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otp-holic · 3 years

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The one place (where something happened) (A03)

“In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.” Alice Munro. (or the one where they receive a letter from a familiar name and we go into 4Ks of fluff around a lost afternoon in France)

4K. Lamely explicit at one point. Fanfic + Pictures Inside. Trigger for FLUFF as the main plot. Part of the Never let us lose what we have gained series (AO3)

This was supposed to be a manip with 200 words of bantering and it's now 4Ks of fluff with a few pictures. I've decided to leave them inside the cut because I feel they work better with its context there. I'm sorry for the hassle, but I really hope you give this a chance... unless you have cavities, only like fics with amazing plots or are allergic to shameless fluff.

Please do not repost the pictures, I know this is futile, but… I try :)

DAGUERROTYPE, France 1944 Private Collection.

Steve is cooling down from his very early run, enjoying the feeling of the pink sunrise looming over the awakening Brooklyn streets as he walks the last couple of blocks on the way home, when his phone beeps.

“Check your actual mailbox, we dropped something for you there. I think you should appreciate us making it old-fashioned just for you, grandpas!”

Steve smiles at Sam’s text and as soon as he arrives at their building he snaps a picture of the very common and flat envelope with “Barnes&Rogers” scribbled on top of a Stark Logo, to send along his response.

“Nice try, but this is inaccurate. A letter would have never made its way to us without an address or stamp. We’ll send you a proper thank you card to show you how it’s done.”

He can’t help but chuckle at his own joke rereading the text while he opens the door, and when he looks up from his phone and into the kitchen, he is received by a sleepy Bucky looking at the coffee machine like he looks at Steve during their most soft and embarrassingly cheesy moments.

“You love that thing more than you love me, confess it.”

“In the mornings? Yes. I don’t even like you in the mornings most of the time,” he answers matter of factly. “Want some?”

Steve playfully wiggles an eyebrow.

“No way. Your sweaty self is tempting, but coffee smells better. I might join you in the shower later.” Bucky offers him one of the two cups he has poured and he notices the envelope Steve is holding. “What is that?”

“We’ve got mail!” He hands it to Bucky. “I have no idea what's on it, but Sam texted me to say they had something delivered to our mailbox and there it was. Open it.”

Bucky leaves the cup on the counter, face sparked with a curiosity that makes him look twenty-one (and Steve weak on the knees), and goes for it.

The content is a bit underwhelming at first glance: Another envelope, white, no Stark logo, but topped with a bright green post-it with a note on Pepper’s script.

“This got to me via PR. We analyzed it and checked with the source (no peeking, I swear) and it seems legit. With that return address, it’s likely to arouse your interest. Love, P.”

Bucky tears off the post-it and the letter is revealed to be addressed to Steve Rogers at the Stark Tower, but it is when they turn it around when everything goes still for a second.

The return address is some street in Marseille, but what has Steve’s mouth dry and Bucky’s hand trembling just a bit is the combination of the place and the name written on top: Emmanuelle Jaques Dernier.

“Boom?”, Bucky says, trying to cut through their heavy hearts and taking Steve’s hand. It’s a terrible terrible joke, but Dernier would have loved it and he grins.

“That’s a terrible terrible joke,” Steve verbalizes, “but I think at least we’ve reached the same conclusion.”

“Elementary, my dear Steve,” Bucky answers as he opens the second envelope, only to reveal a folded letter and yet another envelope. “It’s a fucking vault of paper!”

Steve takes the letter from him, unfolds it, and quickly scans it (normal office paper, printed, hand-signed) before he starts reading it out loud to Bucky’s undivided attention.

“Dear Mr. Rogers,

My name is Emmanuelle Dernier and I am the great-grandson of Jaques Dernier of the Howling Commandos.

First, let me tell you that we all in our family grew up with amazing stories and praise for you, Sergeant Barnes, and the rest of the team. I never got to meet my great-grandfather or any of them (you), but I’ve always felt like I did.

In fact, that’s the ultimate reason behind this letter: I ached to honor him and I’ve been putting in order all his remaining letters, pictures, and memories so they don’t get lost forever, and there are many things I’m discovering through this journey. So many pictures and tiny details… and amongst them, you and the rest of the Commandos appear at the most random and memorable moments. Nothing that’s going to make it into history books, more like the stories my grandpa used to share with us over and over again, those important tidbits that make him more human.

Anyway, I was going through the pictures he kept when I came across some war photos that didn’t seem to match the 40s timeframe. Typical daguerreotypes from the 20s in a very bad state, probably taken with a camera from the era in 1944 and developed on a later date by somebody who clearly didn’t master the technique.

They were in a very bad state and hidden inside an envelope that said “Terribly drunk soldiers in France making idiots of ourselves in unique and creative ways. Fun evening, horrible hangover. About 20 miles west of the Maginot Line. Autumn ‘44”. I’m attaching a photocopy of that, I hope you can understand my decision to keep the original.

After restoring the daguerreotypes with some experts, all I got were five very bad pictures with silhouettes of people apparently having fun…. but there was one that got a lot better in the cleaning process that feels important somehow. I’m sending the original, as well as the restored version I got.

I, of course, don’t have the whole context, but I hope it brings back a good memory. My great-grandpa might be in the picture, but I don’t think this one belongs to my family or to a museum.

Thank you for your service, I really hope this letter finds its way to you.

E.Dernier.”

“I can’t believe… Steve, most days I’m convinced that day and that place are a figment of my imagination,” Bucky smiles, remembering. “When I think of a moment of pure joy during the war, I think about that afternoon in France, and it always feels unreal. A bubble of air and laughter while we were so surrounded by death.”

Steve nods, reminiscing about that warm and humid September morning when they arrived at yet another abandoned and destroyed little village, this one about twenty miles west of the Maginot Line. They had orders to lie low and wait for twenty-four hours before they started the maneuver to wipe another Hydra base off the map, and that little town was perfect for that.

Among bomb debris and fallen walls, they found one small building miraculously standing next to the remains of the church, so they decided to set camp under a roof for a change since the weather was being a little flickery with the rain, and they had the rare luxury of time.

The inside of the tiny house was as unusual as the outside: nothing was destroyed beyond being dusty and worn by time, and everything they found (furniture, kitchenware, and even fabrics) belonged more to Steve and Bucky’s early childhoods than to 1944, a living museum frozen in time.

Only it was not a museum, but the parish house left untouched and non-raided: old-fashioned clothes, outdated church books, yellowing clergy collars, and, of course, the wine cellar. Oh, that wine cellar… the havoc it unleashed.

“I remember the absolute excitement when Falsworth found all those bottles of old unscathed mass wine from the parish,” Steve brings his memory to words, looking at Bucky, “I’m still a little convinced that we are going to hell for drinking them.”

“Not for that, probably, but it was a wonder nobody died on the spot of wine poisoning, it tasted like sweet vinegar, ugh.”

“But it did his part, right? Took our minds off things; got us drunk, bold and silly.” Steve answers.

“Apparently not all of us,” Bucky says very seriously, looking at Steve.

“Technicalities… I got drunk by proxy. Seeing you all so happy made me giddy and tipsy, too.”

“I came and went… I remember being a little surprised at the clarity of my thoughts at some moments there when some of the guys were basically drooling on the floor. Now I understand, of course.”

Steve squeezes his hand, not much to be said there.

They were already way too drunk by the early afternoon, drinking to the sound of a sudden rainstorm pouring outside. All of them scattered across the small dusty living room and its adjoining kitchen while they went through all the bottles of wine they had been able to find. Cheering for the foregone priest every time somebody raised a glass, and laughing as if there were no ruins or war on the other side; just silly men (boys, really) laughing their hearts out.

“Earth to Steve… I don’t know about you, but I’m dying to see what the hell that envelope is hiding. Especially now that we know about its time stamp.”

“I’m sorry, me too! Gabe drunkenly handling that old camera and those glass plaques the way he did? I’m honestly impressed that he was able to take any pictures at all,” he muses. “Shit, is it weird that I’m nervous?”

“I’m gonna save us the bantering because I’m nervous, too,” Bucky answers in all sincerity. “Truth is, Steve, I remember everything about that day.”

It’s a new admission, a newly opened door for them because for some reason, they have never talked about that peaceful surreal afternoon, and Steve nods in recognition as he silently goes for the envelope one-handed, not wanting to let go of Bucky’s hand because his surface is way cooler than his wrenching insides. Maybe the picture is an overexposed french wall but maybe…

The photo he extracts from the envelope is clearly the original and damaged one Emmanuelle specified in his letter. Anybody else looking at it would see nothing beyond Dernier’s blurry profile, but since Steve and Bucky were there when this was taken, they know exactly what moment Steve is holding in his hand.

“Buck,…” is all Steve can say, struck by the blurry keepsake.

Later in the afternoon when they had already consumed most of the wine and there was not a single coherent thought left in the room, one of the guys took the parish books and besottedly announced that there was a wedding set for today… thirty years ago. Alcohol fueled a goofy idea that escalated at the speed of light, with Morita saying they were going to a wedding because they deserved a celebration, Dernier confessing that he had once considered becoming a priest, and Dum-dum bringing out all the old fashioned clothes from the wardrobe and deciding they were getting nice and clean for the festivities.

“That’s clearly Dernier in the picture killing it in his priest role, right?” Bucky says, half smiling and interrupting Steve’s thoughts. “You know, I went all-in with that fake wedding party. I was laughing to tears when I saw you put on that ridiculously long and ill-fitting jacket from the 10s, feeling weightless and silly for the first time since sailing off, and God knows we all deserved that. And it was all safe and light-hearted until fucking Morita decided you had to be the groom, and...”

“Were you jealous because I won the dashing groom competition?”

Steve’s attempt at a joke is weak, but there’s truth behind it: Morita chose Steve as the groom (“Cap, you are the most dashing and the least drunk”) to a chorus of excited voices cheering for him. Somebody else, most likely Dum-Dum, chose the rest of the roles (Sarge, best man duty; Jones, camera; Morita, keep the wine flowing; the rest of you, misbehave!) and in the blink of an eye, they were all going outside laughing under a light rain, and about to celebrate Steve’s fictional wedding to nobody.

“How could I be jealous?” Bucky cuts in. “Do you remember all you said to me that afternoon? During World War II and in front of a battalion of men?”

“I was drunk.”

“Fuck you!” Bucky disentangles his hand from Steve’s to use both of them to hold Steve’s face and kiss him with violence. “Tell me. Do you remember what you said?”

As if he could ever forget. He can recall every step he took from the house to the makeshift wedding spot amidst the trees where his best man (looking dapper even in that ludicrous jacket) was laughing along Dernier. He can still smell the petrichor, can still sense the blush coloring his cheeks while hoping nobody noticed and can still hear the beating of his heart when Bucky handed him a battered umbrella (“You don’t deserve to get rained on your wedding day, punk”) and a fucking ring made out his shoelaces (“You’ll have to buy something a little more permanent.”). And then…

“Dernier started the ceremony and he wanted to know if I had somebody in mind and I said ‘of course’.” He replays, his voice barely a whisper. “I said I’d had my eyes on a brown-haired Brooklynite since before I could remember. I said that I was pretty sure those blue eyes were set on mine too and that hopefully those eyes would be set enough to want to marry me even if I had never dared to ask.”

He’s been holding Bucky’s gaze the whole time, and he’s far from over yet, but he needs to fucking breathe before he goes on. Neither of them has moved a muscle for the past minute.

“Then he asked me to repeat the wedding vows after him and…”

“And you said Buck, right?”, Bucky interrupts, voice winded. “You fucking whispered I take you, Buck, as my lawful wedded husband till the end of the line. I heard, Steve. Even if the rest of the world didn’t, I did. But you never said anything, so I always deemed it impossible, a product of the corniest nook of my mind trying to outweigh all those bad things, because not even you could be as bold, reckless, and mushy as to do that,…it’s my fucking fault, I should have known better!”

