Nov 20, 2025
https://archiveofourown.org/works/74480971#main
have you ever wanted to read feelings realization rose of sharon cassidy / courier? me too so i wrote it and its out now!
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
https://archiveofourown.org/works/74480971#main
have you ever wanted to read feelings realization rose of sharon cassidy / courier? me too so i wrote it and its out now!
BTS - Pottery Class (Max x Cassandra) & (V x Da-eun)
Contains: smut, fluff, first meetings.
Set a month following Christmas Morning, Cassandra and Max go on a date.
You can find out more about our headcanon universe and ongoing storyline here and more about our headcanon girlfriends here.
To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & our full masterlist of fanart and fanfictions can be found here
If you wish to follow all member’s storylines in chronological order from the beginning, you can find them listed here.
Rated content below the cut
Max smiled as he tucked in the edges of the small, blue shirt; its miniature size almost comical on the child’s small frame. Gabriel was surprisingly still for him, though his hips wriggled when he got to the back, rocking from side to side in his likewise scaled-down boots which Cassandra had tied carefully for him earlier, making sure to double-knot. Looking up, he could only see the back of her head; her long, dark waves cascading down the back of her dress where the ends skimmed the edge of her waistband; the navy garment cinched in with a tie belt. She was waiting at the window, fingering the edges of the plain, dark curtains expectantly and it wasn’t until Max drew up to his full height and touched her shoulder gently she turned around with a little, startled jolt. Her eyes moved from him to her child, almost apprehensively.
“Is he ready?” She asked.
Max nodded. “Looking smart. Is his bag packed?”
She nodded, gesturing towards the hallway. “All ready.” Looking back, she drew away from the sill quickly. “I think that’s his car.”
Automatically, Max bent down to address the child, knowing full-well the shirt would likely be covered in food by the end of the day, but appreciating the amusingly formal attire Cassandra had picked out for him. Despite his age, it already suited him and he undeniably looked stylish, or as stylish as it was possible for a three year old to look. “Are you ready to go?” He asked with a smile, an exaggerated excitement evident in his tone.
The child grinned, clutching his hands together at his chest. “Yes!”
His expression was contagious and Max smoothed his dark hair lightly, teasing a curl. “Good boy. You’ll be good for your dad won’t you?”
His arms outstretched, holding them out to the taller gentleman. “Daddy!”
Max’s expression softened as Cassandra moved between them, reaching for his hand and steering her son towards the hallway.
“Daddy’s waiting outside for you.” She corrected, giving Max a knowing look as he held back, allowing her to answer the door. He busied himself in the living room as he heard the twist and click of the lock, wanting to give them some privacy. There was a clutter of toys on the floor and he scooped them up one by one as Cassandra’s voice drifted through the gap in the door.
“He’s got everything he needs.”
“How’s he been?” A familiar voice said, stifled a little by the sound of the street outside as a car drove past.
“...up all night. You’ll probably get some quiet time.” She sounded tired and Max wondered whether that had been the primary cause for her anxious demeanour this morning. After making them breakfast she had been pacing a little, running her hands through her long locks as she watched the clock. Then again, they hadn’t been on a date in god knows how long, if ever. He wasn’t sure whether those brief coffee breaks had counted as dates, while Cassandra watched Gabriel in the play area of the cafe with one eye. Nor those classes he ran after hours, where they both had time to talk, while the baby, only a year old at the time, had sat asleep in his car seat in the corner; tucked in tightly the way he liked which seemed to prevent him from waking up and crying. Being alone together was a luxury they had only been granted recently, while his father took him out for the day, and often it involved them cleaning the house before crashing on the sofa together until it was time to pick him up. Overnight stays had been a lifesaver, allowing Cassandra the time to sleep off her exhaustion from the day before and giving them a chance to be intimate. She had been cautious at first, worrying the child would ask for her and not wanting to leave him for so long, but she had been getting better at that. Taehyung was reassuring and Gabriel always returned with a smile on his face. Perhaps she was fretting needlessly.
“Has he eaten?” Max heard the man say, but her reply was cut off by another passing car.
“...some snacks.” She paused. “Just wait until he’s hungry.”
He could almost picture the man’s sombre nod, he always seemed so serious. “I got a new car seat.”
“Good, he was outgrowing the old one.”
Max detected the small smile in her voice before she hesitated, growing quiet.
“Is that her?”
He didn’t hear the response but his ears pricked up interestedly, suspecting he knew who she was talking about. He was a little surprised; the other man only spoke of her briefly during conversations and she had never, to his knowledge, accompanied him on his visits.
“Is she shy?” Cassandra asked, not unkindly.
“...better if she waited.” Taehyung said, the first half of the sentence obscured and lost as the pair moved away from the doorway and into the street.
“I don’t bite.” Cassandra said softly, her voice clearer; the lilting rises and falls of her accent more familiar to him. “She can come and say hello.”
The door was left open but he could no longer hear the exchange as they seemingly walked away, towards the car. Max considered moving to the window to catch a glimpse of the young woman in question; suddenly curious as to what she looked like, but decided against it, distracted instead by the throw on the sofa which had come loose from its tucked-in confines and the scatter of pillows which had fallen to the floor. When he straightened up, satisfied the room looked presentable, Cassandra’s voice returned as she handed the other man the small rucksack she had packed earlier.
“Have fun…” She said gently, the tone of her voice unreadable among the background noise, followed by the sound of the door closing. He turned to the hallway door as she walked into the room, his eyes drawn to the fabric of her dress which wrapped around her body elegantly. The belt, tightly drawn in accentuated her hips and bust; the small glimmer of cleavage attractive and a little sexy. It was different to what she usually wore around the house; though her plain blue jeans always seemed sexy to him too, in an understated way. He sometimes wondered how she managed to pull them off so effortlessly. She smiled appreciatively, noticing he had tidied up, and he felt a shift in her mood. Perhaps having Gabriel dressed and out of the house had put her more at ease.
“Do you want to get changed?” He asked cheerfully, feeling his own emotions lifting along with hers.
She looked down, brushing the edge of the fabric with her long, spindly fingers. “Should I dress up?” Her eyebrows knitted together and he shook his head softly.
“I was thinking you might want to wear something you don’t mind getting messy.” He clarified.
Her smile widened. “I don’t tend to get messy.”
Max laughed, walking over and talking her hand in his. “But I’m not so good.” He admitted. “You can wear something of mine.”
She hesitated, fingers loosely wrapped around his, but eventually she nodded. “If you insist.”
***
She had taken him up on the offer and paired one of his plain, band tees with her dark skinny jeans; hair tied back in a long ponytail to keep it out of the way. Max had been grateful, when his first attempt on the wheel had caused somewhat of a mess to the point he drew away from the spinning device and turned his attention instead to creating something a little more modest. Cassandra peered at the table in front of them with an amused smile.“What’s that supposed to be?”
He looked up, moving his palms away from the clay so she could see. “A turtle.” He blinked seriously. “Can’t you tell?”
She laughed at his expression as it changed, dropping the act. “Maybe if I squint.”
His smile widened and he leaned over to peck her cool cheek, lips tingling at the contact. “You’re too cruel…”
She turned her attention back to the wheel which she started again with a press on the pedal, smoothing the edges of the pot artfully and with an ease he admired. “It’s head looks kind of phallic.” She added mischievously, casting a playful glance in his direction.
He sighed dramatically, eyeing the misshapen lump between his hands with mock disappointment. “Maybe you’re right.”
Her eyebrow crooked. “An ex lover perhaps?”
He grinned easily. “Never this crooked.” He admitted, turning his attention to her as he watched her hands move, almost sensually, along the vase she was creating. It was beautiful to see, how it formed so easily beneath her palms, like she had been doing it all her life. “Have you seen one like this?” He cheerfully asked, a little mockingly.
She shook her head, turning to face him dead on. “Not for a while.”
His head snapped back in laughter, causing a few glances from the opposite side of the room where a few students worked at their own wheels, thankfully at a distance where he doubted they could overhear their conversation. He vaguely wondered if they could speak English. He noticed that despite their formal overgarments, their skill paled in comparison to hers and he voiced his approval happily. “Yours is coming out beautifully.” The corners of her lips upturned in a thankful smile and he pressed on. “I’ll get you some flowers.”
“Thank you.” She murmured gently. “It’ll be spring soon. Tulips would be nice.”
The sound of her voice made his stomach warm pleasantly and he edged his seat a little closer to her. “You’re good with the wheel.”
She paused her movement, bringing the wheel to a stop as she offered him a place. “Why don’t you have a go?”
He paused, a timid smile on his lips. “You saw my attempt earlier...”
Reaching down, she moved the stool aside, giving him room. “I’ll show you…” She protested lightly. “Sit here.”
Hesitantly, he moved the small stool in front of her and sat down, realising he was blocking her view and moving aside a little to give her space beside him. Her hands moved to his, touching them gently as she moved them towards the tall vase, its sloping curves almost echoing her own, and encouraged him to press down with a little more force than he expected. Feeling more secure, he activated the pedal which allowed the smooth clay to spin between his palms, allowing her to guide his hands where needed. They fell silent for a moment; the low chatter from across the room fading into the background, though he noticed a few quick glances in their direction. Perhaps his appearance was novel to them; an unusually tall, pale-haired man with the first, stubbly shadow of a beard being led by a woman who managed to make a pair of jeans look like the epitome of fashion.
