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kimnjss · 4 years

Text

tricky part | knj

⤑ series: plot twist

⤑ pairing: rapper!namjoon x rich girl!reader

⤑ genre: fluff?? (idk, man. i think they’re cute.) ahem, some smut... nd we get a little angsty, of course.

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 8.1K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: (mentions of alcohol abuse). slight dirty talk, cursing, fingering, nipple play, handjob, unprotected sex, cumshot, doggy style, light hair pulling, multiple orgasms... i think that’s it.

⤑ chapter song: tonight (i wish i was your boy) - the 1975 (the entire song is namjoon is swear...)

⤑ A/N: hiiii! this is wicked late ., i took a nap today nd it was amazing . let me know what you think !! x

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 17:09

It takes longer than usual for you to get ready, stuck in the mirror contemplating whether or not what you're wearing is good enough. If maybe you should put your hair up instead of letting it fall freely. Would it be showing too much? But you wanted to show a little, right? This was a date after all, who didn't tease a little on the first date?

But this was Namjoon. Sensible, cautious, easily frazzled Namjoon. Would it turn him off? Or fluster him so he's showing off that cute dimpled smile of us. The one that he let slip when without even noticing it, cheeks flushing pink as he tried to avoid eye contact. Gosh, he was so cute!

Okay! Perfect solution, you're thinking as your eyes find the hair elastic on your dresser. You'd bring the hair tie and feel things out, read the room, and with the first desire to jump his bones, you'd tie your hair up. Giving him a perfect look at your shimmery collarbones, thank you Fenty, and the slope of your neck. No doubt he'd find himself thinking about pressing his lips against your skin at the sight of it.

Boys were simple. All of them. A mere flash of skin and they were putty in your hands. Joon was cute with it, though. So you'd let it slide.

Your phone lights up, humming against your sheets. His name flashes in bold, waking up the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. Weird. He must be here, no doubt outside waiting for you right now. He'd think you looked nice, right? Grant you one of his lingering stares that he's always so quick to avert.

That's when you knew you caught his eye. Pride warms your chest each and every time you're catching him. It took a little bit more effort to get Namjoon to turn his head. Yet, he was still a boy at the end of it. He'd end up looking at you one way or another, it's all about how you present it.

Which is exactly why you were yellow. A yellow two-piece that highlights the best parts of you. And you're sure you've made the right decision when you catch the stutter in his step, eyes flickering from your face to your legs then back again. Forcing himself not to look away the entire time you're walking up to him, black platform heels carrying you with ease. Only a few inches below him with them on.

“Hi,” You're saying with a grin, hand reaching out to grasp his bicep. Giving it a little squeeze and watching the way his eyes go wide. He's wearing sweats but still looks so good. As if he's stood in front of you in a three-piece suit, although you might be exaggerating.

He doesn't shake you off but doesn't exactly relax in your touch either. Fingers tapping against his thigh and you can't help but wonder if he's holding himself back from touching you. Lame. “You're wearing yellow,” He says after a moment, stating it as fact rather than something that was intentionally done for him and his attention.

Eyes rolling on a laugh, you're nodding your head. “Yeah. You like yellow,”

“I do,” His nod is curt and his tone is military.

Huffing, while stepping forward, easily pulling him a bit close to you. “Okay, rule number on to this date...” Lifting a single finger for reference. His eyes flicker to it before he's looking back down at you. “You're not allowed to think tonight, got it? No analyzing, calculating. Weighing the options. Just do and talk, get loose.” Giving his shoulder a playful shake, you're shocked to hear the laugh that falls from his lips.

Like an actual, really pretty laugh. “Alright, deal.” A proud smile threatens to split your face when you feel his hand lift, hesitant at first but landing on the small of the back. Albeit, just to guide you, but it's still something. “Let's get going,” He's guiding you with the gentle hand on your back, barely touching you but you're stomach was doing backflips.

How quickly the roles reversed. Hands clasped in front of you, urging yourself to calm down. To stop acting like some thirteen year old who still hasn't had their first kiss. You were twelve years and eighteen kisses past that. Get it together.

“Where's your car?” Stepping on your tiptoes, attempting to peak up the street to spot it. “Actually, what kind of car do you even drive? I've never seen it?” Eyes shifting up toward him, a quizzical look on your face.

You're missing the soft, “I don't...” That falls from his lips because you're brain is working overtime to guess what car he could possibly drive. “Hm, you kinda look like a Chevy guy... maybe a Honda? But, I could be wrong. Definitely not a sports car, though.” You couldn't imagine Joon in one of those loud, low to the ground car.

Whipping through traffic as if where he had to go was much more important than all the other people on the road. Yeah, that didn't fit.

He's taking offense to this for some reason, nose scrunching, and hands finding his hips. His steps even come to a halt. “Hey. Why not a sports car?”

You're letting out a laugh, not at him, of course. Just at how adorable he looks right now. Actually pouting, with his arms crossed in the middle of the sidewalk. You've never seen him like this, not even sure where this new Joon came from. But he might be even cuter than the Joon you knew and had a huge crush on.

Moving toward him, not even bothering to stop yourself from poking his pouted lip. “Come on, that's totally out of character. You're practical and sensible. You wouldn't splurge on a sports car, that's not even durable. Those cars get torn apart in accidents,” He's not really mad, obviously. Which is why it doesn't take long for him to lose the face.

“So which one is it? Honda or Chevy?”

A large arm is dropping around your shoulder, tucking you into his side as the two of you continue your timed steps down the sidewalk. “Neither. I don't have a car. Or my license,” Eyes nearly popping out of your head with his words, stopping in your tracks to get a good look at him. Just in case you might've heard him wrong.

But he shows no signs of correcting himself or clarifying what he had just said. “Wait. So how are we going to get there!?” Did he expect you to walk!? All the way to Daejeon? In these shoes... they were cute, but not the most comfortable. And they didn't need to be because they weren't meant for walking 100 miles at a time!

“We're gonna take the train, of course. How else?” He's not even looking like he knows he's talking nonsense.

Like, honestly. Did he expect you to ride a gross train dressed like this!? What if you got robbed? Or kidnapped? Or worse, thrown up on!? This outfit was irreplaceable, one of a kind. No way could you take it on a train, that wouldn't do. “No. That won't be necessary. I'll just call one of my drivers, they'll come get us,” You've got your phone out before you're even finishing your sentence.

Namjoon is quick to pluck the device from your fingers, a sly smile playing on his features as he tucks it into his pocket. “Let those people spend time with their families. It's Sunday. There won't even be that many people,” Two firm hands placed on your shoulders, he's turning you effortlessly. “The train, it'll be fun.”

“You're the only guy, in the universe that thinks riding the train will be fun.” He's laughing again and it's not cute as it was a few minutes ago. “Oh no, I meant fun for me. You're gonna hate it,”

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 17:37

Just as you predicted, the train is gross. And sticky. Crowded and sweaty. Joon holds you close as you weave through the sea of people, fingers laced with yours. Although you know it's purely for survival purposes, the flutter in your heart still rises from feeling the warmth of his skin against yours.

You try not to make a huge deal about it. People rode the train every day and considering how many of them were in here, they've all survived. You'd be fine. Especially with this six-foot angel clearing the way for you at every turn.

Joon finds a seat for the both of you against the wall. Close with your thighs pressed together and he still hasn't released your hand from his grasp. It's cozy beside him, warm. Leaning your weight on to him, you try to be subtle but probably fail. He's concentrating on something on his phone and from the quick peak you were able to sneak, you see he's checking on your reservation for tonight.

Stomach flipping at the tiny fact he made a reservation for you two. It's so Namjoon to want to be triple prepared for anything, but the fact that it's in your favor makes you happy. No idea why, but that was the truth of the matter. More often than not happy when you were around him.

Even cramped in this stinky train, his hand in yours was enough to convince you, you were in the back of a limo. The unfocused chatter around you replaced with soft music that you'd play. Probably something he likes to listen to. His taste in music was quickly becoming yours the more time the two of you spent together.

He's dropping your hand for some reason that you don't realize until you're looking up to see him standing. Offering his spot to some brat with a broken leg. What the heck? Were you supposed to hold hands with this kid? Up without a word, didn't even bother to ask if you wanted him to get up.

Joining the other people standing, holding on to the railing and you're quickly deciding you don't like the distance. He watches as you stand to your feet, nose brushing against his chin. “Sit,” Gesturing to your now empty spot, earning a raised brow from him.

“Come on, Yn. Your feet are gonna hurt. Just relax,” He tries to lower you back into your spot, but you're moving to the side with a shake of your head. “I'll be fine. Just sit,” Catching the stubborn glint in your eye, just begging him to argue, he chooses to drop it. Switching spots with you and sinking into the empty spot.

Not even a second after he's settling into the cushion, you're dropping yourself onto his lap. Arm wrapped around his shoulders, legs between his. Bum pressed firmly into his thigh. “Did you really think I was going to stand?” You laugh. He doesn't even look the least bit surprised, eyes rolling – but you catch the smile on the corner of his lips.

His hand finds the outer part of your thigh, holding your body steady as the car jostles. He doesn't move it even after the machine has settled, has even taken to tapping out a rhythm against your skin.

It's nice. Your new favorite song.

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 21:17

You had to hand it to the guy, Kim Namjoon knew how to put a date together. Pure perfection from beginning to end, you're not sure if it's his careful attention to detail or the small possibility that he wanted to impress you... you've decided to go with the latter.

The entirety of dinner was spent talking about everything and nothing. Actually getting to know each other aside from the surface level, 'I make good music and you screen it while balancing your massive crush on me,'. He was telling you about the time he first met Yoongi: second year of high school, Yoongi was a really cool Senior, the type of cool guy that everyone knows, but like doesn't talk to anyone. He found Joon making out with some cheerleader in the band room, her hand down the front of his jeans... and made it all of his business to tease him about it for the rest of the semester.

Never would you have deemed Joonie as the type to take part in such excessive PDA, and although he insists it was not his idea... well, agree to disagree.

You were even telling him about the first time you got blackout drunk, which resulted in you being banned from every last Shake Shack. The only thing you remember from that night was getting in the car to head to the club, already started pre-gaming beforehand. But as Jungkook likes to tell it, you were a melting pot of 'types of' drunks.

Started the night trying to fistfight the bouncer, after only fifteen minutes in the club, which resulted in you... and all of your friends being kicked out. Went from not-so-discreetly trying to mount your boyfriend at the time, Jackson, to crying on the bathroom floor Shake Shack all before you were puking in the booth, after swearing (a million times) that you 'weren't gonna throw up'.

Followed by a screaming match between you and Hoseok as he apologized a thousand times over to the employee he had to call over for the mess, trying to assist her while she tried her best to keep a smile on her face. Jungkook carried you to the car, full-blown had to haul you over his shoulder as you screamed curses at your brother.

You don't remember any of that, though. Next thing you remember from that night after getting in the car to leave, was waking up to the sound of loud video games, hanging half-naked off the side of Jackson's bed.

You're more embarrassed than you though, telling that story out loud. how bad you used to be. That was the worst of it, but the other times weren't too great either. Of course, you've calmed down a bit. Really tried each and every time you were sent away to clean up your act. And you were good for a few months after you came back, and then you were not.

Surprisingly, Joon doesn't look disgusted when you tell him. And you're not sure if that's a good thing or not. Either he's extremely understanding or he was expecting your most embarrassing story to be something of the sort. You hope for the former but suspect the latter.

In reality, though. Namjoon found himself trying to figure out just what could've been going on in your life that you felt like any of that would help. He now knew with you there was always something hidden, a reason to your behavior that you oftentimes liked to brush off. Must've been bad. You probably had a hard time.

The highlight of the night, though, was hands down the play. You're not even sure if he knew what it was about when he chose it, but you were falling in love from the moment the current went up. Characters so vivid and engaging, dealing with real-life shit all while living in fear of the darkness that looms over their tiny village.

It wasn't hard for you to get totally immersed in the show, laughing along, getting upset, crying. And Joon stays seated by you the entire time, holding on to your hand. Not so sure when he picked it up, but he hasn't let it go in a while. Not that you were complaining. You liked the tiny shocks that followed every brush of his fingers.

He smiles when you laugh, laughs when you get upset, and wipes your tears when you cry. You're so sure, he missed the entire show.

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 21:20

“You know, my best friend's an actor. Kinda a big deal at his agency... I could talk to him?” Joon throws in casually as the two of you make your way out of the theater, talking as he tosses his empty popcorn carton into the garbage. As if he didn't just drop some life-changing news.

You've heard of his friend, Kim Taehyung. Was an extra in his very first big drama role, a historical one where he faced an untimely death. The two of you never crossed paths and shared zero scenes together, but it was still pretty cool. To you. He didn't know you from a hole in the wall and the last thing you'd do was act like anyone's biggest fan.

But, this? What Namjoon was offering... that could be huge. The start that you needed and you wouldn't even have to go through your father. You could do it all on your own... kinda. “Oh! That would be amazing, Joon!? Why didn't...”

As quickly as the excitement hits you, it's being knocked right out of your body. The job that you already have and everything else that surrounded it. No way could you accept this. “Actually,” You're forcing a smile for Namjoon to see, “Let's put a pin in it. I want to focus on the company,” You wonder if it sounds as robotic as it feels.

“Why? You hate that place?” His hand has found yours again, arms swinging slightly as you walk. There's this curious look on his face like you're not making any sense. And you're not.

Why wouldn't you jump on the first chance to ditch that hell hole? The opportunity was right in front of your face, so why wouldn't you take it? You must be an idiot. Stockholm Syndrome? “Can I tell you a secret?” You're whispering despite the fact it's just the two of you on the street.

“Sure,” Gently, he's pulling you just a bit off of the path. Figuring whatever you have to tell him might be something he wants to sit down for, so he's getting comfortable on a bench, tugging you down beside him.

Not once letting go of your hand. “Hoseok is putting out an album in a few months. He's been juggling that and work-work. The time when my dad came down to talk to me... about the whole Hyungwon thing, he said he'd tank the album if I didn't start acting right,” That actually does surprise Joon, eyes going wide as a barely audible gasp leaving his lips.

You can just about guess what he's thinking, 'what kind of father...?'. And the easy answer was, yours. Your type of father would. Your type of father has. “That's why I need to stay focused. I can't screw up, he's been working so hard. I wouldn't be able to live with myself I ruin everything for him. Again.” That was a story for another time.

“Yn. That's fucked up. Does Hobi know?”

Scoffing, your eyes roll automatically. “Of course not and don't tell him. He thinks our dad is the best. 'Strict, but the best'.” Your tone changes slightly to mock his deeper voice. “Thinks he's hard on me only because of how I act and while I know that doesn't help, that wouldn't change anything. We're all just pawns in his game. His stupid Legacy.”

It's weird because you don't even sound sad. Just numb. Like you've accepted that this was how the way things were and this was how they were going to be. He wished there was something he could do, stand up to your dad for you, tell him all the things you're afraid to. But that would be stupid, for him and for you. It wasn't his place and he'd only make it worse. No matter how badly he wanted to just step in, there was really only one thing he could do.

Your hand is much smaller in his, soft and cute. Nails painted a pretty deep blue to compliment the yellow of your dress. Squeezing softly, he's lifting his lips into a smile for you to see. And since he's been trying to take your advice and stop thinking so much, he's lifting your hand. Pressing feather-like kisses against your knuckles.

The gesture so sickeningly-sweet, you're not sure if you should puke or cry. Or both. He's looking up at you, smiling really wide before he's moving closer, lips finding your forehead making you feel warm all over. Butterflies holding a wrestling match in your stomach and you might just burst into tears.

“I can't interfere with your family. Especially when you're not asking me to. Just know, if you ever want to start doing what you really want I'll support it. I'll support you.” You feel the pressure building behind your eyes, the thickness in your throat. All over three stupid words that you had no idea you've been waiting to hear.

