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You know, I wonder if Rosie thought Alastor was asking for her soul at first. Similar to how Charlie and Vaggiɇ (since the name change, she’s getting the Biltzø treatment from now on) assumed the same thing when making deals with him.
“What’s in it for me? I don’t work for free. You want help? Well, you know the fee!”
“I will not reward a snake like you!”
“You’ll watch them die unless you do!”
“Liar! You wouldn’t dare!”
“Quid Pro Quo, it’s only fair.”
“You really are a demon, pet.”
The whole scene, she was incredibly reluctant to give Alastor what he wanted in return for his assistance. Which is why I think she was acting on the assumption he was using HER idea of a fee.
He needed her help to raise the ranks of Hell, and he paid the highest price possible for it. And now she needs his help for whatever secret reason that may be. So it stands to reason the same would be required of her now the agreement was flipped on its head.
But then—
“You knew my game the day we met.”
JUST LIKE THAT, with a show of his broken cane and a reference to their old song, Rosie’s smiling. And not even reluctantly. She’s hook, line, and sinker.
He isn’t asking for her soul, he just wants his powers without the added strings of indentured servitude. In fact, he’s implicitly offering to keep doing the exact same thing as before, albeit with less leverage on her side.
Whatever her master plan is, he’s all in. The cards may be out her hands, but he doesn’t mind letter her peak at his.
Summary: It's rare to see Xaden Riorson, Wingleader and esteemed rider appear so soft; but alas, he's found his other half, who can reduce him to just that.
SR’s Note: Just what you ordered (I hope) -- more tooth-rotting Xaden fluff with the smallest sprinkle of angst! Thank you again for your patience; I've been working so hard on Kinktober stuff lately, and this was a nice break from that. This ises prompts 24 and 46 from my prompt request masterlist -- enjoy! (;
Tags: @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @whyucloudingmymind @bookofriverr @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @lreadsstuff @paintedbyshadows @woollybread786 @invisiblepixies @cherry-hotline @freakishfandomfiend @littleemissperfecttt @luvly-writer @fiahtheteaaddict @loveofmychips @w1ngsofwax @bodhidurrans @notnowkittenwhisker (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)
You feel his presence before you see him, the familiar tingle of shadows dancing at the edges of your consciousness. The ancient oak tree you're sitting beneath provides perfect cover from the rising moon, its gnarled branches creating a canopy of dappled light that shifts and moves with each gentle breeze. You don't turn around when you hear his footsteps -- you'd know that measured, confident stride anywhere.
"There you are," Xaden's voice carries that low, warm tone he reserves just for you. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"I wasn't hiding," you reply, though you don't lift your gaze from the small sphere of pale light hovering just above your palm. It pulses gently, like a miniature moon itself, casting warmed rays across your fingers. "I just needed some quiet to practice, and the moonlight is beautiful tonight."
The grass rustles as he settles behind you, his chest pressing against your back as his arms come around your waist. His chin finds its familiar resting place on your shoulder, and you feel rather than see his smile against your neck.
"Show off," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss just below your ear. Then another at your temple.... and another at the curve of your jaw.
"Xaden," you laugh, the light in your palm flickering with your amusement. "I'm trying to concentrate."
"So am I," he says, his lips finding that sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. "I'm concentrating very hard on how beautiful you look right now."
You roll your eyes, but you can't suppress the warmth that spreads through your chest -- and it has nothing to do with your light-wielding abilities.
"You're impossible, Xaden Riorson."
"I'm simply in love, not impossible," he corrects, punctuating his words with another kiss, this one pressed to your cheek. "There's a difference."
The light in your palm grows brighter, responding to your emotions the way it always does. Xaden's shadows seem to reach toward it instinctively, dark tendrils curling around your wrist like living things. Where shadow meets light, neither dominates -- instead, they dance together, creating something entirely new.
"Watch this," you whisper, extending your free hand toward a cluster of wildflowers growing nearby, their colorful petals illuminated even in the night.
Slowly, carefully, you let your power flow outward. Not the blazing, destructive light you can summon in battle, but something softer, gentler. Pale threads of luminescence weave between the petals, encouraging them to bloom fuller, brighter. The flowers seem to glow from within, their colors more vibrant than nature ever intended.
"Incredible," Xaden breathes against your ear, and you shiver at the reverence in his voice. "You're incredible."
"Oh... it's just a parlor trick," you say, but you're pleased by his reaction. You always are.
"No." His arms tighten around you, and he turns your face toward his with gentle fingers beneath your chin. "It's not just anything. You bring life to everything you touch. Light to every dark corner." His thumb traces your cheekbone, and his golden flecked eyes -- so different from the harsh onyx they become in battle -- are soft with adoration. "You bring light to me. One of the many reasons I fell in love with you."
Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, warm and insistent. The kiss tastes like promises and forever, like coming home after a long journey. When he pulls back, it's only to pepper your face with smaller kisses -- your forehead, your nose, both cheeks, the corner of your mouth.
"Xaden," you protest weakly, though you're melting into him despite yourself. "People might see-"
"Let them," he says fiercely, his shadows unconsciously coiling around both of you like a protective barrier. "Let everyone see how much I love you. Let them all know that I'm so truly, and utterly in love with you, Y/N."
You turn in his arms so you're facing him properly, your legs folding beneath you. The light in your palm has grown to encompass both your hands now, and where his shadows touch it, they don't dissipate -- they merge, creating swirling patterns of light and darkness that are breathtakingly beautiful.
"We really are opposites, aren't we?" you muse, watching the interplay of your powers. "Light and shadow, life and death, creation and destruction."
"Opposites that complete each other," Xaden corrects, catching your chin again and drawing you in for another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, full of all the things he can't always put into words. When you break apart, you find your heart beating faster.
"The other riders think you're too intense," you tell him, running your fingers through his dark hair. "They don't understand how gentle you can be."
He grins slightly. "I'm only gentle with you," he admits, leaning into your touch like a cat seeking affection. "You're the only person who's ever made me want to be soft."
"And you're the only person who's ever made me want to be fierce," you reply, letting your light flare brighter for just a moment. "We balance each other."
"Perfectly," he agrees, and then he's kissing you again, because apparently he can't help himself. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat, back up to your temple. "I think I could spend eternity just kissing you, my love."
"Just kissing?" you tease, and he pulls back to give you a look that makes heat pool in your stomach.
"Well," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes your knees weak. "Kissing is just the beginning, but I think you already know that."
You try to ignore the heat flaring within you as his expression softens again, becoming almost vulnerable.
"Do you know what you do to me?" he asks quietly. "When I see you like this, using your power so gently, creating instead of destroying... You make me believe that maybe I'm not just a weapon. Maybe I can be something more."
Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his voice. You cup his face in your hands, your light flowing into your palms, making your skin glow where you touch him.
"You are so much more," you tell him firmly. "You're everything, Xaden. You're my everything."
He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, and for a moment he looks younger, less burdened by the weight of leadership and war and all the dark things he's had to do. When he opens his eyes again, they're bright with unspoken emotion.
"I don't deserve you," he whispers.
"Good thing it's not about deserving," you whisper back. "It's about choosing. And I choose you, every day. Light and shadow, remember? We're two halves of the same whole."
He kisses you again then, soft and sweet and full of gratitude. When he pulls back, his shadows are dancing with your light in complex patterns around both of you, creating a cocoon of light and darkness that feels like the safest place in the world.
"I love you, Y/N," he says softly, his nose brushing your neck as he nuzzles into your shoulder. You wrap your arms around him, your cheek resting atop his pile of dark hair. "I have for along time, and I truly believe that will never change."
You will do well to remember that Yoongi is in love with his job first; he is married to his music and is merely cheating with you. There's no space or capacity in his life for commitment to a human; only, the way he cares for you betrays his inconvenient feelings.
warnings/tags: FWB, unreciprocated feelings, jealousy, emotionally cold lovers, dual pov, aerophobia, lovers to exes to ???, drunk sex, cursing, emotionally unavailable Yoongi, hiking in Japan, smut kind of hits you in the face a little, but it's not super graphic?
word count: 12652
music: on the low by justin park, i like it by skz, spring attitude by sunwoojunga
author's note: guys i am stuck in dramatic present. break me out pls
"Shit".
"What?"
You slide the chapstick over your lips.
"It's mint".
Yoongi makes the curious cat-face, raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together.
"Let me try?"
He found you on the balcony at one of the corporate parties. Those same parties where there was always one particular asshole recording things from under the elbow, in secret, for "reassurance". Thankfully, that evening didn't leak. Yoongi found you on the balcony when you were standing with your hand outstretched, catching rain, and he thought, thank fuck. A normal person. Some piano music was playing, reminding him of Mount Tate. It made him think of low Japanese pines and the fresh morning up above the ground. The droplets were gathering in your palm. You recognized his silhouette although you hadn't spoken before that. You were in too deep from the very beginning.
Now he is kissing you in the corridor of your Hannam-dong apartment, tasting the chapstick and making a face.
"It's freezing".
He's leaving first. You leave fifteen minutes later after his car is half way out of the neighbourhood. You aren't seen together in the street or establishments, unless it's an idol-approved restaurant where mobile phone use is banned altogether, and all the staff is on a massive pile of various NDAs. You do not get to hold hands or speak sweetly to each other, but he gets to watch his dick slide in and out of you, your lips wrap around it, gets to squeeze your breast and twist it, slap your thigh as you bounce on his lap, gets to mess your hair in his fist, yanking your head back, and you get to hear him produce god-fearing moans as he is orgasming under you. You do not date, you are four times removed colleagues and fuck buddies, and for the longest time it works well and boosts productivity tenfold. Stressed? Fuck. Depressed? Fuck. Yoongi can growl at his soundboard, then fall backwards onto his chair and keep falling until he lands head first on your lap. You are careful not to linger with your hand in his hair for too long lest he gives you that look that you don't like. When the tint of pleasure and casuallness slips off his pupil and he starts looking inside of you.
The reason is has been working so well was because you were both too busy and aloof to think about it. Two consenting adults, surviving on coffee shots and IVs, just trying to cum once in a while, and have someone around, who doesn't piss you off. Who doesn't know the people you talk shit about, so they don't side with them.
The fallout happened for you when you noticed him wrinkle his whole face as he squeezed a silicone slime, anatomically correct heart, in a futile attempt to "release the stress". Producer laughed at his snoot. You thought, oh, he's cute.
Oh, shit, he's cute.
Then the whole wagon of romance bullshit started filling your head and it felt like from then on you had about twice as much work. The load that feelings put on you cannot be overestimated. It's the constant thinking, even when you need to be concentrated. It drains the fun out of the sexual arrangement because now, instead of laughing at his jokes, you feel the fire at your ears and awkwardly giggle.
As he brushes his open palm across your hip in a mindless gesture, all of a suden, your whole body jerks, reacts, like a car starting all over again, like you've been zipped.
"Whoa. Haven't had enough?" he asks in the deep, rumbling voice that always gives you one promise. If you want, he can fuck for hours. Ten minutes in between rounds, glass of water, and he's good to go again. Yoongi is never stingy with compliments about your body; he always lets you know when you look breathtaking, and how the angle is to die for, and how nice your curves are, and how he appreciates you.
What he isn't generous with, is the actual connection.
On the day when you simply hang out in the same space, you, with your laptop, getting the documents ready, you decide to annoy him under the guise of being mad at everybody else. You're glad you have established earlier that you're an easily irritable person, because now Yoongi isn't suspicious when you seek his company.
But when you step to him from behind, completely misreading the atmosphere, and put your hands around his shoulders, he flinches. Yoongi never yells, god forbid, or even grunts at you, but instead, he turns around quite coldly, and says,
"Don't make it weird, okay? There was no need for that".
He shows you your place. You are, to each other, instruments. Friends almost, he enjoys your sense of humour when you're cool, and, preferably, naked. He respects your space and expects you to do the same with him. You know he is somebody who needs a lot of alone time. You are the same. The elite type of people who know how to be alone. But you have miscalculated that, after all the sixty-nines, maybe, a hug wouldn't be too out of the line. It is though.
It hurts you because you had already lost. The day when he found you on the balcony catching the rain and made an adorably cautious conversation, you had recognized his frame before he stepped into the pool of light, and you should have known that the cup will overflow and you will fall in love with him.
Like, it's ridiculous, who wouldn't? He constantly makes these funny faces, shaking his oval head, and crunches his nose, and is so quiet that it draws you in. When he comes over for the first time, the fucking doesn't start for thirty minutes because he is fixing a closet door that caught his eye. He is this... an effortlessly lovable, rare person. Emotionally shut, which you interpret as manipulation instead of a fact. His gaze tells you, yes, it only takes two screws. What's the big deal?
You are deeply hurt by his rejection, then a little concerned when he doesn't text for a whole week; it's getting dangerous because you don't know where the line is, that you shouldn't cross. You practice with his brothers: Namjoon seems to like you, and you tend to work with him a lot, sampling his voice and sending him variants. You learn this about yourself: casual touch isn't a norm at all, so it's fair that Yoongi got alarmed at it. You avoid touching people even when you are very drunk: no matter how soft, attractive, squishy they look, you tend to keep your hands to yourself. His suspicion in quenched after a bit, he starts looking you in the eye again as you play annoyance. Yoongi is the type to quietly retreat from an argument, to give up if it takes too much effort to battle; to pretend not to notice rather than confront. When there's a quarrel breaking out, which happens relatively often considering how many different people he is surrounded with, and him, having his authentic, strong opinions; when there's a fight, he visibly shuts off, covers his stomach with his arms and slightly turns around, checks out. Especially when it doesn't concern him or his band. Especially with people he doesn't love.
And he doesn't love you. He likes you, respects you, finds you very attractive for some reason. But he shows love in a completely obvious, unmistakeable way. You know he loves Jimin because he never flinches when Jimin assaults him with hugs. He loves music because he spends all of his waking time with her; he speaks about music; he sees the world through her. He loves mountains, and it's simply easily readable in the way he looks around sometimes. He opens up rarely, and when it's about something that he wants to do, it's usually going to the mountains.