“Isn’t this romantic?” She commented, a little dreamily, breaking his trail of thought.
He looked up, a shy smile on his lips. “Maybe if we were alone.”
“They aren’t paying attention.” She dismissed, moving his hands down smoothly; the clay running slipperily between their connected fingers.
“I’ve got it.” He reassured, encouraging her to move away as he took hold of the vase and continued to shape it on his own. She moved back, and he thought he sensed a twinge of disappointment in her expression. Either way, it quickly disappeared as she adjusted the stool next to the table and picked up the diformed turtle distractedly.
“I used to have my own wheel…” She said quietly, thinking. “I don’t know what happened to it.”
He slowed down his movement, bringing the machinery to a stop before looking at her. “Maybe you could get another.”
She shrugged, looking disinterestedly at the object in her hand. “I was attached to my old one…they are quite expensive.”
“Did you make many things?” He asked.
She was quiet for a moment, before shaking her head to herself. “I must have misplaced them.”
The sound of footsteps made them both turn towards the female instructor who walked past their table, signalling she was ready to collect the vase.
“When will they be ready?” Cassandra asked politely in Korean.
“You can collect next week.” The older woman replied, allowing Max to give her space as she worked on the wheel.
“Why does it take so long?” Max asked Cassandra, sticking with English.
“They have to allow it to dry.” She explained in Korean, almost automatically.
“If you want to glaze it you can attend our class next week.” The lady offered.
Cassandra turned to Max hopefully. “That would be nice.” She gestured towards the table, picking up a small ball of the dough-like substance and kneading it against the table with her fingers. “We still have a little left. I might make something quickly.”
Sensing the removal of the vase would take more time than anticipated, Max got up from the chair, allowing the instructor to sit down as she worked on trimming the edges around the bottom with a little wooden tool while he went to wash his hands in the large basin at the other side of the room. Looking down, he observed he had been right to dress down that day; his old jeans were covered in clay and he hoped he had remembered to pack some black garbage bags in the trunk of his car to line the seats when they returned home. Cassandra was chatting away to the instructor as she shaped the ball of clay with her hands, crafting it into a round dish and using a flat-edged tool to create a pattern around the rim. He took his time at the sink, making sure he cleaned his fingernails with the brush at the back before finally heading back towards Cassandra who looked at him with a pleased smile.
“What is it?” He asked.
She shrugged. “Just for trinkets. I like the edges.”
He peered at the pot amusedly. “An ashtray.” He commented, making her laugh.
“I haven’t seen those for a while.”
He shrugged. “Maybe you could start a business.”
She raised an eyebrow to herself, quickly finishing the last of the waved grooves in the brim “How very 90s…”
He took a spare seat beside her. “Are you having fun?”
“Yes.” She looked at him happily. “Are you?”
He smirked. “I think you are better than me.”
“That doesn’t matter.” She dismissed gently and he could see she meant it. His chest once again seemed warm beneath the surface of his skin as he realised how happy she seemed to be in the studio. He remembered seeing that look when they first met; how he had noticed it among his other students; her standing out like a bright star as she painted with the baby on her lap. “It’s nice being out together.” She continued. “Maybe you could start pottery classes at your art centre. That way we could come more often.” Cassandra asked hopefully.
“Mmm.” He murmured, appreciating her suggestion but already thinking of the mess he would have to clean up once the clay ended up in the more unskilled hands of his usual patrons. Looking back, he could see she had already turned her attention back to the sleek trinket tray which she was studying with interest.
“I think I’ll take this one home.” She murmured, getting slowly to her feet.
He picked up his own design, which seemed lumpy and juvenile in comparison. “Do you think Gabriel will like this?”
“The penis turtle?” She quipped dryly.
He smiled good naturedly. “Maybe he could paint it.”
Cassandra nodded. “That’s very sweet of you.”
***
Max had been waiting for her to finish her shower while he got changed into the clothes he had neatly folded in the bottom of her wardrobe. While he had not yet leased his apartment on the other side of town, he found himself staying with her more often than not, and the tall, flatpack piece of furniture was large enough to store both of their clothes along with some of Gabriel’s which no longer fit. Leaning back against the headboard, he checked his watch and was surprised to find it was only four in the afternoon. He had been up early to run the breakfast club at his centre, before returning home once the schools kicked in, and he felt drowsy from the long day. He closed his eyes against the bright light drifting through the window, napping lightly while he waited for Cassandra who he thought was taking longer than usual to clean herself up. Then again, she had been a little more enthusiastic with the clay than he was.
The sound of the bedroom door opening caught his attention and he looked up from the pillow, first noticing her shapely silhouette before his eyes focussed and he realised she was clothed in lingerie; an ivory bralette and suspender belt hugged her curves, while her legs were stockinged in sheer material; the garter a jewel-toned green which complimented the silk robe she wore loosely around her shoulders. The attire was old fashioned, but undeniably sexy; he had seen nothing like it, but she pulled it off as she had done the pottery; with an ease and comfort only she could. He was unable to help his grin as she walked towards the bed, her long, wavy hair framing her face and body as she came to a halt.
“Wow!” He exclaimed, resting his weight on his elbows as he sat up.
Her fingers touched the edge of the robe, easing it away from her breasts. “Do you like it?”
“I can’t wait to take it off.” He let out a long breath, already feeling himself stir as she paused at the foot of the bed, a smile tugging on her lips.
“I thought you might like to see me in it longer.” She shrugged.
Max laughed softly, adjusting his position to sit comfortably against the headboard. “Your body is too beautiful.” He explained, holding out his arms when she finally crawled on the duvet, welcoming her body in an embrace. She straddled his hips and he kissed her, opening his lips against hers as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck.
“I’ve had a nice day.” She mused, pulling away to look at him. He captured her cheek in his palm, nodding.
“Me too.” He whispered, one hand moving to cup her covered breast tenderly. “I think it could get better…”
She smiled, leaning into his touch as he squeezed down; her nipple hard beneath the silky material as they kissed once more. He felt her tongue touch his lip and he opened his mouth invitingly, brushing it with his own as she rocked gently in his lap, encouraging him to swell in the tight confines of his jeans. He let out a groan and moved his other hand to her bra, massaging both breasts with his long fingers as he pushed them together before reaching around, beneath the robe, to unfasten the clasp. The material dropped between her arms and he felt beneath to touch her skin, brushing her nipples with the pads of his thumbs as she gasped into his mouth. Almost desperately, he eased the thin material from her shoulders and removed it along with her bra, dropping them both to the floor. The coolness of the room hit her skin and she pulled away; light goose pimples visible on her bare arms as she stopped her movement against him.
“I don’t think…” She started, speaking almost in a whisper. “I can’t remember taking my pill.”
There was a sense of urgency to her voice that encouraged him to move away from her breasts, instead placing his hands firmly against her waist. He thought for a moment, a frown burrowing across his features, before he nodded. “You did.”
She hesitated, biting her lip anxiously and shook her head. “I don’t remember…” She admitted, almost defeatedly. “I was packing.” She explained.
He thought back to this morning, trying to replay the scene as he got home from work and watched her get dressed. “I’m sure you did.” His forehead wrinkled, though he felt certain he had seen her take it.
She fell silent for a moment, before murmuring apprehensively: “Do you have a condom?”
He looked around automatically, eyes moving to the bedside table. “Somewhere.”
She nodded in relief. “I just want to be safe.”
“Of course.”
She pulled away, moving her weight from him as she got off the bed and searched through the chest of draws, raking through bobby pins and half-filled pots of moisturiser before she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a single packet, holding it delicately as she returned to the bed, dropping it on the covers where she could reach it again. “Do you mind?” She asked, looking straight at him. He sensed the worry in her voice and shook his head easily, confused as to why she would ask.
“Why would I mind?” He shrugged.
Satisfied, she smiled; changing her expression as she gestured to him with a single index finger. “Come here…” He sat up, moving forwards to grasp her hips and kiss her passionately as her palm brushed the centre of his crotch. “You’re so hard.” She whispered breathily against his lips, her voice sensual as she squeezed the shape a little roughly.
Max groaned, allowing her to unfasten the button which tied the material together. “You make me hard.” He admitted, lying back when she started work on the second button and eased the fabric away from his waist, pulling his jeans down enough to free his underwear which bulged heavily beneath her touch. Looking up, she met his gaze; tilting her face at an angle which made him twitch.
“Do you want my lips?” She asked, tugging eagerly at the waistband. He nodded, mouth parted as she freed him and wasted no time in wrapping her lips tightly around his reddened tip; her tongue getting to work on licking the precum which was seeping from him. His groans changed pitch at the contact, becoming almost a whine as she massaged the head with the flat side of her tongue; grasping him firmly in her hand which she twisted against her mouth. His groans turned to a series of pants as he watched her take him in more deeply, moving down his shaft which disappeared an inch at a time into her warmth. Almost guiltily, he uttered a cry, signalling he was about to overboil and she quickly withdrew, lightening her grasp and pulling away to remove her suspenders. The clasp on her garter belt was fiddly and Max took the time to calm down, grounding himself by looking away as she slid the sheer stockings down her legs and folded them neatly at the foot of the bed.