“Not completely reckless, pal. I was scared shitless as I said those words, but what else could I do? You were right by my side about to put a ring on my finger as my “best man”, everyone, including you, supposedly drunk past recollection, and everybody else too far away to hear my whispers. It was such an easy choice in the end because truth should always win over fear. And those vows were. The truth.”

“You have always been too honest for your own good, Rogers,” Bucky is breathless and exasperated and goes for his mouth again, bringing in all he (they) couldn’t in 1944. “You destroyed me, Steve. My knees were as weak as a teenager’s in front of his first crush. I wanted to kiss you so badly when I heard you say all that there in the open… and I couldn’t even acknowledge it.”

“I know. And for what it's worth, I really thought you didn’t remember.”

It is too much. Is it normal to feel this much? Steve would blame it on the serum enhancements, but he was already overwhelmed at 16, so that’s clearly not the answer.

He craves, no, he needs touching, grounding, closer. Bucky. There’s too much space between them even if they are back to kissing like they would have that day in 44, and at any other time if their own lives wouldn’t have stolen those moments from them.

“It happened.” Bucky whimpers, biting on Steve’s lip who abandons his own stool to straddle him, both of them gasping in sync at the feeling of their cocks, hard against each other’s through their soft pants.

Bucky soon ups the stakes by carding his metal hand through Steve’s hair pulling his head backwards to help himself into that spot on his neck.

“Same two moles as when you were tiny, as when we were at that war... Your cute vampire bite. Favorite spot.” He licks on them with the tip of his tongue. Steve growls on cue and Bucky giggles. “Favorite chain reaction.”

“Buck, you cheater, you know what that does to me!” Steve cries out followed by Bucky’s evil chuckle.”Bed, couch, countertop,…I don’t care, but naked. Now. Stained pants due to heavy petting are too much of a trip down memory lane for me. Let me keep a bit of my dignity.”

Steve stands up liberating Bucky from his grip but aching at the loss of contact.

They are naked and making out in the middle of the kitchen in no time; Bucky steadily pushing him against the refrigerator while fiercely grinding against his crotch.

“Hey, ‘teve,” Bucky pants. “The way this is going, it’s my dignity now that's at risk. I don’t think I can make it further than the floor before I come.”

Steve groans into his mouth just at the thought and they start sliding to the floor the best they can until he’s a human blanket moving over Bucky. With no lube at hand, and no time, that’s their best option.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, his hands not leaving Bucky’s sweaty hair. Bucky’s hands on his ass, forcing their groins closer with one while he (almost absently) plays around his hole with the other, driving Steve crazy in the process. Dicks left to do their own thing through pressure and friction. Everything is working. And fast.

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky exclaims “Can you promise me all this stuff with the letter was real and not a long-con plan to assure your fragile masculinity that I love you more than I love that espresso machine?”

That. That silly unfunny excuse of a joke that screams Bucky all over is what pushes Steve all the way over the edge. He fucking laughs as he comes making absolutely embarrassing sounds, pressing their foreheads and noses together until it hurts, and shaking from head to toe without stoping his pressure on the stupid and smug man under him. His lover. His partner. His unofficial husband. His best friend.

His Buck.

“There’s still too much blood in your brain if you can play that dirty,” Steve states, placing one hand between them grabbing Bucky’s hard cock. “Let’s see if I can do anything about it.”

“Your hand, usually so helpful, but I was already following you after that sound you make when you come and laugh at the same time, shit, it always goes straight to my dick, I’m,…” he keeps talking with difficulty between breaths and moans until he leaves his speech unfinished coming all over Steve’s fist.

They kiss on the lips breathing into each other before Steve rolls over. They are sticky and panting in silence, spread on their kitchen’s floor, Steve’s shoulders crushed between Bucky’s and the dishwasher. Domestic bliss at its most literal.

One lavish fuck and two showers later they reemerge into the kitchen in search of something to eat: Bucky is in charge of the food today, while Steve cleans the mess they left a couple of hours ago.

He’s decluttering the counter when their damaged picture laying there puts a smile on his face but also reminds him of the restored version presumably still waiting inside the disregarded letter, so he grabs the envelope to retrieve its contents: one photocopy (from Dernier’s original writing), and the promised photo.

And it is restored. Everything is clear where it was blurry before: Dernier (so deep into his priest impersonation that he’s not even looking at them), the trees, the battered umbrella, the ridiculous jackets… and them.

“You had the nerve to call me reckless and mushy, Buck?” Steve laughs as he stares at the picture where a very young Bucky is about to put a ring on his finger with the least subtle lovestruck expression he’s ever seen (“and it’s for you”, his brain proudly reminds him) “Wow, you might as well be kissing me there, anything would be more subtle than this!”

“Don’t shame me, you punk, especially not when you were the one responsible for breaking my brain back then!” Bucky answers coming from behind and stealing the picture from his hands to scrutinize it. Goofy grin and raging blush quickly taking over his face. “But you’re one to talk, Cap. You are gazing at that shoelace’s ring as if I were handing you a diamond tiara!”

Steve laughs softly at that and moves his right hand to his pocket, feeling the weight of the little compass he had retrieved earlier from one of his drawers. He used to carry it with him everywhere for comfort, but he has a better option now.

“Didn't you know that shoelaces are forever?” He asks, taking the compass out of his pocket and holding it in both hands as he opens it, nudging Bucky with his elbow to get his attention.

Bucky is confused for an instant while he looks at his young face staring at them from inside the little box. Of course he knew that (he made fun of Steve for days and days) but Steve detects the change in his expression when he notices the other thing.

“Wow, you gigantic sap,” Bucky says, taking the compass out of his hands to double-check he is seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. “You saved my shoelace.”

He had. While they were all celebrating his wedding under the rain dancing to no music, he quietly slipped the little string off his finger and tied it to the most secure place he had back then.

“It’s not a shoelace, you jerk, it’s a symbol. A declaration.” He laughs, stealing the compass back to safely pocket it again.

“You are delusional,” Bucky snorts, kissing the top of his head. But he’s widely smiling and lost in thought as he goes back to their sandwiches.

Steve stays on the spot enjoying the peace in their silent companionship, his focus on the latest news showing up on his phone, the text he’s writing to Sam and the comforting sounds of Bucky moving around the kitchen.

“You might have married me, but I never actually married you.” Bucky blurts out of the blue a bit later, sitting by his side as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and some grilled greens on it. “Do you want mayo with that?”

“Uh?” Steve forgets all about the news and the text and looks at Bucky in confusion.

“Mayo, do you want some?” Bucky repeats nonchalantly.

“No mayo, thank you; but I was actually more interested in the other part, you know, that thing about marriage?”

Bucky looks him in the eye: earnest, blushing and with the same look of smug adoration he had on the picture.

“Oh, that part.” He jokes. “You apparently married me in 1944, but I never married you back. And I would like to.”

“Marry me?” Steve asks and Bucky visibly nods.

“I’m sorry for throwing the idea at you like this, books tell me I'm supposed to have candles, music, and a ring, but you showed me that restored picture and I couldn't stop thinking about it, about proof,” Bucky speaks uncharacteristically slow and very softly, voice trembling here and there while he claps his hand with Steve’s finger by finger for reassurance and as a distraction. “A single photo had the power to transform a moment that existed just as a made-up happy place inside my mind into something tangible and real. Something that would be tangible and real for anybody getting a hold on it and looking at our stupid faces.”

“So stealthy,” Steve says, and they both laugh together.

“Proof, Steve. I was slicing tomatoes and thinking how there’s so much evidence, thousands of files! out there proving that all the stuff that fuels my nightmares were real, but nothing solid about this. Us.” Bucky stops for a moment collecting his thoughts, still smiling even with the heavy subject he just dropped into the mix. “Sorry, I believe I put more time into these sandwiches than into thinking this all the way through so I’m…”

“Take your time, we’ve gone from mayo to marriage to nightmares in five minutes so don’t worry, you have me hooked here.”

Steve makes Bucky laugh again as he intended, and he feels their calloused laced fingers immediately squeezing closer.

“It’s stupid because it doesn’t change anything for us but,.. I don’t fucking know, Steve, I think that picture has messed up with my mind! I instantly found comfort in the idea of people finding facts beyond the nightmares now or in the future. An easy to understand, universal and oversimplified proof of how much I loved you and how much I was loved in return.” Bucky takes a breath and stares at him sporting a million-watt smile. “Marrying you,… I would really love that. And for real this time.”

“Ok, Buck.” Steve instantly replies, eagerness winning over thoughtful and heartfelt declarations. He tightens the grip on their joined hands to drive them to his lips and seals the easiest answer he’s ever had to give.

And it's done!Sorry for the cavities, for going on with the fic when it should have ended and for ending it where it might have had to keep going. It was painful and fun. I'm free!

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angelhasfallen94 · 3 years

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moonlight comfort

warning: shity writing, English isn't my first language if I wave any grammar mistakes please let me know :)

summary: The story follow a young man who has been wronged his entire teenage years. however when he gets his “perfect life” he cant help the feeling that something is missing. the story explores the idea of a prefect life and if society's norms are really all that they are made to believe.

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chapter 1-

Everybody wants a fairytale story right well my life was more like a tragedy written by Shakespeare.

Now don’t you get me wrong my life weren’t always bad I had a grate childhood but when it was time for me to grow up it all seemed to go wrong.

My mum died after car accident when I was 13 because of some drunk driver that didn’t see her and he crashed into her car when she was on her way to my graduation ceremony.

My dad couldn’t deal with the fact that his wife and love of his life died and he decided to drink himself to death/

Funny how tables have turned when he hit another car and killed both of the young teenager going home after babysitting and also himself.

I can still remember the way he screamed and yelled at the same drunk driver that killed my mum.

After he died, I want to university where things looked a bit more promising, I mat a girl.

And her name was Lilly she was absolutely perfect she had straight blonde hair that reached just under her shoulders and her eyes were a pretty light blue color.

She was smart and funny she was just what I needed, she was perfect there was no other way for me to describe her.

And for the first time since my mum died, I felt happy.

A few years later we got married in a church in London that followed up with a party at the beach.

It was just how I imagined it, well not exactly how imagined it I always wanted to get marry in the woods surrounded by trees and little animals like squirrels with that strong forest smell I always loved.

But Lilly didn’t liked my ideas she said that the woods are creepy and gross and filled with bugs.

And that if I wanted to marry her it has to be on the beach at sunset just like her mother and grandmother.

And we got married next to the beach just like her mother and grandmother and don’t get me wrong it was beautiful but I couldn’t help but think if I made the right decision by marring her.

Some days I would ponder whether I made a good decision by marring her but every time those thoughts come.

I would try to get my mind off of it some days it would work and other days I just couldn’t fight it.

And it's not like I had a list of reasons why I shouldn’t have married her, she was perfect.

Everything with her was perfect and our marriage seemed unreal we never fought barley argued or disagreed with each other.

So I've let go of those thoughts and doubts and continued with my life.

With Lilly's help I got a job that was going to let me provide a luxuriance lifestyle for my wife and future children.

Me and Lilly planned on having kids after celebrating our 8 years of as being together and 2 years of being married to each other.

Life with Lilly was pretty much perfect maybe a little too perfect.

Every day I would wake up next to her in our king size bed in our big house.

And while she would stay in bed since she didn’t work because there was no need for her to get a job since mine covered everything for the both of us.

So ill get up before her and go to the bathroom and get ready for my job.

After getting ready and eating breakfast with her I would go to work of course not before I would give Lilly her morning kiss.

That she demands of me every morning because "it’s a form of the love and affection I deserve as your wife".

Then I would drive to work in my range rover.

On my way I would listen to music and envy of the people how got to produce music those moments were my favorite just me and the music even if I wasn’t the one producing it.

It still was truly my favorite, what happens next is something I wish I didn’t need to do 'god I hate my job' I thought.

Ring…ring…ring…

'oh great, why the hell does he needs to call so early' I thought.

"Hey tom how are you?" I asked him.

