even if that best friend is you, the person he trusted the most in the world only to turn around and impale him in the chest with those stupid decisions of yours.
The omnipresence of your awkwardness hasn’t faltered though. “Taehyung, I said I would take the couch.” You protest, though you’re starting to see that it’s futile. You may be the more stubborn one between the pair, but there are certain things that Taehyung would never back down from.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Y/N.” The corner of his lip turns up properly now, like he’s silently snickering at a joke he thought of. “That’s just - not gonna happen.”
“What’s so funny?” Switching the bathroom lights off behind you, you ask. You hadn’t packed well for this trip, you are only in a flimsy camisole and a pair of sweats, the cold air coaxes goosebumps on your skin. His gaze follows you as you draw the curtains shut over the glass wall, leaving only a strip of moonlight streaming in.
“Nothing.” Taehyung places both hands on the top of his head, an action that causes his hoodie to slightly ride up his torso. You fix your eyes on the floor as you approach him and the sofa. “It’s just funny how you think I’d ever let you sleep on the couch while I sleep on the bed.”
There is a dead end down this path you’re going, neither of you would let the other win. So you simply ignore him and situate yourself on the couch, stretching your legs to span it wholly. “Good night.” Fixing the pillow he had placed, you shut your eyes.
“What, no.” You can hear the smile wipe off his face, almost making you chuckle out loud. “Y/N, get up.” Hastily he hovers over you. But when you show no sign of acknowledgement, he shuffles away. A moment later, you feel a great gust of air, then the softest silkiest duvet landing over you.
Your eyes fly open. And there Taehyung stands with his arms crossed smugly. “If you take the couch, you also take the covers.”
“No! You’ll be cold.”
“You’ll be cold. You’re not wearing enough.”
You give up. “Oh, for god’s sake, Taehyung. Fine. Let’s both sleep on the bed, okay?” His entire expression dilates. He doesn’t even blink as you get off the couch and cross your arms back at him. “Problem solved.”
Taking his wrist in one hand, dragging the plush duvet in the other, you walk to the bed and sit him down. No noise of protest emits from him, so you go back to retrieve the pillow from the couch in a huff.
“Are you sure?” His voice is suddenly timid, unsure. And he’s right to be so, because you’re quaking on the inside as well at the prospect of sleeping beside him.
It’s not going to be good for your heart, you know that definitely. But like he said, you need to face this. If you touch a paper cut enough times, it stops hurting. “It’s just sleeping, it’s no big deal.” You lie. “You want to be friends right? Well let’s start with this. Let’s stop being stupid and childish.” You can’t look him in the eye as you rearrange the bedding back to its original state before Taehyung messed it up.
His reply merely a quiet yeah… before you both hesitantly crawl under the covers and tuck in. Heat flushes to your face as you do so because the action feels so familiar, yet everything about it is different.
Absolute silence. Backs facing each other. An arm's length or two between you but it feels like more. You don’t even shut your eyes because why pretend that you’ll fall asleep?
Your own palpitation is so vigorous that it’s audible. The thoughts whizzing around in your head are unstoppable, a persistent prodding at your skull. His scent is strong, that sweet honey musk that used to seduce you to sleep now the very thing that’s keeping you up.
It must be, what, ten? twenty minutes? of just laying there as you ponder your future with Taehyung, if you want a future at all. He’s right, you miss his friendship above all else. As much as you love Lotta, there is an intangible quality missing between you, that extra spark that existed between Taehyung which boosted your dynamic up to an incomparable level. You understood each other without having to speak, care about each other more than yourselves - that love was almost familial. Losing that has been too much.
Then you hear Taehyung shift onto his back. “Y/N?” Your heart skips a beat.
“Yeah?” You answer after a pause, mind racing through all the possibilities of what he could say. You hate this permanent uncertainty of what he’s thinking.
Silence follows for a short while, the endless possibility of what he’s going to say flooding your mind. Then, “You know how I can’t sleep without holding something?”
You stop breathing.
Because you see very clearly where this is going, and it’s down a road that you don’t know if you can withstand.
He can’t sleep without holding you. Holding you.
You take a deep breath and clamp down on your lip, grateful that your back is facing him so he can’t see the pathetic weakness on your face. Can you do this?
Can you do this without wanting to cry? Can you do this without succumbing to your momentary desire to just turn around and kiss him because you won’t be able to think straight with his arms around you? You’re really not sure.
“Yes…?”
“Can I…” Something rustles the covers, perhaps his arm, or maybe he’s inching closer. In the pitch black night, every movement feels amplified, more impactful. “You know…”
“Can you what?” You’re not being difficult, you’re giving him the chance to take back on this request. To just say nevermind and turn back around. Because you’re not equipped for his touch; you don’t want it, you don’t want the pain that comes with it.
Another pause. Take the chance, please. But his deep hesitant voice sounds in the dark, “Can I hold you please?”
You shut your eyes. That feeling in your nose again, that rush. Hold it in, don’t cry, stupid emotional bitch, don’t cry. What’s there to cry about? You wonder if this torment will end, and you wonder if you could ever stop feeling this much for him.
“I swear I’m not trying anything, I genuinely can’t sleep.” His voice has a way of penetrating deep into your bones, begging you even if it’s not his intention to.
You could say no, right? Just say no.
But that isn’t facing it, that isn’t overcoming your heartbreak. If your goal of this trip is to come out of this weekend completely devoid of feelings for him, then you need to let him stop affecting you.
“Okay. Please don’t make it weird.” You whisper, not daring to move a muscle.
Taehyung sags in relief, the bed dipping with his weight. “I won’t, I promise.” The sound of him shuffling closer to you constricts your throat. You close your eyes, awaiting the warmth of his front to meet your back, counting down in your head for that dreaded moment to come. “Come closer.” He murmurs.
When his hand fits around your waist, you know it’s an act of unconscious habit rather than intent. Slowly, he drags you into the enclosure of his chest, his scent and heat enshrouding you until you are completely engulfed by him.
He exhales, the fingertips of his breath caressing your hair ever so gently.
Every fibre in your body is tensing, eyes firmly shut and toes curled inwards. His hand feels enormous on your waist, holding you the only way he has ever known how to. With a unique type of affection that is so pure and devoted, yet also with a hint of protectiveness and possession.
Taehyung lets go of your waist only to encircle his arms around you entirely, his legs curling up under yours until you’re both cocooned together.
“You okay?” The back of your neck feels tender, sensual even, from the tickling heat of his breath. You’re too keenly aware of how close your heads are positioned, of the searing sensations that his hands are causing.
No, you’re not okay. Your skin has been lit on fire. Memories that you’ve long since tried to bury are surging back at full force, slamming into you one after the other. He’s too close, he’s everywhere. There is no distance separating you right now, yet you still feel miles away from him; you can’t comprehend his intentions nor decipher his thoughts. The fit of the crook of your back into his chest is perfect, a heartbreaking kind of perfect. This feels so so familiar. This is exactly what you had yearned and dreamt for every night for the past month - to be in his arms again. So why does it hurt even more than being alone?
Instead, you nod, “Mmm, yeah.”
A compulsion is yanking at you to lean back into him.
Taehyung exhales again and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder where he always used to perch. If you were naked right now, he would be speckling this shoulder with soft dainty petal kisses. You hate that there is still a part of you, and mind you a very significant part, that wants it.
Your hands are inches away from touching each other; just one lift of your wrist and your fingers can clasp. The urge indunates you.