When he turned back, his breaths finally slowing, she was unwrapping the condom, tearing the packet carefully and unravelling it from its confines. He eyed her carefully, not wanting to get too worked up again, but couldn’t help casting a glance over her long legs, now bare, and the space between her thighs, where her dark pubic hair stood out against her otherwise pale skin. He sighed as she reached for him, pinching the tip of the condom and rolling it down with a firm hand.
“You should let me kiss you…” He protested, eyes still fixed on her cunt. She smiled, moving closer as she edged her body over his lower half.
“I want your cock.” She whispered, taking him in one hand while the other gently parted her lips. He watched, almost in fascination, as she lowered herself against him; his tip and shaft slowly disappearing into her warmth as she moved down, eyes tightly closed and mouth parted at the sensation. He threw his head back, partially in response to the sight of her biting her lip which sent a shiver down his spine and a moment later, she moved against him; raising her hips as she fucked him. “Do I feel good?” She asked, watching him lay back against the pillows; the sensation overwhelming.
“Yes.” He groaned, brow furrowing as she switched movements and began rocking against him, grinding her clitoris as her own breath grew heavy. He couldn’t pull his eyes from her as she worked herself to orgasm, letting out a few cries as her eyes bolted shut. A blush spread across her cheeks and bare chest; the contractions of her walls pulsating against him, squeezing him through the condom until he couldn’t take it anymore. With a cry of his own, much louder than hers, he felt himself let go; a sharp, shooting sensation milking him of his energy as he came inside the condom. Cassandra helped him ride it out, not moving against him until he sucked in his breath, a little sensitive as he felt himself soften inside her.
“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered breathily as she carefully moved up, pinching the base of his cock lightly between two fingers as he slipped out of her, almost regretfully.
“Was it good?” She murmured, allowing him to remove the condom while she sat back on her knees.
“It always is.” He nodded, knotting the slippery latex and discarding it with some energy in the trash can across the room. He looked back as she stepped off the bed, fully nude and glowing with her blush. Max joined her side, kissing her lips lovingly. “I’m so lucky.”
Cassandra watched as he pulled away and sleepily perched on the edge of the bed. “I should go pee.” She mumbled, leaving him alone in the room while he rubbed his tired eyes, trying to focus on the room but failing massively. He heard the sound of the chain flushing, followed by the running of the bathroom tap and he leaned back against the covers, tucking his legs onto the bed. His cock, now deflated, lay slightly curved against his thigh as he settled against the covers, closing his eyes for just a moment.
The sound of the draws opening beneath the wardrobe made him open them again as Cassandra slipped into a fresh pair of underwear; plain black and unfussy.
“Are you napping?” She smirked, looking up.
He nodded lazily, holding out his arms. “Join me.” He gently urged. “It’s been a long day.” Before he had time to see her response, his eyes had already shut, though he felt her weight against him some minutes later; her body warm and soft as she turned away to face the magnolia wall. He thought about spooning her, though couldn’t be sure whether his arm had actually moved before sleep enveloped him, drawing him down into the darkness.
Unlike Max, her orgasm; a little forced but pleasurable nonetheless, had caused her body to waken even more and she watched the shadows on the wall move with interest as the sun slowly changed positions in the sky; moving down as twilight drew near. His gentle snores eventually started behind her and she tucked herself closer to him, feeling his chest against her back; urging herself to join Max and to make the most of being able to sleep without the bedroom door creaking open every few hours as Gabriel tried to crawl into bed with her. It was sweet really, but meant she was only getting a few hours of shut eye at a time, and eventually he would have to learn how to sleep quietly on his own. Her mind turned to Taehyung and she wondered if he ever let Gabriel sleep in bed with him, or if it was only her who got the unique pleasure of interrupted nap time. Her mind pondered the thought for some time as Max shifted against her, adjusting his position before falling back asleep. She could feel his cock against her; stiffening in the place where it met her lower back, though her acknowledgement of it was vague. The wispy hairs on her arms and legs were raised in the cool temperature of the bedroom as the sun started to set, and she automatically hugged herself tighter, placing her hands between the warmth of her thighs, against the curls of her hair, as her mind drifted.
The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed to her that Taehyung let Gabriel sleep with him. After all, he satisfied his every other whim. The thought should have made her angry; after all, he often went against her wishes when it came to treating him to things she herself had forbidden. Chocolate, it seemed, was never off the menu in the Kim household, nor were expensive gifts or trips to the zoo. But instead, there was something comforting about it. At the very least it meant he wasn’t immune to his tantrums and demands. Sometimes having a small child felt like she was being held captive by some miniature monster who wanted to cause her as much stress as was humanly possible. But also, she loved him, and wouldn’t have changed that, she realised, even if she had done certain things differently.
Wide awake, her mind continued to turn and she realised, somewhat reluctantly, that wherever Max had gone, she wouldn’t be able to follow any time soon. With some effort, she got to her feet and padded, light-footedly, across the floor towards the wardrobe, opening it as quietly as possible where she found the dress she had worn earlier, before she had been talked into changing, folded haphazardly on the bottom shelf. She slipped on a bra, followed by the dress and, realising how cold she was, reached for the silk robe lying on the wooden floor.
Behind her, Max stirred once more, rolling over on his side and giving a disgruntled snort. Her stomach churned guilty as she thought of him waking up alone, wondering where she was, and she padded back over to him lightly, giving his bare shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Max?” She whispered, having to repeat herself and tighten her grip a little before he grunted in response. “I’m going out for a bit.” She murmured, keeping her voice low.
He opened one eye groggily, offering a small moan. “Do you want me to go with you?” He eventually asked, voice thick and gruff.
“No…” She let go of his shoulder, wrapping the robe around her body. “You sleep.”
***
The traffic seemed to match her mood; absent and distant. She drove carefully, though got to her destination quicker than anticipated, looking around as she locked the car and walked around the corner. The porch had been painted since her last visit, some time ago, and she looked at the wooden reliefs with curiosity; the floral shapes tipped with subtle goldleaf in places where it had no right to be. Only someone eccentric or incredibly rich would choose such decoration in Seoul; it looked as though it belonged in some Georgian country house in the heart of Derbyshire. Still, the woodwork was undoubtedly oriental in design, and true to its origin. Perhaps the architect would have approved of the change. Her knock was light, and she wondered if he would hear it in such a lofty place. The walls were thick and ceilings tall in his house; just as he liked them. Music was bound to echo tirelessly. Still, she waited before trying again, a little apprehensive at showing up unannounced and wondering if he might still be out at the park with Da-eun; the small, politely timid girl she had met earlier. For the first time that evening, the thought became solid in her mind and suddenly her chest sank. She hadn’t considered she might be interrupting them and she almost turned to go, tucking her little handbag beneath her armpit, when the door opened softly behind her.
“Cass?” His voice was low and cast in doubt and she turned back, seeing him through the small crack in the door which he widened at once, revealing himself fully to her. He had changed since earlier. His black t-shirt was remarkably casual and at once familiar; the Joy Division print on the front one he had worn countless times before, when they first met. She wondered how he had somehow managed to keep hold of it, while all her belongings seemed to grow lost as easily as odd socks in the washing machine. He stepped aside. “What are you doing here?” Looking around, he gestured to her. “Quick, come in.”
She hesitated, almost frozen by the panic in his voice, before following him inside where he shut the door heavily. At once, she looked around - finding the hallway decor likewise unfamiliar. “Am I interrupting?” She asked. The gentle sound of music drifted from a distant room, signalling a moment disrupted, but he seemed confused by her comment.
“What?”
“Is Da-eun still here?” She clarified.
Realising what she meant, he shook his head. “She went home.” He confirmed, voice softening a little to match hers, though still laced with paranoia. “Are you alone?”
“Max is asleep.” She nodded, watching as his eyes moved across her robe where her hands were folded against her, still a little cold from the chilly evening air.
He frowned. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I didn’t see anyone.” She confirmed, a little stubbornly. Her stomach seemed to churn at the tone of his voice, knowing he was protective but finding it all too much.
“I have neighbours Cass.” He hissed loudly.
She turned to him, eyes fixed against his as she raised her own voice. “And don’t you trust them?”
He sighed, realising what was happening and letting it go. Arguing with her now was the last thing he wanted to do and he lowered his voice, hovering awkwardly in the long hallway. “That’s not the point…” His folded arms mirrored her movement. “If there was a problem you could have called me. I’d have come.”
They fell silent, facing each other before she turned to the floor, realising she would have to explain her unexpected visit. He was waiting patiently, looking down at her until she spoke. “I just miss him.” She untucked her arms, looking up to read his expression.
Taehyung blinked, eyelashes long. “He’s asleep.” He murmured, almost apologetically.
“Oh…” She uttered, suddenly feeling at a loss.
Taehyung was silent for a while, before he turned towards the hall. “You’re here now.” He accepted, walking down the corridor without looking to see if she would follow. It wasn’t until they reached the door at the end she realised she had even moved. He pushed lightly on the wood and the music grew louder as he led her into the sitting room, where the space was cast in shadows by the two dimly lit lamps in each corner.
“Da-eun went home?” She asked again.
He nodded. “It’s her dad’s birthday.”
She saw the source of the tinny jazz; a record player, old and surprisingly battered, perched upon a table too small for it, beside the recognisable sofa where Taehyung had clearly been sitting. He moved aside the paperback on the chair to give her room, but she waited, looking around the space as she set her bag softly down on the floor.