He doesn't love you because it's inconvenient, stressful and isn't booked in his schedule. In his daily life, almost every minute is dedicated to doing something. Even sleep is rationed; he knows what time he eats and what time he showers. There's very little space for improvisation, and at first you felt sorry for him. Because, even though you work in the same place, you are simply an office rat. You walk around the building teaching language models and giving them idol voices. You have days off, evenings off, lunch time and a circle outside work. You can walk the street without covering your head with a hood, a hat, glasses and a mask. You used to feel sorry for him because you thought Yoongi and his other boys were kind of victims to their jobs, but soon learnt that his insane schedule is his own doing. He made it. Training, gym, English, Japanese, guitar, vocals, piano, doctors, meetings, shooting, repeat. Asking him why he lives like that would be stupid. It's because he loves it.
You close up. Losers are left with feeling the sorrow and like the third wheel. That's what you get for catching feelings when you never wanted them in the first place. You're not star-struck: you see him in his least glamourous, in the mornings when he is so groggy that he looks like an old man, dragging his feet around the room, struggling to find his own pants. His hair is all but dead, dry, burnt, occasionally it gets softer when his hairdresser undertakes emergency treatments. You stop thinking of Yoongi as an idol three months into fucking him. That part of his life is constantly present, of course; you even get to see him in his public persona from time to time, but he feels like a different person then. Yoongi is just - surrounded by limits, often a physically unreachable lover, that you happened to get a crush on. You keep on living, having this affair, thinking that the feelings, undeveloped, tend to die sooner or later.
The only thing you can't forget is the look he has given you when he refused your hug. You're not enough to have the right to distract him from work. You aren't loved enough to nag on him or call him without a purpose. You should remember your place. He does good in not invading your space, so what's your excuse?
Otherwise, he's a good guy. Yoongi is generally kind and patient with everybody. If there's a choice, he chooses to do good.
─────────────────────────────────────
Like now.
You click your tongue and swipe the web page closed.
"Hm?"
Your favourite band is touring across Europe without thinking of dropping by your place, or at least somewhere in Asia.
"I can even get the tickets, but flights are too expensive because it's the season".
"Berlin?"
"Yeah", you reply absent-mindedly.
"I can take you. I can go there earlier".
"Don't you have the show in May?"
"They've asked me to choose the date, and I haven't decided yet", Yoongi stretches his arms, then falls on the side like a cat, pressing the top of his head to your ribs as his hand tickles them under your other arm. You shift. He knows you don't like tickling too much and does it when he wants a reaction. You clutch his hand shortly to tell him to stop, and his palm settles.
"But we have to go for three days then".
"I can't get time off work. On Monday I need to be back".
"Tell them you're sick".
You brush it off. It's not a big deal anyway. Yeah you haven't been to concerts in years, but you're not seventeen anymore. Life doesn't make it easy to constantly give in to all you desire. You don't have the power to move events like he does. Your hand instinctively touches his hair, and you manage to swipe through it once, before you catch yourself and let go. Yoongi isn't prickly at all, but that one time was more than enough. You don't need to be told twice.
"You know I can't just clear my schedule like that. They need me".
Even though your brain starts working immediately, weighing options, creating loopholes. Maybe you can say you have an emergency, or even leverage Yoongi himself telling them that since he is taking you out of the kindness of his heart, the management should give you a Friday and Monday off. He sighs without making it too sincere.
"You got time to think until tomorrow afternoon".
"Don't adapt for me".
"It's not a problem".
He leaves as usual, quickly and tidy, and you're thinking about the band. You haven't seen them in such a long time. If you get a free shot at going, you should probably take it. You shove all the other reasons deeper and out of the way because you know when Yoongi is working, he is all but absent.
By midnight, you send him a message saying you have dealt with it. He texts back a thumbs up. Asks if you need a ticket, too. Offers to go with you, and you don't take it as anything because when Yoongi is with you, he is actually nice. He is the kind of person who will offer help and then won't pout when it's accepted. You respond to him that you will go to the pit to thrash your head and slam people around, and he retracts the offer.
Then next time you meet, it's already on the private jet. You're taken to the plane fifteen minutes earlier by a security guy wearing flip-flops, while the airport is buzzing and waiting for Yoongi. You slither right through the crowd and to the gate, leaving them behind expecting the real star.
The star climbs up into the plane clutching his knitted hat in his hand and with a cup of iced coffee. Yoongi's eyes dart to the double seats on the other side where Mr Lee makes himself comfortable. You've chosen a single seat at the window, facing forward, so he crashes across the table from you, recalling vaguely that you are maybe afraid of flying. His memory is proven right when the take off begins, and he sees your face stuck to the window, hands clutching the armrests, mouth a lopsided smile like you're judging the gravity. He is sure there's something very loud going on in the airpods in your ears. He keeps observing, notifying with displeasure, that you're afraid for the most part of the flight, uneasy the whole way as the plane soars up, gaining speed and altitude, and then only mildly bothered for the other thirteen hours, only to get panicked again at the beginning of landing. As the runway approaches, he can see your chest freezing, like you are expecting to crash right into the ground, and he can't take it anymore: nudges your foot with his, pushing lightly, then leans over the table. You are too stressed to take an airpod out, so you just grab the hand that he puts out over the table, without taking your eyes off the land. The hold is so strong that Yoongi unwillingly imagines what it will be like at, say, childbirth. You will probably break his wrist.
"Why don't you drink before flight?" he asks, when the plane is firmly on the rest, as he stands up to get his bag from a nearby seat. Mr Lee leaves the plane with the manager and the stylists, to check if everything is ready.
"I get sick if there's turbulence. Once vomited all over a tiny Ryanair plane, it was horrible", you mumble. You feel positively exhausted after an excrutiatingly long flight. Yoongi had motioned towards the bed in the front segment of the plane, but you can never sleep while in the air: it's like the only thing keeping this thing going without nose diving is your pure terror.
"Jimin is coming, too. He wants to show up at the second performance", he remembers, "so you better fly back with us, too".
"Oh. The two us in one plane?"
He shrugs with a smile. Yoongi likes to note how you are a little similar to Jimin. He never clarifies in what ways; you don't work with his youngster a lot, so you have vague image of the guy. But you hear nice things about him, and like him by extention.
He hums instead of a goodbye, then leaves the plane as per Mr Lee's permission. You leave fifteen minutes later, when the arrivals hall is already clear, and the big SUV circles the terminal to pick you up on the corner. You feel happy after having survived yet another flight.
You attend your show and Yoongi attends his; only, while you're thrashing the life out of yourself in the pit to the favourite music, he is sitting like a good boy in the first row of a game, looking pretty. The next day, you would have left on your own to give everybody a surprise at work by showing up on time, but you weigh everything and realize that, if you were so terrified on a private flight, fifteen hours in commercial will be absolutely unbearable and result in some sticky mess. So you linger around Berlin, wander the city for the day after sleeping in, get cold in April weather, get caught up in the rain, eat some curry wurst and in the evening, go to see Yoongi's private performance for the lack of better things to do.
You hang around the dressing rooms before the performance, watching the stylists doll him up: it's always a pleasant sight. Brushes poking his button nose, he squeezes his eyes shut, moving the phone glued to his palm around. You know people are generally curious what the fuck he is constantly doing on his phone. Watches videos or plays mobile games. At the age of thirty-two, he already has several striking features of an old man, and the forecast doesn't look optimistic. Soon, he will start grumbling about the weather, too. His eyes dart to you as you start fidgeting with the coffee machine.
"Can I have one, too?"
"I am putting star anise in".
His stylist, a short quirky girl, turns around to give you a face full of disgust.
"Why?" Yoongi hoots. Like it's a crime.
"Experiment".
"You shouldn't have coffee now", his manager says.
"It tastes okay".
He is sent off to the tiny stage where he is going to entertain selected European fans and show off his average English. You wander around the place, expecting to see Jimin, who can't go on a week without his genius hyung's company. You heard he has a very packed month, promotions and too many rehearsals, all that while his knee injury isn't healed yet, but Jimin is always in a state of panic so he never wants to pedal back. Now he clawed three days out and darted from Seoul to Berlin to show support because he knows Yoongi doesn't feel too comfortable in Europe on his own. Even though he will never say. It's new information for you, and you have to constantly remind yourself you aren't entitled to it at all.
You find him in the smaller dressing room with monitors, observing Yoongi from a distance. There's a whole crew with the light and cameras swarming around him, while Jimin is hunched up on a chair, not even looking at the screens. His head is down, the lid of the cap hiding his face, hands in his pockets, one knee jerking up and down. You feel something like short-fused anger rise in you and don't think much before stepping in and getting into a shot.
"Hey", you look into the camera, then at the man trying to swerve around you, but you outpace him, making your way towards Jimin in little steps. You've seen this tiny guy at work often. Always running somewhere, his strong legs working. Always a smile on his face. You know much more about him from Yoongi who likes talking about his brothers. You know enough to want to protect him, which means, Yoongi always wants to protect him.
"Do you have to record him when he is like this?"
You can only see the tip of his chin, but then Jimin looks up at you, his eyes timid and glistening.
"He is upset. Is this content, too?"
You tilt your head, meeting their eyes. The crew starts grunting something quietly, cameras rolling.
"I am already in it, so I guess you'll have to delete it".
You sit down in front of him like he's a kid. Frankly, a lot of them look like kids. Most of them are only grown on paper, the age in their passports often doesn't respond to how they are. Many boys, stuck in the tender ages they have been traumatised in, by the company. Yoongi often acts like he is a mature twenty-year old which aligns with his debut age.
You put your hands on his knees and lower your voice.
"Who did this, Jiminie?"
The tone makes him chuckle immediately. He sighs like it's a relief. You're glad you have that sense of humour, coupled with your small size, that makes guys smile.
"I'm alright".
"Yeah? You just tell me who upset you, and I'll beat them up".
The recording crew retreats dissatisfied because you refuse to leave his side. Jimin throws them one cautious look and his face lights up just a little.
"Beat them up?"
"Yeah, I go to gym, bro, I punch the bag all the time".
His left knee shakes with his laughter. He adjusts the cap and takes the second hand out of the pocket of his hoodie.
"Thank you".
"No problem. I am a very angry person, I am always ready to protect pretty boys like you".
Yoongi returns to the dressing room a little sweaty, just a little agitated, his nervous system alarmed but satisfied with yet another linguistic adventure overcome without a catastrophe, and sees Jimin snicker at your words as your hands clutch his knees like he is the little princess and you're his suitor. He sees it from the door the handle of which he clutches, and he notices things instantly. How you smile, bowing to see his eyes, how Jimin's hand flies up to his neck, how his voice rumbles deeply to make him sound more manly. Yoongi also notices the tremor in his injured knee and walks over to join you.
As you see him, you stand up and give space.
Yoongi's hand caresses Jimin's head.
"Don't be upset about it".
"I let you down, hyung".
"You didn't. You're here, aren't you? I am happy you're here".
You step away quietly as Yoongi keeps comforting him, glowing in his white outfit, hair slicked back and with highlighter on his cheeks. Looks too much like a groom.
Back at the hotel, Yoongi keeps waddling in and out of the bathroom with a brush in his mouth, one hand in his hair.
"How was the concert?"
"You asked me yesterday and I told you everything", you reply, without taking your eyes off the phone.
"Right. You caught any confetti?"
"No".
"Why not? People gather them and stuff them in jars, you know. We always try to invent new shapes for confetti so that ours will have different jars with different confetti".
You look up at him. He looks like a guy you could spend the rest of your life with, and it hurts quite frankly. So cosy, handsome with his hair undone, plain white tee, one hand sawing something in his mouth with the toothbrush.
"You had coffee, didn't you?"
He shrugs.
"Why don't you ever babygirl me like you did with Jimin?"
A chuckle rumbles in your chest.
"You never show any weakness".
You see that makes him think, actually. Yoongi is probably too caught up in his life to notice such things, to pay attention to himself. He produces a short pondering hm and disappears back into bathroom. This chitchat pisses you off. He is usually way less talkative. Polite, friendly, but not very open. You don't like it when he acts like you have hope. The old grudge you have festers in you for too long, growing from a little childish sore into a sort of trauma. You avoid touching him for too long, talking to him about personal stuff. He usually doesn't respond anything, at best. Establishing limits in the beginning was kind of humiliating; he would take your hand off his shoulder softly, saying he will vacate you at once if you find someone serious. The same goes for him.
Now he gets into bed and his hand is on the top of your head, patting. His arm wraps around your waist as he pushes himself closer. These two days were too tiring and busy so you didn't have any sex, thus, it's even more intimate when he does this. You don't flinch, but instead tense your body up, bitterness a juice in your brain.
"Don't make it weird", you ask. Yoongi lifts himself up on an elbow to look you in the face.
"Huh?"
"I am uncomfortable when you hug me like this".
In the bluish darkness of the room, you can see his bewildered, surprised expression.
"Are you serious right now?"
And you know, you know his mind wanders back to that one time he flinched. Because you know he remembers.
You nod.
"I can't fall asleep with your arm on me anyway", you lie, "it's too heavy".
With a sigh in between his teeth, he removes his hand but doesn't turn away yet.
"What's gotten into you?" then pause, "is it because I told you to back off once?"
It's spectacular how for both of you, that one occasion is a sharp rock shining painful white of awkwardness and unspoken spite.
"Hey, I don't need you to repeat. But you have to respect the limits, too", you say calmly. You understand his shock, because nothing this evening indicated there were any problems. But the outburst is inevitable from time to time, simply because you react to his touch the way you wish you didn't. When it's not during sex, when it's not possessive, you have to ask yourself what's the reason for touching you at all. Yoongi sniffs through his nose.
"Isn't it a little too dramatic? You're really sore about that?"
"I am not".
"Then what's the problem? We sleep like this all the time".
"After we fuck".
"So let's fuck".
You fall back on your pillow and brush through your hair.
"Fine, Jesus", he closes up, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Yoongi does this very well, removes himself, it's not worth it. It's not worth being straightforward, and because he doesn't push, doesn't try to speak to you, you understand his touch, in fact, didn't mean anything. You're one of those soft, warm breathing pillows that help the sleeping. He simply turns around on the other side and purrs like he always does when relaxing his whole body. He doesn't snore and is quite proud of it.
In the morning things are back to normal. It was a slight glitch; in the dark, you can both bury it and pretend nothing happened. Yoongi is allergic to being direct with you, it's all subtle. You see he avoids brushing hands by accident as he takes your bag and pushes it in the trunk; then by the time you make it to the airport, and you go first, he is casual and light again, happy to go home. He gives you one concerned look then says nothing, pushing the mask up his face even though he stays in the car. You go fifteen minutes before him and pass through the waiting crowd, invisible, efficient, led by the security guy in flip-flops.