It would be so easy right now to just succumb - let your hand crawl into his because you know he would hold it, turn around and start kissing up his jaw until your tongues are tangled. You think it’s purely physical, these impulses, at least that’s what you want them to be. You just miss the intimacy, that’s all. But then why does it feel like you’ve swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies? Except their wings are made of glass, and everytime they flutter, you feel the shards scratch along your insides. There is desire laced in the pain. You don’t know which one is worse.
What baffles you the most is how he is alright with this, how he initiated this. He said he wants to at least be your friend, but this surely feels like a breach of friendship to anyone. Holding each other in bed is not being friends. But then again, you both have always had a warped perception of what friends should be doing.
You don’t understand how it’s so different for him. How the areas where you are touching, even if separated by layers of clothes, doesn’t tear through his sanity. If he doesn’t feel the same crack in his heart, then what does he feel?
With every heavy breath he takes, you take a silent one, eyes shut and praying to be swept away by the sleep that you don’t believe will reach you. You haven’t slept well since that night. Taehyung, on the other hand, you know is instantly sound asleep. It never used to take him more than five minutes as long as you were in his clutch.
But then, maybe there is a soothing essence in his presence with his overwhelming pleasant scent and rhythmic breathing, or maybe you’ve just exhausted your body with constant overthinking, a hazy fog drifts over your consciousness. You’re so tired, physically and mentally drained... And Taehyung feels so warm and snug around you...
The last thought you have before you drift off into reverie is that you feel his fingers slide between yours, holding not firmly but with intent. And you don’t know if it was you or him who moved it so.
You wake up from the damp heat gathered in all your crevices, the thin coat of sweat mildly irritating your skin. You are facing the glass door to the patio, and though the curtains conceal much of the windows, strips of sunlight topple past the cracks and unfurl into your room.
Taehyung’s arm is around you. Still.
After these years of living together, you know everything about Taehyung like that back of your hand. You can tell whether he’s awake or not from his breathing. And he’s most definitely asleep, though only lightly.
You look down and examine your position. In the course of the night, his forearm has travelled progressively higher until it is just about cradling your breasts. One of his legs is thrown over yours, entrapping you in his embrace. In his tangle of limbs, you slowly try to twist onto your back while prying him off.
He stirs, pulls you in tighter.
Which lands your rear in the unfortunate position of right atop his crotch. His crotch that is very much awake and way too excited.
Lethargy immediately expelled, your eyes open wide.
Morning wood is a usual occurrence for Taehyung, especially after a night of merciless teasing, but randomly a lot of the times. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, nor aroused. He has mentioned before how uncomfortable it can be, a blaring hard presence, a sore tension waking him up in an unforgiving manner. Which means that he can precariously wake any second n-
“Mmmm.” Voice an octave deeper than its norm, he hums, announcing his returning consciousness.
Taehyung’s morning wood and morning voice. You are being tested right now.
Your concupiscence has been gradually building up in the last few weeks from the lack of any sexual activity save for your own fingers and toys. It’s human nature, and completely goes against your will - but you feel the old friend that goes by the name lust stirring at the pit of your stomach.
At your proximity, the tip of his member digs deep between your cheeks, prodding at your entrance incontestably. Your whole body stiffens as the slowly waking Taehyung nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck habitually, arm tensing around you. Ever so slowly, you look back to steal a glance. His wildly curly hair falls over his forehead gracefully, lashes fanned out from his closed lids. He’s too beautiful for his own good.
Your core dampens and you quickly turn back around.
Fuck, please, no. You can’t be thinking about him like that. It’s so wrong. But his erection burrowed between your ass is banishing any clarity or sense from your head.
But God, you fucking miss this.
You’re going mad from deprivation. The dry spell of the past month had been voluntary, on the basis that you knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism because you would only picture Taehyung over the faces of those nameless men. And because you knew no one knows you as well as he does, thus no one will succeed in satisfying you as well as him. Your sex drive was non-existent right after the break-up; sex simply didn’t cross your mind once while you were nursing your broken heart. And then it came ebbing back, though faintly and infrequently, you regained your libido and would find yourself fantasising on some lonesome nights.
But now, the situation at hand is that: you’ve allowed Taehyung to cuddle you in his sleep and you’ve consequently woken up to his undeniably hard cock poking between your legs. And he is seconds away from fully waking up as well.
So what now?
“Taehyung.” You say firmly, pushing his arm away from your breasts. It’s best if you call him out for it now rather than let it hang awkwardly in the air unsaid.
“Hmmmm..?” He rumbles sleepily. You don’t have to turn around to be able to envision his face, eyes slowly blinking open but reluctant as ever, true to his deep sleeper title.
“Taehyung.” This time you nudge back gently for emphasis. What it achieves is additional friction. Your whole lower half achse to grind back onto him, to slide over his hardened cock, to reach back and pump it in your hands.
Fuck.
You can’t.
You could, so easily, but you shouldn’t. You and Taehyung are completely over in every sense of your relationship. You can’t let this moment of weakness strip away all your efforts in moving on.
“Wha…” He mumbles, finally peeling his arm off you to stretch out. A loud yawn ensues. You take the opportunity of his loosened hold around you to twist back and pin him with a glare, hoping that your thirst is masked.
“You’re hard.”
Eyes still puffy, he stops mid-stretch at those two words. And looks down.
Did he… not notice? Or did he, in his morning hazy, momentarily get the situation confused and forget that you weren’t together?
Taehyung scrambles away from you so abruptly that he almost falls off the bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t- It just- I can’t control it, Y/N, you know I can’t.” His stammering is followed by his jerky movements to readjust his bulge as discreetly as one can allow in such situation. The detonation of terror on his face exacerbates your embarrassment. Because you simply don’t know what to do with yourself - with your core tingling in arousal simultaneously as your brow twitches in annoyance. When your vexed eyes meet his, you see another wave of panic crash onto him.
How did you get in this situation in the first place? If only you had just slept on the couch last night…
“Yeah, I know, stop reacting like that. Don’t make it weirder than it already is.” You berate, yanking the covers with all your strength over your shoulder and roll away from him. The distance is more for your own good. You can’t be near him right now, you can’t think about his fucking cock slipping into you.
You want to fuck. You want to fuck Taehy-
Stop that fucking thought.
“I’m sorry.” His morning voice, oh god. Burying your face into the pillow does little against the fluid pooling in your panties.
“Can you go to the toilet and… fix yourself.” When the words leave your mouth, the imagery of him fixing himself flashes before your eyes. And something pulses violently down there. Fucking fuck.
“Um, okay, sorry.” You try to not peek at him as he gets up from the bed, slightly limping as he makes his way to the toilet. But you succumb nonetheless.
His cheeks are scarlet, veins bulging on the side of his forehead, and you’re not sure if it’s from his embarrassment or the discomfort of the boner. Your eyes drop from his profile because his morning face has always been one of your weaknesses, except unfortunately for you, your eyes land on his bulge.
Another pulse down there.
You hate yourself. You feel dirty for even thinking about him like that because it’s so wrong. But then again, he’s probably thinking about you like that as well, hence the raging erection.
When the bathroom door shuts behind him, you let out a sigh. You don’t know how long you can keep hold of your sanity for like this. You’re swimming in a sea of confusing emotions: the constant melancholy you have of missing him and missing the way things were before you had fucked it up; the desperation to move on and understand that he was only a chapter of your life that is now closed; the bitter resentment that you have for yourself as a consequence of not being able to do so; and now the inescapable desire aching between your thighs because of how inherent these memories are of how he would fuck you until you cry like nobody else could.