"Listen buddy I need you to go to Amsterdam for a few days" he said to me in an annoyed voice/

'Why is he the one annoyed he's the one that called me at 8:00 am'

"Not trying to be rude sir but why aren't you going there yourself?" I asked in the politest voice I could manage.

"I have to stay here for other businesses you're going its not a question! Goodbye buddy I'll see you in the office and we'll discuss it when you get here."

And with that he hangs up the phone.

'Lilly isn’t going to be happy with this…'

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let me know what you think of my story and if you'd like another chapter. :)

please don't repost my story with out my permission

#writer #a beginner writer #moonchild #love story #writing #moonlight #short story

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coreastories · 4 years

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The Bouquet

Days and Nights of Forever Part 16

Finding her again was dream-like, unreal. Memories had kept them connected while they were apart, and one disappeared memory would also assure them of their destination and destiny.

Episode 16: Reunited, continued.

Precedes:

The First Friday

That Situation

For my friend Pateetsie. I woke up this morning and she was being pestered again by gnats. So with the help of the cold and cloudy morning, and replaying the scenes we/she love/s so much, I worked on this to hopefully banish the gnats for you, Patty.

To all beloved readers who are still here, still in love with TKEM and not yet moving on: I’m still working on the winter palace-- this is just a quickie. I hope you like.

TKEM love still strong. :)

If this was a trick, he wouldn’t even be furious. He’d be happy enough about this vision for however many days and nights he’d have to keep riding and keep opening doors to find her.

But the vision that was Tae-eul kept looking at him with eyes that knew him, and spoke words that knew of his promises. And when she kissed him, it was her, really her, he had really found her, and he sighed into that kiss and drank the sweet, sweet reality that he had found her and she knew him.

Loved him.

She accepted his flowers, and returned his embrace.

He held her tight, just in case it still turned out to be a trick, an illusion, a mirage his brain thought he should see to push him even harder to find her, or to madness, whichever came first.

Every pass of her hand on his back made his heart beat faster and quieted it at the same time.

When they parted from their embrace, she said, “Hang on.” She kissed him on the cheek and then ran to her car. She turned off the police beacon and locked the doors.

She looked back at him and seemed to just drink him in, the same way she’d done when he’d come for her after the skirmish at sea with Japan. He could remember the way she looked then, because she looked the same way now, her eyes shining.

He loved those eyes.

“Why are you still standing there?”

He walked toward her and she didn’t disappear. It was still her, and she still looked like she knew him.

When he was standing in front of her, she drew a deep, shuddering breath and said to his lapels. “You’re really here.”

“Yes. So are you,” he said with wonder. He tilted her chin up and wiped the tear that slid down her cheek and neck.

She shuddered again and clutched his hand to her cheek.

A few seconds passed of them just looking at each other and she seemed to shake herself. “Have you eaten?” She smiled. “Do you want banban?”

He nodded, not really sure of his appetite but at this point he’d go anywhere with her.

She opened the car doors and had just placed her bouquet on the dash when she paused, turned around, and looked him up and down.

She laughed ruefully. “I can’t bring you anywhere in that.”

She pulled him upstairs to her house.

That was how he, the King of Corea, went out in public with his shins showing. He hadn’t done that before. He’d worn shorts during rowing, but never without compression leggings beneath. Now he wore Jeong Do-in’s shorts because none of the man’s training pants fit him.

Tae-eul was still laughing at how they’d stopped comically several inches above his ankles. He also borrowed the man’s old training shoes. It was a little tight, but bearable enough.

They ate quietly, too busy looking at each other. It would have been ridiculous except he had a lump in his throat and Tae-eul looked like she also did. The banban was delicious but he barely noticed. At some point, he couldn’t bear it any longer and simply placed his hand palm up on the table toward her, and Tae-eul smiled, placing her hand on top of his without hesitation.

He remembered the bottles of moisturizer on her desk, and he loved that he held the result in his hand again. Her hand was so soft, and so small in his.

Their legs brushed under the table. He curled his ankle around hers, a subtle movement of the back of his foot dovetailing with the back of hers. She smiled at him as she made her somaek with one hand. She passed him a glass.

“Bottoms up for the king.”

She bit her lips as she said it, and then just let go of her grin. He returned it, chuckling at the memory of her so combative, back when she thought he was spinning tales instead of just telling her the truth so she could send him home.

“I thought going somewhere with bright lights would make us both believe this is real,” she said.

He nodded. “And the smell of fried chicken to add another layer of reality?”

She squeezed his hand, smiling. “The last I was here, it was with Jo Yeong.”

“Nado.”

“Really?” She laughed.

“You mean you haven’t eaten fried chicken since?”

She looked at their hands. “I was busy. You know, I was taken on a tour. Salt farm, palace, hospital, salt farm again, beautiful church, palace. And then a care home, some apartments in the city, one that blew up, hospital again, and then just work. Busy, busy.”

He saw every memory unfold in his mind as she summed them up in those few words. She’d told him about the care home and that apartment. He’d been with her at the hospital. He’d be with her from now on and ask her about her days at work.

“Which was your favorite?”

“Just one?”

“How many do you have?”

“The church and the palace.”

The way she smiled at him made his chest clench, and it was his turn to squeeze her hand. “Do the seventeen rules still hold?”

“Only twelve so far. Why?”

He saw her blinking back tears, no doubt also seeing memories in her mind, specifically when she’d added the last rules. So he just shook his head and reached forward to wipe the corner of her left eye. “Let’s get you home.”

They walked side by side to her car, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. She gave him the key without a word. As he drove, she held his riding crop and her bouquet in her lap, her body turned sideways to face him, her feet under her hips, her cheek on the headrest.��

And her hand on his shoulder, the back of her fingers resting on the side of his neck.

“Your scar is gone.”

He nodded.

“I saw Lee Ji-hun. He’s--” She stopped talking. It reminded him of that time in the empty fields when she had also cut herself off. Her face in that golden hour was something his mind loved replaying on the back of his eyelids.

“Handsome? Charismatic?”

She pursed her lips in amusement and then said quietly, “Alive. A Navy officer of the republic.” Her fingers now caressed the back of his neck, playing with his hair there. “You saved his life. Probably his mother’s too.”

He looked at her just as they passed a streetlight, and the pride and love in her eyes stole his breath away.

That soft gaze, hearing her tell him what he’d done-- it made him glad he had done it.

It was more gratifying than the satisfaction of knowing he had fulfilled his duty, had done something that was only right. Yes, he couldn’t have done anything else and lived with himself but here was something beyond his own self-fulfillment. He liked making her proud of him.

He’d never really had this before. But there she was.

“Saranghae.”

She looked at him with a little puzzlement, but she replied, “Nado.”

Her father was away on a convention of martial arts practitioners, or something just so convenient--he wouldn’t be back for a week. And Tae-eul was suddenly shy, not meeting his eyes as she led him to her bedroom.

She hung the flowers upside down on a hook on the wall, picked things up off her bed, desk and chair, and told him to get comfortable while she took a shower.

It was a quick shower. She reentered her bedroom, closed her door, and directed her eyes to the bouquet on the wall, before her gaze slowly lowered to him sitting at her desk.

He saw her shoulders fall in a long exhale.

He was in front of her in a few strides.

And then they reached for each other at the same time, with a gentle urgency that made them gasp and groan as they kissed and touched and satisfied that urgency, that thirst, that longing.

They couldn’t get close enough. Her pajamas were soft just like her but they were a nuisance just then. She whimpered when his skin touched hers, and she stood in his embrace just holding him for several long moments, her cheek against his chest, her hands pressing and stroking his back.

“I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too. So badly. I was going mad.”

He kissed her hair, touched his lips to the silky skin of her forehead, her soft nose, and then her lips, lightly but hungrily tugging her lower lip with his teeth.

She moaned low in her throat and that made him move to kiss her there, dragging his lips to her chin, her jaw, and the velvet of her neck, where he tasted and teased with teeth and tongue. He had dreamed of this almost every hour of every day he searched for her, and he felt his eyes sting that he was finally here with her so soft and warm in his arms.

He kissed his way from her neck to her ear. “I love you and I want you and I’m going to have you or I really will go mad, Tae-eul.”

He felt her knees give and he supported her around the waist, relishing the feel of her against him, the silkiness of her skin, and the shiver going through her.

She looked at him and he could see the love and tenderness in her eyes, and wry amusement. “You’re already mad. Just take off those shorts and take off my pants.”

They both laughed as her arms went around his shoulders and he hoisted her up, her thighs around his waist.

They didn’t take their eyes off each other, and when sensation drew their eyelids closed, their lips were fused, their hands were intertwined, and they were connected, body and soul, as trite as that sounded in his head. He loved this woman, and he swore there would be days and nights when making love to her would be as normal and natural as breathing and wouldn’t be some symphony-laden poetry in his head, but not tonight.

Not tonight when she had tears in her eyes and looked at him like he might still disappear, when she clung to his shoulders and cried out and it sounded like she was in pain as much as pleasure.

“Tae-eul. I’m not leaving you again.”

“No. Not allowed.”

She smiled as he wiped her tears, and she kissed him as he hardened again inside her.

He lost count how many times they made love without really stopping much-- three or four, five, it didn’t matter. When the imperative hunger subsided, he was exhausted, like he had rowed four kilometers instead of two. And bagged the race, because his exhaustion was happy. He was happy.

He kissed Tae-eul on her temple, on her cheek, on the shell of her ear, and pulled her tighter against him.

He thought she’d fallen asleep, so it startled him a little when she spoke.

“That suit you were wearing. I’d seen it before.”

Gon frowned. “I did wonder about that. You were so odd about it in my dressing room.”

She nodded against him. Her hand slid from her chest to his neck. “You don’t remember coming to me wearing that?”

He began to shake his head, but then images unfolded in his mind, of what he had done before he found Lady Noh praying with a bowl of water among the onggi.

Sneaking out to the stables, stepping out of the obelisks into a night in February that he desperately wanted to change because his uncle deserved a peaceful death, but the Four Tiger Sword was not in his hand, and he had to remind himself it wasn’t this night he should change, wasn’t his uncle he had to save, so he had stepped back from February, back to April, found Myosotis sylvatica almost as if his parents had rewarded him for his resolve, and stepped into the republic, and there she was in his line of sight from the street, Tae-eul tending her plants on the window sill.

He tightened his arms around her. He had really thought that had been his last chance to see her, to tell her he loved her. “I gave you the very same bouquet?”

She nodded.

“It’s my mother’s favorite flower. My father said it stands for remembrance and undying love in spite of separation or obstacles.”

“It disappeared.”

“It probably disappeared when I decided what I decided.”

“Hmm. You decided that at the hospital. It didn’t disappear until later. It was terrifying.”

He stroked her arm. “I think it disappeared because something changed, and the Lee Gon who gave it to you was no longer the Lee Gon in the shifting timelines. I’d made a decision that changed things, or someone else had, or was about to.”

He felt sure it was Yeong, deciding to come with him and not let him sacrifice anything that shouldn’t be. Or perhaps it was even him and the seemingly insignificant decision to say goodbye to the woman who had raised him and kept his secrets instead of just disappearing as he’d planned. Perhaps that had been enough to give Yeong time to intercept him. Perhaps it was all the above and more. Tae-eul hadn’t even told him yet about what she’d gone through on her side of the gate.

“Maybe it disappeared because things were coming together for tonight instead.”

“What? That’s making my head spin.”

“That’s my job.”

She snorted softly, her fingers stroking the hair at the base of his neck.

“I think you recognized me then, didn’t you?”

“You looked so miserable. I thought something bad happened and I couldn’t help you, and I thought-- I thought you were leaving me for good in the future. I thought you were marrying someone else and that you were going back to her. Have you seen that ridiculous suit?”

He looked at her incredulously. Who across the universes would he marry but her? And did she mean she wanted him to marry her?

She was blushing, no doubt embarrassed at what she’d just revealed, so he said, “Aren’t you going to put them in water?”

“No. They’d just die. Hang them up and they can last forever. Don’t you know that, Mr Science Guy?”

“Mr Science Guy always has fresh flowers at the palace.”

