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batarella · 3 years

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3 birds 1 stone - chapter 13

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: Last chapter until the pre-finale!! I can’t believe we made it this far. This might be the series I’m most proud of! I love you guys so much. HAPPY NEW YEAR

WORDS: 10,448 WARNINGS: mentions of trauma

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

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Tim:

Perhaps it wasn’t best that he asked her to come over, instead of it being the other way around. But what good were customs when it meant seeing that very smile he’d grown to work for tirelessly, the same when she’d be stricken with the best, most pleasant surprises? She did love surprises, as he’d learned to know. Whatever it was he’d give her, whatever the gift, her eyes shone just a bit brighter when she hadn’t expected what he brought her, whether it be just a cup of her favorite drink he’d stopped to get along the way or a client that wanted to pay her five times her usual price.

But maybe he should have at least sent for a car to pick her up, with his many drivers and a limo that would have made the trip more convenient, instead of having to hail for some stinky cab and go through the horrors of Gotham traffic, but he wanted nothing more than for this to catch her when she least expected it, never mind how it was on that very day itself, and how calling her this day asking to spend it together would have been a dead giveaway, but he’d prepared for that. He’d asked her to come over to the office more times over the past month for the most stupid reasons not even he would have come up with, but she never grew irritated. She just went with it, without much question, as if she truly did enjoy his company. Every day for the past week. Hopefully, today, she’d think nothing of it and that it was, in actuality, just like any other day.

He looked like a creep as well, looking over the large, glass window behind his desk. He fixed his suit, tightened the tie around his neck, and made sure his hair was combed over the back of his head. His hands turned for each other for some comfort, something to hold onto, when he watched every taxi that drove by hoping it was hers, hoping that it’d stop in front of the building and put an end to this torturous waiting. When was the last time they spent Valentine’s day together? Years, at least. Of course, this made him more nervous than when he had to face a whole conference room full of people, if they even were to be called that, from the likes of Lex Luthor and Maxwell Lord and even Roman Sionis. That didn’t even do so much as raise a hair at the back of his neck.

This, on the other hand, made his hands shake so much, his palms sweaty and uneasy.

Tim looked out the window and he didn’t even give his work a glance of attention until he saw that cab, which he knew just had to be hers, that stopped right in front of the building’s entrance.

Y/N walked out of the car, and the wind decided to be nice to her and her hair, her flowy blouse, her pants that flared to her feet, and her graceful demeanor.

Tim loosened his tie. It had gone too tight. And he never allowed himself a second away from watching her look around the street, at the people that were nothing more than ants to him at that point when all he could look at was her, and he didn’t even have a lot of time to enjoy that view when Y/N walked into the building and disappeared. That’s when Tim realized he had his hands pressed up against the glass window trying to look past the corners just to have her in his sight.

A few minutes after, there was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Wayne, Ms. L/N is here to see you.”

His throat had clogged up and he had to take a few seconds just to clear it. “O-of course. Bring her in.”

His secretary shut the door, and he tidied himself as if he hadn’t already done enough of that the whole morning. Did he look too groomed? Would that give it away?

Too late. She was here. Even more beautiful up close, as she often is. He quickly took his seat and pretended to be so invested in whatever tab was open on his laptop, which was nothing more than the Google homepage.

“Mornin’, Drake.”

“Morning, L/N.”

He sounded casual enough, didn’t even look up from the screen to greet her, but when she walked closer to where he was sitting, not even a Kryptonian would have the strength not to look up and get lost in this seemingly infinite depth of a gaze.

Tim almost jumped out of his seat when Y/N leaned over to kiss his cheek, then she pressed her back against his table to rest. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, Y/N,” he sighed, then he relaxed and sat back against his chair. Idiot must have been smiling his face muscles off.

“Are you really gonna spend the day strapped to your desk?”

“It’s not like it’s Christmas.”

“And are you absolutely sure everyone in this building is as bitter as you?”

“Offices don’t celebrate Valentine’s.”

“You could have at least pasted cut-out hearts over at the hallway.”

He snorted. “Cut-out hearts?”

“Doesn’t match the boring gray?”

Tim playfully rocked her leg over to her side. “No. It doesn’t.”

She stood up from his desk, went over to the window to watch the streets, and Tim could look at her from the reflection of his laptop screen.

“So this is all you got planned for yourself today?”

“Pretty much,” he lied.

“You’re lucky you have me then,” she said. “Sorry I was late. I sent three commissions over to my clients so I won't have to work all day.”

“What were they?”

“Gifts. As usual. For their spouses.”

“Good for you.”

11:30 AM. Should be the right time now. Fuck, what did he just spend the whole morning rehearsing over and over again?

“Fine. Y/N. You got me.”

“I got you?”

Shit. Reverse. Reverse.

“I, uh, meant maybe I should take a breather. Just for today. Wanna go up to the balcony? I have one of your sketchbooks you left. We can spend a few minutes up there.”

She shrugged. Yes. “Sure.”

He pretended to spend just a few more minutes on his laptop, then he stood from his desk. She smiled at him and right then he knew she wasn’t expecting anything at all.

Oh, man. Oh, man. The veins in his neck should have popped out bleeding by now. Even the ride up the elevator felt too tight, tight, whatever the hell that meant. He just knew it was true, like some unknowable force had their hands all over his throat and there was no easing it until this whole thing blows over, which he definitely didn’t want to happen so soon. Even when he knew the longer this lasted, the more chance of him screwing up, even when this shook every core and nerve in him so much he had to be so cautious of everything he said and did, he wanted to drag this on so it lasted for so long as he was awake.

When the elevator doors parted, he couldn’t bring himself not to hold her hand, as he often couldn’t, and she welcomed it so naturally, too naturally, the kind of comfort that was none he could find in another. They walked down the halls, and when they reached the end of it, he held his breath.

He let her open the door, still holding her one hand, and when she did, he couldn’t miss a detail on her face even if he tried. The soft smile that immediately dropped, her mouth parting without her knowing, her eyes so wide they were wonderous and unreal, and the light that touched her face, the light he’d strategically placed just for that consequence, it made all else stop the way he knew it would.

He prepared for it all night, told her it was all for work when really, he wouldn’t trust any of his employees to do it the way he specifically wanted it to be. And it had to be perfect.

It would have been a lot better at dusk when the sun would have set so perfectly on the horizon before them, but that noontime light didn’t exactly do much to diminish its beauty. It was simple, really, with it just being one small table set at the center, two chairs laced with white and red cloth, flower petals on its surface, trays of food waiting for them on opposite ends. And outside of it, four poles on four different corners, with a vine of roses suspended from each end, forming a square that housed their space much like a little escape from all else around them, even the winds and the rushing sounds were to no effect. It was peace, beauty, and it was all so simple but it was that simplicity that made it so breathtaking.

At least, from what he could see out of her, it did take her breath away.

She let go of his hand and stepped under that archway, head up so one of the petals would fall onto her nose. He wanted to remember this picture of her until the end of time.

She whispered. “You did this?”

Tim’s head was bashfully held down, he couldn’t bring himself to be so smug when he should be proud of all this, but he kept his hands deep into his suit pockets, and still that itch in his throat no amount of tie loosening would fix wasn’t much he could ignore, but none of that mattered. All he could stare at was her, and that smile, that same when he catches her off guard of the many surprises he’s given her, it will forever make his day for every day he was awake. Because one day, the start of many days, this one might be all he’ll have.

Every day might be the day she makes her choice, and when she does, he’ll never have this again. He’ll never have her again, and be able to just call her into his office or visit her at home without it bearing so much more meaning than it should. And as much as it broke his heart, he distracted himself with his own efforts. He had to make this count. And perhaps, it already did.

He wanted to kiss her, right then, in the middle of her marveling over the tables and the flowers and everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

But he could hold her hand. He went up to her and took both of them, and the way she welcomed them was incomparable.

And the way she looked at him, even more so.

“Is this alright with you?”

She smiled so brightly. Nothing has ever felt warmer. “Alright?”

“It’s not weird?” He held her hands tighter. “Or uncomfortable?”

“Tim, this is…”

She looked at the flowers, the table, the view that was just made for them, just for that moment. “This is everything…”

“Good. I was nervous.”

“You’re nervous?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not. I am.”

The way she swayed their arms together like nothing could ever pull them apart, not the sun’s hot rays nor the winds that wanted them to part, she was right. He couldn’t remember what he was so nervous about.

“You know you never have to be afraid of anything with me.”

“I know.”

Y/N had on the kind of smile that would have cured the Black Plague, as it cured every bit of doubt and darkness that had been left over in him that he didn’t even think to fix himself. Tim couldn’t fight it, even when he probably should, but he brought her hands up to his lips, and that smile grew even brighter. He wanted to whine when she let go of his fingers only to lean in even more when she had them holding the sides of his face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He wanted to kiss her, again, but it wasn’t as if the warmth of her embrace was any worse. In fact, it grounded him.

Nothing he could ever think to accomplish could haul him up to the top of the world, no well-doings well enough that would make him soar to such great heights, as much as having her so close to him that he could feel her hair within his fingers, face to his shoulder. And he’d give up everything, the whole company even, if it meant having this kind of contentment for every day he was alive.

He didn’t let his mind trail off to even more buts and what-ifs. He just took this moment for the whole of what it was. And it was perfect. He didn’t even have to try. She was there. He was there. Tim could have this day and make it last for as long as he wanted it to, even when it wasn’t possible.

“So,” she loosened her hold around him and went over to the table, arm around his waist. “What do you have for me?”

“Pasta. Roast beef. And whatever side dish you want.”

He took the two lids off their plates and her face lit up even more as if it were possible.

“You’re a saint.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled her seat for her to take, and he sat down across from her. Even if she weren’t prepared, still she looked so radiant and perfect, and not even the flowers could grow into such bloom, going against the lights like she were a reflection from every bit of serenity there was to be seen, a mirror to the world.

He had to stop staring. He was starving.

Tim poured her a glass, then they clinked their glasses together at the brim.

“You know,” she took a sip. “I don’t remember you doing anything like this when we were together.”

He started slicing his beef, but he knew he was in for a whole day barely getting a bite out of their plate. “Come on. I wasn’t that bad.”

“I didn’t say you were. Just that it wasn’t anything like this at all.” She held her hands holding her knife and fork up to point at the flowers. “And it’s highly unlike you.”

He shrugged. “You welcome to change?”

“Oh, I do.”

He wanted so badly to reach for her hand over the table. “So what did I do for you all those years ago?”

“Mmm,” she chewed on her pasta and swallowed. “Let’s see. We were together for two years, but we made it through three Valentine’s days.”

“The first one?”

“The first one you took me to the zoo.”

“Ah.”

“We spent the whole day there. And in the petting area, you almost got mauled by a kangaroo.”

“Kangaroos are assholes.”

She laughed and took a bite out from her fork. Her hair fell to the side of her cheek. He resisted pulling it behind her ear.

“I loved that day,” she sighed, eyes on her plate. “It was my first Valentine’s day with someone else.”

“Mine, too.”

She twirled her fork around her pasta. “I remember it started to rain, and you gave me your jacket even when I told you it wasn’t cold. It was our first month together.”

“I was nervous.”

Her smile grew wider.

“Then we spent almost an hour under that shed. It rained pretty hard, but we didn’t even care. We just sat there and waited until it stopped, and after that, we kept walking around even with our shoes wet.”

He could think about that day until it grows dark. They were still so young, yet he never could say he was any less in love with her now, maybe even more.

Tim swallowed.

“The second year was that time we went to New York.”

She sighed as if looking back to a time so light and free, which it certainly was. The amount of begging he had to go through with Bruce. It was immaculate. Just to have a day in New York, to an art gallery that went on that didn’t often happen in Gotham, and so many other places after that.

“Not gonna lie, you surprised me with that.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. And compared to the results it yielded, it really was. “New York always has been so romantic.”

“I loved it. So much.”

He drank half his glass just to ease that pain that eventually faded away, and it was easier when he had her to look at.

It was nothing more than a few seconds, maybe even less than that, but when Y/N pulled a strand of her hair behind her back, pulled it up so no longer would it frame her face and instead, expose her skin and the radiance of her cheeks, her eyes now shown under so much light, the amount it truly deserves so not a speck of it wouldn’t be shown, Tim almost dropped his knife on the ceramic plate, and that would have stopped her tracks. But, thankfully, he didn’t, and he got to watch her fix her hair, eyes down on her food, and when she looked up, her smile completely destroyed him.

Fuck everything. He can't hold back from this.

“You look beautiful.”

So many times, he’s said that, but never enough. Never as often as it was true. Because if he were to say it as often as he’d like to, he’d say it every hour of every day. He’d say it when she was fresh out of bed, a bed they’ve slept in together and her skin would be dry and itchy, hair messed up in all places. He’d say it in the middle of a conversation and it would be so out of nothing that it would surprise even her, perhaps make it weird even when it never was when it came to her. He’d say it to her in a million circumstances a million times, and not one of them would be from a lie.

She reacted the same way she always does, with a bashful grin, soft, proud, but not smug about it, and with her head down as she’d instinctively look at her feet. Y/N coughed. “Thank you.”

Maybe it had been too much.

But what was so wrong about telling someone so beautiful that they were just that, other than to make the world an even more wonderful place with the smile it would cause?

“Uh,” she gulped. “The third year.”

“Right.” He forced his attention back on his plate. “The helicopter ride.”

“Yeah…”

That Valentine’s day was just three weeks before he’d break it off, which was why it wasn’t often what they talk about, even when it was all the more something to remember.

“That day was…” she smiled looking down at the table like it was anything to smile about. “That day was something else.”

“It was…”

He wasn’t in the best place that day.

He didn’t know how many calls of hers he hadn’t returned because of work, because of Bruce and his place in the company they had to cover up and explain after his disappearance. There was so much to do, and every day the work just never seemed to end, and there won't be an end for a long time.

But that day, he remembered, he told himself he would have that day just for her, even when it hurt the company and possibly lose them a few thousand just for leaving the building. But he forced himself not to care, told himself she deserved this so much more than he had.

A few hours with their helicopter going a few rounds around Gotham, with her in his hands strapped to their seats, looking out their windows much like they used to, at the top of the world. Just how they’re meant to be.

The last day, in fact, that was the happiest in their relationship that still could have been salvaged if he was strong enough.

Like a shard lodged up his throat, he didn’t know if it was something he should be asking. Yet, he did.

“We could do that again sometime. Whenever you're free. If you want.”

Whenever she’s free. When he still could. When she still hadn’t chosen someone else and forever change what they have, which he’ll ultimately accept for so long as it’s what she truly wants.

“I would love that.”

“Great,” he smiled. “It’s a lot easier now. Since I have, you know, my own helicopter.”

She snorted.

The smile she had on, the longing in her eyes, the sheer appreciation she showed just to have him for herself that one day out of many when she didn’t, it haunted him for years. It haunts him until now.

When he looked up from his plate, he thought he’d catch her wiping a tear, or frowning at him for bringing up such a memory.

Still, with the softness that glowed, she smiled, because as Tim should as well, she appreciated every bit of time she had with him no matter what surrounded them, no matter the history of hurt and whatever happened next. She didn’t see it as a day to dread or a day to despise. She saw it as a day to look back to when she wanted to remember what it was like to be content.

So suddenly, it was what he felt, too.

Y/N looked up at him, caught his eyes, but she didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say either. But they locked eyes longer than any two normal friends should, with that subtle burning in his chest that wasn’t something to physically feel, yet still know that the flames went on, scorching his flesh. Her eyes were longing, knowing, and he looked back at her wanting so badly to take her hand.

Who were they kidding, calling themselves best friends for so many years, when in fact they were two people who used to be so in love and definitely still are? Two exes who couldn’t move on, two halves of a relationship that had the strength to last forever but didn’t.

And it still possibly could, if it’s what makes her happy. It might.

All those years, they weren’t best friends. They were two people holding onto what they used to have in a form of another, masking it over with another type of bond when they just wanted each other’s presence the way it used to be, even when it couldn’t.

Tim didn’t take her hand, and it added one to the many regrets that’ll continue to despise himself for.

They spent the whole of the afternoon that day up on that balcony, and he didn’t even care if there were mounds of work to be done just waiting for him at his table. And when the sun started to set, when he realized that time was tapping onto his shoulder telling him that there was, in fact, an end to this day, he never thought he’d accepted it the way he did.

Outside the elevator doors on the floor of his office, it took a while for them to wait.

But that while was all he had.

He had to make it count.

Once again, possibly for the last time, Tim took both her hands and looked into her eyes like he was purposefully trying to get lost.

“Y/N…”

It was in his bag. He held off too long. He should have given it at the balcony while he still could, while he still had even more time to watch how she’d react instead of going out the coward’s way and hide behind what he thought to have been safe, even when it clearly wouldn’t be worth missing out. The elevator was coming up to their floor.

“I have something for you…”

She didn’t look surprised, but was skeptical, though that wasn’t what he was trying to do anymore.

He took a mustard-colored sketchbook from the sling bag over his shoulder. She looked confused when he handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

He just shrugged. Her eyes were so soft and yet so enticing it burned him in the chest.

Y/N opened the first page of the sketchbook and he saw her visibly catch her breath. For the second time that day, she couldn’t speak.

“I know I’m not usually there with you when you paint and draw…” He gulped. “But I thought, if I learned how to draw myself, even when I’m not so good at it, I’ll be a lot closer to you. We’d have one more thing in common.”

His drawings.

Most of them were of her, her face, her lying on the couch, painting on an easel, smiling at the flowers, or of them both with their arms around each other. Some of her favorite flowers, her favorite spots at the manor, scenes from her favorite movies, her favorite skyscrapers around the city.

Everything was about her, everything he could ever draw was about her, because, as he’d realized, he never could draw anything if it wasn’t.

She was his muse, just as he had been hers for a time.

He had his time with her, and even with the chance that that’s all that it will eventually be, his time with her, he’d grown to appreciate it more than if there wasn’t a time at all, just to ease the pain.

“Tim…” she choked.

Her embrace was that peace he will forever miss, and without wasting so much time he pushed his face into her shoulder so he could take in every bit of her depth, every bit of her scent, her form. She was here. She was here.

“Thank you so much…”

“You don’t have to thank me…”

“I do...” she breathed. He couldn’t even look at her face. “I do…”

This wasn’t nearly enough time for him to be with her. Nothing could be enough time when it comes to her. How could this day, as something he didn’t always come to appreciate, pass by so quickly, quicker than a rabbit’s thump of its foot, and without anything he could do about it?

Nothing, nothing else in his whole life, will be a bigger mistake than when he left. Now, he pays the price. This might be the last day he gets to hold her like this.

“Y/N…”

He loosened his embrace just to hold her cheeks, and she returned that hold by grabbing onto his wrists.

“Whatever you choose to do, promise me I’ll still be your best friend…”

She laughed through the tears, which he wiped off with his thumb. “That’s the most stupid thing you’ve ever said. Of course, I will.”

He laughed as well. Or pretended to. He wanted so much to cry.

‘No. You don’t understand. You won't want me this way any longer. Everything is going to change.’

‘But I’ll accept it. For you. It will all be worth it.’

‘Choose me, so you won't have to promise me this.’

But he didn’t say any of that. He didn’t have to.

He just held her tight, foreheads touching like a lifeline’s hold.

It was a lie telling themselves they were best friends all those years.

But it won't be from now on. They’ll be best friends, whether she chooses him or not, and he’ll hold onto that if it meant everything to her.

“I promise you. I’ll still be here, even if you don’t need me.”

“And I’ll be here for you.”

To just lean in and kiss her. It would have all been too easy.

But the elevator doors parted open, and with it, the end of his time.

He’ll accept this.

He accepted this.

He has to.

And frankly, with the smile she had on the whole day, he’d wish for nothing more than for it to last, even when it meant it wasn’t with him.

He kissed the tip of her forehead, just as she loosened her hold, and with their fingers lingering as they held onto each other’s warmth, he stepped into the elevator and their hands let go of the other.

She waved him goodbye, and just as the doors closed, he waved back.

-----

Dick:

It wasn’t the best idea he’s had.

But he wasn’t at his prime either, and neither should he even be in his prime. He shouldn’t, for all good cause, do anything that could possibly take this out of hand, far beyond what should be thought of as normal. Because as he’s sought out to remember, and remind himself for so many days and weeks and months, their friendship was what he should put before anything else.

And thus, he cannot possibly screw this up. It might be a tad more romantic than it should, but it was Valentine’s day. Of course, he was expected to be romantic at the very least, as everyone else should.

He just didn’t expect his hand to be shaking so much when he raised it against the door of her apartment to knock. He held his wrist, forced the tremors to stop before it’d possibly show. Would it even show? Would the knocking be any different if his knuckles weren’t stable?

It wouldn’t, actually, but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful either.

He forced his spine straight, head held up as he shut his eyes closed hopefully to ease what was dreadfully whirring about in just about every nerve cell in his body, then he breathed.

Just before his fist hit the door, he heard her voice.

“Thanks!” Y/N called out to the cab driver, then she stepped out of the car door and immediately caught her smile. It was nighttime, the sun had just set, still, she looked as bright as day. And perfect. And beautiful.

Dick stopped shaking. He stopped moving altogether.

“Dick?” She stepped over the puddle and he immediately regretted not rushing to help her. But she didn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing here?”

He took the steps down until his feet reached the sidewalk, then she was in front of him. Oblivious. Unknowing. Happy. She was grinning so much it took every bit of breath leftover in his lungs until eventually, he’d die from suffocation without there being a physical stimulant.

Dick swallowed.

“I thought I’d… visit you. On Valentine’s day. I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Bold of him to assume she would be, of course. Judging from how she looked, where that cab came from, she was with Tim.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have. You just got home. I should be on my way-“

“No! Not at all!” She grabbed him by the jacket and he prayed to the angels above she didn’t catch how he almost choked on his own tongue. “I could use the company. Wanna stay over?”

Okay. Okay. That would be okay.

But it wasn’t what he had planned for them. At least, he could try to ask. If it was okay with her.

“I,” he started. “Actually, I had something planned for us. Tonight. If it’s alright with you, we can head out now.”

She stood there with her mouth open.

“Or not. I should have called.” Rubbing the back of his neck wouldn’t do much to ease that strain. “I’m sorry. We can-“

“No! Dick, please.” She grabbed onto his arm and led him to his car, which he’d parked over at another block. “I’d love to go with you. Take me anywhere. I promise, I’ll love it.”

He wasn’t even sure if he’d already messed up at that point and that was just her trying to salvage his own dignity or if he hadn’t done anything at all. But her smile seemed genuine. He’d know if it wasn’t.

It warmed every bit of him when they continued to walk, and he was just letting her lead the way, take him like he was made of sand stuffed into a bag or a sack. He was limp, weak. And he couldn’t have had it in another way.

Dick laughed. “Alright then.”

So lightly did it start to drizzle, and the droplets visible on their light sweaters and clothes that tickled their skin like a feather’s cold touch. He didn’t know where to start, even though, in fact, he knew exactly where to start. Is this all going to backfire?

No. It won't. Not this time. He knew what to expect, and nothing will be out of hand and nothing will have to set him back two spaces backward.

Through the sidewalks full and the lively streets, with others hand in hand with their partners and gifts being given, surprises being held and smiles and cheers for all around, it was difficult not to feel bitter being the only one who wasn’t holding a spouse or a partner.

But even if she weren’t his, she was still the woman he loved. And the fact that she was here at all, holding his arm as they turned over to the corner of the street for his car, he was the luckiest out of everyone in the block, in the whole mile’s radius. Hell, the whole city.

They got to his car and already he missed her when she let go of his arm and he stepped into the driver’s seat.

Traffic was bad, but it didn’t even matter. She was looking so brightly out the windshield, at the edge of her seat and wonderfully appreciating all else around her. It was hard not to feel the same, to be so excited for life, and even when the world had tried to pull all of her spirits down, she didn’t let it.

And he could admire all else there was if he had more time than he already had, and he had lots of time. He won't let a minute go to waste. He already had the food, the mat, the movie, everything was at the back of his car.

Thankfully, that dark, secluded spot that wasn’t exactly a hotspot for muggers in the corners of Gotham Central Plaza was still free. He had to hold back a yelp as they parked. It was perfect. Too perfect. Any sane man would suspect there possibly was something more in store than he would have hoped. But that didn’t even cross his mind.

“Alright,” he turned his car key to turn off the engine. “Close your eyes and promise me you won't open them until I say so.”

“Dick.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“Come on. Close your eyes. Please.”

Rolling her eyes over to the other side of the window, he wanted to playfully pinch her chin. But she did as told, closed her eyes, and laid her head to the back of the car seat. He had to move fast.

He went over to the back, took everything out of the trunk, and never has he worked so fast yet so cautiously, even compared to his stealth work in the middle of a raid.

He laid out the mat and dusted the ground off of any critters that might have been littered about. He took too much time at that. A few minutes at least. He looked back at the side mirror on the passenger seat.

“I said don’t look!”

He heard her laugh so hard she had to snort, then she covered her eyes with her palms.

Okay. This should be okay. She’ll love this. He hoped. He laid out the finishing touches and turned on the projector.

He knocked on her window, then she stepped out. He put his hands on top of her eyes, as cheesy as it was, then led her over to the back. “Where are you taking me, Grayson?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t. But you don’t exactly have a choice.”

She snorted again, then when he stopped her in place, he walked over in front of her. “Okay. Now.”

Y/N opened her eyes.

Dick wished he had a camera to remember her face by.

Always the one to appreciate the little things, the details, every bit of effort. That night, it was no different.

The first thing she turned to was the quaint little picnic he’d set up, with a red and white plaid at laid out on the grassy floor, two cushions for them to sit on, and a basket full of their food, some of which he’d already placed in plates around the mat.

In front of that mat was the trunk of the car, on top of which he’d placed a white sheet over to cover the back, making it a flat surface where the projector, that he’d placed over behind the mat, would shine on. It played the first scene of the movie 10 Things I Hate About You.

And the final piece he hadn’t thought about until the last minute, were fairy lights in two separate strings, running from the back of the car over to the tree that stood right by the picnic mat, where it would shine for all of that night.

Dick wished it were daylight, just so he could see her a bit clearer, but he was thankful for the string lights he placed, or he wouldn’t see just how much her face lit up and her eyes widen beyond what he’d often remember.

“Dick-“

“Not like what I usually give you on Valentine’s?”

Y/N’s smile softened, and she just looked at him disbelievingly.

“I’m kidding. Come on. Food’s getting cold.”

His hands were shaking but thankfully they didn’t show. And he held it out for her to take one of the cushions. She sat down, but her neck was going to hurt soon at the way she was craning it up, mesmerized over everythin he’d set up.

“This is amazing.”

“Wait ‘till you see the movie. Again, that is. For the fifth time.”

“You know exactly how to please me.”

He does.

In every way, if only he could, he would. He’d give her everything she wants, even if it were a flower on top of a cliff.

And if only there weren’t anyone else out there who loved her just as much as he did, then the only thing that would stop him was if he’d die trying to bend the world over for her. Because then he wouldn’t be there to make sure she doesn’t prick her finger on a needle when she’ll be too old to clearly see, or that she doesn’t slip on the floor when her bones grow too weak, or when she needed someone to pick out the grey in her hair when she no longer could with her shaking hands. When they grow old, and he won't be there to make sure she’ll be okay, it’ll be the only thing that stops him.

But that wasn’t the case. There was someone out there who loved her just as much as he did. Two, in fact.

Which meant that nothing, not even his death, is going to stop him from doing whatever it took to give her what she wanted and needed. Because, even then, he was sure she’ll be okay if he was gone.

He wished he didn’t trust those two enough for it to be true, but he did.

The movie went on. Heath Ledger. Julia Stiles. The dialogue over the two’s arguments that he’s learned to memorize over the many times he’s watched it with her. He didn’t even pay much attention, not when the light from the projected screen lit up her curving lips. She didn’t even look tired.

They bit into their sandwiches and he inched himself closer to her.

“What do you like most about this movie?”

Slowly, she turned her head over to him, still with her eyes on the screen like she didn’t even want to miss a minute of it.

“I like how you’d first think it’d be centered on Bianca and the two guys, but then you’d realize the story is really about Patrick and Kat. And the fact that it’s accidental, which ends up being the better romance out of everyone else.”

He finished his sandwich, and he didn’t even pick out another. He listened as if she spoke music. Nothing felt better than that moment right then.

Except, maybe, when she leaned on his shoulder, and he realized he'd never actually felt like he’s sunken so deep into a place he could never think about escaping from, a place he dreaded himself for even thinking about escaping at all, never mind how much more pain it yields and the risks to be taken.

She shifted and he could feel her hair rub itself into a tangled mess onto his shirt. And his selfishness overtook him when he leaned his head on top of hers as well and closed his eyes.

It was a shame, truly, that movies had to end at all. If he’d known, he would have played The Ten Commandments or Cleopatra or any other movie there was that lasted five hours. He would if he had to if it meant she’d stay longer that way.

It was so magical that when he’d tidied up the place and they both got back into the car, he almost forgot his actual gift for the night.

Something he wasn’t so sure about at first. Though, if it worked, it would undoubtedly mean everything.

He shut the car door, and Y/N didn’t know that when Dick looked up the windshield, up at the cloudless sky, that he was actually checking for any signs of heavy rain. Which there was, but thankfully won't be for a few hours.

“So,” she cheerfully exclaimed. It was almost midnight, and still, she didn’t seem the least bit tired. “Are you taking me home?”

“Not yet…”

It will be worth it if it works.

Just do it.

“Y/N…” he said. “Remember that time you told me you wanted to fly again?”

Y/N, as she’d expectedly reacted, looked out her window. “Yeah?”

“I have… something planned for you. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I completely understand-“

When she turned to catch his eyes reassuring him that everything he was mumbling about could only make her smile, immediately he calmed. “What are you saying?”

“It’s in the back. Hold on-“

He moved in less than five seconds, heading over to the back seat, fumbling through his bags, then he sat back down on the driver’s.

“Here.”

He handed a bag to her, and she looked at it confused. She won't be for long.

And that theory was proven true when she unzipped the bag and saw, what was most probably facing up inside the bag, her Falcon domino mask.

Two years ago, she lost her left leg.

And with that, her wings.

She couldn’t fly for a lot of reasons. One, with her being the Falcon, nightly crime-fighting wouldn’t do her any good. The nerve endings on the one leg she had left had been burnt off, and the bionic one couldn’t even move much without it straining and pulling just about every muscle she had. It broke her heart, as if it hadn’t already broken so much of her, that she couldn’t even walk the same way as before.

The other reasons were a lot more complicated, but all the more understandable. The nightmares, traumas, everything else, it would have driven her mad if she hadn’t stopped.