What doesn’t help is the hint of a slow pumping rhythm from the toilet, and Taehyung’s ragged breathing.
Fuck.
You don’t want to think about how he’s jerking off on the other side of the wall right now, gripping his cock as he leans against the sink, head thrown back. But that’s exactly what you’re thinking about.
Is he thinking of you as he’s doing it? You’re not sure if you want him to, because while you wish he wouldn’t, you also hope that this lust you feel is reciprocated still, that you’re not the only one going crazy with arousal.
Your hand almost trails down to your core when his pace quickens, but his sharp inhale strikes at your inner righteousness. You stop, sit up and rush out to the patio for some fresh air.
Happy Valentine’s Sunday indeed.
.
The dough feels sticky in your hand despite the layers of flour you’ve doused your fingertips in. Baking has never been your forte, you simply don’t have the patience or precision for such a crafty hobby. You glance over to check on Taehyung’s progress at the other half of the counter.
He has the easy job. Of course, when it came to allocating roles between the pair of you in this baking session, the jam-making landed on him because there’s no way he would succeed in making the strawberry tart.
You can’t help but smile at the way his lips are puckered and brows drawn in concentration as he chops the berries as finely as he could. But the way the top half of his hair is pulled back into a little sprout of a ponytail… You gulp.
Neither of you have spoken a word of this morning’s awkward event; it had been a tacit agreement not to as soon as you made eye contact when he stepped out of the bathroom. It has set a lewd tone for the rest of your day. At every blank moment where your mind isn’t preoccupied, especially when you’re doing something as frivolous and kneading dough, your thoughts would wander to the memories of his warm rigid-
You stop yourself. You’re in public and he’s chopping strawberries right next to you.
You’ve noticed how, every time you’d have those sinful thoughts, your mood would lighten a little. The pang in your heart that used to always plague you would profoundly diminish. Of all things, of course sex is what eases your sadness the most, that’s just so characterisitic of you isn’t it?
“Is everything going well?” One of the baking assistants comes over to your counter for the seventh time now (yes you’re counting). She is a petite, rather pretty, pleasant looking girl. And you have not failed to notice how every time she checks up on you two, her attention is always solely on Taehyung. Here you are struggling with your asscheek of dough yet she only cares to ask how Taehyung, the strawberry chopper, fares?
“Yup.” Taehyung spares her a brief glance before dumping the diced pieces of fruit into the saucepan.
“Would you like some more flour?” You almost scoff out loud. You’re the one working with flour over here! Why is she asking him?
“No, thanks.” He doesn’t look up this time.
The assistant smiles to herself as if he’d said something particularly sweet to her. Until her eyes land on you. “Uh- What about you, ma’am?”
“All.” You land a punch on the buttery dough, death glare and all. “Good.” Another punch. Eyes not once wavering. She has the brains to scramble away.
You don’t have the right to assert this sort of possessiveness over Taehyung. But it’s the principle. This is a couple’s romantic holiday; she must be under the presumption that you and Taehyung are together, so how does she still dare to ogle over him like that?
“She’s flirting with you.” You rumble when she’s out of earshot.
Taehyung looks up at you from stirring his jam mixture, his lips still slightly pouted from his focus. “What? Who?”
“That baking assistant who came over just now.” You grit, trying to suppress this irrational vexation.
“Oh. Really?” Clueless, he scans across the room. “Was that the blonde or the brunette one?”
It’s a relief how truly oblivious he is that you don’t bother answering his question. It’s also completely unlike him. Since when did Kim Taehyung not notice when a girl takes interest in him? How fascinating must those strawberries be to capture his undivided attention like that?
“Would you like some flour?” You mimic, batting your lashes at him.
A wide grin spreads across his cheeks. To be honest, you don’t know what prompted you to display such friendliness to him all of a sudden. Perhaps what happened this morning, or even the fact that you slept on the same bed last night, breached one of the walls towering between you. It’s progress.
“You’ve got flour on your face.”
Fuck, again? You need to stop handling stuff like dirt and flour because they keep ending up on your face. “Ugh.” You huff, trying to let the embarrassment brush off. “Where?”
From the mischievous smirk that his grin morphed into, you should’ve known. Before you could suspect, Taehyung dabs one of his fingers into a small pile of flour and smears it down your cheek. “There.”
“You-!” You gasp, your own finger already caked in flour flying for a counter attack at his face.
But his reflexes are fast as he catches your wrist in lightning speed and tugs you towards him, his other hand simultaneously slathering another streak of white down the bridge of your nose. You tumble into him, foolish grin on your face as you twist your wrist out of his grip and manage to smear your floury thumb onto his chin.
Taehyung catches you before you could trip over your feet, smiling so wide for the first time this weekend that you can’t help but giggle. His grip on your waist feels warm. You’re close enough that you have to crane your neck to see him, close enough to see the individual hairs of his brows.
Yes, something has definitely shifted since last night.
The desire is a flame, devouring all your other senses until all you can focus on is his touch, his molten chocolate eyes, his tongue swiping out to wet his lips. You just want to…
Kiss him.
You admit it, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.
Ignition in his eyes, he stares at your lips too, smile slowly faltering. The hammering of your spastic heart cancels out all other noise in the room; you don’t see anything else except him. He doesn’t move, and neither do you. That lustful monster in your mind screams, Damn the consequences. Just kiss. Fuck being friends and fuck being strangers. Kiss him.
“Alright, lovebirds over there. These pastries won’t make themselves. Let’s get cracking!” Both of you jump and the sound of the head chef calling.
A bucket of ice cold water showers over you, extinguishing that prosperous flame. And reality materialises once again around you.
Not just the physical reality, but the reality of your situation as well - you can’t, you shouldn’t be acting like this around each other. There’s being friends, and then there’s this. The line is fine, it has always been.
It’s difficult to separate the weeds of these conglomerated emotions. You miss each other, want to kiss each other. You want the hurting to end, he wants to be friends. Your break up had been too messy for either of you to have a clear vision of what you need to do to overcome this.
Except maybe there is a cure-all solution to this.
You return to your ball of dough as Taehyung goes back to stirring his boiling jam. Yet your attention is now scattered, because a seed of an idea, most probably a very bad one, has been sown in your head.
.
It is most definitely a reckless idea, one that has the potential of going very south.
You bring it up during dinner, the supposed “romantic candlelit dinner with a string quartet” which neither of you are remotely dressed well enough for. “Taehyung, you know how you talked about closure and all that yesterday?”
Taehyung pauses, forkful of tenderloin steak stopped in midair. “Yeah..?” The hope in his voice is infused with an uncertain hesitation.
“I think we should have sex. One last time. For closure.”
The violin strikes a particularly high pitch in the background. Taehyung doesn’t move a hair for at least a good ten seconds before he blinks at you. This was definitely not what he’d anticipated from you, you can tell. But well, of course it isn’t. The idea surprised yourself.
“What? I think I heard something else, say that again?”
Oh boy. “No, you heard it right. I said I think we should sleep together for closure.” You sound unsteady to your own ears. “Release all this pent up sexual frustration we have for each other one last time and then be done with this. You said you want to be friends, right? I actually think it’s going to work for me, I’ll be able to move on afterwards, I’m almost certain.”