Her hand had stilled in its caresses, and he realized she was falling asleep. He pulled the blanket higher on her shoulder. She kissed him and snuggled closer, the slope of her face fitting perfectly against the curve of his neck and her breaths evened out as she slept.

With his hand stroking Tae-eul’s arm, he carefully turned his head to look up at the bouquet of flowers on the wall. He could see another bouquet in his mind, and he could even taste Tae-eul’s tears on his lips. He also felt a phantom, searing pain in his chest that made his eyes burn, and he had to blink and turn his head to fill his mind of the sight of Tae-eul right there beside him, looking so angelic and beautiful and perfect in her sleep.

When he’d finally punished Lee Lim, that memory, that event, and everything else that happened before he had undone his scar, were undone.

And yet, he had done it again. Brought her the same bouquet. Spoke the same words. And he had a sudden, brilliant understanding that this was his destiny. She was his. Had always been and would always be his.

From age eight to a hundred and eight, perhaps, if fate was kind. Fate had given them to each other, had always led him to her, so it probably would be.

He pressed his lips to Tae-eul’s hair and closed his eyes. He had never fallen asleep faster.

#CoreaNews #CoreaFiction #CoreaStories #the king eternal monarch #the king: eternal monarch #TKEM fan fic

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smoochkooks · 4 years

Text

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed.

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

Park Jimin

Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

997 notes · View notes

eeveedel · 4 years

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Hi all, I haven’t recced some fics in awhile but...today is fic writers appreciation day! And there are so many fics that I love so very much and have brought so much happiness into my life.

And it just so happens I have a personal document where i’ve kept track of fics I’ve read for the past 3-4 years, categorized by tropes. So I thought it would be fun to rec you my all-time favorite fic from each of my personal categories! There are so many good fics so I hope you enjoy. And if you want a full fic rec list for any of these categories, please tell me!

And a big thank you again to all of the lovely authors out there, I hope you have a lovely day and now how valued your work is.

A/B/O

Sisterwives by jaerie

This was it, the moment Louis had been waiting for his entire life. Giddy excitement bubbled up as he held hands and stared up at his soon-to-be alpha and husband and grinned. The ceremony was small and simple, but Louis didn’t mind. Fresh flowers pinned into his hair and a brand new outfit was all he needed to feel special in front of their few witnesses. It was just some members of his family and a few of the church elders in attendance as was customary for any marriage beyond the first wife within the faith.

First wives were the ones to have elaborate weddings with the whole community involved. An alpha’s first wedding was a celebration of an their coming of age, his first steps into fulfilling God’s prophecy. There were many glories for an omega that came with being a first wife but also many responsibilities. Louis had never aspired to be a first wife or even a second. He wasn’t experienced enough to be the leader of an alpha’s many wives and children and he didn’t think he’d be up to the task.

Louis was just fine in the position he was stepping into as the seventh.

Or Louis thinks he's getting everything he's ever dreamed of. Harry helps him find what makes him truly happy.

Action/Adventure

The Dead of July by whimsicule

Harry is Captain America, and Louis’ been dead for 70 years.

Age Gap

White Pages, White Lace, Big Hands, Pretty Face by thechesirepussycat

“He touches his sides, his neck, his lips, all the places Harry has just been, all the places that still tingle from Harry’s touch. Such a strange feeling Louis has, so unreal and nerve-racking. He can’t begin to describe what Harry has done to him, what about Harry makes Louis want to call him… Daddy.“

Or, a gratuitous Sugar Daddy!Harry and Student!Louis AU.

Angst

Bot by tomlinsunshine (11k)

Zayn builds robots; Harry is a big fan of his latest model.

Break Up

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Canon

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

Classics

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by 100percentsassy and gloria_andrews

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

College/Uni

Could be Kissing My Fruit Punch Lips by thechesirepussycat

Harry happens upon a porn site that specializes in live videos and sort of falls in love with the cute boy he only knows as Kitty.

And then he gets the surprise of his life when he finds out Kitty attends his university...

Crime

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by haroldslouis

1997 AU where Harry is a bank robber and Louis falls in love with him

Dom/Sub

No Control Club series by SadaVeniren

Harry, a popular BDSM blogger, writes a negative review about Louis’ club. Louis wants to have a chance to make it up to him.

Dunkirk/Alex

Poison & Wine by tilthesundies

Alex comes home from the war to find a stranger living in his flat.

Dystopian/Apocalypse

things have gotten closer to the sun by starseas

when a solar flare is announced to end the world in twelve days, harry reunites with the people that he used to know better than the back of his own hand.

Enemies to Lovers

you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry"

Established Relationship

I Only Ever Want You by itsmiz

Louis and Harry's relationship goes through a series of changes while Liam and Zayn discover new things about themselves, as well.

Or: Louis & Harry and Liam & Zayn begin to have sex in front of each other and a lot of kink-discovery results from that.

Fairy Tale

Red by frosteddream

Shockwaves were sent through the village after the McPherson family was savagely killed. There were people who feared the beast that did it, and then there was Louis, or, as most people liked to call him, Red. (Little Red Riding Hood AU.)

Fake Dating

And Then a Bit by infinitelymint

Harry and Louis fake a relationship for publicity. Eventually it becomes a lot less fake and a lot more real.

Famous (non-1D AU)

a million roses (bathed in rock n roll) by deLILah

au. harry sings in smoky dive bars; louis misses his flight home. they go to coney island in the morning.

(aka - harry is lana del rey, and louis makes him a star.)

Fashion

Just my style by thoughtsickles

Harry is sick, and the only thing that might help him is the pheromones from his mate--problem is, he hasn't got a mate.

Louis' just been disowned, and taking part in a medical study where he has to cuddle with some strange alpha seems to be his only option for earning a bit of cash.

The hippies and Omega Rights campaigners are busy changing the world--but all Harry wants is a chance to live.

Fluff

Dreaming of You by velvetoscar

The Begrudging Starbucks AU.

The world is winter and steamed milk and creamy espresso shots. The world is a never ending queue. The world is a Starbucks logo and a pink-cheeked smile from Niall and a bored scowl from Zayn and the world is Louis watching his best mate, Liam, fall in love with their newest customer, Harry. Who may or may not be in love with Louis. The world is cruel.

Frat

Soft Feet, Fast Hands, Can’t Lose by dolce_piccante

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

Friends to Lovers

OmegaVision by jaerie

Tomlin Networks Presents: OmegaVision starring Louis Tomlinson! The world's first 24/7 reality channel available in over 150 countries worldwide following the life of the first male omega born in over a century. Follow Louis through his daily routine, the ups and downs of growing up or just leave him on for comfort. There are many reasons to tune in but, no matter what yours may be, there's always a part of Louis that is just like you!

Or a Truman Show au that nobody asked for where Louis is Truman and Harry just wants to be his mate

Girl Direction

Never Enough by idekboo

Louis couldn't get enough of Harry and that gorgeous body of hers. She wasn't shy about letting her know.

High School

I found a love (darling just dive right in) by wonderlou

Louis, an omega with very little control. Harry, an alpha with a lot of emotion. Neither of them have any idea what do to with this little thing called love, but they'll be damned if they don't put up a good fight.

Historical

Coax the Cold by MediaWhore

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Miscellaneous/Unique

the impossible now by stylinsoncity

A wish on Christmas Eve sends Louis to an alternate dimension where Harry is a member of One Direction.

Mpreg

The Things I’d Do to Wake Up Next to You by dirtymattress (36k)

Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

Mythology

Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight by alivingfire

Louis is an angel who is just a little too bad to be good, Harry is a demon who is just a little too good to be bad, and they're both a little too in love to be impartial when angels and demons go to war.

PWP

mr. tomlinson by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis is a billionaire CEO who makes grown men cry and rival companies crumble. He's also an omega. Harry is the quiet cupcake of a man he calls his alpha and the only one who gets to see Louis as anything less than fearsome.

Roommates

streetwise hercules by bottomlinsons

Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry's boyfriend to scare away his one night stands.

Royalty

feel the chemicals burn in my bloodstream by togetherwecouldbealright

Harry is a journalist with a lot of secrets and Louis is the future king of the United Kingdom; they live together for 60 days.

Spies

never gonna dance again by togetherwecouldbealright

Louis is a spy and Harry is a dancer. The only real thing they know is each other.

Soulmates

Nameless Night by green_feelings

For their 18th birthday, every person receives a letter that reads a simple date. That is the date you'll meet your soulmate.

Harry and Louis have different beliefs, live in different worlds and have different dreams, hopes and fears. Yet, they're not so different from each other when it comes to love. When their paths cross, there is no doubt they belong together. Except for that one, essential difference: they didn't receive the same date.

Or, a fic about differences that make no difference at all: Harry and Louis are soulmates. In every way possible. Featuring Niall as a role model, and Liam and Zayn as a different kind of role models.

Summer Romance

Rivers til I Reach You by embodied

AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

Supernatural

Howls Like a Beast (You Flower, You Feast) by indiaalaphawhiskey (16k)

France, 1754. Château de Versailles.

“You don’t love me,” Louis had said, utterly blasé as he callously fractured the heart of a Harry that was just barely eighteen.

“I do,” Harry had insisted pleadingly, green eyes already watering.

Louis had rolled his eyes, exasperated and flippant in the way only beautiful, young boys could be when faced with the affections of a baby prince. He had run his finger down Harry’s cheek then, had forced him to look into his eyes as he delivered the final blow.

“You’ll change your mind once you’ve seen more of the world,” Louis had teased, pressing a brutally delicate kiss onto Harry’s lovely, pure cheek. “Once you’ve been properly defiled.” He had whispered filthily, delighted by the gasp he heard, the frantic pink blush that had rested high on Harry’s cheeks, the power he had felt at knowing he could make the Crown Prince squirm.

#larry fic rec #larry fanfiction #larry fan fic #god tier fic recs

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Text

Sweet Creature || Jumin x MC -Oneshot

sweet creature, wherever I go, you bring me home

genre; fluff. so much fluff.

summary; Jumin gets stuck in another country away from his wife. He’s been having trouble falling asleep, so MC decides to tell him a bedtime story. A simple request ends up making Jumin open up about a small insecurity he had over is wife and his best friend.

notes; I said Jumin is in Peru because the law is very strict here: flights are not allowed and we’re under mandatory quarantine. Also because the time difference was a nice touch for this lol. Oh! This idea came up while listening to this song, hence the title~

-----------------

“Isn't it dangerous to travel these days? :(“

Jumin read that text over and over, as if, somehow, he could go back to the moment where he read it for the first time. He should have postponed his business travel, but due to his father giving him more responsibilities at C&R and himself thinking nothing wrong could happen, he was now trapped in Peru, kilometers away from his wife.

He turned around on his hotel bed, dreading the soft aroma of whatever detergent they used for the sheets. It wasn't unpleasant itself, but it wasn't the smell of your shampoo that always lingered on the pillowcases.

It had been more than fifty days already. All he wanted was to return home, but flights were prohibited and he had no way to return home to you. Jumin checked his dual clock on his phone and decided it was okay to call you. It should be 5pm in Korea. It went unanswered, making him furrow his eyebrows. Surely nothing bad had happened, since you were under lockdown as well.

He was letting his mind go to dangerous places when he received a call from you. He picked up, your face appearing on the screen with a smile.

"Sorry! I was at the bathroom. I thought you were already asleep, isn't it... like, 3 am there?" you asked, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Couldn't sleep" Jumin replied. He put his phone against a pillow, just where you would be lying if you were actually by his side. Picking the cue, you did the same, laying on the bed and looking at your husband through the screen.

"What's on your mind?" you asked.

"How long am I supposed to wait to be able to embrace my wife" he sighed.

"Probably a while more. When you come here, I think you'll have to go under quarantine yourself. Just in case" you answered, with a small pout. "I know it’s been already fifty-six days apart, and that those other forty when you get back aren't ideal for our first year as a married couple, but... we'll survive".

"You sound so collected. I thought I was supposed to be the businessman and you were the dedicated piano teacher" he teased. His smile grew as he watched you laugh.