She couldn’t fly anymore. At least, not by herself.

He could help her fly again.

Y/N pulled out her suit, turned, and saw Dick putting on his Nightwing gear.

“We have the whole night,” he said. “If you let me.”’

It was a risk. A dangerous one.

Which made it even more rewarding when he earned a smile from her so wide that it brought tears down her outstretched cheeks.

Yeah.

This was the right choice.

A bag of art supplies would have been plan B. Thank god, he didn’t go through with that again.

Her real Falcon suit was put on display back over at her apartment, behind a hidden door in her closet she hadn’t touched for years. This one was just a black slip-on that covered most of her skin, a hood over her head, and her domino mask. Dick took her up Queen Industries, a tower that soared up the skies rivaled only by the likes of Wayne Enterprises. She picked that tower as if none of this scared her at the very least. Even when it should. Hell, it even scared him.

This won't nearly be as freeing as her wings when she’d soar through the skies and clouds without the confines of a grappling rope tying her down to the realities of human capacity, when she truly could feel like a falcon, the one thing she loved so much about her days as a vigilante.

She was nervous, he could tell. She hadn’t jumped off a building in so long, even when she loved risking her life just about every night just for the feel of it.

But this was a scene he’d longed to see, to have her in his arms on the rooftops of skyscrapers and have her to hold on to, to hear her screams of joyous bliss not just from a safe distance away, and to only have her to himself. No one else.

This was what Tim had back then that he never did, and never will have. Perhaps, except now. It wasn’t the same. But it was all the more beautiful.

She was beautiful, up the starless sky so near to the clouds where the air was thin, the bustling noise nothing more than a distant blur, and her face lit up by the many specks of light littered about this wondrous city.

He saw her clench her fists the way she did when she was excited. Dick took it as a chance to hold it. And she welcomed him like it wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

“Ready?”

From thin air, he could make out the smoke she blew out of her chapped lips, which curved up a smile as she glanced up to his eyes, then back down on the streets that awaited them below.

“Yes…”

He didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he held it tighter.

“Jump…”

Like she didn’t even wait for his mark.

Dick has soared off buildings more times than any bird has leaped off their nests, more times than a cat has jumped off a rooftop’s ledge. Every night since he was given his first grappling gun, the rushing wind that pushes onto his face would be the most addicting experience not everyone would know about. He knew what it was like, how close it was to flying.

But he never could call it flying, never truly felt like he had wings on his own. More like barring what the winds allowed him and glide like some limp piece of paper floating about to the wind’s direction. He always thought flying was defying those rules, defying how the earth pulls them down to where humans truly belonged. On the ground.

But flying was so much more than that. And he only realized that now, now that he was with her.

He might as well be in a bubble floating across space because never has he once experienced this kind of high in his life. and it wasn’t the wind or the heights or the risks it bore. It was her.

She made him fly.

The Falcon was never known to be a great fighter. At least, within the family, everyone knew combat wasn’t her forte.

But she did love to save people.

That was what made their dynamic with Tim so perfect. Tim handled the bad guys, roughed them up, used his brute strength to take them down, all the while distracting them from Y/N saving the hostages, from a small child kidnapped to the commissioner himself.

She was an alright gymnast, and most of the time she used it to her advantage. But she wasn’t the best.

She was never the best gymnast, never the best fighter. Everyone knew that before, and only fully realized that when it was too late.

But she was, as everyone in Gotham could plead, the best savior.

She’d save everyone in the scene and wouldn’t miss so much as a cat from a burning building, make sure everyone makes it out alive from a hostage situation, and every kidnapping in Gotham could be tracked from her computer network at home. The people were her priority. And with the loss of the Falcon, the loss of her wings, with it came the loss of a savior.

At least, it should have meant the loss of a savior.

But who was to say she hadn’t stopped saving lives? Doing what she did best? Making sure every life was accounted for and saved, even for just a little girl in a burn unit?

This was flying, and it could only be with her. She saved him. And she’ll continue to save him no matter what she chooses to do, or who she chooses to have.

He heard her delightful cries, and he could thank himself later for having it in him to take a glance, take in how she looked right then, and remember it for every time he needs more saving. Her arms were up, flailing about with the air’s upward push. She could only look everywhere else but at the ground. And with the kind of beam she had on, it was apparent she hadn’t smiled like that in so long.

Yards above the floor, he took her by the waist.

Then he shot his grapple up to the building across, and she held on with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Don’t let go. Don’t ever let go. Forever.

She didn’t.

They shot up to the next building but he didn’t allow them to land on the roof just yet.

With an arm around her waist, the other holding both their weights as if it were nothing at all, it wasn’t him who was carrying her, holding her up to fly. It was none but the other way around.

Dick shot his grappling hook even more times, each time just before they were about to reach up a ledge. Y/N didn’t have her eyes closed for a second. He could feel her. He could feel her take in the air and the rush and everything she’s longed to miss. Everything there ever could be that used to mean so much.

It was the same music that played at the back of his ears from when they kissed up on that hill. This soft, serene piano playing without a tune he could point out but couldn’t get out of his head, that same melody so beautiful that as soft as it was, blocked out everything else within a mile’s reach.

He allowed them to reach a dome-shaped roof, and he reached down to carry her legs as well so she wouldn’t have to run or suffer the impact. Like she was made of glass, he carried her, ran across the rooftop.

She pressed her forehead tight against his cheek, and on his jaw, Dick could feel her smile. It urged him on. He leaped off that rooftop and shot up his grapple again.

Her laughter could have been heard from everyone below, and her eyes couldn’t leave the wonders that surrounded them, at the concrete jungles, the choppers in place of the birds, the beautiful noises it made from people and everything else.

Close to where they started, Dick carried her like he would if she were his bride, cradled her in his arms as he landed on a rooftop, and finally stopped. Her nerves were buzzing. It was all he could feel. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were so wide. Her hands were in tremors uncontrollable.

But she laughed so hard and never has he heard that kind of laughter out of her from anyone else. The kind of laughter he’d grown so addicted to, that he couldn’t stop but draw it out of her every chance he got.

Then she hugged him so tight, so quickly did his own nerves calm. She was so warm, he couldn’t help but feel grounded.

This.

This was what it was like to see her up close.

Years of watching, to see her soar and not be there to hold her hand as he flies with her, to see her kiss another’s lips while they stood at the literal top of the world, at a skyscraper so tall with the world under their feet, on the most gorgeous city there was, with the bustling streets and the nosy citizens and the lights that continued endlessly.

To see her this close, to be with her, and actually be with her. To have their two souls put together and have that kind of high that couldn’t possibly be gotten from another.

If Y/N chooses him, he’ll make her fly every day. He’ll never let her forget being the flying guardian angel of Gotham. He’ll never let that image of the city taken from up above the cloudy mists be rid from her mind.

And if she doesn’t choose him, he’ll make sure that whoever it was that was going to be her eternal happiness, knows all those things and more, knows how much flying meant to her. He’ll make sure they’ll take his word to heart, so he never has to doubt her contentment again.

Y/N held him in an embrace so close, the smell of her lemony scalp and her arms so perfectly warm, he held her back immediately and shut his eyes so he’d only know the feeling.

“Thank you for giving me my wings back.”

It wasn’t even about her choosing him anymore. It wouldn’t change a thing.

Whatever happens, he’ll be there making sure she’ll go on to fly, that she never forgets the rush of the wind or the mist of the clouds.

Already, he was used to that feeling, of watching her from such distance, that it won’t be such a change if it happens again. She’ll find her happiness. She’ll choose her happiness. And all the while, he’ll be there to make sure she’ll have that and more.

No longer does he hope that she chooses him, as he selfishly longed for after so many years.

He was happy. He was content. Whatever comes out of this, it’ll be for her happiness.

And that’s all there is to it.

-----

Jason:

God Almighty, this was stupid.

And he should have known that hours ago. Three hours up on that fire exit, not once did he think this through enough to escape, as he hadn’t thought since the start of the day and he just happened to pass by the many flower shops suddenly rising out of nowhere down the street where he lived.

It was three am and still, she hadn’t come home. And all those hours, instead of finally knowing the risks of all this and back up before it was too late, he impatiently waited for her, booted soles tapping onto the ground, thinking ‘where the hell is she?’ as if he had no idea at all. He did have an idea. He just didn’t think to dwell on it.

Seeing Dick’s car pull up in front of her door, he only had such a window. Everything in him shattered. His head so light. Everything so hopelessly weak. To just flee and never come back, it would all have been so easy.

But as he selfishly allowed himself that kind of hope, as no one in their right mind should if they were anywhere near his place, he stayed. Because even in the middle of such darkness from whence he’d come from, from whence he was born into this disaster of a life, he let himself, albeit unconsciously, hold onto the fact that she still hadn’t chosen either of his brothers and with that, she might choose him, like he had such a speck of a chance, one too much than what he should have.

And it was because of that selfishness, that grandeur delusion of hope proven to be such a luxury for someone from the likes of him, that brought him to this exact place on this exact night.

And seeing that she’d just spent this hell of a day with his brothers, each one with a present for her grander than the last, what he’d done was some sorry excuse of a joke even he wanted to laugh at. This was ridiculous. And humiliating.

But it was far too late, with him standing so frozen with his hood up and the rainfall stronger, he let his clothes be drenched, didn’t care for the cold, not when all he could see was her stepping into her studio and taking off her coat. She had on a smile like no other.

A year ago, he was in that very room, and did the most selfish thing he ever could do to his brothers that he yearned to be forgiven for but still did not fully regret, not when it sparked a love for what was the brightest little star in this hellish earth, not when it was a time so wonderful that none of it left his head even after such a year.

He had that time. He had his time. Which was why he shouldn’t have this kind of hope for himself, not when it was the only time he ever had, which makes all this all the more impossible to go his way. Or at least, the way he dreamed for it to be.

All that thought changed, however, when she came into her room, stopped over her desk, and saw what he’d left for her.

It was a dangerous game, breaking into her house. And if it had gone on just a bit longer, he’d have thought all this was a messy screw up no U-turn was going to fix. Maybe he’d finally did it this time, destroyed everything with these overwhelming feelings he had no idea how to control. He didn’t know how to play this game if it was even a game at all. He’s never loved before. He doesn’t know how to love. He doesn’t know what to do after he falls in love.

She was confused. Jason could tell with the way her eyebrows bunched up at the center. Then she looked out the windows. Thankfully, he was hidden too far into the dark for her to see.

But she held that rose as if it were so much more than that, and when she let her fingers draw on the edges of the petals once so fresh, everything in him ceased. He couldn’t stop watching.

It was all there is really. A white rose.

The first Valentine’s day gift he’s ever given.

He knew his brothers would go all out, give her the world, give her the whole of Gotham, show her the heights of their immense love so undeniable. It was what she deserved.

But he couldn’t let this day pass without at least giving her something.

He still loved her, after all. Even if it wouldn’t lead to anything.

Y/N’s smile made him feel like the dorky kid at school in love with a girl he’s never talked to, leaving a flower in her locker without letting her know who it was from. And he was just that, in fact. There are no inaccuracies.

And he knew, without a doubt, that she’d get his message.

As she always does, with them having this bond, this connection like no other. Jason was, after all, the one who understood her best.

He understood how the most horrific thing that could happen to someone could end up being the one thing that takes over the rest of their identity. He died, and that’s what people ended up knowing him for. The Robin who died. And Y/N, no matter how much she works or achieves, will be the girl who lost her leg. But she was so much more than that. In every way.

A white rose was what she was. This beautiful, untainted slate, fresh without a single flaw no matter how much those flaws seem to be so obvious, and she does what she makes of her identity no one will be able to dictate. She wasn’t her trauma. She wasn’t her past. She was her.

Maybe he did look into it too deep, but he couldn’t help with seeing the way she smiled and took the rose to bed, laying it beside her as she changed and got under the sheets.

Maybe he should have done more.

But not even he could help grinning his cheeks off when he finally left that place, so swiftly no one would have seen even if they tried.

It was enough. At least, for him.

More so when he felt his phone in his pocket.

Y/N: ‘Thank you for the rose. Happy Valentine’s day, Jason.’

He snorted and audibly laughed, staring at his phone reading the message five times in a few seconds. He didn’t even leave so much as a note. How was she so sure it was from him?

Because she understood him, too. More than anyone. It went both ways.

It will hurt like a bitch when she ultimately chooses another. Because as much as he hates to admit it, not to others and especially not to himself, he needed her a lot more than she needed him. Even when they only had so much time, it was that time he realized he wanted that for the rest of his life.

But he’ll get through it. Somehow. Like he always does.

-----

For so much of this love that came from the purest hearts, it never calls for what was easy.

And it wasn’t at the least.

But with difficulties and trials, the triumph will be the reward that brings all else to its place. A place of peace. Contentment.

Seven days after, the story comes to an end.

An end too long-awaited but has taken the time for it to be right.

Seven days after,

She makes her choice.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

A/N: WHO’S READY FOR THE PRE-FINALE AND THE FINALE!!! I’M SO EXCITED AHHHHHHH

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@idkmanicantenglish, @wunderstell, @birdy-bat-writes, @multifandomgirl-us, @icequeen208, @offendedfishnoises, @arkhamtoddler, @elsenthal, @lucy-roo, @loxbbg, @reclusive-chicken-nugget, @l-inkage, @http-cherries, @river9noble, @zphilophobiaz, @annoylinglyaries, @knightfall05x, @hyp-oh-critical, @satan-s-ass, @1-800-starmora, @flowersgirl02, @nahcho, @thatonecroc, @trixie-bb, @daddyissuesmademe, jasonsbitch, @shadowsndaisies @jaybirdbooty @writing2sirvive

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#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #batboys #batfamily #batfam #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #reader insert #3 birds 1 stone #3 birds 1 stone series #batarella #batarella series

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1997devil · 3 years

Text

magic, madness, heaven, sin

pairing: joshua x fem reader

w.c.: 2.5k (oops)

includes: one night stand!shua, mentions of infidelity in the beginning, mentions of alcohol, lots of dirty talk (praises), slight oral (male receiving), protected(!!!) sex

the strobe lights of the nightclub amplify the pounding of your headache from the shots you’d downed in succession. you welcome it anyways, for it succeeds in chasing away the visions of the man who you’d dumped just hours before this.

he’d been your everything, and your mother would account for how much you’d loved him, from all the gushing about him that you did during your weekly phone calls. it definitely was your fault for the breakup because it definitely was your fault you caught him kissing the girl he said was nothing but a close friend from work. you figured they were pretty close enough with the way he shoved his tongue into her mouth, hands ghosting over her chest.

the worst part was, they were doing it in your living room. the very room you’d poured all of your soul into, making weekly trips to ikea and antique stores to find the little trinkets you knew would shape the perfect ambiance. you’d flung the promise ring he had slotted onto your left ring finger at him, aiming directly at the crown of his hair you’d spent hours carding your fingers through. he only barely managed to catch a glimpse of you as you hurried back out of the apartment, needing to be anywhere but there, the very place you’d dubbed your safe spot. the taxi driver had only inquired where your destination was and was kind enough to offer you some tissues when you’d arrived at the nearest nightclub, after hearing sniffles from his backseat.

you can still feel the weight of the ring that had been on your finger, fiddling with it out of habit only to not find it in its place as it should be. anger rises at your throat and your fingers wrap around the glass to down the drink – gibson, dry as he liked it. your eyes glaze over the space, skimming over strangers’ heads dancing on the dance floor, the bass of the dj set resonating from the walls and into your ears. it lures you from your spot at the bar to the dance floor, not caring your drink is spilling everywhere from bumping into bodies swaying to the beat.

you find a space somewhere in the corners and you just casually nod along to the music, sipping from your cocktail. despite a part of you still clinging to the past, the other part of you feels free, like a bird set free from its cage. you feel yourself losing to the swimming feeling induced by the alcohol in your veins. you manage to bring yourself back to the bar when you fear your ankles might snap from the way you sway in your heels, safely disposing yourself on one of the plush chairs lining the marble-tiled bar.

you go back to languidly scanning across the cramped room until your eyes land on a man weaving in and out of your sight among the throng of the people on the dance floor. he seems to be with two of his other friends, one with dyed silver hair that seems to sparkle in the strobe lights and another one with cropped brown hair and a godlike facial structure you can pinpoint even from far away.

you keep your eyes trained on the first guy you spotted. something simmers within you as you not so equivocally check him out: is he wearing a sheer shirt? and is that the glint of a silver ear cuff on his right ear? all of a sudden you meet his eyes and the drunken fog in your mind seems to clear up in a snap.

the pitter-patter of your heart rings louder than the booming bass as you watch him whisper something to one of his friends before he turns away and walks towards you. he’s even more beautiful as he comes closer to you, what with his catlike eyes and pink lips that leave you dying to know how they taste. you notice there’s a swipe of eyeshadow on his lids as the hoods of his eyes drop as he finally arrives at his destination.

“hello,” the man starts, voice tinged with a drop in an octave that sends honey dripping down your spine, “something caught your attention?”

you preen at being caught for checking him out so blatantly but you manage to keep your composure. “if i say it’s you, what would i get?”

he chuckles. “you’ll see.”

you run the risk of being bold, and your finger goes up to play with the dangly cuff on his right earlobe. “this did.”

his hands – goodness they’re huge, wouldn’t that mean that – wrap around your wrist, and he leaves a light kiss on your knuckles before he drops it to your side, fingers still holding on.

“you can call me joshua.” you recall ever hearing this nickname being shouted in a grainy instagram story by one of your friends, and come to think of it, it was uploaded with a geotag that led to this same club. “what about you?”

––

there’s an odd flashback yet not out of place as joshua drags you by the wrist towards the restrooms somewhere near the back of the club. it makes you feel like a dumb university student once more, looking to relieve the stress of submitting essays and final assessments. the thick concrete of the walls mute the music a bit and you can hear the voice in your head sounding urgent alarms and telling you to stop. you don’t listen to the bells as your hands grip joshua’s belt to tug him closer to you.

joshua leans into you, and your arms travel to rest on his chest, unleashes a weight on him that’s dizzying and thrilling.

“is there a man i should be worried about?”

“was.” you can barely let a word out without choking at the feeling of him skittering kisses along your jawline. that’s all he needs to hear.

he shoves a leg in between yours, telling you to grind your clothed core on his thigh.

you harshly pant as you rut your core onto his leg, the friction of the material of his trousers against your bare thigh sending you into a frenzy. “baby’s already so needy,” joshua smirks before he dips his head and closes the distance to meet your mouth, effectively shutting you up, swallowing your gasps.

it’s filthy and sweet, tasting the cranberry juice from joshua’s tongue. he holds you firmly with his fingers on your jaw, lets you lick deeper into his mouth, swallows every whimper that drips from your throat. when you separate there’s a sheen on your swollen lips and joshua just wants to taste from it all night long. the desperation in your tummy grows tenfold the more he tells you to keep grinding, even bouncing his leg which sends jolts all over your body.

joshua shoves you off of his leg right before you come, and it takes all of your willpower to separate yourself. (joshua can hardly admit just how hard he got from hearing your sob at stopping you right before you hit your high.) both of you unanimously agree that fucking in the club bathroom is for college students who still have the shamelessness and suave to pull it off, so you manage to leave the place and hail a cab and joshua mutters his address before he turns to you again, hands heavy on your thigh as he presses kisses to your shoulder and cheek.

he grabs your hand once more when you palm him over his pants, and you can already feel how he needs it just as badly as you do. he brings it up to his lips, pressing kisses onto the knuckles which muffles his dirty words so the driver can’t hear. “you’ll be good for me, won’t you, baby? wait till i get home so i can fuck you like you were begging me in the club?” you think your voice will crack if you vocally respond so you just nod in an albeit urgent manner, letting him know just how desperate you are.

you manage to hand the driver the bills and thank him before you slip out of the cab and up the stairs into joshua’s apartment. joshua doesn’t know how he manages to unlock the door, haphazardly pulling his shoes off and take you to the bedroom with the way you’re pressing warm kisses to his neck, but he manages to do so and presses you against the door.

your cheeks are flushed even under the harsh lighting of his bedroom and soft giggles leave your lips, and a part of joshua that’s still sober even from all the drinks seungcheol shoved towards him at the club earlier flutters, thinking to himself just how beautiful you look even when you’re half wrecked from your ministrations in the club restroom.

joshua kisses you again, hands working to unzip your dress as he turns you towards the bed, before the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and has you lay over his sheets.

he just about growls when he finally gets your dress off and sees the lacey white lingerie that frames and decorates your body. he’s entranced by the way the lace lines your chest to your stomach, no doubt the bottoms are ruined from how wet and desperate you were from riding his thigh. it’s enough to make him shudder, eyes growing darker at how he just wants to fuck you already.

“do you like it?” you ask, slightly muffled by your hand right above your mouth, shy yet with a wide smile.

he bends down, leaves butterfly kisses trailing from your tummy to your neck, where he sucks marks that your coworker will probably see. “you look beautiful, sweetheart. did you get all dressed up? hope someone would fuck you so good so you’d forget about him?”

“y-yeah,” you punctuate your answer with a high pitched moan when he suckles on your sweet spot.

his fingers press onto your clothed core, right where the wet spot smears the fabric. he rubs small figure eights, and it makes you grip onto his arm as a means of grounding yourself from the pleasure. under the clasp of your fingers on his arm do you realize he’s still clothed, and you tug on his sleeve as a signal.

he chuckles at feeling you tug and hearing you whine, so he straightens back up and takes his time unbuttoning his shirt. your eyes are glazed over when he pushes the clothes off of his shoulder, revealing his body you knew wasn’t so bad from the way your palms were running along his chest and back.

it feels like forever watching him unbuckle his belt and you know he’s purposefully dragging it out to tease you. you huff before you rise from the sheets, your impatient hands slapping his away so you can unzip his pants yourself. his trousers and briefs come off in one go, and his cock stands against his stomach, already hard and leaking pearls of precome right at the tip.

you’re overcome with the urge to tease him back so you slowly take his length into your mouth. joshua’s hand immediately comes up to tangle in your hair, and you whine at the delicious tug of his fingers finding purchase amidst your locks. you run your tongue at the underside of his cock, tracing the prominent veins which has him groaning so deeply.

you work him up even more than he already was, and he tugs you off right as he’s about to come. your lips are slick and cherry red from your act and joshua swoops to kiss you again, tasting his own release from your mouth as he slowly lays you back down on the bed.

joshua deftly unhooks your bra, and nearly rips your underwear off, laying you bare right in front of him. “my goodness,” he hums as he pushes you up towards the headboard, laying on his pillows. “you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” biting and suckling on your nipples as he keeps his glimmering eyes on your face, watching as you throw your head back from the pleasure. “i haven’t even put my cock in you and you’re already so wrecked, hm? so pliant, so desperate, all ready for me?”

he lifts himself from you again to grab a condom in his nightstand drawer, and your hands can’t seem to settle as he slips it on his length, warm hands pushing your ankles and thighs to widen your legs. “are you nervous, baby?”

“k-kinda,” you mumble, watching as he comfortingly runs his hand on your thighs. “h-haven’t done this with anyone else in a bit,” all the boldness in you from the club earlier simmering down now that joshua’s really about to fuck you.

“-ssokay, sweetheart,” his voice drops into a low rumble that makes your tummy flutter yet again., “i’ll take care of you,” he comes closer to you, pressing his lips to yours to distract you from the feeling of him pushing into your core. you’re so wet that he slides in with ease, and the burn melts into pleasure that tickles you all the way to your fingertips. your hands circle around his neck, keeping him close to you. the combination of his gentle kisses and the thrust of his hips rips sweet moans from your throat that joshua gladly drinks up.

“fuck,” he groans as your walls squeeze around him, “s-so tight, so g-good,” he slurs as he continues to thrust, “you take me in so well, don’t you, sweetheart? so nice and–f-fuck –so warm for me.” he continues praising you as you chase your high, his words getting to you, the hold of your arms around his shoulders tightening.

“you gonna come for me, baby? gonna come on my c-cock?” he grunts, pressing into you, not even an inch of space between your bodies.

“y-yes, please, make me come,” you cried out, losing yourself to how good joshua is making you feel. joshua thrusts a bit more until the coil in you finally snaps, not even needing to verbalize how close you are as you reach your orgasm, whining a mixture of joshua’s name and incoherent garbles masked as moans, joshua swallowing every single sound that comes out of your mouth. he fucks into you once, twice before coming, tipped over at your walls clamping down on his cock as you came, you curling your fingers in his jet black hair. you stay like this for a while, joshua riding out your orgasm languidly until you brokenly whine, practically crying at this point at how good he feels.

your vision blurs as he slips out, disposes his condom, before returning with a wet washcloth to clean you up. he slips a random t-shirt he grabbed from his closet onto your bare body, the hem coming down to right above your thighs. you feel like putty as he takes care of you, his voice lulling you as he speaks his last praises, keeping you awake until he slips to behind you underneath the covers. he presses a kiss and a “goodnight” to your temple before he drifts off.

(you’re just thankful he doesn’t kick you out the second he’s done fucking you. maybe you could get used to this.)

#seventeen #svt #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen smut #joshua #hong jisoo #joshua scenarios #joshua imagines #joshua fic #joshua smut #t:fic #f:mild #mine #wrote this so i could read it myself thank u

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imaginationofacrazyfangirl · 4 years

Text

{Metanoia}

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader, Older brother! Jimin x Reader, Hoseok x reader

*8k- ongoing

Genre: Enemies to lovers, childhood friends, major misunderstandings

Warnings: Thigh riding, Fingering, Oral (male receiving)

Summary: The first time you meet Jungkook, he pushes you off the slide. Second time he calls you ugly. After that things continue spiraling downwards: he cuts your dolls’ heads off, tells everyone you’re a freak at school, spreads malicious rumors; Jungkook’s sole purpose in life is tormenting you. So why five years later is he insisting you two belong together?

Based on a prompt request by @bangtaened-army turned fic. Sorry bangtaened-army for the wait, and the fact that I still haven’t touched the original requested prompt..

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"I can't believe you would do this to me, Jiminie. After everything I have ever done for you. " you hiss into the phone. Your low voice does little not to garner the nosy looks of other people awaiting their luggage. Despite it being two am at an airport people never tired of drama, and you plotting the murder of your older brother could feed a whole TV show. See Jimin was supposed to pick you at the baggage claim. Keywords supposed to. However, instead of being greeted by your annoying yet lovable sibling you were greeted by someone just plain annoying.

"You're being dramatic, (Y/N). I sent Jungkook to pick you up, not Ted Bundy." Jimin replies dryly. Even through the phone you can tell he is rolling his eyes at you. He never understood your hatred towards Jungkook. To him, the dark haired boy is a sweet innocent boy who could do no wrong but you know better. The devil lives inside Jungkook.

"I would've preferred the serial killer. At least he'd be less of an ass-" Jungkook grabs the phone from your hand purposely shifting away so you can't take it back. Not that it makes much difference. Even if he was facing you, you would have to jump to reach him. "Hey man, it's me. Yeah, I know she's a pain but I'll bring her home. No don't worry about it I'm used to it by now. "

You roll your eyes at this. "Used to it by now," once again everyone sees you as the problem, not Jungkook. Forget the fact he tortured you all throughout childhood. Or that he's the reason everyone bullied you throughout high school. "Here, you going to behave now or throw another tantrum?" Jungkook asks, hanging back your phone.

Immediately you snatch it from his hands clutching it close to your chest. "Never take my phone out of my hand again. You hear me, Jeon?!"

"Then stop acting like a child and we won't have a problem." Jungkook snarks, arms folded over his chest as he looked down upon you as a parent would.

"Fuck you, Jeon! I'll find my own way home." You snap spinning around on your heels.

However before you can even take a step, caveman Jungkook throws you over his shoulders. He smacks your ass undoubtedly grinning as he does so. "Alright princess, enough playing. I promised your family to drive you home safely and I'm going to do just that. "

"You heathen! Let me down!" You pound against his back to no avail. He merely hits your butt again continuing to walk through the airport without a care. Seriously where did airport security go? Aren't they supposed to be on alert for kidnappers or something?

Apparently not because Jungkook strolls straight past a guard twiddling his thumbs. "Seriously?! Way to keep Korea safe man. I'm being kidnapped before your eyes here, dumbass."

The guard shoots Jungkook and you a questioning look, clearly unamused by you calling him ‘dumbass.’ Jungkook lets out a nervous laugh, bowing apologetically towards the guard. His grip on you not slipping for even a second. "Sorry she's drunk. Please ignore her."

The guard nods. "Best get her out of here or I'll have to detain her for drunken disorder."

"Will do. Thanks."

"I am not drunk-" you start only Jungkook to hit you yet again hard. You yelp face turning red as the guard laughs. "I swear to God I will murder you. "

"Do you want security to detain you? Because I'm pretty sure you'll be flagged as a flight hazard and stuck in Korea forever. "

Just the mere thought sends shivers down your spine. "No, thank you. "

"Didn't think so. " Jungkook replies. He carries you all the way to his car parked in the visitors' center. Not even letting you go as he climbed the three flights of stairs to get there. Undoubtedly he guessed-and correctly so- you'd run the second he let his guard down. Even when he sets you down to open his car door one hand remains firmly wrapped around your wrist.

You sigh loudly. "Isn't this a little overkill? We're at your car now."

"Sit." He merely says, pointing at the seat.

Tossing him a glare you do as told. Despite your previous bravado you know full well Jungkook is right, he is your only way home. Taxis are too expensive, and the rideshare apps went nowhere near your home. As much as you don’t want to admit it, Jungkook’s won this round. Still that doesn’t warrant the victorious grin on Jungkook’s face or the added salt of him reaching over to buckle your belt. "Overkill. Utter overkill. "

"Got to keep the princess safe don't I?" he says sweetly.

You cringe. "Enough with the princess stuff. You know I hate that. "

“You didn’t hate it when you were riding my dick last time you came home.” Jungkook mentions, sliding into the driver’s seat beside you. Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory of your last visit: Jungkook’s large hands gripping your waist as you fucked him in the backseat of his car. His hot breath against your ear whispering dirty things that would make a porn star blush. That feeling of your toes curling as he hits the right spot-

You shake the memory away. Fucking Jungkook was a mistake. It should’ve never happened. “That was a one time thing, Jeon. I was vulnerable last time. I just got out of a three year relationship-”

“And you just happened to fall on my dick several times.” Jungkook snorts. His tone stays calm but you can see how his knuckles whitened gripping the steering wheel. “Look you can make all the excuses you want, but it doesn’t change what happened between us. We had sex. Good sex if I might add.”

“Great sex.” You admit. “But that’s all.”