It's overwhelming. Desperately fighting back the wetness that teases your waterline. With a hard blink and a huff of air – you're pushing a smile onto your face. Aware of how fake it looks, but it'll have to do as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” You're grinning, hand patting his knee before you're hopping up from your spot beside him on the bench.

A hand extended down to him. “Come on, dessert on me!” You giggle because it feels right. And he takes your hand, allowing you to pull him from to his feet. Tugging him along behind you with your face pointed to the night sky. Not saying anything until you're sure your voice won't break.

And even then it's a quiet mumble, “You've earned something sweet.”

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 21:59

Your hair has gone up. Revealing the slope of your neck and the shimmer on your collarbones. And as you predicted, Joon watches you through the entire process. Lips wrapped around your ice cream cone, holding it in place as your hands move quickly to pull your hair out of your face. His gaze dropping to your mouth as you lick mess the treat his left from your lips.

Hook. Line. And sinker.

“Do you have any weird kinks?” You don't even look at him when you say it, focus on creating a peak on your ice cream cone.

Joon's choking a cough out around his shaved ice, eyes blinking hard as he clears his throat, lifting his gaze up to you. “Excuse me, what!?” An easy laugh falls from your lips, shoulders shrugging slightly. Taking pride in how easily you could fluster. “You know... weird kinks. Things that get you going, but are kinda weird,”

“Like a fetish?” You're shrugging, barely interested in the choice of word. “I'm sure there's a difference, but for the sake of this. Sure,”

He had to have something, there was no way he didn't. Everyone had something and you refused to believe that he was even composed and well thought out in that area. There had to be something that made him lose his cool. Had to be.

“Uhm,” He's clearing his throat, cheeks seeming to grow darker the more time you spent staring at him. “I wouldn't say it's weird, but I like...” His attention falls to his dessert, twirling his spoon around in the frozen shavings. Would you think it was too weird? Consider it a deal-breaker and decide to not talk to him again. You probably wouldn't even care, there wasn't much that you cared about he was finding.

But, you could surprise him. And what if... wait, why was he even stressing about this in the first place!? “Why are you even asking me this?” Such a random topic interrupting your peaceful silence staring at the water.

Again, you lift your shoulders in a shrug. “I'm curious. Here, I'll tell you mine.” You pause to flash a breathtaking grin up at him. “Put your hand up,” Joon doesn't even hesitate to lift his palm, heart stuttering when you're pressing yours against his. As if you're comparing sizes and he can't help but curl his fingers down into the space that's left.

“See that? What you just did? Drives me crazy. And also...” Hand dropping from his to lay flat on his chest and on reflex his muscle is tensing, pecs jumping underneath your touch. It's actually so sexy you contemplate dropping to your knees right then and there. You suppress the urge, but don't make any moves to lifting your hand. “Big hands? And muscles. Phew. Throw in a pair of cute dimples and it's over,”

It's obvious at this point that you're literally referring to him, not intentionally of course. He just happened to check every last one of those boxes. “Why's that?” He's staring at you with these eyes that you've never seen before. Dark and filled with want.

You liked it.

“Makes me feel cute and small, I guess. Like if you... or any guy, but let's just say you, were to use your big hands to pick me up and hold me there while we-” His eyes go wide when he catches on to the end of your sentence, rushing out a frantic, 'Oh okay, I get it!'. Watch as you bursting into a fit of giggles.

He ignores you, taking to peering around the bridge, checking for anyone within earshot that might've heard what you were about to say. Only to find that you two were the only people out here. Unless he was worried about judgmental glares from the birds, you were fine.

“So...” He's starting only after he's done his full scenery check. “You like feeling small, then? That's interesting,” Forever impossible to read, no idea what he meant by interesting, but as always you were running with it.

Steering this night, which had been an amazing date, in a direction that was a little less PG. Brow arched and a smirk playing on your lips, you move into his space. Hand sliding down the front of his body, meeting his waist. Holding a soft grip on the fabric of his sweater, you rise onto your toes, nose just inches from his.

“And? What do you plan to do with this information?” Could swear a small gasp falls from his lips, feeling your free hand tug on the long drawstring of his pants.

There are a million and one thoughts running through his mind right now. Every last one of them revolving around you. How good you look underneath that skirt, how good you smell standing this close to him. The way he could see the faint freckles on your cheeks, faded from your makeup. Yet, through all of his mangled thoughts, there's one that stands out amongst all of them.

You're so beautiful.

And not in the ways that you'd think. Yes, your face fit the standard, and the confidence you carried yourself with was more than deserved, but there was more. Beautiful underneath all of that and he could see it and even with this new stiffness tenting at the front of his jeans, it's all he can focus on.

Soft giggles fill his ears, coming from you realizing the way he was staring at you. Not saying a single word, just looking. “You're stalling. What's yours?” Taking a step back, you allow him a chance to breathe. Just barely noticing the twitch of his arm, ready to pull you close to him again.

“Okay, fine.” Joon's saying with a roll of his eyes, not the annoyed one that you've grown used to. It's playful, cute paired with the smile on his lips. “I like...” Large hand reaches out, landing firmly on your hip, effectively catching you off guard but he doesn't even give you a second to react before he's twisting your back toward him.

A shiver dancing down your spine as the tips of his fingers gently trace the link in the middle of your back. Actually having to bite down on your lip to keep from any noises slipping out in response to his light touch. “That. It looks sexy,”

Now you know how he feels when you tease him. Breathless and flustered all because he touched your back!? Come on, it was about time you got your shit together. Turning in his grasp, your features morph feigning confusion. “You like backs?”

“No! Not just backs. I Mean the dip... and if there's dimples back there. That's always a plus,” He says with a shrug, but you know exactly what he's doing. It was your game, basically invented it.

But judging from the flutter in your chest, he was better at it. “I have dimples back there,” It sounds dumb to your ears, like 'duh, he knows that stupid.. that's why he said it,' but you can't think of anything else to say. Thoughts clouded with how good being touched by him felt and coming up with ways to get more of that.

And he's moving as if he's read your mind, arm wrapping around your waist. Pulling your body to him with this newfound boldness that has a shocked gasp falling from your lips. “I know you do,” His voice is so deep and so sexy, only loud enough for the two of you to hear. You could spend hours just listening to him talk, no doubt. God, you needed to get it together.

“Oh, yeah? You've been sneaking peaks?”

He nods. Like, doesn't even bother to try and hide behind some half-assed explanation why he might've noticed, just owns it. He's so hot. “I'm very observant,” His words have you wondering what else he's noticed about you. How much time did he spend just 'observing', as he liked to call it.

You could figure that out later, there were much more pressing matters at hand right now. Kissing him. Through with the back and forth, you needed to feel his lips against yours. The fragmented memory of the first and only time was quickly fading, you needed something fresh.

With your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, you lean into him. Chin tilted up and eyes slowly falling closed, you're just inches from his mouth when that deep voice of his is breaking through. “Are you gonna kiss me?”

“Wow, you are observant,” Breathing out a laugh, you're nodding eyes lifting to find his. He even looked good from this close. “Wait.” His quick movements startle you, a not so cute squeal filling the night air as he bends to lift you, effortlessly wrapping your legs around his waist.

You're both laughing, like side aching chuckles. And you're certain you've never seen him like this before. Eyes forming crescent moons as loud snickers fall from his grinning lips. He's pretty. You're so dazed by that simple fact that you don't notice the way his laughter has died down into soft breaths.

Not until silence is falling over both of you and he's leaning up to press his lips against yours. Large hand lifting to tangle in your hair as he kisses you.

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 23:29

And he doesn't stop kissing you. Not on the train home where you sit on his lap and he swallows every last one of your whines. Not on the walk to your place where he keeps his arm around your shoulder, occasionally leaning down to press kisses against your cheeks. Even stood at your doorstep, you're still like teenagers who just discovered making out.

“Do you want to come up?” You're murmuring against his lips, sentences barely coherent through the push of your lips.

He's registering your words a few moments after you've said them, pulling back to reveal the worried expression on his features. Doesn't say anything, though. Like he's stuck between taking you up on your offer and whatever concern is plaguing his mind.

And then it's hitting you. “Hoseok's out with some girl. Just in case you're worried about that,” You don't miss the way his face relaxes, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. Pulling a blase expression, moving into your space again. “Why would I be worried about that?”

Eyes rolling, you let out a laugh. “Oh, my mistake.” You mock, turning to unlock your front door. Joon is following steps behind you into the house, no sign of Hoseok in sight. Not like he'd really care, on Namjoon's part. Just give you an ear full about how your actions would affect the company.

So, you're glad he's out. In no mood to hear any of that tonight. “Do you want a glass of wine?” Namjoon is following you into the kitchen, nodding along to your words.

He just can't seem to take his eyes off you. Followed your movements from the pantry to the cabinets all the way to the island where you poured alcohol into glasses for the two of you. Watched the way your lips tickled the neck of the bottle, sucking up the droplets that had spilled, dark eyes finding his the moment you're pulling back.

Daring him. To do something. Anything. Joon knew he needed to be bold. Impulsive. Throw caution to the wind and deal with the consequences later. It's how you got what you wanted all the time and right now, he wanted you.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he's rounding the island. Closing the space between the two of you. Hand cupping the side of your face as he wraps an arm around your waist. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips, rhythmically. “I don't want wine,” Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What do you want?” You ask, although, you already know the answer.

He takes to showing you rather than telling you, using the grip he holds around your waist to lift your body onto the counter. Stepping into the space between your legs before he's covering your mouth with his.

This kiss is much different from the others, no longer testing the waters. There's determination behind each movement of his lips. Both hands gripping your waist, pulling your body forward until his hips are pressed to yours. His tongue slips past his soft lips to graze your bottom lip. And you're opening up for him without a moment of hesitation, fingers tangling in his messy locks, and pulling – a low groan emerging from the back of his throat.

He's pushing his body flush against yours, hips lifting rightly and you feel the twitch of his cock through his sweats. Sweet moans fall from your lips with every roll of his hips, deliberately pushing down desperate to feel more of him. Your senses are filled with him. The taste of his tongue, the sweet smell of his cologne, how good it feels to have him pressed up against you.

Strong hands roam around your body, gripping the fabric of your skirt tight enough to have it inching up the smooth skin of your thighs. Gently cupping the back of your neck to hold your head steady as he licks into your mouth. He can't seem to make up his mind, greedily wanting to touch all of you at once.

You're meeting everyone of his upward thrusts with a downward roll of your hips, moans growing louder between the two of you with each brush of your most sensitive parts. And you want more. Legs wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, you needed more.

“Fuck, princess.” He's gasping out, not leaving a moment to spare for you to marvel at the pet name that fell from his lips so easily. His mouth makes steady work on your neck, suck red blotches into your skin as the palm of his hand moves down the front of your body. Sneaking underneath the hem of your skirt, your body jolts when he's pressing the tips of his fingers to your slit through the soft fabric of your panties.

Pretty moans fill the room as he teases you, fingers tight in his hair. Heady becoming heavy for your shoulders as the pleasure he's ensuing washes over you. “Namjoon,” You're gasping, hips bucking up when he's pressing his fingers against your sensitive clit. Above the cotton, but each stroke has electricity cruising through your veins.

He chuckles as your whines become more insistent, hips following the movement of his fingers. “That feel good?” Head bobbing frantically, your legs spread wider for him. So sure, you're soaked all the way through from the way he's palming roughly at your panties. He's confirming your thoughts with a groan and a breathy, “You're so fucking wet,”

“Please, Joon. More.” Panting as your hips lift up toward him. He's grinning wide, pressing a soft kiss to the skin of your neck before he's nudging your panties out of the way. “So greedy,” He teases, at the same time his fingers find your clit. He's pressing lazy circles into the sensitive nub, taking his time despite the needy roll of your hips. “Tell me what you want,” Dark eyes travel up the length of your body to your face, you don't even bother to mask the moan that slips at the sight.

An experimental finger teases your entrance, sneaking in past the first knuckle before quickly pulling out and repeating the same action. If it wasn't for the solid stiffness pressed against your thigh, you'd guess that he was torturing you for the hell of it. But judging from the steady rut of his hips, he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

You couldn't wait any longer, though. This moment has plagued your thoughts since the first time you were meeting him. What it would be like to be with him like this. Have him fuck you. You'd surely die if it wasn't now. “Fuck me,” The words come out more whiny than you originally intended but, hey. “Please, Namjoon.”

“Soon, princess.” He promises, sinking his middle finger into your tightness. Eyes flickering between your bodies so he can watch the way the single-digit disappears within your walls. So fascinated with the movement of his own fingers and egged on with your pretty moans, he's quickly pushing another finger in.

Namjoon's mouth finds yours, swallowing every last one of your hushed moans as he fucks into you. Scissoring you open with his long fingers, free hand tugging at the bottom of your top until it's around your waist, tits spilling out. He's groaning against your lips as his palm cups you from underneath, thumb lifting to brush against your nipple.

His head is lowering until he's able to latch his lips around the hardening bud. His sharp teeth graze over it slightly, gentle tongue washing over the slight pinch of his bites. You're whimpering at the feeling of his thumb pressing into your clit, back falling against the cool countertop as your hips move in tandem with his fingers.

It's not long before he's nudging a third finger past your walls, lips moving to mouth on the other side. Thumb moving expertly over your clit while his fingers provide such a delicious stretch, you're squirming beneath him. Searching for something to grip onto as the pressure begins to build in the pit of your stomach.

You take to tugging his hair, pushing his face against your chest as your back arches off of the counter. Wanton moans filling the room, you're being so loud but you can't find the strength to quiet down. Not while he's making you feel this good. And then all at once, he's pushing in deeper, fingers curling and brushing against that rough patch of skin hidden deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck! Don't stop, don't stop.” You're chanting over and over, hips rocking into his palm and Joon has no plans of stopping. Not when you sound like that, each whine and whimper shooting straight to his cock. He feels the way your walls flutter around his fingers and he's quickly lifting his head to watch your face.

There's a sheen layer of sweat on your forehead. Eyes rolled back as your lashes flutter, lips slightly pursed. Jaw falling slack, a breathless gasp slipping at the same time he feels a gush of wetness surrounding his fingers. Incoherent mumbles of thanks fall from your lips as your body shakes. He keeps his fingers buried inside of you, thrusting slowly until your words are dying down to soft breaths.

Opting to give you the time you may need to regain your composure... which only lasts a few seconds before you're sitting up. Arms and legs pulling him toward you. “Fuck, that was so good.” You say through a laugh, mouth finding his in a sloppy kiss as you work to pull his sweatshirt from his body.

Joon follows your lead, working on tugging his sweats out of the way. Your soft hand meets his, gently pushing it out of the way and dipping into the front of his boxers. Palm closing around his thick shaft and your eyes are going wide, fingers not being able to meet around the base.

“Holy, fuck...” Your hand drags over his length, more so measuring him than anything. Excitement igniting in your chest the longer it takes for your hand to meet the tip. Which is leaking with precum at this point, you feel it when your palm finally covers the tip and then use it to make moving your hand back down easier.

His hips follow the movement of your hand, attempting to fuck into the opening your palm created. Spaced out as the pleasure slowly clouds his mind. He looked so good. Chest and stomach flexing as he moves, shining underneath the dull kitchen lights. Brows furrowed and jaw clenched, making dimples appear at the sides of his mouth.

Your free hand slides down the front of his body until the tips of your fingers are brushing against his balls. Massaging them underneath the slight pressure while your wrist twists over his cock. “Yn, baby. Wait... fuck,” His hips are stuttering to a stop, hand reaching down to still the movement of your palm.

“I won't last,” A soft pink dusts his cheeks as he looks up at you, eyes glossed over and barely focused. He's letting out a breathless laugh before he's leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your lips. “I wanna fuck you first,”

The admission is waking up something entirely different inside you. Something you can't easily place and are in no mood to decipher. Instead, you grin, returning the kiss to his lips before grinning. “Fuck me, please.”