Mr Lee enters the plane first, and he motions to you, looking you in the eye with a kind smile:
"Take that seat, by the window".
Yoongi follows him and nods at the double seats as well and you understand he wants to make the flight a little better for you. So you plunge in the wide seat at the window, looking outside at the greyish Berlin sky, unassuming white keeping your night trick hidden away. Yoongi sits down next to you, quite ready to fence if you start acting up again, but you don't. The fear of death is much stronger now. Jimin arrives unexpectedly because you have completely forgotten he flies back with you: he lights up the space, happier than yesterday, ruffles his raspberry-lilac hair and eases the tension. Yoongi's gaze clicks onto him and you are grateful for that. You can suffer in silence and alone. Jimin notices how wide your eyes are, and how you clutch onto Yoongi's hand that reaches out as the plane starts moving. The rain makes it worse: you look at the trees bending in the distance, thinking about how a wind like this can knock a vehicle off the course easily.
"You're scared of flying?"
He also asks this because seeing Yoongi hold someone's hand - a girl's hand - is remarkably unusual for him. He studies this clutch of interlocked fingers with curiousity, like it's an animal he thought was extinct.
"That's to put it lightly", you coo back. The plane gains speed, and you are pressed against the back of your seat. Primal horror snatches your breath.
"You know planes crash very rarely? This one definitely isn't going to. Carrying South Korea's most important producer".
His rambling doesn't help. On the opposite, it exposes how naive Jimin's thinking is. You apprecite the movement of his plump, smiling lips, trying to distract you, but he only makes it worse. The plane doesn't care who it carries; if it crashes, it crashes, killing everyone.
"The only dangerous times of the flight are the take off and the landing", he continues, thinking he is setting your mind at peace. You are well aware of that. And for now, you just so happen to be in the middle of a take off.
"Jimin", Yoongi hoots, "you're not helping".
"Sorry", he smiles sweetly, like a little shit. You chuckle at that nasty grin and look away at the window again. Luckily Yoongi's hand actually helps. If you die, you die holding the person you love. The plane dips slightly as the gear kisses the ground goodbye, and you squeeze it, begging silently. For some reason, he thinks of child labour again, wondering why he gets this specific association. The grip is so strong it hurts his hand, and he gives in to the pain, takes it, without realizing what it means.
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The sex changes slightly, and it's a sign you're doing worse. You can't help it when he is close to you, with the body you have come to know well and love a lot, you start shoving your face close to his to catch his breathing, and Yoongi seems to enjoy that, feeding into your delusion. He is a needy, universal lover, always down for some tenderness, who likes to be handled with care. Always a giver, a helper in everyday life, he replenishes the affection from you by being caressed and held tightly, without asking. Only, it hurts you when he does this - allows you to pull him closer, share a kiss that's too gentle as you come undone, because for several seconds it feels like you love each other. But it's a position that he comes to like a lot: you on his lap, faces pressed together as he hunches his back a little to be on the same eye level, to then fall on the side like in water, clutching to each other.
"We okay?" he asks out of nowhere. You look at his soft profile. His upper lip trembling a little, the lower part of his stomach contracting. You push his thigh with your knee.
"Yes? Why wouldn't we be?"
He nods like he is getting ready to jump into a well full of sharks, or go on stage. Closing his eyes for a second, then heaves himself off the bed, like he usually does. He doesn't like to linger, sensory overload of your sweaty body pressed against his. He takes a quick shower and then leaves tidying after himself, ready to work. He never has you at his place like it's too sacred, or like he has some secrets there. It's always hotels or your apartment, a car, a locked office with no windows. He says something about his home being too far away, and how inconvenient it is. He knows it's bullshit, and you know it too. You live in the same neighbourhood.
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Jimin keeps smiling and it suddenly pisses him off. Yoongi folds a napkin and attempts to make a swan out of it, but all that comes out is a plane. He taps Jimin on the shoulder and hands him his little present.
Jungkook's eyes widen at the sight of it.
"And for me? Me, hyung?"
Yoongi rolls his eyes, catching a stare from Taehyung, too.
"Is it his birthday?" the second youngest demands.
"It's not Jimin's birthday", Jungkook confirms.
"What's that for?" Jimin asks, quite pleased.
He wants to jab him playfully, so naturally, it's a bribe: stop staring at my girl. It baffles him. His guts drop. Like when he realizes two meetings clash on his schedule. In that case, after a second of panic, he takes a deep breath and calls his manager. Now, he can't call his manager and say, hey, there's an inconvenience. I don't like the way Jimin can't seem to shut up about Y/N after she touched his leg and smiled at him in Berlin. This glitch is all his. And he closes up. Feelings, undeveloped, tend to die on their own. Whether he needs them is out of question: he doesn't. He's been doing that naturally; of course he'd developed an innocent crush on someone he has sex regularly with. Without it, he wouldn't be able to do that properly. He's a feeling, inspired human, artistic: he can't do it without trust. That's how his head works at least. This kind of light infatuation adds to the sex, it makes it truly relaxing and non-stressful without needing to act on it. Of course he feels something. It's a kind of a driving force in his work, as well.
The real problem arises when there's someone else in the equation.
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Namjoon is focused like a hawk as you fight for your life. You hate losing; perhaps something from childhood when your cousin constantly beat you and then gloated about it; there was a saying in your family, as a game was over, if you can't work your brains, work your hands. The loser shuffled the deck back in order. You hated being the loser. But against Namjoon it is impossible. He beats you every time, although thankfully, he isn't an asshole about it. But allowing himself to throw hands in the air victoriously. You smile about it, press your jaws together, crunch your nose to laugh it off.
You rarely play cards at all, maybe only in the breaks like these, while the laptop is working and you have to wait; and the foyer is realtively empty, and the disposition is relaxed. You have a coffee at your side on the low table, and the faint music creates a comfortable bubble to lose to your friends at a game of cards. You strike the table with the rest of yours, and Namjoon smiles with dimples, pacifying you.
Yoongi takes his place.
"Rematch".
He is surprisingly bad at it. To the point where his friend is at his side, pushing him with his thigh, so that Yoongi has to scoot over on the small couch to let the giant sit next to him.
"Yoongi hyung, but there's a..."
"Shh. I have a strategy".
You observe his eyes above the cards as he glances at you. The feral looks you give to each other are fun. Namjoon hums something when Yoongi has to scoop the cards and take them to himself, losing more and more.
"The strategy sucks", he muses.
"I know what I'm doing".
It makes you concerned but you beat him in the end with a little bit of wit, and at least it's not too humiliating. Namjoon gives him a look, then turns away, and there are dimples again. The banana palm on your side throws a shade on the table as the sun moves across the sky outside. You look at them both as your nostrils grow in size.
"Oh you let me win, didn't you?"
You lean over the table to get to him and see the cards, but Yoongi moves away, then takes the deck and starts mixing.
"I wish. Maybe I'm just bad at it".
Namjoon stands up with a swing, still with that shit-eating grin on his transparent face. Thing about him, he's not good at three things: acting, keeping secrets and lying. His eyebrows give him away every time.
─────────────────────────────────────
For you, it's like living. The feeling of love is a familiar thing to you, especially with him. He is a warm, unique human and as long as you meet from time to time, it's only half-way bad. You have things to distract you from it, and you postpone doing something about it, like breaking this arrangement. Maybe next month. Maybe next month again.
For Yoongi, it's like falling. Like his house of cards crashing down. Carefully curated existence spinning out of control. Control is very important to him: he likes to have control over his personal affairs. He likes to know what he is doing every minute of the day. He doesn't have obsessions; doesn't have urges that control him instead. Even though he is a feeling human, he isn't a victim to his desires. Now all of a sudden the peace is tilted, and he snaps. It's like a foot catching air instead of a step. He simply doesn't have time for this, it makes no sense. Feeling in love seems to him like someone demanding giving up his work and his freedom, and he will never do that. It actually makes him aggressive, feels like invasion of his space, and he doesn't like that. How dare you clutch the shirt on his chest in your fist, making those eyes he knows he isn't able to resist, saying "let's ruin it?" Will you buy him a new one? How dare you groan at your computer in a way that makes him so hard that he hits his dick on the desk, trying to stand up? How dare you have that laugh that sounds like gripping his hand, giving birht to his babies?
Love is a thing idols cannot afford. It's nonsense for others. He, he has a goal. A point to his existence, he has something to say and something to prove. It's below him to settle like the peak of his life has been reached, and all his ambition satisfied. Far from it. He gets angry with himself when he lets you beat him in a card game because he doesn't understand himself where the impulse came from. It's not that deep.
He breaks it off. Says he doesn't have time anymore. He memorizes your eyes when you size him up and say,
"I figured".
Although there was no indication before, because you were "okay". He lets it slide, the way you let go of him too easily, without questioning it, almost with a sense of relief. He tells himself it's not his burden anymore, and it should clear his head and lighten the load. After all, the affairs like these are often doomed from the start. One of you might fall in love, or meet someone else, or just grow tired. It's not supposed to be for life. He goes back inside his mind and assesses things left after you: memory of your elbow, twice smaller than his; hairs on his hoodie; the feeling of mountains; a new type of coffee: milk, cinnamon and star anise. He's sure there's more, but the feeling of frustration, like he was about to sneeze and never did, floods him and blocks his brains from thinking.
There's also mint. He remembers it when Jimin comes in one day smelling like it. Yoongi gives him a long look as his shoulders go cold.
"Hm?"
He shakes his head nothing.
─────────────────────────────────────
He also gets dreams. They aren't exactly dreams - rather, the lingering visions in his eyelids when on the brink of falling asleep. Pleasant pictures of something he regrets losing; if only there was a way to keep his emotions out of it, he'd watch your stomach contract under his hand forever. Gentle, careful knot of your belly button. The muscles in your sides flexing, soft birthmarks scattered on the skin, the tasty curve of your hip. He dreams again about that one evening when he paid a visit, but was in such a good mood that you ended up cuddling; he couldn't get enough of the sight of your ass in the underwear, squeezing, while you watched funny videos on his phone, and you laughed, thunderously, into his poor ear, snorted with laughter, your body shaking, until he suddenly started noticing the scent of your hair, too.
That's the adult way out: everybody has feelings. The choice is whether to act on them or not; you think, your feelings are only your business and nobody else's. If Yoongi asked, and you feel that at some point he was close to that, you'd tell him to fuck off and mind his affairs. You get to keep what you have inside your head.
Now, as he enters the studio with the hood on, you feel perfectly balanced and calm. Love hasn't hurt you as much as this man; he takes off the hood and you nod to the booth, and he casually follows your instructions. You step after him and hand him a sheet of paper. He's been to a facial recently, you can tell. His nose pores are clear and he's glowing, giving him a slightly pouty look. Smells like star anise. Imagining hugging him in his car as it's raining outside, hiding your face in his clean hoodie, his hair obedient under your palm, is so simple you could draw a picture if you had any talent for it.
"Read from here when you see the green light".
"I know how recording works", he chuckles, a little shy. You smile back and brush him off. He picks on the skin on his thumb and you shake his hands apart out of the habit you haven't smothered yet. However, he complies and puts them in the pockets, looking at the paper. You leave the booth and go to the laptop where you get ready.
"In Japan, women are considered superior divers", he begins reading, his voice unfiltered by his acting. Yoongi has many voices, you've heard most of them you think. The favourite of yours is the purring request he used to send straight into your ear canal, pressing his lips against the side of your head: turn to me, I want to see your face. His speaking voice betrays his origin, and you specifically asked that he drops the Seoul accent when recording. So it's authentic Min Suga, hands in pockets, hair on his eyes, head slightly moving with his own rhythm he weaves easily.
"...due to distribution of fat in their bodies and ability to hold their breaths underwater. Pearl fetching was a dangerous business and required light, swift, nimble women who could at the same time withstand the harsh underwater conditions. Very often they would swim up all blue, but pearls tucked neatly in the pouches on their waists. Gifts of the sea have never been easy to retrieve".
He is done in fifteen minutes, reading overall two pages of text. You can see he's not worried and stressed. Probably sleeps well; he unzips his hoodie and takes it off because it's a bit hot in the studio - you get cold sooner and easier than other people. As he pulls it off himself, the shoulder tugs on the hem of his T-shirt and exposes a bit of his skin, and you see a dark-blue bruise.
"Tsk".
He leaves the booth, turning his head like a mill, a little distracted.
"What?"
"That's such an asshole move".
When there's nothing to lose, as you've lost him already, you actually feel more liberated to speak your mind exactly as it feels. Yoongi is a bit lost, looking at you.
"Huh?"
"So big, as well. You told me you have no time for that business anymore?"
You actually pout, feeling shockingly indifferent. Your feelings have been, so to say, stomped upon, dull under all the cruelty.
His hand reaches for his shoulder as fingers send the impulse back into the brain, and he stretches,
"That- I'm a big boy, alright?"
You cock your eyebrow shortly.
"Could've just said you don't like me personally", you download the file containing his voice and begin renaming it according to the protocol.
"That's not it", he even puts the hoodie back on. "On the opposite, it was getting too personal".
"I agree. I am just surprised you found someone else so soon, that's all", you mutter, your eyes on your work. He hums. Retreats, it's what he does best. Slithers quietly through the door after making sure he is done here.
You tell him he is, hissing the words with a stretch, giving them double meaning.
Yoongi leaves, hands pulling on the sides of his zip-up hoodie, up and down, up and down, thinking about the idiocy of it. He's finished filming a Run BTS episode yesterday, where punishment was cupping. He's lucky he only lost once. Taehyung was roaring with pleasure as he vaccumed the fuck out of his shoulder. What would you say if you saw the back of Namjoon, who lost five times?
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Yoongi believes in karma and all that shit. Especially when he's drunk; he keeps thinking about that little misunderstanding and how your cheeks pouted as you stared into the laptop, accusing him of getting hickeys a week after he ended the arrangement. He's not feeling guilty or anything, but it's unnatural for him to not keep things straight. Although with you, he thinks, there's already so much shit tangled that he could as well just leave it be. First of all, never talked out that weird rejected hug incident; then again the breakup itself, like walking on the straight road and sudeenly falling into a manhole. He's not in the habit of leaving things piled up, but he just can't seem to learn to be direct with you. It's bad enough you make him horny like he is going through puberty again, you also tie his tongue down. He preferred to keep it deep inside of you to avoid talking at all. After all, that was the deal.