As great as Jungkook and you were together, you couldn’t let yourself fall into his trap again. The dark haired boy bullied you for years. He made you cry countless times. Great sex didn’t change anything. Not when you know Jungkook would hurt you in the end. Neither of you speak as Jungkook pulls out of the parking lot. Whatever conversation you have ends like it always does in harsh words. So for the next hour and a half you stare out the window contemplating your life until your eyes close shut.

It’s not until a door slams that you open them again. Half awake you can barely make out the familiar street lights of your neighborhood hanging above, or the equally memorable

houses of it surrounding you. Your car door opens to reveal a haggard Jungkook. He leans over unbuckling you without a word. His soft lush hair tickles your skin as he struggles to get you free. You reach out to comb your fingers through it.

“Are we here?” you mumble, entranced by the silky feel of his hair. “Do we need to get out?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, we’re here. Go back to sleep princess. I got it.”

You yawn barely comprehending as an arm slides underneath your knees. “Okay, but only if you’re sure.”

Closing your eyes again you miss Jungkook’s soft whisper of, ‘I’m sure.’

-----

Sunlight hits your face chasing away your dreamless sleep. Your eyes open slowly, greeted by the harshness of lavender colored walls filled with high school photos and cringey boy band posters from way back in the day. Nothing about your bedroom has changed moving out all those years ago. Everything stayed exactly the same from when you were a teenager. Dreadfully so unfortunately.

Groaning you stretch trying to remember how you got into bed. Last thing you remember is asking Jungkook if you were home as he unclipped your seatbelt, so you had to have gotten up. You must’ve been so tired nothing really processed. A thirteen hour flight would do that to you after all. “Look what the cat dragged in. I see you survived the car ride with Jungkook alright.” Jimin grins, standing in the doorway of your room.

You toss a pillow at him only to miss. “Barely. Seriously what were you thinking having him pick me up? You know how I feel about him.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “I was thinking I have work the next day, and that Jungkook is the only guy I trust to pick up my little sister. Because not only would he keep her safe, but he’s the type of guy to carry her inside when she’s passed out.”

Your mouth dried. “What?”

“I said Jungkook carried your ungrateful ass inside.”

Suddenly the memory of Jungkook carrying you in comes to mind. His strong arms wrapped around you as your fingers buried themselves into his shirt. You were only half awake, but you remember everything from the way his cologne smelt to the soft beat of his heart lulling you back to sleep. ‘Sweet dreams princess.’

“No way. He hates me-besides I’m wearing pajamas!” You protest.

Jimin sighs. “Yeah. That I may have punched him for doing, but (Y/N), Kook doesn’t hate you. Trust me, that boy couldn’t hate you if he tried.”

“I don’t believe you.” How could you? The first day you ever met Jungkook he kicked you off the slide causing you to scrape your knees. Second time you two met he called you ugly before running off to play with Jimin. After that things got worse, from destroying your barbies, putting kick me signs on you, spreading rumors about you in high school, to telling your crush you were a slut. If those weren’t the actions of a boy who hates you, then you don’t know what is.

Jimin murmurs something about ‘misunderstandings’ under his breath, but doesn’t clarify. Instead he simply says. “Look, think what you want, but Jungkook spent the night yesterday since he was too tired to drive home. So be nice okay?”

“Whatever.” you reply, not mentioning the fact he lives down the road. Just this once you’d behave. After all, he did carry you home.

Jimin smiles, tossing the pillow back. Naturally it hits you right square in the face. "Good girl. Now get dressed. The last thing I need to see is my best friend eyeing up my little sister. "

You let out a silent curse, but do as told. Honestly it really didn't matter. When you lived at home you walked around in yoga pants while braless all the time, Jungkook be damned. This was your house and you refused to give up comfort because your brother's friend came over. It drove Jimin insane. To the point he'd throw random items until you either changed or returned to your room. However that was ages ago before Jungkook ever saw you naked or bent you over the counter of his kitchen.

“Stop it.” You slap yourself. “Thinking about it will do you no good.”

Unfortunately the pep talk does little to stop the wanting ache between your legs. Jungkook is the last person you slept with since breaking up with your ex. After you returned to America the last time you simply threw yourself into work, barely sparing a glance at the opposite gender. “Fuck. You need to get laid, (Y/N). Preferably not by Jeon this time.” you whispers.

-----

Breakfast is an interesting affair. Like always your parents and brother treat Jungkook as if he's part of the family, your mother piles food onto his plate while your father and Jimin discuss the latest sports and news trends with him. Occasionally one of your parents will praise Jungkook on something he did, mentioning how proud they are of him to which Jungkook eats up like a starving man at a feast.

Meanwhile you play around with your rice ignoring the sour feeling of getting ignored by your own family. After all, it's not like you lived out of the country and only came home once in a blue moon. So what did it matter if your childhood enemy ate up all your attention? "Thank you again, Jungkook, for bringing (Y/N) home. I know how much of a pain she can be to you. " your mother says.

Jungkook grins, the sun practically illuminating him from behind as he tactfully shrugs off the gratitude with a, 'It's no problem, Mom.' His butter wouldn't melt in my mouth routine sickens you to the point you want to vomit.

"I would've been perfectly fine finding my own ride home. " You mumble indignantly.

The comment earns you a sharp whack on the head by your mother's slipper. "The words are, 'thank you, Jungkook. ' I swear I don't know how I raised such an ungrateful daughter. "

You roll your eyes, swallowing the comment about her shitty parenting skills. "I mean how are you ever going to find a husband with that bad attitude of yours?" She laments, projecting into her usual rant of marriage and grandchildren.

Like always you ignore it taking the few blows to the head she gave whenever ranting about your marital future. Besides you, Jimin snickers enjoying your torment, having been born a boy he's safe from your mother's wrath since 'no girl is good enough for my precious Jimmie.' Thankfully your father has an ounce of sympathy left for you. "She's doing fine, hunny. (Y/N) has a good home and a steady job-"

"You're too soft on her! That's why she's like this. " your mother dismisses. "I mean what man would fall for a woman with such an ugly personality?"

Your heart gives a painful squeeze at her words, while such speech is common with your mother that doesn't make it hurt any less. "Actually I know someone who'd be interested in going out with (Y/N)." Jungkook pipes up, a big grin stretching across his face.

You shoot him a warning glare to which he shrugs off. A surprise gasp- that is way too exaggerated in your opinion- escapes your mom, she looks at Jungkook as if he hung the moon. "Oh Jungkook, that would be wonderful. But we ask you to risk your friendship like that."

"I promise you're not. This guy has loved- liked (Y/N) for a long time. He knows what she's like. " Jungkook waves off.

"Really? Who?" your dad asks, causing you to frown. Why does everyone think you are so unlovable? Seriously you are starting to get insulted, although you also question Jungkook and his 'friend. '

Jimin snorts, giving Jungkook a weird look. "Yes Jungkook, who is this mysterious guy madly in love with my sister?"

The tips of Jungkook's ears turn red and he ducks his head sheepishly, probably not expecting Jimin to call him out on his bluff. "What does it matter? A man is interested in our (Y/N)! All my prayers are answered!" Your mom cries, saving Jungkook from whatever bullshit he is about to spout. "Oh Jungkook, you're so wonderful. Any mother would be lucky to have you."

"Hey!" Jimin protests, earning a string of reassurances and praises from your mother. For a man who prided himself on his cool nature, Jimin was a mama's boy.

"I'm going to get started on the dishes. " you sigh, collecting the empty plates. As much as you love your family there's only so much one can take of them, hence moving to America.

"I'll help." Jungkook says, quickly gathering the dishes from your hand. Without another word he disappears into the kitchen like a little boy eager to impress his mom or in this case your mom; it adds to your rising irritation. You don't know what his game is, but if Jungkook thinks he can pull a fast one on you, he'll be sorely surprised.

You enter the kitchen to find Jungkook already washing the dishes, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up displaying his smooth muscular arms. Your eyes roam over them taking in the tattoos littered on his tan skin; he had gotten more since you last saw him, practically a full sleeve now. They look good on him not that you would ever admit it. "Hey, I wash, you dry?" Jungkook offers, throwing a towel your way.

You frown. "I got it. Go back to the table."

Jungkook scoffs. "Seriously? You would rather do dishes- which you hate doing- then spend five minutes with me?"

"Oh don't try to guilt trip me, Jeon. That whole 'I know someone who likes (Y/N),' what utter bullshit. " you snap. "Tell me, were you going to laugh when I arrived at some restaurant only and no one comes?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You really need to see someone about this paranoia issue of yours, because this is beginning to get ridiculous.”

“Excuse me? Paranoid? You bullied me all my life-"

"I pushed down the slide when we were four. Get over it."

"You cut off my barbies' head! Repeatedly called me ugly. Spread rumors about me in high school, and to top the cherry off you told Hoseok, I was a slut. So no I won't get over it." You stomp your foot.

Jungkook clenches his jaw, the cup in his hand practically cracking under his grip. He says nothing, dropping the cup and sponge into the sink, before storming out like a madman.From the living room your parents call out Jungkook's name only for him to ignore them. The front door slams shut shaking the house so hard that the dishes tremble in their drying rack.

"What happened to being nice to Jungkook?" Jimin's voice surprises you from behind. Disappointment is written all over his face, and the way his body positions itself (arms crossed, legs parted) tells you, you're in for a lecture.

You turn away not in the mood to be parented by someone two years your senior. Especially not when he allots Jungkook to bully you without a single reprimand. "He started it. Telling mom he'd set me up with some imaginary guy only to laugh when I get 'stood up."

Jimin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You two are killing me. Look I can't spell it out for you, that is Jungkook's business, so I am just going to say this...I destroyed your barbies not Jungkook. "

You froze. "What?"

"I cut off Minnie's, Hana's and Lany's heads. You pissed me off by eating my snack. I wanted revenge." Jimin shrugged.

"B-but I caught Jungkook red handed! I saw him with Minnie's head!"

A sheepish look grew on his face. He tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, a habit he did whenever nervous. "Yeah, he was trying to fix her. "

The dish in your hands drops shattering against the kitchen floor. Your mouth opens but no words come out; funny seeing how thousands of thoughts run through your head. "You asshole!"

Jimin winces. "Sorry. It was a dick move- but my point is you thought Jungkook did it and he didn't. So isn't it possible you are wrong about everything else?”

------

You spend the next few days wandering around town bored. While you feel grateful to be home and see everyone you love, the list of things to do in your town is actually quite small compared to home ( perks of living in a small town). Outside of grocery shopping with your mom, reading on the veranda with your father, and bugging Jimin whenever possible, there’s not much to do. Things are especially boring since Jungkook disappeared after that morning. The bunny looking boy normally makes it his personal mission to bother you as much as possible. Disregarding the few hours he has to work, Jungkook always was there first thing in the morning to laugh at your ridiculous bed head. Yet for the last few days he’s been nowhere in sight. When asked about it Jimin merely shrugged saying he was busy, before smirking and stating unnecessarily, “If you miss him that much, why don’t you call him yourself?”

It isn’t that you miss Jungkook, despite what Jimin said about your Barbie dolls, you still believe deep down he hates you. After all just because you were wrong about one thing didn’t mean you were wrong about everything else. No, you asked Jimin, because it’s unusual given that the boy practically lived at your home. It’s not like you actually miss his stupid face over something. Perhaps if you had more friends this boredom wouldn’t be an issue. Sadly you weren’t much of a social butterfly back in high school; unlike Jimin who was part of the “popular” crowd, you were an outcast. As much as you tried, the only people who would hangout with you were Jimin’s friends.

At first you thought it was something you did, but later you found out Jungkook told everyone you were a ‘freak of nature,’ and it was only because he and the others felt bad that they hung around you. Hearing what he said devastated you. It was the first time you realized how much Jungkook hated you. Moreover his words stopped you from ever really trusting anyone who wanted to be friends.

“Isn’t it possible you are wrong about everything else?”

Pushing the thought back you try to ignore the nagging feeling growing inside birthed by your brother’s words. You fucking doubt it. How could something like that be so easily explained away? “I think this is your fifth lap around town.” a familiar voice calls out, snapping you back to reality. “People are beginning to think you’re a weirdo.”

You don’t even have to look up to tell who it is. On this planet only one person owns a voice so annoying it instantaneously grates on your nerves. “Get lost, Jeon. I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He snorts, continuing to follow you in his car. “You know it’s supposed to storm today right? You should head home before it pours.”

“Like I said: No One Asked You, Jeon.” you reply, promptly turning on your heels to head in the opposite direction. He’s the last person you want to see given your current thoughts. Whatever longing you might’ve previously had for him disappeared the moment you remembered why Jungkook was your enemy. Thankfully he doesn’t follow most likely finding something more interesting to waste his time on.

You continue walking onwards too infuriated by the past to notice the dark clouds starting to form above. It’s not until something wet hits your skin that you take notice of the sudden drop in temperature and gathering winds. “Fuck.” you hiss feeling another raindrop.

Of course Jungkook would be right. The universe just fucking loved him like everyone else did. You get stuck with the short end though: running in the rain searching for shelter, only for you to naturally find yourself in the part of town empty of all businesses. “Perhaps I can stand under a tree until it calms down.”

Lightning flashes across the sky followed by a loud BOOM of thunder making you jump. A small sob escapes your lips as you subconsciously curl yourself into a ball. Thunder always scares you no matter how old you get. “I’m not here. I’m not here.” you whisper, rocking on balls of your feet.

However the deafening sounds of thunder destroys any hopes of pretending to be elsewhere. So you curl tighter into a ball praying for it all to stop. Overwhelmed with fear you don’t process the feel of someone’s jacket draping over you or the angry voice of Jungkook saying, “I told you to go home.”

It’s not until he yet again scoops you into his arms that you snap from your trance. You watch shocked as he carries you to the car. Through the rain and lightning he looks nothing like the boy you remember. Instead...he looks like a man you could very well fall in love with.

“Jung...Jungkook” You mumble, gripping his shirt as he sets you down into the passenger seat. He looks up at you in a mixture of curiosity and surprise. Neither of you can remember the last time you called him by his first name. It’s always been Jeon never Jungkook. “Thank you....”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jungkook replies, shutting the car door. He walks over to the driver’s side sliding easily into it.

Now clear from the rain you can make out how drench he really is: hair soaked, clothes sticking to his skin, it makes you all too aware of the jacket covering you. Reluctantly you shrug it from your shoulders missing the comforting weight of it almost immediately. “Here. This is yours. You should wear it.”

Jungkook glares. “Keep it.

“No. It’s yours. You must be freezing without it-”

“I said keep it! God damn it, (Y/N). Why can’t you listen for once?” he snaps, hitting the steering wheel. You recoil taken back by his outburst. Never have you seen Jungkook so angry. At most Jungkook stormed off or glared whenever mad at you, never did he raise his voice at you. "I told you to go home. I told you it was going to storm but you didn’t listen."

"I'm sorry…"

"You don't get it. You could've gotten sick if I didn't find you in time. Or worse you could have gotten hurt…"

"Oh." You reply, unsure what to say. Worrying about you wasn't something you expected from Jungkook, but it strikes a painful chord within you. Your heart should be warmed by the thought instead a painful sinking feeling fills it. Suddenly you want nothing more than to burst into tears. “You were worried?”

Jungkook lets out a long tired sigh. "Of course I was worried. You’ve been terrified of thunder storms since we were five, why wouldn’t I worry about you being out in one?”

‘Trust me, that boy couldn’t hate you if he tried.’ Jimin’s words ring in your ears. ‘My point is you thought Jungkook did it and he didn't. So isn't it possible you are wrong about everything else?’

Could Jimin be right? Is everything you thought one big misunderstanding? You were so sure of Jungkook’s guilt previously, but now...you couldn’t picture him as the sinister bully you’ve known all your life. “I’m sorry. I should’ve listened and turned around.” you admit, “I’m so used to chalkin everything you say off as meaningless teasing, I didn’t consider you actually meant well.”

“You never do.” Jungkook huffs. For a second you swear you can see pain fill his dark bambi eyes as he looks at you. It is an expression you’ve never seen on his face before, a look of hurt and dejection. Again your heart twists painfully in your chest. “You always assume I’m out to get you, when really I’m just trying to be nice. I mean sure I tease and joke around with you, but (Y/N), I would never purposefully hurt you. I know you don’t believe me-”

“Okay. I believe you.”

Jungkook’s foot slips hitting the break. The car lurches forward causing you both to nearly hit your heads on the dashboard. His head snaps in your direction so fast it practically gives you whiplash. “What? What did you say?”

Around you, cars honk aggravated by the standstill in the middle of traffic; you don’t care though. All you care about right now is the look of disbelief, shock, and hope marring Jungkook’s beautiful face. In that moment you realize how little you care about the truth. It’s unexplainable the sudden urge to move on from your prior hate, but you want to...you want to believe Jungkook is a good guy. “I believe you, Jungkook.” you swallow hard. “And I’m sorry for being such a bitch to you. So please forgive me.”

You don’t know what you expected Jungkook’s reaction to be, however it certainly wasn’t this. “I’ll think about it.”

If not for the sudden smirk pulling at his lips, you would’ve felt horrible. Instead you feel infuriated. “You asshole. I take it back. I’m not sorry. You hear me?! Not sorry!”

Jungkook merely laughs, shaking his head. “No backsies remember, (Y/N)? You can’t take it back.”

You glower remembering the childish rule Jimin, Jungkook and you made up in elementary school. It was to keep each other from ducking out of any dares or promises made, and apparently apologies now. “I hate you.”

Jungkook laughs harder. “I’m sure you do. Let’s go home, huh? I’ll make you hot chocolate if you behave.”

“I always behave.” You mutter, rolling your eyes. A second passes. “There better be whipped cream and marshmallows with that.”

“Anything you want princess. Anything you want.”

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

You wonder if it’s creepy to find Jungkook so attractive while wearing your brother’s clothings. On Jimin, this grey sweatpants and hoodie combo makes him look like a homeless man, but on Jungkook, it has your mouth practically watering. The normally baggy material conforms perfectly to his body hiding nothing to the imagination. You see every curve, groove, muscle and bone (especially a certain large one in the middle of his sweats) in this boy’s body, and then to make things even worse you catch a sliver of tan skin anytime Jungkook raises his arms. Beautiful tan skin whose tantalizing taste and feel plagues your mind.

Suddenly you regret not putting up a fight about Jungkook coming over. Sure he was soaking wet from giving you his jacket, however Jungkook also lived down the street from you-he didn’t have to change into Jimin’s clothes. “Do you know if the dryer’s free?” Jungkook asks, lifting up said bundle of drenched clothes.

“Ummm, yeah I believe so. You want me to put them up for you?” you offer, trying not to stare. Although things are technically supposed to be cool between you guys now, they’re not. Years of mistrust and hatred don’t simply vanish after an apology or sudden decision to forgive, instead the emotions built between you two need to be sorted through and really only time could do that. Which is why you try super hard not to let lust takeover and destroy the fragile truce recently made.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Thanks, but I can manage."

You nod not knowing what else to say. Again his lips twist in that disgusting smirk you so despise, this time paired with a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon enough for your ogling pleasure.”

Quickly you look away, “Who’s ogling who, Jeon? Cause it’s certainly not me.”

“Oh really?” Jungkook says, cocking an eyebrow. He steps forward caging you against the wall. Something dangerous gleams within those large eyes of his as Jungkook stares down at you with a ravenous look. Shivers run down your spine sending a delicious shock through your body. “That’s too bad, because I was definitely ogling you, princess. Seeing you wear this oversized shirt gives me sooo many ideas.”

You swallow hard, licking your suddenly dry lips. “Stop joking around. You and I know there’s nothing sexy about this shirt.”

“I disagree. Believe it or not, I find girls sexiest when they’re comfortable with themselves. All that lace and lingerie is nice, but nothing is hotter than a girl wearing my shirt and nothing else.” Jungkook admits. “It brings out the territorial side in me.”

Your brows crease. “That makes sense I guess, but this isn’t your shirt. It’s Jimin’s-”

“Mine. I left it here one night after sleeping over Junior year. “ he explains. “You stole it from Jimin’s drawer thinking it was his.”

“Oh….sorry. I’ll give it back.” Despair fills you at the thought. This is your favorite shirt regardless of it being a plain white t-shirt, it always makes you feel safe and comfy when wearing it as odd as it sounds. However you can’t afford to disrupt the newfound civialty between Jungkook and you.

Jungkook snorts. “Keep it. Not like it will fit me anymore. Besides like I said, nothing turns me on more than a woman in my shirt. Why do you think I never asked for it back, princess?”

He reaches out to toy with the hem of the shirt, his fingers drawing soft circles against your hip bone. "Although I think I'd prefer you without it on, or rather anything on at all."

"Jungkook…" you barely managed to get out as he lifts the material upwards. Cold air hits instantly pebbling your nipples despite the rush of warmth growing below. Instinctively you move to cover yourself only for Jungkook to grab your wrist.

"Please (Y/N). I've been dying to touch you since day one of your return." He begs, bringing your hand down.

"Okay." You whisper.

"Okay. " he smiles, pressing his lips to yours. Those large hands clutch your shoulders as he presses further against you. All those curves and muscles you admired previously push up against your bare skin. Through the sweatpants you can feel how hard he is.

A gasp escapes you as Jungkook's hands move towards your breasts caressing the underbelly of them. His fingers circle the outer edges of your nipples tracing them, before finally moving to touch them. He treats you like glass, a vast difference from your previous encounters and it's starting to annoy you . "I'm not made of glass you know?" You remind, stopping his hands. "You can be rough with me. "

"Trust me, I know. If memory serves correct you prefer it when I do something like this-" Jungkook snorts, grinding into you. The friction of his length against your clothed heat is exactly what you need. Moaning loudly you grip onto his arms trying to steady yourself.

"That's it. Such a slut for friction. You honestly thought I'd forget how you made yourself cum on my thigh that night?" Jungkook smirks, fingers grazing along the edges of exposed skin. Goosebumps rise along wherever he touches and you squirm like underneath him. His smirk widens as he plays along the hem of your booty shorts. "I had to wash my jeans afterwards, they were so drenched from you. "

"I didn't hear you complaining." You shoot back, pressing your hips against him in efforts to regain that delicious friction. "If I remember correctly you had fun flexing your leg underneath me."

"Never said I didn't. In fact I would very much like a repeat of that night." Jungkook grins, shifting so his thigh is between your legs. The muscle in his leg flexes teasing your core; in a commanding tone he whispers, "Go crazy, princess. Ride me. Right here, right now, I promise I'll take care of ya. "

That's all you need to hear to descend into madness. Almost instinctively you latch onto Jungkook digging your nails into his firm shoulders as you wantonly thrust against his leg. Moans escape your lips in wild abandon as his muscles rub against your clit at the perfect angle. Jungkook is right you are a whore for thigh riding.

Just when you think it can't get any better Jungkook's hand slips under your panties, fingers immediately finding that hard pearl between your legs. He brushes it softly causing you to hiss as your knees close in unwillingly to give up such feeling. Now this is more like it.

"You like that?" He teases, forefinger circling your clit slowly.

"Mmhmm…" you nodd, grinding harder in an attempt to pick up his pace.

"Words princess. Tell me exactly what you want. "

"More. " you cry out. "Kook. More please. I need you. "

Oddly the nickname spurs him on if the harsh whisper of, 'fuck' says anything. If not then certainly the desperate opened mouth pressed to your lips does. Silently you make a mental note to use the nickname again but it's momentarily lost as his fingers pick up speed. This time it's you uttering curses as Jungkook brings you right to the edge of cumming.

"Please, please, I'm so close." You want him so badly it's ridiculous. The smirk widens on his face, Junkook decides to reward you by slipping two of his fingers into your core. "Fuck Kook!"

"That's it, princess. Come for me. Show me how good you feel." Jungkook pumps his fingers into you. All words leave you as a haze of ecstacy falls over you, all you can is moan rocking deliberately against his hand. With every thrust his fingers somehow hit that special spot inside you.

Jungkook's an expert at knowing all your spots and kinks, almost as if he memorized everything about you, last time he and you were together. Either way impressed doesn't even begin to describe how you feel about his abilities. You moan his name, holding onto to him tightly as you orgasm onto his thigh. It lasts longer than expected small waves of pleasure still coming despite the relaxed posture of your body resting on his.

Gently Jungkook strokes your hair in a manner similar to what lovers do after such an event. Alarm bells ring out at the action, but you make no move to stop him. "Was that a good enough reenactment for you?" You mention, half teasing.

Jungkook grins. "Better than good. You got me so hard, princess, I don't know how I can last."

This time it's you who smirks. Sliding off of his thigh, you get on your knees anxious for the next act. "Well then, I better make what little time you do have as great as possible. "

Before Jungkook can say a word you reach under the waistband of his sweats gripping his length tenderly in your hand. The groan uttered from Jungkook's lips at the slightest touch of your hand ignites another fire within you. Smirk widening you pull out your prize, taking a second to admire the gorgeous cock. Despite having seen it before you can never quite get its length or the beautiful curve of it.

Running a finger along the thick veins you see a bit of pre-cum at its tip. "You weren't joking when you said that last act turned you on." You tease, swiping over his head with your thumb.

Staring into his eyes, you put your thumb into your mouth sucking off the cum. The salty taste makes your mouth water, with an exaggerated pop take your thumb out. "Fuck, (Y/N). Don't tease, I'll go insane if you do." Jungkook pleads.

"So needy." You say, taking him into your mouth. Thankfully your last boyfriend was somewhat of a blow job junkie, and while Jungkook is twice as large as he was, you have no problem taking his length into your mouth. The tip touches the back of your throat, instinctively you hollow your cheeks sucking in a slow teasing manner.

You swirl your tongue about his base enjoying the beautiful noises Jungkook made under your tongue. Soon a hand buries itself into your hair, gripping tightly in an attempt to control the pace. Normally you wouldn't allow such behavior preferring your lover to suffer under you, however there's something about Jungkook's desperation to get off using your mouth that sends heat pooling to your core. It doesn't take long until he's spilling into your mouth, hands pulling on your hair he thrusts his hips forward pushing himself further into your mouth.

“Shit, princess. That was great. Almost as good as cumming inside you." Jungkook sighs running a hand through his messy hair.

You smile wiping the corners of your mouth clean. "Unfortunately you're going to have to miss out. Jimin will be home soon."

Again his hands make their way to your hips, already you can tell he's angling for another kiss. "We'll have to be quick then. "

Jungkook leans forward, but this time you pull away. "The last thing Jimin needs is to walk in on us….besides we need to wash these sweats before he gets home. "

His lips curl into a smile practically relishing in your embarrassment, "Fair enough princess, but don't think we are done yet. I plan on making your toes curl as much as possible until the plane ride home. "

You cock an eyebrow. “Those are big words coming from a man who just begged me to cum. What makes you think I’m going to let you?”

“Easy, because you like it as much as I do.” Jungkook replies, grinding himself once more against you. A sharp hiss escapes you; almost uncontrollably you push back desperate for that sweet friction, however Jungkook moves away denying any sensation. “ Nuh uh, Jimin’s going to be home soon. Wouldn’t want him catching us, now would we (Y/N)? You’ll have to wait until next.”

“You, son of a bitch!” You snap, glaring daggers at his retreating form. As much as you hate to admit it, something tells you this newfound friendship with Jungkook is going to be more than you bargained for.

--------

Despite what your parents may think, your summer vacation home isn’t an excuse to be lazy. While it is true that Korea’s summer vacations are shorter than American's, as a teacher you still have plenty of work left to do during the student’s time off. One such thing happens to be reading over the posts written by your honor’s literature course throughout the break. Normally you graded them at night when everyone was asleep, but as your class delves deeper into the context of Frankenstein, you find yourself unable to keep your nightly routine with the density of the topic. Hence why you now sit in a cafe hunched over your laptop rereading Joni’s obviously copyrighted post.

“You look lost in thought.” A cheery voice teases.

For a second your brain tricks into thinking it’s Jungkook talking, after all he’s been bothering you extra since the two of you made the transition from enemies to fuck buddies. So it wouldn’t be unusual if the dark haired boy stalked you to the cafe to annoy you. However when you look up it’s not tattooed arms or a dopey bunny looking face you see, instead a pair of smiling almond shaped eyes stare down at you, their owner a very familiar reddish brunette.

“Hoseok!” you cry, leaping up only to hit your knee on the table. It throbs causing a sharp expletive to escape your lips. Embarrass you try to shake it off as if it never happened. Last thing you need is to make a fool of yourself in front of him. “Hi, I didn’t see you there.”

“I can tell.” he laughs gesturing towards your knee. “I didn’t mean to startle you, (Y/N). It’s just been ages since I last saw you.”

Your heart skips a beat. Nervously you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears in attempts to play cool. Logically you know you have no reason to get nervous, especially not when Hoseok ditched you at a restaurant after getting told you were a slut by Jungkook. Yet, for whatever reason that small high school girl who idolized him still remains inside you.

“Almost six years. “ You smile. “Time has sure flown by hasn’t it?”

“Maybe but you haven’t changed much.” Hoseok winks, causing your brows to furrow. Haven’t changed much? What was he talking about? Did he not see your clear evolution from loner geek into potential adult? “You’re still as pretty as you were back in high school.”

This time you are pretty sure your heart stops. It takes everything in your power not to gap like a wide-mouth fish out of water. Time seems to slow down in the small coffee shop as you work to come up with a response. Suddenly all the previous noises of chatter, whistling kettles and clanking plates become overwhelming rather than peaceful. Unfortunately even after being in a committed relationship for two years, your flirtation skills are still rusty. “You obviously need glasses then, because I looked like a hobo back then.”

You can slap yourself. Literally-actually slap yourself for that stupid ass comment. Thankfully Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind only laughing even harder than before. “Nah, you were the prettiest girl on campus. Everyone was just afraid of you, because Jimin and Jungkook always hung around you-speaking of which, I want to apologize for how I acted back then. I shouldn’t have ditched you over such a stupid thing like that.”

“Oh, it’s fine. Water under the bridge trust me.” you lie, ignoring the pang in your chest. Just remembering that day brings a new fire of hostility towards Jungkook. No matter how many years pass you still remember the day clearly. You were waiting for Hoseok at a local dinner, anxiously checking your phone for any messages or calls. A full hour passed with you insisting multiple times to the kind waitress that your date was arriving soon, however Hoseok never showed up.

You tried contacting him, worried that something terrible happened only to never get a response. Once home, you even bug Jimin who was friends with Hoseok then about the cheery boy, only to be brushed off. It’s not until you went to school the next day and confronted Hoseok in the hallway that you found out the truth. Jungkook let it loose that you were a slut and Hoseok being the knight in shining armor he was, fought him. They were equally matched with both of them garnering bruises and bumps because of it, but ultimately they were tied.