That's all he needs to hear before he's taking a step back from you, not giving you a moment to feel his absence before he's sliding you from the counter. Hands on your hips to turn your back to him, his large hand resting on the middle of your back. “Bend over,” Voice deep in your ear, you'd very much walk off the edge of a cliff if he was asking you like that.

You bend forward without any protest, the cool granite pressing against your exposed nipples. Joon holds a hand just above your ass, the other wrapped around the base of his cock – guiding himself toward your aching core. His thick head nudges against your tight hole and you both gasp as you swallow him in.

He takes his time, allowing you to feel every inch as he slips in. And you don't miss the way his thumb has moved to rest in the indent just above the swell of your ass. Pulling your body toward him with his grip. His huffed breath tickling your back the moment he's bottoming out.

Palms formed fists beside you, concentrating on your breathing as you get used to the feeling of being stretched this way. Slowly, he's pulling out until the head is catching at your entrance then he's pushing his way back in, your body sliding up on the counter with the movement. The stuttered movement of his hips slowly shifts into a steady rhythm that has a string of moans falling from your lips.

Strong, bruising thrusts into your backside paired with the gruff groans that escape his throat. He's so deep, the tip of his cock nudging against your g-spot with each thrusts forward. “Fuck, look how perfectly you take my cock, baby.” He groans, eyes glued to the way your lips are wrapped around him.

All you can muster back in response is a weak whine, a garbled cry of big he was... or how good he feels. Mind nothing but mush at this point, the overwhelming pleasure from the way he was fucking, softening your brain. Either way, he takes the incoherent noises as a compliment, speeding up the snap of his hips.

You all about lose it when he's reaching down to grip your hair, lifting your body onto his, keeping a steady movement of his hips as he reaches around you to find your clit. Rolling it between his knuckles until he's feeling that familiar squeeze around his shaft. Soaking up every whimper and every cry as he brings you closer and closer to release.

“You gonna cum again for me, baby?” Gasping out, your head bobs up and down, back arching in hopes to steal more than what he was willing to give you. “Please, make me cum.” He can feel the way your walls flutter around him, the whine in your voice. And since he's inclined to give you whatever you want, Joon's angling his hips in a way that he knows will make you cum.

And it's not long before the pressure is snapping in the pit of your stomach, loud cries filling the room as your hips lift into a shake. Walls clenched so tight around his cock, it's enough to nudge him over the edge. He fucks into you with great fervor, leaning your body back onto the counter as his hips snap against yours.

Thrusts becoming sloppy and untimed as he feels himself falling apart, an odd mixture of curses and your name falling from his lips as he feels his body tense. He's pulling out as a hurried afterthought, hand acting as a lame substitute for your wet core as he strokes himself to completion. Spilling onto your back with a strained groan.

And then the kitchen goes silent, nothing but the sounds of your heavy breaths and the hum of the fridge filling the room. Neither of you says anything, both trying to come back to your senses. A few moments pass before he's hearing the soft sound of your giggle, body rising off your stomach to turn and face him. He looks so dazed and fucked out, cheeks flushed and eyes blown. Hair a mess and breath ragged. He looked so hot.

A hand finds the back of his neck, fingers tangling into the soft hair there. Joon's grinning when his eyes find yours, an arm wrapping around your waist. Pulling you closer, because it never felt like you were close enough. “We just fucked,” You state the obvious, can't find it in yourself not to.

It was nice. You liked it. You liked him. Everything about him, you just found yourself liking. His laugh. His smile. How easily he was annoyed. The cute dimples. The sound of his voice. You liked him.

“Yeah, we did.” He's replying, a little breathless but he still manages to lean down to capture your lips with his. A short kiss that has you leaning up, silently asking for me. He denies you with a cute shake of his head. “Let's go upstairs. I wanna go down on you,” Okay, bold Joon was something you were definitely going to have to get used to.

He's twirling you around when you don't move to lead him, large hand dropping to tap against your ass cheek, pulling a giggled squeal from your lips. “Ah!” You're laughing when he's reaching to do it again, instead taking hold of his hand. Fingers easily intertwining as you tug him behind you.

His back pressed to yours, cock growing hard against your backside as you lead him up the stairs and into your room. The sound of laughter only growing between the two of you.

Yeah, you liked him a lot.

MAY 10TH, 2020 | 23:58

Your body is warm against his, back pressed to his chest. Soft moans filling the air as he holds you close, pushing into you, chasing yet another release. This time in your bed. With you in his arms and it feels different. It feels nice. It makes him wonder... what's next? If there's something more for him to hope for.

He wanted to be with you, to put it simply. Never would've imagined it'd be you, but now he can't imagine it being anyone else. But things just sometimes worked out that way. Namjoon wanted to be yours, but in turn, he wanted you to be his.

Somehow, he felt like that might be the tricky part of it all.

— daughter of the ceo of the biggest record label, it’s obvious she’d get whatever and whoever she wants. but what happens when she’s meeting the one person that refuses to play into her spoiled brat act?

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kinsey3furry300 · 3 years

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So how the heck do the Avengers pay for stuff, and how rich are they?

So, in the wake of “Falcon and the Winter Soldier” There’s a lot of debate about why Sam didn’t seem to get paid well for his work in the Avengers (at least in the MCU continuity), and this has got me thinking: we’ve got no evidence that the Avengers are, financially, anything but a hot mess. So lets break it down, Avenger by Avenger, using real-world pay scales for the ones who have jobs.

Tony: a billionaire, so clearly he’s a financial genius, right? Well….. his actions say otherwise. He’s shown to be wildly irresponsible with his money. He inherited a lot of wealth form his parents which was managed by the first Jarvis, Obadiah, and Pepper for him, he buys and then gives away not just woks of art, but entire collections by major 20th century artists on a whim, destroyed his own cars and home without concern, he tanks the value of his own company in the first Iron Man with a bad press interview, gets kicked of his own bord of directors, and ultimately, in Iron Man 2, gives control of his company to Pepper. He’s insanely rich, and insanely smart, but man, he’s not smart with his money. So all the cool stuff, his suits, the Avengers tower, the facility up-state: that’s all paid for by him, but Pepper is holding the purse-stings. So, does he pay the others? We have no evidence for most of them… but we do with Spidey. Peter Parker is in the Stark Internship Program a euphemism to hide the fact he’s training and mentoring him as a super-hero, but I find the wording interesting: he refers to Spidey, his surrogate son and chosen heir, as an intern. I.E., Unpaid. I’m guessing this is Howard’s influence over him, some sort of ‘make you own way in the world, son’ attitude, but if he’s not paying Spidey, is he paying anyone else? He certainly pays for stuff super heroes suits and things, equipment, fuel, the base, but does he pay anyone a wage? No one ever mentions it. You think it would come up.

So, if he’s not paying them a wage, where do Avengers (and thier allies) get their day-to-day money from, and are they rich? Using google and https://www.federalpay.org, lets find out.

Cap: Well, before Civil war, he’s a shield operative, and he presumably still holds his military rank: he’s a US Army captain, with (well) over 40 years service, so USD$88,142.40 per year, with $237.71 drill pay (pay per drill you have to do on weekends, on leave or outside of normal service) and $175.00 per month hazard pay (which I bet is interesting) on top of that. As a WW2 veteran, he’d be eligible for a war pension if he:

Was not discharged for dishonorable reasons; and,

Served 90 days of active military duty; and,

Served at least one day during wartime ("wartime" as determined by the VA); and,

Had countable family income below a certain yearly limit; and,

Is age 65 years or older; or

Regardless of age is permanently disabled, not due to wilful misconduct.

As he’s still receiving 90k per year, he’s ineligible for a pension as his countable yearly income is above the limit. So if shield pays him in accordance with his rank and years of service, about $90, 600 per year incuding hazard pay.

After civil war, he’s a fugitive on the run, so presumably flat broke. I’d asume he gets his pension returened to him after the snap.

He’s also just gone from the 40’s to the present day, so 70 years of inflation probably makes buying things very confusing for him: everything would seem insanely expensive at first. He’d also not know what the correct prices are for anything invented after 45. You might get used to how much more expensive food and coffee is, but how much is a smart-phone worth? $200? $2000 $20000? Who knows? I bet the others have to facepalm a lot when he either refuses to pay for what he sees as clear price-gouging, and at the same time regularly pays insane amounts of money for goods and services because he doesn’t know better. He also has no known assets other than his pay: he rents an apartment making him one of the few American males in his age-group who isn’t a home-owner

Thor: Does Asgard even have currency? It’s depicted like a “Crystal spires and toga” type utopia with no poverty: even working class Asgardian’s like Scourge seem to be pretty well-off and want for nothing, so he’s from a post-scarcity society where actual magic is a thing. His “Another” coffee cup smashing and the fact he doesn’t have a computer of phone in Ragnarök might indicate that, no, he just doesn’t have, need or understand money. Splitting a bar tab with him must be a nightmare. His breakdown post snap indicates he’s got some cash, but not a huge amount, and is probably skiving of Valkyrie and the other Asgardians.

Banner: Okay, so a PhD could make you a lot of money from patents… in pharmacology or engineering. Theoretical physics? Not so good. And if Banner did have any patents, they’ve probably been seized under eminent domain by the US military. At the start of The Hulk film, he’s working a entry-level factory job at a botteling plant in Brazil. The minimum wage in Brazil is 1069.62 Real per month, that’s 12,835.44 Real per year, or around $2437.79 US per year, before everything goes wrong for him! He then runs off to India, works for Tony for a bit and then gets shot into space. Spidey may actually make more in allowance than Banner does, and Banner is a gown ass man with bills to pay: I’d imagine he loses a lot in ripped clothing.

Natasha and Barton: Pre Civil-war, both are government spooks, so how well does that pay? The salaries of CIA Intelligence Analysts based in the US range from $25,838 to $685,701 , with a median salary of $125,340, so let’s assume that Shield pays in a similar range: $685,701 per year for Director Fury, around 125,000 for Natasha and Cliff, which explains Cliff’s nice, middle-class mid-western home. Post civil war, presumably not great: we know that Natasha spends a lot of her savings running and hiding all across the world, and Cliff takes a deal and presumably lives of his savings, pension and his wife’s income.

Rhodes: Full USAF colonel with over 10 years service? $105,562.80 per year, plus $293.23 drill pay per drill and $175 per month hazard pay, and because he’s team Stark and not Team Cap in Civil War, he’d not lose any of that. He presumably also gets an injury pay-out after his accident. After T’challa and Stark, he might be the best paid avenger.

Dr Strange: spends all his money he made as a surgeon on trying to cure his hands: spends literally his last dollars heading to Nepal to train. Wong even jokes with him about their lack of worldly money when asking for a tuna-melt. But, can use illusion to make people think he has money, and his home and clothes etc. come with the job, so in the same boat as Thor in that he has no money, but needs none AKA, he’s a bastard to try and split a restaurant bill with.

Wanda and Vision: No know source of income, just sort of live in Tony’s hose and eat his food, and on top of that Wanda goes on the run after civil war… yet they can stay in fancy hotels in Edinburgh, a relatively expensive city, and Vison apparently bought them a house to retire in, so one of them has some source of money. Maybe Tony gave Vision years of back-pay form when he was still Jarvis, or maybe the vison has a day job, which is, frankly, hilarious. Could you imagine him as a barista? I can, and it makes me very happy.

Scott Lang: I’d assumed he’d be super, super broke, but apparently the average pay for a private security consultant in the Bay area is $85,430 per year. Not bad. Pity he gets sucked into the quantum realm just as his business is taking off, so presumably, flat broke again.

Bucky: no known income, and I doubt Hydra paid him for being the Winter Soldier so he probably has no savings, but he should, technically, qualify for a military pension. As a single veteran, he’d be eligible for federal tax-free pension of up to $1732 per month, or $20,784 tax free per year. Not much for someone who lives in NYC. He may also be eligible for medical benefits over the loss of his arm. Whether or not he got to see any of that money given how confused his life has been over the past 10 years is unclear, but on paper he’s eligible.

T’challa: He is, quite possibly, richer than Stark, and as an absolute monarch pays no tax and has access to his Nation’s vast wealth in vibanium. It’s good to be the king!

Captain Marvel: USAF captain, and a test pilot; the test pilot school only accepts applicants with a service length of less than 9 years 6 months (10 years six moths of helicopters) as they don’t want older applicants. With 8 years service, $79,538.40, plus drill pay and hazard. However, no know (human) pay since 1990. Flat broke.

Guardians of the Galaxy: no data, but I’m assuming “Cowboy Bebop” levels of perpetual never-ending poverty given the way they choose to live. I’d also assume Rocket has taken all their cash into some sort of Ponzi scheme of his own creation, because just look at him, of course he has.

Spidey: he’s got about $10 of his aunts’ money at any given time, so he can buy lunch… which may in fact be more than Banner or Lang, and we know it’s more that Strange or Thor.

So, here the big one: how rich or how broke is Sam?

Sam Wilson: annoyingly, we’re not directly told what rank Sam held in any MCU film. USAF pararescue “Maroon berets” are generally NCO’s (but there’ are officer-ranked pararescue) , and he’s seen working on his wings at one point, where as officers don’t generally work on or maintain airframes. He’s shown wearing a Nation Air guard grey while jogging at one point to confuse the matter further. The general consensus on redit is he’s a former USAF tech sergeant (E-6). But how long was he in the air force? With six years service (the minimum sensible time he could have served to work in pararescue based on his age), that would be $41,464.80 per year, plus drill pay and hazard. As Anthony Mackie, the actor that plays him, was 36 as of Civil War, and assuming the character is the same age, and assuming he retired from the air force that year, and he joined the USAF at 17, the youngest you can join, he’d have served 19 years, giving him a pay of $51,566.40, the maximum pay you can get at this rank before promotion to Master Sergent, but meaning he left just before he’d qualify for the 50% final salary pension you’d qualify for after 20 years. Which seems weird. So let’s assume the character is one year older than the actor that plays him and served 20 years (ages 17-37), that means Sam has a military pension of $25,783.20 per year (20,784 of it tax-free), plus any injury benefits. He councils other veterans, but doesn’t get paid for that. He also chooses Team Cap in Civil War, so would become a wanted criminal, and so lose his income between 2016 and 2018, and then gets snapped and has no income for 5 years, which would destroy his credit rating. Like the rest of Team Cap, he presumably gets his post snap pardon, and goes to work for the US government at his former pay and rank. However, given how Captain John Walker treats him as an equal, it’s possible he’s been promoted to a captain when the hired back, giving him a pay of between $54,176.40 to $88,142.40 (with 20 years experience, depending on if they take into account his prior service or not, and how much prior service he has), but either way, he’s just starting this as a new job after being legally dead for 5 years: no savings, and no credit.

Commercial fishing vessels cost about 10% of their total value per year in maintenance alone. I can’t identify what sort of boat the Wilson’s have, but some quick googling indicates that the cheapest 15m long wooden in-shore shrimp trawler costs around $140,000, so that’s $14,000 per year in maintenance costs alone, minimum. And that’s a lower estimate, assuming the rest of the business is sound, which we know it isn’t.

So, in concussion, yes, Sam is in some serious financial trouble until he can re-build his savings and credit, but the scary bit is he’s not alone in that: he’s probably better off than Lang, Banner, Danvers, Strange, Thor, Bucky, Wanda and Parker. Only Clint (if he gets a full pardon and gets his full pension), Rhodes, Stark and T’challa aren’t in some sort of potential financial problems. That asshole bank teller was right: despite the fact it seems to pay well on paper, with a few exceptions, the Avengers financials are probibaly a mess. EDIT: Rocket is running the Ponzi scheme, if that’s not clear from context. The others know they have money somewhere, but not where it’s gone. And It’s been pointed out to me that as he’s technically a POW while he’s the Winter Soldier, Bucky is owed over 70 years back-pay, equal to over 3 million dollars, details in the notes.

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anasticklefics · 3 years

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Unsaid

Fandom: Star Wars

Characters: Poe/Finn

Summary: They land on a planet that has a field that tickles anyone who comes near, and Poe is having one too many feelings about it.