“Did she get on with Gabriel?” Cassandra asked with some curiosity, eyes drawn to the busy wallpaper which seemed to cascade rather than hang across the room.
His lips twitched in a smirk. “Like a house on fire.”
She nodded with a smile, not really hearing him. “That’s good…you finished your decorating.”
He looked up, blinking. “Do you like it?”
She nodded. “It’s William Morris isn’t it?”
“I thought it would go with the curtains.” He confirmed, drawing her eye to the heavy, thickly lined drapes. She walked over to them, touching the fabric in appreciation. They were coloured a deep, almost tarnished gold; tied back with thick ropes which added to the look.
“They’re beautiful.” She nodded, slowly walking back across the room.
He watched her closely, eyebrows furrowed. “I could get you some.”
A doubtful sort of smile tugged at her lips as she joined his side, pausing a moment, before sitting on the colourful fabric. “I think they’re a little old fashioned for Max’s taste.” Cassandra admitted sheepishly. “He likes a more…” She tried to think of the word in Korean. “Contemporary look.”
“Sterile?” He offered seriously, and reluctantly she gave a smile, biting the inside of her cheek.
“You could say that…”
They fell silent for a moment, keeping a distance between them, though the stray thread in the middle of the tapestry pattern kept her distracted. She tried hard not to tug at it.
“How was your date?” He asked softly.
“Fine…” She turned to him. “How was yours?”
He gave a small laugh, thinking for a moment. “Our son did most of the entertaining.”
She nodded, looking up automatically, to where he was sleeping above their heads. “I was looking forward to getting to know her a little better.” Cassandra admitted.
“I think she was nervous to meet you.” He said gently, making her turn back towards him.
“Me?” She frowned. “Why?”
He grew silent, casting his eyes to the wooden floor before shrugging. “Maybe I left it too long.”
She sensed a touch of regret in his voice, and she touched his hand briefly, encouraging his gaze back to her. “I hope she knows I mean no harm.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper and his eyes met hers as they both stopped talking. The sound of jazz played in the background, turned down and not distracting from the otherwise silent room. She tucked a strand of hair neatly behind her ear, a question seeming to tingle on her tongue until she allowed it to escape. “Have you?” She asked cryptically, not needing to finish.
He nodded, his dark eyes cast in shadow by his long lashes in the softly lit room. “Yeah.” He admitted.
She didn’t know what answer she had expected, or whether she should have been surprised. Without thinking, her fingers moved to the stray strand on the sofa, running it absently between her fingers. His eyes followed her movement, knowing she probably hadn’t noticed, and he got slowly to his feet.
“Did you want a drink?” He asked.
Cassandra looked up and nodded. “Tea.”
She waited patiently for him to finish in the kitchen, watching the record spinning softly on the deck and wondering where he had picked up such a battered looking thing, before she remembered her bag. When he came back in the room, holding the small china mug carefully between his fingers, she was reaching into the tote and pulled out the small dish. “I made you something.” She said, holding it out to him once he set down the mug on the floor, finding there was no room on the table. “You’ll have to cure it yourself, do you still know that man with the kiln?”
He took it from her with both hands, turning it over but holding it with an appreciative delicacy. “What is it?”
“Max and I took a pottery class.” She offered in explanation. “I thought you could keep it on your vanity.”
He ran his fingers carefully along the edged rim, before setting it aside on the floor, careful to keep it away from where it might be trodden on. “Thank you.” He said, watching as she reached for her cup and blew on the liquid gently. “Did you want to take him back with you?” He asked, suspecting that this might be the purpose for her visit. He tried to hide the disappointment in his voice, but she shook her head, surprising him.
“No…I don’t want to disturb him.” She said. “It’s your time with him.”
He nodded thankfully. “I wish you could come around more…see his nursery.” Taehyung admitted, realising she had not seen it finished.
She looked at him beneath, a little blankly. “It’s you that’s paranoid.” Cassandra took a sip of the fragrant liquid, thankful for its warmth.
“For good reason.” He reiterated.
She shook her head. “You shouldn’t punish yourself.” She sighed. “We both made the baby.”
Her words made him fall silent and he sat back as she drank from the cup, his own fingers finding the stray strand as easily as hers had, and plucking it absently. “There’s a spare bedroom, if you ever wanted to stay.” He eventually said, wondering why he had never thought of it before.
“Max too?” She peered at him.
He nodded calmly. “Yes.”
Not knowing how to respond, she set the finished mug back on the floor, sitting back. “Maybe I could have you and Da-eun around too.” She suggested. “For dinner.”
“If you’d like.” He nodded.
Cassandra watched him get to his feet as he picked up the ceramic pot and walked over to the table in the corner, setting it down next to an oval-shaped mirror. She suspected she might have overstayed her welcome, but found herself finally starting to tire. The sofa was comfortable, despite its age, and the song on the player was one she vaguely recognised though couldn’t quite place. “What’s this one?” She asked, gesturing towards the device when Taehyung looked her way.
“Do you not like it?” He asked, moving to turn it off. Despite being upbeat, the song seemed a little melancholy and reminded her of the past. She wondered if she might have heard it back in Belgium. Her parents liked to play jazz and there had been one bar they enjoyed frequenting with her which played it incessantly, allowing her a solitary sip of wine despite her young age.
“Leave it.” She requested, waving her hand dismissively. There was something nostalgic about it, and she felt her heart begin to race, almost in excitement. She could imagine people dancing to it during the war; carefully-patched dresses and painted-on stockings filling a simple looking dancefloor as the women waited for the men to return home.
The music swayed in a quickening beat, and Taehyung smiled in acknowledgement. “It’s one of my favourites.” He admitted, hesitating, before moving his arms in time to the music. She laughed softly, realising he was dancing to it, a little bashfully at first, before becoming less self conscious. He moved across the room, feet tapping against the hardwood floor as he gestured for her to join him. She smiled, shaking her head.
“It’s been a while since I danced.” She admitted, though took his hand when he offered it and got to her feet. He moved his shoulders, letting go of her as he moved back across the floor. “I’m not joining in!” She warned, unable to help the smile in her voice at her second hand embarrassment. Had they been in public, she’d have chastised him for such shamelessly cringey moves, though being alone made it all the more awkward.
“You always join in.” He teased, and she sighed heavily, realising that if history was anything to go by, he was right. There was never a time where she had passed up the opportunity to dance when the occasion or track called for it.
“Am I that predictable?” She asked, making him cock an eyebrow knowingly. The music grew faster as the trumpets pumped along with the honky-tonk piano and she found herself moving along with him, bending her knees a little as she moved her arms in time with his, removing the robe and dropping it to the sofa to allow more movement. Like him, she felt embarrassed at first, but his own lack of awareness inspired her, and soon she was spinning on the spot, swaying her head and moving her hips.
He kept his distance for a while, but the crashing conclusion almost begged for a spin and she offered her hand to him, allowing him to twirl her around until she felt dizzy. Her laughter filled the room as the song switched over, the upbeat sound replaced with something a little more slow and dreamy. He hushed her, pressing his finger to his own lips, though he was laughing too. “You’ll wake the baby.”
She calmed down, fixing a strand of hair that had fallen from behind her ear, tucking it back in neatly. “He’s not a baby anymore.” She admitted, a little soberly.
Taehyung’s smile dropped along with hers, though his expression was soft. “He’ll always be my baby.”
She nodded. “Mine too.”
Her breathing a little heavy, she turned towards the sofa, sitting down heavily and smoothing down the front of her dress, tucking it between her knees. He watched her, their faces equally flushed with warmth. “Do you want another?” He eventually asked, not knowing why.
Cassandra looked at him, knowing at once what he meant and thinking for a long time. “I don’t know.” She eventually said.
The room suddenly seemed more dim and he looked to the window, where an overgrown tree mostly blocked the view to the outside world. The sky had grown dark and it looked cold outside, a direct contrast to the glowing warmth and cosiness within the room. “Won’t Max be wondering where you are?” He asked quietly, making her follow his gaze.
She slowly nodded, giving an involuntary shiver. “I should probably go.” She slipped the garment over her shoulders, hugging it closely to her as she got to her feet and collected her bag, suddenly realising she had no idea why she had come in the first place. Looking at Taehyung, she recognised he too was asking the same question, and she found herself awkwardly feeling a little stupid.
“I’ll kiss Gabriel for you.” He reassured her, waiting for her to lead the way.
She nodded gratefully. “Let me know when you’re ready to bring him back.”
Realising he was waiting for her to make the first move, she stepped out of the room and walked down the hall, trailing her small bag absently behind her until she reached the door and turned back.
“Be careful driving.” He warned and she knew he was talking about more than just the traffic.
“I will.”
He smiled, opening the door for her. “I love the ashtray.”
Looking down at her feet, her cheeks reddened but she laughed in response. “It wasn’t supposed to be an ashtray.” She admitted.
“I’m sure I can find a use for it.” He touched her shoulder lightly before pulling away.
“Thanks for the company.” She nodded.
“You’re welcome.”
***
Thank you for reading. To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook
& Our full masterlist of fics and original art can be found here
& Our masterlist of preferences/most likely to/quizzes and fun stuff is here
You can support us by buying admins a coffee here (if you wish). :)
“You make me too soft, you meanie.”