“Look (Y/N), you seem like a nice girl, ” Hoseok said, brushing you off. “And what Jungkook said about you being a slut probably isn’t true, but I really can’t handle all this drama between you two.”

That day your heart broke in two as dramatic as it sounds. Moreover from that moment you vowed to hate Jeon Jungkook for the rest of your life. “No, it’s really not and I might be overstepping my boundaries, but I would like another chance to get to know you.” Hoseok asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Okay. " the word slips through your lips before you even have a chance to think it over.

His face lights up and any doubt you once had shatters completely. People change, Jungkook did so maybe Hoseok matured too. Either way it wouldn't hurt to try again. "Great. It'll be fun, I promise. "

"I'm going to hold you to that Hoseok. " you tease. Inside you the giddiness grows, it feels as if you walked into some sort of dream or something. Didn't every girl dream of her high school crush finally realizing what a catch she is?

"You won't regret it." Hoseok swears. "Anyway I should let you get back to work, but first can I get your number?"

You rattle it off to him, doing your best to appear stoic, unfortunately the aching in your smiling cheeks suggests utter failure. Afterwards your students' work feels like less frustrating or maybe you're feeling a little generous seeing how Trisha totally bullshited her review yet you still gave a ⅘ on it. Whatever the reason you finish up faster than expected, leaving the cafe with an extra hour of free time. "Well if it isn't a princess set free from her tower!" Someone whistles.

Unlike earlier you have no issue distinguishing the playful voice of Jungkook. Turning towards the noise, you unsurprisingly find him propped up against his car in a cool uncaring fashion. His work clothes only help amplify the appearance; the black suit jacket paired perfectly with his white dress shirt and pants ensemble make him look like a Chaebol rather than plain Jungkook. All in all he looks absolutely mouth watering, but you'd die before ever admitting it. "If it isn't the ogre coming out of his swamp to play. " you tease, pinching his arm.

He chuckles, opening the passenger's door of his black Lexus. "I think you forget the ogre got his princess in the end. "

You wrinkle your nose in faux disgust. "Good luck, finding one. I don't know how many people can put up with your ugly mug. "

"Don't need to. I already captured you. " Jungkook replies, closing the car door.

You blink registering what he said. "That's the cheesiest line I've ever heard."

He shrugs slipping on a pair of faux Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses. Paired with the rest of his outfit, the glasses shattered the image of the rich Chaebol man. Their paint chipped arms and scratched off logo scream 'fake' and you wonder why Jungkook kept such hideous knock offs. "You should get rid of those. They make you look cheap. "

Jungkook scrunches his nose. "No way, they were a gift. "

"A gift purposefully bought from some shady street vendor, because my mother insisted I buy you a college graduation gift." You say, reaching out to grab them.

Naturally Jungkook only needs to lean away to thwart your efforts. "So? I like them. "

"You look like one of those wannabe entrepreneurs on Instagram. "

"How dare you! I have over five hundred followers, I'm legendary!"

"Did Jimin make five hundred accounts? Because he's the only who would follow your ass!" You say, attempting one more shot at retrieving those vile glasses.

Once more Jungkook merely tilts his head blocking your stubby little arms from reaching. "Whatever you say princess, we both know you're the one following my ass around here. "

"I'm following you? How laughable. I didn't know you were a comedian, Jungkook…" the two of you continue bantering the rest of the car ride home.

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

Author’s note: Special thanks to @dreamsfromthesandman for editing and putting up with my craziness even if she’s not army.

#bts #BTS jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #sunny writes #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut

211 notes · View notes

rvmmm21 · 3 years

Text

[ V V S her diamonds ] – ch 03.

[4:15 p.m.] Disappointment tweaks at Seungwan’s heart when she peers through the huge glass window of their study cafe and sees no Bae Joohyun.

. . . . .

A group of students are huddled in the back, bent over open textbooks, laptops and scattered stationary.

Yerimie, Saeron, Seul, wow, there’s Jennie sunbaenim. And she spies Sooyoung sunbaenim balancing a tray of various caffeine-injected drinks back to the table.

A sad sigh escapes her lips. Perhaps she’s l–

“Seungwan?”

Oh my g– what the–?! Seungwan screams, whipping around in shock at the fingers gently resting on the back of her shoulder. She’s met with a slightly surprised Joohyun, standing there wearing a cream Jute blouse tucked into denim jeans, twinkling eyes and endless amusement etched into rosebud lips.

“S-Sunbae!” She exclaims, grasping her chest to calm her rapid-fire heart. “Y-You’re here, I was just–”

What, peering through the glass, looking for you like a creep?

“It’s fine,” Joohyun chuckles, adjusting her hold on the stack of thick notebooks cradled in her arm and motioning for the younger girl to lead the way. “Let’s go. This is heavy.”

Thursdays might’ve found an unexpected favour with Son Seungwan.

Busy eyes move from annotating to the two girls urgently making their way over, the students lifting their heads at Seungwan’s warm greeting.

“Sorry we’re late,” she sincerely apologises.

Jennie knowingly eyes her friend. “Not surprised.”

Joohyun raises her a playfully challenging brow before slipping into the free seat next to Sooyoung at the end of the table, right across her partner.

“You ordering anything, Wan?” Seulgi asks between highlighting her page, offering her and Joohyun biscuits in individually wrapped aluminium packets.

Joohyun takes one and Seungwan nibbles on the edge of her biscuit, deep in thought. The group soon slips into the robotic rhythm of monochromatic scribbling, greyscale note-taking, typing, and intermittent snacking. Jennie slips away to order small desserts for everyone at the table. They thank her with shocked bows and hungry stares, unable to settle on one in the garland of appetising coloured treats on the tiny table.

“Sunbae, you’re like Santa Claus,” Seulgi happily attacks the New York baked cheesecake. “When did you order this? It’s like we were asleep and we just woke up to presents!”

Her bearish enthusiasm has an observant Sooyoung unconsciously smiling around her fork.

As the group tucks in, Seungwan thinks a group study date is the safest she can be in terms of being on the receiving end of any more of her senior’s teasing mannerisms.

Fortunately, Joohyun always surprises her.

A little later on, they’re discussing the historical impact of contemporary Korean literature. Right in the middle of a sentence, Seungwan’s concentration is shattered by a deep blush of raspberry when she feels a feather-light graze against her right Adidas sweatpant leg. She chokes, almond eyes shooting up from messy essay notes, silently begging for mercy. But of course, Joohyun’s serene, unbothered expression gives nothing away as she continues to ask for her opinion as though Seungwan is crazy for looking like a flustered mess.

The frazzled junior doesn’t know what makes her head spin more; the fact that Joohyun, composed as ever, initiated a game of footsie right under both their friends’ noses in public… or that she secretly enjoys it.

Not that she’ll ever admit to the latter.

Small fists corkscrew the sleeves of her sky-blue Chrome Hearts hoodie as the desperation to hide the cherry-blossom tint in her cheeks builds.

. . . . .

It’s past midnight by the time they’re done, and everyone bids goodbye with ‘Z’s coming out of their ears. Much to everyone’s surprise, Sooyoung and Seulgi got along pretty well this evening and the taller girl had hastily agreed when Seulgi suggested they visit her favourite boba place. Yerim and Saeron were late for their movie, and Jennie was spending the weekend at her girlfriends’.

“Wait, are we dumb? Why did we book this now,” Saeron asks incredulously, “aren’t you gonna get wrecked by grumpy ajumma? Curfew ended like ten minutes ago.”

“Ah who cares, she’s always like that,” Yerim retorts with a dismissive wave. “I could fill a prison wall with how many strikes she’s given me and Seungwan and Seulgi unnie.” She slings an arm over Saeron’s shoulder, urging them to hurry. “C’mon, ads don’t take forever.”

“Wan-ah,” Seulgi calls back as she’s being dragged away by an eager Sooyoung, “if you order pizza can you leave some out for me!”

“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy. Don’t wake me up.”

“Hyun-ah, you sure you’re not coming?” Jennie’s sleek midnight-black Vetements cardigan blends with the hues of the night sky, giving away how late it is. She swipes into her messages. “Chaeng said she doesn’t mind.”

Joohyun laughs with mock disgust. “Thanks Jen, but I’m not crashing your date-nights anymore, thank you very much. I saw enough the last time, my eyes can’t take that kind of stuff.”

Waving goodbye, Jennie and Chaeyoung speed off, leaving Seungwan wondering what ‘kind of stuff’ Joohyun could be referring to.

The pair are drawn to the horribly lit bus stop and just about the only source of light for miles.

Seungwan yawns silently, but she doesn’t mind waiting with Joohyun. It’s late and although her apartment is in the opposite direction, she’d be at ease knowing her friend got home safely.

The darkness is engulfing, allowing an overhead street lamp to bathe them in its flicking spotlight like stars in a West End Production.

“We were pretty productive today, sunbae,” the younger tries to make conversation to fill the space between them. “Do you wanna come for next week’s session too?”

“Sure,” comes the reply. “Thanks for waiting with me. When’s your ride getting here? We should’ve booked at the same time.”

Seungwan nervously scratches the back of her neck, crinkling her worksheets in her grip. “Uh, I’m just walking home tonight actually.”

“Oh? Do you live closeby?” she asks in surprise, assuming they were both waiting for taxis.

“Ah, yes, I’m just– it’s just down there.”

Joohyun narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Down there… where.”

“Just a quick walk, past… past the duck pond,” the girl mumbles, staring down at her shoes.

“Q-Quick? Quick?” Joohyun stutters, malfunctioning at their severely clashing definitions of ‘close’. A delicate fist draws back and Seungwan flinches, Bae Joohyun looking closer and closer to doing what she did to Lucas to her poor, startled junior. “The duck pond near uni? Yah, Son Seungwan, that’s almost a twenty minute walk from here.”

“Fifteen if I have my speed walking playlist on,” Seungwan tries, but she isn’t listening.

“A lot of dangerous things can happen in twenty minutes, you know.” She hurriedly unlocks her phone and clicks into the KakaoTaxi app, altering the destination to add a stop and shoving it into reluctant hands. “Hurry, put your address in.”

Seungwan so badly wants to politely decline, not confident in her ability to sit in a moving vehicle with such a pretty person without hurling herself out the window at top speeds. But the latter’s glare dares her to try.

With shaky fingers, she successfully types in her address after three tries and hands it back. Joohyun checks it and confirms the change. Seungwan wants to comment on how her frantic nature is actually really endearing, but she resists, thinking she’s still cooling off from it.

“Thank you, sunbae,” she bows instead. She even tries to insist she pay her share of the ride, but Joohyun refuses, saying it’s what she gets for thinking it was a good idea to walk home alone.

Finally, a black Sedan pulls up to the curb and the driver winds down his window. “KakaoBlack for Bae Joohyun?” He checks, looking as ready as both girls are to go home and crash for the night.

The girl nods, opening the door for Seungwan to get into the backseat and climbing in after her.

Grand streaks of neon dance across the car windows, falling behind as quickly as they appear. Seungwan tears her gaze from the rapid city lights when she hears her name.

An almost child-like excitement masks Joohyun’s usually steely features when Seungwan hums questioningly, not having heard what she’d said. “I said unnie,” she repeats, “you should call me unnie now that we’re closer. Honestly, I wanted to correct you this evening, but I never got the chance to. Aish, everyone was so noisy.”

The topic of noise has Joohyun distracted, suddenly popping off on a tangent about how sound-proof couple study rooms should be integrated in cafes and student-dense areas alike. But Seungwan finds it hard to focus on anything other than those glowing eyes and that tiny, lopsided smile.

For the rest of the journey, the two exchange stories of their university life experiences, life outside classrooms and even a few laughs; mostly on Joohyun’s part at how Seungwan seems to have the most prankish roommates slash best friends in the world. She loses it at ‘carbonara shampoo’, finding the idea wickedly genius and hilariously absurd altogether. Uncontrollable cackling booms in the backseat and Seungwan can’t help but giggle too, ears saturated with Joohyun’s chimerical laughter.

Eventually, the street lights and the houses start looking familiar and they’re pulled into a student apartment lobby before either of them knows where the time went. Joohyun can see the grumpy ajumma at reception wearing a frown, but she doesn't know it’s because someone’s gone over curfew. Again.

“Goodnight Seungwan.”

“Goodnight… unnie.” Seungwan wishes, ignoring the way their new closeness unfolds her heart like a secretly passed note. “Stay safe, and message me when you get back!”

Making to get out of the car, she flinches when she’s unable to fully stand up. Gulping, she glances over her shoulder to see Joohyun holding her back by her bag straps. In her sleepy state, the younger can’t tell if that intently searching gaze is serious or not.

“By the way, when you were looking into the cafe from outside this evening, you weren’t checking Jennie or Sooyoung out, were you?”

Seungwan shakes her head truthfully. “Why?”

“Good.” A cat-like smirk graces her lips and Seungwan’s stomach drops. “Just making sure.”

. . . . .

#red velvet #wenrene #university au #i ranted about cheesecake #because i want some #established chaennie #YES CHAENNIE IS MY FAV #AM I WRONG?#NO.#the aggression speaks volumes #hints of Saeri and joygi #are we surprised that irene takes kakaoblacks

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96harmony96 · 3 years

Text

Chapter one.

“We should head to a bar and celebrate.”

I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic pronouncement. Cary Taylor found excuses to celebrate, no matter how small and inconsequential. I’d always considered it part of his charm. “I’m sure drinking the night before starting a new job is a bad idea.”

“Come on, camila.” Cary sat on our new living room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and flashed his winning smile. We’d been unpacking for days, yet he still looked amazing. Leanly built, dark-haired, and green-eyed, Cary was a man who rarely looked anything less than absolutely gorgeous on any day of his life. I might have resented that if he hadn’t been the dearest person on earth to me.

“I’m not talking about a bender,” he insisted. “Just a glass of wine or two. We can hit a happy hour and be in by eight.”

“I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time.” I gestured at my yoga pants and fitted workout tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit the gym.”

“Walk fast, work out faster.” Cary’s perfectly executed arched brow made me laugh. I fully expected his million-dollar face to appear on billboards and fashion magazines all over the world one day. No matter his expression, he was a knockout.

“How about tomorrow after work?” I offered as a substitute. “If I make it through the day, that’ll be worth celebrating.”

“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for dinner.”

“Uh…” Cooking was one of Cary’s joys, but it wasn’t one of his talents. “Great.”

Blowing a wayward strand of hair off his face, he grinned at me. “We’ve got a kitchen most restaurants would kill for. There’s no way to screw up a meal in there.”

Dubious, I headed out with a wave, choosing to avoid a conversation about cooking. Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the doorman when he let me out to the street with a flourish.

The moment I stepped outside, the smells and sounds of Manhattan embraced me and invited me to explore. I was not merely across the country from my former home in San Diego, but seemingly worlds away. Two major metropolises—one endlessly temperate and sensually lazy, the other teeming with life and frenetic energy. In my dreams, I’d imagining living in a walkup in Brooklyn, but being a dutiful daughter, I found myself on the Upper West Side instead. If not for Cary living with me, I would’ve been miserably lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more per month than most people made in a year.

The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss Cabello. Will you need a cab this evening?”

“No thanks, Paul.” I rocked onto the rounded heels of my fitness shoes. “I’ll be walking.”

He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this afternoon. Should be nice.”

“I’ve been told I should enjoy the June weather before it gets wicked hot.”

“Very good advice, Miss Cabello.”

Stepping out from under the modern glass entrance overhang that somehow meshed with the age of the building and its neighbors, I enjoyed the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before I reached the bustle and flow of traffic on Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right in, but for now I still felt like a fraudulent New Yorker. I had the address and the job, but I was still wary of the subway and had trouble hailing cabs. I tried not to walk around wide-eyed and distracted, but it was hard. There was just so much to see and experience.

The sensory input was astonishing—the smell of vehicle exhaust mixed with food from vendor carts, the shouts of hawkers blended with music from street entertainers, the awe-inspiring range of

faces and styles and accents, the gorgeous architectural wonders…And the cars. Jesus Christ. The frenetic flow of tightly packed cars was unlike anything I’d ever seen anywhere.

There was always an ambulance, patrol car, or fire engine trying to part the flood of yellow taxis with the electronic wail of ear-splitting sirens. I was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigated tiny one-way streets and the package delivery drivers who braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic while facing rigid deadlines.

Real New Yorkers cruised right through it all, their love for the city as comfortable and familiar as a favorite pair of shoes. They didn’t view the steam billowing from potholes and vents in the sidewalks with romantic delight and they didn’t blink an eye when the ground vibrated beneath their feet as the subway roared by below, while I grinned like an idiot and flexed my toes. New York was a brand new love affair for me. I was starry-eyed and it showed.

So I had to really work at playing it cool as I made my way over to the building where I would be working. As far as my job went, at least, I’d gotten my way. I wanted to make a living based on my own merits and that meant an entry-level position. Starting the next morning, I would be the assistant to Mark Garrity at Waters Field & Leaman, one of the preeminent advertising agencies in the US. My stepfather, mega-financier Richard Stanton, had been annoyed when I took the job, pointing out that if I’d been less prideful I could’ve worked for a friend of his instead and reaped the benefits of that connection.

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” he’d said. “It’ll take him forever to pay off your student loans on a cop’s salary.”

That had been a major fight, with my dad unwilling to back down. “Hell if another man’s gonna pay for my daughter’s education,” Alejandro Cabello had said when Stanton made the offer. I respected that. I suspected Stanton did, too, although he would never admit it. I understood both men’s sides, because I’d fought to pay off the loans myself…and lost. It was a point of pride for my father.

My mother had refused to marry him, but he’d never wavered from his determination to be my dad in every way possible.

Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, I focused on getting to work as quickly as possible. I’d deliberately chosen to clock the short trip during a busy time on a Monday, so I was pleased when I reached the Crossfire Building, which housed Waters Field & Leaman, in less than thirty minutes.

I tipped my head back and followed the line of the building all the way up to the slender ribbon of sky. The Crossfire was seriously impressive, a sleek spire of gleaming sapphire that pierced the clouds. I knew from my previous interviews that the interior on the other side of the ornate copper-framed revolving doors was just as awe-inspiring, with golden-veined marble floors and walls, and brushed aluminum security desk and turnstiles.

I pulled my new ID card out of the inner pocket of my pants and held it up for the two guards in black business suits at the desk. They stopped me anyway, no doubt because I was majorly underdressed, but then they cleared me through. After I completed an elevator ride up to the twentieth floor, I’d have a general time frame for the whole route from door to door. Score.

I was walking toward the bank of elevators when a svelte, beautifully groomed brunette caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it, spilling a deluge of change. Coins rained onto the marble and rolled merrily away, and I watched people dodge the chaos and keep going as if they didn’t see it. I winced in sympathy and crouched to help the woman collect her money, as did one of the guards.

“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick harried smile.

I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.”

I’d just squatted to reach a nickel lying near the entrance when I ran into a pair of luxurious black oxfords draped in tailored black slacks. I waited for a beat for the person to move out of my way and when they didn’t, I arched my neck back to allow my line of sight to rise. The custom three-piece suit hit more than a few of my hot buttons, but it was the tall, powerfully lean body inside it that made it sensational. Still, as hot as all that magnificent maleness was, it wasn’t until I reached the person's face that I went down for the count.

Wow. Just…wow. She sank into an elegant crouch directly in front of me. Hit with all that exquisite femininity at eye-level, I could only stare. Stunned.

Then something shifted in the air between us.

As she stared back, she altered…as if a shield slid away from her eyes, revealing a scorching force of will that sucked the air from my lungs. The intense magnetism she exuded grew in strength, becoming a near tangible impression of vibrant and unrelenting power.

Reacting purely on instinct, I shifted backward. And sprawled flat on my ass.

My elbows throbbed from the violent contact with the marble floor, but I scarcely registered the pain. I was too preoccupied with staring, riveted by the woman in front of me. Inky black hair shoulder length framed a breathtaking face. Her bone structure would make a sculptor weep with joy, while a firmly etched mouth, a blade of a nose, and intensely Emerald green eyes made her savagely gorgeous. Those eyes narrowed slightly, her features otherwise schooled into impassivity.

Her dress shirt and suit were both black, but her tie perfectly matched those brilliant irises. Her eyes were shrewd and assessing, and they bored into me. My heartbeat quickened; my lips parted to accommodate faster breaths. she smelled sinfully good. Not cologne. Body wash, maybe. Or shampoo. Whatever it was, it was mouthwatering, as was she.

she held out a hand to me, exposing onyx cufflinks and a very expensive-looking watch.

With a shaky inhalation, I placed my hand in hers. My pulse leaped when her grip tightened. Her touch was electric, sending a shock up my arm that raised the hairs on my nape. she didn’t move for a moment, a frown line marrying the space between arrogantly slashed brows.

“Are you all right?”

Her voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach flutter. It brought sex to mind. Extraordinary sex. I thought for a moment that she might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough.

My lips were dry, so I licked them before answering. “I’m fine.”

she stood with economical grace, pulling me up with her. We maintained eye contact because I was unable to look away. she was younger than I’d assumed at first. Younger than thirty would be my guess, but her eyes were much worldlier. Hard and sharply intelligent.

I felt drawn to her, as if a rope bound my waist and she was slowly, inexorably pulling it.

Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released her. she wasn’t just beautiful; she was…enthralling. she was the kind of woman that made a person want to rip her shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions. I looked at her in her civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking.

she bent down and retrieved the ID card I hadn’t realized I’d dropped, freeing me from that provocative gaze. My brain stuttered back into gear.

I was irritated with myself for feeling so awkward while she was so completely self-possessed. And why? Because I was dazzled, damn it.

she glanced up at me and the pose—she's nearly kneeling before me—skewed my equilibrium again. she held my gaze as she rose. “Are you sure you’re alright? You should sit down for a minute.”

My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful woman I’d ever met. “I just lost my balance. I’m okay.”

Looking away, I caught sight of the woman who’d dumped the contents of her purse. She thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned to approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her and held out the handful of coins I’d collected, but her gaze snagged on the god in the suit and she promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just reached over and dumped the change into the woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the woman again, finding her watching me even as the brunette gushed thank-yous. To her. Not to me, of course, the one who’d actually helped.

I talked over her. “May I have my badge, please?”

she offered it back to me. Although I made an effort to retrieve it without touching her, her fingers brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness into me all over again.

“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting her and pushing out to the street through the revolving door. I paused on the sidewalk, gulping in a breath of New York air redolent with a million different things, some good and some toxic.

There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of the building and I saw my reflection in the spotless limo tinted windows. I was flushed and my brown eyes were overly bright. I’d seen that look on my face before—in the bathroom mirror just before I went to bed with a man. It was my I’m-ready-to-fuck look and it had absolutely no business being on my face now.

Christ. Get a grip.

Five minutes with Miss. Dark and Dangerous, and I was filled with an edgy, restless energy. I could still feel the pull of her, the inexplicable urge to go back inside where she was. I could make the argument that I hadn’t finished what I’d come to the Crossfire to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for it later. How many times was I going to make an ass of myself in one day?

“Enough,” I scolded myself under my breath. “Moving on.”

Horns blared as one cab darted in front of another with only inches to spare and then slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians stepped into the intersection seconds before the light changed. Shouting ensued, a barrage of expletives and hand gestures that didn’t carry real anger behind them. In seconds all the parties would forget the exchange, which was just one beat in the natural tempo of the city.

As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set off toward the gym, a smile teased my mouth. Ah, New York, I thought, feeling settled again. You rock.

I’d planned on warming up on a treadmill, then capping off the hour with a few of the machines, but when I saw that a beginners’ kickboxing class was about to start, I followed the mass of waiting students into that instead. By the time it was over, I felt more like myself. My muscles quivered with the perfect amount of fatigue and I knew I’d sleep hard when I crashed later.

“You did really well.”

I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel and looked at the young man who spoke to me. Lanky and sleekly muscular, he had keen brown eyes and flawless café au lait skin. His lashes were enviably thick and long, while his head was shaved bald.

“Thank you.” My mouth twisted ruefully. “Pretty obvious it was my first time, huh?”

He grinned and held out his hand. “Parker Smith.”

“Camila Cabello.”

“You have a natural grace, camila. With a little training you could be a literal knockout. In a city like New York, knowing self-defense is imperative.” He gestured over to a corkboard hung on the wall. It was covered in thumbtacked business cards and fliers. Tearing off a flag from the bottom of a fluorescent sheet of paper, he held it out to me. “Ever heard of Krav Maga?”

“In a Jennifer Lopez movie.”

“I teach it, and I’d love to teach you. That’s my website and the number to the studio.”

I admired his approach. It was direct, like his gaze, and his smile was genuine. I’d wondered if he was angling toward a pickup, but he was cool enough about it that I couldn’t be sure.

Parker crossed his arms, which showed off cut biceps. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and long shorts. His Converse sneakers looked comfortably beat up and tribal tattoos peeked up from his collar. “My website has the hours. You should come by and watch, see if it’s for you.”

“I’ll definitely think about it.”

“Do that.” He extended his hand again, and his grip was solid and confident. “I hope to see you.”

The apartment smelled fabulous when I got back home and Adele was crooning soulfully through the surround sound speakers about chasing pavements. I looked across the open floor plan into the kitchen and saw Cary swaying to the music while stirring something on the range. There was an open bottle of wine on the counter and two goblets, one of which was half-filled with red wine.

“Hey,” I called out as I got closer. “Whatcha cooking? And do I have time for a shower first?”

He poured wine into the other goblet and slid it across the breakfast bar to me, his movements practiced and elegant. No one would know from looking at him that he’d spent his childhood bouncing between his drug-addicted mother and foster homes, followed by adolescence in juvenile detention facilities and state-run rehabs. “Pasta with meat sauce. And hold the shower, dinner’s ready. Have fun?”

“Once I got to the gym, yeah.” I pulled out one of the teakwood barstools and sat. I told him about the kickboxing class and Parker Smith. “Wanna go with me?”

“Krav Maga?” Cary shook his head. “That’s hardcore. I’d get all bruised up and that would cost me jobs. But I’ll go with you to check it out, just in case this guy’s a wack.”

I watched him dump the pasta into a waiting colander. “A wack, huh?”

My dad had taught me to read guys pretty well, which was how I’d known the god in the suit was trouble. Regular people offered token smiles when they helped someone, just to make a momentary connection that smoothed the way.

Then again, I hadn’t smiled at him either.

“Baby girl,” Cary said, pulling bowls out of the cupboard, “you’re a sexy, stunning woman. I question any man who doesn’t have the balls to ask you outright for a date.”

I wrinkled my nose at him.

He set a bowl in front of me. It contained tiny tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy tomato sauce with lumps of ground beef and peas. “You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”

Hmm…I caught the handle of the spoon sticking out of the bowl and decided not to comment on the food. “I think I ran into the hottest person on the planet today. Maybe the hottest woman in the history of the world.”

“Oh? I thought that was me. Do tell me more.” Cary stayed on the other side of the counter, preferring to stand and eat.

I watched him take a couple bites of his own concoction before I felt brave enough to try it myself. “Not much to tell, really. I ended up sprawled on my ass in the lobby of the Crossfire and she gave me a hand up.”

“Tall or short? Blond or dark? Built or lean? Eye color?”

I washed down my second bite with some wine. “Tall. Dark. Lean and built. green eyes. Filthy rich, judging by her clothes and accessories. And she was insanely sexy. You know how it is—some hot people don’t make your hormones go crazy, while some unattractive people have massive sex appeal. This woman had it all.”

My belly fluttered as it had when Dark and Dangerous touched me. In my mind, I remembered her breathtaking face with crystal clarity. It should be illegal for a woman to be that mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying of my brain cells.

Cary set his elbow on the counter and leaned in, his long bangs covering one vibrant green eye. “So what happened after she helped you up?”

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I left.”

“What? You didn’t flirt with her?”

I took another bite. Really, the meal wasn’t bad. Or else I was just starving. “she wasn’t the kind of girl you flirt with, Cary.”

“There is no such thing as a girl you can’t flirt with. Even the happily married ones enjoy a little harmless flirtation now and then.”

“There was nothing harmless about this girl,” I said dryly.

“Ah, one of those.” Cary nodded sagely. “Bad boys and girls can be fun, if you don’t get too close.”

Of course he would know; men and women of all ages fell at his feet. Still, he somehow managed to pick the wrong partner every time. He’d dated stalkers, and cheaters, and lovers who threatened to kill themselves over him, and lovers with significant others they didn’t tell him about…Name it, he’d been through it.

“I can’t see this woman ever being fun,” I said. “she was way too intense. Still, I bet she'd be awesome in the sack with all that intensity.”

“Now you’re talking. Forget the real person. Just use ther face in your fantasies and make them perfect there.”

Preferring to get the girl out of my head altogether, I changed the subject. “You have any go-sees tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Cary launched into the details of his schedule, mentioning a jeans advertisement, self-tanner, underwear, and cologne.

I shoved everything else out of my mind and focused on him and his growing success. The demand for Cary Taylor was increasing by the day, and he was building a reputation with photographers and accounts for being both professional and prompt. I was thrilled for him and so proud. He’d come a long way and been through so much.

It wasn’t until after dinner that I noticed the two large gift boxes propped against the side of the sectional sofa.

“What are those?”

“Those,” Cary said, joining me in the living room, “are the ultimate.”

I knew immediately they were from Stanton and my mom. Money was something my mother needed to be happy and I was glad Stanton, husband #3, was not only able to fill that need for her but all her many others as well. I often wished that could be the end of it, but my mom had a difficult time accepting that I didn’t view money the same way she did. “What now?”

He threw his arm around my shoulders, easy enough for him to do because he was taller by five inches. “Don’t be ungrateful. He loves your mom. He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves spoiling you. As much as you don’t like it, he doesn’t do it for you. He does it for her.”

Sighing, I conceded his point. “What are they?”

“Glam threads for the advocacy center’s fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshell dress for you and a Brioni tux for me, because buying gifts for me is what he does for you. You’re more tolerant if you have me around to listen to you bitch.”

“Damn straight. Thank God he knows that.”

“Of course he knows. Stanton wouldn’t be a bazillionaire if he didn’t know everything.” Cary caught my hand and tugged me over. “Come on. Take a look.”

I pushed through the revolving door of the Crossfire into the lobby ten minutes before nine the next morning. Wanting to make the best impression on my first day, I’d gone with a simple sheath dress paired with black pumps that I slid on in replacement of my walking shoes on the elevator ride up. My brown hair was twisted up in an artful chignon that resembled a figure eight, courtesy of Cary. I was hair-inept, but he could create styles that were glamorous masterpieces. I wore the small pearl studs my dad had given me as a graduation gift and the Rolex from Stanton and my mother.