A/N: My first fic back from hiatus! Honestly I’m only posting something because I wrote more than half of this while I was gone, but felt inspired to finish it today. I hope you like it, I’m very proud 🥺

Words: 2k

A breeze of heat ruffled Poe’s hair as he stood at the edge of the Field of Laughter on a planet that had too much of an orange tint for his liking. It reminded him of dry, unforgiving land full of sand and nothing but sand, but mostly it reminded him of the times he’d been stranded, so thirsty he could die, running for his life over the scorching ground. Just last week, that is. It reminded him of being near death, and of watching Finn and Rey getting dragged just out of his reach.

“It’s okay, you know,” Finn told him now, watching Poe as Poe watched the field. “If you want to try it, I mean.”

Poe chanced a glance at him, wondering what the orange tint made his blush look like. “I’m good.”

“Poe.” Finn had mastered the knowing smile he occasionally shot his way wonderfully. An amusement to it, but also something kind that made Poe all the more embarrassed whenever it was aimed at him. Vulnerability, even during the war, was always something that terrified him, even more than the war.

“Really, I’m okay,” he said, averting his gaze back toward the dancing blades of yellow grass. They’d been told the field was bigger than it seemed, twisting and turning behind the mountains and the trees Poe had been surprised to find here. They all looked dead, but were apparently perfectly fine.

“If you’re worried someone will see or hear you we could go further.”

“Why do you think I want to try it?”

“Oh, come on now.” Finn bumped their shoulders together. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The Field of Laughter was said to be a very ticklish experience; so much so that the natives who lived by it had developed a thicker skin, quite literally so, in order to survive having to cross it. It had saved them valuable time, not having to walk around it, and it only got a couple of giggles out of the younger ones now.

Poe was absolutely certain he would never escape the dancing blades, whose only purpose in life was to tickle whomever walked over and through them. They were kept regularly short, cut with hovering blades and quick hands, as they could probably tickle someone to death if they were able to trap them. A field of torture for most, but something else to Poe.

“I promise to pull you out if it becomes too much,” Finn continued, but Poe could tell he wasn’t going to push it more. It was up to Poe to decide whether he was brave enough to be vulnerable in more than one way.

They’d landed there by accident. A mission gone wrong, but not so wrong it had really cost them anything. Just time, which they sometimes couldn’t afford and other times were swimming in. They’d been fortunate, for once, to be rich enough to give it away so easily to a planet that neither attacked them nor wanted to help them. Proud of their history, but wary of their grounds, meaning they told them everything but let them see little. Poe knew of the group that had settled not too far away from their makeshift camp, keeping an eye on them and making sure they didn’t stray past the point they’d been allowed to see. Poe wasn’t sure why they’d been forced to stay by the Field of Laughter of all places, but he’d been thoroughly on edge for the past two days because of it.

“Better be careful,” Jess had said, pointing to the field. “If you piss me off I might throw you in.”

Poe hadn’t replied, his ears still ringing with the story of the field they’d just been told. Lab-made. Torture device. Impossible to stop. It had made him want to peel his skin off to hear it.

“Poe.” Finn, his one and only confidant in this, hadn’t teased him like Poe had feared, but that knowing look had almost been worse. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”

One thing you should know about Poe Dameron: he had absolutely no idea how to handle any type of feeling that involved vulnerability, which included embarrassment and fear and love and lust. Unfortunately his feelings about tickling had traces of all, to a certain point. It was embarrassing to love something most people hated. It was terrifying to love something to the point of sensuality.

Finn had found out by accident, too. A drunken night, Poe too touch-starved and exhausted and in love with him to keep quiet, and while whatever they were was still unsaid and only shown in quiet fingertips to skin, Finn was all too eager to give him what he wanted after he’d let it slip. Poe refused to talk about it now, all of it unsaid and quiet, all theirs but barely.

Finn hadn’t mentioned the field as they’d started their walk, but Poe couldn’t look at him as they’d walked along the edge of it, maybe too close to it for comfort. One misstep and he could fall in, and then he’d have to face one too many truths at once.

Truth was, he almost wished someone would push him in. Just as an excuse.

“It almost doesn’t look like the blades are dancing,” was the first thing he’d said. “There’s no rhythm to it.”

“I’m sure they’re trying their best,” Finn had replied and Poe had laughed, nearly hysterically, as if giddy at the idea of having them dance over his skin.

“How does it even work?” he said now, two days later, the evening sun still bright and orange, but fading ever so slightly by the minute. “Like, do they go for your feet first or trip you or what?” He was only able to ask because it sounded so stupid to ask it.

“No idea.” Finn tilted his head at the field. “Does it work if you’re dressed and wearing shoes?”

“No idea.”

“Maybe we should ask someone. I’m sure they’d be willing to share.”

“We’d look too invested.”

Finn grabbed his wrist, squeezing once and calming him instantly. “We don’t have to.”

Poe went to bed untickled, tangled up in Finn’s embrace.

He only went because he’d dreamt of it and had learned to take dreams seriously years ago. In his dream it had been intoxicating, the sensation unbearable enough to have felt real, and so he went, wondering if he would leave or die there, laughing until it hurt him. That was the most fascinating part. Where did the line go between pleasure and pain when it came to something like this? How much could he take? Were Finn’s occasional prodding hands enough or was he capable of handling more?

In retrospect there was probably a safer way to figure this out, but Poe stopped by the edge of the field, feet bare and pants rolled up to his calves, with a relief he rarely ever felt regarding this. The early morning sun was more of a soft canary yellow than orange, and Poe felt he could breathe more easily.

“Hello,” he said, his voice a murmur as he bent to get closer to the grass. “Aren’t you causing a lot of commotion.”

He didn’t feel stupid to speak to it. Somehow he felt it was alive, just communicating differently than him. He’d walked as far as he’d been able to, but felt as if his laughter would still be heard if it caught him. Many years ago, when he’d had too much pride to admit to vulnerability, he’d been captured by a rope and remained hanging upside down for longer than was comfortable, squirming, struggling, but refusing to scream for help. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet during this.

The blades did nothing to acknowledge his presence and Poe longed for a thick forest - preferably a dark green one - to hide him from view when he reached out a finger to hover above it. An idiot, they would call him if they saw him. An idiot that’s asking for it.

If only they knew how desperately he was really asking. How loud and persistent and starved his pleas were, in the midst of a war that gave him no privacy to be candid.

“Would you let go of me if I asked nicely?” The blades were just out of reach. He could imagine them suddenly reaching forward and gripping him by the wrist, pulling him in and under for the rest of his giggly eternity.

But of course, they merely kept dancing. He wiggled his index finger over them. “Are you ticklish yourselves?”

The silence around him was deafening. If he fell he would be heard by the whole universe.

If he didn’t fall he could pretend he had. Say he’d been sleepwalking, hence his lack of proper footwear, and had ended up in this ticklish awakening.

Finn would know, naturally, but Finn would never tell. Would only try to gently coax the answers out of him and Poe would blush and blush and blush until he would say something stupid that would have Finn either laughing or rolling his eyes. Finn would drop it only momentarily, for it was too big of a thing to do on your own for him to never bring up again.

Poe wasn’t surprised when Finn appeared a moment later, his steps quiet but not non-existent. “Hi.”

Poe sighed and straightened, turned to glance at him quickly to hide the already spreading flush. “Hi.”

“I knew I’d find you here.”

“Dead or alive?”

“Hmm, either. Happy it was the latter.” He stopped beside him, letting their shoulders brush as they gazed over the field. “Are you gonna do it?”

“Not sure. Honestly I might’ve stood here for hours if you hadn’t arrived.”

“I can hold your hand. Pull you back out.”

Poe looked at him. Finn, with his own worries and dark circles under his eyes from how little he actually slept and his ever present way of reaching out without expecting anything back. If he trusted anyone with this it was him.

“Okay.”

Finn met his gaze. “Okay?”

Poe held out his hand. “Okay.”

Finn took it.

In retrospect it was both an overwhelming and underwhelming experience. The idea of it, the actual act of stepping his bare foot onto the field, still made his heart race. But while it did tickle it wasn’t the hysteria he’d been imagining. To be fair, he only let it go as far as to his calf before he decided he’d had enough, but for someone as sensitive as him it should’ve been worse.

It did tickle, though. It tickled a lot.

“I think you’re just too used to the sensation,” Finn told him after they’d returned to their quarters.

Poe huffed in embarrassment. “Not like that.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve pinned you plenty of times.”

“Not like that,” Poe said, quieter.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

As he’d stepped onto the field, Finn’s hand tight over his, Poe had felt fear and excitement and shame and acceptance, all at once, as the blades started dancing over his skin. When he’d realized, after the blades had started tickling between his toes, that he wasn’t able to actually remove his foot from the grass, was when he’d started laughing and couldn’t stop.

“I’ve never heard you laugh like that, though,” Finn said now. “I’m actually offended. I’m definitely taking this as a challenge.”

“How did I laugh?” Poe asked, because yes okay sometimes embarrassment made him stupid.

“Desperately. More high pitched than usual.” Finn’s smirk was intoxicating and fucking terrifying. “Want to try to recreate it?”

“People will hear us,” Poe said, already laughing stupidly, nervously, too smitten for his own good.

“I have a perfectly good palm to muffle it.”

And so the rest of Poe got tickled, too.

#tickling #ticklish!poe #finnpoe #stormpilot #finnpoe fic #star wars #star wars fic #tickle fic #unsaid #mine #ana's fics

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vidalinav · 3 years

Note

im so happy you’re accepting prompts!! just know that there’s no pressure at all, and that we love your writing🤍 prompt: cassian and nesta talk about whether they’d still inevitably end up together if they weren’t mates and just alot of fluffy sweet banter

I did yours first because I really appreciated you saying that there was no pressure in completing it. I felt that and I thought it was the nicest thing in the world.

BUT It came out really stupid sorry so... I'm not going to tag anyone. However I will own my shame so here you go.

It's banter in the form of pillow talk, where Cassian constantly keeps Nesta up by asking her questions. In my brain, he goes on tangents and Nesta is the pragmatic one. That's like... okay Cassian. But again. STUPID!!!!!

“Do you think it would have been me?” Cassian asks as he tries to count constellations in fresh paint. “If we didn’t have the bond... would it have been us? I guess the real question is did the bond choose us from the start--our relationship destined? Or did the bond see us... how we acted and felt about each other, and some cosmic force recognized our love?

Nesta shifts in the bed, her eyes blinking up at him slowly. “Cassian these are not the type of questions you ask right before bed.”

But he has to ask, he always has to ask. There’s something about the darkness that has these questions bubbling out of his throat. “But think about it Nesta, don’t you think we’re sort of... odd.”

Cassian thinks about it all the time. There's no one more perfect for him then her and yet, he sees the way people look at them. His hands will always be stained with blood and Nesta is more fitted for white gloves and lace. And he knows she can hold a sword and fight with the best of them, but Nesta can fit anywhere and Cassian can’t fit.

“I mean I understand opposites attract,” he rambles on, “and we do have similarities, but we mostly fought in the beginning and yet I still wanted you even then. Was my want for you a part of the bond? Or was the bond part of wanting you? And if it’s the first, in another universe, in another time, would it have been me? And if it’s the second what if you hadn’t wanted me, too.”

Cassian turns to face her, the bed creaking as he moves. He watches as she frowns, her lashes casting shadows on her cheek. “I promised we’d have that time, but I never considered that in another life it might not have been me at all.”

It's not the first time he keeps her awake with some question or another.

Usually, she merely sighs exhausted at what do you think the meaning of life is? Does time even exist if we really think about it... Do you ever think about how you can know a person you’re entire life and only scratch the surface of who they are? Does that mean you can never really know a person truly in the first place and if that’s the case aren’t we all living with practical strangers?

More often than not Nesta’s covering her ears with the pillow, groaning while Cassian tries to pull it from her face. They’ve had a hundred and one nights like this. He wants a million more.

Cassian tries to catch his breath, almost wishing she’d groan or sigh or roll her eyes, play it off like it’s a stupid question because it is. he knows it is.

“So tell me,” he says, his words a whisper of worry, “what do you think? Was it always going to be us?

Nesta's brows furrow quizzically and she purses her lips. “I don’t know if you can tell this about me Cassian, but I don’t like many people.”

Cassian frowns at the words, “Is that an answer?”

Nesta shrugs, “I find it hard to believe I would have loved anyone else.”

“So you’re with me... by process of elimination?”

“Or...” She offers, her gaze alight with mirth, “you’re the exception.”

Hmm.

Cassian needs to think on that one.

“But hypothetically, what would you have done if it wasn’t me?” he goads. “We only exist because you turned fae, what if you hadn’t? There may or may not be a bond but the relationship is impractical if you’re human and I’m fae. You’d just get married to some poor bloke who gives you this large diamond ring and you have 12 children?”

Nesta scoffs, “Twelve?”

“Whatever number,” Cassian dismisses.

Nesta raises her hands to stop him, “we are not having twelve children.”

“That’s... a topic for another day,” Cassian waves off.

“No,” Nesta sings, “that’s a topic I will resolve now. We are not having twelve kids.”

“But I want a big family,” Cassian pleads, grabbing her hands and giving her that look that he knows makes her take pity on him.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “You’re head is big enough to fill up the entire house. We have no room for that many people. No. No!”

“The House is four stories. What are we suppose to do with all those rooms?”

“Cassian unless you are birthing these babies yourself in which I will fully support you emotionally, spiritually, and financially, we are not having twelve children. End of discussion.”

Cassian only grumbles out a response.

“And regarding your other question, I don’t know what I would’ve done. That scenario doesn’t exist. I’m fae, you’re fae. That’s it and unless we plan on dying tomorrow, I don’t know if we’d end up together in the next life. I don’t know if the bond keeps us coming back to each other. I don’t care. I want this life with you. I chose you and you chose me and we’re here together. And I guess, if the bond, or what I deem as love, means I’m going to have to answer these questions every night, then I guess that’s what I’m going to do.”

Nesta reaches for him, and Cassian shifts to make room for her. She settles her head on his outstretched arm. It tickles at his skin, but he can’t believe she’s just satisfied enough with that answer.

“Would you have married someone else though?”

Nesta sighs, but Cassian waits for the answer. She groans, mumbling about not getting any sleep.

“Probably,” she says at last. “Yes. If you want that answer, then yes. But quite honestly knowing my character and knowing the males in my town, we probably wouldn’t have lasted long. I would have killed him long before we ever reached twelve.”

Cassian laughs and Nesta brightens at the sound.

“Or he might have run head first into a moving carriage on his own accord. I wouldn’t have judged him.”

“How would you kill him?”

Nesta smirks, her eyes maliciously bright. “Poison... knives... a trip down the stairs.”

“Make it look like an accident.”

“Of course,” Nesta beams.

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Cassian says, noting his mate’s excitement.

Nesta sets her hand on his cheek, rubbing her thumb along the rough stubble of his chin. “Murder is always on my mind.”

“I should probably stop keeping you up with my questions, then.”

Her lips are impossibly close to his, and he can feel her breath on his skin. “Maybe you should. I’m sure the House knows how to hide a body.”

Cassian laughs, the sound bright in the shadowed room. He’s sure that’s true and her lips raise at his calm shrug of acceptance. His eyes dart to her mouth.

Cassian wants to kiss her, but he has to tell her first.

“I love you.”

“I know,” she says, her lips nearly touching his.

Being near her is a relief. But hearing her speak is something else entirely. Maybe he asks her these questions because he wants to hear her voice into the last moments of the day. At all hours of the night.

Nesta wraps her hand around his hair and tugs.

But another question forms in his mind. “Would you’re family have approved of me?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, pulling away from him. Cassian grasps her arms, pulling her back. “Hey, come on now. You’ve indulged me this far.”

Nesta pretends to think about her answer, and as he waits she looks to the ceiling as if she’s actually thinking about it. Cassian can practically hear crickets.

“It’s taking you this long!”