When he starts getting drunk at the Another Billion party, this awkwardness returns to him and he gathers all his might and good will to search you out and tell you what the bruise was about. He is ready to drag the other members with him so that they vouch for it; he finds he doesn't need to do so, because Namjoon and Jimin, of course, are already glued to you. Next to an ugly black-glass sculpture supposed to represent an idol throwing their arms up. Namjoon is swaying, he can't take his alcohol. Jimin is sturdier than him, but is also red in the neck; both listening to you with their mouths slightly ajar. When you talk, people around always listen, and Yoongi hates that, too. That this ability of yours, together with your body, your deafening screeching laughter, your iron grip, your moans, your fears, the mint of your lips, don't belong to him. He doesn't want any of it - but it sucks that other people get to experience it, too. He almost goes blind for a second, slapping his glasses back to his face, as the idea of Jimin knowing what the chapstick tastes like, crosses his mind.
"...that I was a huge black dragon. This is the best dream I've ever had in my life", you enunciate, making sure they are listening to you. Both Joon and Jiminie are so out of it, it makes you shake with the laughter you push down for the sake of the story.
"I was big, I felt big, I remember the feeling of absolute freedom" (Namjoon has exactly one hiccup) "as I was flying above the Aegean sea during black storm. Black dragon, black storm, the waves were gigantic".
"How did you know it was Aegean sea?" Jimin asks.
"I had this dream when I was staying in Greece. It's also my favourite sea".
"Yoongi really likes mountains", Namjoon mutters. You stare at him for a second.
"Okay?"
"Continue".
"And I was flying around, laughing out of happiness, I was so elated I actually laughed, and I was throwing these black pearls into the sea..."
"Sea and mountains", Namjoon continues, funnily, "nuah?"
"Are you sure it wasn't Black sea?" Jimin tries to ignore his hyung, putting his hand on Namjoon's chest as the leader starts to tilt forward.
"I mean you were black, storm was black, the pearls were black..."
You purse your lips because he makes a good point. In between their heads, you see Yoongi adjust his glasses and glaring at you three like you are dismembering a freshly caught deer with your bare hands.
"What's up with the nerd slut?" you nod at him, and the two turn around. The blood rushes back from Jimin's neck as his face lights up in a smile. His imperfect teeth make his smile infectious.
"Yoongi-ah", he coos softly as the cloud approaches.
"I need to talk to you", you can hear he's had a two or six, or sixteen. Yoongi is way too good at drinking, he can take a lot of it and then be drunk for a lot of time, hiding it, and only burst if someone really pushes him. His eyes are glossy behind the lenses of his glasses.
"You tired?" Namjoon becomes perceptive when he drinks. Yoongi nods and extends his hand on the waist level. You do not take it but follow him as he nods in the direction of a quieter corridor. Big hall is booming with music and it irritates you both; everybody reacts differently to alcohol: Taehyung is throwing his ass around on the dancefloor for example. It's his celebration and he is allowed. You, you get more yourself you'd say. All your impulses become sharper. Your loudness becomes louder and quieteness, quieter. Your insecurities shine, but so does your wit. Your laughter becomes irresistible, Yoongi would say, but you never asked him to know about it. His laughter is always irresistible to you, just like his word. So, even though you are sore, hate him a little, feel like aching next to him, insanely jealous, when he calls, you walk with him out of the room, plunging into the lukewarm shade of the corridor.
You sneak away like two schoolchildren trying to act tough. We need to talk. Sounds like giggling to you, and you do. His thick neck turns to you. He's been working out again lately. Of course.
"I need to make something very clear", he begins, harder than you expected him to, and your spine shivers, at the same time with your knees wobbling. You don't know if you're intimidated or upset. You must unintentionally give him a rabbit look, because he stops abruptly, looking you in the face.
"The... that? I was cranky, okay? It was one time".
You struggle to catch what he means exactly, having a moment of complete lack of clarity. All you see is his full lips letting a breath out.
"What are you talking about?"
"You know what, why have you been punishing me for that this whole time?"
Your brows go up, brain struggling, because you just keep thinking about that hickey on his shoulder. And it makes you angry that he's irritated, and agitated after drinking. You can bet you have way more beef with him than he with you.
"Big deal, I brushed you off once, you need to get over your pride some time. Like it's cracking me that that's what you've been hung up on. Becasue I told you to back off, you've been refusing to hug me for six months?"
You bang the back of your head on the window glass as you throw it up. The last thing you need right now is lectures and complaints, but it's refreshing that Yoongi would speak in such long sentences.
"You replaced me already", you hum, like it's an unbeatable argument that is made of gold.
You hope he shuts up and decides to douse the tension in one last hookup. You're down for it. Arguments are tiresome and feel unnatural with him, the guy who prefers to tuck everything in and walk away before it spills out. You realize he isn't actually talking anymore, but his eyes are studying the window behind you as if he's considering breaking it.
"And you replaced me?"
It sounds like a half question, like he's not sure. The intonation going up. Suddenly you think of whales and their gentle, lonely calls, but also, about the wind, whistling in between the crooked branches. The 'fuck it' is announced without being uttered, as your hands reach in the half-dark for his pants. He isn't wearing a belt so your fingers crush into the hem of the jeans and go straight to the button. Yoongi's palm covers them, squeezes your fingers almost with rage, stopping you roughly, but he steps closer, and the last thing you see is the frame of his glasses. He kisses you, at the same time as you kiss him, mumbling something about the last time, just to be sure, your mouth opens simultaneously with your legs. Yoongi's hand slides off yours and grabs your side aggressively, hungrily; a month was the longest you'd gone on without jumping each other's bones, so it's not the withdrawal. It's something else. You tug on his jeans, unsure to unbutton them because you've read his gesture clearly. There's people behind the door. He lifts you up with one arm and sits you on the window sill and your arm snakes around him, touching the back, fingers clinging to every inch of his thick, white, moving body. Kisses slurp in bites, his tongue makes you dizzy. He has never kissed you like that before; not when he was needy, not when he was very horny, not when he was vulnerable which didn't happen often. Guess it's one of the bright colours of making out with a human; they surprise you. The love rises from the depths of your guts, making its painful way up, and you bend and lean against him, trying to feel his body pressed to yours. Yoongi's hand clutches on the top you're wearing like he's trying to tear it off you.
"Do they know it was once covered all over in my cum?" he grunts against your cheek, and your spine shakes like he's done a spell on it. Tiny shivers under his fingers. You grab his neck.
"I don't casually go around telling that to people".
His warm, hard hand sneaks under the fabric, fingers count the ribs, then pinch them, and his mouth slides lower, across your cheek and to your throat. You wish you could stay there forever. The blue and green in your inner mind, darkness around, and Yoongi clinging on you like he's turning during the full moon. You hear his glasses click against the plastic as he takes them off, then his hand returns to the small of your back and presses. He smells so familiar already that it feels like it's going to be your doom; you know all his scents, you're afraid. Eros by Versace, white vanilla detergent on his clothes, blueberry chewing gum, the leather of his car, cloudberry conditioner in his hair, and the skin smell, the clean smell that he has, the perfume no one can replicate and you can't explain. Unfortunately you love all of them, really love in the most genuine way, and it makes you sob all of a sudden, but you mask it as a moan. Yoongi hisses, letting go of your neck, and his hand makes its way up to cover your mouth. In the dark you see his eyes as he kisses the back of his palm. Can he even love you the way you have come to love him. Is he capable of that, with his fixation on his work. Constantly caught up in thinking about how to round up the beat, and how a bridge will come out, his head poking out above the chair, is he even capable of loving someone. He pulls you, your legs made of wool, deeper, looking for an empty room with a lock, and, preferably, optionally, without a cctv hidden somewhere in the foot of a desk.
You barely pay attention to the room; the dark eats away at it. You two, connected at the mouths, hands on each other's ribs, in each other's hair, stumble backwards, like a limping monster, trying to find a place to land. The space around spins; there's nothing but Yoongi, and if he pulled you after himself into a chasm, you'd only clutch his hand tightly. He kicks something behind you, and your calves feel the soft of a couch, and it's the signal to turn. Yoongi crashes onto it, making the vision you've had a fraction of a second ago, reality: you fall, fall into the darkness, guided by his well-studied hands, tracing the veins on the backs of his big palms, a little dry. The shape of them holding you tightly is something you want your mind, drunk or sober, to never forget. You might not have him after this, tomorrow, but now you land on his lap, knees spread, his hand on your back under the crop top, scratching lightly with his short-cut nails. His fingertips are the best - slightly rough from guitar, but sensitive; Yoongi has memorized all the spots on your body, dividing it into "yes-no-maybe" zones for scratching. He knows the "yes-yes" zone just around your spine, it makes you arch your back as you grind your hips against him. You like him for not being too chatty during moments like these; his breathing lets you know. The hardening of his cock is obvious through two pairs of jeans. Falling apart, you think about the mess of it all: you don't have any spare clothes, no extra underwear, and this one is already no good, soaked through. Your hands grab the back of his head again and hold on for dear life as Yoongi guides your hips against his, forehead pressed to your collarbone, your gentle mid-sized giant with dry, soft hair and prominent neck muscles. His shoulders, lean, strong, work under your hands, wet mouth grabbing at your breast through the top. He can't see shit without his glasses or lenses, and especially so in the relative dark, where the only light comes through the windows from the nearby buildings; so sensory study is all that's left to him. When Yoongi is ready to undress, he usually produces a sort of a tired sigh-groan, and then his fingers start pinching at your flesh. But now he doesn't. The alcohol is spinning your head, the heat in your core pooling, and you sort of forget where what is. The only thing that matters is to find his puffy lips again, bearing the taste of mint and whiskey. You raise yourself to deepen the kiss, and Yoongi pushes you back hard, lifting his own hips to connect. The breath is caught somewhere in the ribs, shiver crunching the body, but his hand steadies you in comforting strokes. You are trying to breathe, you really do, but it comes out in gushes, sometimes audibly, as your fingers trace his beautiful face. Yoongi is so good at making you come undone; you barely control your own body, he becomes the puppeteer at the thunderous wave of your feeling. The arousal at this point is animalistic, coming up to your throat, making you mumble. Not talk - talking is banned in between you, but the unconnected shreds of words dripping off your lips, that he catches with his teeth, are okay.
"I want you".
"No, I want you more".
You feel his shoulder flex as he lifts your hips, depriving you of the pressure of his groin, and you immediately whine.
"Oh no, I spoiled you", he whispers, Daegu words blurring with each other, his voice a soft purr. He turns you, pushing on the stomach, and you lie down, and his hands start working immediately, mouth at its favourite activitiy: tracing the lines of your shuddering stomach. Yoongi undoes the jeans and pulls them down together with the underwear. His fingers plunge immediately into you, without a warning, and you produce a silent shriek. Hands searching for him, nails digging into the massive of his shoulders. Yoongi likes the way his own words sounded: I spoiled you. Likes the absolute mess that you are, squirming at his touch, he feels appreciated, wanted, needed. He never managed to make anyone like this before; he has made a quiet unspoken promise long time ago to never tell anyone about it. About how you seem to lose your sentience when his lips are below the solar plexus. He is in love with this sensation. He wants to keep it going, but can't; he can't think; he pulls down his jeans because he wants to fuck you senseless, fuck you into amnesia, and himself; so that tomorrow the things are easier and clearer; you're a blurry silhouette for him, moving against the sea of darkness, the buoy he's swimming towards, and the tighter you cling onto him, the better. He feels cradled, he feels loved. It feels hot inside of you, incredibly tight, you always wrap your legs around his waist like a monkey, trying to push him deeper even when it starts hurting the hips. The best thing - you both cannot come easily because you're drunk, so it just goes on and on, the swimming, the touching, your sounds blooming like flowers on fruit trees. He thinks of sampling them, putting them within the underbeat, masking them, but using them; he has been trying to figure out the beat that would describe the way he feels with you: sharp hip bone in his hand, the heel of your foot on his leg, the tasty chemical of your peach fragrance that he licked clean off your throat. It's the frustration of never finding the right melody, because making music requires love, and he is too busy to allow it to himself, so he just fucks like there's no tomorrow, apologizing through his embrace, dripping feelings off the tips of his hair.
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A whole month away is good. For Yoongi. He gets to travel across all Asia and do some hiking, turn his phone off and just be completely alone. Not to think, he doesn't want to think, he wants to have his brains blank and just see pines, and the slope of the mountain, the birds soaring above, and the flowers fluttering in the wind. But the thoughts come by themselves; he realizes it's a trap that he had set for himself. Because mountains remind him of you, and he finally starts understanding what exactly makes the connection. It's the feeling of freedom, good loneliness and realness that they provide.
Relationships are promises, ruined plans, unplanned arguments, ridiculous commitments and distractions. Yoongi knows himself very well: he is not a multitasking person, and when he is in love, which thankfully doesn't happen often, he is beside himself with the feeling, and it affects work. Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. It's been so comfortable, so well-organized - living in his independence bubble - that he is pushing the ghost away, because the ghost is whispering scary things to him. Coffee dates; he imagines sitting with you in a place in Yongsan-gu and watching your face and your beaded necklace not matching your band tee. He imagines you in his hoodies; you have stolen none of them, you always abstained from going through his things, touching him too much, and now he realizes it was because he had pushed you away that one time. He imagines you'll be trouble, headache, high maintenance. If you had been sore, had held on that grudge for almost a year, over a thing he had almost forgotten. He imagines these fights will make him feel so alive. You riding in his car, on your phone; cooking; lying in bed with one knee across his belly - all those things have already happened, but from sensual they are now turning warm. Yoongi understands he is losing, he is already taking this weight upon himself, little by little, because in the mountains he refuses to wear his earbuds and listen to music, and the silence is the ghost that follows him around, hammering the truth he's been avoiding into his brain. He imagines your hand gripping his palm, so hard that he yelps in pain, as you turn your face away, and the line of your jaw exposes the little birthmark you have on your neck. He's been kissing that birthmark in secret for months, pleased that you will never guess why he's choosing that very spot specifically.
You brew a coffee. Every time you're bored, the recipes become more and more complex, you keep adding ingredients until the coffee either sends you to heaven or is undrinkable. By now, there's cinnamon, star anise, almond syrup, and now... you're eyeing mint like it's about to jump you. Yolo, you think, and add a little mint, and it's still a success. You're becoming a coffee extraordinaire, you think; even if no one else appreciates your inventive mixing skills.