I had begun to think I’d put too much care into my appearance, but as I stepped into the lobby I remembered being sprawled across the floor in my workout clothes and I was grateful I didn’t look anything like that graceless girl. The two security guards didn’t seem to put two and two together when I flashed them my ID card on the way to the turnstiles.

Twenty floors later, I was exiting into the vestibule of Waters Field & Leaman. Before me was a wall of bulletproof glass that framed the double-door entrance to the reception area. The receptionist at the crescent-shaped desk saw the badge I held up to the glass. She hit the button that unlocked the doors as I put my ID away.

“Hi, Megumi,” I greeted her when I stepped inside, admiring her cranberry-colored blouse. She was mixed race, a little bit Asian for sure, and very pretty. Her hair was dark and thick, and cut into a sleek bob that was shorter in the back and razor sharp in the front. Her sloe eyes were brown and warm, and her lips were full and naturally pink.

“camila, hi. Mark’s not in yet, but you know where you’re going, right?”

“Absolutely.” With a wave, I took the hallway to the left of the reception desk all the way to the end, where I made another left turn and ended up in a formerly open space now partitioned into cubicles. One was mine and I went straight to it.

I dropped my purse and the bag holding my walking flats into the bottom drawer of my utilitarian metal desk; then booted up my computer. I’d brought a couple of things to personalize my space and I pulled them out. One was a framed collage of three photos—me and Cary on Coronado beach, my mom and Stanton on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on duty in his City of Oceanside, California, police cruiser. The other item was a colorful arrangement of glass flowers that Cary had given me just that morning as a “first day” gift. I tucked it beside the small grouping of photos, and sat back to take in the effect.

“Good morning, Camila.”

I pushed to my feet to face my boss. “Good morning, Mr. Garrity.”

“Call me Mark, please. Come on over to my office.”

I followed him across the strip of hallway, once again thinking that my new boss was very easy to look at with his gleaming dark skin, trim goatee, and laughing brown eyes. Mark had a square jaw and a charmingly crooked smile. He was trim and fit, and he carried himself with a confident poise that inspired trust and respect.

He gestured at one of the two seats in front of his glass and chrome desk, and waited until I sat to settle into his Aeron chair. Against the backdrop of sky and skyscrapers, Mark looked accomplished and powerful. He was, in fact, just a junior account manager and his office was a closet compared to the ones occupied by the directors and executives, but no one could fault the view.

He leaned back and smiled. “Did you get settled into your new apartment?”

I was surprised he remembered, but I appreciated it, too. I’d met him during my second interview and liked him right away.

“For the most part,” I answered. “Still a few stray boxes here and there.”

“You moved from San Diego, right? Nice city, but very different from New York. Do you miss the palm trees?”

“I miss the dry air. The humidity here is taking some getting used to.”

“Wait ’til summer hits.” He smiled. “So…it’s your first day and you’re my first assistant, so we’ll have to figure this out as we go. I’m not used to delegating, but I’m sure I’ll pick it up quick.”

I was instantly at ease. “I’m eager to be delegated to.”

“Having you around is a big step up for me, Camila. I’d like you to be happy working here. Do you drink coffee?”

“Coffee is one of my major food groups.”

“Ah, an assistant after my own heart.” His smile widened. “I’m not going to ask you to fetch coffee for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you helped me figure out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers they just put in the break rooms.”

I grinned. “No problem.”

“How sad is it that I don’t have anything else for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Why don’t I show you the accounts I’m working on and we’ll go from there?”

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Mark touched bases with two clients and had a long meeting with the creative team working on concept ideas for a trade school. It was a fascinating process seeing firsthand how the various departments picked up the baton from each other to carry a campaign from proposition to fruition. I might’ve stayed late just to get a better feel of the layout of the offices, but my phone rang at ten minutes to five.

“Mark Garrity’s office. Camila Cabello speaking.”

“Get your ass home so we can go out for the drink you rain-checked on yesterday.”

Cary’s mock sternness made me smile. “All right, all right. I’m coming.”

Shutting down my computer, I cleared out. When I reached the bank of elevators, I pulled out my cell to text a quick “on my way” note to Cary. A ding alerted me to which car was stopping on my floor and I moved over to stand in front of it, briefly returning my attention to hitting the send button. When the doors opened, I took a step forward. I glanced up to watch where I was going and green eyes met mine. My breath caught.

The sex god was the lone occupant.

#camren #lauren jauregay #lauren jauregui #fantasy #fanfic #camila coelho

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

Text

Bah Hiddleston | Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon) | Chapter 1 | Change Of Plans

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Tamra Harmon)

Summary: Tamra Harmon has no mind to mess with Christmas. All that talk about Christmas magic and the joy of the holidays is just a bunch of mumbo jumbo. But will a chance encounter with perennial Christmas lover Tom Hiddleston change all that?

Warnings for story: smut, oral sex, implied smut, vaginal sex, light angst

Tamra was not sure how she got turned around, but somehow she ended up back at her terminal gate.

“How the fuck…” she whispered to herself as she huffed back the way she came.

She hit something hard and immovable with her shoulder.

“Ow!”

“So sorry. My apologies.” a male British voice cut through the din of Heathrow Airport. Tamra stared in front of her to find a tall man smiling back at her. His reddish blond hair hung loose around his face. “Um, apology accepted.”

He reached his arms out as if to steady her. “Everything in one piece?”

Tamra took a quick inventory and other than a dull ache in the offending shoulder, everything seemed as they should be. She nodded back to the man, whose smiled widened at her affirmation, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

“Baggage claim is that way.” He gestured down the corridor. “And Merry Christmas.”

He turned and left Tamra in the busy terminal. Whatever goodwill Tamra had for the handsome stranger dissipated with his parting words.

“Bah humbug.” she scowled as she hitched her purse back onto her shoulder.

She pushed through the holiday travelers, making her way to baggage claim. If Tamra saw the festive Christmas decor in the corridor, she did not acknowledge them with a smile or glance. She only cared to retrieve her luggage and head to her accommodations with minimal fuss and muss.

She located the right carousel where the man gestured, only adding to her irritation with him. After what seemed like an eternity, the belt started moving and bag popped out. Tamra shouldered to the front of the gathering crowd. With the skill of an experienced traveler, she plucked her suitcase and pulled the handle up. She headed out to the taxi stand.

Her frown deepened when she spied a line snaking in front of the terminal. With at least three switchbacks, Tamra huffed as she took her place at the end of the line.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

By the Tom got outside, his PA already retrieved his luggage and parked the car right out front. While Tom would not pull the “I’m a Celebrity” card regularly, he would always take advantage of the perk of not having to wait at the airport for a taxi. He appreciated the perk even more now, two weeks before Christmas. The driver put his bags into the boot of the car as Tom climbed into the back.

Tom let loose a sigh as he scanned the London cityscape in the window. It’s good to be home, he reflected. His latest project kept him away from several months filming in the States. Now with Christmas fast approaching, Tom relished the idea of relaxing and spending time with family over the holidays.

His head fell back onto the headrest and Tom closed his eyes as the car moved through traffic. He didn’t sleep well on the flight as turbulence kept him awake. He foresaw a nap once he got home and retrieved Bobby from the kennel. The car came to stop far too soon for Tom’s liking and he groaned as he unfolded himself to head up the stairs of his home. His phone rang as the door clicked behind him.

“Hello?”

“Tom, it’s Sarah.”

“Hey!” Tom’s voice softened at the sound of his older sister’s voice.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I just got home. How are the boys?” Tom smiled at the thought of seeing his nephews in the next few days.

“A handful. About Christmas…” Sarah’s voice trailed off.

“What? You’re still coming, right? Mom has a whole thing planned.” His voice sounded more whiney than he expected, he blamed the lack of sleep.

“Yes we are still coming but it might be later than we planned. Yakov can’t get away until Christmas Day.”

Tom’s face fell. A big part of his Christmas plans included spending time at his mother’s house with his sisters and nieces and nephews.

“Really? But Mom has everything planned out.”

“I know that’s why I called her first to explain.” Tom felt Sarah wincing through the phone.

“And?” He pushed her.

“She agreed to put off the festivities until Boxing Day. Sorry little brother, but you are going to have hold off your preening like a big Hollywood star for a few more weeks.”

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious, Sarah. You missed your calling as a comedian.”

“And you missed yours as a good actor.”

“My Golden Globe says otherwise.”

“If you say so. Are you disappointed?”

“Yes but I understand. Besides it will give me more time to return your present.”

“Whatever, Tom. See you in two weeks. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Tom ended the call and dialed his mother. The two discussed the change in plans. After an intense back and forth, Dianna won out and Tom agreed to stay put until Boxing Day. Now he just needed to figure out how to pass the time.

Tamra arrived at her Airbnb exhausted. The line for a taxi took forever and the ride to her flat took even longer. Her flight from Orlando must have hit every bit of turbulence along the way. And that screaming child did not help matters.

She opened the door to the small Westminster flat just as her phone rang. She answered as she closed the door with her hip.

“Madeline, you traitor.”

“Please stop with the guilt trip. Not everyone is a Scrooge like you, Tams.”

“Not everyone also deserts their best friend to hang out with their new boyfriend’s family.” Tamra rolled her eyes.

“At Christmas.”

“Bah—”

“Don’t even start with that Bah Humbug bullshit. Most people actually enjoy Christmas.”

“Most people are saps.”

“Tamra, I just called to see if you got in safe and sound.”

“Rough and I got lost in Heathrow, some guy bumped into my shoulder, the taxi line moved at a snail’s pace.”

“So par for the course for you. You always find the worst in every situation. What about London? At Christmas?”

“What about it? It’s crowded and cold. The best part about this town is the history.”

“Says the museum curator.”

“Whole purpose of the trip.”

“Happy Holidays, Tamra.”

“Enjoy the boyfriend’s family, Mad.”

Tamra hung up the phone in an even worse mood than she started. There was not much that could make this day worse. Her phone rang again. The screen flashed her mother’s number. Tamra contemplated letting it go to voicemail but she would have to face the conversation on a different day and she did not want her mother to dampen her time in London.

“Hi, Mom!” Tamra feigned excitement.

“Tamra! How is London? Have you gone to Harrod’s? What about the Tower Bridge? How is Christmas over there?”

She held the phone away from her ear to shield herself from her mother’s shrill voice. “Mom I only landed two hours ago. I just got to my place. I have seen nothing and been nowhere.”

“But I bet it is magical there.”

“It’s London, Mom. Not Neverland.”

“But Christmas — “

“— is a sentimental tradition used for an excuse to support capitalism and Christianity.”

“Wow, way to suck the fun out of everything.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Well I just called to see how was your flight, sweetie. I’m sure you are exhausted.”

“Thanks for calling, Mom.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Her mother hung up and Tamra laid the phone down on the kitchen counter. 0 for 2, Tamra. Nice going, you just pissed off your best friend and your mother in the span of twenty minutes. She spent the next several minutes unpacking and taking a long shower to wash away the grime of travel. As she prepared to grab some groceries from down the street, she pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse. Her itinerary.

“Tomorrow the National Gallery and Afternoon Tea.” she commented as she smoothed the piece of paper as she placed it on the nightstand before heading out to the store.

After his morning run and espresso, Tom set out to the stores around Trafalgar Square for some shopping. He didn’t want to face the holidays crowds at the shops but his list only seem to grow with each passing moment. He said a silent prayer that if anyone recognized him they didn’t say a word. Before he realized, he skipped lunch and his stomach growled in protest. He spied a sign for Afternoon Tea at the National Gallery. He ducked into the building hoping they would have a table available.

Tamra made a quick breakfast at her flat before plotting out her route to get down to the National Gallery. She made sure she booked a place near a Tube Station and before long she found herself in front of the museum. Tamra spent all the morning and through lunch, losing herself in the galleries and anterooms. Her phone dinged; a reminder for Afternoon Tea at the Gallery. She made the reservation for her and Madeline but when Mads canceled last week, she called up the restaurant. They assured her they could accommodate the request.

Her stomach growled as she walked up to the entrance. The attendant sat Tamra at a table for two right by the window. Her seat gave a perfect view of Trafalgar Square. The Christmas tree dominated the view and Tamra huffed.

“Madam.” the attendant had returned.

“Yes?”

“There is a last minute seating request for one, do you mind if we seat them with you? We are booked.”

Tamra gazed across the packed room; not another empty seat anywhere to be seen. She nodded, and the girl hustled off to bring the stranger to the table. Tamra looked at the window again.

“It is a beautiful view.” a vaguely familiar voice rang out.

“I don’t ca…” Tamra turned to see the man from the airport. “You!”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “You recognize me?”

“Yes.” she hissed as Tom took the seat opposite from her. “You’re the guy from the airport who hit my shoulder!” her voice raised.

“How’s the war wound?”

“Sore, but thank you for asking. What are you doing here?”

Tom smiled. “Afternoon tea and enjoying the view of that lovely Christmas tree out the window.”

“Bah humbug.” Tamra muttered at the mention of Christmas.

“I beg your pardon?” Tom exclaimed, looking at Tamra with a look somewhere between disgust and shock.

Tamra looked him dead in the eye and leaned forward on her elbows. “You heard me. Bah. Humbug.” She popped the last syllable as she smirked at Tom, whose mouth dropped open.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston smut #bah hiddleston

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

If The World Was Ending

Bucky x Reader

Words: ~ 5,000

Summary: Your world was ending.

Warnings: Angst, but not as angsty as usual, I promise!

A/N: “If the World Was Ending” by JP Saxe & Julia Michaels :)

...

I was distracted And in traffic I didn't feel it When the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' Were you out drinkin'? Were you in the living room Chillin' watchin' television?

It was five-thirty on a Friday. The rush hour traffic backed up all the streets of New York; the brewing storm not helping the situation in the slightest bit. He’d regretted his choice to go for a calming drive three hours ago; it left him surrounded with rumbling cars and angry taxis. What had started out as a relaxing drive outside the city, had now become the root cause of his newly sprouted headache.

The rumbling in his head became rumbling in his stomach as he noticed the man at the newspaper stand calling out to people on the streets. On the front page, there you were, headline calling out: “Newest Avenger Saves the City,” complete with a blurry photograph, face smudged with soot and debris from the fire, hair whipping around your face in the twirling winds – but it was you none-the-less.

His heart dropped six feet below him and that’s when his world began to shake: all it took was the sight of you. Not even in person; it was a photograph. He hadn’t seen you in person in days. He hadn’t spoken to you in weeks (more like you hadn’t spoken to him) – only hearing others talk about you; yelling your name to sell newspapers. He shook his head, imagining the thoughts spilling from his ears as he desperately tried to get his mind off of you. He hadn’t noticed the green light before him until the drivers behind him began to lay on their horns.

Raindrops spattered on his front windshield at an increasingly fast pace; they didn’t show any signs of slowing down, either, as the sky turned dark grey, casting shadows across every street. He thought about where you might be in that moment. A clap of thunder and lightning ripped through the sky. Were you out at the bar, celebrating your most recent victory? He could see it: Natasha dragging you out for an early happy hour, buying you shots to congratulate you on your conquest from the day before. You were probably wearing that skin-tight black dress, enjoying the attention from your friends (and the guys at the bar chasing their post-work buzz).

But as more rolling thunder shrouded his ears, he couldn’t help but feel that scenario was completely wrong for the current circumstances. You’d hated thunderstorms (and you hated the fact that he was able to tell that about you). There were plenty of people who enjoyed them: the sound of rain tapping against the window – white noise. He thought it was endearing that you got scared, like a child curled up in her blanket, tucked away in the safety of his arms. It wasn’t technically ironic, but when he found out that someone with the power to cultivate flames in her bare hands is afraid of thunderstorms, he couldn’t help but laugh and coo.

Then he found out why you hated them.

And that shut him right up.

Now he imagined you sitting on the couch in the living room, wrapped up securely in your numerous blankets, watching the television in front of you. He knew you’d be boiling underneath that much insulation, but, hey, you were always a fan of the heat (also unironically). And it was with this thought, that Bucky pulled the car into the complex, parking it in the seemly-never-ending row of Tony’s cars.

The whole ride up the elevator, he’d pictured you in your blanket cocoon, calm and quiet night interrupted by the loud storm outside. He figured you’d bury your face into the couch cushion, waiting for someone to sit with you – someone to reassure you: everything would be okay.

And when the elevator doors opened and he nearly jogged into the living room, that’s exactly the sight he was met with. You looked tired; tired from yesterday, tired from not sleeping, tired from the incessant fear the thunderstorm would bring you, tired of not having peace. You whipped your head around towards the doorway, taking notice of Bucky’s still figure. As he took one step closer, you stood up, securing all of your blankets over your shoulders.

You strutted out of the room to your bedroom without a word and without looking back at Bucky behind you.

I tried to imagine Your reaction It didn't scare me when the earthquake happened But it really got me thinkin' That night we went drinkin' Stumbled in the house And didn't make it past the kitchen

You shut the door quietly and locked it behind you. Letting out a deep sigh, you pulled up the edges of your blankets and fell onto the bed, snuggling your way into a swathe of warmth. You shut your eyes, trying to think of anything except the rolling thunder outside your window and the man downstairs.

You could only get one off your mind.

It was probably the loudness of the storm that brought it out in you; brought out your innate need to seek others out for comfort. There was so little warmth in your life: any sort of comfort you had ever received had to be made by you either in the form of fire or blanket-cocoons. It was fine for a while, until you’d met Bucky Barnes. Being with him is better than anything you’d felt before; more reassuring and comforting than anything you’d ever experienced. Between his supersoldier body heat, his strong arms holding you so tight you thought he might squish you – you’d loved it – and the feeling of his breath against the back of your neck, there was no better feeling in the world.

Him holding you was one thing. But him touching you was a whole other animal. Your hands burned each other; they left imprints on each other’s chests, hips, thighs, necks. Both of you were too hot – the two of you tangled up in bedsheets made you catch a fever every damn time. But that’s how you liked it: gasping for breaths, bodies slick with sweat, a painful groan as he pressed his burning palm to the small of your back, pushing your arch deeper.

But that’s all it was at this point: a fever dream.

It was the most vivid memory you had, yet also the haziest. The two of you spent the night at the bar, drinking your weight in any kind of alcohol you could get your hands on. The whole three hours spent at the bar, your hands were all over each other, smiles never leaving either of your faces. You’d ditched the rest of the avengers after you’d put your hand on Bucky’s upper thigh under the table, sliding it up slowly until he pushed his way out of the booth (dragging you with him). It started off as a joke, you’d thought it would be funny to see his drunken reaction as he tried the obvious discomfort of your teasing from everyone else at the table. It wasn’t funny anymore when he pushed you up against the cold brick of the building outside the bar, holding one hand to your hips and the other to your neck, cutting off your laughter and tilting your head up to meet his lips already en route to yours.

Your hands found their way around his neck, eventually grasping at the tips of his long hair, drawing them near you to bring his body closer to yours. He moaned into your mouth, breaking apart the sloppy kiss to smother a line of licks and love bites and kisses to your jaw and neck. But as soon as you shut your eyes and dropped your head against the wall behind you, he grabbed your hips and pulled you upright, snaking his arm around your hip and escorting you toward the tower.

As soon as Bucky swung open the door, his hands were all over you. He grabbed your head, cupping your jaw in his huge hands, pulling you into a kiss, forcing you to walk backwards into waiting the elevator. The doors closed and he once again shoved you against the wall, fingers finding the bottom hem of your skin-tight black dress. He’d been dying to get it off of you all night. He only broke the kiss to pull the dress over your head, discarding it in the corner. You’d been fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, your buzz from the alcohol combined with your complete intoxication from Bucky’s lips not making it any easier.

The elevator door dinged open and he grabbed the back of his shirt, slipping it off his shoulders (shirt still half buttoned), then throwing it alongside your dress. Before you even had the time to look him over, he scooped you up in his arms, swiftly taking you out of the elevator and through the corridor towards the bedroom.

Your lips connected with his neck, working your way up to the spot where his jaw meets his ear: the spot that drives him absolutely mad. You licked the shell of his ear and sucked on that spot on his jaw and you felt his knees buckle. He groaned, setting you down on the counter – not before an obligatory slap to your ass that made you yelp against his neck. He chuckled, grabbing your face and giving you another proper kiss as his hips ground against yours.

As soon as your hands began working on his belt buckle, it was safe to say neither of you made it past the kitchen that night.

Think I've figured out how How to let you go and let communication die out I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

It was day nineteen of the mission he was on and Bucky was close to calling it quits. He’d told Steve countless times that their presence wasn’t making a difference, that they should just pack up and head home. Steve would not relent, thus the mission continued on. They’d spent the past two weeks laying low, trying to complete a stealth mission to obtain information and take out the target. The duo laid out every day for fifteen hours, holding their elevating position in the forest.

Every night, Bucky would get comfortable in the makeshift tent he’d set up and stare at his phone for hours. At the innocent texts you’d send telling him about your day, the not-so innocent texts you’d send confessing him everything you wanted to do to him when he gets home; the innocent pictures you’d send of the cute puppy Wanda brought him, the not-so-innocent pictures of yourself in that red lingerie he loved so much.

You brought him enough peace to be able to get a few hours of shut eye in before Steve’s early wake-up call. Then, he’d spend the whole morning talking about you and what you’d sent him, only stopping when Steve told him to shut up. But he couldn’t help but laugh just simply thinking about you, everything you were doing, what you were wearing. At that exact moment in time, Bucky was sitting behind his sniper rifle, starting straight ahead waiting for the target. After analyzing his routes for just shy of three weeks, they knew exactly where he’d be and when – and today was the day. Today in one hour and fourteen minutes.

“And after that she – ”

“Buck,” Steve huffed, interrupting the other man. “Okay, I get it. I don’t need every single detail of your lives.”

Bucky’s head whipped to the left at the blond. Steve remained still, staring at through the binoculars pointed forward. “What?”

“You heard me,” he mumbled back, still not moving an inch, suddenly losing the nerve he mustered up to speak just seconds ago.

“Damn.” Bucky dropped his head and exaggeratedly shook it, picking his head back up with a sick grin. He let out a snarky laugh, cracking his neck before speaking up again: “Here I was, thinking we were friends and we could talk, just like we used to y’know?” His tone raising as he teased Steve. “But.” He shrugged, looking back through the scope of his rifle. “Things change I guess.”

“Jesus, Buck, what’s wrong with you?” Steve snapped, dropping the binoculars.

And, to be clear, Bucky hadn’t known what had gotten into him. It could have been the lack of sleep: getting only four hours of shut eye each night for three weeks, the fact that he’d eaten nothing but canned beans, crackers, and various dehydrated meats, or the fact he’d been missing his bed – and you – and you in his bed – enormously. But he couldn’t drop the façade now, it was just starting to piss Steve off. Plus, Bucky had to address some points with him, anyway: “There’s nothing wrong with me. What’s wrong with you? You’re the one who’s always asking about what I’m thinking and how it’s going with her and – ”

“Yeah, I did want to know how it was going with her but now it’s too much. Like your sex lives — TMI, Bucky. And, look, don’t get me wrong, she’s a great girl and a strong team member and all, but it’s the only thing that comes out of your mouth. Besides that, you share way too much.”

“Aww, Stevie,” Bucky cooed. “Are you jealous?”

Steve’s eyes flitted to the brunet’s if only for a second, before returning to their original position. “Don’t be stupid, Bucky. I’m trying to look out for you. You haven’t been able to get your head out of your ass for the past two months. You’ve been slipping up. It’s about time to get your mind straight.”

“Mind straight? Mind straight?” Bucky kept repeating to Steve (and himself). Was that’s what was wrong with him? His mind was preoccupied most of the time with you, sure. Who’s wouldn’t be? You were gorgeous, intelligent, kind, intimidating (to normal men). Bucky’s eyes dropped to the ground, shaking the thoughts out of his head again. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Steve. You brought me to the middle of Austria for this fucking mission – that, by the way, is taking weeks longer than expected – for what? If you don’t trust me so much, then why are you making me suffer? God, you should’ve just spared me the misery and – ”

“Take the shot.”

“Left me at home. You know so I can be with (Y/N), who apparently you don’t even like as much as you let on, and – ”

“Take. The. Shot.” Bucky looked up at the man: Steve’s eyes did not move from the binoculars, eyebrows knitted together in concentration, his jaw clenched tight.

Bucky’s hands nearly slipped on the rifle, repositioning himself so he could finish the job. And then, as Bucky pulled the trigger, he was fucked.

Absolutely, in no other sense of the word, fucked.

The bullet grazed the arm of the target, nailing the guy behind him square in the chest.

“Time to go,” Steve yelled, jumping up and sprinting towards the rendezvous. “Emergency extraction! We have hostiles hot on our trail!” He shouted into the radio.

Bucky grabbed the rifle and shot up, catching up to Steve.

They ran in the forest for hours, trying to hide from the small army that right behind them, searching endlessly for the two. But once they reached the safety of the jet, Clint swooping in at the perfect time to pick them up, the fight wasn’t over. While Steve was giving Bucky the silent treatment, updating Clint on the situation at hand in the cockpit, Bucky was fighting a mental battle with himself.

So, Steve was right. Bucky was totally screwed. Not only did the target get away, he killed someone else in his place, just another one to add to the list, he thought to himself, dropping his head in his hands. This had never happened before – whether his mind was being controlled by someone else or not. He’d lost his composure, he lost sight of the mission. He’d turned on his best friend of over one hundred years, over a girl. Bucky was no stranger to constructive criticism, but when it came to you, he lost it. As soon as Steve mentioned you clouding his vision, he lost it.

And after a three-hour long flight home, he knew what he had to do.

Bucky strutted off the jet, slinging the heavy weapon over his shoulder, eyes fixated on the hangar exit about fifty yards ahead of him. He looked nowhere else, not at anyone else. Not at the group of Avengers welcoming them home. Not back at Steve as he called after him. Not at you as you jogged alongside him to keep in stride with him.

He heard you, calling his name: “Bucky, Bucky, James, James.”

He kept his mind clear and jaw set. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t think anything. He was focused: this was his new mission.

Steve obviously told you what happened, later, about Bucky’s mind being totally fucked and filled with thoughts of only you. Bucky was sure that he had phrased it differently – to make it sound like it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t – it was Bucky’s fault for being so infatuated with you that you consumed his every thought. He had to end it, before anyone else had to die.

He didn’t talk to you that night.

He didn’t talk to you the day after.

He didn’t talk to you.

Think I've figured out how How to think about you without it rippin' my heart out I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

It was years after you’d met Bucky before the two of you started dating. It was months after that before you were seriously dating. It was another year after before you told him what happened to you.

That night, it was storming, as it usually did in July. It made the room feel humid, like you could feel the rain and sticky air outside on your skin. You rolled around all night, taking hours for you to finally fall asleep beside Bucky. Nights like these, when you didn’t want to be held – it was too damn hot – you didn’t want to be spoken to, you didn’t want to be touched, he just let you be. He watched helplessly from the sidelines as you tossed and turned, fumbling around with the sheets before foregoing them altogether.

But you’d finally fell asleep, four hours after you’d originally settled down for bed. You were plagued with nightmares of your past. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Bucky woke you up that night, taking a hold of your shoulders, shaking them violently until you woke up. And when you did, you gasped for air, hands instinctively grabbing his wrists, palms burning his skin. He snatched his flesh hand away, watching as sparks flitted from your fingertips. However, Bucky kept his metal hand against your burning skin, twisting your hand around, holding it gently in his. He rubbed his cool metal thumb against your knuckles, shifting so that he was sitting up next to you.

“Come here,” he mumbled, pulling you into his lap, arms curling up so you could tuck them under your chin, head resting on Bucky’s lap. He combed his fingers through your hair, gently tugging any knots out. “Tell me about it this time?” He asked softly.

You gazed into his blue eyes, barely lit up by the lightning shining through your window. You blinked away the remaining tears for your own eyes, rubbing your cheeks with the back of your hand to rid them of tear-trails. “I discovered my powers when I was little, like, maybe five or six.” You barely spoke at all, voice coming out softer than a whisper, cracking, broken. “And my parents didn’t really know what to do.” Clearing your throat, you had to give them the benefit of the doubt, to clarify: “I mean – they were both normal. They didn’t know what else to do. But then I started setting things on fire. It took them a while to figure out it was me, actually.” Bucky nodded along to your story, listening quietly, never interrupting, his hand never falling from your hair. “By the time they figured out it was me, they didn’t know what to do. They wanted to help me.” The last sentence came out quieter than the rest, voice barely audible at all. “When it rained a lot, they mad me sit outside in the yard.”

The memory flashed across your mind, the first time they sent you outside. There was thundering and lightning, and you couldn’t hear your own childish screams over the loud rain and claps of thunder, you couldn’t tell your tears apart from the rain that splashed on your cheeks. They put you out in the rain with the hopes it would put out all your fires, break your constant fever, wash away your powers. “It burned. The cold water on my burning skin felt like an acid rain. It felt like hot oil was spilling all over my arms and legs.” You shuddered at the thought of it, the skin on your extremities now suddenly itchy and scorching hot.

…

But that was all gone now. He wasn’t there to hold you, calm you down. You didn’t know what it was, actually. First, he disappeared. You didn’t even see him for days; you couldn’t find him at the gym or in the kitchen. One day you saw him in the hallway, walking with Steve, speaking in very hushed tones. As soon as you swung the corner and made eye contact with him, he was gone. He completely dropped the conversation he was having, turned on his heel, and strutted towards his bedroom.

Steve looked at you with sorrow-filled eyes. All you could do was offer him a small, fake smile and shrug; he saw right through it. But you were out of questions to ask, tears to cry. There was nothing left to do.

He wasn’t in your life anymore.

Now the only thing you could do was stop wondering what happened, why it happened. You chose to remember the good times with Bucky. The times he held you in his strong arms, shielding you from your past memories and your nightmares.

He may be out of your life, but the memories of the times you shared would live on with you forever. Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant The sky'd be falling while I'd hold you tight No, there wouldn't be a reason why We would even have to say goodbye

The sky was falling, technically.

Chunks of building tumbled down the walls around you. Smoke clouded the air and debris filled your lungs. There was shouting all around you – you think – you couldn’t make out any real sounds through the sounds of the bombs exploding all around you. You were trapped in a maze; it had to be a maze, you thought. You felt like you’d walked around the same hall for hours. You were sure it had been hours at that point.

The buildings started to shatter around you, bright light blinding your vision. The clouds of smoke appeared more frequently, meaning the attack was only getting closer. Were they landmines? Or were they coming from the sky? You didn’t have time to think about it. The wall next to you burst beside you, knocking you off your feet.