“Well... I’m trying to be accurate!” She throws up her hands. “You know maybe they wouldn’t, because you’re not... princely. No offense.”

“None taken,” He remarks. Because he knows all too well the differences between them. Cassian doesn’t mind. She’ll be his queen. He can be her guard. Her knight. Whatever keeps her next to him.

“But then again, maybe they would because you are rich--hey!”

Nesta catches the pillow he throws and she throws it back at him. He catches it easily before it hits his face.

“Who hits their mate upside the head?” She yells.

Cassian rolls his eyes, “You hit me all the time.”

“I smack your butt. That is not the same.”

Cassian scoffs, “You won’t let me smack your butt.”

“That’s because you try to do it in public places!”

“Oh, so you’re okay if I tap your ass in private. You trying to tell me something Nes? Who knew you'd like to be spanked?”

Her cheeks redden and Cassian shrugs, thinking about it. "Actually I should've known that."

“I change my mind," She announces, grabbing his pillow, "they’d hate you and you know what? I would marry that man and I’d have twelve beautiful children!”

Then Nesta simply turns away from him and pulls the blanket over her head.

Cassian tries to pull the blanket down, but she doesn't loosen her grip. “Take that back! Nesta, take that back. I’m serious.”

“Nesta!” He hisses. “Nes, I’m not going to stop bothering you. Nesta!”

But Cassian slumps as the lump of blankets stays still. Nesta doesn’t even make a sound.

“How about I pretend you didn’t just tell me about one of your fantasies and I'll bring it back up later. I’ll even pretend I found it in one of your books."

He rubs at what he thinks is her ass and Nesta shoves down the blankets with a flourish. Her hair is a mess of tangles all over the pillow.

“I hate you,” she says.

Cassian grins, setting his palms on her reddened cheeks.

“I love you,” He says softly, lightly tracing her soft skin with his thumb. It’s a privilege to be near her, to touch her, to be loved by her. To laugh and laugh and laugh. It doesn’t matter how, when, what, or why. “I wouldn’t want anyone else but you.”

Cassian kisses her lightly, “I still think we should talk about those children though.”

He merely gets smacked in the face with a pillow.

Fin.

I keep reading this and I can't make it better, so.... you win some, you lose some, you know.

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #oy vey did not want to post this one #but... you know exposure therapy #got to get used to ugly #I will not put my name on this #though #author unknown writes

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depressedacadamia · 3 years

Text

Dimples

Summary: Apparently Nico has dimples and Will did not know.

A/N: Heheheee, motherfuckers my exams are in a week and a half and I haven't revised shit. Instead, I'm writing these. Wish me luck, this might be the only fic I post for the next 2 weeks but if you're lucky, I might post pt 2 for 'How to passive aggressively say Fuck you in flower'. Toodle pip and <3 from mee!

Extra edit: I forgot it was solangelo week, woops.

Read on A03

Nico Di Angelo was not known for smiling. He was not known for grinning or laughing. He was however, known for snarling, sarcastic, outdated remarks and terrifying people to the point where they’d rather face death itself than face him and his wrath.

So of course, Percy and every logical being would avoid him at all costs when he was in one of his ‘moods’. These so-called ‘moods’ referred to when Nico seemed particularly dangerous, like when his eyes had a dangerous glower to them that hinted he enjoyed threatening others a tad too much- in fact, so much so that Leo had suggested that Nico may be a sadist (That hadn’t gone well for Leo, to say the very least).

But of course, William Andrew Solace was in no way a logical being nor was he very fearful of Nico’s alternating and very much violent auras. Now, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing necessarily, in fact, it was the very thing that had started their relationship and while everybody thought Will was insensitive with his historical jokes he made towards Nico, Nico greatly appreciated being able to understand something from his time.

Will, on several occasions, related him to Captain America in Marvel's Avengers.

So when Nico, in his terrifying rage, stormed into the infirmary, Percy wasn’t sure what he was about to witness. Were these two having an argument? Nico looked like he was going to set the infirmary ablaze or perhaps bury it 6 feet under- it was truly the unpredictability that created the suspense and fear.

“Where are they?” Nico’s voice was calm, cold but sharp. His words felt like the gentle, smooth slant of a knife, apply pressure and you get cut. Nobody dared to answer. The infirmary’s silence seemed like one of lambs, too scared to speak out until another leader did. Whether they expected Nico to simply leave if no one answered, they certainly did not expect him to ask again.

“Where. Are. They?” He punctuated his words, his voice combined with a deadly hunger that could only be satisfied with death.

The room felt like a cave. The only words being echoed back were Nico’s own words, bouncing off the smooth walls of the infirmary. The corners seemed dark, the white presence of the infirmary slowly being poisoned. It seemed like fate sealed their hands- they were like lambs to the slaughter: helpless.

“WHERE ARE THEY!” Nico roared. This time, he did not wait for a response. He took a small glimpse at the camper in front of him, who was obviously avoiding his gaze, and the next thing the kid knew was that he was pinned to the wall with a metre of stygian iron under his neck. The kid hyperventilated and in a moment of sheer panic and pure fear, blurted,

“I don’t know where they are! “

Nico, holding the camper up with one hand, shoved him into the wall again. “ But you hurt them anyway?”

The camper was completely clueless but he wasn’t stupid. Simply denying whatever Nico was accusing him of would increase Nico’s rage and that could lead everyone down a very dark road.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt them! I swear...” He started to sob. “ I swear it was an accident!”

“You hurt them! That isn’t an accident. You will pay for your crimes. I swear I will-”

“-Dear god, Nico what the hell?” A voice of pure confusion entered the infirmary. Nico, on recognising the voice, felt his head snap backwards-trying to find the course of the voice. There on the other side of the infirmary, with his leg in a cast, stood Will solace, still as unfashionable as ever.

Nico almost teleported to Will, considering how fast he appeared by his side. “ Are you okay? It’s okay, I found out who did it and-”

“-Jesus, Stalin, calm down there.” Will looked at the terrified boy who was in tears. “This kid knows nothing. He wasn’t even there. Were you just putting on some show trials?”

Nico had to resist the twitch in his lips at the communism jokes. Ever since Will had found out that Nico’s weakness was communism jokes, he had been exploiting it, just like the working class were exploited, and using it to his own advantage.

“Wait, this kid wasn’t involved?” Nico looked at all the terrified people in the infirmary, still frozen to their spots, waiting for the go sign for them to continue with their lives.

Will waved his hand. “Go ahead, continue with your business. He will be on his best behaviour now that I’m here.”

“Uh, says who?”

“Says my broken leg.”

On the mention of a broken leg, Nico’s worry instantly returned. His hand reached out to touch Will’s face, in a gesture of affection before quickly snatching it away. Will reached for his hand, took it in his own and intertwined their fingers as in to say It’s okay, they support us. It’s okay, I love you and you love me. It’s okay, I’m not ashamed of being in love with you.

Nico appreciated the gesture and once again, fought the urge to give in to the overwhelming desire to smile at his perfect boyfriend.

“Are you okay? Can you show me your leg? What happened? Why can’t you heal it?” The words began flying out of Nico’s mouth, the concern on his face unhideable. His eyebrows were cutely creased together and he kept on placing his hands all over Will- it was driving him crazy.

“Calm down there, communist. This is my injury, not yours.” Will joked, trying to hide his blush- truth be told, he did not want to tell Nico the real reason behind how he broke his leg because it was honestly the most ridiculous reason one may ever hear in their entire life.

Nico let out a little snort of laughter after hearing another communist joke but was careful to keep it on the downlow. He noticed that Will was being quite indirect and avoiding his gaze: he knew that could only mean one thing.

“What did you do to break your leg?” Nico smirked wickedly, understanding that Will had, once again, been quite idiotic.

Will, gasping in mock offense but also quite embarrassed by how well his own boyfriend knew him, let out a bubble of nervous daughter. “ Hahaa, what do you mean? I broke my leg the same way everyone else does...”

“... which is?”

Due to the vast amount of broken legs he had healed, Will actually knew how to answer this question. “ Through sports.”

“Sports?” Nico snorted. “ You? Sports? Have you ever even run in your entire life? I swear the only thing you do is heal and read. Maybe sleep on the offhand you listen to me.”

“You can’t talk over there!”

“Just tell me how you broke your leg, for the love of the Gods!”

“I was having a competition with Percy for who could heal faster.”

“You were doing what?”

“A competition Nico, have you ever heard of one? Normally the losers forget they exist so I wouldn't be surprised that you had never heard of one-”

“No, I know what a competition is, you idiot. What I don't know is, why on earth you were having a regeneration competition with Percy of all the demigods you could have chosen, you chose the one with the ability to heal themselves as well?”

Will pouted slightly, his eyebrows making a small frown. “I would have thought you would be halfway through murdering Percy right about now.”

“If Percy managed to win, then honestly, you kinda deserved it.”

“I thought you liked me!”

“I thought my boyfriend wasn’t an idiot!”

“Technically I won because Percy was too baby-ish to break his own leg!”

Nico took a very long pause. Slowly, he began shaking his head, from side to side. The expression on his face was illegible but eventually it morphed into one of laughter. His laugh was rich and so was the expression on his face. His lips were curled upwards, his eyes were creasing, with long beautiful dimples on both sides of his face- as clear as the moon on a clear night.

The infirmary was silent. They simply stared at the beautiful angel who graced the place with their voice. They were horrified and in awe. Nico Di Angelo was capable of smiling! He was capable of laughing!

It was a fucking miracle.

“What did I tell you!” Percy yelled, throwing his arm over Annabeth who simply sighed. “I fucking told you! I knew he had dimples!”

Will, slightly stunned, simply took Nico’s face in both his hands. His crystal blue eyes were wide open and to Nico it looked like the ocean was inviting him to take a dive into int’s complex and unknown depths.

Into the unknooooowwwwwnnnnnn.

He cursed himself for that being his first thought. He then cursed Will for making him watch Frozen because it was apparently culturally inappropriate to not have seen it. Then he cursed himself again for cursing Will.

“Holy shit,” Will whispered as he stared into his boyfriends grinning face. “Holy fuck Nico, you never told me you had dimples.”

“Language.”

“Holy shit, holy fucking hell. You cannot smile at me like that Nicolo Di Angelo and expect me to keep my language appropriate. Have you ever seen yourself in a mirror?”

“Calm down,” Nico groaned, throwing his head backwards. He could feel his palms getting sweaty from Will’s words- what could he say, he was slightly embarrassed.

“Wait!” Will cried. “ Do it again. Smile again!”

Nico gave a sultry smirk and Will whacked his arm. “ I asked you to smile at me, not seduce me. Smile!”

“Who wouldn't be happy to be seduced by me?”

“Just smile, please!”

Nico sighed before looking at his gorgeous boyfriend. His eyes darted down at the cast around the leg and immediately Nico remembered the cause of injury. He started laughing, his lips stretching into a genuine smile and his dimples flashing all across his face. Will, still holding his boyfriend's face, couldn’t help himself as he brought their lips together.

Will was so used to feeling Nico’s smile when they kissed so when he brought their lips together, he didn't know what he was expecting. It felt different for some reason, it felt more.. It felt better, it felt like he was getting a new piece of Nico. Feeling Nico smile and seeing him smile were two different things and now that he could picture Nico’s smile as he kissed his smiling lips, Will thought he’d explode from happiness.

Will pulled away quickly, his hand still cemented to Nico’s grinning face. He had pulled away just so he could see Nico’s smile and more importantly his dimples again.

“What?” Nico’s innocent voice and grin combined confirmed for Will that if he died on that very spot, he would have died a happy man.

“Holy shit, you’re the cutest person ever.”

And with that, he brought their lips together again.

Neither of them noticed Thalia and Annabeth sulking as they paid up their debts to Percy from losing the bet.

#will solace #nico di angelo #solangelo #will solace fanfic #nico di angelo fanfic #solangelo fanfic #solangelo week #solangeloweek2021 #will x nico #nico x will #Nico x will fluff #Nico x Will fanfiction #nico x will fanfic #percy jackson #pjo #thalia grace #annabeth chase #hoo #percy jackson fanfic

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redgillan · 4 years

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Under Pastel Skies - 9

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,257

Warnings: mention of accident, mention of blood

A/N: I’m sorry this took longer than usual but it’s pretty long so yay! I hope you’ll like this chapter. We’re slowly getting there :’) Thank you for the feedback, I truly appreciate all of you! Also 1 marvel quote and several Bob Ross quotes that I obv don’t own.

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

Good luck on your interview xx

Bucky had just hit ‘send’ when Sam cleared his throat noisily, drawing Bucky’s attention away from his phone. His friends were frowning crossly at him, their glasses raised in a silent toast. He set his phone face-down on the table and picked up his glass.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

Sam shot Steve a ‘see?’ look and Steve replied with a shrug and a little smile. They looked like two sassy grandmothers judging their only grandson. Bucky checked his phone again, and out of his peripheral vision, he could see his grandmothers share another look.

“What?” he barked, annoyed.

“Nothin,” they both answered at the same time before they took a synchronized sip of orange juice.

Smacking his lips together, Sam opened the menu and began to skim through the choices. A waiter suddenly came out of nowhere to take their order. Bucky ordered a cranberry rosemary scone, smoked bacon, an eggplant sandwich, and a plate of lemon-ricotta pancakes.

“Excuse-me,” Sam called out to the waiter. “Could you make his pancakes in the shape of an angel?” he asked, ignoring Bucky who was openly glaring at him.

The waiter, albeit a little surprised, kept a smile on his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bucky told him, handing him the menu. “Thank you.”

Without another look to his friends, he grabbed his phone and checked his messages for the third time in less than two minutes. Steve snatched his phone up and sat back in his seat, waving the phone at Bucky.

“Enough! Live in the moment.” He pocketed the phone and gave Bucky a pointed stare. “You’ll get it back later.”

“What the hell? You’re not my father, give it back!” Bucky snapped, extending his hand, the palm facing up. Steve shook his head. “Give it back, you fucking meatball.”

He got up and tried to reach inside Steve’s pocket for his phone but Steve kept shifting in his seat. They wrestled like that for a minute while Sam watched them, eating a breadstick and looking mildly entertained.

“Okay, fine,” Bucky panted, pushing himself away from Steve. “You leave me no choice, Rogers.” He cleared his throat like an actor about to jump on stage. “Give me back my phone, Steve!” he said, raising his voice. “Do you enjoy stealing from disabled people?”

He nearly shouted the last two words, and to Steve’s horror, the buzz of conversation around them had died. He could feel people staring at him. Cursing softly under his breath, he reached into his pocket and dropped the phone into Bucky’s awaiting hand.

“It’s okay, we’re friends,” Steve said to the people sitting behind him. They looked at him with a disapproving glare. “Jesus, Bucky, you’re making me look like an asshole.”

An amused expression crossed Bucky’s face as he sat back in his seat. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

It was quiet while he checked his messages. Slowly, those around them returned to their own conversations. Sam pointed his half-eaten breadstick at Steve.

“Do you think the waiter will spit in your omelette?” he said the last word with an exaggerated French accent. Steve glared at him.

Their waiter arrived a moment later carrying a large tray with their brunch. Steve poked at his omelet with a suspicious frown, then looked over at Bucky who was still on his phone. Sam stole a slice of bacon from Bucky’s plate and gave it to Steve.

“I hear you’ve got a date tonight,” Sam said, making conversation.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just looking for something casual. I’m leaving in two days.”

“Where’re you going this time?”

“South Africa,” Steve replied, stealing another slice of bacon. “What about you? What’s that big emergency?”

Sam glanced at Bucky who was grinning like an idiot at his phone. “Not now. Let’s eat first.” He took the plate of bacon, took what he wanted then handed it to Steve. “Want another?”

Steve kept looking over at Bucky while they finished his bacon but Bucky didn’t seem to acknowledge their presence. He was in his own little bubble.

“It’s like we don’t even exist,” Steve remarked out loud.

“I know, it’s amazing. Look!” Sam straightened up in his seat and cleared his throat. “Bucky Barnes is the biggest idiot on the planet, and he can eat my farts.” Bucky was hunched over his phone, his thumb typing away. “See?”