Taehyung x Reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 400+
a/n: Here is the New Year’s Eve drabble for Tae. He’s just hanging with reader and friends having a blast and reader gets soft over it. Not much to the plot of this one to be honest, but I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading :))
THE restaurant was full of people dressed casually as they drank alcohol and feasted on meat and noodles.
A more than tipsy man was giving it his all in an over dramatic performance of IU’s “Through the Night”. The man cracked a smile occasionally, appreciating his newfound group of fans sitting at your table, your boyfriend included as he held his arms above his head, swaying them side to side with the music.
A stunning smile was on his face as he giggled with his friends, his friends nearly as in love with the silly man as you were.
Taehyung’s eyes flickered to you, his bright orbs full of such happiness that your heart skipped a beat at the sight.
You didn’t notice but Tae sure did as tears formed in your eyes, his expression dropping as he lowered his arms, placing his hands on the sides of your face.
“Peaches?” he asked in concern. “What’s the matter?”
“Huh?” You asked, confused, blinking quickly as your vision blurred behind the tears. “What’s this?” You asked yourself, thoroughly at a loss for your own emotions.
He stared at you, his lips quirking up just slightly, unable to hide his adoration for you.
“I don’t know what these are doing here,” you said as you held your eyes wide open in an attempt to you air them out as you chucked at yourself.
Tae fell into a childlike giggle as he used his hands to fan your eyes, you laughing hard at the action. You clasped your hands over his, stopping him from the silly action as you nearly toppled over with laughter.
His arms wrapped around you in a tight hug, allowing you to nuzzle your face into his chest. “Ahh, peaches,” he said, his tone dripping in affection. “What were you crying for?”
You groaned against his chest before replying, “you make me too soft, you meanie,” with a pout.
He tucked his chin into his neck to look at you, you looking up at him, your noses nearly touching. “I just love seeing you this way,” you added.
Tae flashed you his gorgeous boxy smile, rubbing his nose against yours affectionately.
“Do you know how much I love you?” He asked rhetorically, both of you very sure of how much.
Kissing him softly, you told him “I love you too” just before looking toward the karaoke stage and nuzzling your side against him.
As the next singer’s music started, you recognized the tune as “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” and as you reached for a slice of meat, you realized Tae’s friends were watching you both with adoring smiles and gazes.
Tae however didn’t notice, even when the blush crept onto your cheeks, as he began humming the song in your ear playfully.
It wasn’t often enough that Tae just got to be a normal guy in his twenties. With just an hour left until the new year, you couldn’t help but be especially soft for your boyfriend as he unabashedly enjoyed himself.
Present Lane (ft. Taehyung)
Drabble game prompt 32. “This is, by far, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”
→ drunk boyfriend!tae aka crack&fluff, slight mentions of sex → 1.9k words
A/N: Highly recommended to read the yoongi drabble first to understand the au! More member’s installments of this au are cominggg! :) Enjoyyy
“Taehyung you’ve done some pretty stupid shit in your life, but this one takes the cake. This is, by far, the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”
“Shut up Jimin,” Taehyung grits out, clutching his back. “Namjoon did worse.”
His bitch of a friend rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “Well, I don’t think Namjoon hyung thought it was a good idea to climb up on the bar and strip without a stripper pole during Yoongi hyung’s bachelor party. So, yeah. I’m right.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes and flips off the smirking male and tries to get comfortable on the gurney, which, actually was a pretty difficult thing to do given that his ass was currently caved in halfway up to his lungs. Okay, an exaggeration, but it was probably bruised pretty badly. He wasn’t trying to get hurt, he was just imitating a video of a guy on a pole with a saxophone he saw on youtube the other day. It wasn’t his fault no one told him there was some spilled alcohol on the bar, because if they did, he wouldn’t have fucking gone up there in the first place.
The rest of his members had just watched him pitifully, mocking him as an extra-grumpy Yoongi dragged him into the car and angrily drove him to the nearest emergency room. But Taehyung wasn’t too worried, he saw the glimmer of joy in Yoongi’s eyes when he realized the horrible bachelor party was over. The older hyung was never a guy for loud bars with sweaty drunk crowds.
Jimin’s voice brings him out of his own angry thoughts.
“Uh, yes! Um, so this idiot over here slipped off a bar and landed on his ass pretty hard. And we need to be up and okay for a wedding the day after tomorrow, so could you take a look and let us know what to expect? Like, if we need to replace the guy or not?”
Taehyung’s currently facedown on the gurney, in the only comfortable position he can manage right now, and so he rolls his eyes and cranes his neck to see who Jimin is talking to. And he almost rolls off the gurney right there.
You’re dressed in the cutest little nurse’s outfit ever, scrubs with little fluffy animals for the top and darker slacks on the bottom. And you’re literally the prettiest girl he’s ever seen in his life, despite his drunk-off-the-charts state right now. But the expression on your face is completely different from the cute little sheep on your scrubs.
“You came to the emergency room for this? And labeled it a spinal emergency?” You quirk your eyebrow at Jimin and Taehyung bites his lip because he’s delighted to see his friend get chewed out and shrivel up in front of someone other than his wife for once. Jimin sputters and is muttering something and pushing an equally sputtering Jeongguk up to you. And you’re not taking any of it, watching as the two boys argue over who it was who filed the incident as a spinal injury and Jeongguk is sneakily trying to leave and Taehyung yells out, catching everyone’s attention.
“Yeah! It’s fine! You can leave, we can leave!” Taehyung tries to get up but his ass isn’t having it and the muscles there are screaming at him to stop moving, so he groans and slumps against the gurney as the busan motherfuckers watch and snicker. He’s desperate to get the fuck out of here cause there’s no way in hell that he’s letting a cute girl look at his bruised up ass before he even gets a chance to take her out on a date, but then you’re rolling your eyes and snapping on some gloves and grumbling “let’s get this overwith” while yanking his pants down, ignoring his protests and shooing away the two spectating menaces.
Taehyung gasps and clenches his fists on the gurney. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to clench his butt muscles a little so he can look a little more endowed, but then you’re glaring at him and telling him to relax and so he gives up.
You sigh, letting him gather up his pants and his dignity when you’re done, and he manages a position where he’s lying sideways on the gurney to try and keep off the weight on his behind.
Putting your hands on your hips, you quirk an eyebrow. “Did you land on the corner?”
He’s confused, and he lets out a loud, “Huh?”
You roll your eyes, peeling off the gloves and scribbling on his charts. “When you slipped off the bar, did you land on the corner?”
He thinks for a bit, and then nods sheepishly. “Y-yeah… how did you know?”
You look at him boredly. “There’s literally a v-shaped indent on your ass.”
His eyes narrow. “Hey, how old are you? Shouldn’t nurses be like a little more nice or something?”
You narrow your eyes back. “Well, according to your charts, I’m old enough to tell you that coming to an emergency room drunk and labeling a bruise on your ass as a spinal injury is highly inappropriate.”
He lets out a smirk, because he’s never got so turned on by an angry woman in his life before. “Well, you can say inappropriate again. I knew you lingered a little too much on the peach. Liked it that much huh?” He bites his lip and does the eyebrow wiggle that usually had fans screaming back in the day.
You huff, and cross your arms. “Ugh, I’m not dealing with this.” You turn to Jimin and Jeongguk and rattle off instructions. “He’s fine, so don’t worry about the wedding. If he wants to be able to walk properly though, you might wanna help him out with some ointment and numbing cream. And next time, if you punks ever show up here again drunk and trying to get faster help by mislabeling your injuries, I will personally make sure you never come back to this hospital again.”
Jimin and Jeongguk agree with hands clasped politely in front of them and heads bowed low as you glare at them and walk away to your next patient. Those punks were lucky that tonight wasn’t a busy time because if it were and you ran across their antics, you would’ve beaten them up and made sure they had more than ass injuries, HR problems or not. This was a professional, highly emergent area, and you weren’t going to let some dudes waltz in thinking they were entitled to faster treatment, no matter how good-looking they were or how cute their butts might be.
You shake your thoughts off as you tend sweetly to a small kid who’s running a higher fever, and you glance at the doorway to see the limping lanky boy walking off, clutching his ass.
The next morning, is just the same, as you greet your coworkers on the way to the nurse’s locker room. But as you pass the reception desk, your friend calls out to you.
“Y/N! You’re here! Look at what’s here for you!”
You pause at the outburst and hesitantly approach the desk. And there, on the counter, is a small ceramic pot filled with succulents. You scrunch your nose at the small cacti, “Moonbyul, why did someone send me succulents that look like butts?”
She claps excitedly. “I love succulents! Oh, Y/N, aren’t they adorable? They’re gibbaeum heathii and they’re absolutely wonderful to add to any succulent collection! Look at how smooth they are, Y/N!”
You frown. “Who sent this?”
She straightens up, “Oh! Right! He’s waiting outside in the park, he says he can wait until you’re free.”
And then it occurs to you, who the sender is. So you thank her and carry the succulents and as you expected, he’s standing out in front of the hospital gardens, awkwardly sitting down and trying to cross his legs.
He’s still distracted when you approach him. But you march right up to him and he looks down at the white shoes on your feets and trails his eyes up your jeans and your regular outfit up to your unamused face and tries his best to flash you a smile.