Before you made contact with the ground, an arm snaked around your waist, pulling you up, dragging you to a nearby room. You were tossed into a cold porcelain bathtub, the sides of the tub caked with dry dirt and chunks of plaster. Once you were dropped into the tub, a heavy weight fell on top of you – a body.

Bucky’s body, to be exact.

You clung to his leather clad, torso, hands shaking, gripping the buckles and straps. His hands and head shielded yours, the rest of his body resting on top of yours to break the fall of any dropping debris and pieces of ceiling.

You were so close. You were breathing the same air, the same dirty air, struggling to breath, gasping for breath. You’d lost track of how many days you’d spent apart, how many days it’s been since he’s stopped talking to you.

And then it was over. Just like that. “We should stay until the bombing ends.”

His voice was raspy, almost as if he hadn’t used it at all since he stopped speaking to you. Your heart raced at his words, at the sound of his voice. You could feel his heart racing, too. But you couldn’t find the words to say and, at that point, you weren’t even sure there were any words to say, anyway.

You shut your eyes tight, waiting for it to end. This time, you definitely lost track of time. It was just you, him, and the sky falling.

…

The room had grown cold around the two of you; but you sat holding each other.

You keeping him warm, him keeping you warm.

You’d nearly fallen asleep in his arms, the feeling of him next to you – on top of you – holding you so close – protecting you – bringing you a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt in so long. He moved his hands from where they were resting on your head, placing them on either side of the tub, lifting himself off you. He kicked away the chunks of wall and ceiling, clearing the rest of the tub out before offering you a hand to help you out.

When your hand touched his, he wasn’t sure if he felt a spark, or if your hand was genuinely sparking. He didn’t care, he had missed the feeling of both.

You’d followed him out of the tub, walking beside him as you both made your way out of the building, no other words being spoken between you than those earlier. Meeting up with the rest of the team followed suit, as did the plane ride home.

The jet doors opened, you shot to your feet and headed towards your room. You had a goal in mind: make it to your room. Heavy footsteps with a purpose: that’s all your ears could hear. You listened to the pattern of your heavy boots slamming against the floor, echoing throughout the hangar.

“(Y/N)!”

Your stride stuttered.

But you pressed on. Clenching your fists at your side, you huffed out a breath and carried on.

What would you gain from talking to him?

Nothing.

Its what you kept telling yourself. You didn’t want to not talk to him. God, you’d give anything to be able to go back to normal with him. For what? So he could do it all over again?

…

He tried to run up after you. He could easily catch up to you, but his legs stopped moving after the third time he’d called your name. He stood in the hangar, watching as everyone started heading your direction, each of them heading to their own destination.

Bucky didn’t have anywhere to go. Or anything to say.

I know, you know, we know You weren't down for forever and it's fine I know, you know, we know We weren't meant for each other and it's fine

But if the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over and you'd stay the night Would you love me for the hell of it? All our fears would be irrelevant The rain was hitting the window hard. You laid on your bed on your stomach, holding your head propped up on your palms as you gazed out the window across from you. You watched the raindrops race each other down the glass, trails interrupted with more raindrops falling ahead of them. Lightning lit up the sky, illuminating your bedroom in a grey hue, hurting your eyes as you stared directly at it.

You pulled the blankets over your head, groaning over the loud clap of thunder that followed the light, trying to drown it out. Flipping yourself over on your back, you shoved all the blankets off of you. There was no way you were going to sleep tonight.

Your phone said the rain wouldn’t end until ten in the morning. Rolling off the bed, you paced back and forth in front of your bookshelf, perhaps reading could take your mind off it? But you weren’t in the mood to read. You’d decided on something that did not require as much mental effort. Settling on TV, you hopped back on your bed, wincing as the bright screen lit up the room, squinting until your eyes adjusted. You flipped through the channels and found nothing but infomercials – it was barely one in the morning. Tony paid for one thousand channels and there was nothing appealing. Shutting it off, you fell back onto the bed.

There was only one place to go.

If the world was ending You'd come over, right? You'd come over, you'd come over, you'd come over, right? If the world was ending You'd come over, right?

Those were the words you kept repeating to yourself.

You stop in front of Bucky’s doorway, blanket wrapped tightly over your shoulders.

Your knuckles rap lightly against the door.

It swings open, revealing a frightened Bucky, who releases a held breath as relief washes over his face. He breaths your name in a shaky exhale, almost fighting the small smile that is pulling at his lips. And it’s you who gets lost in his cloudy blue eyes, it’s you who can feel the heat radiating off his naked torso, it’s you who holds back tears.

“My world was ending.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #angsty bucky #captain america #bucky fanfic

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makbarnes · 3 years

Text

Not far from home

Summary: Bucky comes home to Steve who has a cold in the middle of summer. They reunite when Bucky finds Steve asleep in their bed sniffling from his cold. They catch up on what Bucky went through. Later that night they are cuddling after sex and Bucky has a nightmare and feels like he ruined their reunion day. Steve comforts him.

Steve had never felt more alone in his life. It had been a full year since he had gotten a letter or any information about Bucky. At least he knew he was alive, no death letter had been sent out and he knew Bucky’s sister wouldn’t keep that from him. Steve felt cold, that was nothing new but this was a different cold. He felt it internally, he felt like he was disappearing in the wind. As he coughed and caught his breath he took a few puffs from his inhaler. He can’t catch his breath and feels a shiver go over his body. Groaning as he got up from the bed, his whole body ached and he rolled his eyes once he realized he was sick. He traveled through the small apartment and threw on some very warm clothes and wrote out a small list.

Cough Syrup

Tissues

Ending the list there he covered his mouth as he coughed and almost lost balance. He would just run down to the small corner store and pick these things up and then seclude himself back to his home to wait it out. Sighing as he pushed open the heavy door he waved to the clerk and walked slowly down the aisles. Carrying the three items in hand he noticed a sale for Hershey's candy bars and smiled before grabbing three of them and laying them on the counter.

“Steven! How ya been kid? I hear the war is over! Now you can get your old job back!”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve’s voice was weak and he tried to clear it with a small cough.

“That Barnes should be back any day now! Mary’s husband, Henry, came home just yesterday.” The clerk bagged up Steve’s things and waved him off. Steve pushed the happy intrusions out of his mind. He would know if Bucky was coming, He would have gotten a letter or something. Steve felt a tear rising to his eye and blinked it away. Did Bucky find someone over there? No Bucky would never, or would he? Steve couldn’t help but let those thoughts sink and he cried as he pushed his door shut. Sinking down to the floor he felt lost, He couldn’t believe it even if it was true. There was no way.

(BUCKY’S POV)

Bucky groaned in frustration while he was moved yet again to another waiting room. He just needed five minutes to write to Steve that he is coming home. He likes to be prepared and he would rather not give Steve a stroke seeing him randomly. When the war ended it took some time getting all of the prisoners out. Bucky felt like decades had passed as he was experimented on and locked away. He felt different but still himself, he knew one thing was for sure. Steve was his forever, even if Steve had found someone else he would be happy with that. Bucky fiddled with the worn paper he had tucked away in his pocket and smiled as he thought about the picture. Steve sitting in front of the large window in the apartment, Bucky couldn’t understand how Steve had such talent. Bucky examined the picture and ran his hand over the rain that Steve had drawn falling from the sky. Bucky’s finger traced over Steve’s jawline before he checked his surroundings, He secretly hoped Steve was still stubborn and waited for him, but he tried to not have too much hope. As he was going through the several steps of getting a seat on a train he was moved again and was handed his large backpack. Seeing a line of soldiers standing he hoped his name would be called by the end and he felt he was so anxious he hallucinated his name echoing in the halls until he heard it a second time. He couldn’t hold back the smile on his face and felt another soldier nudge him.

“Got a girl to get home to huh?”

“Something like that.” Bucky chuckled as he shook the other man’s hand and they loaded onto the train.

(Steve)

Steve had put everything away after taking some medicine. He felt drowsy and went to lay down in his bed. A wanting feeling pulled him over to the closet and he whined at the sight of Bucky’s clothes. His nose searched for the smell of Bucky and reluctantly found a small sweater that had fallen onto the shelf below and he smiled. Slipping the sweater over his small body, he felt like he was wearing a dress but still smiled at how much it actually covered him. Steve shut the door quietly and buried himself under any blanket he could find in his possession. His teeth clattered together while he tried getting warm. Bucky’s sweater helped his core feel warm which helped him just enough to drift off to sleep. He yearned for Bucky in his dream and wanted him there to take care of him so badly. This was his first time getting sick without him and he had no idea how long it would last. He just wanted to sleep and hopefully sleep the sickness away too. Steve continued his schedule. He got up, took his temperature and swallowed his medicine, which sent him into a coughing fit and he’d use his inhaler. He would try to eat but the food came up quicker than it went down. He could hardly move. He set up the respective nightstands with tissues and medicine and Steve just rested. For days upon days he just slept. Bucky’s sister had come over to replenish his supplies but Steve stayed in the bathroom to not get her sick as well. He would thank her later. Gulping his most recent dose down he held his breath to hopefully not gag on the awful taste. Steve ruffled his thin hair and frowned as he noticed the sweater had lost Bucky’s scent. He shivered as he got into the cold bed and snuggled down to keep a little ball of warmth around him. He coughed once more before sleeping again and the apartment fell silent.

As Steve slept, Bucky had finally arrived at the shore of Boston and he couldn’t help but quickly push himself to the front of the line to get off this boat faster. Waving his hat in the air Bucky called down a taxi and immediately gave his old address to him. The taxi driver took the shortest route possible and gave the ride to him for free. He tried to pay him but the driver insisted. It was the least he could do for a soldier. Bucky chewed his lip as he climbed the stairs and held his breath at Steve’s door. Bucky placed a few small knocks on the door and waited. His heart sank as he kicked over the brick and smiled picking up the key. Bucky slipped it into the door and carefully pushed open the door. Seeing tissues littering the floor and his nightstand was stacked with glasses of half drunken juice he shook his head and moved them quietly to the sink. Seeing a small mound breathing under a giant mass of blankets he peeked in to see Steve bundled in his sweater with a red nose and eyes. Bucky slipped off his uniform and found some of his relaxing sweats folded up into a cabinet. He slipped them on before moving into the bed, careful not to wake Steve. He felt Steve’s cold skin against his chest and pulled him closer. Steve instinctively turned into warmth and a smile was placed on his face. Bucky couldn’t help but press small kisses against Steve’s hairline. Bucky’s nose was full of Steve’s scent which was damned with that spearmint sick smell. He laid on Bucky's side for hours as his whole body warmed. Bucky petted Steve’s hair for a bit before he felt Steve shifting and waking against him. Bucky moved down to be face level with Steve and swiped his thumb over Steve’s cheek. Steve’s eyes carefully peeled open and he saw Bucky laying in front of him. Bucky felt love well up into his eyes as he saw Steve’s crystal ones glowing at him. Steve felt his breath stop and his heart was beating loud enough for the both of them to hear.

“Buck?”

“Hey Baby.” Bucky’s fingers brushed through Steve’s hair as Steve’s cold fingers traced Bucky’s lips. “Is my boy sick?” Steve didn’t answer, he moved himself to lay on top of Bucky and tears fell from his small eyes.

“You’re back. I didn’t think it was true.”

“I couldn’t leave my love behind.”

Steve kissed Bucky roughly and traced his fingers down the center of his chest. Bucky moved Steve under him and pushed his hips against Steve’s small ones.

“God, I missed you!” Steve etched Bucky’s face in his mind and moaned out as Bucky peppered kisses against his neck. As Steve pushed his hips against Bucky as Bucky’s hand was already pulling on his underwear. Steve moved with Bucky’s hand and gripped his shoulders as Bucky’s hand reached his wanting member. Bucky chewed Steve’s skin as Steve pumped himself in Bucky’s hand. He moaned out as Bucky took over. Bucky had Steve pressed against the bed as he left bites that would be visible for days. Steve scratched Bucky’s back to signal him back to his lips and kissed him with a soft demeanor. Bucky grinding against Steve before removing his lips downward again and teasing around Steve’s tip with his tongue,

“I’ve waited so long for this, Just to taste my sweet boy again.” Bucky’s voice was full of lust and Steve gasped at the feeling of Bucky's mouth going over his hard cock. Steve bucked into Bucky's mouth as he held the back of his head. Bucky wrapped his hand around Steve’s throat and held his hips down with his other hand. Steve whined at Bucky's force and he tried to move under his hold.

“Please fuck me.”

“Someone’s impatient.” Bucky chuckled lightly as he slipped two of his fingers into Steve’s mouth. He twirled his tongue around Bucky’s fingers and nipped his teeth at the tips. Bucky hummed against Steve’s cock making him arch at the feeling. Bucky moved his fingers to slide against Steve’s entrance and carefully started to work his thumb in and out of him. Steve moaned at the sensation.

“Mmm, shit Buck. Just like that.” Bucky moved back up against Steve and tucked his nose under Steve’s ear. Steve moved his lips up to trace Bucky’s ear and let his sweet moans fill the canal.

“Don’t wanna hurt my sweet Stevie. Do i?” Steve answered with a movement of his head and ran his palm over Bucky’s twitching dick. “Your hand feels so good.” Steve kissed Bucky’s neck as he followed Bucky’s pace with his hips. Bucky moved behind Steve and switched with his two forefingers. Wetting them with his own mouth he bucked into Steve’s hand as he kissed along his shoulder. Steve leaned his head back and let his jaw drop with pleasure. Bucky’s kisses became sloppy as he felt his finish coming quickly. He nudged Steve’s head over and huffed heavily into his ear. “Ready?”

“Mhm.”

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“There’s my punk.” Bucky kissed down Steve’s spine as he gripped Steve’s cock. Bucky spit against his fingers and rubbed them over Steve’s hole. Bucky lined himself up and slowly pushed inside of Steve. Steve moved against the pillows and cried out with the mix of emotions he had. Bucky kissed below Steve’s hairline and stopped to let him adjust again.

“Ah, fuck, Bucky. Keep going.”

“You sure, Stevie?”

“Yes. I’m so close. Please.” Steve gripped Bucky’s wrist as an extra okay. Bucky moved until he was flush against Steve and he almost finished right there. He held back his finish as he pushed against Steve harder. Steve moaned out as Bucky picked up the pace on his hand and felt Steve’s body tense. He growled through his teeth and moved slowly to prevent his finish as Steve chased his own. Taking control of the pace Steve bit into his lip as Bucky bit into his skin.

“Yes, Steve. Oh my god!” Bucky groaned against his slight movements as Steve fucked himself with Bucky’s hand. His free hand gripped Steve’s hip to keep him steady as he felt himself spilling over and filling Steve with his hot cum. The tightening Steve felt had him finish right after Bucky and his breath echoed in the room.

“F-fuck.” Bucky moved quickly as usual and cleaned up around Steve who was gasping for air. “Steve?” Bucky grabbed his inhaler and found it empty. He rushed over to the kitchen where Steve kept the extras and tossed one over to the bed. The clinking of Bucky’s dog tags filled the area as Steve scrambled with the new inhaler. Steve took in several puffs and Bucky’s face filled with worry as he watched him return to normal. Steve nodded and tossed Bucky his sweats that were laying on the bed. Steve got dressed and moved up against Bucky in the room.

“How are you here?”

“The war is over and it took them awhile but they finally rescued all of us.”

“What do you mean rescued?! You got captured!?”

“Hey, it's okay. I’m safe. I’m here now.” Bucky pet Steve’s hair as his small face tucked against Bucky’s chest.

“I missed you and if you get sick in a few days I’m sorry.”

“I won’t. I never have. But we both know anything can take down little Stevie.” Bucky picked Steve up and moved into the kitchen. Placing Steve on the counter he kissed him lovingly and pulled Steve’s legs closer to wrap around his hips. Their lips worked a melody together that had both of them growing ready for another round. Bucky teased his fingers up Steve’s thigh to stop short and smiled within the shared kisses when Steve pushed closer against him.

(AT NIGHT)

Steve turned to tuck his face into Bucky’s warm chest as he pulled himself closer to Bucky he realized his heavy breathing and rubbed his eyes open. Bucky’s face looked in pain, his mouth was open and hot breaths were escaping at a fast rate. Steve held Bucky’s shoulder and tried to pet his hair to soothe him. Bucky gripped Steve’s wrist and pushed him away.

“Nu mă atinge!” (No don’t fucking touch me!) Bucky’s voice was full of fear with a tinge of anger. Steve jerked back his wrist and rubbed the soreness away before hearing Bucky’s voice again. “Steve? No! Don’t!” Bucky cried out as his arms gripped onto the empty bed. Jolting upwards Bucky’s eyes flashed around the room to see Steve’s frightened expression and an already forming bruise around his wrist. “Shit,” Bucky moved over to the couch in the small apartment and bunched himself in the corner. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

“Bucky?” Steve moved over to the couch and wrapped a blanket around Bucky’s shoulders. “Hey look at me. It’s okay,” Steve tapped Bucky’s chin causing him to stare up at him with tear filled eyes.

“No, it’s not,” Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm and held it in front of Steve’s face. “I hurt you.”

“But I’m easily hurt.”

“Don’t say shit like that, Steve! That is just forgiving abuse.”

“But Buck, It’s not abuse. You were having a nightmare or something and I ran the risk and decided to help. You didn’t mean to. I know., Steve tried to touch Bucky but he jerked away from him. Steve sat down on the couch and waited for an answer.

“I..I..my mind isn’t my own, anymore. When I was captured they...they did something to me. They put something in my mind and it’s like I was a shell of you I am.”

“It’s full of war, Buck. You are going to come back and feel like that.”

“Steve, all I see is hellfire and death. Blood being splattered over our faces, The smell of burning skin and gunpowder. I can’t see anything else. It’s like I never left, it’s like I was...I was.” Bucky sucked in a deep breath and rubbed his bare shoulders, tears filled his eyes and Steve felt a burning need to pull him into a hug.

“Then look at me. Look at me, I’m here, I’m safe. Which means you are too, You James Buchanan Barnes are here with me. I promise you are safe.” Steve moved Bucky’s face to look at him as he wiped away tears from Bucky’s cheeks. He sat on Bucky’s lap and locked eyes with him. “See, it’s just me and you, Just like before, Buck. Like it always will be.”

Bucky held Steve tightly as he tucked his head under Steve’s chin. Steve petted the back of Bucky’s head as he kissed the top of Bucky’s hairline.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“Promise ‘Till the end of the line?”

“‘Till the end, Buck.” Steve’s chin was pulled down to meet with Bucky’s lips and they spent the rest of the night on the small couch tucked against each other.

MASTERLIST

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dadzawa-adopt-dabi · 4 years

Text

Secret baby ch9

When Dabi checks out of the hospital a couple days later Nurse Joy is waiting for him as he signs out.

“Thank you for all you've done for me. I wish there was something I could do for you.” He says as he gives her a tight goodbye hug. Kiyoko caught between them in her dad’s arms. He wants to hug Joy forever, but there is a cab waiting for him already.

“You're going to be a great parent, Dabi, I know it.” Joy lets him go, Dabi leaves the hospital with his baby girl and the confidence that he can do this. Not even false confidence this time but actual real belief that he can be a good father to his daughter even if he’s by himself.

The first thing Dabi does after the short taxi ride home, he struggled the whole time not to growl too harshly at the driver and repeatedly scented Kiyoko on the top of her head, is make a nest to put Kiyoko in while he scents and cleans his apartment.

He could make baby nests, he made them for Natsou and for Shouto before, his mother unable or unwilling to. He remembers getting the urge to tuck a small crying Natsou into a pile of blankets and rearranging them again and again and again until Natsou wouldn't fall out and he curled up and slept in the corner.

By the time Shouto came along he had taught Fuyumi how to build tiny infant nests too. A habit most alpha’s only learned when they had kids of their own, if they ever learned at all. Dabi takes a second to wonder if Hawks knew how to do these things, if he grew up changing diapers and mixing formula and perfecting the firm edge of a baby nest with a blanket then still curled back to cover a baby. If Hawks wanted to be a father, if he wanted Dabi.

Kiyoko breaks his line of thought while he smears his hand covered in scent oil from his neck glands all over the couch with a small cry and watering eyes. Dabi checks the time and cusses softly, she’s probably hungry already. He wipes his hand off on her blankets so they smell like him ,as she cries for food, and shoves some formula into a bottle and into the microwave before coming back to his baby girl. Dabi quickly untucks her from the scoop of the nest and holds her against his swollen pecs, trying to get her to latch on. He knows that it won’t satisfy her but it might keep her quiet and happy until the formula is done. She suckles for a few moments before releaseing him and continuing her soft crying when milk doesn't come out fast enough.

“I know, baby girl. I'm just buying us time for the formula to heat.” Dabi shifts her and lightly bounces her as he walks around, waiting for the timer on the microwave to beep.

Kiyoko shoves her nose into his neck and continues her soft crying, her lungs aren't able to truly make a racket yet but she does her best with what she’s got. Her tiny face scrunched up and sniffling in between her wails. When the timer goes off Dabi checks the temperature first making sure he didn’t screw up and get it too hot. It's warm but not hot so he juggles her around carefully until he can feed her again and places the rubber nipple into her mouth. Kiyoko spits it out twice before she realizes that there’s milk and twitches her arms as she greedily sucks.

“Yeah, princess knows what's up, huh? You’re accepting that faster than I thought you would.” He holds the bottle steady and sways with her in his arms. All his other worries fade into the background as she blinks her gold eyes up at him. Back muscles twitching and moving her tiny wings happily in tiny motions that tickle along his hand. He has to hold her with one hand flat in between her wings to avoid crushing them to her tiny back. Everything about her is so tiny and perfect and as she finishes her bottle Dabi wonders how in the seven layers of hell something so tiny and perfect came from him. He’s going to do everything in his power to raise her right and make sure nothing happens to her. He tucks her back into her baby nest in the corner of the couch and curls up next to her as they settle down for a nap.

When he wakes up it’s for a diaper change. Nurse Joy had given him a refresher but he had done it for all his siblings but his twin before. Placing her washable cloth changing pad on the floor, and switching her dirty one out for a fresh one before wiping her down quickly and rewrapping her in the clean diaper. The whole process takes him maybe 5 minutes, muscle memory being put to use and the only time Kiyoko cries is when he lifts her up to put the fresh diaper under her, the position uncomfortable for her downy wings.

“There we go, Kiyoko, your daddy knows how to do that much at least. He changed your uncles’ diapers when they were babies because grandma was sick and couldn’t,” he talks to her as much as he’s just talking to himself. It’s a good thing to talk to her, he knows. So she can hear and imitate him, learning to speak eventually.

His first month with Kiyoko settles them into a routine quickly. The numbers in his savings 'account’, an empty coffee can filled with all his savings, is quickly emptying, the medical bills had taken up more than he had planned for. The time he stayed there because he had to have a c-section only raising the bill higher. He knows he’s going to have to find a job and a babysitter soon, he’s going to have to face more Karens as he searches for a job that will take him with no background and a flexible schedule to continue caring for his child. But he wants to enjoy what time he has with his daughter while he can.

He fills out applications and waits to send them off, he can’t stand the thought of parting with Kiyoko. Who knows what will happen to her, if Enji will find him once he sends the applications out, he has to use his legal name on all of them. What if Hawks comes and finds his daughter and takes her away? Stealing Kiyoko and not allowing Dabi to see her again? Using the fact that Dabi can’t legally fight him for custody unless he wants to bring attention to himself and Kiyoko. He doesn't stand a great chance of winning a custody battle, sketchy apartment and jobless. His young age wouldn’t help his case either. Despite caring and practically raising his younger siblings himself when he was even younger.

Kiyoko cries at him, bringing him out of his distress and back to the present. He can worry about it later. Maybe take some jobs around the apartment, start a cleaning service. Just something that gets them through the month. Something he can do that won’t leave either of them vulnerable.

“You distracting daddy? It is not your job to cheer me up when you smell that I'm distressed, Kiyoko. Your job is to sit there and be cute, okay?” Dabi holds her close to his chest and purrs, a happy sound most omega’s make often and he had only attempted a few times in his life. It was deep and stuttered a lot but Kiyoko waved her arms and flapped her wings in happiness back.

“Hey now, since when have you been able to flap those that much? You're growing too fast, baby girl!” He fake grouches at her and the scent of happy omega and child fills his apartment. No way is he leaving her behind and increasing the chance of her being taken away from him. He’ll figure this out. He’s only been home with her for two months. He tells himself repeatedly, he can rest a little more. Maybe a month more.

He can cook and clean, the perfect house omega Enji had tried to turn him into once Enji realized that his incompatible quirk would never allow him to become a hero. A perfect ‘bride’ with status. Well even if he hated the reasons, he could put what he learned to use and get himself and his daughter through this.

Kiyoko hits him with her arm and flaps her wings, demanding that Dabi play with her. He gets them both comfortable on the couch, himself laying down and her on his stomach, then lifts her up and close to his chest then away again. It's almost like weight lifting for him and it’s fun for Kiyoko with the bonus benefit of strengthening her wings as she flaps them in happiness trying to play along.

The next month Dabi only has enough money for rent and a few groceries, Kiyoko’s formula will last the month, but he knows it's time to get started knocking on doors, trying to see if anyone needs a housekeeper.

@ruelukas22

#secretbabyfic #dabihawks #Dabi #dabi is touya #keigo takami #thedarkonewrites #didimissanytags?

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softjeon · 5 years

Text

The perfect Illusion | Pt. 1

• Pairing: Geisha!Jimin x Namjoon | Side-Pairing: Geisha!Jungkook x Yoongi • Genre: Fluff / Angst | Geisha!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 15k | ↳ AO3 • Disclaimer: mentioning of abusive behavior

*** please note that this story doesn’t mean to represent accurate geisha tradition, it was solely inspired by the beautiful art form, giving it a modern twist in a fictional universe and therefore has been dramatized for entertainment purposes.

written with @cassiavioletblue

↳ He was the perfect illusion. The getaway for anyone who didn’t want to face reality. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something vulnerable and hopeful as if he was dying for someone to see through him, to care for him enough to look behind the mask and draw out the real Jimin. And Namjoon couldn’t wait to do exactly that.

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It was still early, with the sun shining over the mountain’s peak that one could see in the far distance behind the monstrous high buildings. Jimin always thought they were a bit to bland for his liking. And still he wondered how it must feel like to stand up on the twentieth floor and look down on the sea of people below from time to time. Turning the corner, a few children were playing in the streets and women sitting and chatting on their doorsteps. There was silence when he passed and he greeted them with a smile and a simple nod. A young woman blushed. A man, leaning against the banister of his home was inhaling the smoke of his cigarette deeply, when his gaze flickered onto his.

Just for one second.

Jimin didn’t need more. With a single look he had the man stop in his tracks, his eyes fixated on him when nothing else existed anymore. Almost as if he was hypnotized for a moment.

Turning his back onto them he could still hear the woman’s shouting, the way she was scolding her husband but Jimin was sure that wasn’t the last time he’d see that man. He smiled to himself and held his head high as he could see a part of the market a few alleys away next to the street where they sold the finest jewelry that he just loved to stroll around and look at. There was no time of day when this part of the city wasn’t crowded. Jimin took a quick short cut, one that lead through a pleasant tree-lined area where it was much calmer. He knew his way around the city and still he always felt like a stranger. Someone that didn’t really belong here. The ribbon around his waist indicating who he truly was. Luckily people treated him with respect, sometimes more out of fear than anything else and others just admired him from afar. Jimin smiled at a young girl who was staring at him, holding onto her mother’s hand tightly. He winked at her and she giggled as if they exchanged a small secret.

Jimin passed another street, walking by a few high buildings to get to the other side of the market where they sold the finest fabrics. He had promised to get Jungkook a new satin to wear and as he was still a maiko, the younger wasn’t allowed to go out when he was still suppose to train. Jimin sighed and brushed through his hair, blinking up as the sun shone on his face. For a moment he stayed still, well aware that he should keep his skin protected and not get a painful sunburn but the feeling of breaking the rules - just a little - had always excited him. With a soft smile that played on his lips, Jimin walked ahead. He could hear voices coming from the market, people trying to negotiate the price and it had him excited. It was then that his gaze involuntarily wandered over to one of the men hurrying out of what seemed like an office building across the street, waving his hand frantically in the air to catch a taxi. For a second, Jimin stilled completely and even though the other seemed stressed, he still vibrated with an aura that had him fascinated. Tall, lean, the suit he wore fitting him perfectly.

Namjoon was so tired that his eyes hurt and he could feel the fatigue in every part of his body. The meeting had lasted forever and if it hadn’t been so important he might have excused himself for a coffee break in between just to make sure that he stayed awake. Luckily though it had ended before he could fall off his chair from exhaustion - and it even ended on a good note. All their hard work had finally paid off and the approval copies had done what they should and gotten the investors approval. Now they would have enough buyers to sell their whole current collection which meant that they could start with their new one right away. Namjoon almost got dizzy when he thought about the amount of money that he had just secured for them - though honestly he didn’t do it for the money alone. It was nice being so rich that you knew that you would never have to worry about making ends meet ever again in your life - but without a passion, without something to do that you put your heart into it meant nothing. Luckily in Yoongi he had found someone who was just as determined and passionate as him about their profession: korean inlaid work. Their focused on home decoration but apart from that their range went from small little boxes to store your jewelry in to tables or whole wall-covering wardrobes, each of them decorated with the finest mother of pearl inlay and polished wood. He actually always wore a piece of their work with him in form of a business pen that he used when he had to sign something important - just as he had done right now.

He breathed out in relief and imagined what he would do when he would finally arrive back home; run a bath, cook some delicious food, maybe ask Yoongi how he was doing at the atelier because the older was there most of the time, drawing, sketching, trying to work out the best patterns and pictures that told the owner of their work a story. He especially loved Yoongi’s butterfly designs that the other excelled in, something that you wouldn’t expect of him when you met Yoongi for the first time and he looked at you with narrowed eyes in his cautious, almost closed off way of greeting strangers.

Namjoon got as close to the side of the road as he could to wave for a taxi and then hoped that he would get one soon as he kept his arm raised, feeling it getting heavy almost immediately. While he waited he let his gaze wander - and something hit him like a blow. There was a boy in front of him, strolling around the market as if he had all the time in the world. He was so breathtakingly beautiful that Namjoon couldn’t help but blatantly stare at him. Although his beauty wasn’t everything there was to him, he had a smile that looked so honest and genuinely happy that Namjoon could feel his own lips curl up on their own. He had a grace to him that spoke of years of training, maybe in dance or theater - and then Namjoon saw the belt. It was a dark burgundy colored piece of satin, bound in an intricate pattern of knots around his waist, telling those who knew what to look for what he was: a geisha.