“Impressive.”

“That’s the angel effect,” Sam said.

With a happy little sigh, Bucky pocketed his phone and turned his attention to his friends. He frowned at the amused look they shared.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Steve’s first date in two years.” Sam turned to Steve. “You must be nervous.”

“Strangely, no.” Steve broke off a small piece of omelet with his fork. “I actually know him. He’s an old friend from college.”

“Nice,” Sam said.

“He’s a fashion photographer now.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky’s brows pinched in confusion as he stared at Steve.

Undeterred, Steve continued. “We’ve been facetiming a lot lately.” He shot Bucky a glance. “Why do you think I go to bed at 8?”

“But I thought-”

“You thought I had a date with your girl,” Steve said with a warm smile. “Listen, man, I like her. She’s cute, funny, talented. She’s a real sweetheart. But I like her because she brought back that light in your eyes. You look happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you. You had to go through so much crap, Buck. You deserve this.”

Bucky looked down at his pancakes, feeling tears pool in his eyes. He blinked them back and sniffed quietly. “So you were never going to ask her out.”

“I was until you called her ‘angel’,” Steve replied with a shrug. “You kept saying you were okay with this but, I mean, I’m not that dense.”

“Why do you keep going out with her then?” Bucky grumbled.

“Jeez, Mother Gothel, I didn’t know Rapunzel wasn’t allowed to leave the tower,” Steve exclaimed. “We were bored. You’re in your office all day. It was fun to mess with you though. You’re a grumpy Gus when you’re jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous, okay. I was annoyed. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky looked over at Sam who had been strangely quiet throughout this whole exchange. He loved teasing Bucky, and he always had something to say about Bucky’s love life. Sam wasn’t looking at Bucky, he just pushed his food around with his fork, his lips pinched shut. He met Bucky’s eyes, then lowered his head again.

Bucky had a feeling something bad was about to happen.

“What’s the big emergency?” he asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Sam set his fork down beside his plate and leaned back against his chair with a sigh. He trained his gaze on the front door, seemingly deep in thought.

“I’m moving to D.C.” He paused to let the information sink in. “They’re transferring me to the D.C. office. I’m their new chief financial officer.”

“Congrats, man!” Steve exclaimed. “You deserve it.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“So why the long face?”

“I’m a little anxious to leave New York. What will Barnes do without me? Without his mentor? Without someone to look up to?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll be all right.” He hesitated before he asked, “Did you tell her?”

“Tell who?” Steve inquired, polishing off the last of his omelet.

Bucky felt the wave of long-held sadness his Sam’s eyes. “I’ll tell her tonight.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look. They weren’t sure how Steve would react.

The word sugar daddy held a pejorative connotation. Every single one of those relationships featured a powerful, rich man and a poor, vulnerable man or woman. There was a clear power imbalance here that never appealed to Bucky, and he was pretty sure it never appealed to Sam either.

Whether it was a no-strings-attached service or an emotional service, it was still a hole in your resume. One that would be hard to explain to your future employers. He was afraid people would call you names, treat you differently or harass you if they knew.

He often wondered if he had unintentionally ruined your life.

Deep down he knew Steve would never call you a whore or treat you differently but he was still trying to protect your reputation. He believed that Sam had Natasha’s best interest at heart too.

Sam told Steve everything. He remembered the day he had met Natasha, their instant chemistry, the subtle flirting, the arrangement, their first night out, their first kiss, their first time together, their new arrangement. Steve listened attentively. When Sam told him that you were Natasha’s best friend, Bucky interrupted him and told his own story.

“Wow,” Steve deadpanned, leaning forward to take one of Sam’s poached egg and avocado toast. Sam slapped his hand away. “Is that a thing now? Sugar daddies, I mean?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yeah.” Steve sipped his mimosa with a bored look on his face. “You’re both not ready for the real conversation, so I’m just making small talk.”

Sam and Bucky exchanged confused looks. “What real conversation?”

“Sam, you just got an amazing promotion, you’re going to be the Prince of D.C. and you’re sitting here like someone kicked your puppy,” Steve replied, then turned to Bucky. “And you, well... I’ve been living with you for the past two weeks and you’ve gone all Alpha male on me, Buck. Cut the shit. You’re both in love with your sugar babies. Companions, or whatever the fuck you want to call them.”

Sam and Bucky sat in silence with their heads hung low. Steve opened his arms wide like a lawyer in a bad TV show saying ‘I rest my case’. When he spoke again, his voice was soft.

“Look, as maybe the world's leading authority on waiting too long, don't,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen, um?”

It made Bucky think. Best-case scenario, you loved him too and life was a breeze for the next fifty years. Bad-case scenario, you didn’t share his feelings. Worst-case scenario, you shared his feelings but couldn’t make the transition from sugar baby to girlfriend.

Yeah, worst-case scenario sucked...

He came home around three in the afternoon, and smiled when he saw your shoes and coat. Knowing you were home always put him in a good mood, but his heart was heavy. He felt conflicted. He didn’t know if it was better to tell you how he felt now or to just keep living in this little bubble with you until it’d inevitably burst.

And to make things worse, Sam was going to end his contract with Natasha tonight. He made Bucky promise not to tell you about it. Bucky felt sorry for Natasha, he wondered if she had feelings for Sam. He wondered if she had a backup plan.

He found you in your studio, sitting on the floor, huddled against the wall, with one knee drawn up to your chest and your arms loosely wrapped around your leg. You were staring at the painting you’d just made, the still wet paint glistened under the artificial lights.

This painting was different from your usual landscapes and occasional portraits. There were various shades of blue and grey intertwined, and five big splotches of dark red paint layered on top of the canvas.

Bucky knew just by looking at you that something was wrong. You looked defeated, sad, upset. He reasoned that your interview didn’t go as planned. Quietly, he stepped into the room and sat down on the floor next to you, his left shoulder brushing your own.

“I just got home,” he said.

“Where’s Steve?”

“He said he had some errands to run. He’ll be back later.”

You nodded, still staring straight ahead. “Okay. I bet you can’t wait to have some time to yourself. I asked Natasha if I could stay with her, but she’s going out with Sam tonight. I’ll stay in my room, I won’t bother you.”

Bucky felt his heart drop, his breath caught in his throat. He had made the woman he loved feel unwelcome. God, he wanted to kick his own ass.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tilting his head to look at you but you were stubborn and refused to meet his eye. “I thought you were going out with Steve and I- I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay with me.”

“I’m not interested in Steve. I told you that.”

“I know.” He moved so that he could see your face. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you, and for the way I treated Steve. It won’t happen again. I promise. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, Bucky,” you huffed.

He saw your chin quiver slightly and your eyes glaze over with unshed tears. You looked utterly broken. He reached up and wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

“Sorry, I had a difficult day,” you said.

His palm cupped the side of your face, his thumb stroking a caress across your cheek. You met his eyes for the first time and he smiled softly at you.

“My angel.”

His words made you cry even harder, silent tears streaming down your cheeks. With his hand still cupping the side of your face, he leaned closer and pressed his lips against your other cheek. You closed your eyes and basked in his affection.

He could feel the warmth of your tears, could taste the salt on his lips as they streamed down your cheek to his mouth. Slowly, he pulled back and looked at you, a smile forming on his lips when he saw a fleck of dried blue paint above your eyebrows.

“Painter Smurf,” he teased, wiping it off. You let out a huff of air that sounded like a laugh. “I’m here for you, angel, whatever you need.” He pulled you against his side and you rested your head on his chest.

“My interview didn’t go very well,” you said after a long moment of silence. “She said that I’m really talented, that my technique is perfect. But my work is too figurative. It’s not what she’s looking for.” You paused to wipe your nose on your sleeve. “It’s just- It wasn’t my first meeting. They all tell me the same thing: I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky said, kissing your hair. “Your work is unique. It’s raw and beautiful. If they can’t see that then they’re morons.”

“She told me that if I had been a white man in the nineteenth century, people would still talk about me today.” You sighed. “I don’t know, Bucky. Maybe I should work on something more abstract.”

Bucky tilted his head to one side as he looked at your painting. “Is that why you painted this?”

“Mhhh,” you hummed. “She told me to play with the textures, the forms, the lines, the colours. Suggest rather than show. Let the painting tell its own story.”

“Yeah, I think you did it.”

“You think it’s good?”

“I don’t think those adjectives apply here. Not with modern art. It’s in the eye of the beholder,” he said, running his fingers along your shoulder. “Abstract art isn’t supposed to be beautiful, it’s supposed to make you feel something, right?”

“How does it make you feel?”

“Unsettled, sad.”

You straightened up and sat shoulder to shoulder. “My brother died in a hit-and-run.” You let the information sink in for a minute. “I was with Okoye, we got a call from our mom but by the time we got to the hospital, he was already dead.”

Your voice was surprisingly calm and controlled. Bucky wanted to reach out to you but he was unable to move. He listened attentively, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

“He was wearing some kind of compression shirt, grey-blue with two white stripes, and it was covered in blood. When I close my eyes and think of that day, all I remember is that shirt and the blood.” You tilted your head and gave him a little smile. “That’s what I painted.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He just sat there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Sorry,” you let out a small laugh. “I had a shitty meeting and then I came home and basically relived one of the worst days of my life to put it on a canvas. Now it’s staring at me and all I want is to shred it to pieces.”

Bucky noticed that your hand was close to one of your palette knives. Your fingers brushed against the handle, debating whether you should pick it up and slash the canvas. He laid his hand on top of yours.

“It won’t help,” he said. “Trust me. I can put the painting somewhere else if you want. You won’t have to look at it again. I promise.”

“Yes, please.”

“C’mon, beautiful, let’s go downstairs. I know someone who can help you.” He got to his feet and extended his hand to you. You frowned up at him, a silent question in your eyes. “His name is Bob and he paints happy little trees.”

A bright, wide smile spread until it lit up your whole face, and Bucky’s heart melted at the sight. He grinned at you and pulled you to your feet.

“I love Bob Ross,” you said, and Bucky gave your hand a little squeeze.

In the living room, you sat down on the sofa, crossing your legs under you and grabbed a blanket while Bucky connected his YouTube account to the TV. He sat down beside you, propping his feet up on the coffee table and adjusting the blanket in his lap.

“Hi, welcome back. Certainly glad you could join me today.” The show started and you melted against Bucky’s chest, pulling the blanket up to your neck. “Thought today we could do a fantastic little painting-”

You were pressed against his bad side, but Bucky didn’t mind. As the show progressed, you slid further into his lap until your head rested on the armrest of the sofa, close to Bucky’s right hand.

“People know when you’re happy. They can look at your paintings and tell how you were happy. They reflect your moods. Paintings are a reflection of your innermost feelings.”

He gave your head a little massage while you both watched Bob Ross create a stunning lake view painting.

“Cuz in your world, you can create any kind of illusion that you want. I spent half my life in the military, and I had to live in somebody else’s world all the time. Painting offered me freedom, I’d come home after all day of playing soldier and I could paint the kind of world that I wanted. It was clean, it was sparkling, shiny, beautiful-”

You shifted a little, and Bucky wondered if those words resonated with what you had been through. Being adopted, losing a brother, taking care of your sick mother when your siblings left, graduating, making ends meet... Those experiences had shaped you into the woman you would be for the rest of your life. A kind and strong woman who never really got to live or enjoy life.

He understood how important painting was to you. He was an artist too. He wasn’t a painter, but writing offered him a kind of freedom he had lost a long time ago.

“We should paint along,” you said, tilting your head up to look at him. “Then I’ll sell yours. I bet people would pay a lot of money to own an original Grant Thomas painting.”

Bucky chuckled. He knew you were teasing him, the slight curl of your lips said as much. “I’ll sign it James Barnes. It’ll be worthless.”

“It’s not worthless to me,” you said.

“Would you hang it in your room?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then, okay, I’ll paint along with you.”

When the episode ended, you decided to eat dinner first and paint later. You were sitting at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of leftover pasta from the night before, when Steve came home.

“Hey guys,” he greeted, throwing a plastic bag on the kitchen island before he made his way to his bedroom.

“I’m so fucking late. I still need to take a shower and get dressed.” Steve came out of his room, shirtless, and working his belt buckle open. “Hey, Buck, can I borrow some clothes?”

“I swear to fuckin’ God, Rogers, if you undress in the middle of the kitchen I’ll make you eat your jeans.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. A minute later, Bucky heard the shower running.

Later, you went upstairs to gather canvases, paint brushes and paint while Bucky helped Steve pick out an outfit.

Steve was too excited about his date to remind Bucky that he was an idiot, and Bucky was happy that for once they didn’t talk about his feelings for you. He teased Steve and watched as Steve squirmed, the tip of his ears bright red. Just like old times.

Then they met you downstairs where you had two easels set up in front of the television. Steve stood in front of you, visibly nervous and agitated, while you looked at him from head to toe.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’re wearing clothes two sizes too small for you, which makes you look even bigger than you normally are so... pretty good.”

“Yeah?”

You chuckled. “You look great, Steve.”

Steve responded with a relieved sigh and a little bashful smile. Bucky liked that look on Steve, it reminded him of their childhood when Steve awkwardly flirted his way through Brooklyn.

Bucky jerked back to the present when Steve turned to him for confirmation. He gave him a firm nod and a thumbs-up, then walked him to the kitchen. They talked about Steve’s plans for the night while Steve gathered up his things.

Bucky was walking back to the living room when Steve called out his name and threw something to him. Bucky caught it in mid-air, then looked down at his hand. A shiny looking condom wrapper was nestled in the palm of his hand. He scowled at Steve.

“Just in case,” Steve said with a shit-eating grin.

“You’re a dead man.”

Steve’s laughter echoed down the corridor as he left the apartment.

Blowing out a breath, Bucky pocketed the foil packet and joined you in the living room. You were sitting at your easel, blobs of paint arranged in a semicircle on a palette. There was another easel next to yours, with a palette resting on a stool to make things easier for him.

You selected the lake view episode you had watched earlier, thinking that it would make things easier. Bucky was in awe of you, you made painting look so effortless and beautiful. You added your own trees and clouds, shifting things around to create your own world.

Bucky followed Bob Ross’ instructions closely but, in his opinion, it looked like someone had made it with their feet. You laughed at his comment and told him that you would still hang it in your room. It boosted his ego a bit.

When you both finished your painting, Bucky looked up at the clock. It was close to midnight which made him do a double take.

“Time for me to hit the hay,” he said, yawning. “This is as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Mhh,” you mused, turning the TV off.

“You okay?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I- uh, I was kind of hoping we’d do this all night,” you said, playing with a mostly dried paintbrush. You looked at him from under your lashes. “But it’s fine. I understand, you’re tired. I think I’ll wait for Steve.”

Bucky looked at you with a pained expression. He could tell something was bothering you. He placed his index finger under your chin and tilted your head up. “Angel, I don’t think Steve is coming home tonight.” You pinched your lips together and nodded. “Talk to me. I want to help.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Your words hit him like a punch in the chest, leaving him momentarily breathless. He pulled you close and pressed a long kiss to your forehead. You clung to him for dear life, your warmth and familiar scent made his heart ache.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled against your skin, then pulled back a little so he could look you in the eye. “Let’s change into something more comfortable, um? Then we’ll catch some shut-eye. I have an idea, the first person to fall asleep has to make breakfast tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“You’re right. I’m exhausted, I’ll fall asleep first,” he said, shaking his head. “New rule, last person to fall asleep has to make breakfast.”

You snorted. “No, I meant... are we going to sleep in the same bed?”

“I promise I’ll stay on my side. But if it makes you uncomfortable, there’s a bunk bed in Steve’s room.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to wash my face first. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Bucky tried to play it cool but his heart was pounding. He kept seeing flashes of his dreams in his mind: skin against skin, steady puffs of air brushing against his skin, the smell of sweat and something uniquely you surrounding him.

He was absolutely terrified.