"I may have learnt a thing or two from you. But honestly..." you let out a big sigh "I miss you too. Whenever anyone from the RFA checks on me I'm always sulking about how I can't see my husband".

Jumin's smile faded a little, watching you lose focus a little, your eyes lost somewhere in your bedroom.

"I'm sorry. I should have listened to you, I-- I thought it would be safe. Sorry for not being there for you".

"But you are" you assured him, your eyes on him again. "You are here for me. I'm in one of the safest buildings in town, there's plenty of food and I don't need to go outside for anything since you set up a delivery for me and Elizabeth be 3rd. You are still protecting me from so far away".

"We're missing so many celebrations. I was planning to take you out each month on our anniversary date for our first year as a married couple".

"I know, but you'll definitely be here for our anniversary! And we'll get to celebrate together, have a nice and romantic dinner at home and then fall asleep next to each other".

Jumin smiled at your promise of a future where he wouldn't sleep on a empty bed anymore. He had got used to sleeping next to you so quickly, he didn't understand how was he able to sleep alone for so long.

"I am worried about something, though" you admitted. Jumin immediately scrunched his face, concerned.

"What is it?"

"I'm worried it's 3 am there and you can't seem to fall asleep" you said, concerned.

"I miss you"

"I miss you too. How about I tell you a story?"

"A story?"

"You know, a bedtime story. Maybe it can help?" you offered, shifting on the bed.

"I've never listened to a bedtime story. Wouldn't it be rude to fall asleep while you're talking?"

"No" you chuckled "That's the point. Let me try, okay? I'm going to tell you the story about... Mia. Mia was a girl who loved playing the piano. She loved it so much, sometimes she would cancel plans with her friends to stay home and play. She studied at a Music School to be a teacher and got pretty good grades".

"The piano?" Jumin asked, with a small smile. He then closed his eyes.

"Yes, this new and exciting character loved the piano. Anyway, one day she decided to download an app she didn't know, thinking it was a game she could play while on the bus. There she met these incredible people who ended up being a big part in her life. Even if things got… complicated surrounding lost brothers and surprisingly, cults, everything worked out in the end. She ended up falling for one of them, you know?”

“I always thought you would fall for Jihyun” Jumin commented, his eyes still closed.

“What?” you shifted on the bed, supporting yourself on your elbow.

“Mia. I always thought she would fall for Jihyun because they're so alike” he opened his eyes and put a hand through his hair. “They are very emotionally intelligent and always want the best for everyone around them. Natural caretakers. And also inclined to an artistic career”

You stayed in silence for a minute, not knowing if your husband was trying to make a joke you couldn’t understand or if he was being serious. You took a deep breath before talking.

“Hmmm, she liked him, yes. Jihyun was kind but she saw him the same way she saw Hyun or any of the others. He was a friend she could trust and a friend who would easily understand her when she was having a problem”.

“But if he could understand what she was feeling with a glance why did she…”

“She felt protected” you interrupted him “and loved by everyone at the RFA. But there was this man, the oldest of them all, who at first seemed cold and detached, but soon revealed his true self. You won't believe this, but he would send tons of photos of his cat to Mia!" Jumin chuckled. "But it was a beautiful cat and he was a beautiful man, so Mia liked it. He was fun, even if it was in an unconventional way. He went through a rough time when his cat got lost, but thankfully Mis was there for him. She got to know him a lot more on those days. For example, she found out he had trouble dealing with his feelings”.

“Not like Jihyun”

You sighed. “You think he was jealous of Jihyun?”

“I think so, yes. At least because of how easy it was for him to show emotion to his old girlfriend. How it was easy for him to express himself”

“Mmmm... Well, Mia didn't think the same. See, some people say music is a language itself. So she learnt from a young age words are not only the only way to express oneself. And there are a lot of ways for that. Some people say they love you, some people bring you presents, others spend quality time with you… there are a lot of ways, seriously. So when this young, cat-loving man asked Mia to stay for longer at his apartment, she understood he meant he wasn't feeling okay and that her presence, somehow, was helping her deal with everything. So she stayed. And... if you insist on Jihyun, I don't think he and Mia would have made a good couple" you say, tapping your chin with your index finger. "I think whenever one of those would have had a discrepancy, the other one would have made a drama out of it. I think they were so alike they wouldn't have let the other one grow. But whenever Mia talked with this guy I’ve been telling you about, she would always learn a thing or two. She would see a problem from another perspective and actually understand it better. Also, let's face it: she was melting whenever those dark eyes landed on her. Boy, did she feel like a teenager whenever he said something kind to her! It was embarrassing honestly” you laughed, hiding your face with your hands.

“Like a teenager?” Jumin asked with a soft smile, raising his eyebrow.

“Yes! One of those days she stayed at his place, he asked her to dine together, so she went to ‘refresh herself’ to the bathroom, okay? Actually, she was having a meltdown, fixing her makeup the best she could and thinking about interesting topics she could talk about with him”.

“Really?”

“I'm not joking. Jumin, she would get up earlier than him, brush her teeth, comb her hair and lay on her bed again so she would look somewhat good when he came to see her in the morning. It was pathetic. That's how smitten she was with him. Thank God I've never acted that way" you scoffed. Both you and Jumin looked at each other and smiled. “Not a long time went by before she ended up marrying him, can you believe it?” you asked, feigning surprise. Jumin chuckled.

“Sounds unreal” he admitted.

“I know, right?” you asked, laughing softly. “But she did, she actually married this guy in a beautiful church surrounded by the people she loved. It was a wonderful day. She couldn’t believe she could love someone that much”.

You stayed silent for a while, just looking at each other's face, remembering just how much in love they had been from the moment they saw each other.

“I'm sorry my story didn't help you sleep” you apologized in a soft voice.

“I do feel more relaxed now. I'm going to try and get some sleep now” Jumin said, stretching his neck.

“Please call if you can't. I'm always here for you, Mr. Han.” you teased him with a grin.

“Thank you, Mrs. Han. Have a nice evening. Please remember how deeply grateful I am that you chose me” he said in a soft voice. You smiled and blew out a kiss for him.

“As I am. Goodnight, my love”

#mystic messenger #jumin han #mysme #mysme jumin #mystic messenger imagines #mysme jumin han #mm jumin

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igotyouniverse · 4 years

Text

Morning Light [PCY]

This turned out longer than I expected!

I wrote this at 1am so please excuse mistakes haha! 💗

synopsis: It’s the morning after your wedding with Chanyeol.

warnings: none. It’s really pure fluff!

a/n: i‘m very soft for Chanyeol lately. There might be more Yeol content in the future haha!

You felt how the first sun rays made their way through the thin fabric of the white-laced curtains of the bedroom, tickling the sensitive skin of your cheeks with its warmth.

A quiet humm slipped from your lips as you slowly opened your eyes, facing the window to your right. You blinked against the light and smiled mildy.

You felt an arm gently wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to a chest. Your bare skin touched his as he nuzzled his face against your neck, pressing a gentle kiss on your soft skin, sending shivers down your body as a comfortable warmth spread through your veins.

“What time is it?” you heard Chanyeol asking with his deep voice. It was raspy and you felt the vibration of it against your skin. “I don’t know.” you answered and grabbed his hand, placing soft kisses on his fingertips, making him smile against your back.

You turned around to face the man next to you. He looked at you lovingly, yet still sleepy. His brown hair covered his face messily. You ran your fingers through his thick locks and cupped his cheek with your hand, making him smile as bright as the sun, letting your heart burst inside of your chest.

Even after all this time he still managed to take your breath away with one simple gesture. He made your heart beat fast in excitement and your limbs feel like a puddle whenever he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, sending goosebumps over your body everytime. You cherished every single second the two of you spent together and today was special.

“How did you sleep Mrs Park?” he asked with a chuckle. You felt how the warmth inside your body started to prickle. Mrs Park. You never imagined how it actually felt to be her. “I never slept better.”, you answered and pressed your nose against his.

“I’m so happy.”, you whispered and let your fingers run through his hair again. The last day was the most beautiful day of your life - your wedding. You were still feeling like you’ve been in a trance the whole time. Pictures running through your head which made you smile.

“Me too. I can’t believe that you actually married me.” Chanyeol chuckled and let his finger draw small circles on your waist, sending warm shivers down your body.

“Of course I did. You’re the love of my life, Chanyeol. And yesterday was absolutely beautiful. It still feels like a dream.” you whispered again, feeling nothing but pure bliss.

“And you’re mine.”, his eyes met yours and you lost yourself in his for a moment before his soft lips found their way to yours and kissed you gently. His arm tightened its grip around your waist, pressing you closer against his body. He always held you tightly when he kissed you. It made you feel protected and save. Save from everyone and everything. Like nothing could ever hurt you - and that’s just one thing you loved about him. You loved the way his fingers always touched you, he never let go of you. He was your rock and you were his.

You loved the way his lips felt on yours, like they were meant to be. You loved the way he smiled against your lips between kisses and how he made sure you felt loved. You never felt as intense as you felt for him, even after 7 years of a relationship it still felt like you were freshly in love.

Before you met him marriage wasn’t your plan. The whole concept didn’t make sense to you but when you met him it all became so clear. All you could see was him and all he could see was you. You completed each other in perfect harmony and you just knew that he was your soulmate. You were meant for each other.

You always appreciated each second you spent together and you knew how lucky you were. You never doubted your relationship or your future with him.

The moment you stepped inside the church, ready to walk down the aisle you felt dizzy. Dozens of people’s eyes laid on your every step and you were nervous. But when you looked up and saw his face, completely covered in nothing but pure love, you felt save. He was there, waiting just for you. All the nervousness fell down as you walked towards him, wanting nothing more than to hold his hand. You look breathtaking. He said, the very second you took your place at his side. And then you realized that everything was alright. You finally felt like home. He was your home.

The fresh memories flooded your thoughts as you completely lost yourself in the hundreds of kisses you and Chanyeol shared this moment.

“I love you so very much.” you said between a kiss , your voice nothing more than a light whisper.

„I love you too.“, he answered and put a quick peck on the tip of your nose.

„This feels like a dream.“ you said, your hands touching his face gentlty. Your fingertips graced along his jawline, his cheeks, up to his ears and forehead. You wanted to touch every inch of him, inhaling each of this precious moments, bathing in the reality.

He closed his eyes, wanting to feel each of your touches with all his senses. He loved the way your gentle fingers danced so softly on his skin, leaving warm traces on each part you touched. The way you tried to feel him made him smile and realized how lucky he were. He realized that he was indeed laying next to the love of his life, his wife.

He felt how your fingers touched his neck, making their way to his shoulders, down to his arms not leaving him for a second. He felt how your eyes followed your fingers, soaking in everything they saw, even though you saw everything for thousands of times before. You made him feel so incredibly good and appreciated. He never thought that one single human could made him feel this way.

Your fingers found his chest, drawing small circles on his skin, making him sigh in utter satisfaction. He opened his eyes just to meet yours and smiled yet again. He felt how his heart melted when the corner of your mouth went up and your lips formed into a bright smile.He lost himself in your eyes each and everytime he looked into them. He loved how the light reflected in your eye and seemed to sparkle. Your eyes weren’t just simply looking at him. It felt like they were directly piercing through his skin and bones, direclty looking into his heart and soul, revealing all his deepest feelings and secrets. But he couldn’t care less. The way he adored you made it impossible to keep anything to him - and he didn’t need to. You were always at his side. He couldn’t believe that he got lucky enough to have someone like you in his life and sharing this deep connection with each other. He thanked the universe every day for this precious present.

„This feels so unreal.“, you chuckled and placed your hand flat on his chest, feeling his heartbeat under the palm of your hand.