Namjoon swallowed hard. He had always held admiration for those who held onto tradition in such a way but he had never dared to visit a teahouse out of personal reasons before. He had been there many times with other business men or to celebrate a deal but he had always chosen the house that was most convenient in its placement, never because he wanted to see a special geisha. For that boy though he would willingly drive through the whole country just to see him dance or play an instrument or serve him tea. Maybe their newly closed business deal called for exactly that…

Their gazes suddenly met.

Jimin’s heart jumped and his own eyes shined amber as they stared back at each other. Only a second. A smile played on Jimin’s lips. That was all it took - before he turned the corner quickly, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart.

“Hey! Are you coming or?” The taxi driver yelled through the halfway rolled down window of his car, obviously confused on what the man was so fixated on when he couldn’t see anything himself that was worthy staring at, “People have to work ya know. If you don’t want a taxi don’t call for one! I got better things to do.”

Jimin had easily mingled into the ocean of people that were strolling through the market, letting his gaze wander over the dozens of beautiful fabrics. “How can I help you?” The owner of the booth bowed his head and Jimin mimicked him, pointing at the yellow satin that almost seemed golden. Jungkook had always a thing for vibrant colors like these and Jimin thought with his own favorite blue robe, the younger would look absolutely mesmerizing next to him.

Before Namjoon could explain or apologize the taxi was gone and with him his chance to get home and fall into bed. Honestly he was almost glad because as tired as he had been before there was a spark of curiosity that kept his eyes open and his mind focused on one single sing: the elegant geisha boy that had bought some silk in a way that would have suited a documentary about noblemen in ancient times. He was just so naturally graceful that it was a joy to simply watch him. And Namjoon wanted to see more of him! As his ride was gone anyways he picked his bag back up and then hurried tried to walk across the market towards the boy who had left the part where clothes and accessories were sold and was talking to a merchant now who sold little colorful rice cakes.

When he paid, taking the rice cakes from the salesman, Jimin noticed a man out of the corner of his eyes. He dared to turn his head, just a little to see who it was that had followed him. Jimin had thought it must been the husband maybe, the one he had passed earlier but to his surprise it was the young man again. He held his breath, casting down his eyes and bowing his head just slightly into the man’s direction - a barely there movement as if he was doing a respectful curtsy before he turned around again, using the group of people that just passed to vanish quickly again. Jimin didn’t dare to look back again, loving this sweet game he was playing too much already and hoping that the stranger was intrigued to follow after.

Namjoon forgot to pretend to be busy himself so when the boy turned in his direction he was obviously caught staring and he blushed - honest to good blushed in the middle of the street - and then tried to turn around to hide his face but the geisha had already seen him. He nodded at him and Namjoon wished he was cooler or more collected because in that moment he couldn't even remember what day it was.

Jimin loved the game they were playing. It made his trip even more exciting as he made his way through the market, well aware that the other was following him. Jimin wondered if he’d would try and talk to him, if he’d noticed that he was a geisha or not. He easily vanished and reappeared in midst the crowds, making sure the stranger could catch glimpses of him – enough to make him interested but not enough to make him catch up. A giggle escaped his lips as he made a sharp turn into the alley that sold jewelry and when he turned to look over his shoulder the man was gone. For a second Jimin was almost sad that he couldn’t see him anymore, but maybe the other had gotten tired of his games. He sighed and reached for one of the pearls when he felt a presence right behind him, the warmth of his body embracing Jimin and he had half a mind to just lean back into him. But instead, Jimin leaned his head to the side, just enough to feel his breath fan over his neck and look shyly over his shoulder.

Namjoon was intrigued, especially when he noticed that the younger was playing hide and seek with him. He obviously enjoyed vanishing in front of Namjoons eyes and puzzle him long enough for him to think he lost him and get disappointed - just for the joy to flood him again whenever he caught a glimpse of him again. He hadn’t even seen his face properly and he already was totally hooked on him. Namjoon was baffled by how well the younger played him even though they hadn’t exchanged a single word before. Finally he seemed to get a chance of getting close to the geisha when he was distracted by a string of pearls, long enough for Namjoon to change directions and sneak up on him from another angle. He felt a little like a creep but if it meant that he would be able to see the flirtatious geisha’s face then he could deal with that feeling - or so he hoped. He was almost close enough to touch the younger when the boy stiffened, noticing his presence without even turning his back. He would be crazily attentive and Namjoon was kind of impressed.

“If I didn’t know better that you’re a gentleman, I’d say you’ve been following me sir.” Jimin blinked up at him, regretting that he chose not to wear any makeup today. Nowadays there was no rule for them to wear their costumes outside, although the belt always indicated their belonging anyways. Jimin let his hand soothe over the soft pearls, reaching into his pocket to pay for them.

Namjoon didn’t know what he had expected the youngers voice to be but he could have never imagined a voice that sweet, like honey, warm and melting on his tongue. He played along easily, even though he had blushed so hard just shortly ago but it felt natural to do and he quote enjoyed it.

“Following you? Oh I wouldn’t dare to follow a beauty like you around. Because one could get the wrong impression. And I’d never ruin your undoubtedly flawless reputation.”

Jimin smiled taking the string from the owner of the booth and turned his head to blink up and gaze into the eyes of the stranger. It was far longer than he intended to, but he couldn’t help but to be intrigued himself. It was obvious how well spoken the other was, how handsome and well-mannered, that he must indeed be a gentleman. “That’s good to know. I wish you a good day, sir.” Jimin casted down his eyes and with a fleeting brush of his arm against Namjoon’s, the geisha was gone again.

Jimin took his lies and turned them around, waving goodbye quickly before vanishing right in front of his eyes just like before and as if he had planned to make the end of their conversation as dramatic as possible. Namjoon cursed under his breath, regretting that he hadn't asked the younger’s name or at least the name of his establishment: it would be a hell of a lot of work to find out where he worked at and if he had bad luck the teahouse owners wouldn’t disclose that kind of information for the boys safety.

He was fucked.

…

“God fucking damn it!” Yoongi cursed loudly. His coffee spilled all over his sketches and the young man groaned in anger. “I shouldn’t have gone out of bed this morning,” He mumbled under his breath when the door to the studio opened and Namjoon walked in and although he seemed rather happy it didn’t lift Yoongi’s spirits. “If you don’t have good news for me, I’ll consider jumping out of this window and yes I know we’re on the first floor and I don’t care.” He raked through his hair in a desperate manner, before finally reaching for the tissues to try and keep the damage in check but it was too late already. He would have to do it all over again tomorrow.

“Maybe it was a sign that you should take some rest for once and stop overworking yourself. You will have enough work waiting for you the next few months. Because I just sold our entire collection!” He knew that Yoongi had some difficulties with sudden skinship or else he would have swept him off his feet in a hug from how happy he was. “Which means you’ve got a blank canvas now and can start an entirely new collection - or you could just say ‘fuck it’ and never work again because they were really generous with the money. Though please don’t - I need you in this business because if it wasn’t for your sketches our new design would probably be simple squares because I might share your fantasies but I totally can't bring them on paper.” He fished one of the half soaked papers out from the stack of the ruined sketches and held it up. It showed an intricate bird design with a twig of cherry blossoms in full bloom with a bumblebee filling a blank space and tumbling petals. Namjoon could already imagine how beautiful it would look as an inlay, the light pearly shimmer in stark contrast against the dark, polished wood. “It’s beautiful!” Then he coughed, remembering what he was trying to ask him. “Apropos beautiful…,” He was thinking about the geisha but he couldn’t just say that right away so his transition wouldn’t make sense to Yoongi and as he knew that his cheeks dusted again, “How about we properly celebrate it this time? No other investors or business people, just us?”

Yoongi cocked up an eyebrow in interest when he heard the words celebrating but his brows furrowed right after though when he realized the transition from beautiful to celebrating didn’t make much sense. “What do you have in mind? If you’re just thinking about going to the opera again I might decline this time. Didn’t know your way of fun was listening to someone scream for four hours straight.” Yoongi chuckled at the fond memory, because every time he let Namjoon decide what they should do to celebrate it only ended in them going on a educational trip instead. And he could just sleep in his bed instead of the uncomfortable chairs in the opera house. When he threw the soaked papers into the bin, Yoongi let himself fall back onto the couch that stood in the middle of their studio. “Oh and no trips to the historical museum or any kind of historical place...please, chose something fun instead. Something that we both enjoy, how about that?”

Namjoon got a little nervous because lying to Yoongi - or bending the truth a little - was never easy. He was bad at lying in general but Yoongi saw through people like an x-ray machine. “No, no, don’t worry, it’s none of that. I was actually thinking about... visiting a tea house if you want?” It was a rhetorical question because of course Yoongi would be up for it. He admired all kinds of arts and beauty and he was reckless enough to openly enjoy watching pretty boys while it was normally Namjoon who felt uncomfortable or conflicted about supporting an institution that so openly prioritized superficial qualities. They had actually talked about this before because when they were invited by their contract partners, which happened quite a lot, then of course Namjoon went together with Yoongi. Though in the evening they often ended up discussing because Yoongi had been enjoyed himself and those short lived pleasures while Namjoon was worried or bothered by the fact that outside of the tea house the boys and girls didn’t have any practical skills and if they didn’t get enough money with their mizuage then they were stuck working at the same tea house and if no one offered to marry them they would be left with nothing at the end of their retirement which was usually set around 50 years. Yoongi just told him he worried too much.

“A tea house? You want to go to a tea house?” Yoongi looked at his friend, eyeing him head to toe. “Did you smoke something?” He teased his friend with a laugh, “Hell yeah, we can go to a tea house. Actually there’s this new place I’d love to try. It’s further downtown. I think it’s owned by the same dude...but they have different shows there.” Yoongi nodded enthusiastically. He always enjoyed an artistic show and if it meant for him to sit back, relax and just simply watch beautiful people then he was all for it. “What are we waiting for then?” Jumping up from the couch, Yoongi grabbed his jacket and keys, “Let’s get suited up.”

“Uhm, o-okay.” Initially he had planned on calling a few tea houses and giving them the description of the boy he had seen to ask if he lived there but he figured that the boy must be from around here anyways because he had seemed familiar with one or two of the merchants as if he came there regularly. So why not try the house closest to them, maybe he got lucky and then he didn’t even have to behave suspiciously which meant Yoongi might never find out why exactly he suddenly wanted to go there in the first place. As he had just gotten there he didn’t need to change a lot, he just put away his suitcase and loosened his tie before following after Yoongi who seemed really excited at the prospect of them going to a teahouse alone without any tiring business talk involved.

Yoongi had been excited, not caring anymore why Namjoon had suddenly wanted to go into a teahouse, figuring that the other just wanted to do something good for him in return. Namjoon just was that kind of a friend and nothing would dim his excitement now.

“I take a red wine, please,” Yoongi said with a smile towards the waitress and then leaned back. From where they sat they had a great overview on the stage and the music was already starting to play indicating the start of the show. Turning towards Namjoon, he noticed the others stiff posture and reached out for him. “Hey, relax. This is just one night off. Just enjoy the show, okay?”

It was a very modern take on a teahouse and it made Namjoon simultaneously feel relieved and more uncomfortable. Relieved because they boys were on stage instead of sitting together with them in a small room to serve tea and uncomfortable because the arrangement felt a little similar to a strip club; with lots of men sitting around waiting for someone beautiful to come on stage and dance for them while they consumed their alcohol and tea.

Yoongi didn’t care. His eyes shone the moment the geishas stepped on stage and showcased their art one by one. It always had fascinated him: the beauty, the artistry, the sensuality. It send shivers down his spine each time. He was so lost in the show and the stories the dancers told, that Yoongi completely forgot about the wine he had ordered and only remembered it when the light went on again.

Namjoon appreciated how well prepared the dancers were, how graceful they moved and how easily they portrayed their story or played a character even though their routines looked challenging and demanding. There was one thing though that disappointed him immensely: None of them were the boy he had seen earlier today.

With their heavy make up it took him awhile to figure out how their faces must look like under it but he was absolutely certain that the boy from the market hadn’t been on stage.

He frowned.

Outside of the establishment, Yoongi put his arm around Namjoon (as much as he could and only while pulling him down as he was way shorter), “Are you okay?” He furrowed his brows and nudged Namjoon’s side, “You know you don’t have to do these kind of things for me, right? If you really don’t enjoy it we can easily just go out and eat next time.” Letting go off Namjoon, he waved his hand to call for a taxi, “With you paying of course.”

Namjoon huffed, his mouth twitching back up. Even though the evening had been disappointing for him at least it had lightened Yoongi's mood. “Sure, in other words you forgot to buy food again and have an empty fridge so you’re trying to make me pay for you even though you could easily afford it to pay yourself - or just let stuff get delivered to you.” Their playful little banters were part of their routine and not to be taken seriously.

It was what made them perfect together after all. They were as different as one could be, but together they were the greatest business team and Namjoon would have never asked for another partner.

“Let’s get you home, shall we?” Yoongi chuckled, patting Namjoon’s shoulder as they sat down in the taxi, paying the driver by cash. They only parted at the front of their doors, their apartments on the same floor in the same building. Some would have thought it was crazy, but Namjoon thought it was what made them unique. He had shared his living space with Yoongi when they were barely making it and now when they had more than enough it was only natural for them to stay close in one way or another. Yoongi saluted him lazily, reminding him in between a yawn to not wake him tomorrow. “Dream of beautiful geisha boys dancing for you, Joonie.”

Then he closed the door.

…

“I need you to sign here and here,” The man in the grey suit said, a smile on his face, waiting for one of them to pick up the pen. It had been a few weeks since they had been celebrating their last contract and Namjoon had been looking for the boy.

He had failed ever since.

He couldn’t find him at the market anymore, nor somewhere close. So, Namjoon tried to concentrate back onto work and not let a random stranger that he had met once and exchanged just a couple of words make him go crazy already. How could a simple glance from the geisha do that to him?

When Namjoon finally set his signature, he took the stack of papers, pushing one copy of them back to him and the other to his boss. “Great!” Mr. Ling, one of their new offerors, said and reached out his hand to shake both of theirs, “I can’t wait to sell your delicate designs in Japan. It is a great idea of yours to expand, Mr. Kim.” He nodded over to Yoongi and then added, “I will set up the export contract as soon as possible. Why don’t we celebrate our agreement? As I am still here for a few more days I’d like for you to be my guests tonight then we can settle the investment and anything else further tonight?”

”Oh, it would be our pleasure!” Namjoon’s response came fluidly without a second of hesitation while internally everything he thought was ‘not another teahouse please’. He had seen enough of them from the inside now and it bothered him that he was so caught up in the memory of that boy when he didn’t even knew his name. He should have asked for it. Or where he worked. It would have made the search so much easier.

Though was that really what he wanted, visiting him and acting like all the other men who thought that they might become someone special to the boys there? His perfect smile almost wavered and he was glad when Yoongi chimed in to make small talk with the older man.

“Expect my driver to pick you up at eight then,” Mr. Ling bowed his head in a respectful manner, “Wear something high-end. It’s an exclusive gentlemen club I want to introduce you to. You can only get in with an invitation tonight.” He was bragging, obviously proud that he was one of the gentleman who were allowed to bring in new people and the more the two of them were thankful that he thought they would be suitable. When Mr. Ling was gone, Yoongi turned around to his partner with a big smile, “Are we really invited to a gentlemen's club tonight? You and me?” He laughed wholeheartedly, grabbing his bag with the designs and lead the way outside, “I need a new suit asap!”

“If there’ll be lightly clad women dancing to bad music then I’ll have to excuse myself…,” Namjoon grumbled knowing damn well that he wouldn’t because a few rules still applied even though they were technically rich men themselves now: 1) If you wanted to do business you needed to be nice to customers 2) The more money a customer had the more they thought they knew everything 3) Offending said customers was really dangerous because in their state of constant egocentric attitude they could make it their personal mission to destroy you because no one who didn’t curried favours with them deserved to have a blooming business.

“You’ll see it’s going to be alright,” Yoongi answered, “I don’t think he means a strip club when he talks about exclusive invitations only. It sounds like the perfect opportunity for us gentlemen to be.” He chuckled, “And if not, I will find a good and plausible way to get us out of there after a few drinks. You really need to relax more, Joon. You’ve been kind of off lately.” He closed the trunk of his car after he threw in his bag and looked at his friend with furrowed brows, “Maybe you need a massage or something or just a good ‘fuck’. When was the last time you got laid?”

Namjoon choked on air when Yoongi suddenly went from casually conventional to very very private. “That’s none of your business?” He answered, when he could finally breathe again and with a last attempt to keep his dignity he added, “Unless you are offering to help with that?” He made a show of looking Yoongi up and down though in reality there wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen yet. They knew each other long enough that they had seen each other in all kind of situations, with only shorts and a thin shirt in the middle of the night when Yoongi couldn’t sleep again, wet as a dog in see through, sticky clothes after they had been surprised by a summer rain downpour or pale and skinny in nothing but a hospital gown when Yoongi’s had that accident where he had injured his shoulder a few years ago...

Yoongi cringed visibly, scrunching up his nose as he walked past his friend. “If you’re already considering me then it’s really time for you to let loose again.” He shook his head as if he couldn’t get the image out of his head and sat down in the driver’s seat. “Now get your cute ass into the car! We’ve got to get ourselves ready for tonight.” He nodded, holding his nose high up while he got out of the parking lot, “A real gentleman needs his time and we sure don’t want to disappoint Mr. Ling, right?”

Namjoon had nothing to say against that, knowing the importance of an invite like that. It was important for them to make new connections, as well as strengthening the once they had. Business always meant politics and Yoongi liked to remind him that he was the better talker from the both of them. Of course, the other had a way with customers too, but Yoongi couldn’t always keep his mouth shut when it came down to unfair treatment. Namjoon chuckled to himself, when memories flooded his mind and he had to calm Yoongi after meetings as they began to expand their business, who called the offerers all kind of names. Luckily those times were over and they had made their stand in the business world. People respected them and their work now.

That evening, he chose one of his dark blue suits, the one that had a wide belt built in around his waist. He always thought it brought too much attention to his length, but Yoongi assured him that he looked good in it, that it was the perfect mixture between traditional and modern suit. Yoongi himself had chosen a black suit with metallic pattern that's shimmered whenever light fell onto it and Namjoon had half a mind to touch it. “The driver’s going to be here any minute,” Yoongi said and pushed Namjoon’s wallet into his hands, checking his watch once more. “Don’t make this face as if someone’s forcing you to look at naked women,” Yoongi nudged Namjoon’s side and reminded him to keep his posture, “Just two drinks and then I’ll smuggle you out of there if needed.” He smiled reassuringly at his friend, who only hummed in response - the thought of a strip club now branded into his mind.

He let his friend pull him down and towards the car already waiting for them and only then Namjoon put on his usual ‘business’ smile that he had trained over years. He greeted they new business partner with a handshake and a respectful bow, placing himself right next to Yoongi as he felt the safest right next to him and let his partner do the talk this time. As it was usually him, Namjoon actually could relax a little more, leaning back into the comfortable leather of the car, only now noticing the luxurious interior. “You will love this club!” Mr. Ling addressed Namjoon and the other jerked out of his thoughts that had drifted off while watching the street lamps pass by, “It’s invitation only tonight and I reserved us and the others a tea room for after the show.”

On the outside Namjoon nodded with a smile, but on the inside he wished himself back into his bed. Another tea house? He fairly had enough of them. Especially now that his mind was clear enough again and he wasn’t thinking about that one boy.

The geisha that had clouded his mind with just one gaze. Namjoon was still confused on how it had been possible. That it had made him throw over his own morals for a moment, made him follow and even look for him in hope to just see the geisha once more. What did he even try to gain? A nudge from Yoongi let Namjoon snap back into reality and he stared at him wide-eyed.

“We’re here,” Yoongi whispered, “Where are you with your mind? Try and concentrate just a bit okay? I really don’t want to lose the contract right away okay? We already signed...but he hasn’t, yet, remember? And we need to settle on a sum of money. If this doesn't work out he won’t send us the papers, I’m sure. So try and be a normal member of this society for once before drifting off again okay? You can do that when you’re home again.” He patted Namjoon’s thigh lovingly, before getting out of the car with Namjoon right behind him.

Gazing up, they stood in front of what seemed like a modern theater and only the tinted windows and golden writing above let them know that this was a high class club or establishment. Namjoon took a look over his shoulder, trying to take in the environment, the clubs and establishments around. He had never been here before - most likely because he wasn’t one for snobby clubs and if he’d rather went out for food and a good meal instead of a club to dance for. A pull at his arm, reminded him to walk ahead and Namjoon smiled awkwardly at the bodyguards at the front that checked them warily as they entered staying close to their Mr. Ling who was still talking about his wife and his favorite stew. Namjoon was only half-heartedly listening, completely in awe about the teahouse.

But this wasn’t just a teahouse.

This was a theater and with its golden mahogany and red interior it only accentuated it’s exclusiveness. He stumbled after the group of people to a booth where they sat down and Namjoon let his hand soothe over the fabric loving the feel against the palm of his hand. “Did I promise too much?” Mr. Ling laughed and his eyes got a mischievous glint when a young boy neared, bowing his head respectfully as he offered them some tea and alcoholic beverages. They all ordered, leaving only Namjoon who quickly stammered something about a wine. “Soft, please.” He added quickly before the boy was gone. “It’s my favorite tea house by far. Not even the ones back home can uphold with this one.” Mr. Ling explained and pointed towards the stage that was still covered with a curtain, only some traditional music playing from somewhere was setting the mood. “It’s the perfect mixture of tradition and modern arts. And Mr. Jung has only the most talented boys. All of them go through great training,” He leaned back, taking a cigar from one of his accompanies and offered them one but both declined, “Nowadays it’s hard to find a teahouse like this, believe me. You will enjoy this and if you see the boys up close later in the room I reserved, you’ll thank me. They call the boy’s ‘hummingbirds’,” Mr. Ling’s voice toned down, when the light was fading out and there was a expecting hum going through the crowds that mostly consisted of men tonight, “Sweet, delicate, with beautiful voices that will enchant you.”

Namjoon furrowed his brows, biting his lip as he turned his head around to the stage. He was sure that he would have ended up like Mr. Ling one day if he had continued his search for his geisha. He seemed almost manic with the way he talked about the young boys. He was probably thinking that he was precious to the boys as well, that he was their special guest but in the end - they were only leaving their money with them. Namjoon’s eyes focused on the stage and when he took a look around there was the same gaze on everyone’s face and if he didn’t knew better he would say that all of them were hypnotized.

The music faded out, just to start anew with a loud drum that made Namjoon jerk a little. A young man sat on the stage, his face painted, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling as he started to move slowly. His hands reached out for the air and he pulled back, when the music began to fastened. Yoongi was just as hypnotized as everyone else, his hand reaching for Namjoon’s arm who hissed at the sudden pain but the other couldn’t help it. “He’s beautiful,” He stammered, watching the boy twirl until more dancers joined him on stage, dancing absolutely beautifully to the rhythmic music. “They all wear the same make up, Yoongi.” Namjoon mumbled back at him, “They look the same.”

“But they don’t dance the same way.” He whispered and locked his eyes onto the boy who had faded into the group dancing perfectly in sync with the other maikos to open up the show. Namjoon had figured that this was the more traditional part Mr. Ling had referred to, as he watched them move rhythmically in their colorful costumes. The stage had a T-shaped catwalk at the front and although Namjoon felt safe before, now that the dancers were walking off the main part and towards the end of it, he scooted back on his seat. He had seen teahouses before and he had seen performances - but the usual establishments had a main floor where the geishas were dancing, playing instruments or showing off other arts while the people were seated on the floor around him. This was different. This was spectacular, big and something he had never seen but in movies. The dance ended with rose petals falling from the ceiling and Namjoon curiously looked up to try and figure out the technical part of the show, his gaze wandering over to the light station, where someone sat with a headset, motioning somewhere when the spotlight fell onto the stage again. He was in complete awe at how much time and preparation must have went in to making a show like this come alive and almost completely missed the start of the second performance.

After a while and in midst of the first break of the show, Namjoon had come to terms that he liked it - more than he wanted to admit. But in the end, he loved a good show just as much as everyone else. His mood didn’t stay bright for long, when he caught up onto the conversation next to him. “There’s a mizuage in a few months,” Mr. Ling’s words cut right through the relaxed mind of Namjoon. “You mean like in....selling off someone’s virginity?” Namjoon couldn’t help but ask, his own standpoint clear on his facial expression. “Yes, like that, Mr. Kim. But don’t worry. It’s not like a brothel here in general. You can buy the boys time, but not their sexual services. If you want that, I can give you some great tips for other houses.”

Yoongi had placed a calming hand on Namjoon’s thigh, but it still couldn’t help that a shudder ran through him. As much as he respected people that stayed true to traditions in a way, he hated it how people could make money off something like the concept of virginity. He had argued about it with Yoongi a lot of times and while the other was a bit more cool with it, Namjoon was disgusted at the thought of it.

If it wasn’t for Yoongi and the thought of keeping the contract, he would have told the other off that selling someone’s virginity was just as much prostitution as anything else that meant selling your body against your will - or not. Now that he thought about it Namjoon wasn’t even sure if the dancers were here on their own free will and if they had choices. He opened his mouth, wanting to ask more about geishas, how someone like the owner could pay off all of this, coming to realize that he basically knew nothing but the performance and what geisha’s portrayed on the outside aspect of it when the light went out again and everyone’s conversations died down.

Now, each time a dancer stepped on stage Namjoon tried to figure out if they were happy with what they were doing. But their expressions were either emotionless or just playing their part of the story perfectly and one couldn’t see through the masks.

It was too easy for Namjoon to overthink this, he’d always had a habit to do so and it would only lead to headache - he was sure of that. Rubbing the side of his temples, Namjoon took another sip of his wine and just tried to calm himself. He would only go through with the show and maybe excuse himself then to go back home - that was his plan and he would stick to it.

A gasp fell from the crowd and Namjoon blinked his eyes when the lights on stage began to flicker as if there was a lightning, followed by the drumming sound of thunder. The dancers that had shown a traditional dance before, were now staring ahead into the crowd and Namjoon had half a mind to turn to look over his shoulder to see what they were looking at, when they got into a formation of a flower and in midst of them all stood a young men, waving his fan delicately just below his eyes with which he was piercing through the crowd. The music began to shift into a modern tune and the dancer instantly reacted to it as if the music itself was controlling him. With a smile that played on his lips, they showed off a few formations, mixing modern dance with the instrumentals of traditional music and somehow it reminded Namjoon of their designs. Soft, delicate movements and still so full of control. That boy knew exactly what to do next, every expression and gesture was right on time and it had everyone in the audience mesmerized - until he jumped and a loud thunder broke through the stage, tearing a just as loud gasp from the audience, unsure whether it was staged or not.

The stage light dimmed down, a single light on the boy that faded him into a blue color as if the moon itself was shining only for him. Every dancer was gone but him. Following the tune of a flute, he began to move his arms all the way up to his fingertips, his eyes glistening. The part of the stage where he stood had lowered itself a few inches, just enough for water to fill in the space. It was barely recognizable for the audience, everything working so smoothly that only the droplets of water falling from his fingertips gave away that he was in midst of water now. A smile appeared on his lips, as he pushed himself up, arching his back beautifully, reaching out into thin air and then he stopped. His linenshirt was sticking to his back, water dripping down. His chest was heaving heavily as he bared his neck to look up so slowly that one could make out every feature of his face. The light was shining directly onto his face as he turned towards the audience - and then it began to rain. It was like a movie scene, the boy was dancing, water splashing with each movement while the light was making the water sparkle like diamonds. No one could tear their gaze off of that boy, who was so effortlessly moving in sync with the music.

Yoongi almost choked on his tea when he saw Namjoon’s star struck expression, of course everyone else looked similarly entranced because the boy was just stunning and amazingly talented - but coming from Namjoon who had reduced the well-liked and highly valued tradition of a maiko’s coming of age ceremony to prostitution in front of their business partner - to say Yoongi was surprised would have been an understatement. A smile stole its way onto his lips. Maybe they would be able to visit a few tea houses together from now on without Namjoon being a spoilsport.

The music stopped and for a moment there was silence. Only the sound of dripping audible coming from the young man’s shirt as his lips curved into a confident smile. Then all hell broke loose and the audience was cheering as the light turned off and the curtain fell again. Yoongi was clapping too, but his gaze was on his friend who had gotten up from his seat, giving a standing ovation and he wasn’t sure if Namjoon was even realizing what he was doing.

“I told you,” Mr. Ling said with a knowing grin, “They are true diamonds. Hoseok only trains the best boys.” Yoongi chuckled and patted Namjoon’s thigh lovingly, to make the other jerk out of his trance.

“So much for me having to find an excuse for you to leave. If I didn’t knew better I’d say you’d enjoyed yourself a lot just now.” He gave his colleague a teasing grin and then got up from his seat quickly to follow Mr. Ling who was talking about the delicious tea they would get. This was something new even for Yoongi. He’s had business discussions in tea rooms before but definitely none of this class because renting a simple tea room alone was really expensive so he didn’t want to think about what Mr. Lings reservation for them cost. He was curious if the tea ceremony would be a traditional one or if it would have a modern touch just like the show just now.

…

As soon as the curtain had fallen, Jimin wrapped his arms around his body and shivered. The smile vanished and instead his lips were trembling, as he stepped out of the water. “W-w-hy can’t we use warm water?” Jimin asked and gladly took the towel Jungkook offered, shaking his wet hair to let the young maiko feel the cold for himself. “You did so well, Kook.” Jimin easily let him help to get out of his wet clothes, “I’m so proud of you. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Jung will give you more solos soon.”

Jungkook quickly shook his head, cheeks dusted pink from the praise, “Ah, no, it’s fine like this. I’m not even close to your level. You should have seen the way the visitors were mesmerized by you, all their attention was solely on you when you danced.” Jungkook sighed quietly. He was actually a little jealous but he loved Jimin too much to let that affect him or their friendship. “I bet you’ll receive a new marriage proposal by the end of the week.”

“You don’t have to be close to me. You’re amazing on your own,” Jimin smiled at Jungkook genuinely and then nodded at their dressing table that stood backstage. All the other geisha’s were either still touching up their make ups or already out and doing service, so there weren’t many around. Jimin liked it better this way, when it was just the two of them. He trusted Jungkook – and only him. “If it just would be so easy as a proposal,” He chuckled quietly, too much pain in his words and for a moment sadness washed over his face, before he blinded Jungkook with a smile again. Grabbing the powder quickly, Jimin pushed it into the maiko’s hands, “Will you help me touch up my makeup?”