Jimin is there, of course; cruising around you like an albatross, appreciating every little thing about you. But his presence is breezy, light: he is a natural flirt and it doesn't set off any of your alarms. It seems he simply likes being around you. You see glasses case that he puts in another hand as he takes the coffee from you.
"Never seen you wearing glasses for real?" you're surprised.
"These are not for me, I picked them up from the store for hyung. He doesn't leave his little evil studio these days, got back to the 7AM schedule".
He shrugs. 7AM schedule with Yoongi means he works all night and goes to sleep at 7AM for about three hours, then gets up and goes back to working.
"He never found his glasses?"
"No".
"Somebody must have stolen them", you muse, recalling how they were left lying on the window sill.
"It's weird, normally he only loses things if they cost more than a thousand bucks", he snickers. You're expecting a feedback. Jimin's tastebuds have proven to be professionally sensitive: he is picky with food and always gives an honest opinion of the coffee. He frowns first, his huge eyes focused on the cup, full lips moving like he's chewing. Jimin is charismatic while doing nothing, and he definitely wouldn't have a problem with you, so you wonder why you can't just unlove Yoongi and fall for him instead. Or better, for nobody at all. Even in his brother's face, you're searching for his familiar features, but there aren't any. Jimin looks like a genie who will grant your wishes in the most perverted way so that you'll feel sorry after.
"It's... good?" he is, himself, shocked. "It makes me want to go to Morocco".
"That's an unorthodox review".
"You should get a patent. Name it Faux Morocco Latte and you'll be rich".
"I already have a rich inner world".
He chuckles ironically at that, keeping the cup close to his lips. His phone rings.
"Oh, there he is. I think he needs his glasses", Jimin ignores the call from Yoongi, putting his phone on the desk. "Let him wait a little, right?"
He pats you lightly on the shoulder, like he is siding with you on something. Like that one friend who is ready to smother your ex with her bare hands without needing to know the details. You are slightly bothered by it.
Yoongi lifts his arm and puts his hand into his hair, his eyes fixated on a spot on the desk. The underside of his shoulder is tense, he freezes in this position, thinking, and you can't avoid looking at him even though your eyes move. Your spot is never next to him, it's always a little away, in the back, not at the table. You do not see it as derogatory: without your work, they can't do it, and the hierarchy is there for a reason. When idols are present during the meetings with usual staff like you, everybody feels sorry for them. There go the scapegoats, the puppets, the clowns. Everybody is nice to them because they all have two features: beauty and lack of autono-
"I don't give a shit", Yoongi says calmly.
You doodle in your pad; these meetings are a must, and most often not a word is spoken about your area of work, so you just kill your time looking at Yoongi; at least something. Now everybody is looking at him.
The manager raises his eyebrows. He looks tired all the time.
"Sorry?"
Yoongi leaves his hair alone and places his hand on the desk, wrist caught in a hair tie.
"I said I don't give a shit about the deadline".
Namjoon purses his lips producing dimples. His silence indicates that he agrees with Yoongi. One by one, Bangtan Boys usually stand behind each other, but it always takes a first brave mouth to say something outrageous. Taehyung is rubbing his lower lip absent-mindedly. Yoongi's eyes are puffy, he gives the manager an unaffected shark-like stare that masters openness and simultaneously, stubbornness of a rock.
"It's there for a reason".
"We had discussed the update, and Taehyung hasn't slept in three days".
Taehyung doesn't even hear him.
"What about you?" manager asks softly, trying to lead Yoongi away from his deadly determination.
"I'm working. I'm fine".
His eyes start searching the room, landing everywhere except you. You cross your legs and go back to your pad.
"A week is fine", Namjoon adds, to defuse the tension. After a little back and forth the manager gives up. He always does; he's not the real boss here. Everybody gets up, the important people first: manager leaves the room pacing, hurrying to implement the schedule corrections, J-Hope leaves darker than a storm cloud, which is unusual for him; you gather your things from the floor: you're in a habit of just putting your bag and phone next to the chair since you're sitting at the glass wall. The line at the door gradually disperses and you walk to exit the meeting room but Yoongi turns his head, still sitting, and looks straight at you with a completely different stare. He doesn't say anything, so you just look at him and move on, but Taehyung closes the door in front of you like he didn't notice, and walks away. You see his back through the grey-transparent glass.
"Y/N", Yoongi sounds tired, more tired than he did a minute ago. His back hunched, he is softer, more undone.
"Huh, CEO?"
In spite of himself, he gives out a smile, and his teeth scrape over his lower lip, which makes you wince.
"What do you want?" you say quickly, colder, trying to wrap yourself up, zip up, close up. His hand reaches out but you're too far away, ready at the door, wondering what kind of games he is playing. The fatigue is obvious on his face but thankfully it's not your burden anymore. It does pull on your strings though, so in an attempt to keep up the strength, you frown.
"You win", he says. His words are round, it's the best shape. "I lose".
He stands up, and you want to roll your eyes, not with annoyance, but with an overwhelming feeling of unwillingness. The labour of trying to get over him is draining you like there's a huge gash somewhere that's dripping blood. Every time he is in close vicinity of you, the stream becomes only bigger, it's mentally tiring. Fighting feelings is exhausting. Yoongi is reaching for you, his face an impression of quiet need, and you try to avert his arm, a crusty cut on his elbow, gently. He goes for a timid hug with one hand and you grow stiff, putting up your shoulder. You end up straining your neck, chin up while Yoongi performs the softest forced hug. He needs to press his forehead into you, because he hasn't eaten in twelve hours, and he is so frustrated and a little terrified, and you are the smell of home.
The man of few words. His actions speak much louder.
What's even louder is the music that's on the USB he shoves into your hand. You listen to it at home, sitting away from the laptop like it can see your embarrassed face going through motions. The beats are clean, the rawest you've heard. Yoongi has his own way of polishing music that always makes it crisp like the air in January. They have no words, because it's Yoongi. But the beats, the melodies, talk to you. They sound like the night you met, when you caught rain on your hand to soothe it. Sound like his voice filling the space of his car, and like the hiss of the coffee machine, like the shuffling of your sheets, and like the streets, muffled by the windows, hooting outside. His melodies sound like the wind and the voices of pine trees, their ancient blood singing inside the hard bark. Sound like the sea. The music he has written and named after you sounds like he is diving for pearls and swimming up, panting, like he has given up to something. It's the crack of your hip getting back into place, and the click of his phone, the purr he produces when falling asleep. It's his flowers. The dark circles under his eyes mean he has gotten over the block, and two days after giving the USB to you he calls, and there's an audible strain in his voice, because he is learning to speak:
"I can't give you all those things that are normal, you know".
"Like what?" you are spiteful, although you understand his regret. He doesn't even go grocery shopping. All food is delivered to his house. Last time he got to walk around the city, he got ecstatic and wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. He was like a child, describing the feeling of the asphalt in Gangseo-gu next to the botanic garden under his foot; you felt deeply sorry for him. Right until the point he mentioned having to borrow the jet again, because he wants to go visit a friend in America.
"Like walking home from a bar at night together, like, holding hands".
"Sounds like it's your fantasies".
"That's all I have".
You tell him you don't want to be the glaring vortex hole in his schedule, sucking in meetings, messing up sleep, putting a strain on the well-spinning parts of the mechanism. He replies it's too late for that. And for once, he actually sounds happy.
─────────────────────────────────────
He points his finger:
"The line where the red roofs end? That's the Osaka Bay".
"If I get a really good start", you muse, "and have like a very big umbrella, can I jump and glide all the way there?"
He thinks about it seriously. Squirms his face in the sun like a sleepy cat. His black eyes blink.
"You'll fly for around seven seconds".
His hand touches the side of your head and then slides down to your shoulder, then moving your closer, pressing you into his side. The air is so fresh that it's putting you to sleep, and the tears in your eyes, provoked by the wind, make everything around seem blurry. Like you're in a cartoon. Like it's a dream. The sea far in the distance shines in separate flashes of sunlight.
"There was no need for that", you mutter, cosying up next to him, clutching on his big arm. His neck smells like aftershave and raspberries. The curse hisses in between his teeth, fingers pinch your cheek lightly. Then go back to your shoulder and start drumming a rhythm; writing music off the closeness of you. You leave the slope of the mountain together, at the same time.
He always tried his hardest to get home by 8, and usually he was, until recently. For the past week or two, he’d been getting home hours after he usually did, sometimes 9, sometimes 1am. You trusted him, knew how hard he worked, but not seeing him for 16+ hours every day made it seem like you were a lone in this relationship more than you weren’t.
You had just finished tidying the front room when you clambered into bed, the clock flashes 11.37 on your nightstand alarm, as you huffed and tried to settle in the for night. You usually tried to stay up for him, waiting for his return so you could access his wounds and tend to him, but lately the lack of sleep was affecting you at work, so for the past three nights you were deeply asleep by the time he got in. You knew it wasnt his fault, you knew he was just doing his best to save the people in the city, but who was there to save you on the nights you felt yourself crumble? Tonight was another night where you could feel just how big your bed was, how dark the room became, and just how quiet the house was. You turned to put some music on quietly to help you drift off, when the song he asked you out to years ago started playing on your YouTube. Tears started to well in your eyes as you cradled your chest, the lyrics cutting deeper somehow, the memories of your past together flooding your brain. You cried into his t shirt you were wearing, and cradled his pillow into you. Soft sobs only broken by the sound of his keys in the door. You didn’t move to greet him, you didn’t stop crying, you just laid there quietly and watched as he came through the door.
His shoulders heavy, his back tense, he kicked his boots off and walked to the kitchen as he muttered under his breath. You heard the tap run then a glass clink on the kitchen counter. After a few moments he came into your bedroom and sat at the end of your bed, his head hung low as he held it up with his hands, he sighed.
“Whatcha playing that song for huh?” His voice low, tired. You didn’t answer. As he turned his head to look at you, you could see a massive purple bruise across the side of his neck. Your stomach dropped as you shot up and pulled his shirt, trying to expose it more. He slapped your hand away from him as he stood up, keeping his back to you.
“Dont.”
“Dont what? Let me see…” you tried to move further down the bed to him as he started to storm off into the front room.
“I said dont. Stop annoying me woman, if I said stop it means stop.” His voice raised, clearly getting more aggressive, the pit in your stomach grew larger and larger. You ran after him and demanded that you see his neck. He hung his head and kept his hand covering the bruise. You tried to pull his hand away as he pushed you away, the force of his push made you stumble to the sofa. You looked up at him with tears streaming down your face.
“Why won’t you let me look at your neck Katsuki. Let me fucking look.” You stood back up and tried to grab his arm again, he pushed you harder this time, making you fall to the floor. “FUCKING SHOW ME!” You screamed at him, your voice cracking from the strain.
“Why? Why do you wanna look at it so badly?! It’s a scratch now fuck off.” He turned his head away from you, deeply disgusted with himself that he had pushed you, but needing to get away from your eyes.
“Because if you wanna marry me, then you need to show me what she did to you.” Your words made him stop in his tracks. He immediately darted his eyes to you, you could see them glossing over as if he was now holding back tears.
“She…? What the FUCK do you think I’ve been doing?!” His voice hurt, cracking slightly, as he lowered his hand off his neck.
“If you’re acting like such a fucking weirdo, it MUST of been because you were doing something you shouldn’t have. Why else would you be dancing around me taking care of you?!” The sting of your words only hurt him further, you assuming he was off cheating broke him. You could almost physically see his heart shatter through his eyes. He walked towards you slowly, kneeling down to where you sat on the floor. He grabbed you and held you tightly, so tight that it almost collapsed your lungs. He started to shake slightly into you as he rested his head into your neck. Was he crying? He lifted his head up and turned his neck to the side, pulling his shirt down so you could see the massive laceration leading from his neck all the way down to his chest.
“I didn’t want you to worry about me. Im getting it sorted tomorrow, I just….you actually thought I cheated on you?” His voice cracked even more as he asked, as a tear fell form under his masked eyes. He cradled your face as he kissed you deeply, his palms hot and clammy, his face now wet. You had never seen him cry before, the guilt rose in your stomach as you started to sob into his kiss.
“Im sorry Katz i….i was just being a prick im….im so sorry.” You kissed him again and cradled his face, both of you now sobbing into each other. He pulled away, kissed the end of your nose then stood up and reached his hand ontop of the kitchen cupboards, pulling out a tiny box. He walked over to you, crouched back down and held the box into your hand. As you opened it, you saw a ring gleaming back at you. Your eyes widened as you stared at it, then you looked back up at him.
“I was gonna ask you tomorrow night, Yano, when we were gonna have dinner with your family. I just….i can’t wait. I can’t have you think im some kind of monster that goes out and cheats on you. It fucking kills me to be away from you, I fucking hate it. Denki actually broke the picture I have of you on my desk and I nearly chucked that damn bastard out of my window on the top flo…” you interrupted him by flinging yourself into his arms, pushing him backwards with your force. As you lay ontop of him, his arms swung around your back, pulling you tightly into him. “I take that as a yes then?” He said inbetween your sobbing kisses.
You shook your head violently yes as he pulled your hand out and slipped the ring on your finger.
“I fucking love you Katz. Im sorry im such an idiot!”
“You’re my idiot. Always have been, always will be.”
Summary: Dating as a single parent is definitely interesting
A/N: There will be a part 3
Thanks Kid Part 2
Part 1
Saturday. You had a date on Saturday. Two more days, that’s all you had to wait. But you haven’t been on a date in so long, not since before Minyoung was born. Almost five years and you were going on a date.
Despite your daughter and his son going to the same school, you didn’t run into him once over the next two days. When you dropped Minyoung off, Seojoon was already there. And when you picked Minyoung up, he was already gone. But you’d see him in two days.
When the day arrived you woke up excitedly and early. You made your way into the kitchen and began preparing Minyoung’s breakfast, lunch and dinner. You didn’t know how long you’d be out, but just in case you didn’t want to leave the sitter to feed her. You were so grateful for your friend to be able to watch her on such short notice.
An hour later, when it was a decent time for Minyoung to wake up, you made your way into her bedroom. “Minyoung! It’s time to get up sweetheart.” You walked over to her bed and sat down on the edge. “Minyoung.” You placed a hand on her shoulder and noticed the heat radiating from her body. Worry immediately filled you as you placed your hand to her forehead. She was burning up.
Minyoung let out a meek cough and her eyes fluttered opened. “Mommy. My tummy hurts.” She looked at you in so much pain and your heart broke. You hated whenever she got sick, it always worried you to no end.