„Let me show you how real this is then.“ he whispered and placed his lips on yours once more.

masterlist

#exosnet #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol writing #chanyeol blurb #chanyeol reaction #exo writing #exo reaction #exo fluff #exo reactions #exo scenarios #kim jongin #kim jongdae #oh sehun #byun baekhyun #kim minseok

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bigmafluff · 3 years

Text

Unreal Love Story “Henry Cavill” chapters 1-3

Sequel To My Story “Tom Hiddleston”

Summery

“ Tom Dear ! She is gone!” His mother says when her son barges thru her front door. Diana Hands a sobbing Charlie to His Stunned father Leading them into the house to a computer sitting @ her kitchen table with a flash drive in it. Just as Tom is about to say something . His Mom hush's them both and starts the video. I start with calming Charlie through the computer. “ Hello Little one . I'm am sorry I have to leave you so. But You are a strong young man . Sometimes even stronger than your father at times. Just know that I love you dear one and will always be your special friend . Now dry those tears and Go see Nanna . So Your dad and I can talk.” I said to Charlie thru the computer. Tom Knew after that our relationship was over maybe had been over for a while.

Chapter 1

Numbness,& NASCAR

I couldn't Stay in London. It hurt too much all I saw was pain. I couldn't go home yet still felt like I failed myself some how so home wouldn't work. So I numbed myself out in Cali. I did what I swore I wouldn't. I went full Party Girl. Between the parties ,clubs, Bars I was wasted most of the time. But I knew that being In Love Like this before then Losing love has it's down side . Tom and I had been it for 3 years. But towards the end I was more His son's nanny than his girlfriend . Most of his friends warned me this was one sided . He never got over Sophia Di Marino ,Charlie's Mom. The split was Mutual. I'm Not mad to be truthful. Annoyed really that I let it go on this long ..

So California I went , to numb the hurt. I don't give a rat's ass what they say about better to have Loved crap ! It still hurt's dammit! So Party Shannon I became. I still wrote my stories without impairment. By day I was the mildly hungover writer coffee in hand . Luca was still Daydreaming so I was still writing. But @ night Let's just say in the great words of Bill & Ted .” Party on Dudes” So I did. Shaking my ass Beer in hand in a club in south beach ! Rockin' out to Pink. I am vaguely aware I am Jamming with a rather large Englishmen Go Figure ! He has a familiar tone I can't place ,frankly all I see is curls ,beard & muscle , Cause I'm too drunk and don't care but he was hot and can grind Like no other. But even though I was no lady ,he was a gentleman And at the end of the night I was in my Hotel room clothes and dignity intact.

Woke the next morning with another hangover that I never use to get when I was younger. They still Suck! UGH! I'm about to start typing when I get a feed from TMZ. “TWH PROPOSES TO SDM!” I switch on my TV and sure enough The rock on her finger is massive and Charlie Looks so Happy . The numbness lifts along with the pain . I can see the sun again so I finally pack my stuff .

But not for England . I head home. I decide I need time with my son . So Arkansas, Hot Springs that is. Although when I get there I find out my son is in Florida . In Daytona Beach. At the Racetrack! My nephew Christian and his wife Kiki took Lucas to a NASCAR race and Somehow Lucas Landed a job as head mechanic for Carlos Contreras's race team. Shocked as I was, I get on a flight to Florida it is a good shocked but WOW. I got a Hotel room and then went to the track . Took me a little convincing to get in . Security walked me to the Pit where I found my baby boy covered in grease. Under a car . When Lucas jumped up and hugged me they left us alone . test moment's in a parent's life is seeing your child seceded at something he loves. This was Lucas's dream !Like writing is for me. It was his turn. Lucas Introduced me to Carlos with sparkles in his eyes . Carlos seemed to Like what My Son does. Even tells me that Because of my Boy, Carlos has won 8 races. How more proud can I get I am in tears. While I was here I went to a few races and Lucas and I raided the theme parks. Then one night Lucas had a grown up moment and told me I had to go back to the U.K.. He said I write my best stuff there and I need to make peace with Myself. How did my Autistic Son get so smart. Then he tells me. He is a big Guy now and He didn't need his Mom to hover.

Chapter 2

Something New

So once I'm back in London. I dust off My flat that Luke made sure I got despite me moving in with Tom. Besides writing, a few friend's gave me the intro to the London night life and I found a outlet to unwind . But I didn't drown myself like in Cali. But I still maintained my Party Mama status. Also I am exercising regularly, to compensate for the Night life . But I found that I have way's now that I am Back to make exercising fun. I do the Gym of course. But I also like rollerskating in Hyde or St. James park, when it's sunny. I found a Ice Skating rink that is 7 day's a week. And there is a indoor pool at the Gym I go to. .

But I realized some things while I was home in the states. I can't ever forget where I came from . So I pay it forward to 4 special organizations for charity and I never write them off my taxes . I went back to church I actually found a Nazarene church in the U.K. Honestly Church is what keeps me semi sober in the clubs on Friday and Saturday. No hangovers in Gods house .So I have been busy. By maintaining the order of my life like I did way before when My soul purpose was being a MOM. God, Family Friends career is a new addition but not that high on the list.

I found a way to keep myself going .My heart has even healed to a point and I am actually making good friends with “ The Hiddleston “ I can't even comprehend The fact that Sophia took Tom's name . I didn't think her agent's would let her do that. Any how I Am officially Aunty Shannon to Charlie and he even still talks to Lucas and they talk cars regularly according to Tom. As for right now though I'm actually doing more than writing I am at The Harold Pinter theater in London as a Producer and assistant to Kenneth Branaugh the director of a play Based on one of my fan fiction stories . It's a Vampire Love story with a family twist. No Not Twilight no blood sucking fairies here. But what has me excited is the cast . Tom is in it along a whole bunch of my fave idol's Including Henry Cavill as the male lead. . OK! I fibbed Kenny doesn't need me the whole time so I am writing when I am not teaching Charlie Who is acting for the first time. Tom is One Proud Papa! I will tell you what. And Charlie Looks like he is having a wonderful time despite playing a Girl demon!

also I do have a little Mystery of my own I am trying to solve. Every morning when I get to work. Yes I'm getting paid for this production. I go to my seat and drink my coffee but I find a different colored long stem lily in the seat . I asked Tom. If Charlie was doing it and I even ask Ken. None said It was them. Both even offered to investigate with me . Saying they have a little experience because they played P.I.'s

I was actually flattered I had an admirer. I just hope I won't regret taking the Lily more seriously. Anyway The play is gearing up for opening night I called Lucas's aide Reed to Se if He will be able to be in London for my Play . Which If it does well it will head to the States and go on Broadway. Now tell me if that ain't totally awesome. I.K.R. We as far as my Book's are concerned Luca start's Middle School. So Social interaction and puberty mixes in with his amazing world which should make for a wild ride for our readers. My honorary nephew is even reading them which make's my heart sing Oh! So I don't leave it out my lily was Aquamarine and silk today not real but it had a pink bow and it sparkled . He-he! Who ever this is knows I like things that sparkle. It makes me giddy.

Opening Night!!!!

My Lucas is here . Looking Just Like he did Prom Night When he took my god daughter to the prom. My boy is So handsome. Lucas has been working out so My lucas is Tall and Jacked thanks to His Buddy Phillip Hull. We get to ride in a Limo It will be Lucas's first time in one. Me! I'm In all Red Long red hair with a touch of gray at the temple and proud of it. A Long Jessica rabbit dress that sparkles in the light. Red flat's I ain't that crazy . It's gonna be a long night and I am in my 50's Heels are not in the program. I had red cloves and a red silk Shaw. I felt amazing and all my boy could say is Wow mama Look Pretty! LOL! I am also excited not only for the play but according to the Little note I got with My Red Rose that was sitting in my seat on the last day of practice. I get to meet my admirer tonight too

So Lucas and I are off Lucas is Like a school boy Looking around and he is also a little nervous. I can tell he Keeps Playing with his collar and tie. I made sure Luke had a pair of ear buds and his fave music in a MP3. And sunglasses to help with Lucas's experience. Plus so he doesn't have to deal with the red carpet stuff Reed is here so Lucas will be with me only for a few pictures then Reed will take him inside while I deal with the popularity this sold out play has caused . New York here we come!!!!!!

Lucas went inside as planned. And Luke is by my side in his place as my escort. Luke felt I shouldn't be alone. Because of the split and Tom's marriage. Even though Tom and I are cool talking about and he is even here with Taylor so I'm cool. I was having lot's of fun taking little interview's and pictures and such. Luke always said I was surprisingly easy going in the lime light and it shows tonight. `Sophia , Ken and I had some fun with the photo people and Kissed Each side of Tom's cheeks while he was trying to pic up Kenneth, then we Bent down to Kiss Ken's cheeks when Tom dropped him on his butt ,our booties where purposely in the air. Let's Just say we made Kenny's night! I was all in good fun Tom told me that Charlie was inside with new Hot wheels car's to show Lucas cause they are NASCAR ones.

Finishing up the pictures and fixing to go inside I was about to give up hope on there being an admirer. When I went to take one last. Picture, Henry Cavill came to Join me in the picture and whispered in my ear to Look down, as he grabbed my waist for the picture . I did. And their was a pink Lily and a white rose in his hand tied in a pink bow. Let's Just say that pic had my mouth hanging open and Henry laughing as we went in to the theater. Let the new dance begin.

Lois Lane never Got Superman this way Ha!

Chapter 3

Don't jump! One moment @ a Time.

As far as the play went it was as major success. I couldn't pay attention at all . I was staring at Henry the whole time In awe of all of this.As far as I was concerned it was like I had never tasted this before . I won't lie, it scares the shit out of me . I was a ball of nerves the whole play . It was Thomas all over again. @ least that was what I thought. Until Henry asked if I would sign a book for is Nephews Daughter who has Down syndrome. I was politely surprised . He then introduced himself to my Son. Which Lucas can recognize any actor who has ever played a Superhero or villain . Henry was one of our faves. He asked if we wanted to grab a bite to eat . Lucas always could eat. Even in his 30's endless Belly! Can you see 3 adult's in fancy dress in Mc. Donald's. I Loved it Because Henry took the liberty to date Lucas first. To me that Mc. Donald's was 5 stars. The Limo dropped 2 very full and sleepy men at My son's Hotel. I was sparkling in happiness. We pulled up in front of my flat but Henry wouldn't let me out yet. I think he wants to talk . So naturally I listened.

fore I could even say anything He Quieted me and held my hand . Baby Blues connected. Then he spoke. “ Shannon I know what you went through with Hiddleston. I grilled him after meeting you . Actually I'm kinda surprised he didn't rat me out. Story for another time. Now that you understand my intent. I want time. Time to know you. Also before you get nervous, will it help If I got permission from Lucas to date you and Charlie Hiddleston second's the permission. I'm normally a prideful Man But Shannon something inside Tell's me I am supposed to started something new with You. I want get to know you Date you proper. If anything let's see where it goes. Even if we don't connect more personally . We can at least catch a grind to a tune and groove like buddies”.

My breath hitch because I just realize that dude I was grinding with in California at that club. The English Dude. That was Henry!!!!! He notices my blush and Shakes his head showing me the bracelet. I smack his shoulder Laughing my Blush off. Then I told him I am willing to try and if all else fails Partying in New York won't get boring . Then he kissed my Palm and let me out . I gave him my # and told him to give me a call when he was ready to try. The Limo waited till I was Inside. But instead of Leaving The door opened and Henry came running up to me . Grabbed my waist, pulled me close and Kissed me. We exploded!!!!

Hand in Hand at JFK airport Henry and I go straight to the Hotel . No Not for that . We came early so Henry could as he says Court me proper. LOL! There is nothing I'd rather do the then run all over NYC for the first time with Henry. I have jumped in fully no comparing to any other love . This is true Eros and I'm going with the flow. That was our agreement for each other the next morning after the Play. To Just Love & enjoy till the fluffy lady quits singing.

I exploded because of SuperMan!

{None of this story is real the pic are from Googles images !!!!!!!!!!!!}

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likesomekindofcheese · 4 years

Text

Songbird of Jamestown Chapter Seven (Samuel Castell x fem! Reader)

Chapter One// Chapter Two // Chapter Three// Chapter Four// Chapter Five/ Chapter Six

Word Count: 5K

Summary: You arrived to the colony of Jamestown hoping for a better life than your previous one. Your own talents and friendships gain you allies...and enemies. But falling in love with the recorder has landed you in danger from his scheming intended. You love him but...what will you risk?