“Really? Butt succulents?” you quirk.
He stands, and stills, wincing at the feeling on his behind. “I-I just wanted to apologize for last night, I-I was drunk off my mind and I don’t really remember what I said to you or did to you. But Jimin and Jeongguk told me to give you these and apologize and I’m not really sure what to say cause I have absolutely no idea what happened and I–”
“Okay, okay relax.” You don’t mention you’re a little distracted by how cute he is when he’s sober. The cocky punk from last night is gone and in place, is a little cute boy with messed up hair and a big boxy smile that’s rubbing his neck awkwardly as he tries to muster up an apology.
“I-I’m so so sorry.” He looks like his eyes are gonna pop out of his head, wide open as they plead with you, “I’m sorry you had to look at my butt and I’m sorry that I got drunk and–”
“Woah, woah, Taehyung-shi, that’s enough. It’s okay.”
“–and Hoseok hyung kept telling me to take more shots and then showed me this video of santa claus doing the saxaphone on a strip pole and–wait, what did you say?”
You frown, “Uh, we’ll revisit the santa claus thing. But I said, it’s okay.”
He lets out a huge sigh and his shoulders droop and he lets out this big gummy boxy smile that makes your heart skip a beat and he’s smiling because the only thing he remembers is how pretty he thought you were last night and he’s so happy that you’re exactly how he remembered.
So as you two settle into a comfortable silence as you smile at eachother, he glances down at the succulents and winces.
“The succulents were a bad idea huh?”
You smile down at the little green plants and shrug. “They’re not so bad. But I hate to say this but I’m literally the worst at keeping plants alive.”
He shrugs, “Uh, maybe, I can help you with that? Maybe I could like take you out to watch a documentary on gardening or something, maybe, if you want to. Like, this weekend, or something.”
You smile amusedly at the tall boy in front of you. “Excuse me? Are you asking me out Kim Taehyung?”
He rubs his neck, shyly meeting your eyes. “Yes?”
You laugh. “I think that’s what I’m supposed to say.”
He pauses before he gets it. And then he’s smiling even bigger and whooping and then all of a sudden he’s keeling over because he clenched too hard when he jumped and now he’s in pain all over again.
“Oh my god, Taehyung are you okay?”
“I-I’m fine, I’m fine. By the way, what are you doing tomorrow?” He straightens up with a wince and you hesitantly let him go.
“Uh, I’m off of work at noon. Why?”
He smiles, “Would you like to go to a wedding with me?”
pic of succulent!!!! :’) thanks for reading! feel free to request moreeeeee
⟶ to kill a king | kth | (m)
▹ pairing: taehyung x reader ▹ genre: smut ▹ warnings: kinda semi public smut i guess, gambling ▹ wordcount: 5.7k
↳ A game of poker is what you come for - but you soon realize, the real prize you want is the infamous player named V. Who will win the game?
It’s electrifying.
The atmosphere, charged with caution and rigged luck.
Bitter chuckles, mocking taunts, mumbled curses and the sweet sound of chips clattering. Crowds around tables, blinking slot machines, shouts about bets. There is a tension in the air, the one caused by taking risks and the cold sweat that comes with it. A final check is made somewhere over there and the gathered bystanders applaud. It nearly drowns out the smooth jazz filling the background but it’s nothing you pay attention to anyway.
No, the click of your heels on the stone floor does not halt at the commotion of the countless tables, lecherous greed roused up by cheering masses, waving money, placing bets, losing or winning it all. Those games hold no interest to you, way too public, too exposed, too little to win.
Neither do you spare thoughts to the lingering stares that you feel glide along the seams of your black bodycon dress, stretching across your hips, displaying all the allure your curves had to offer as you glided through the excited masses of the casino. If the eyes following you call out your name in joyous speculation, whisper it with apprehension, or are left guessing what forms their lips would have to take as they moaned underneath your body, it makes no difference, they all are met with a cold shoulder.
There was a time when you would have indulged in it all, gambling with both the cards and your opponents hearts, returning lustern gazes until you had no longer pay for a single drink the whole night, each payed by another poor soul trying to win your affection - not that you couldn’t have afforded your drinks, you would have won enough in one of those nights to empty the whole bar, taking place in front of green velvet, the sound of chips sliding across, the shuffle of cards, the concealed expressions of mirth all too familiar. Game after game, late into the night, your partners changing throughout but you kept the earnings, no matter who it was that put them on the table.
Naturally, you soon had a reputation, people asking, nearly begging, to play you and you leaving behind a trace of angry minds with debts lacing their bank accounts.
The money never really interested you, but you had to say, it was a nice bonus you did not complain about as you soon were draping yourself in the finest dresses that bore the elegant mark of only the best designers and developed a liking to heels with only a sole of red.
And you soon realized, the real thrill in the game came with the stacks of money the players put on the table. It’s easy to lose a game if it’s the only thing that is being lost. You learned, that the more money is involved, the more risk are going to be taken, and soon, you couldn’t be bothered with all the little games out in the open of the casino anymore. It was no fun winning a few hundreds or thousands of honest players that fell victim to an addiction, the amount of all their earnings not making any real difference to your own bank account.
No, for you to play a real incentive was needed. Names of big shots and six figure numbers.
So, more often than not, you found yourself in the private rooms; eerie moods, air stale from lit cigarettes and whiskeys on the rock ordered but never tasted to not fall into the haze induced by alcohol blurring thoughts in dimly lit suites becoming your home.
You soon were rumoured about, an epithet given and used as a name that spread fast through the gossiping mouths of the regular casino goers, a ruthless player with incredible skill and an appearance to match, mingling only with the higher leagues, no regards of any dangers you might run into, no fear of sore losers with hidden weapons or rulers of the underground with a knack for violence and murder.
For you, it was all part of the thrill.
You came back again and again, smiling through all your loses and all the wins. And here you were once more, heading straight towards the back where all the private rooms were, into a game where all players were known by their skill or rather, their reputation and carefully hidden identities. A bunch of hustlers and cheats and only the best of them - and you fitted right in.
You are the last one taking your seat, everyone else already settled, some faces laced with mirth, others already unreadable. Last orders for drinks are given, jacket buttons opened and necks stretched.
The silent agreement to start is given as you straighten your back, face settling into a neutral expression, and a pale hand reaches for the deck of cards in the middle of the table, ready to deal. There is no need to decide on who, all knowing the gambler that would take the cards first. With a seemingly blasé look on your face that hides your analyzing intention you never once let your eyes trail away from the shuffled cards, knowing that the man - Suga - has always had a knack for dealing, and the little tricks and perks one can give himself, that comes with it.
He looks down right lazy, dark hair that falls into his eyes matching the black suit and gaze nonchalantly trailing around the room but his fingers are swift and if he pulled anything, you didn’t not notice it. A skilled hustler - just how you like your opponents.
But he’s not the only one you have to be aware of, it’s not like the people seated next to you are any less harmless. RM, as always dressed in eccentric velvet suits and expensive watches, one of the biggest gamblers out there, known for his ability to always win just barely by a higher value, no matter which game, and L.E., all quirks of her red painted lips masked by the perfect, unreadable poker face and a lucky hand at getting matching suits.
But you were not interested in any of them, having played and figured out all of them before.
If you were to lose to them tonight, you would not mind. Oh no, it isthe man dressed in solely Gucci sitting right in across from you, large features eyeing you with the same curiosity that is mirrored in your own thoughts, that is your ambition.
You have heard about him often enough, another infamous player, a rumour that everyone knows about, a name that sparked an itch in your fingertips to play against him.
A reckless player, seemingly not caring about losing all his money as he bets and bets and bets yet always somehow walking out with more than he came in with, a wild card who’s playing style seemed to fluctuate with moods and an affinity to bluff that made him as unpredictable as unreadable, with a face that defies humanities standards, looking like it’s carved by angel themselves and refined by the devils hands.
V
That is what the casino calls him, a mere letter to make up for a name he is not willing to grant but it served him well enough, so why bother to change it? And it is enough for you, anyway, there is no need to know anything else. The only thing you want is to see the defeat in his eyes as you leave the room with his money.
It’s easy to keep your eyes trailed on him, watch him carefully gauge the other players reaction, long fingers absentmindedly playing with a stack of chips, long lashes brushing the top of his cheek bones as he lazily lets his eyes wander.
But he is truly skilled, his face vacant and leaving you to wonder what is going on inside his mind. There is not the slightest hint to what his cards have to offer, and it only being the first round, it is too early to have his playing style figured out. With any other person, you would have concentrated on the game, passing up a few rounds, losing a few others until you had them unravel in your mind to the point you can predict their every move. Yet, with him, you cannot bring yourself to shift your attention, the lines of his features mesmerizing you, until you wondered what it might feel like to feel his lips on your.
And is if he has read your thoughts, he shifts and looks straight into your eyes, irises the color of bitter coffee boring into yours as he rises an eyebrow in a near suggestive manner.
A mere brink of a moment later, his face is a blank card once more, no trace of emotion to be found as he waits for Suga to either check or fold. But he does neither, wordlessly pushing another stack of chips into the middle, raising the pot.
Your thoughts finally return to the game at that, and without even having to double check your cards again, you know, this round is lost for you. V, however, goes along without as much as blinking an eye and before you know it everyone has folded and the pot goes towards him.