“I’m sorry baby. Let me get you some medicine okay.” She nodded slightly, or shuddered, you couldn’t exactly tell. You knew you were going to have to cancel your date. As excited as you were for it, you weren’t about to leave your daughter alone while she was ill.
With how early in the day it was you didn’t want to call Dongwook and risk waking him up, so instead you sent him a quick text. ‘Minyoung is sick. I’m sorry I can’t make it to our date today.’ You sent the message and made your way into the bathroom towards the medicine cabinet. Grabbing the medicine you made your way back into Minyoung’s room. She had kicked off her blanket and was curled into a ball, shivering.
You handed her the medicine and she didn’t resist. She took it one gulp, handed it back to you, and curled back up into a ball. You pulled the blanket back up to cover her, and again she didn’t fight you. She was too sick to even fight you, and your heart shattered.
You made your way back into the kitchen and began to make her some soup. You knew she wasn’t going to be able to stomach any of the other food you made her.
For the next few hours you were in and out of Minyoung’s room. Constantly making sure she was alright and was satisfied. She wanted nothing more but to sleep. So you closed her blinds, turned off the lights and softly shut the door, leaving her to rest.
Eleven a.m. and Dongwook hadn’t messaged you back. Your date was supposed to be in an hour, yet he still hadn’t messaged you. You hoped he got your message. Before you could think any more on it, a knock came on your door. You made your way over to it, trying to open it as quietly as possible, so not to disturb Minyoung. When you opened the door your jaw dropped. “Dongwook! And Seojoon! Did you not get my text?” Despite your shock you still spoke softly.
“No, I did. But since Minyoung was sick I thought Seojoon and I would come and help you. I know how hard it could be to take care of sick child and I didn’t want you to have to do it alone.” He spoke just as softly as you did.
You gave him a soft smile, the first smile of the day. “Thank you, but you really don’t have to.”
“Nonsense, besides it would be good for Seojoon to learn how to take care of a sick person.” He smiled at you brightly and you knew there was no arguing with him. So you opened the door wider for him. He stepped in and you led him to the kitchen so he could place down the bag that he was carrying.
“She’s resting right now so it’s best not to bother her.” He nodded and placed Seojoon down as he began to open the bag he had brought. You watched him closely as he pulled things out.
“So I have a few books, a handheld humidifier, some applesauce, an extra blanket, and some movies. These are the things I use for Seojoon. I figured you already had some soup and medicine and didn’t want to step on your toes.” He smiled at you again, and this time your heart melted.
“Thank you.” You grabbed the blanket and humidifier and made your way your way back to Minyoung’s room, Dongwook and Seojoon on your heels. You gently opened the door, trying not to wake Minyoung. Tiptoeing over to her bed, you placed the humidifier on her nightstand and tossed the blanket over her still shivering body.
“Mommy?” Minyoung croaked out.
You looked down at her so softly. “Yes sweetheart?”
“I’m hungry.” She still hadn’t turned, facing the wall, not having noticed Dongwook and Seojoon yet.
“I’ll go get you some food. Guess who’s here though?” She slowly started to turn to face you. “Dongwook and Seojoon are here to help you get better.” She lifted her arm slightly and waved behind her, not sure where she was waving to. You smiled at her again. You turned to Dongwook who was smiling at you as well.
“I’ll go get her some soup.” Dongwook spoke up, grabbed Seojoon’s hand and led him from the room. They returned minutes later, Dongwook carrying the soup, and Seojoon carrying a drink. Dongwook gently placed the soup on the nightstand and took the glass from Seojoon.
“Time to sit up Minyoung.” You gently helped her sit up and climbed in the bed beside her to help her. You grabbed the bowl and slowly started to feed her the soup.
“Would you like Seojoon and I to read you a book Minyoung?” Between bites, Minyoung nodded her head. Dongwook smiled and left the room, returning shortly after with one of the books he had brought. He sat down at the end of the bed, pulled Seojoon into his lap and began to read.
As soon as Minyoung finished eating she fell asleep again. You grabbed the bowl and you, Dongwook, and Seojoon left the room. Once in the kitchen you turned to Dongwook. “Thank you so much. You really didn’t have to come here to help me. I’m sorry that I had to cancel our date, but Minyoung will always be my number one priority.”
“I will always be here to help you. And besides this was a perfect date in my opinion.” Dongwook took a step forward and just when you thought he was going to kiss you, Seojoon interrupted.
“Can we watch this movie?” He pulled one of the movies off the counter and handed it up to Dongwook.
You both looked down at him and laughed. “Sure. Why don’t you go to the living room and we’ll be there in a minute?” Seojoon nodded and made his way out of the kitchen with the movie. Dongwook turned back to you this time nothing to interrupt him, he leaned in and kissed you.
“Are you coming?” A small voice came from the door. You pulled away and looked down at the little boy in the doorway. Laughing, you and Dongwook separated.
“Yeah, we’re coming.” You walked over to Seojoon and grabbed his hand, leading him back to the living room. Dongwook stood there for a moment, a smile painted on his face. To see you taking care of his son, and the way you took care of your own daughter, this was something he could get used to.
Summary: It’s hard to fall in love again when you have a kid.
A/N: There will a part 2 for this
Being a single parent wasn’t the easiest. You were stretched thin, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. You loved your daughter with your entire heart. Things just were hard sometimes. You definitely wished you had someone to help you, but you would still give you daughter the world. She was the light of your life, despite her father being the darkness.
The moment you found out you were pregnant he left. He said how he wasn’t ready to be a father. When really he just didn’t want to have a baby with you. As it was evident by his new girlfriend who was strangely 2 months pregnant with his baby, despite you only being 1 month pregnant. But you were better off for it. Your daughter didn’t need a scumbag father. You could raise her just fine on your own.
And you did raise her pretty well. There may have been a few speed bumps, but you would like to think you raised her well. She was extremely smart, well behaved, and extremely friendly. In your eyes she was perfect. And even though you had to work more to be able to afford to take care of her, you still made sure you had plenty of time for her. You picked her up from daycare every day by dinner time, and you made sure to read her to sleep every night.
Things were tough, but they were wonderful. And now that she was 3 and was entering kindergarten, things were going to be different. You didn’t know if it would be easier or more difficult, but you were going to find out. But no matter what life threw at you, you knew you were going to be alright.
Her first day of kindergarten and things were going smoothly. You were able to get her to school in time without her throwing a fit, and you were able to make it to work in time too. You were cutting it close due to when school started and when you had to be at work, but it worked.
Of course you went through the whole day worried on how your daughter was doing in a new environment. It took every ounce of your self control not to call the school and check up on her. But you made it through the day.
You had to leave work earlier than when she was at daycare but it wasn’t too early that it was a problem. You made sure all your work was done before you left for the day. Everything was going smoothly. You arrived to the kindergarten to pick her up right on time. You were going to be able to do this.
A couple weeks later, you were stuck at work. There was a big meeting coming up the next day and you had to finish some paperwork beforehand. You had called the school to let them know you’d be late but you’d get there as soon as you could.
30 minutes late but you were finally on your way to the school. When you arrived, you made your way to the office where your daughter was sitting peacefully in one of the chairs. You lean down in your front of your daughter, “sorry I’m late. Are you ready to go Minyoung?”
“I want to wait with Seojoon. His dad isn’t here yet”. You looked at the little boy next to Minyoung. He looked so sad, as if he didn’t want to be left alone.
“Sure we can stay”. You took the seat on the other side of Minyoung and asked her about her day. She started telling you everything, and she made sure to include Seojoon in the conversation.
10 minutes later and another person walked into the room. “Seojoon! I’m sorry I’m late”. You looked over to see Seojoon’s very handsome father. As soon as he saw his dad, Seojoon started crying. He fell into the man’s arms, who immediately picked him up. He turned to you, “I’m sorry. He’s not usually like this. He’s just upset that I’m late”.
“No worries. He probably would’ve been crying a lot earlier if Minyoung wasn’t here to keep him company”. You placed your hand on your daughter’s head to indicate you were talking about her.
“Well thank you Minyoung for staying here with him”. Seojoon’s father said to Minyoung. He looked at you again and stuck his hand out towards you. “I’m Dongwook, Seojoon’s dad”.
You grabbed his hand and shook it, “I’m Y/N, Minyoung’s mom”.
The two of you started to make your way out of the school building, still talking. “I’m usually never this late. Things just came up at work and I couldn’t get out in time.”
“I completely understand. I was late too. What about your wife? Was she caught up as well?” You clearly struck a cord with him.
“I’m not married. Seojoon’s mom left as soon as he was born. But it’s alright, Seojoon and I are managing.” Your heart felt for him, you were in a similar situation. “What about you? Husband busy at work?”
“I’m not married either. Minyoung’s dad didn’t want any kids with me so he left as soon as he found out I was pregnant. But we’re all the better for it. I’d like to think I raised Minyoung pretty well”. You smiled proudly down at your daughter.
“I would say so. She wanted to stay and comfort Seojoon when she could have gone home sooner. I think you did a great job raising her”. You started to blush at his compliment. You always thought you did great with Minyoung, but hearing it from someone else meant a lot. You were about to part ways on the subway when Dongwook stopped you. “Um, if you ever need someone to pick up Minyoung I wouldn’t mind. Or if the kids ever want to have a play date. Here”. He quickly handed you his phone. “Just let me know”.
You gave him a soft smile as you put your number in his phone. “If you ever need someone to pick up Seojoon, I could do the same. Or you know if you ever wanted to go on a date”.
You left before Dongwook even had time to react. Moments later your phone rang from a number you didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“So this date?” You should’ve known it was Dongwook. “How does this Saturday sound?”
You hated Katsuki Bakugo. And he hated you back. Ever since you both butted heads back in highschool it'd been a constant back and forth between you both. It's only when you graduate and slowly drift apart from eachother - that you can finally breathe.
Until you're back into his line of sight and working alongside him - courtesy of his lovely PR team.
And then your PR teams decide that it'd be best for both of your reputations - that you both start a fake relationship. And it sounded stupid but now it's kinda working? So maybe it's just best that you play along...
♡ rivals to lovers / fake dating
♡ cw / tw : alcohol, cussing, suggestiveness, g/n reader, will include written parts
Sleeping With the Enemy - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)
Synopsis: tasked with taking down the most ruthless gangster in Seoul, Hwang Jun-Ho didn’t know he’d fall for his target’s wife in the process.
Please note that this storyline will deal with situations depicting domestic violence.
A/N: Did I come up with this idea at 1am when I couldn’t sleep? Yes. Did I also get up at 5am to write it as it was etched into my brain? Yes. Am I very tired? Also, yes. But this storyline is gonna be juicy as heck.
It was you who called the police. You, who in your wedding vows had sworn to love and protect you husband, just has he had sworn the same. He hadn’t bothered to keep his promise though, so why should you? The man you married was a ruthless tyrant, taking whatever he wanted with little regard for the devastation his actions caused. The police had been after him for years, desperate to catch the ruthless gangster who tormented the good people of Seoul. You’d be so young when you married him, swept up in the glitz and glamour of the high life he showed you. He’d promised you the world; you just hadn’t realised it would come at a cost.
You weren’t sure you’d ever loved your husband, and you knew he’d never loved you. You were an accessory on his arm, something necessary to bring along to meetings and parties, adorning you in the highest quality clothes and shoes for his colleagues and competitors to admire. He’d started hitting you shortly after your wedding, started showing his real colours when he was confident you couldn’t escape. You’d spent years cowering in his shadow, meekly accepting the designer gifts he bestowed upon you as an apology for treating you like dirt. You weren’t living anymore; you were simply existing.
Hwang Jun-Ho was assigned to your case, tasked with keeping the beautiful wife of the city’s most dangerous gangster safe. He’d been warned that you couldn’t be trusted; that this whole thing could be nothing more than a ploy to send the police off chasing their tails. But Jun-Ho knew from the moment he met you that you weren’t doing your husband’s bidding. You were stunning, dressed in Dior, Prada and dripping in Cartier diamonds. But those high end brands couldn’t mask the fear in your eyes. Just like the makeup couldn’t mask the bruises on your face. At first, he’d been sure this case would be the one he needed to skyrocket him to greater things. But one meeting with you and the boost this would give to his career was no longer his priority; you were. He’d been in this job for long enough that not much fazed him, but your stories had kept him up at night. Tales of your husband’s beatings, his drug deals, his human trafficking, Jun-Ho wondered how you’d endured it all. How you’d kept your wits and sanity while married to the devil himself.
He tried to keep things professional, tried to keep a distance, but you pulled him in like a moth to a flame. You were so fragile and yet so strong, so beautiful, so meek yet so brimming with confidence that it floored him every time. You’d meet in secret, when your husband was out of town on business, slowly giving Jun-Ho the evidence he needed to bring down the man you’d pledged your life to.
It was after your fourth meeting that he fucked you in the back of his car, your moans like the sweetest music to his ears as his took you on the leather seats. From that moment on, Jun-Ho knew there was no going back; he was hooked on you. From that moment on, you would meet each week, exchange information and then make love in his apartment. You smelled like Chanel No.5, and it permeated his bedsheets, keeping him company on the long nights without you. Your lipstick left stains on his skin, marking its way down his chest and thighs. The sound of your breathy moans were permanently etched on his brain, going round and round his head like the most beautiful broken record.
He wasn’t sure when infatuation turned into love. All he knew is that he would do anything for you. He would die for you if it would keep you safe. You were both under no illusion that you were playing a risky game, one that you were almost certain wouldn’t end well.
But for the first time in your life, you could confidently say you knew what love was. Jun-Ho showed you affection and care you’d only ever dreamt of. He made you laugh, made you feel safe, and when his lips explored your body, he made your toes curls in the most exquisite way imaginable.