He went upstairs, took a quick shower, brushed his teeth and changed into his pyjamas. His night-time regimen took longer than he had anticipated so he wasn’t surprised when he found you sitting cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through your phone, looking so calm and peaceful.

You were wearing your pyjama bottoms and a fluffy sweatshirt stained with blue paint and tomato soup. He felt his stomach flip when you raised your head and smiled at him. A chill ran through his spine, and made the hairs on his arm stand on end. He’d never seen you look more beautiful.

“Hey,” you said, placing your phone on the nightstand. “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“The side you’re sitting on.” You rolled to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers making him laugh. “You didn’t have to move.”

“It’s fine. I prefer this side.” You looked around the room. “I like your room. It’s very you.”

“Ah?”

“Yeah, neat, organized, lots of books, a cosy armchair, stormy blue comforter. It looks intimidating but it’s actually really soft. Like you.”

He suppressed a laugh. “Thanks.”

Bucky climbed into bed beside you, turned off the light and drew the blanket over him trying to get warm. He lay on his back looking up at the ceiling. He was so stiff and nervous, he forced himself to breathe normally. You turned onto your side and slid one of your hands under your pillow.

“Do you usually read before you go to sleep?” you whispered, afraid to disturb the silence.

“Yes,” he whispered back. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” There was a moment’s silence before you spoke again. “I’ve started reading your book.”

“Oh, Christ,” he let out a small laugh and turned his head to look at you, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. “I hope I didn’t traumatize you.”

“You have a very dark sense of humour,” you said. “But I already knew that.”

“I’ve always had a dark sense of humor, but trust me, when I lost my arm I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Therapy helped a lot. Besides, laughing is good for your health, right? My books are very personal, I don’t censor myself.”

“I know. I wasn’t expecting it to be so honest.” You shifted a little and looked away from him. “I don’t know if I’ll finish it, I feel like I’m intruding.”

“I understand.” He shifted slightly so he was lying on his left side, facing you. “I wrote it like a diary. Talking isn’t my strong suit. I don’t know, I think I’m trying too hard and I just end up being rude or not making sense. When I write, I take my time, I find the right words. It’s easier when I don’t have to look anyone in the eye.”

He knew his book was a little rough. He focused on his depression, his rehabilitation, relearning basically everything. He talked about rediscovering his body, intimately. He talked about his friends, his family, strangers, therapy, dating.

“Can I ask you a very personal question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He swallowed hard, his throat raw and tight. “Yes.” In fact, he was in love right now. “Once. I don’t trust easily.”

“I know I read what happened between you and your girlfriend.”

She had been his first girlfriend since the accident. She was kind, patient, a little over excited but he found it cute. In a way, she reminded him of himself before the accident. She wasn’t afraid to touch him, and God, he needed to be touched.

Sam had witnessed little things that irked him but Bucky had ignored him, refusing to see the warning signs. He wanted to be happy again. But then he couldn’t bury his head in the sand anymore.

She treated him like a child in front of their friends, and her friends praised her for taking such good care of a man like him. A man who, in their mind, was high maintenance. She cut his meat for him even though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. She helped him dress, tied his shoes, zipped up his coat, etc... He felt infantilized, humiliated.

He didn’t think she was a bad person though. It was just her personality.

“How’s Natasha?” he asked suddenly.

A puff of air caressed his face as you snorted out a laugh. “Why do you ask? You don’t like her.”

“I like her a lot,” he argued. “She seems wary of me, which I understand, but she’s great.”

“Yeah, she is.” You considered his words. “She’s doing well. She went on work date with Sam.”

Despite his promise to Sam, he couldn’t bear the thought of keeping things from you. “I have to tell you something about Sam and Nat.” You waited for him to continue. “Sam got promoted, he’s moving to D.C. He broke things off with Natasha tonight. I mean, their arrangement.”

“I know,” you said. “She texted me while you were in the bathroom. I’m going to spend the night at her place tomorrow. It’s been a while since we had a girls’ night, and we both really need it.”

“Good.” He cupped the side of your face, let his thumb brush your jaw. “I’m going out with the boys tomorrow. Steve’s leaving soon.” He pulled his hand back. “We should try to get some sleep.”

“No, please,” you said, shifting closer to him. “Not yet.”

“Angel, we can’t stay awake all night.”

“I don’t want to be alone in the dark.”

“I’m right here with you,” he spoke gently.

“But once you fall asleep I’ll be alone.”

Bucky raised his head and kissed your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. When he pulled back, he rested his hand on your forearm and let his warmth seep into your skin. His thumb caressed the inside of your wrist, stroked over your racing pulse point.

“I’ll wait until you fall asleep,” he said.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled and let your index finger run down the length of his nose. “Does it hurt when you sleep on your left side?”

“Not really,” he replied. “Most of the time it’s just weird. It feels like my phantom limb hangs down through the bed. Like my arm is invisible and just goes through the bed.”

“What do you miss the most?”

He let out a long exhale. “Not much. Hugs. Proper hugs... I guess. Holding someone close and wrapping myself around them. Squeezing someone against my chest, making them feel protected. I used to be a great hugger. Now I give bro hugs.”

“I love bro hugs.”

His chuckled dissolved into a grin, and you both stayed quiet for a moment. He knew you weren’t asleep, he could hear you thinking. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

“I was wondering,” you started, then trailed off. “One day we’ll have to end this arrangement. Do you think it’ll end well, or is it going to be messy?”

It took him a minute to respond.

“Y’know, one of the things I learned in therapy was to stop worrying about things I can’t control,” he said. “That’s in the future, for future-you and future-me. I don’t know how it’ll end but I can promise you one thing: I’ll always be there for you. Arrangement or not.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you breathed out. “Right-now-me is a lucky bitch.”

You both laughed softly, then fell into a contemplative silence. There was something so peaceful about lying in bed with you, his hand loosely wrapped around your wrist, sharing warmth. He didn’t want to fall asleep.

For the next hour you talked about your families, your childhood, your friends, your likes and your dislikes. You told him about being an adopted child and living with other adopted kids. He could tell you were holding back when you talked about your siblings.

The only one you gushed about was Okoye. You were evasive when you talked about Scott and Wanda, though you did tell him that you had agreed to meet Wanda.

“What’s your favorite comfort food?”

“Breakfast for dinner.” Your voice was soft and small, he knew you were falling asleep. “When I was a kid, we had breakfast for dinner every Sunday night. We’d grab a bowl of our favourite cereal and eat together in front of the TV. I miss those days.” Your face was half buried in your pillow. “What’s yours?”

“Easy, pancakes.”

You smiled, your eyes were closed. “I like pancakes too.”

He watched you fall asleep and made a mental note to make some pancakes for breakfast. Your breathing evened out, and he waited a few more minutes to make sure you were asleep before he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

Bucky woke up to the sound of rain striking against the window. He opened his eyes and noted that the room seemed brighter than usual. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him that it was already a little past eight.

He stretched, sighing contentedly, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his closed fist. He tilted his head to look at you, still sleeping next to him. You lay on your stomach with your face turned away from him and your arms hugging your pillow. He adjusted the covers around your shoulders and stealthy slipped out of bed.

He went to the window and fixed the shades to make sure they didn’t let any light in. Then he made his way downstairs where he found Steve cracking eggs into a bowl. He was still wearing Bucky’s clothes, but his hair was a mess. Still he looked positively glowing.

“Mornin’,” Steve greeted with a wide smile.

“Hey, man.” Bucky took a seat at the kitchen island. “When did you get back?”

“About ten minutes ago. Long enough to notice that your angel hasn’t slept in her room last night. Wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bucky said with a shrug. “She didn’t want to be alone.”

“So you slept with her.”

“We slept in the same bed. Nuance.”

“I’m gonna nuance your face with my fist if you don’t talk to her soon,” Steve exclaimed. “She’s not going to stay single forever, Buck. Things are gonna change, one way or another.”

“I know.”

Steve set the bowl aside and held the edge of the counter behind him. He sighed, exasperated. “If I were you, I’d talk to her before something happens and takes your choices away from you.”

Bucky pinched his lips together, hard, and looked down at the counter. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I- I don’t know how to talk to her,” he said, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He met Steve’s eyes. “I physically can’t talk to her. It hurts. It’s stuck here-” he aggressively grabbed his stomach “-all the time. And it hurts, Steve, you have no idea how painful it is.”

“That’s love,” Steve replied, smiling at him like he, too, knew how it felt.

“Well, it fucking sucks.”

Bucky wiped the back of his hand against his runny nose. Steve stood there in silence.

“This book I’m writing,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. “It’s about her. Just her.” He paused. “I can’t back down now, my publicist’s too invested in our story. I know it’s an eccentric way of telling someone you fell in love with them but... writing’s easier than talking.”

Steve nodded, his eyes glued to the floor. “It’s like a long love letter.”

“Something like that.” Bucky climbed off the stool and rounded the kitchen island. “Now, I’m going to make breakfast. I promised her pancakes.”

Steve smiled and watched him move around the kitchen. “I hope it works out for you, Bucky. I really do.”

Part 10

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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I'm sorry, but as someone who can't stand how Yang acted for 80% of Atlas, saying "her feeling like she had to help raise Ruby is demeaning and unempathetic to Tai" is a HORRIBLE take. If Yang held it against Tai that'd be one thing, but she doesn't, least not as far as we've seen.

And "she decided he's an unfit parent"? That's literally just headcanon. Where is this stated or supported in any way? Literally everything, from the show to the comics to the manga, shows she absolutely values her father and his guidance. Her providing similar guidance to Ruby at some point doesn't change that, she's stated to be Ruby's mother figure, a woman in her life she could seek advice on in regards to things as well.

Like anon I get you're frustrated by how empathy and morality are handled in this show, I am too, but this just ain't it.

I have simillar feelings on the Weiss scene too but that's another story, you already kind of covered it.

Agreed, though I don't want to rag on the other anon. As said, I can very easily see how someone would come to that conclusion, especially given how often we discuss parts of the show without actually re-watching those scenes, leading to iffy interpretations down the line. A fandom pretty heavily focused on a "Tai is a bad dad" reading + Yang's unfair criticisms of others from Volumes 5-8 (notably her most recent characterization. The one fresh in everyone's mind) = an easy opportunity to mistakenly slam the two together. It happens. That's why I try, whenever possible, to re-watch moments, or at the very least re-read transcripts. I'm well aware of how easy it is to get sucked into how the fandom discusses scenes and take that interpretation at face value, when in fact what's canonical has gotten pretty warped across, in this case, six years of content and discussions.

But let's talk about Weiss a bit more! I think it's worth re-emphasizing that, yes, I'm well aware that she was the victim of that dinner party. My own criticism lies less in that specific moment and more the conceptualizing of our heroes as a whole, which leads to some missed opportunities in that moment, some quite important. For example, most classically heroic characters would be horrified at nearly hurting/killing someone, regardless of whether that was intentional or not. That's a crucial part of what makes them heroic: cherishing life and shouldering responsibility for others' safety, even when it's clear from the audience's more objective perspective that they weren't at fault. There's a happy middle ground here between acknowledging Weiss' horrific panic attack and acknowledging Weiss' responsibility moving forward to ensure that her trauma doesn't endanger others—given that her trauma is drawing on literal, combat techniques—highlighting her desire to do right by the people of Remnant, even when they're snobbish, rich assholes. Any reading that boils things down simply to "Weiss is the only victim in this situation and besides, why do we care if a racist Atlesian bites the dust 😒?" is a small representation of the much larger writing problems of Volumes 7 and 8: acting like Mantle is full of only good victims, Atlas only evil perpetrators, and a defense of the latter isn't worth anyone's time—certainly not the heroes who never, ever make mistakes with massive consequences. Weiss' near attack also carries with it the beginnings of a lot of themes that RWBY never capitalized on, but pretended were an important part of the story by the end of that Atlas arc, like Ironwood's supposed propaganda, or Whitley's question of whether power should be solely in the hands of a few, individual huntsmen. Weiss' situation might have been reframed into something that looks intentional: Here's not just a girl, but a Schnee girl, attacking a poor, defenseless civilian with her scary powers. Are we really going to leave the safety of our kingdom—the world—in the hands of people like her? You should be backing the army, people who have your real interests in mind, led by the man who saved that woman's life—General Ironwood! And the audience would rightly be going, Hey now wait a fucking minute. That's not what happened! It was an accident born of trauma and abuse. How can you manipulate the people into thinking otherwise? Into thinking Weiss is the enemy here? Like, if you're going to write Ironwood/Atlas as the awful, propaganda spewing antagonists... actually write that story.

So the party scene could have been the launching point for a lot of important work, both in terms of Weiss' characterization (a hero learning to balance flaws with her people's safety; taking responsibility for her mistakes, no matter the initial intention) and the world building (what does it mean for a Schnee to (mistakenly) attack a civilian when tensions are this high and faith in huntsmen is beginning to fail?) But for the purposes of what we actually got, that lack of reflection on Weiss' part, as said, reads badly when pit against her actions in Volumes 6-8. Because my brain is super focused on Star Wars atm, I think Anakin is a decent comparison to all this. Meaning, we know where he ends up—super scary Sith Lord who is going to do All The Bad Things Ever—and that will, naturally, color our reading of everything that happens in prequal material. When Anakin gets pissed and cuts the limbs off a Separatist, it produces a "Yikes" reaction in the audience because we know that anger, grief, frustration, and fear are going to lead him down an awful path. In contrast, when Obi-Wan is challenged about his no killing unarmed men policy and cheekily looks to Rex to kill him instead, we don't really go "Yikes" because we know Obi-Wan remains true to the Light for his entire run. All their actions have the primary reading of "They were justified that time/they made a mistake/they're allowed to be human/etc." But only Anakin has the secondary reading of, "That action is REALLY BAD—more bad than Obi-Wan's—because we know where it leads. It reads as setup for his inevitable fall." That's basically where the RWBY group is at the moment, provided you're unhappy with their lack of empathy in the later volumes. If the group had remained more compassionate then yeah, we'd continue to shrug off past moments that sorta imply otherwise because we know that's not who they really are. Weiss never grappled with nearly hurting someone only because, hell, RWBY doesn't let her grapple with anything! She didn't even get to respond to getting speared through the gut. But knowing where they end up—knowing that Weiss will be party to Ozpin's treatment, will help betray Ironwood, will accuse Marrow of abandoning her city only to do nothing for it in turn, will threaten her brother, will give the wish to destroy her entire kingdom and displace all its people, etc.—creates that "Yikes" response whenever we see something earlier that even somewhat aligns with her current characterization. It doesn't erase the 100% correct reading that Weiss was the victim and made a totally unintentional mistake in that moment. It doesn't erase the knowledge that RWBY rarely capitalizes on the implications of scenes like this anyway. It only adds another reading in the form of, "Well, knowing where she ends up... I can kinda see that future version in her here too."

#rwby #mymetas

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sanchoyo · 3 years

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danny phantom episode 4-7 Thoughts: (under a readmore because, these got kinda long!)

-the outfit danny had to buy for dash's party. CLASSIC 2000S i cannot stop laughing. And also showing up to the party and everyone is dressed like the trio is hilarious. and further proof that everyone looks good dressed goth.

-dash has a closet full of cute lil bear plushies?? LOVE that. adorable. also his response to danny trashing his room fighting a ghost was SO valid if somone BROKE MY BED IN HALF ID BE PISSED TOO.

-technus being like 'oh smart, u should be a tutor!' then later being like 'forget tutor, be a teacher!' :) supportive king <3 I also really like his upgraded suit/design. AND SPOCK CAMEO??? HELLO??

-the music in this show is super. its so funky. I looked it up and the guy who does it, guy moon (awesome name) also did music for other cartoons like fairly odd parents, barnyard, chalkzone, billy & mandy, AND some actual movies like FIGHT CLUB??? the whiplash I got from reading that)

-sam being rich explains a lot about her, actually.