Rounds after round passes just like that, and you get caught in the flow of it all, the itch in the tips of your fingers, the anticipation of what the unveiling of the next card will bring, and even the little tricks, well done and invisible to spot, cards cautiously hidden in the sleeves of your dress to the quick handed swapping.
It’s addicting, really, the feeling of the adrenaline rushing through your body, the atmosphere heavy with tension as to who will walk away with heavier pockets and who just might will have to learn the heavy weight of debt and humiliation.
But V is still lingering in your mind, as unpredictable to you as he was before you stepped into the room, he is still a riddle you have yet to decipher and you have to admit, he lives up to all of the rumours. There is no consistency to his playing, fluctuating between styles and strategies, you cannot find any logic in it, and as the rounds pass, the desire to crush him ignites flaming embers in you.
The sound of shuffling sounds through the otherwise quiet room once more and as the cards slide over the green velvet, everyone memorizing their current hand and checking their winnings so far, there is a shift in the air, the tension spirals into the endless and everyone is suddenly aware, this is the last round, this decides it all.
Cold shivers run down your spine as you feel the mood change and you eye the amount of chips everyone still has resting in their possession. They have gone from person to person, and it seems, the majority is currently sitting next to V’s graceful hands. This is the last chance for everyone to get their money back, and for you, to win your first round and find rest in his defeat.
You sneak a last glance into your cards - the jack and ten of hearts - you idly call, pushing your chips into the middle, seeing no need to raise the already made bet. Next to you RM does the same, no one folding so far. Seems like everyone is still hoping to take it all.
Finding V’s eyes once more, he shoots you quick smirk, a glint akin to mischief in his eyes, but there is something more in there, a certain shimmer, it’s nearly unreadable but you still catch it.
It clicks together in your head and you know, he thinks he has already won. You are not sure if he let his feelings show on purpose, or if you have him finally figured out, found out his little giveaways, but something tells you, it is neither.
And then you realize, it’s not only that he has gotten arrogant in his wins during the night, he has found interest in you as well. You were not the only one thinking about kissing him, his eyes linger on your tinted lips a little too long, and you feel his gaze sweep over your body in an all too casual matter, that makes it anything but that.
In his mind, this game is already his, but there is another thing to win for him - you.
Then, your eye contact is interrupted, Suga giving out the cards on the board, and now the perspective has shifted again. No, your mind is no longer on just winning the money, on just winning over him, but also, on keeping that curiosity in V’s eyes alive, drawing him to you, playing solely with him.
He doesn’t yet know that he has already won you over, but you know, you only come at a prize, and that is his loss. And when you finally look over the cards on the board, suppressing a smile becomes a task.
Queen of hearts, king of clubs and the nine of hearts.
The checking begins, L.E. doing so, but there’s a certain hesitance in her movement that fills you with glee. She’s bluffing. V seemed to have sensed it as well, not even holding back the chuckle bubbling in his throat as he raises, the pot growing even further. At that, there is a sigh next to you and RM folds.
It’s your turn now, and you have no intention of backing down, yet your fingers grab few chips, letting them glide through your grasp, seemingly lost in thought as if you were contemplating your next move, as if you weren’t sure that you should dare to go along. It’s a cheap strategy, and one you know V sees right through, but there’s a playfulness in it, an invitation for him to come and convince you he is worth your time.
You eventually let out a heavy breath and check. Suga lays down the next card.
Seven of spades.
Not exactly what you hoped for but still good enough to keep playing, but if you were honest, nothing would have made you drop out of this point. Oh no, you would bluff your way to the end just to entertain V.
And suddenly, you and him were the only players left, everyone else having folded. Perfect. You still have a very real chance at winning, doubting he could beat your hand, just as long as the final card is the one you need. Your eyes meet again, the glee in his now enriched by fervor, and you aren’t sure if your heart is tattooing a faster rhythm against your ribcage then it normally does because of the game or his very presence.
The seconds seem to drag out to minutes to hours to an eternity before the last card finally is revealed and you manage to tear your eyes away from him.
King of hearts.
It’s hard to keep the grin threatening to take over your face in, but you barely manage to do so, face as deceiving as it has been the whole time, but he doesn’t seem to be bothered with poker faces anymore as a smug smile contorts his mouth. An air of conceit surround him and yes, this will be fun.
You study your cards again, going over all the possibilities, and he can’t have the better hand, it’s impossible, but you play along anyway. So, when he pushes his chips in the middle of the table, calling all-in with a carefree tone, you sigh heavily, putting on an act of despair as you add to the pot with dropped shoulders. “If I’m gonna lose, might as well go all the way, huh?”
He laughs at that, sending you a wink and leans back into his chair. His fingers come to pick up the cards. The show off has begun.
Flicking them over, his cards complete the ones on the board, all the kings in all their glory laying in front of you and he just laughs again.
Four of a kind.
“It was lovely playing with you, sweetheart, but I think, this is mine now.” It’s the first time he addresses you directly, and you would lie if you were to say his deep voice does not send shivers through your body like electric impulses resonating to the vibrations. He moves forwards to wrap his arms around his winnings.
But then, he catches the shift in your position, the straightening of your back and the proud tilt of your chin and he freezes. He fell right into your trap.
“Wouldn’t you like to see to what hand you have, well, actually lost to?” You muse, arching an eyebrow at him as the slightest hints of confusion and horror flash over his face. “I’m afraid it is not yours after all.”
And you finally reveal your cards, showing the perfect sequence, all the same suit.
Straight Flush.
“I have to say, it was an honor to play you, V, or was it to play with you? I can’t seem to remember how it goes.” You call out to him, sickly sweet, your lips stretching into a tight smile around the words as you carefully gauge his reaction.
But then, he is laughing, a deep sound bouncing of the walls and when he turns to you, there is no malice in his expression like one would expect him to after losing all his money. There is only a mischievous glint as he cranes in closer, chin coming to rest on the palm of his hand.
“I have to admit, you got me good, darling.” He lazily picks up a card, twirling it in his slender fingers as he looks you up and down, teeth coming to sink into his bottom lip before his pink tongue darts out to soothe the sting. “Shame it wasn’t a Royal Flush, you were so close, too.”
He casually throws the card, making it land just before you, and you smile when you take it in. The Queen of Hearts. How fitting. He lifts out of his chair and walks around the table until he stands behind you. Leaning down he only stops before he is inches away from your ear and his rich, heavy cologne fills your nose and god, he smells good.
“Since you just won all that money of me, how about you buy me a drink with it?”
Bingo.
You have him right where you want him to. But you don’t turn around, no, not yet. Picking up the card in front of you, holding it up between your index and middle finger, you let out a sigh. Finally facing him with a coy smile and darkened eyes, you silently hum in agreement, uncrossing your legs to stand up.
But he hasn’t moved an inch and the second you are upright, his lips are right in front of you, looking all too enticing, and the gentleman he is, he does not wait to place a hand on the small of your back as if he were to guide you outside in a safe manner.
Yet, neither of you move, caught up in each others presence. A shadow is moving just shy of the corner of your eyes and when you both turn to look, you find the last of the other players having fled the room. You have to admit, the others all slipped your mind, all thoughts on solely him during the end, but seeing them gone, it fills you with delight. The door falls close and suddenly his gaze is back on you, burning with an intensity like embers in his ashen charcoal eyes.
“I guess, having just won all that money, I can make an exception for you and be the one buying.” You brush your hand over his suit, straightening all wrinkles as you tug on the collar, and look back up to see his eyes are transfixed on your lips, every movement of them taken in.
Your hand glides from his shoulder down to his chest, resting fawned out against the broad surface, muscles palpable under the fabric. You know you got him fully wrapped around your finger, he wants you, wants to make you his tonight, and you oh so bashfully catch your bottom lip with your teeth, worrying the plump skin, just to entertain yourself with the need growing in his eyes.
It’s all it takes for him to growl something along the lines of fuck the drink and close the little distance still between you. His lips press against yours, moving in an almost languid manner but there is a haste in his fingers as they search to dig into your waist that displays the desire coursing through his veins. He kisses you until you are breathless, mouth never leaving yours until you are clawing your nails into his chest for him to break away.
He complies, leaving you to suck in a deep breath that gets stuck in your throat as he wastes no time to move to your jaw, teeth nibbling along the bone in sharp nips. His hands slip even further down your waist, palms now pressing into your hips and he itches you closer until you are flush against his chest, his knee coming to nudge your thighs apart until he can fit a leg in between.
Pushing up, he makes sure it aligns with your sex, adding pressure until you let out a soft sigh that has him grinning against your neck. Guiding your hips, he has you rolling down on him and with it lighting up sparks that shoot through your body and turn into a warm sensation in the pit of your stomach.
Together with his warm breath dancing over the sensitive skin of your throat, and the sting of teeth he carefully adds, have you stifling little noises akin to whines all too soon, a desire for more taking hold of you.
But he seems in no rush, taking all the time he needs to rile you up, make you melt under his touch. Maybe, just like you, he likes the thrill of the game too much, is in it for that, rather than the win, and so, he drags it out for as long as possible. Or maybe, he wants to see how much you can take before you crumble, before your pride cracks and you are begging for him. Whatever it is, that goes through his mind, you are not having it.