“Of course!” Jungkook eagerly took everything Jimin would need and then helped him as best as he could. He didn’t comment on Jimin’s strange behaviour. Jimin had always loved dancing so he wasn’t like those who wanted to built a home with someone and get a family as soon as possible, leaving their former life behind without the blink of an eye. Still Jungkook couldn’t help but bring it up from time to time. Because he was fascinated by that thought just as much as he was scared. He didn’t want to lose Jimin, ever but he knew that Jimin would only be his mentor for a little while longer. As soon as he had become a geisha himself he wouldn’t “require” Jimin’s care. The thought alone made his chest tight and had him gripping his own silk robe even tighter. He didn’t feel like he was ready. It was an honor that Hoseok thought his education and training were finished and he wasn’t even the one with the shortest training period but still, Jungkook didn’t want to change anything in his life, not even achieve what he had worked for so hard if it meant that he would lose the only person who had ever truly cared for him.

Jimin had his eyes closed while Jungkook was doing his best to touch up his makeup, completely relaxed. When the younger set the final dash of rouge, Jimin leaned over to look in the mirror with a content smile. “Thank you.” In the reflection his gaze wandered up towards the clock involuntarily and a gasp fell from his lips. “Oh, we have to hurry, Jungkookie.” Jimin jumped up from his seat and quickly went over to where his robe was hanging, waiting to be worn. “Quick, help me.” As much as they had to hurry, Jimin still took off the delicate clothing as careful as possible. He had ironed it for hours and didn’t want to ruin it just because he got hectic. Stepping into the robe with Jungkook’s help was much easier and he would never be able to tie it all up without his help. A geisha always needed the help of their maiko, or a dresser. When he was about to give the belt over to Jungkook, his eyes flickered over to the backstage door as it opened. Without a second thought, Jimin bowed his head, pushing Jungkook simultaneously to do the same.

Hoseok entered the room, a pleased smile on his lips to see his dancers bow immediately and elegantly for him just like they were supposed to. He gave them a sign to relax and then waved Jungkook closer. “Our guests are waiting already in the main room. Tae is with them but as you know he can’t serve them alone so please help him until Jimin is ready, will you?” Jungkook’s eyes flickered over to his friend, a little too wide and nervous because he normally wasn’t even allowed to do a single step without Jimin and now suddenly he was supposed to serve with another geisha though of course this wasn’t a request but an order so he quickly bowed and lifted the long layers of silk that he was wearing to run over to the main tea room.

Hoseok took the belt from where Jungkook had wordlessly put it down and had Jimin turning around for him. He carefully smoothed down the layers of his robe so that the belt would fit snug and perfectly around his waist. “You danced beautifully today, as always.” He praised him honestly while placing the belt around his waist. Jimin held it in place at the front so Hoseok could pull it tight. He did and a breathless gasp fell from Jimin’s lips. He was used to Jungkook’s gentle way of tightening it and hadn’t expected the sudden pull. But the tighter the belt the more beautiful his attire would look so he bit his lip and didn’t say anything about it.

“Thank you,” Jimin’s voice sounded a bit breathless, while his gaze flickered over to his reflection and staring right back into Hoseok’s eyes. “I apologize though that it took longer for me to get ready than everyone else,” The younger averted his gaze softly, “I’ll try and do it quicker next time.”

“It’s okay. We can just add a little more time for you to get ready next time. You need to dry yourself completely or else you might get sick. You musn't get sick, Jimin. You are the heart of the show. My precious little hummingbird.” He put in the last pin and then gave the younger a soft pat on the shoulder. “Off you go. Be nice to our guests, they are really wealthy businessmen and if you make a good impression on them they might come again for you and bring their money with them. So show your best side please. I know you can be really sweet when you want to.”

Jimin didn’t answer. There was no need to answer. Instead he bowed his head respectfully, before checking himself once more in the mirror and then made his way out of the backstage area, letting the younger maiko’s do the job of cleaning up after them and making sure everything was back where it needed to be.

“Hummingbird,” Jimin whispered to himself, closing his eyes to relax and ignore how tightly the belt was embracing him, making it hard for him to breathe. Instead he rolled his shoulders back to keep his posture and reached out for the sliding door.

…

Yoongi turned to look over his shoulder for the second time now, furrowing his brows at Namjoon still dazed look, as the tall man stumbled behind them. “Are you alright?” He asked with a low voice, as they followed the loud chatting group of men and Mr. Ling upstairs and to the tea rooms. “You are a little pale, Joon. You know I was just joking, right? If you still need me to get you out of here or something.” His eyes flickered to their business partner, flashing him a smile and then back to his friend as he got rid of his shoes at the front of the door and hoped for Namjoon to do the same, “It just seemed like you enjoyed it a lot. Maybe you just don’t want…the private room stuff?”

Namjoon swallowed harshly. It had been him, he was absolutely certain of that. He had known it, even before the spotlight had illuminated the dancer’s face he had felt it in his gut that this was the boy he had been looking for, the geisha with the kind eyes and the charming smile that had bewitched him with one gaze alone. This couldn’t be happening, he had just let go of the thought, had just decided to get back on his moral high horse and never step a foot into an establishment again where young boys had to be deflowered to be seen as an adult and now... now the only thing he could think of was that boys face and how utterly overwhelmingly stunning he had performed. He wanted to see him again!

And then he realized that if that boy was a full on geisha then he had worked his way up and had participated in the same rituals, the same routines like everyone else of his status. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought that someone like him, someone who had fallen for his eyes or his sweetness or his talent had sponsored his mizuage and therefore earned the right to have him for one single night. He had no idea if the boys were allowed to chose who sponsored them or if the just had to take the highest bidder.

He must have looked as sick as he felt at that moment because Yoongi addressed him with worry in his tone and Namjoon quickly tried to close off his feelings. There was no time to have a full on breakdown over being interested in a geisha. “Don’t worry about me please. It’s fine. I’m just thinking about the performance.” He wasn't even properly lying as he had been thinking about the performance over and over again - the part that “his” geisha had danced.

“Good,” Yoongi smiled, patting Namjoon’s shoulder reassuringly, “Tell me if you need some fresh air or anything. I think we were all blown away but remember we can’t fuck this night up, okay? We still need him to sign the papers.” The room they stepped in was far more traditional than the theater itself, but still it held an extravagant style that it had Yoongi speechless as he had never seen it before in any other tea house. The dark wooden table in midst of the large room was filled with snacks and it pulled Yoongi in right away and with him Namjoon as he still held onto his friend’s arm. He barely gave the other decoration a second glance, the food far more interesting than anything else. It didn’t take long for a few of Mr. Ling’s other business partners to come in and join them at the table. Yoongi relaxed visibly, when he could see Namjoon getting back into his natural habitat: talking business. That was until the door slid open and a young boy sat on his knees, bowing deeply to greet the men, making all of them snap their heads around.

“Good Evening,” Taehyung’s low voice send a shiver effectively down everyone’s spine and he slowly looked up, a mischievous smile on his lips, “I hope you enjoyed the show. It would be a great pleasure for me to…” The geisha got caught off by a push on his side, when someone placed himself right next to him rather roughly. Heavy breathing indicating that the other had run all the way up to the tea rooms instead of walking slowly as they were supposed to. Taehyung eyed Jungkook from the side, trying not to roll his eyes in annoyance. At least the younger was bowing deeply. “It would be a pleasure for us to join you tonight and celebrate with you.” Taehyung ended his greeting with a smile, although he wanted to grab Jungkook by his collar to tell him a word or two but the customers were more important to entertain now. Getting up, Taehyung walked inside and sat down right next to Mr. Ling, leaving Jungkook to close the door behind him.

It was almost funny how one person could hold so much attention on himself just by being there. The boy slowly prepared the tea and they watched him, business pushed into the back of their heads while the little maiko who had rushed into the room at last minute helped as best as he could. He was pretty, the make up hiding most of his features but he had a cute mouth and big doe eyes and Yoongi found himself smiling at the younger’s cuteness as he quickly gathered everything necessary for the tea ceremony. After the tea was ready and Mr. Ling had a steaming cup in his hands he sighed contentedly and finally addressed what they had been waiting for: “Well, did you bring the papers? Now would be the perfect time to talk a little about what each of us will make of this little arrangement of ours.” Yoongi was the one keeping the documents in his bag because Namjoon had a habit of losing stuff so he pulled them out and gave them over. While Mr. Ling losely scanned the paragraphs Yoongi’s eyes wandered back to the Maiko who filled cup after cup of tea.

Everyone else was talking. They had signed the papers for the overall agreement this morning and now it was about how much their partner was willing to invest in Yoongi’s and Namjoon’s business. The most important part. Namjoon was gesturing around, telling Mr. Ling and his co-workers how much percent they needed to make this work. Everyone was fixated on the interaction - but Yoongi.

Jungkook tried his hardest not to bite his lip and therefore ruin the lipstick he wore as he concentrated to fill in each cup perfectly. It was different when he was with Jimin, then he wasn’t as nervous as he was without him and Taehyung didn’t help in that case. The geisha was sitting close to Mr. Ling, obviously knowing the familiar face. It was clear to Jungkook that Taehyung wanted to have the highest tip tonight, going for the seemingly richest man of the group. The other had a habit of making a competition out of everything and now that he had the chance to be there right before Jimin would chime in again, he would use it as his advantage. Jungkook eyed Taehyung from the side who was laughing along with a joke, touching the man’s thigh ever so lightly. It was a moment where he lacked concentration, his fingers trembling from holding the heavy teacup that was burning his fingertips simultaneously. It was enough to make him spill a bit of the hot water right into the young man’s lap and Jungkook’s eyes widened immediately, just hoping that Taehyung or anyone else hadn't seen anything. He would be doomed if Hoseok knew that he wasn’t even able to pour in tea correctly. Gulping heavily, Jungkook’s gaze was fixated on the young man, completely frozen in shock.

Yoongi’s eyes seemed to find their way back to the young boy over and over again - while the little Maiko was concentrated on anything else but him. He didn’t even look at him, he either kept his gaze fixated on his tea or held his head bowed in a polite manner - which would have been a little more convincing if he wouldn't sneak glances at the geisha in the room who was entertaining mostly Mr. Ling right now. Yoongi couldn’t care less. He was more intrigued by the boy who had finally arrived at his place and was trying to fill the tea cup that stood in front of him. Again he sneaked a glance and the teapot wavered, hot tea spilling over. Yoongi flinched hard and the boys froze immediately and so fully that it looked like he was under some kind of petrification spell, his eyes so wide that it was almost comical. When Yoongi had gotten over the little shock of the hot liquid on his skin he carefully, slowly reached for a napkin and dabbed the tea away from his clothes. Spilling tea on customers was an affront in every tea house and he couldn’t imagine what the consequences must be for a Maiko in such an exclusive establishment. The younger must be scared out of his mind. So Yoongi gave him a little wink and then placed his finger over his lips to signalize that he would keep it their little secret.

The confusion was written all over the young dancers face and only when he realized what Yoongi had done, did a smile and a blush on his cheeks appear. Jungkook bowed in gratitude, placing the tea can back on the warmer and placed his hands in his lap. The kind man had just turned back to the conversation as they shook hands and agreed on a sum of money that Jungkook didn’t catch because he was still wondering about how that small little wink made him so flustered. He bit his tongue as they all cheered and Taehyung immediately took the moment to attract all the attention to himself, not giving Jungkook a chance to intertwine in a way, so he sat there quietly, watching with a smile on his lips. Although this way, Jungkook could observe closely.

It was pretty clear that Mr. Ling and his partners were used to Geisha’s around, easily mingling with Taehyung and starting to play games with him while the other two young men seemed pretty new. The taller, slim one looked rather absent again and Jungkook furrowed his brows, wondering where the man’s thoughts were when he noticed Yoongi’s gaze on him again. He startled a little, his mouth opening to say something just to close again in nervousness. Jungkook could feel his heart race, trying to seem collected on the outside and do whatever Geisha would do now: offer their entertainment. He quickly reached into one of his pockets, getting out a stack of cards and held them out for Yoongi to take, while bowing his head. Jungkook didn’t dare to say something, only making a small sound when Yoongi wasn’t taking his offer right away.

The little maiko was the cutest thing he had ever seen. He knew that he must be blushing even though he couldn't see it through the the makeup because the boy acted so shy and flustered. Apparently he didn't dare to do what the Geisha was doing so Yoongi was surprised when the younger was holding a pack of cards within his reach. He hesitated for a bit too long and the boy made a little sound in reaction that Yoongi had a hard time not to coo over. With a smile he took the cards. "Are you planning on showing me card tricks - or do you have the courage to play against me? If yes, then what's the stake? A kiss?" It was too much fun to flirt with that cutie to not do it.

Jungkook blinked up at the man - again, completely confused and rendered speechless. He shook his head quickly and took the cards away from him again to open up the pack and start sorting them. Jimin would have long scolded Jungkook about not saying anything to their customer as it seemed rude but it felt like he had lost his voice, too nervous to say something. Instead he took Yoongi’s hand to place it on the cards he just sorted and placed his palm on top to push them back to him, to signal that it was his and took another stack to push it over to Namjoon, opening his mouth to ask if he wanted to play, too while it seemed that the other wasn’t very keen on playing but rather observing everyone else. “Do you…,” It was all Jungkook could say, his soft voice breaking off when the sound of the door sliding open again made everyone turn around.

Looking over his shoulder, Jungkook smiled brightly when he saw Jimin bowing deeply and asking to join them in a sweet tone of voice, leaving everyone to stare at him the moment he blinked up. It was just a small movement, the way his eyes were glistening, the soft smile that played on his lips. Everything just seemed perfectly timed, as if the boy knew exactly how to wrap them all around their fingers in seconds and with one simple glance. “Oh! Jimin!” Mr. Ling called out happily, throwing his hands in the air and then leaned over to Namjoon and Yoongi alike, “He is really rare to book but I did it. Just for this occasion! Isn’t he beautiful?” He laughed, cheering with his drink towards them and spilling some of the liquor in the process.

It was as if someone had dimmed the sound in the room and the moment Jimin stepped in everything snapped into focus. Namjoon stared at him, shamelessly and without even noticing, too lost in his own internal yelling. That was him. The sweet boy on the market, the stunning dancer on stage. And now he was so close that Namjoon could have reached out for him if he had dared. He wore an embroidered silk robe with a long and equally embroidered obi wrapped around his waist. Although it was beautiful Namjoon would have prefered to see more of Jimin like he had on stage because right now he looked like a carefully wrapped gift and it was obvious that the formal wear was more constricting. He was still as elegant as ever when he mingled with them, choosing a place close to the Maiko who visibly relaxed at his presence.

Jimin had ignored Mr. Lings talk completely, who was already busy with Taehyung again who gave it his all to bring back the attention to himself. He had almost chuckled at it, a smile appearing on his lips and it only faltered when Jimin’s gaze fell onto Namjoon’s. For a second, his expression turned surprised, his heart picking up its beat because he recognized him right away. How couldn’t he? The handsome stranger’s face had been stuck in his mind from the day he had seen him. Quickly, Jimin put back on his professional demeanor and bowed his head just slightly, “Are you enjoying your tea, sir?” Reaching out for the tea can, Jimin filled his cup back up without tearing off his gaze from Namjoon.

“Even more now that you’re here.” The words were out before Namjoon could think about if it would be impolite or intrusive to voice his thoughts like that and he quickly broke the eye contact in case Jimin would feel uncomfortable. He could feel his ears burn when he thought about how many men must have made unwanted flirtatious comments while talking with Jimin and how the younger must be used to it by now. He coughed a little awkwardly before continuing more put together: “Your performance was amazing by the way. It must be difficult to dance like that in the water and with all the wet clothes clinging to your body.”

Jimin smiled softly, pouring himself some tea as well. “Thank you,” He bit his lip to not talk too much about how much he had been training for it too look like it and how many times he had slipped and fell onto his bottom. Tearoom conversations were never about them but about the visitors. Jungkook’s soft giggle interrupted Jimin and he turned to look at the young maiko, who was playfully slapping Yoongi’s hand away from his stack who was either not understanding the rules of the game or doing it on purpose to make the younger laugh when he made mistakes. “What brings you here to our lovely teahouse,” Jimin turned back around to Namjoon, looking over to Taehyung who was pouring in one drink after another for their visitor whose ears seemed pretty red already. “You haven’t been following me, have you?”

“Business,” He answered, a little embarrassed that Jimin had seen through him right away. Even though he probably meant it as a joke there was some truth behind it considering Namjoon had actually tried to find him before. He decided to find out how Jimin would react if he knew the truth so he gathered all his courage for a confident smile and added, “What if I had? Maybe you bewitched me the very moment I saw you.”

Jimin cocked his head to the side, his hands wrapped around the warm cup and smirked, “Isn’t that what a Geisha is supposed to do?” Jimin couldn’t explain what it was, but it didn’t feel like they were in a tea room filled with people who were playing and loudly chatting. Their own voices were soft, quiet and their gazes were glued on one another. “What kind of business are you working in?” Jimin asked, shifting a little closer to Namjoon.

“We manufacture home decoration and furniture with korean inlay work.” Normally he didn’t like to brag but somehow he wanted to impress the dancer with what he had so he pulled out his special pen and held it out for him to see. “Like this. My partner Yoongi designs them and I make sure that they look as good in the finished product as they do on paper.”

Jimin took the pen from Namjoon, turning it in his hand to look at it more thoroughly. It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he’d ever seen. An it was just a pen after all. “You should think about expanding in the fashion business,” Jimin smiled brightly at him, reaching for Namjoon’s hand to place the pen back into his palm softly and making sure to touch the other ever so lightly. It seemed natural, but every movement was trained, ever feather light touch or stroke against the customer a way to lure them in further and to Jimin it was second nature. He didn’t need to think about anymore. But still he couldn’t help but notice how soft Namjoon’s hands felt. “It is really beautiful. Just imagine one of the designs on our costumes…,” He looked down at his own robe, “I bet it would look absolutely stunning. I’d buy all of your designs….” Jimin blinked up at the handsome man innocently, “I didn’t catch your name earlier, sir.”

“I’m not sure if the designs would look as nice as embroideries... but maybe I can ask Yoongi to design an obidome for your costume.” His heart beat quick and hard against his ribs. If he really planned on doing this then he would need to come back to give it to Jimin - and see him again. The touch of the younger’s hand was soft but electrifying and Namjoon wished that he could take his hand for real. He swallowed down his answer which would have been ‘you already look stunning enough’ to not be creepy. “My name is Kim Namjoon. And you are?”

“Jimin,” He breathed out, his cheeks dusting in a rose color although there was nothing to be embarrassed about. It still felt way too intimate in a way. “Please don’t go out of your way for me.” He bowed his head softly, “Just being able to see your designs like this was already enough. I hope I can come by and buy something beautiful from you. I’m not out in the city very often but I would love to see your bigger designs one day.” His eyes lit up, sparkling in the dimmed light. Jimin would never earn enough money to do so, but just the single thought about owning something so beautifully made him dream. “So, you’re not just handsome but also smart and talented when it comes to business.” Jimin reached for the snacks, leaning over Namjoon a little before offering him some. “Your wife must be very proud.”

They both knew that buying something from him was out of the question for Jimin or else he wouldn’t be a geisha in a tea house but a tea house owner himself if it was the love for the old arts and traditions that kept him there and not his fate that had brought him into this at a young age. You didn’t decide to become a geisha. You either did it for family duty or money and survival. But right now they both pretended so Namjoon just nodded and smiled, the idea of asking Yoongi to design a little gift anchored in his mind. He laughed when Jimin started to flirt with him, playing along. “Oh, yes, if I had a wife I am sure she would be so proud of her amazing husband,” He gentle shook his head, chuckling before confessing a bit more seriously, “...that’s the problem with a booming business. If it goes really well you don’t have the time for a family and if it doesn’t - then you don’t have the money for one.”

Jimin placed his hand on Namjoon’s thigh softly in a sweet gesture, “That’s just an excuse. If it’s love then believe me, you’ll make the time and effort. And if your partner isn’t appreciating the work you put in, the passion you have for your business then maybe they aren’t the right one.” He nodded determinately when in reality Jimin knew nothing about love, but just the stories from books and what others told him.

Jungkook’s eyes widened when he saw Jimin and the customer so close together. Other than him Jimin could be a bit more bold and touch them but still he hadn’t seen Jimin act so intimately with a stranger before. But there was no way that he knew that man, Jungkook was sure that Jimin would have told him if they were serving friends tonight. He almost missed Yoongi’s turn and only reacted when the other asked him if he was giving up already. “No, I’m not but.. I have to make sure that Jimin is on time for his next appointment which means that sadly I’ll have to leave soon.” He bowed politely and to his own surprise there was real regret this time.

“I see.” Yoongi nodded and collected the cards. “I hope you’ll give me the opportunity to play with you again to find out who the winner is. If I win I’m allowed to kiss you and if you win it’ll be the other way round, right?” He winked again as he gave the cards back to where they belonged.

“I…I…” Jungkook gulped heavily, the nervousness right back the moment his customer was talking about kissing him – again. “You’re not allowed to touch me, Sir.” Jungkook added quietly, taking the cards from him and putting them back in his pocket. Averting his gaze, Jungkook was playing with the hem of his belt. “It would be a pleasure nonetheless to play again and welcome you back into our establishment,” It felt a little off to say his usual goodbyes when he really wanted to tell Yoongi to come back and maybe even ask for him, even though he wasn’t technically allowed to be booked, yet.

In contrast to Namjoon, Yoongi knew the rules though therefore he asked right away and without missing a beat, “Do you normally accompany Taehyung or Jimin or do you switch?” Because next time he visited he wanted to make sure that he was able to find Jungkook again without embarrassing the younger and ask for him directly when he wasn’t supposed to.

“Jimin,” Jungkook nodded over to the Geisha as an answer, “He trains me and supervises me and therefore I help him. You can find me wherever he is.” The words came out of his mouth faster than he could take them back, biting his lip and smudging the red lipstick in the process just a little. He bowed his head again, hiding his cheeks with it that were blushing red right now.

“Thank you. I’ll make sure to ask for him then.” The boy’s eagerness was utterly cute and Yoongi was happy that the Maiko had told him just like that because it meant that he really was okay with seeing him again or else he would have just needed to lie and tell him that it changed from time to time or that he didn’t have a regular supervisor at all and he would have had to leave it at that as you could randomly book geishas if you wanted and had the money but you could never request who was accompanying them.

Jungkook hurriedly gathered the seam of his long costume and went over to Jimin, watching every step as to not fall over his feet or one of the tea pots. When he reached the two men he quickly kneeled back down and bowed his head. “Jimin? Sir? I’m so very sorry that I have to interrupt you so unpleasantly it’s … the time.” He still couldn’t talk as smoothly and perfectly like Jimin and he often laid awake at night wondering why he couldn’t just relax instead of making mistakes.

Jimin startled a little when Jungkook plopped down beside him, a hand on the youngers thigh making him lose his stiff posture. “I apologize for my short visit,” He addressed Namjoon with a sad smile, that was far more genuine that he’d like to admit in that very moment. “I am unfortunately awaited somewhere else right now so I need to leave but Taehyung will stay here with you, so don’t worry. You’ll be in good hands.” Jimin bowed his head as well and with being so close to Namjoon before he could take in his cologne, the sweet musky smell that was the handsome stranger - just like he remembered it from the market when he stood so close by him. Jimin nodded towards Jungkook to get up, taking his own costume to lift it up just enough to get up comfortably, when a hand wrapped around his wrist kept him in his place. He froze completely, his eyes widened for a moment while Jimin stared back right into Namjoon’s eyes. His heart was threatening to jump right out of his chest. There was a hint of fear mixing with the excitement that rushed through his veins. Just as much as a maiko, Jimin wasn’t allowed to get touched without asking first, especially not pulling or holding him in place in any kind of way. He licked his lips nervously, his breath coming in short, soft pants and Jimin wasn’t so sure if it was because of how tight his belt was wrapped around his waist or just because of the fact that Namjoon was holding him like this right now.

Namjoon had acted out of instinct and so quickly that he was surprised by his own courage. Jimin looked at him, wide eyed and real, all pretense fallen away because of the shock. He looked younger like this, vulnerability shining through were there had been nothing but confidence before. Namjoon immediately loosened his grip because the last thing he wanted to do was to startle Jimin or get an official reprimand of the tea house for breaking their rules (also the little Maiko looked like he was ready to fight him if he didn’t let go of Jimin, all shyness gone in his fierce sense of loyalty).

“My apologies.” He let his hand slide off of Jimin’s arm, caressing the inside of the younger’s wrist with a feather light touch of his fingertips. “I didn’t mean to be harsh. I just really want to see you again and... I was afraid you’d be out of the room before I could ask for your for permission to do so. Would you please forgive me my inconsiderate and intrusive act and allow me a chance to proof that I can be a pleasant conversational partner instead? I promise that you won’t regret it.”

A shiver ran down Jimin’s spine when Namjoon’s fingertips soothed along his skin touching him so delicately, so softly as if he was breakable and only needed to be handled with care. Jimin’s eyes were still wide, but he listened attentively. His heart skipped a beat when Namjoon just simply asked for permission - which he really didn't have to. Anyone who was allowed to come back, was allowed to ask for any Geisha. It was a simple act of kindness from Namjoon to ask if Jimin wanted to see him again, too. Jimin never had any visitor to be so considerate and ask what he wanted and it rendered him speechless for a moment. Letting his hand brush along Namjoon’s fingertips, Jimin nodded softly. “I accept your apologies,” He whispered and let go off Namjoon, “I hope to see you again, too.” With a smile and a racing heartbeat, Jimin got up and placed a hand on Jungkook’s back to push the younger out of the room with him. He stole one last glance at Namjoon, before he slid the door close.

“Have you ever seen such a beautiful boy?” Yoongi hummed, leaning against Namjoon. He was sure he could still hear Jungkook’s giggle in the back of his mind. “No, never.” Namjoon sighed, completely mesmerized - and failing to notice that they were talking about two different boys.

He straightened a little before addressing Yoongi again, “I want you to do me a favour.” Startled, Yoongi nodded without his usual teasing about how he needed to think about it and wanted something in return “I’d like you to tell me all those tea house rules you know and... and maybe you could include an obidome design next time you’re drawing.”

Yoongi was silent for a moment - and then broke into laughter, “Damn, those boys really got you this time, hm? If I had known all it would take to convince you that tea house visits can be pleasurably would be a reservation at a high class one I would have done that years ago.” He was still chuckling, completely surprised by that sudden development. “So.. will you do it?” Namjoon acted almost shy in his request now.

“Sure. Whatever makes you happy, Nams!” Namjoon carefully overlooked Yoongi's wink at him.

…

“Stop pouting, Jungkookie,” Jimin chuckled as they hurried down the hallway and back to the powder rooms and where they usual got ready for visitors. “I’ve never seen you pout before. I’m sorry we couldn’t stay longer I will ask Taehyung to share the tip he gets, okay? I’ll give you my share of it, too.” The geisha patted his shoulder softly, thinking that Jungkook was mad that he didn’t get his usual tip which were always important to them, to pay of their debts and buy themselves little things. Especially for a maiko, who always just got less than a geisha’s tip it was necessary. “Kook, would you mind loosening my belt a little?” Jimin was panting when they finally could close the door behind them to freshen up, “I can’t dance like this.”

Jungkook kept it to himself why he hadn't been ready to leave yet but he was still a little embarrassed that he had liked a random man so much. While he loosened Jimin’s belt his tongue also came a little lose and he couldn’t help wondering and asking, “Do you know who they were? I’ve never seen them before but Tae acted like he knew them. Also... you weren’t there in the beginning so.. I spilled some tea? On one of them? And they didn’t yell at me.” He was mumbling the last sentences so shyly that Jimin could barely understand him and when he wanted to turn around in surprised Kook kept a hold of his belt and kept hiding behind his back. “Do you think that means he likes me? Or does he just not care about spilled tea?”

Jimin held onto the table while Jungkook was keeping his belt so tightly in his hold that he couldn’t turn around, but he still tried to look over his shoulder. “You spilled tea?” His voice sounded surprised, “You never spill something, Kookie. You can be lucky they didn’t say anything...maybe he did, yeah. Anyone would be a fool not to like you.” When Jungkook was finally done, Jimin took a deep breath and sighed. “Mr. Ling is a regular visitor whenever he is in our city. He’s a businessman from Japan. Very wealthy. And he likes to bring new guests to the house. But I didn’t know the others. Not really.” The geisha began to explain before he touched up his make-up a little, mumbling under his breath, “I just saw him at the market once. That’s all.”

Jungkook had ears like a lynx though. “Him? Who’s him? The guy you were talking about? The lanky one? The one who held you?” He got excited at the prospect of Jimin being interested in one of their customers. Jimin hadn’t even shown interest in the ones who had proposed to him until now. As Jimin was a geisha he was allowed to receive marriage requests and he had already gotten some but Hoseok had been refusing them all. Jungkook wasn’t allowed to ask but as much as he knew Jimin hadn’t asked why either and he found it a strange thing to not even weigh his options. Though of course he was really relieved that Jimin didn’t leave him alone here. He felt like he wouldn’t survive for even a week without Jimin. Especially with his mizuage within reach…

Jimin hummed in response, blushing slightly, “Yeah. Him. He followed me on the market, and I thought of him as handsome - that’s all. I didn’t think I would see him again.” He turned to look at Jungkook with a smile and reached for the younger’s hand to pull him closer. “You know that’s how we suppose to be like, right? One single glance and make a man fall for you?” Cupping Jungkook’s cheeks softly, Jimin looked at him thoroughly. “We are the perfect illusion, the forbidden fruit. I told you I’m good at that.” He chuckled, sounding a little off, even to himself. Quickly, Jimin cleared his throat and gave himself a quick glance in the mirror. “Will you sing while I dance?” He changed the topic easily, even though knowing his maiko, Jungkook wouldn’t let go and lightly pushed the younger out of the room with him to get to the next tea room, “It’s more fun when you play while I dance.”

“Of course I will.” Something stirred inside of him and the sadness in Jimin’s smile had hit him straight into the middle of his heart. Jimin only very rarely let it shine through that he could feel sad or lonely or lost and Jungkook knew that this man must reach way more in Jimin than just his interest if it evoked such a response. He didn’t push further though afraid of hurting Jimin further. The older was always so strong for him, the shoulder he could lean on, the person he could come to at night. He wanted to give Jimin back what he so gratefully received but he couldn’t. He knew that Jimin would never let his guard down in front of him in fear of pulling the ground from under both their feets. They relied on each other and their stable little bubble they had created.

Who knew what was needed to make it burst.

A/N: Another story is about to begin... who is ready? Yay! I’m so happy to share this story today and so excited to see what you guys think of it!!! What do you think will happen? ♡♡♡ Oh and this story will be updated every sunday!

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