A/N: It took forever but here it is! Enjoy!

Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated!!

Warnings: None, other than a touch of angst and mentions of smoking and drinking, but plenty of fluff! Enjoy!

A long night of thinking always calls for a pipe.

Pulling out his long pipe, Samuel took out a spare piece of paper and began to write down everything as he sat down at his desk. It was dark and cicadas chirruped beyond his walls. Sometimes he heard a faint noise from Mercy as she slept. Blissfully unaware. Once her eyes would open, the poor girl would have to adapt quickly. But he had to adapt now.

He pulled a bit of flint and lit the fire for his pipe. He smoked as he thought deeply. Staring at the words on the paper before him.

A bit of smoke went past his nose as he considered what he read.

How could Y/N be kept safe at all…

Could she be sent to live in the other town without having to marry anyone?

But that was the point of staying- she chose to stay here. To not give up the life she had in the main town. And that was what Jocelyn tried to do in the first place.

Find someone here to marry her.

Perhaps marrying another man would be better. Helpful. Wiser. But his stomach turned sour and the back of his eyes burned at the thought. Maybe it was selfish. But that idea of some man- like the blacksmith, or Christopher or anyone sweeping her off her feet and carrying her away was unreal. He kept blinking to remind himself that the image of such a marriage was not real. What was real was that moment they had in the woods. He felt himself blush at the memory. Her lips and how they matched his. The way she smiled. How soft she felt when she embraced him and how he could feel her heart pick up during the second kiss.

So no, sending her to another man was not an option that he could live with.

He dipped his quill into ink again and wrote down a few more ideas.

Could Jocelyn be reported?

There was no evidence to report other than Y/N’s word. Mercy would never blame Jocelyn for anything and would never believe that her beloved mistress poisoned her. Doctor Priestly knew his poison was missing, and the symptoms. But there was no proof Jocelyn took it. And she would get rid of the poison or put it back.

What if there was a trial? At best, she would be imprisoned for her actions. But Jocelyn was mercurial, she could charm people. She was on good terms with the Governor. She nearly seduced him minutes ago.

But at worst, he would be punished for spreading falsehoods. Jocelyn would be unscathed. And she could get away to do to Y/N whatever she wanted to do

Hire a soldier to protect Y/N?

It might look silly, but it was worth it. Though people might ask questions. The solider himself didn’t have to talk if paid properly. No matter how expensive it might be, he had to have Y/N safe. Anything. Anything that would make her safe. Please God, keep her safe.

But…how long would the soldier last?

The money would run out eventually. Then the soldier would run away, and his darling would be vulnerable.

Vulnerable unless someone was there. Someone who could always be there. The solider was the best choice but…there was one more option to consider.

Hardly leaving your house, you were scared to go anywhere or do anything alone. You made your choice and your fate would be sealed.

You didn’t know what method Jocelyn was planning. You only knew you had to defy it somehow. And even though you had to settle for life as a hermit in the colony, you were alive.

What choice had you? Who knew what Jocelyn would do and how she would act next Except for church, you could hardly go anywhere. You knew the second you were alone, it meant danger. Somehow. Even the walk to church and back, your eyes were peeled around everywhere, and you walked quickly. When you entered the house, you slammed the door shut. Pressing your back against it, you started panting. Then you slid down to your floor.

Stomach rumbling with hunger, you only took a few bites of your safe bread and drank a bit of goat’s milk. It didn’t stop the rumbling. But you didn’t want to risk anything. No food you ate felt entirely safe. After the milk hit your stomach you waited. Nothing happened, and you exhaled deeply.

Perhaps… there was one way. A way to have protection after all. But there was something you would need. Even if you did die, you knew it would not be in vain. You would beat her at her own game.

You had to do something. Fast. You had to make friends here. Allies. And powerful ones.

That afternoon as soon as the second church service was done, you looked for the tall brown head of Lady Yeardley. She always carried her Bible with her clutching as tight as if it were a shield. But her grip loosened as she noticed your polite curtsy and called her name.

“Oh, Y/N, what is it?”

Her husband chatted away with the minister. Oblivious.

“I…I would like to wonder since you are the most devoted woman out here in all our colony…what are ways I can be closer to God?” you asked, eyeing the book.

“Well, prayer, devotion, and reading of scripture daily…Y/N, your devotion to your faith is admirable. Even if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, my child, you can move mountains,” she answered kindly. Her eyes warmed to you.

“I just…I have…. I have so many fears and worries, I would like to find some comfort and peace with God. Since no one else here is a better Christian lady then you, I just…wondered how you have such peace?” you flattered, tucking away a loose strand of hair.

“Cast all your cares unto Him, and all will be well. Well, I make sure to just practice. Each morning, I rise at five to read and study my bible… you may join me if you’d like.”

Glancing away, you saw no blonde head walking around near you.

“Really?” you replied.

“Yes! We can read and pray together, discuss what the scripture is saying. Also…do you remember the old hymns from England?”

“Most of them, my lady,” you answered obediently.

“You could sing a few! I’ve just missed them terribly during church,” she said.

“Me as well! I…” you say, putting on your brightest smile you could muster, “yes…I will see you the next morning! I look forward to it.”

Yes, you would find comfort in praying. Exchanging a bit of sleep and your song for Lady Yeardley’s friendship would be worth it. And if the wife was affectionate of you, then the husband would be. You would have allies. You would be safe. And that was worth having to get up with the roosters.

Hurrying home, you caught your breath as soon as the door shut. There was another plan in store.

You ran up to your books and looked through the pages, finding two that were bare enough. You hated to ruin such lovely things, but you had no choice. It was your books or your life. Looking up the right words, you drew them in the air and then practiced writing them all over in the small corners.

The writing was memorized in your hands and mind now.

Looking among your things you found a small wooden chest. Only fit your lace gloves were in there, your one luxury. The paper would fit perfectly.

So far, you would write only two. The bare minimum.

You wrote carefully, making sure each word would be understandable. There was fire beneath your borrowed quill.

Yes…I borrowed it from Mercy…she must have gotten it from…

Shaking the thought away, you pulled yourself back to focus. The words seemed perfectly readable.

Looking around and seeing no face was peeking through your window, you began to blow it dry. Then after a bit of settling, you folded it up and placed it in the wooden box.

Then the next morning you headed over to the Sharrow’s farm. Although you yawned from the early hours and your voice was a little hoarse from a bit of early hymn singing (Even though Lady Yeardley did adore it and coo over you like a proud aunt), it was lovely to see the orange sky peep over the horizon as it settled on the tobacco field. You knew farmers kept early hours. She would be there.

Alice was blooming as much as the tobacco plants in the field before the farm. She touched them with tenderness, feeling them grow because of her. Her hair was tied back and she wore an apron that seemed a little dirty, but she looked as grand as any princess. She was smiling as she watered them. It seemed the ghost of her torture had gone away. Just for a moment.

“Pardon me…” you greeted, moving closer to her.

She ran up to embrace you, cheeks flushing.

“Y/N! I’ve been so busy! Oh, how are you?” she asked.

Nodding, you peeked over your shoulder and saw no sign of anyone listening. Then continued.

“I’m well! At least for now…but I came here because I have something for you…” you announced

You brought forth the small wooden box.

“Why, what’s in it?” she asked, she pulled the lid open until your hands shot forth and shut it closed.

“No! Alice! You can’t see what’s inside! I’m giving this to you because…”

Walking closer, you lowered your voice.

“I think I’m going to die. I’m in danger.”

“Danger? But why- who?” she asked, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I cannot tell you.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe to tell you, not if you still want protection from…. but…if something should happen to me…if I die, and not of illness, open this box. Hide it so no one but you know where it is. If I die, open it. Tell people it was from me. But you are not to look at it unless something should happen, do you understand!” you order, looking right into her eyes.

There was a pause. The robins and sparrows chattered around you. There were footsteps from the house.

She nodded. “Yes, I promise, Y/N.”

“Good…I can breathe a little easier,” you said.

Once you returned home, you began to write in the second free piece of paper. Trying to keep the letters small, the more papers, the better.

You thought there was the sound of hoofbeats outside. But you shrugged it off. That is until there was a sudden knock on the door that surprised you so much that the ink jolted in your hand as you signed it.

Your dress or apron was too obvious a hiding place. Scurrying, you took off your left stocking and placed it inside. If it was your moment of death, then it was a place where she could never suspect anything.

“I’m coming,” you called out as you slid your feet over the paper and put on your stocking and shoe again.

But running up to answer it, you saw it was not Jocelyn.

“S-Sa-M-Master Castelll! Hello! What brings you here!” you greeted. It was better to not call him by his first name in a place where someone could hear you. Keeping an illusion of polite distance.

He was dressed in a side cape that flowed over his left shoulder and was brightly patterned. You felt embarrassingly poor. He stepped a little closer as did you. But you stopped. As much as you craved it, in public was no place to embrace. No matter how handsome he looked that day. Eyes downward, you found your face growing hot. It seemed he was like the sun and if you stared at him directly you would go blind from daring.

But your eyes flickered to behind him where a tall brown horse stood right behind him.

“Did you…did you ride here?” you asked in disbelief.

He looked behind to see the horse and turned back to you nodding.

“Yes, Y/N! I know I could walk, but…can you ride as well! There’s someplace I’d like to show you- and it’s much better to ride than walk there. It’s a bit of a long way away! But can you ride a horse? If so, I’ll bring you one!” he offered.

“Uh, no!” you reply quickly, shaking your head.

“Hm, doesn’t matter! I’ll keep you on, tight!”

“Wait, what?”

“Please, come with me! My horse is gentle! You have to see this place!” he begged, eyes bright and pleading.

It was better than another hour alone and doing nothing out of fear.

“I…uhm, alright,” you agreed.

Walking forward, you felt his hands go to your waist and hoist you up so your feet could be secured. It made you nervous to feel how he was making sure you were safely on by pushing you up and tightening on.

You were securely on the horse, astride as you have noticed ladies ride them, with both of your legs on one side. Though feeling the creature breathe beneath you was a touch unsettling. A wrong move and it would knock you over.

He climbed up on the horse as easily as walking, making sure the cape was on one side. Clicking his tongue, he put the reigns in his hands and the horse trotted off. He was so close you could almost make out his pulse and his pleasant smell. But as you passed a few townsfolk, you had to hide your face in slight embarrassment, biting back your tongue to scold him from riding with you in public.

There were a few funny looks- who even knew. The Recorder riding off with some woman that not his fiancée.

Once the town was out of sight, the horse did a slow gallop over on a path where trees passed by, shading you from the hot Virginia sun.

“What do you think of riding, Y/N?”

“It’s…it’s thrilling! Is it always safe?”

“When you’re careful. And my horse has a gentle soul, I told you.”

As you passed a small clearing, you petted his mane gently. You heard him brush a little in appreciation.

“Would you like to hold the reigns? For a bit?”

“Yes!”

You hold onto the leather, feeling him hand them over to you. It felt incredible to have that control. To suddenly travel fast to wherever you wanted to go.

“There it is-right straight ahead…you can lead us there.”

You kept the reigns steady, moving it a little for the horse to keep forward.

The horse reached another clearing. For a while, he picked up the pace and you gripped the reigns to hold on. There was a beautiful wide sky above you and a field with a path and grass growing high enough that bees did not strain to float above it. There were a few trees that went by you as you both rode, ducking your heads under branches that were stretching down. You noticed a few plants that had little blooms passed you, a few of their puffs and petals blowing in the wind. It was a universe of emerald all around you. As the grass shortened, you saw one tobacco field that was still full of dirt and sweaty men in brown hats plowing it.

Then you came upon another large tobacco field. Only the plants in bloom in this one. The sun was peeking and disappearing beneath large, white clouds. There were no workers. They almost looked like large leaves of spinach from the ground. Already you could smell them.