Frowning, Taehyung puts his fork down. “Really…? You want to have sex?”
“Yes.” You’re not even going to be shy about it at this point. You weren’t sure how this scene was going to play out but you’d envisioned it to go much smoother than this. “Do you want to?”
“I mean…” Colour of wine stains his cheeks. “Yeah… But are you sure? You were just saying last night how you can’t look at me without hurting. Do you understand why this is confusing for me?”
“I know it sounds contradictory and counterproductive, but-” You halt when you realise that there is no but. You don’t know how to verbalise the explanation that convinced you in your head. “Look at it as break up sex. It’s a common thing because it works. Like you said, we ended so quickly, in a blink of an eye. Just see this as the closing chapter of our relationship. If you don’t want to do it, just say it. I just had to throw it out there.”
Worry drips down your throat when his blank expression remains unchanged - worry that you’ve made a fatally wrong move to make things irreparably awkward now, if he so wishes not to follow through with your suggestion.
But then he nods, ponderously and maybe not entirely convinced, but you’ll take it. “I think you have a point… The thing about closure and ending this better than we did the first time round.”
“So… You’re down.”
“Down.”
So, the rest of dinner flies by with the two of you wolfing down your meal as hastily as you can. The entire time, your mind is buzzing with a strange sort of excitement for you are confident that this is necessary in accelerating your process of recovery.
You and Taehyung started with sex, so naturally, you should end with sex.
If you are eating cookies from a jar and that jar is suddenly taken away from you, you would be overcome with a surge of anger and unjust. You will always remember that awful person who took it from you. But if you are told that the jar will be taken away and the cookie in your hand is the last one you can ever have, you will cherish this last cookie and take your time eating it. It would taste different from all the other cookies you’ve had in the past - better, sweeter, because you know that it’s the last one.
Taehyung is quiet, indecipherable as you stroll back to the room. You understand his doubt, you really do. Because a night ago, if he’d have offered you the same suggestion, you would’ve thought he’s insane. But after the incident this morning, and the sparse flirtation throughout the day, there is a clear indication of unresolved sexual tension on both ends.
End this once and for all with a bang.
“Are you really up for it, Taehyung?” You check one last time, swiping the keycard at the door. “If you’re not comfortable, then we shouldn’t.”
When you look back as you push open the door, you catch his eyes, filled with purpose and trust. “No, you’re right. We need the closure.”
As the door closes behind you after you enter, it feels final - your fate is sealed, this is happening. You both stop in the middle of the room, facing each other. Shoulders tense and fists clenched. The bed has been made from this morning, a strawberry gift basket sitting on the coffee table in the corner of your eye.
Your breath feels shaky.
“So…”
“So…”
His throat is trembling too.
You break into a smile at how pathetic you’ve both become around each other, and once you do, Taehyung observably loosens up. “What are we being so nervous for?”
He smiles too, and takes a step towards you. “I don’t know.”
Bittersweet. It’s the best way to describe how you feel right now. Because this is it.
“Do you want to get in the hot tub? It feels like a waste if we don’t use it before we go. It’s our last night here.” The buzzing beneath your skin grows as you ask, and a spark lights up in his eyes at your idea.
“Say no more.” He presses a kiss on your forehead. It’s utterly out of the blue and fleeting, but enough to make your heart leap, both from the bewilderment and the knowledge that this will be one of your last acts of affection.
Taehyung walks past you towards the glass door, peeling off his shirt in the meantime to reveal the new tone of muscle on his back that he’s acquired in the past month. “I’m going to get some alcohol.” You maunder.
Your fingers are shaking as you rummage through the wine cooled for the drink you best see suitable. A strawberry champagne catches your eye. How fitting.
You can’t explain how jittery you feel as you completely strip off your clothes. This is the last time with Taehyung. The profound significance, the pressure, the emotions, tide after tide hitting you.
Two glasses of champagne in your hand, you inhale sharply, and let it all out.
This is it. This is the conclusive ending you asked for.
Warm water bubbling up to his chest, you find him seated in the hot tub awaiting you. The boxers discarded by the side implies that it was a last minute decision of his to go completely naked. And when he notices your nude form strutting out to the patio to join him, he sucks in. The way his eyes rake down your body then back up to your face sends flutters to you core, but also a nostalgic pang.
Eye contact does not break for a second as you climb into the hot tub and sit yourself adjacent to him. The chilly evening breeze with the heated effervescing water provides the perfect ambient temperature. Taehyung accepts the champagne you hand him, finger brushing over yours in a way that could only be intentional. He’s savouring every touch.
“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” You toast. The lump in your throat almost doesn’t permit the words to be said.
“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” He repeats after you. Clink. And down the drink goes.
A sigh, from both of you. The champagne is bittersweet, too. And you feel that surge behind your nose again, the sting behind your eyes.
“Isn’t it funny how the universe plays out?” Taehyung says, gaze falling to your lips, then your neck, then collar. He slides closer to you. “The first time we kissed was in water, the Mediterranean Sea. And now, the last time will be in water too.”
You don’t say anything for you need a moment to collect the tears. Then you place your glass on the edge of the tub and waddle through the water until you are perched on his lap. He receives you like you’re made of glass, gentle hands coming around your bare back to pull you down onto him. You brush away his dark untamed curls from his face, appreciating the thickness of his hair between your fingers because you don’t think you’ll get to touch it again. His hands trail low to the small of your back; you feel yourself brush up against his member, already hard and poised.
You want to tell him that you love him, that you will always always love him. But you know you would break if you say it.
So you just lean down to kiss him.
People like to describe their kisses like electricity, fire, a bolt of lightning striking down their spine. But for you, it really isn’t like that at all. When your lips meet, it feels like your first sip of cocoa on the first day of winter warm but not hot enough to burn, feels as though you’re interlocking fingers in a crowd of busy bodies and his thumb brushes over yours to tell you it’s okay, I’m right here and I won’t let go.
And you both pull away at the same time, a string of saliva between your mouths.
Because you both feel it, and it’s too much.
But this is the last time, you remind yourselves. Last time.
So your lips fall back onto him, fuelled by a passion you’ve never felt before. His mouth is velvet, fitting over yours so perfectly that it hurts. His hand finds your face, wet from being submerged, and he holds you more tenderly than he would an infant. Your chest is imploding from every ragged breath you take between hot kisses and you just let it.
Arousal pulling at your strings, your hand snakes down his front, dips into the water and wraps around his cock. “Ah…” Taehyung groans into your mouth. Your touch swipes across his tip. “Fuck, baby.”
Baby.
That is your undoing.
His teeth find your breasts, taking your nipple and teasing it until you’re whimpering in need. The roughness of his tongue tingles your sensitive bud so much that your eyes roll back and your vision is black and dotted with stars. The water providing you with a newfound ease, you pump him relentlessly, sitting up so you can slide his tip over your clit and along your folds. Because neither of you can wait, you’re cutting to the chase. Anything else can wait until subsequent rounds.
Every time his head brushes past your clit, a convulsion shoots up you. Your thighs quiver around him as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. And when you inch by inch sink down onto his cock, the euphoric stretch in your walls numbs all other sensation.
You have missed this so much. It’s been so long.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” Taehyung’s voice is shaky, breath hitched.
“It’s ‘coz I haven’t…”
You don’t have to finish the sentence for him to understand and reply, “Me neither.”