He is not the only one that can tease…
You reach up to tangle fingers into the delicate hairs on his nape, giving a slight tug as you bring him back to connect his lips with yours while your other hands carefully dances over his chest, unbuttoning his jacket and tugging his soft silk shirt out of the waistband of his slacks. He groans into your mouth as he feels you trail a finger on the skin just shy of disappearing under the fabric and you happily hum into his mouth.
He is straining against his pants, you can feel the fabric, taut under your drifting fingers and god, how you enjoy keeping him on edge like that. He is much more impatient than you have been under teasing touches, constantly shifting closer to you, his hips pressing forward into your touch, and a small growl escaping him. Yet, he doesn’t complain, not ready to beg, either.
There is, however, the slight pain of fingers digging into your ass and a pinch on your bottom lip as you continue your teasing, his endurance growing thin. You cannot help but giggle at that, pecking his lips as a small apology and finally unbuttoning his slacks, a hand gliding underneath his boxer briefs to grab his shaft.
A hiss escapes him at that, but his fingers are rubbing affirmative patterns on the small of your back. And when you finally start moving your hand, arduously slow, his head is thrown back, jaw clenched and eyes screwed shut tightly. He looks both caught up in agony and bliss, a heavenly sight, and as you oh so idly twist your wrist, you wonder how long he has been torturing himself with lewd thoughts to be so painfully hard.
By the time your thumb is spreading the drop of precum gathered at the tip, low moans are tumbling from his lips, the sound like music to your ears. A warm hand wanders up your spine, the back of your neck until it is tightly tangled in your curls, as he leans back in to nurse at your jaw, a breath coming to tickle you just shy of the shell of your ear. “Are you the devil? This is torture, little lady.”
“I might just be…” You trail of, now discarding your teasing for fast flicks of your wrists. He is nearly leaking precum at this point, making it all a smooth glide as you move faster and faster, feeling him tense under your touch. “Where’s the fun in playing nice?”
The words are accentuated by a harsh tug and a swift swipe of your thumb and his dark eyes blacken completely like a stormy sky just waiting lightning to hit and thunder to roar, blown wide pupils bleeding into the irises.
He is getting closer by the second, his breath coming in heaving exhales that let his chest rise and fall, when you slow down, his hips start chasing the pleasure, when you speed up, you are rewarded with low hums of appreciation.
Yet, it is all too much fun to play, and the second you feel him tense up, knowing, he is teetering the edge that leads to him falling and falling into a spiral of pleasure, you withdraw.
Both your arms come to wrap around his neck, your breath hits his ear. “Enjoying yourself?”
He doesn’t respond, rather, he comes to drag you backwards, lifting you up once you hit the table, and pressing you down until you are laid out on green velvet, legs on hanging over the edge, and with the short cut of your dress, on full display for him.
You have no doubts, that the dampness between your legs has left a visible stain on your underwear, but right now, you have no shame. Not when he is pushing it to the side, anyway, hitching the dress even further up until your dripping core is bare in front of him. Pulling the nearest seat closer, he sits down just in between your thighs.
“How about a little revenge, sweetheart?”
It’s said lightheartedly, a hum in his voice that is carefree, but you don’t miss the malice glint in his narrowed eyes, his hand coming to rest on the apex of your thighs as he lightly blows air over your heat. And as much as you want to keep the upper hand, stay in control and show no sign of how much he affects you, you cannot help the shiver that shakes your whole body.
He does it again, smirking at the way you involuntarily react, before he takes it further, two digits coming to spread your lips and before you know it, he leans forward, tongue licking a broad stripe upwards and wrapping around your clit.
Your hips snap upwards and he snakes an arm underneath your waist, pulling you closer as he laughs against you, the vibrations of his deep chuckle resonating deep into your bones, tearing a whine out of your throat.
It just spurs him on more, tongue dancing around your folds, painting patterns onto your sensitive spots, lips nipping and tugging. You lean up, resting your weight on one elbow while the other hand tangles itself in his dark locks, tugging at the tendrils as in two minds, not sure whether you can handle the sharp pleasure or want more of it.
You can soon feel the coil in your stomach build, tightening with each pass of his tongue over your sensitive nub, more and more moans spilling over your lips, matching the waves of pleasure that crash through your body.
There is a heat building inside of you, running through all your veins, blotchy spots of red appearing just underneath your clavicles, dipping down all the way down your cleavage past the neckline of the shirt as your blood spreads the flaming sensation.
And when he comes to push one of his long fingers inside of you, you are anything but ready for the intrusion, body clamping down and he lets out a curse, feeling you tighten around him. He curls his digit upwards, again and again, forcing more and more noises out of you, nearly overwhelming you with all the pleasure.
Slowly, but surely, he feels you release your muscles and he takes the opportunity to push you further. He enters another finger, taking his time to move them in and out. He sucks on your clit once more, ignoring the way tremors shake your thighs next to his head.
He can feel you are close, but there is no rush to him. The arm around your waist leaves, instead he uses his hand to untangle yours out of his hair. The second he is free of your grasp, his mouth leaves you, leaning back into the chair.
His other hand, still pumping it fingers inside of you, is changing its position, him twisting his wrist so he can thumb at your clit, calmly watching you twist your face in bliss.
“Should I let you cum? Or should I wait until you are sitting on my dick? Whatcha saying, sweetheart?” He muses out loud, wiping your still glistening juices of his chin and licking his lip to get the last of your taste. “I say, it’s way past the time I fuck you.”
You eagerly agree, his large hands feeling incredible but craving the feel of something stretching you out further, fucking into you much deeper. He chuckles at your ardor, hand leaving you to fish something out of the inside of his jacket, not ever bothered by the stains your wetness on his fingers leave.
It gives you a moment to breathe and calm down, relaxing your muscles that you have not even noticed tensing up, and god knows you need it. Your thighs are still shaking, and you feel your fleeting orgasm ebbing further and further away, but you know, he will chase it right back the second he has rolled the condom over his hard length.
His hands wrap around your calves, pulling your from the table onto his lap. Lifting your hips, he aligns himself with your center and you sink down on him with on smooth glide. You both let out a breathless gasp at the feeling, both of you erratic to finally come undone.
He wastes no time to thrust up, simultaneously crashing his lip back on yours. Your hands find purchase in his jacket, clawing at his shoulders to ground yourself, overwhelmed with the sudden feeling of being filled so deeply.
The sound of wet skin slapping against skin fills the room, echoing of the walls, and you are sure it is heard even down the hallway, but so be it. You are too far gone to care about anyone catching you.
Your movements are frantic, hips grinding in an attempt to finally hunt down the sweet satisfaction that has been threatening to overtake you for way too long now. He is close as well, even closer to losing himself than you are, groaning into your mouth, his hands at your hips forcing you down on him.
Tightening around him, you try to push him over the edge, forcing him into pure bliss, and it works, he is groaning and growling into your mouth as his hips stutter and he fills up the condom with his seed.
You keep your rhythm steady, milking out his orgasm until he is nearing overstimulation. But before he even has fully come back to his senses or caught his breath he is reaching down and pinching your clit in between his fingertips.
“Come one, cum for me. Cum all over me, baby.”
It’s enough to give you the rest, hot white pleasure fills you up, making you lose all sense of time and reality, only knowing the feeling of his cock deep inside of you and his lips on yours as your single anchor.
He nips at your bottom lip, patiently waiting for you to regain the strength in your legs to stand up. You finally do, after a short eternity, straighten your dress and fixing your underwear with just the slightest of wavering noticeable.
You feel his gaze on you, taking in every detail of your gestures, and you feel yourself not being able to tear away just yet. No, you can still ruin him a bit further. Leaning back down to kiss him once again, your hand wraps around his slowly softening cock, once again flicking your wrists. He winces at the painful overstimulation, only made worse by the cum filled condom still on him.
He trashes underneath you, a large hand wrapping around your forearm to stop you, and this is your sign to leave. Letting him pull your are away, you move your lips up to his cheek, placing a soft kiss there. “It was a fun game tonight. Maybe we’ll meet again, V.”
“Kim Taehyung.” His eyes are still closed, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “My name is Kim Taehyung. Let me hear you say it before you go.”
“Is that so, Kim Taehyung?”
“God, I should have made you moan it, sweetheart.” He groans, thumb carefully caressing your wrist. “Now tell me yours. I need to know.”
He finally opened his eyes at your silence, seeing the coy curl of your lips, before you slip out of his grasp, towards the door. “I’m afraid that’s a secret, Kim Taehyung.”
And with that you are gone, leaving only the taste of your lips behind. And maybe, once he sorts out his dishevel appearance, he will discover the card sticking out of his pocket square, the red on the back of the card looking all too enticing against the black of his suit, and, if he cares to look at it, he will find the only name he will ever know you as, and he will learn, that not even a king like him is capable to rule over you.
The queen of hearts.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
my longest fic to date (3.7K words!) and its basically just workplace harassment, lol. killer kelly / rosemary needs to be a thing and this is the setup 🫡
happy pride i have a new demonxslayer toxic yuri fic up for everyone to enjoy
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
new fic is up! this is a short one, but i just had some thoughts on that street fight at the start of the year and couldnt just keep them in my brain. dedicated to @newbreedrainbowfish, notable bluehart enjoyer/creator