“Y/N…these are some of our tobacco fields. Have you ever seen them before?” he asked.

“I have not!” you respond, looking around.

Your head tilted, but you didn’t dare crane your neck too far. Anything that would make you fall. But his hands replaced yours on the reigns. Feeling his arms were around you made your breath feel short.

“What do you think?”

“It’s…it’s huge!”

Why would he want to show you a tobacco field, though? The size, you admit it, was impressive. Maybe if you planted your own, you could get some form of money. Protection. Freedom.

“That’s not even all of it. Some people plant their own, like the Sharrows. But here-here is the heart of our tobacco, where most of us keep ours,” he explained.

“Whose tobacco does all this belong to? Do they…divide it?” you asked curiously.

He smiled and then lifted his arm to point to a certain direction.”

“The Governor’s tobacco is over there north. Most people have at least a little tobacco. Farlow’s is to the east…”

“Do you have any?” you asked.

He prompted his horse to walk forward slightly. You saw a little brown sign around there and could read his last name carved onto the wooden sign.

“This is mine,” he announced.

Turning around to him he smiled gently.

“I began planting it the day I arrived. I was the youngest son of a family with nothing to offer youngest sons, Y/N. I came here to have a new start. A new life. And I chose to invest in some tobacco. That’s what the company is making money off of, that’s a way I could have financial security. Far more than I would in England without being dependent my family’s help.”

He got off the horse, helping you as you climbed out.

You felt yourself smiling.

“That’s very good, Samuel. I’m proud of you. You’ve saved things. And it seems you’ve worked hard. You’ve done so much for this community, for everyone. I can see it.” you praise, looking at it.

“Do you know how much tobacco I have?” he asked.

“No, I don’t.”

“250 pounds right now,” he answered. “It’s enough…more than enough, even.”

You folded your arms, looking at it. The sun was hiding behind a cloud and you no longer had to squint. There was silence. You heard the horse whinny behind you at a bug that buzzed by him. Turning around, you saw him only looking at you, still smiling his same smile, but with something behind it.

“Enough for…for what?” you questioned, shrugging.

Suddenly you knew how much 150 pounds could buy a man and you froze.

“Why…why are you telling me this? What’s happening?” you asked, you felt a rush. Your muscles were tense as if ready to flee. It was like hope, but too good, too good to be true. It was false. This had to be false.

“Y/N…I know you want me to help you, and I think, to…to keep you safe…” He looked down at his hands and then turned his head up.

“Would you like me to become your husband?” he asked.

You freeze. The words seem to echo in your ear. Your hands reach up and catch yourself, nearly dizzy from the shock. He leaned over and took your hand to steady you

“What? But you’re engaged! You can’t take another wife, it’s illegal!” you cried.

“I broke if off three nights ago after you told me what she did to Mercy…” he said, leaning down to look you in the eye.

“Wha-How? Is that illegal?” you gasped.

“No. I already paid the company early for Jocelyn. Now she’s here and they have their money. The governor gave his consent for a quiet annulment. Honestly, the company won’t care if she’s married if they have the money…I was thinking…”

He cupped your cheek and you leaned on it, your hand on top of his.

“This is the way you could be kept safe. You would have my constant protection. No need to check the food. Because I will always try it. I or Mercy would always be by your side. And I’m going to hire a soldier to guard you and…I remember you said that you loved me…do you still love me?”

His voice softened. You found yourself tearing up, jaw open from the feeling of sudden, extreme happiness.

“I-I do,” you answered, your voice breaking.

“Then we could be together…would you…would you like that? Let me be plain…”

He took both of your hands, speaking with a docile voice.

“Y/N, would you like to marry me?”

Tears dotted your eyelids, sobbing but with happiness. You reached a hand up to wipe it away, finding smiling almost aching your face

“I wouldn’t marry any other man in all the world but you. Y-yes!” you choked out, embracing him.

He scooped you up into a hug, picking you up and turning around your skirt flying. Hidden with the tall green leaves and solitude of the plants, you began to laugh a little. He placed his hands on your face and you both kissed, eyes closing with the pleasure of feeling it. When you let go, you both opened your eyes, but his hands were still on your face.

He cupped your face.

“You! You-You’ll be my wife!”

You kissed the right hand that was holding you.

“And you’ll be my husband, the best of husbands in all creation,” you confirmed.

Both of you walked for a while, somewhat closer to the trees. But holding hands. Enjoying a bit of touching, innocent touching, that could still be permitted. Smiling, enjoying the moment. And the fields, rolling on forever into the horizon where the sun was starting to fade. Where anything was possible now.

“When will be a good date…I’m just worried what…about what people will think of…”

“How could anyone think that?”

“I was Jocelyn’s maid not long ago…” you reminded him.

The air soured from her name and the memory.

“We will think of a date…”

“We can’t wait too long. The company might want to send me away to get married. I…I’ve heard of it happening,” you added.

He pulled you into a slight hug, “it will be okay…it all will be.”

He scooped you up and placed you back on the horse, passing the fields and woods. Once you rode into town, you felt you could sprout wings. Yet to your surprise, he passed by where you lived, heading straight to the Governor’s house.

“Governor Yeardley!” he called out, the cheeriness in his voice could not be contained.

To your surprise, he held onto your waist as he helped you off and you were giddy at the feeling of his hands on you in public.

The governor walked out the door. Nearby you heard a gasp and your head looked to your left. Mercy walk by with a small bucket of water. She seemed as healthy as before, hardly a sign of poisoning.

Samuel held onto your hand. He raised it up pridefully as in a dance.

“Master, master…what’s going on! What is she-oh goodness, I’m so sorry, governor…” Mercy began, her white-capped head turning into a polite curtsy.

He raised his hand with a kind smile, “no, child, you’re alright…”

“Governor, I would like to ask for your consent and your blessing to marry this woman,” Samuel announced, gesturing to you.

“Marry!” Mercy blurted, eyes large.

Governor Yeardley’s eyes squinted as he looked at you. Part of you shied away, hiding a little behind his arms. Maybe he noticed your apron versus the richness of Samuel’s cloak and came to conclusions.

“Yes, may I, Governor?” he repeated.

“Do you have 150 pounds of tobacco for her?” he asked, arms crossing.

“I do.”

“And has she consented? I can’t allow one of the maids to marry a man against her will,” he said.

You stepped forward bravely.

“I…I have,” You replied.

“Then I don’t see why not! When will the wedding be?”

Both of you sighed out, looking at each other, grinning wide in relief.

“I think…next Wednesday I believe. Not too soon to prepare, but not too late for the company,” you said. “Is that alright?”

“It is fine by me,” Samuel responded. He almost seemed to glow with joy.

Governor Yeardley nodded.

“Alright, Master Castell- bring your check and promise the company representative and you will be clear that this maid is purchased for your hand,” He informed.

Heart fluttering, you threw in another word.

“When’s the latest it can be brought?” you asked.

“After the wedding. After that and your fiancée will be in debt,” he informed.

Fiancée. You looked at him again, the word so new and pouring in your mind still. Fiancée. Fiancée. He is my fiancée! You thought.

“It will be that morning, then. Can it?” Samuel asked.

“Then, that morning, Y/N, I will write a check to the company, if that is what you would like.”

“It is,” you informed.

“Well then, Master Castell- come in and have a quick drink with me to celebrate!” Governor Yeardley praised, his hand going over his shoulder and patting it.

“I’ll be out soon, stay here with Mercy,” he promised.

As the men chatted inside. Mercy went up to you, setting her bucket down.

“You’re marrying the master! But…what of Mistress Woodbyrg? He can’t keep two wives!” she commented.

“She’s…she’s no longer engaged. He broke it off with her…” you told her.

Fists tightening, you hoped maybe one day, she would know the truth. But not now.

“Oh but a wedding! A wedding! All that work to be done!”

She began pacing, counting all the chores on her fingers, but her smile still present.

“All the cooking, ribbons to tie-and lots of cleaning too, but there will be cakes! And-and the ladies toss flowers! I’ll need to pick some flowers. And maybe there will be some music! And there’s clothes and such to be picked but…”

“Mercy, I can help you, if you’d like!” you suggested, leaning forward. Yet she almost backed away from you, a little surprised at the closeness.

She stopped her excited monologue to gaze at you.

“I’ll have another mistress. I remember when…when you were kind to me that day. And when you told me you were a servant for the mistress…and now she’s out and you’re my mistress!” she gasped

“Yes. I…I can’t believe it either…I’ve never had a servant either…” you confessed awkwardly. Mercy kept blinking and you felt her eyes look around and all over you.

“I just hope I can live up to your standards of a mistress, Mercy…”

“You’re not the one to be afraid, Y/N, Miss, oh! I don’t even know what to call you now!”

The door clicked open and the men were out, Samuel turned to you and took both of your hands smiling.

“Mercy, I see you’ve met your new mistress…” he started.

“But what of Miss Woodbyrg? Would it not break her heart, sir, if I may be bold?” she asked.

He showed no reaction, his body only stiffened.

“While you were sick, I called it off.”

“Why? Pardon my questioning?”

“Because…because we were not fit to be together, I learned. And she did not want to marry me. I decided to spare us from pain,” He told flatly.

He walked over, placing both hands on your shoulders fondly, softly.

“Y/N is a kind-hearted lady and you will not find anyone better. You’ve met before. You know what she is like. Since she is going to be my wife, from now on you are to watch her…and guard her every bit like your old mistress, can you?” he ordered.

“I… I can,” Mercy answered, she bobbled her head up and down in a rush.

He offered you his arm and boldly he kissed your cheek. Despite the slight flush of embarrassment, you were excited to be so affectionate with him in front of people.

“It will be here sooner than we think…I’m thrilled.” He cheered, walking over to his house.

A few dogs and pigs trotted by. There was smoke from some home fires inside and you heard the clang of James work nearby. People passed by and you immediately tensed when they saw you.

“I am too,” you muttered.

“I have half an hour before I must go to work. Is there anything you would like, Y/N? We need to...get more used to being a couple.”

A couple. The words rolled off his mouth so easily.

“I…I’m hungry, do you have any food at your house?” you asked.

“Darling, of course” he turned pink at the sound and you held back a small giggle at the word.

He led you to his house and Mercy fixed a small plate for you.

“Wait!” you cried, pushing it away. “Is it…is it safe?”

He took his fork and ate pieces of each food before you dared do it. After a bit of time passed, he nodded at you. Then you began to stuff yourself boldly. It was so long since you could eat without fear.

“Here, have some water…” he offered, passing a cup.

Gulping it down, you almost wanted to cry from how nice it was to eat and not be afraid. Though Mercy gawked at you. What lady ate like this?

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

“Much better,” you answered.

He went to his desk and returned with a few items behind his back. He grinned like a schoolboy.

“I have this for you- a love token! If you don’t mind.” He said. “For the dear flower of my life.”

From his hand was a small silver token- a flower in the shape of a daffodil. You gasped and held it in your hand. It was small and light enough that maybe it could go on your clothes.

“Thank you! It’s wonderful! I feel like a real lady!” you responded.

“You’ve always been a true lady, Y/N,” he answered, seeing it in your hand.

Glancing over to the desk, you saw a wealth of books and paper. More than enough than you would need. Even with the marriage coming up, you had to be sure. And now that you were engaged to him…maybe it would add fuel to Jocelyn’s fire and an even bigger target on your back. Your plan could still not be tossed away.

“And Samuel… may I have some paper? And ink and quills? I want to practice writing more…” you asked.

If you had to risk death for such happiness, you needed to take further steps and not just with Alice. Whatever it took to feel like this again. To know even if you died, you would not die voiceless.

Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen @queenlover05 @itsametaphorgwil @grigorlee @bluesfortheredj @isitstraightvodka @rhapsodyrecs (for cheering me for going to revising when the first draft winded me out) @itscale @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @rubystarflight @theworksgaga @theoneandonlyeclecticepileptic @theoneandonlyeclecticepilepic

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