The boost of reassurance and confidence that it grants you makes you roll your hips over his. From the absence of sex the past month, your cunt has grown unaccustomed to his size. Your entire core aches, but in the best way you could ask for. The water sloshes as you gain a steady rhythm. You have to bite down onto his ear to stop the volume at which you want to cry out because you remember that you are outdoors.
Taehyung’s face burrows into your neck, panting hard, but thrusting harder. You think back to every single one of your times together, from beginning to now. Your arms encircle tighter around him as you kiss the shell of his ear.
The initial pain in your walls is beginning to trickle away, leaving in its wake the claws of pleasure running up and down your body. Taehyung’s cock performs wonders on you that no one else can - it’s just a fact that you have to accept now. Nothing will compare.
Yet you can come to terms with it. You can gladly accept that Taehyung will be the best thing you’ll ever have.
But then you feel the dampness. At first, you mistaken it as droplets of water splattering onto you so you ignore it. And amidst you bouncing onto him, you don’t notice how Taehyung’s shoulders are shuddering.
You stop.
And feel the streaks of his tears running down your neck from where his face is pressed onto.
You can’t describe the shattering in your heart when you look down to find him crying into you. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t even cry back at him.
It leaves you in wreckages, how he’s holding you close to him still, clinging on despite your how you’ve stopped, muffled sobs cracking out of this throat.
It takes a while for you to regain your voice, but his tears are still ceaseless. “Taehyung…”
When he looks up, you’re struck with another ammunition of distraught. The redness of his eyes, the sad distortion of his beautiful features, the endless endless tears...
“Y/N, I can’t. I really can’t.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been screaming silently.
“I-I’m sorry, you should’ve said. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise.” You’re stupefied from the horrendous sight of a completely broken Taehyung underneath you. You immediately climb off him.
“I-” He sniffs. “I love you so fucking much. I love you more than I love myself and I can only ever love you more each day.” You feel it again, the surge in your nose, the sting behind your eyes. You’re choked up, speechless, resenting yourself for putting him through this. You want to bury your head in the water and cry until you pass out. 
“Y/N, I didn’t ever want to lose you because I know I would lose myself. But then I lost you. And I lost myself.” His sobs strangle you by the throat.
“Taehyung, I’m sorry. About everything I’ve done. It’s all my fault and I will always hate myself for hurting you so much.” A single tear rolls down your face, you can’t hold it in anymore. Then a second, third. At the unstoppable oceans pouring from his eyes, you feel destroyed.
“I don’t even care about that! I’m not hurt by Junho or Jimin, I don’t care. Having to wake up every day knowing that you’re not beside me has been the most painful thing I’ve had to deal with. You are my home, Y/N. I don’t want to live in a life that you’re not a part of. I just can’t live without you and I can’t stand it. I can’t- I can’t...”
“Then don’t.”
Confusion draws his browns into a frown. “What?” His face is still warped in pain. You can’t stand it anymore either.
“Then don’t live without me.”
Your teeth dig into your lip to stop your own bawling.
All this conflict back and forth has taken such a toll on you and what for? At the end of the day, one unwavering fact stands true and untested: you love each other no matte what. So why should you let mistakes of the past keep you apart?
“What?” He says again, though understanding starts to seep through.
“I love you, Taehyung. I can’t not love you. I’m not myself if I don’t. So let’s stop this bullshit. I can’t live without you and you can’t live without me. So then let’s not leave each other again.”
You stare at each other, on this cool February night, warm water gurgling up to your collars, the cloudless night sky flaunting it’s collection of stars. And you promise to stay by each other for as long as you live.
“Okay.” That’s all Taehyung can muster.
“I’m yours, Taehyung. My heart is completely yours forever.” His violent flow of tears subside into gentle trickles.
“Okay.” He stands up in the tub, and you mirror his action. Water weeps off your skin, inviting the cold to infiltrate.
Nothing more needs to be said. Your mouths find each other the way they always do, the crashing of your lips, scraping of your teeth. A new tear rolls off Taehyung’s face and onto your fused lips, but it’s different this time. They’re tears of insuppressable joy, knowing that the taste of your tongue is entirely his, the porcelain of your skin is entirely his. You’re shivering from the temperature of the night, but you don’t feel the cold.
His hands come behind your thighs and lift you up to his face level, wrapping your legs around your torso the way he did in Mykonos. With careful steps, he carries you back into the room, past the bed, that poor couch that was collateral damage to your mutual pining, and sets you down onto the bathroom countertop.
When he finally breaks away from the kiss and takes in your beauty under the bright light of the room, there is no less than absolute adoration in his eyes. Never anything less. “I love you and I’m yours.”
Taehyung wraps the only massive white towel he can find around your wet naked body, disregarding the cold attacking his own. You frown at him, hooking him between your legs so you can fling the towel over his shoulders as well.
“I love you and I’m yours.” You say back, blotting his body dry. It’s such a simple statement, yet the meaning it holds for the two of you is so heavy. They’re the very words that you have never found the strength to say to each other, until now.
“Say that again.” You melt under his smile, not a single trace of worry to be found in your brain.
“I love you. And I’m yours.”
You twist your neck back to follow his glare at reflection in the mirror of your huddled bodies under the towel. Cheeks pushed up from glee, heads leaning against each other, and just like that - all your heartache vanishes without a trace.
“Mine?” Taehyung pecks your brow, still smiling.
“Yours.” Legs clamping around him tighter, you turn to face him. “And how are you this hard again already?” His cock’s ability to stay erect is astounding, truly.
“Don’t you know? You could breathe and my cock would be hard.” Laughter erupts both your chests and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.
Allowing the towel to drop around you, your hand slips between your bodies to clutch onto his length. Responsiveness ripples through his toned abdomen. “I want to suck…” You nuzzle your nose to his, your breaths amalgamating.
Taehyung sighs into your mouth. “But I want to-” Your grip tightens around him as you drag out a pump, eyes wide with feign innocence. “Okay, what the fuck, that’s not fair.”
“You’ll get to do whatever you want to me after.” You trail your mouth along his jaw.
“F-Fine.”
He lets you slide off the marble counter with the skin of his neck pinched between your teeth. When he realises that you’re marking him in clouds of purple, his head falls back and gives himself up as your canvas. You understand the appeal of hickeys now. For you two, it’s an agreement, a promise, an exchange of trust. You continue down his front, teeth grazing his nipples, lower and lower, kissing along the protrusion of his pelvic bone. Until you arrive at his cock.
“Do you remember the whole ice cube thing during the heatwave?” You run your finger up his length, over his oozing slit. The heatwave feels like an eon ago, but also like just yesterday.
Stiffening, Taehyung looks down. “Yes…”
“How about I pay you back for that one?” You take his shut eyes and sparse nod as compliance because you know he’s not capable of words right now.
You dash away to collect a glass of ice from the drink cooler, but on your way find something even better. Something you’ve always wanted to try.
Taehyung is slowly touching himself when you return, mildly surprised by the second item you brought back with you. “Whipped cream? Isn’t that from the gift basket?”
“You up for it?” A smirk stretches.
“Very up and very hard.” He lets go of his member and watches you drop to your knees.
To moisten him first, you slowly lap circles around his head, applying considerable pressure and letting the tip of your tongue tease at his sensitive opening. You look up when he moans, and takes his girth into your mouth, sliding his cock further and further down your throat until he pokes the back. Then you pull up with a pop, echoing within the walls of the bathroom.