Yes, you knew this wouldn’t end well. Your husband was not a man who forgave and forgot. But Jun-Ho was determined to keep you safe. He would find a way to break you free of the chains the devil had ensnared you in. He’d find a way to protect you from the man who kept you in constant fear. He didn’t know how this would end, but he knew that he would risk it all for you.
synopsis: when sneaking to one of katsuki's street races, you have no choice but to ride in the car with him. hopefully, you get to ride him later.
cw: 18+, smut, afab!reader, female petnames, lots of plot n action, fast cars, yn swears, obviously bkg does, unprotected sex, fingering, car sex, he holds your hands behind your back, soft and sweet what do you expect from me, a lil rough but not much, yn bratty, bkg whipped, established relationship, light light choking on him
a/n: ive sorta been on a writing break after writing non stop for half a year so i am back to give you this, inspired by that anon (and for all the previous anons which have asked me to write this) and ive been reading lauren ashers dirty air book series :) this is unlike what i usually write, usually sticking to prohero katsuki and this is my first kinda action scene so i hope you all enjoy this !! i worked super hard on it too !!!!
the atmosphere was buzzing, vibrant, electric. the night sky’s shiny stars were hidden behind a layer of foggy grey smoke from the drugs and engines, the smell of the two combined to create an oddly comforting blanket over you. neon lights that lined the rims of the racing cars, lit up the faces of everyone in the crowd. they all shared the same excitement, the same rush even though only a select few people chose to race the cars.
you zoned out of this random conversation you were having for a moment, picking out the vibrant neon cars around the area. a cherry red, icy blue, grassy green, lighting yellow, hot pink and lastly a gorgeous glossy orange already parked by the starting line.
“i told you to not fuckin’ come here.”
a familiar voice growled into your ear, along with a harsh grip on your forearm. your shoulders shuddered as his lips brushed against your earlobe and sentence froze in your throat.
“if i knew you’d go against my one fuckin’ wish, my one ask, princess, i wouldn’t have fuckin’ asked you.”
your boyfriend's tone made your eyes widen though you hope it wasn’t noticeable as you waved goodbye to the group of guys you were just talking to.
he makes sure to bark at the men before he drags you away completely, “let me catch you talkin’ to her again and i’ll fuckin’ rip your arms off.”
“kats— kats— you don’t needa drag—,” you stutter before he suddenly freezes, causing you to fall over your feet and into his much bigger and wider body. your palm lands on his chest as the hand that gripped your forearm slowly slides to link your fingers together. you look up to meet his fiery eyes, full lips pursed with annoyance and his eyebrows furrowed like he doesn’t know what to do with you.
words bubble up in your throat to save yourself from his wrath, “i just wanted to see what you get up to on the weekend! and i was happy you finally told me about you racing. i just wanted to see!”
you pout your lip, eyes round to mimic a kicked puppy so he’s not so mad at you. the face does make his stone heart crumble a little so instead, he switches his tone from angry to frustrated, pinching his nose bridge and squeezing his eyes shut. he takes a deep breath before opening them again, running his hands through his wheat blonde hair.
“do y’know why i didn’t want you to turn up at this shithole?” he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, instead he steps closer to you with not a sliver of air between your bodies. he warms you up immediately and you only want to snake your arms around him in a hug, “‘cause everyone here is batshit crazy n’ desperate. ready to wreck everythin’ in their sight to get their next fix. if that’s racin’ like me, doin’ drugs or fuckin’ the first pretty girl they lay their eyes on.”
katsuki towers over you, his black t-shirt blending into the midnight sky above him as his hand finds your chin, forcing you to look up at him. he darts his eyes to both of yours, then your cheeks, your parted lips then back to your eyes. “d’you understand me, princess?”
you flick your eyes away from his magma ones, focusing on the light spray of stubble across his jaw. he’s so gorgeous to look at, even when he’s staring at you like he’s contemplating running you over. he knows you’re stubborn, so he pinches your side, making you yelp loudly.
“princess.”
“yes ‘ki. men are creepy and weird. i just wanted to see you.” you whine and just as katsuki’s about to reply, a man barks over at him.
“bakugou, the race is about to start. get the fuck in your car or send your ass home.”
katsuki sends a firm nod to the guy before turning back to you with a helpless sigh. “what the fuck am i gonna do with you now?”
you stare at the crowd of people gathering, loud shouts and the distant sound of engines revving. “baby, go! you’re gonna miss the race!” you push at his chest with one hand to get him moving but he’s planted on the spot, one of his hands still linked with yours. he glances around at the crowd with disgusted eyes, the intoxicated look from spectators before landing on you.
“bakugou!” the same man barks.
“argh, fuck it. you’re comin’ with me.”
katsuki drags you to his glossy orange car parked right at the starting line. his pride and joy, only second to you. you love to tell him how he loves his car more than you because he always, without fail, gives dramatic speeches about how he’d smash his bulletproof black tinted windows with a baseball bat to keep you by his side. you guess you believe him, but it’s always cute to hear how much you mean to him.
he throws the passenger door open, nudging his head to the black leather seat. “get in.”
the sound that comes from your throat is strangled and inhuman, “no, no fucking way i’m getting in that car with you. this is fun for you, definitely not for me, sorry nuh-uh ‘ki—“
another shout from the announcer sounds, “bakugou! you getting in the car or not?”
“princess, get in or i’m not racin’ today.” your boyfriend stares you down, letting go of your hand. you can see the grind of his jaw, the eagerness in his eyes and the pump of excitement beginning to fire through his body just at the chants of his name in the crowd.
you chew your lip hard enough for it to bleed, you’ve never been in the car while he races but you’ve seen enough movies to know what street racing includes. the sharp drifts, the extreme acceleration, the likelihood of a violent crash. you also know he needs the money he gets from the races and if he ends up missing out just because you didn’t know how to sit your ass at home…
“baby.”
“oh my god. fine, fine i’ll do it!” you shout, climbing into the car, the sound of your boyfriend's chuckle louder than the slam of the car door.
you buckle yourself up and take hold onto the safety handle above your window. katsuki slides into the drivers seat, a massive grin on his face.
he makes sure to buckle himself in, checking all the mirrors before jabbing his key into the slot. the soft rumble of his car's engine sends a spark of anticipation through his limbs, but for you, it makes your palms sweat.
“i swear to fuck katsuki if you kill me today, i will haunt you. i’ll make sure you’ll never find another girlfriend again. you’ll live your life alone, i promise that.”
katsuki’s hand slides onto your thigh, definitely not helping the pounding of your heart against your rib cage. “i’m gonna be driving safety since i’ve got a princess buckled next to me. don’t worry.”
“worry!? i’ve seen the movies! if this is anything like that then—“
“oh baby, it’s so fuckin’ different than the movies.” katsuki grins almost crazed, quickly gripping your seatbelt in his fist to make sure it’s on you tightly.
“experiencin’ the race is nothin’ like watching it in the crowd and nothin’ like watchin’ it behind a screen. all the camera angles, stunt doubles, yeah, out here it’s just raw drive and energy.”
“say anymore and i’m running out of this car.”
katsuki chuckles, his pupils blown out from noticing the road before his vehicle clearing up. other cars similar to his drive up to the start line beside him and he almost bounces in his seat.
then he looks to you, terrified eyes, clenched fists. he takes a moment to take your hand and kiss it.
“baby, look at me.”
you do, just for a sense of familiarity.
“gimme a kiss.”
you blink at him like he’s crazy and he kinda looks it at the moment. even strands of his hair sticking up wildly like he’s stuck his finger in an electrical socket and the neon orange from his car bouncing off his flushed skin. he somehow looks at home in his car. decorated in his favourite colours, blacks and greens and oranges, all finely worked to perfection by him for hours upon hours. the screams of his name amongst the revs of the cars beside him, you know there must be nothing like this feeling for him. the reason why he keeps coming back for more.
“kiss me, princess. for good luck at least?”
he turns to you completely, tilting his head a little and squeezing the skin of your thigh.
the announcer taps the mic, “are we all ready?”
you gasp at the new voice, gripping the neckline of katsuki’s t-shirt and pulling him roughly to your lips. the kiss is only a few seconds before you pull away and you swear some, just some excitement from the man spreads into you.
“promise, i’m gonna be as safe as i can for you, yeah? don’t worry your pretty head, i’m gonna show you how to win in a reckless sport like this.”
a pretty girl in a bikini top and a short skirt walks out to stand in the middle of the road. almost a replica of the ones you see in the movies. she holds a large white flag pointed to the sky and a massive grin. katsuki takes that as his cue to turn forward, one hand on the wheel with another on his gear stick. he mimics a tiger, ready to pounce.
“ready!” the announcer calls and the woman grips the flag with two hands. katsuki changes gear, the engine of his car rumbling around you.
“d’you trust me, baby?”
“huh?” your eyes are wide, your senses currently on overload. it feels like you’re on a rollercoaster about to start, yet your life is in the hands of the adrenaline filled man beside you.”
“d’you trust me?”
“set!”
you deeply inhale, sitting up straight against your seat. one hand gripping the safety handle and another the leather of your seat.
“yes, yes. fucking yes!”
“go!”
you scream at the same time bakugou roars. his foot slamming on the gas pedal and the veins in his arms rippling as he drags back the gear stick. the sirens sound and the girl waves her flag, signalling that the race has started.
whatever fear you were feeling before, increased. vibrating throughout your body violently that you swear for a moment your heart stopped in your chest. at the same time as katsuki’s car, the others beside you took off too, down the empty road, leading into the city.
“holy fucking shit katsuki!” the acceleration flies your body forward, your seatbelt catching you before you hit his dashboard.
“you’re doing good baby, see you’re doing good!” katsuki chuckles beside you, still managing to talk to you whilst narrowing his eyes at the competition all around him “gonna do a turn, hold on tight, yeah?”
and this turn was nothing like any usual turn in the cars you’re usually in. katsuki beside you is swift, muscles hard as he changes gears before using his palm to spin the wheel around and around.
he drives his car like it’s a skilled instrument, one literally made by him. you can see the trust he puts in the vehicle too, angling his wheel just the right way to get the precise turn, the rhythmic pattern of using his reverse with his accelerator to create a drift. you’d be amazed if you weren’t almost shitting yourself.
another squeal leaves your lips as the car almost spins three hundred and sixty degrees, done to confuse the cars behind him into crashing into each other and buildings beside them. katsuki leaves a cast of black smoke behind him, chuckling as he took out so many opponents.
you glance behind you, nothing clear as katsuki revs his car again, taking off even faster down the streets. in between the breaks of your thrilled screams, after every drift, turn and almost crash into a building or another car, you took a chance to admire your boyfriend.
the almost lazy slouch in his seat, the pierced focus of his surroundings and the calculated thought in all his decisions. you didn’t know how he could even think straight with so much going on, so much to pay attention to, but he did it and he did it well. his forearms were tense, veins straining beneath his skin every time he took an unexpected turn and the tiny growls that would leave his lips at someone trying to overtake him.
“princess?” he doesn’t take his eyes off the road, “you haven’t screamed in a while, you still with me?”
he takes another sharp turn causing you to inhale sharply, then begins weaving in and out of the cars before him. his gaze is heavy and intense and you can see the steady rise and fall of his chest.
“i’m still here,” you mumble, trying to steady the rapid beat of your heart. nothing stills it though, “you’re—you’re doing good ‘ki. i think you’re third.”
a chuckle leaves his throat, causing you to glance over at him, the neon lights of the stores passing by shining him in a pretty light. the straight bridge of his nose, pointed tip in the flashes of pinks, blues and greens. the reflection of city life bouncing off his shiny white teeth and his tongue peeking out to swipe across his bottom lip.
“not for long baby. we’re aiming high here, nothing less than number one. i need your help though.”
your eyes widen, thinking of what he could possibly ask you to do, “huh? what?”
“nothing crazy baby, just tell me what colour cars you see behind me. you can do that, yeah?”
he’s still trying to speak tenderly to you like he knows your body is still on flight or fight mode and has chosen to freeze.
“um okay, yeah i can do that.” you mumble, peering at the mirror on your side of the car, “purple car coming up.”
“which side?”
“it’s on the left, looks like it might nip you in the turn coming up.”
katsuki grunts, saying something under his breath before taking an abrupt turn down a tiny road, the full speed of his car leaving paper advertisements and newspapers blowing around in his wake.
then katsuki leads you both back onto the main road, the purple car nowhere in sight. “he’s gone, only a green car now but a few miles back.”
your boyfriend changes gears again, “idiots don’t know the track. can’t be following every fucker in front of you.”
then for the next few moments, you assist him, telling him who’s coming up and where, allowing him to swerve and turn without having to keep looking at his mirrors. you make a good little team.
until it gets to his orange car and the glossy first place red car, getting pushed down a narrow street. the finish line isn’t too far ahead now and you’re buzzing in your seat for the win. though the road is too narrow and without a crash, it doesn’t look possible for katsuki to overtake him.
but you think he can. the red car is on your left, so close you can smell the gas pumping out its end and you can peep into the empty passenger seats. “just bump him a little! we’re so close now!”
katsuki grits his teeth, glaring at the car. it suddenly becomes suffocating, the tight road and the two cars fighting for first place.
“i can’t. it’s too close.”
“yes, you can, just a little nudge!”
“i said i fuckin’ can’t!”
you frown at him, then look back to the red car. honestly, you don’t know too much about cars but you know some basics from hanging around with katsuki all day. “they look weak right now, tires running raw and almost flat. one nudge and we’ll pop the one on the other side.”
“stop sayin’ that, i said i’m not fuckin’ doin’ it!”
“why?!”
“it’s on your side, idiot! i’m not crashin’ a car so close to you!”
you blink at him before a frown takes over your face at how he’s not budging. his chest is heaving a little, eyes focused to find another way at getting out of this tight predicament with red.
“fine. the turn coming up, you’re revving the engine you worked so hard on and taking over him.”
you don’t know where your orders are coming from, you’re still scared shitless at the potential danger, fists numb from holding on so tight but you do trust katsuki. you trust he’ll keep you safe and you trust he can win. you wouldn’t be with a loser, would you?
“nah, the turn is too tight for two cars. top left of mine is most likely to hit him.”
top left is you.
you groan, slapping your palms against the leather. if you weren’t here you know he would try, would succeed too. he can’t be losing just because you’re in the car. “what happened to raw drive? to recklessness? huh? is this what it’s like when you get your fix?”
the push and pull between katsuki and the red car speed up. dodging the nudges the car tries to push as katsuki backs into him as tight as he can.
“i swear to god katsuki, the next turn you better rev up, and overtake that fucking bitch! do you know how embarrassing it would be to get out of my boyfriend's second-place car? to almost have won but didn’t because you were too scared?!” you scream, just as loudly as you were at the beginning of the ride. this time you’re coherent, spitting orders like an angry manager. your eyes are just as wild as his, hair sticking up from all the harsh winds and static in the car.
katsuki growls at you, “you’re such a pain in my fuckin’ ass.” and you think he’s about to back down with the turn coming up, that he’s gonna submit to his promise of keeping you safe. but instead, his expression hardens, he shifts his gears and his foot presses down on the pedals. the drift makes you squeal yet again, then another scream at how close the red car is to your window. you could touch the car without any reach, any acceleration from it and you’re getting rammed into.