You take two ice cubes from the glass, one placed between your lips, and the other to massage over your clit. The icy sensation strikes a numbing sensation into your core when it touches your bud of nerves. The cube in your mouth, you begin to trace slowly from the base of his shaft all the way up.
A string of profanities leaves Taehyung at the temperature, and seeds a satisfaction between your legs.
The ice is melting quickly from the heat of your mouth so you waste no time to guide it down to his scrotum resting on your palm. “Fuck.” He whines, his whole length twitching.
When this cube dissolves into nothing but a puddle of your tongue, you take another, ruthlessly educing those curses from him. His tip is the most sensitive part of him, so that’s where you focus on, smearing the edges of the cube around the curve of his head. His thighs tense in euphoric spasms.
The whipped cream comes next. With a few shakes of the canister, you hold his cock pointed towards yourself and view the spiral of white untainted cream unfold onto his head.
“Ah!” Taehyung yelps.
“You good?” You glance up to check that he still has a rein on his sanity.
“It just scared me.” You chuckle and place a kiss on his shaft.
“You should be scared.”
Eyes lock on his, you watch him watch you vulgarly smear the cream all over his cock with your lips. Its sweetness oozes into your mouth and sinks into your tongue. “Mmm.” You hum at the pleasant taste. Then you start to suck, the cream providing you with a lubrication that your spit has never been able to replicate. His cock glides into your mouth with such little resistance that you gag around him.
“Oh fuck, that feels so good.” He can’t look away from you, your hollowed out cheeks and large eyes as you bob your head deeper and deeper. Ribald wet sloppy noises squeaking from your mouth. “Uh fuck.”
Taehyung’s fingers entangle in your hair, guiding your motion in and out. The cream swirls in your mouth, the taste prompting you to suck harder until your mouth adheres like a second skin to his cock. He’s soon panting, even as you come up for air and to spray more cream on him.
“Yeah, keep going. Can I come in your mouth?” His eyes are almost screwed shut, but still open to keep watching. The rise and fall of his chest, and the bulging vein down the side of his cock - he’s close.
You keep sucking, relishing in the taste of the cream, the ease at which his tip glides along your throat, your own fluid dripping from your cunt.
“Fuc- Ah!” Gripping your hair tight, he thrusts hard into you as he cums, ribbons of his own cream mixing in your mouth. Taehyung’s dick pulses violently at the shaft. You watch his jaw fall open, brows pinch together, as the liquid dribbles down your throat.
You pull his length out of you with a great gasp and swallow all the remnants. “Shit. How was that?” Out of breath, you wipe the mess around your mouth with the dropped towel.
“Give me a second to recover from that, baby.” Arms on the countertop to support him, Taehyung lets his head droop back so far that his hair touches his elbows. You wet the towel at the sink and clean his slowly limping member. “Fuck that was…”
When his eyes open again, there is a fury that you know to be afraid of. He hauls you up onto your two feet and latch onto your lips, not caring about the filthy things they’ve just done to him.
“I need to be inside you.” He grumbles. “Give me five, ten minutes and I'll be ready again.”
“Hmm.” Arms sliding around his neck, you let him walk you onto the bed, hovering over you while his hands fondle your breasts that have become lonely. The insides of your thighs are slick with your arousal - that doesn’t go unnoticed.
Scissoring your folds open with his long digits, this thumb finds your clit, bulging and throbbing with desire. The vibrations coursing into you as he starts to rub compels you to arch back. You are really just a plaything when under his touch, as malleable as dough.
“Taehyung!” And for some reason, you calling out his name flips an animalistic switch in him.
With your neck fully exposed, he ceases the opportunity to nibble all over your unmarred skin, leaving angry blotches in return of your marks on him. This thumb is working quickly, the pressure at your clit superimposing second by second.
“Wait.” He lifts his head up abruptly, though fingers still going. “Do you want to sit on my face?”
Your heart jolts in excitement at the mere mention of it. “Didn’t even have to ask.” It has always been something you’ve wanted to try but never gotten around to.
Swapping positions, Taehyung reclines onto his back while you situate your knees on either side of his face. His hands grip onto your waist, guiding your descent onto his thrill-teeming face.
An incredible shock of pleasure fires up your spine when he takes your clit between his lips and sucks. This position grants him an unobstructed access to your pussy, no awkward angle, no cramping neck. So the assail he commences is totally, and unfortunately for your lucidity, merciless. His hands grapple onto your freely hanging breasts, rolling your nipples between fingertips.
Crying aloud from the ecstatic twisting sensation, you feel your eyes water. It’s almost too much, the mind warping accumulation of tension in your cunt. “Like that, Taehyung.”
One of his hands leaves your breast only to insert his digits into your dripping slit. Your thighs are aching, close to giving way; you don’t think you can withstand this tremendous stimulation.
His tongue doesn’t stop and neither do his fingers. Breathing through his nose heavily, he continues to coil your core into loops and loops of hypertension
You’re so close, so close.
And you’re there.
The pulsing waves of your orgasm sweep you away. You don’t even hear your own moans, just the roaring of your blood in your ears. Your whole body writhes above Taehyung, but your muscles don’t permit you to move off him while so ransacked by this high.
It last long, nearing half a minute before your senses come back to you.
And finally, you sag and topple over, trusting Taehyung to catch you and roll you onto your back.
“What the fuck.” You pant, low frequency pulsations still resonating down your legs, in awe of how he never fails to tip you over the edge. And the striking difference between the male and female orgasm is that, unlike Taehyung, you immediately want more when you’re done. “Taehyung, please, I need you to fuck me.”
His reply startles you. “No.” You open your eyes and find him regarding you with such reverence that only confuses you more.
“No?”
Cupping your face in his palm as he props himself on his elbow over you, Taehyung leans down and kisses your nose. Then your mouth. “Y/N.” Your temple. “I want to.” Your ear. “Make love to you.”
He paints a constellation of wet kisses all over you.
“How does that sound, baby?”
You immediately pull him back onto your own lips, a desperate craving as you kiss him back hard. “I love you.” You really do. It’s the one thing you’re the most certain about in this world.
“Ahhh.” Readjusting over you yet still keeping the close distance between your faces, he takes his cock in his hand and pumps. “You know you do to me when you say those words?” He kisses you again, so softly that his lips feel like rose petals. As he lines his tips along your entrance, you shut your eyes and prepare for it.
“I love you.” You repeat. And he sinks in.
It feels different, so entirely different from the previous time tonight. There is not an ounce of concern, of doubt, of hesitancy. You feel safe underneath him, secure.
His tender moans unravelling into songs of vulnerability. “I love you, too.” He whispers into your ear, and you understand what he means by how much these three words have an effect because them alone are almost enough to capsize you again.
His thrust, though lacking its usual roughness, does not lack in anything else. Every time he plummets into you, his mouth finds yours. Your hands are interlocked, pinned down onto the pillow. The surprising intimacy of that act overflowing to the brim. And you swear you could see heaven right then and there.
You feel nothing but love and devotion throughout.
He makes love to you over and over again this night, Valentine’s night. And despite your usual preferences, the sensations between your legs, in your chest, in your mind, are unrivaled.
Transcendental.
When it’s all over, when you’re nothing more than sweaty skin, damp hair, and hearts full of love for each other, you spend your time taking in each other’s details. His unblemished complexion. The beauty mark under the lashes of his right eye. The perfect shape of his cupid's bow that doesn’t seem humanly possible. Everything.
“What we had didn’t work, but we’re not going to repeat those mistakes again, I won’t hurt you again, I promise.” You whisper softly as you caress his cheek. “It’s all or nothing. And you have all of me.”
The glaze over his sincere eyes hasn’t left yet, though you don’t suppose your eyes are completely dry either.
You continue, “Seeing you break down like that today was… the hardest thing for me to witness. So much worse that our stupid pointless fights, and the nights where I would cry myself to sleep. And I can’t apologise enough for causing you that much pain.”
Taehyung’s eyes trailing down bashfully, and you almost worry that he’d cry again.. “I… I can’t believe the day finally came where I cried during sex…” You let out a round of laughter at what he chooses to dwell on.
“I love you so much that it makes me sick. I’m honestly disgusted and mortified by myself.” You snicker in his hair.
“Look, what about me? I love you so much that I cried during sex. Not even just a tear either. Full on sobs. I think I’m the bigger loser here.” The fact that he can joke about the situation reassures you that he’s over it. The mood once again lightens.
“All this just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants during a heatwave.”
He pulls you closer into his rumbling chest, laughing to himself as he toys with your earlobe between his teeth.
You fall asleep in each other’s arms, for the first time as each other’s lovers. And for the rest of the nights that come after.
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A/N: Alexa, play ‘Fuck it I love you’ by Lana Del Rey.
Thank you everyone for the incredible love and support you’ve unfailingly shown Heatwave. As my first fic, I am of course so very attached to these characters and ending this series is such a bittersweet feeling. It’s been such a lovely journey to write this couple and although I don’t plan on writing anything for them in the next few months, I won’t close off that possibility completely.
Love you!
- Kristy
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27/04/20
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lovesick-feelin · 3 years
Note
Willex with 42 and 27 please!
Another anon also requested 42, so this is for both of you! Enjoy :)
Send me prompts! | Read on AO3
27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.
42. Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.
“Alex?”
“Hm?” Alex squints at the blinking cursor on his screen. Gray’s poem is part nostalgic love letter to the school at which he spent his formative years, part lamentation on the cruelty of a cold contemporary society that young boys must enter upon reaching adulthood. Does that sound too pretentious? No, wait. This is for Professor Lessa’s class. Does it sound pretentious enough?
“Alex.” A nudge at Alex’s shoulder finally manages to tear him away from the screen. Willie’s face is touched with an endearing mixture of fondness and concern, his video game controller limp in his hands. Someone has turned the string lights on above them on Alex’s bed. The room is dark. When had it gotten dark outside? Alex frowns. He’s not nearly close to being finished with his first draft. He switches back to his tab on JSTOR. He should have enough sources by now, right?
There’s a sudden touch to the side of his jaw and before Alex can react, he finds himself being kissed. His heart gives a pleasant flutter, eyes slipping closed as he lets himself lean into it. This thing he has with Willie is still new, but Alex has a sneaking suspicion that kissing Willie is never not going to give him butterflies.
Willie pulls away far too soon, and Alex blinks his eyes open slowly, feeling a little dazed. “What was that for?” he asks, and Willie shrugs.
“Just wanted to,” he says. “Also, you’ve been working for, like, three hours straight. You need a break.”
Working. Alex’s gaze snaps back to his laptop, still sitting in his lap. “I gotta finish this first,” he says, already scanning where he left off in his last paragraph. “I need a first draft.”
Willie sighs. “Alex, you told me this wasn’t due until, like, next week.”
“Okay, but why wait when I can finish it now?”
“Because,” Willie says, taking Alex’s face in his hands and turning it to face him again, “you could be doing this.” He kisses Alex again, less chaste this time, and Alex’s mind is once again pleasantly blank. He reaches up to fist a hand in Willie’s shirt --
-- and almost succeeds in dropping his laptop on the floor. “Shit!” Alex grabs for it quickly, making sure he hasn’t accidentally deleted anything. “I just - no. I need to finish this.” He hears Willie sigh next to him and Alex’s stomach tightens. “I’m sorry,” he adds quickly, voice a little higher than he’d like. “I know this is boring for you, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to --”
“Alex.”
“I just, like, what if I forget about it? Or I don’t have time to revise a draft and I just have to turn in what I have? If I fall behind, I’m never going to catch up, and then my dad will --”
“Alex.” Willie’s quick fingers appear in front of him, saving Alex’s changes in Word before reaching up and snapping his laptop shut. He puts it down on the desk next to Alex’s bed. “It’s okay.”
Alex shakes his head, unable to look anywhere but his hands in his lap. “It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m being a shitty boyfriend.”
“No. Nope. Uh-uh.” The mattress dips and shifts and suddenly Alex is pinned against the back wall with his lap full of Willie and wow, this is new. Willie’s hair falls from where it’s tucked behind his ear, tickling Alex’s nose. His weight is solid but not heavy, seated across Alex’s legs with his knees bracketing Alex’s hips, and suddenly Alex can’t remember what he was panicking about if only because he can’t form a single coherent thought.
“Hi there,” he manages, and Willie smiles, reaching with the hand that’s not braced against the wall to tip Alex’s chin up with one finger, locking their gazes together.
“Listen to me,” he says, and Alex is helpless to do anything but that. “You are not a shitty boyfriend,” Willie continues. “You’re actually, like, kind of an amazing boyfriend. You’re really cute,” and here he plants a kiss on Alex’s nose, “and really smart,” a kiss at Alex's temple, “and I’m telling you to take a break because I care about you.” Willie sweeps the bangs away from Alex’s forehead and kisses his hairline with so much tenderness it aches. “You’re, like, insanely ahead on your work. You’re allowed to give yourself a break. You deserve it.”
Alex nods dumbly, finally regaining enough motor control of his limbs to reach out and rest his hands on Willie’s hips, sweeping his thumb across the stretch of bare skin where Willie’s shirt has ridden up. “Okay,” he concedes softly, meeting Willie’s gaze and earning himself a brilliant smile as a result.
Another second passes before Alex remembers a crucial detail about their current situation, which is that his recently acquired boyfriend is fully sitting in his lap. “So, uh,” Alex offers lamely, “this is new.” He squeezes Willie’s hips for emphasis, and Willie laughs.
“Sure is,” he agrees. “You don’t mind, do you? I can move.”
“No!” Alex blurts, almost embarrassed at how quickly he responds. “No, no, um. This is - this is good.” He lets one of his hands skate up Willie’s side under his shirt, priding himself on the way Willie’s breath catches. “This is, like, really good,” Alex murmurs, meeting Willie’s eyes again, their noses almost brushing.
Willie catches his bottom lip with his teeth, pupils so blown that his eyes almost look more black than brown. “Noted,” he says, voice low and so dripping with want that Alex finally breaks, lunging the short distance between them to catch Willie’s mouth in a searing kiss.
The marks on his neck are still fading a week later when Alex turns his first draft in for Professor Lessa’s class. It’s worth it.
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woodrokiro · 3 years
Text
Do It For the Band, Part Five (fic)
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: IchiRuki: 
Summary: When Tatsuki said she wanted their sophomore album to be the next Rumours, this is NOT what she meant. Band AU. Read Part One, Two, Three, and Four.
Against her better judgement, Tatsuki takes an early flight home the next morning, so she really doesn’t know what went down. 
Frankly, between battling her colossal hangover and focusing on not puking on the plane when it hits turbulence: she doesn’t even think about it until later in the week. 