“faster katsuki! faster! he’s close in!”
he handles the turn like a pro, but not without a bump from red on your side. you would have slid off your seat into his lap if it wasn’t for your seatbelt holding you in place and you didn’t realise you were rambling oh my god under your breath until finally, you came out again onto the clear wide open road, the familiar crowd of people back insight like the beginning.
“you’re good?” katsuki shouts breathlessly and you manage a smile, finally out the claustrophobic tight road.
you take back to your job, only a few miles to go along the straight road, “yep i’m fine, red not too far behind, looks like he’s got a little left in him. show him what you’ve got ‘ki.”
the blonde flicks his eyes over to you, ruby eyes gleaming like gems with a smirk on his cheeks. he took a second to take you in, how unhinged you look, so similar to when he fucks you in public or takes you in the back of his car. he loves the look on you.
“nah let’s show them what we’ve got, baby.”
and with all the boost he’s got left, the car accelerates again, your seatbelt stopping your body flying forward as the neon orange car flies towards the finish line.
your last scream in the car tonight spills from your lips in glee as you both break apart the ribbon at the line. slowly katsuki brings the car to a stop. he immediately pops off his seatbelt and before you have a chance to do the same, he grabs your cheeks in his hand and presses a kiss to your lips. he tastes like sweat and smells like petrol, laced with the feeling of pure unadulterated exhilaration and adoration. you’re sure you’re the same for him, moulding together in your win.
screams erupt from the outside, the crowd gathering around katsuki’s car to bang the windows and chant his name. though he ignores it all to just stare at you. he feels your raging pulse against your neck, the sliver of sweat on your forehead and your eyes electrified. he pecks you again and again like he can’t get enough. he nips your lip when you begin giggling.
“couldn’t have done it without you.”
you take a chance to peck him now but you’re both smiling so much your teeth clink together. together you laugh, “yeah you could have. i only put you back really.”
“shut up. it was your fuckin’ comment about having a boyfriend that’s second best. kinda fuckin’ irked me.”
you place your hand on your mouth to cover your laugh, “you know i didn’t mean that, right? just wanted to get you back in the mood.”
and katsuki’s about to reply when the announcer comes to bang on his window, shaking a briefcase of what most likely holds cash.
“cmon, let’s show them what winners look like.”
after being drenched in champagne, katsuki picking you upon his shoulders as he thrusts the briefcase to your chest to hold as he kisses you upside down in front of the crowd, you’re now sitting back in his car waiting for him to return from the petrol station with snacks because racing not only makes the car hungry but also you, very hungry.
he slides in the seat beside you, his grin from the win still not letting up. you still haven’t let go of the briefcase as he dumps all the snacks in the compartment between you both. you groan at the sight of a chocolate bar, stuffing it in your mouth and laying back on your seat.
“love feedin’ my two girls. both worked so hard today.”
you send him a playful frown, as he pulls out of the station, “hey! don’t make me equal to a car!” you take another bite of your chocolate as katsuki ignores what you say.
“you were so sexy out there. scared shitless and still went through with it. started orderin’ me around and holy fuck the look in your eyes when you spoke to me.”
he drives to some abandoned alleyway, another secret place he seems to know from spending his days racing and memorising maps. he parks, turning to face you and you know what he wants. fuck. you want it too.
you hum for him to keep talking, letting go of the briefcase for the first time you’ve been handed it and letting it fall to the ground. “had me bricked up in here baby, didn’t know if i wanted to win or fuck you silent for speakin’ to me like that.”
“if i didn’t, you wouldn’t have won, gorgeous.” your voice drops an octave, your hand coming to brush some blonde locks behind katsuki’s ear. his eyes flutter shut at the contact and pet name before snapping open again to not lose sight of you.
he shuffles his hips slightly, your eyes catching the erection in his jeans. you moan at the sight as your hand comes to palm him. “wanna help me out again baby? my last ask of the night.”
you giggle softly and katsuki feels a vein on his cock pulsate at the light sound. you shuffle onto his lap clumsily, the come down from all your heightened energy before being shown clearly. you lock your knees beside his waist as katsuki reclines his chair back, your hands finding his jaw as you begin to press kisses over every bit of skin you can see.
“i love you, ‘ki. love seeing you win. winning looks gorgeous on you.” you mumble between kisses and katsuki slides his hot hands under your skirt on your equally warm waist. the contact makes you buzz, a connection as electric as the neon cars.
he manages to catch your lips before you find another place to kiss, taking them with his and sucking on anything he can touch. he sucks on your bottom lip, breathy whines falling from you, then he takes your tongue, licking across it before sucking just how you like. it’s like starting the engine to you, your hips beginning to rut against the rock in his pants, your head falling back at the contact, leaving your neck exposed to him.
“i love you so fuckin’ much too. so beautiful baby,” he crumbles out, biting down on the junction between your neck and shoulder before smoothing it over with a swirl of his tongue.
his heart rate picks up when you begin to get handsy, trying to unbuckle his belt at the same time as pulling his shirt off. you’re so cute, so sexy, so… his. the car bubbles with laughter as you help him pull off his shirt, revealing hard muscles and soft skin, you quickly getting distracted at the sight of his brown nipples. you open your mouth with your tongue out to latch onto one but katsuki holds your jaw with a groan.
“i’ll cum in my pants, don’t touch me there.” he orders and you pout, still choosing to rebel and brush your thumb against a perked one. he sucks in air between his teeth, eyes narrowing at you.
“i said don’t touch me, princess. you know what happens when you don’t listen.”
you pull your sweater off your head, throwing it to the backseat of his car. your eyes are gleaming at him mischievously and katsuki’s chest burns for you. you giggle, tits bouncing in your bra as your hips keep rubbing at him.
“when i don’t listen, you win races, ‘ki.”
the blonde groans, a flare of annoyance dripped in arousal in his eyes. he lifts his hips with you on top to pull down his jeans and underwear, yanking his cock out to finally grasp. your eyes half close at the sight of him, pretty drops of white in his slit as he strokes himself up and down, slowly. your hands scramble to touch him, your mouth unconsciously opens like you wanna lick him up.
though just as fast, he takes both your wrists in one hand, holding them behind your back as he pushes your body forward. so close that with every yank of his cock, his knuckles brush against your clothed clit under your skirt. “pretty girls don’t misbehave.” he spits, and you honestly look like you’re about to cry, jumping to conclusions at how close he looks from touching himself.
the sight of your boyfriend never fails to get you drenched. he’s nothing short of delicious. thick muscles, plump tits, rough calloused hands pumping his fat cock. your hips are jolting for attention, wrists trying to pull from his grasp to touch him.
“my baby so needy for my cock. cock makes you a lil crazy huh?” he taunts, voice low and breathy like he’s trying to control himself.
“don’t come without me ‘ki, not fair,” you whine and katsuki takes a break from touching himself to pull up your skirt to see your panties. you feel the rumble of his chest as he moans at the darkened patch. your thighs are even twitching for attention and who is he to deny you? especially after you helped him out today.
“shh baby,” he coos, thumb rubbing across your clothed slit, “i’ll look after you. my thanks for helpin’ me win, yeah?”
you’re humming in agreement, head falling on his shoulders as he snakes his palm into your underwear to touch your bare pussy. he pecks your neck, revelling in how easily you let him do as he pleases. no longer tugging to get your hands out his grasp, just cutely mewling every time he rolls his thumb over your puffy bud.
“gonna have you come on my fingers, pretty girl. then i’m gonna fuck you like you deserve. that sound good?” he sounds like dripping honey to you, so sweet and caring that you lift your head off his shoulder. eyes half-lidded and looking quite fucked.
“yes ‘ki. love you,” you murmur before joining his lips with yours. he slides two thick fingers inside your pussy too, an easy squelch along with the smacking of your lips filling the car. he captures your whines with his lips, pumping his fingers into your wet walls as his thumb brushes your clit. he knows you like he knows his car, made for him, tuned like a church organ and when you moan for him you’re heavenly. he knows your rhythm, swirling his tongue around yours when you begin to clench around his fingers.
“gonna… gonna come ‘ki,” you whisper against his lips and like you said, you do. falling apart prettily across his lap, moans like melting butter and as much as you were his little daredevil today, right now you look like his angel.
“so pretty for me baby,” he kisses you through it, down your neck, your collarbones, even lets go of your hands so you can hold onto his shoulders.
when the white sparks behind your eyes and the spasms of your body finally still, he sends you a grin, one so massive and toothy rivalling the one when you both crossed the finish line, “you ready for my cock now?”
you nod, lifting your hips and feeling his head brush against your slit, “always ready for you.” though it comes out breathy, pressing your teeth into your lip to hide a moan at just the feeling of him nudging your clit.
without much warning, katsuki’s hand finds your waist as his other positions his cock at your hole and pushes you down. the first glide is smooth, easy and makes you both incoherently babble. “oh, umpf, oh ka—“ whilst he becomes like a caveman, “so good, good around me pretty, fuck.”
“move f’me, princess. you’re killin’ me.”
and with his help, his hands on your hips, you both start a rhythm. bouncing up and down on his thick cock and whining every time he presses your spongy part. it truly feels like you’re made for each other, the way you squeeze and suck around him, and how he always feels just right, curved to jab sweetly at you.
katsuki has half the mind to tuck a loose tendril behind your ear, cupping your cheek as you begin to pant. you both look similar, a layer of sweat on your chests, the heat from the lewd slapping of your thighs making katsuki’s blacked-out windows fog up. nothing else is on his mind, nothing else matters but you at this moment and he knows it will be the same for the rest of his life.
“gonna keep you forever, you know.” he rambles, suddenly switching to harshly pistoning his hips up to meet yours. the force of him makes your ass shake, a pornographic gasp spilling from your throat. your hands clenching at his neck. you’re not trying to choke him, but he’s into it all the same.
“would burn all this shit to keep you in my life, give it all up,” and you peer down at your boyfriend's pretty eyes, the usual scarlet red, darker but all the more vibrant. he eyes you like you’re prey like he loves you so much he doesn’t know how else to show it.
you don’t have to move your hips now, katsuki doing all the work underneath you, giving your thighs a break. he’s a man on a mission to make you see stars, and you're well on your way there, his thumb toying with your clit as you mumble, “love you. love you ‘ki.”
“you’re my fix, baby. none of this racin’ shit, it’s you. holy fuck, nothin’ compares t’you.”
that has you. sparks rip through your body, your thighs trembling and clenching around katsuki’s waist. all your words on your tongue are instead replaced with a high pitched squeal rivalling all your screams today. your orgasm is electric, enough endorphins pumping through you to fuel a car. your fingers clench at katsuki’s throat and shoulders as he pounds into you through his own high, spurts of white shooting up before leaking over both your thighs.
katsuki keeps his hips going until he’s all spent, you’re head lolling on his shoulder as you tap his cheek to tap out. he stays inside you unmoving for a few moments as you lay against his chest, both your chests heaving as you come back to earth.
“holy shit. you should let me come to races more if this is how you fuck after.” you chuckle lethargically, snaking your arms around his waist as he slouches in his seat.
katsuki rumbles below you, your head flicking up to meet his eyes. he doesn’t meet them though because he knows how easy he gives in to you. “i meant what i said before. you’re not comin’ to anymore.”
you sit up, the angle of his cock now limp inside you making your breath hitch and katsuki grips your thighs to bite a moan back. “but why!? we made a good team, didn’t we! i wanna be there for another.”
“people there are dangerous as fuck and drivin’ with you is still dangerous as fuck. ‘m not riskin’ either-or,” he grunts, firm in his position as he gazes down to where you both are connected.
you flick his forehead harshly and he moans an ‘ow!”, snapping his narrowed eyes up to you.
“you risked it today though.” and katsuki’s about to give a rebuttal, but you slide off him, pulling your underwear back to its position. you lean to the backseat to grab your sweater and katsuki fights the urge to slap your ass because he knows you're mad. you drag your sweater back over your head and sit in the passenger seat. you pull out a clean a tissue to wipe yourself up while katsuki dumbly sits, wet cock out, bare-chested, watching you.
then he starts up again, zipping himself up and pulling on his t-shirt. he tries softly, hating to see your pout, “it was still dangerous to have you with me, baby. i’m not havin’ somethin’ happen to you just to get a few bucks.”
you huff as the familiar start of the engine starts up, “whatever. i’m still coming and you can’t stop me. or we’ll have a repeat of what happened today.”
katsuki glares over at you, “yeah? i’ll handcuff you to your bedframe, see how you can come then.”
your eyes flare with the beginnings of laughter at the accidental innuendo, “we both know you’ll give in. you always let me come, ‘ki.”
katsuki opts to focus on reversing out of the alleyway, trying to not give you any attention but his cock stirs in his pants yet again at your cotton candy sweet tone.
he grunts as he begins to drive along the main road back home. he pulls your hand to his mouth, pecking it lightly, “you’re gonna kill me if racin’ doesn’t try first.”
you chuckle at the lack of defiance from your boyfriend. if you both have learnt anything from your relationship it’s that somehow you always get your way and somehow you both end up winners at the end of it.
✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader [main]; Jeon Jungkook x OC
✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Managing Min Yoongi as one of your encoders during his alternative military service should’ve been simple. He is quiet, punctual—and can apparently type as fast as he can rap! Not to mention the fact that he is easy on the eyes and keeps wanting to help you. You’ve signed an iron-clad NDA, detailing the full terms and conditions of his temporary employment, so you’re supposed to keep things professional, but what happens if neither of you wants to?
✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Minors DNI. 18+ only. Purely speculative regarding Yoongi’s alternative military service and how this is really done in SK, some cursing, boss/employee relationship sorta but there's no power play involved, reader and Yoongi are within the same age range
Series:
⋆.˚ Chapter One
⋆.˚ Chapter Two
⋆.˚ Chapter Three
⋆.˚ Chapter Four
⋆.˚ Chapter Five
⋆.˚ Chapter Six
⋆.˚ Chapter Seven
⋆.˚ Chapter Eight
⋆.˚ Chapter Nine
⋆.˚ Chapter Ten
Extras:
⋆.˚ Random Conversations About T&C
⋆.˚ Sweet & Spicy: A Jungkook x OC Drabble
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