Since the tour ended, the band has a week off to just chill and take some time for themselves before regrouping and planning their next move. Tatsuki goes straight home to smoke weed and binge dumb movies on her to-watch queue. Chad and Orihime had plans to stay in their last tour city for a while since they had friends and family there. 
And as for Ichigo and Rukia…
Who knows. They’re both such dorks that they’re probably that gross couple who serenade each other in bed, naked, making weird metaphorical lyrics about the sex they just had.
Gross. But kind of sweet.
She makes a point to not think about or reach out to any of them (besides Orihime, of course) the entire week - not that she doesn’t love her team fiercely, but they all need the break away from each other... Especially after they spent all their time together making the album and going on tour, and especially if Ichigo decides to show one of his new Rukia-love ballads to the band upon their return. 
Still, she attempts to check in with Ichigo on the fifth day over text. 
How ya doin’, tiger?
He doesn’t respond for a few hours, but she doesn’t think much of it. He’s always been sort of a shitty texter, and there’s a strong chance all the raucous love-making isn’t reminding him to check his phone. 
She’s on the fourth episode of Terrace House’ newest season, debating whether one of the cast members is a chaotic queen or absolute garbage when she hears the familiar ping of a text message on her phone. She picks it up and reads:
Fine.
Huh. 
Not exactly the sunshine-y answer she expected, but then again: it’s Ichigo. He’s not exactly a sunshine-y person, even when - apparently - he’s radiantly happy. 
She shrugs, deciding not to push it. She’ll find out soon enough how everything’s going when they have practice in a couple days. 
--
Practice is in Chad’s garage, and Ichigo, Chad, and Orihime are already there.
She mostly chats with Orihime, who has so much to update her on about her newest recipes, like natto ice cream and sriracha orange juice, and hey, Tatsuki, what are your thoughts on this newest article I found about robots dominating the planet within the next five years?
Tatsuki glows in the babble, chuckling when she can’t help herself. Says the first sounds… Interesting, the second sounds like maybe she can keep revising it a little, and that last article sounds like it might be from a not so trust-worthy news source. 
Her friend tries to argue the source’s credibility when she looks over at Ichigo. He’s silently tuning his guitar, head bent and posture weirdly… Slumped when she catches his eye.
She raises her eyebrows at him without interrupting Orihime’s chatter. You good?
He shrugs, gives a weak smile and thumbs up before returning his attention back to his instrument.
Uh oh. 
Ichigo Kurosaki does not do weak smiles… Or thumbs ups, for that matter.
It’s another few minutes before Rukia swings the door open, a bit of a sweaty mess and running out of breath. 
“Hi all, I’m so sorry I--”
“You’re late.”
Everyone swings their attention to Ichigo, who observes their keyboardist stone-faced. The shocked silence that follows is short, but suffocating. 
Rukia flushes before she blinks, raising her chin. “Yes. As I was saying… I’m sorry I’m running late, everyone. I had a lunch meetup with an old friend that went longer than expected. Please forgive me.”
“Chill, Rukia - you’re fine. You’re only five minutes over.” Tatsuki shoots a look at Ichigo, who’s still ruthlessly eye-ing daggers into Rukia. 
What the hell…? 
“... Whatever. Let’s just get started. Go over everything to catch back up to speed, and all that.” Ichigo plugs his guitar into the speaker, and Rukia nods as she quickly sets up her keyboard. 
Practice from there is…
Like. It’s good. It is. Despite the long break, everyone is still on top of their shit: Tatsuki’s beats are muscle memory by now, and Chad is as on it as he ever was. Ichigo and Rukia are in perfect sync, per usual.
The energy, however, is another story. While there was always some sort of joy and excitement when they all played together, now it’s like the air is stiff, heavy. From behind, Tatsuki can see Rukia keeps trying to look at Ichigo during all the parts they usually harmonize together, to get some sort of connection. 
Ichigo doesn’t even remotely glance her way the entire time. 
They’re near done with the entire set when Ichigo clears his throat, turning to the rest of them. Urahara has joined them by this point, watching with an unreadable smile as ever.  
“So… I think we should scrap Sun and Moon from our main set.”
Orihime lets out a soft gasp. Chad’s fingers accidentally let loose a note on the live bass. Tatsuki chokes on her spit. 
“Sun and Moon? You mean our crowd pleaser? The one we always end shows with a bang on?”
“It’s not our only crowd pleaser, we’ve also got some other great ones. I’m just afraid it’s gonna be a one-hit wonder, ya know? And with that note…” He turns to Urahara. “What do you think about us going ahead and starting to write for our sophomore album?”
They gape at him. 
Even Urahara raises his eyebrows. “That’s… Well. That was fast.”
“Is it? Our album is more like EP, anyway - just a little longer. Like a warm-up. And it’s good, of course I’m proud of it - everyone worked so hard on it - but, just… Why not start now? Why not take advantage of the momentum we’ve got going on?”
Rukia clears her throat. “Ichigo, that’s… We’ve got such a good grip on what we have -”
“I just think Soul Vibes is static for us. Outdated.” He quickly looks back at her before returning his attention to Urahara.
 Rukia looks like she’s been slapped. 
“I think we’re more dynamic now, even just in these few short months. And yeah it’s fast, but - we have time, right? To get started on writing?”
“I suppose so.” Urahara looks at Tatsuki and Chad, who both shrug. Something’s really off here, but Tatsuki sort of sees his point. It’s clear Ichigo’s raring to write something new… Why not? 
“Sure, if you’d like, I can make some arrangements with the music studio. You and Rukia can go in there and--”
“Actually, I was thinking we can work on some stuff alone before presenting it to the group.” He stops Tatsuki when she begins to sputter.  “Look, I know the whole reason for pairing Rukia and I for songwriting was to get us working as a team. But we’re fine now…”
Ichigo looks back at Rukia, and they share a look that’s so… Tatsuki doesn’t know what it is, but she sees Rukia swallow heavily in response.
“We’re fine now.” He repeats grittily. He starts again, stronger: “We collaborated on some cool shit, now I think it’s time to make it a little more diverse like I mentioned earlier. Have my songs, have her songs, have Chad’s songs if he still wants - all threaded together with Tatsuki’s beats. Why not?”
The room is quiet as they contemplate it. It’s not a bad idea, but…
Tatsuki glances over at Rukia, who’s looking down at her hands.
Urahara clicks his tongue. 
“Well, Kurosaki, you raise a good argument. I don’t see why not, and I’m not hearing any objections… Just one thing: you’re not striking Sun and Moon quite yet. No arguments! Hear me out.” He stops Ichigo with a hand. “You’re not striking it until any of you come up with a song just as good, if not better. There’s power in that one, you can’t deny it. Make something as rock n’ roll as that and the team will talk. Let’s just… Keep each other in the know, all right?” 
The band - Rukia included, albeit softly - agrees, and they start to pack up. 
Tatsuki doesn’t know what’s going on; she’s always down for making more jams, she knows Ichigo and Rukia have got more up their sleeves, that Chad definitely deserves to put more of his stuff forward - but that… Look the two vocalists shared…
What happened that night after she left the bar? 
She doesn’t have much time to wonder, however, because suddenly she’s shaken out of her thoughts when she hears Ichigo approaching Orihime about whether she wants to go out and get a couple of drinks. 
Tatsuki’s heart is too busy falling to see Rukia’s stricken face.
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