-I know the moral of the episode was supposed to be 'dont ditch your friends for popular people/spend a lot of money on clothes that arent You to Fit In'. but tbh. it wouldve been easy for danny to have been like 'well, okay, ill come but only if my friends can!' but I get. that hes 14. so. not a lot to say there.

-BOX GHOST IS BACK!!!!! also, danny sitting up and wearing the dress/wig/makeup. umm thats how I dress everyday LMFAO. unironically me. (hate the jokes that boil down to 'haha funney man in dress' tho. but this is a look)

-jazz being protective of her brother once again being like NOOO YOU GUYS BETTER NOT STAKE OUT HIS (actually haunted) LOCKER!! shes aware of how people perceive him and she wants to help :( which is also probably why she told dash to invite him to that party even tho she had no interest in going!! she wants to help him out :(

-gotta say im with tucker on the whole 'should danny use his powers to get back at bullies' debate. 100% yes. let him teach kids to fight back. making dash throw his food at paulina out of the blue? no. but when hes actually about to pick on someone? yeah! for self defense? YEAH! if dash and his friends just threw food at him, I think rather than. idk doing sneaky shit with frogs he couldve just threw it back and not pulled punches if they tried to fight. I kNOOWWW its a kids show so they are like 'if u fight back ur just as bad!! violence bad!!' but. theyre HIS POWERS. WHO CARES.

-like my only gripe is that dash really isnt LEARNING ANYTHING WHEN DANNY GETS BACK AT HIM IN THE MOST PETTY INDIRECT WAYS. whatever they had to add a bully psa episode I guess. I hate it and I hate the way cartoons usually handle it because these methods simply Do Not Work. 'aND YouRE USinG YOur poWErs FOR EVill???!' this is Not Evil. even when poindexter takes dannys body, theyre only being 'nice' bc hes stealing soda for them!! bitches deserve what they get (nothing too brutal bc theyre high schoolers but damn, if they pick on danny he doesnt need to be the 'bigger person' he needs to start biting people)

-SAM TRYING TO SMUGGLE FROGS OUT OF THE BIO LAB?? girl in middle school when we had to dissect frogs we could opt out, also, they came to us already dead and preserved...

-sidney's lingo and the fact hes in black and white is sending me. also, danny is a ghost celebrity apparently for being a halfa?? ok. thats interesting to know

-the DENTIST BEING EXCITED ABOUT THE COTTON CANDY FLOOD IS THE FUNNIEST THING SO FAR.

-I LOOOVE the trope of 'wishes gone wrong'. not crazy about the stereotypical genie, or the use of the dreamcatcher looking design. (also, I KNOW theyre scientists but the way theyre handling a cold...are the fentons ANTIVAX)

-the genie. she. whitewished paulina. JKASDFHKJ. (the ghost literally just being hello kitty???? im dying) 'why do i feel that im special and wonderful? because I AM! <3' paulina ilu self worth queen. felt bad for her also getting possessed by (2) boys later who were arguing INSIDE HER. WTF.

-imagine being the guy trapped in his now flying car. he thought danny and tucker were HALUCINATIONS. imagine being trapped in a flying car with two, what you think are imaginary arguing 14 year olds convinced ur gonna die. i WOULD say this dude is gonna need so much therapy, but he seemed totally fine and excited when they landed (I would be happy too if a chicken was on my head. chickens rule) stoner rights

-sam's bat slippers??? iconic. SO cute.

-I think desiree's backstory is so :( do all ghosts have messed up sad backstories?? poindexter's was sad too...cannot imagine box ghost has any kind of fucked up backstory. but what if. his mom got pushed off cliffs by boxes...........a la cruella... anyway her 'no man may lay a hand on me' iconic. ilu

-I know danny has no concept of how much bras cost but my god dont attack tucker with some girls bra. those are so expensive.

-its really. well its not a GOOD THING he went into the portal and got fucked up, but its good danny was the one to do it rather than sam or tucker. because even tho he was being influenced by desiree and kept getting more malicious and it prob wasnt 100% him...he sucked as a ghost like most the people he 'pranked' were innocent ppl just Chillin and he didnt want to help anyone at all. I think danny is the most responsible out of them but also, hes 14 and shouldnt HAVE to feel obligated to fight every ghost. hes a good kid and wants to, but I also feel like he feels like...responsible for the portal turning on?? because his parents did give it up,, but it was an accident and not his fault (if anything, why was the on switch on the inside. why was it that easy. why was there no safety measures. that seems like smth OSHA needs to hear about). like thats my son. hes a good boy. and hes never done anything wrong in his life, ever. if anyone hurts him im killing everyone in this room and then myself. etc.

-danny's curfew is 10PM????? DUDE. when I was 14...shit I couldn't be out that late, I had to be back at like, 8 at the latest, and my parents had to know exactly where and who I was going with, AND i had to call/text them regularly...is this a case of my parents being overbearing, or the fentons sucking??? the only time i could EVER be out that late was if I was at an overnight sleepover or smth...

-the vultures have lil fezes. why do they have fezes...theyre so fuckin funny 'ask him for directions' 'I KNOW WHERE IM GOING' these ghost vultures are my new grandpas. pick them up, put them in the adopt box.

-'I wonder why those guys were trying to waste dad!' THEYRE GHOSTS. YOUR DAD HUNTS GHOSTS. why is that not a conclusion you'd immediately jump to??

-*jazz voice, clearly disgusted* WISCONSIN???

-mrs fenton with the lab coat and leg warmers and PERM. YESSS STYLISH.

-was going to say 'ew billionaire' @vlad but. super valid he used his powers to assumedly steal and cheat to get that money, thats how all billionaires do it! but ew hes a SIMP. and spending your billions on FOOTBALL STUFF?? you are Not Valid overall. I DO respect the fact you have a castle instead of a mansion. in wisconsin. if youre going to be stupidly rich might as well go all out, torches on the wall and all. I DO like his ghost form's little kitty ears. catman. and his cape! every design can benefit from a cape. and how different his forms look, like danny looks the EXACT SAME IN BOTH FORMS ASIDE FROM COLOR CHANGES. vlad's is like,, I could believe they were different people!! also I love the drama. but dude you are fighting a 14 year old. lame. also he was like, telling danny he wanted his mom and him and like, wanted him to renounce his dad?? WHAT ABOUT JAZZ?? bitch. those r MY kids and they are both important and special. I do agree they need better parents but thats not u sir <3

-I thought vlad's 'little badger' nickname for danny came from the football mascot of the packers, but google says they have NO MASCOT?? so now I'm like?? is it because his hair is sometimes black and sometimes white?? I hate to give him props but thats a PERFECT NICKNAME. theyre also tiny and vicious!

-why did I get so excited that Skulker is back!! its been like. 2-3 eps LMAO. AND THE DAIRY KING. ICONIC I LOVE HIM. hes the nicest guy ever :) more nice ghosts please. danny cannot be fighting alone everytime with no ghost buds like every ghost being hostile sucks :(

-mr. fenton knew vlad was controlling him, but a few episodes ago he had no clue danny was doing the same thing...is it something about how malicious the ghost is?? he just seemed to think his memory had gaps the first time, this time he was INSTANTLY LIKE 'GHOST'. then again in this ep when danny did it again he was just slightly confused but not immediately freaking out like he did with vlad possessing him!!

-'my parents will accept ME NO MATTER WHAT' so. so why haven't you come out to them yet, danny?? if you really think that?? if theres no harm, and you're sure??? if vlad is a real problem, wouldnt that make dealing with him easier, to expose him???? SO WHY HAVENT YOU COME OUT YET?? COULD IT BE,, MAYBE YOU HAVE DOUBTS ABOUT WHETHER YOUR PARENTS ACTUALLY WILL ACCEPT YOU??? 🤔 ... 🏳‍🌈 I get why people say He Is Trans. I totally totally get u danny.

-sorta unrelated, but it just occurred to me in one of these eps they go to casper HIGH not casper middle school??? theyre 14?? dont highschools usually do ages 15-18? (I didnt go to hs so I might be wrong, if I am ignore this...) freshmen are usually 14-15, could just be a case of them not turning 15 yet but they will sometime in the school year (I say they because tucker said he was 14 too)? I know the show has 3 seasons, so by the end of it will they be older? thatd be neat but usually cartoon characters stay the same age...I love shows where you can see the characters age and grow up, though...three seasons seems like a long time to spend on like, 1 year...

#sanchoyorambles #danny phantom #me on the first post:#its not a liveblog!#me this time: it kinda is. but not in the same format as my tmm one #i like doing one post for a handful of eps bc it saves time #and crowds my blog less #and also i just like talking abt what im watching lol #dp thoughts

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curly-bangtan · 5 years

Text

Blizzard (M)

Pairing: roommate!Jungkook x reader

Summary: When a blizzard hits your town, you and your shy awkward roommate are forced to spend time together, not being able to leave the house due to the strong snowstorm. To make matters worse, the power gets cut in the middle of his shower. Which also means no heating.

Genre: roommate au, domestic au, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers

Warnings: bit of a slow burner, vanilla!Jungkook, virgin!reader, dry humping, penetrative sex, fingering, oral (m receiving), losing virginity, shy soft boy Koo with a crush and a noona kink, your heart could possibly burst from how cute he is

Word Count: 15.5k oops

A/N: (This fic is written in parallel to Heatwave, with an opposing concept in mind. You don’t have to read Heatwave to read this, but it would be interesting and funny to see the differences in the two scenarios that both lead to roommates hooking up.) Also, happy birthday, bunny boy! Sorry this was a day late, I was honestly swarmed. I love you, koo. Writing this very much gave me a bias crisis but it was all worth it. Enjoy! :”)

PS. Think April 2019 Jungkook

‘A severe snowstorm is set to hit us this weekend with temperatures dropping down to -16˚C. It is therefore ill-advised for anyone to leave their houses during this period until the blizzard subsides as the fifth snow-induced traffic accident has been reported this week in our town…’

You have always marvelled at how the weather lady announces such things with such a passionate captivating tone.

‘The calculated probability of a city-wide power cut is currently at 72%, so please be well-equipped to stay indoors for the next two days.’

Oh shit. A power cut?

This is not good at all. Not like you have any plans for this weekend anyway, and you wouldn’t necessarily mind being stuck inside since you are good at entertaining yourself. But to possibly have no warm water, no internet in the duration of these few days?

You are currently snugly rolled up in the warmth of your blanket burrito, a mug of chamomile tea fitted in your hands, the steam of which evaporates under your chin into a slick coat. Friday evenings have never been eventful for you as long as Jimin doesn’t drag you out to some bar with him. As introverted as one can get, you much prefer staying in and watching TV or endlessly browsing the web.

The distinct rattling of keys spins your attention to the front door. Hearing the plunge of the metal into the keyhole is strangely satisfying to your ears. In steps a pink-nosed, frost-dusted Jungkook, all wrapped up in winter apparel thick enough to make him waddle clumsily.

A gust of cold flares inside from the harsh outdoors, stray flakes of snow flying in after him and landing on the rich oak tiles of the foyer. From the couch, you see his silhouette breathe out a visible grey huff. The door behind him falls shut, once again entrapping the warm temperature into the confines of these walls.

You watch your roommate, humming to himself with his black earpods hooked in his ears, as he unties the scarf around his neck. He probably hasn’t noticed your presence yet; he’s always been a little clueless afterall.

Then he looks up and meets your lingering gaze.

You both jump a little, his humming ceases instantly, eyes scrambling, darting away to your surroundings: the quiet television, the arching lamp, the white powdered window panes. Anywhere but at each other.

Clearing your throat, you greet him softly . ‘Hi.’ Your thumb rubs at the lip-shaped tea stain on the rim of your mug.

‘Um, hi. Good evening, noona.’ He dips his head at you, hood drooping lower over his head. You are two years his senior, and despite your supposed familiarity, he insists on formalities.

The weather lady has now been replaced with the anchorman, who is droning on about the car accident this morning. Awkwardness hangs in the air between you, as it always does every time you speak. It’s now your turn to say something, you’re painfully aware. But what do you say?

‘Snow storm.’ It is a statement more than anything. As if he hasn’t noticed… Nice one. You immediately want to hide your face in the mint furry throw you’re wrapped in.

‘Yeah. Snow storm.’ The rubbery sound of the careless removal of his shoes against the floor is louder than his response. ‘Jimin didn’t make it.’

Your blood freezes. ‘Wait what?! Oh my god! What happened to him?’ It takes the blanket sliding off you for you to realise that you’ve stood up abruptly. Your body is immediately flushed with a breeze of cold, devoid of insulation.

The car accident… It can’t be…

Jungkook’s attention flickers to the glaring screen as he paces towards you and realises how he must’ve sounded. ‘Woah, sorry, I worded it badly. I mean, Jimin’s stuck at Taehyung’s because the snow is too thick for him to drive back. And the service on his phone is whack, so he can’t reach you. Taehyung told me. Sorry, I didn’t mean he didn’t make it.’ Nervous chuckle. Scratching the back of his head.

Never has he said this many words to you in one go, this must be a record. That, as well as your own silly misunderstanding of his words, makes you release a humoured breath. ‘Oh right… Haha… I’m stupid.’

‘No. my bad.’

Wow. If you two keep this up, this might just be your longest running conversation in the history of living together.

Because he’s looking at the floor rather than you, you feel the liberation to look directly at his face. His round nose is red from the freezing temperature, his teeth gnawing at his chapped lips. You follow his gaze travel across the dark wooden panels, reaching a halt at your feet.

‘You’ve got a hole in your sock, noona.’ He states.

Indeed you do. Under his wide-eyed glare, you can’t help but curl your toes inwards as if it would hide your pinkie jutting out of the fabric. The way he addresses you, how his lips form a pouted ring when he pronounces the “oo”, makes you particularly self conscious. ‘Oh… Yeah, I know, it’s fine. It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’ These socks have sheltered your feet for three winters only to betray you now, during a bloody blizzard. The icy floor licks at your exposed skin tauntingly.

Silence draws taut between you. Like you’re tied to opposite ends of a string and are both trying desperately to escape, to walk away from each other.

It’s his move now… Why isn’t he saying something? But at the same time, what can he possibly respond to ‘It’s my only pair of fuzzy socks.’?

‘Right… See you.’ Jungkook nods politely and heads for his room. And you know you probably won’t see him reemerge until tomorrow; it’s practically his batcave in there.

A shudder courses through your body. Though it’s not from the cold but rather the embarrassment of that encounter. Quickly switching off the TV, you hide back in the comforts of your blanket like a Halloween ghost and scurry into your own room to avoid seeing him again.

Jeon Jungkook.

Even the thought of his name makes you crease inward involuntarily like it’s some bad memory. Despite having lived under the same roof for more or less six months, neither of you have warmed to the other in the slightest. It’s not that you have anything against him; you’re sure he must be a lovely boy, but…

Well, when you put two shy individuals next to each other, you can’t really expect them to bond over their bashfulness. No, they both tend to retract into their shells.

How you came about living together is three simple syllables: Park Jimin. If it wasn’t for this one common thread you share, your worlds would never have collided.

Ever the caring friend, it goes without saying that Jimin would rent out his vacant room in his three-bedroom house to you without even a second of hesitation after Hoseok ditches the boys to move in with his girlfriend. You’ve met all his friends before. Jimin is a social butterfly afterall, how could he resist forcing all his best mates into a confined space and make them talk to each other, or more commonly known as a party?

Namjoon and you get along just fine, seeing as you both are whores for literature. Seokjin? As long as you compliment his cooking and force a giggle at his jokes, he’ll accept your friendship. Surprisingly, Yoongi took a liking to you; you guess is due to your mild mellow nature which must clear his headaches caused by this chaotic bunch. Unsurprisingly, Hoseok took a liking to you, well, because he’s Hoseok and incapable of negativity. Much to Jimin’s jealousy, you have a soft spot for Taehyung, his mysterious charm and boyish charisma; your friendship was almost instant.

But then Jungkook…

Your introduction was a blur of awkward hellos and unmet eyes. Every time you spoke to each other, it’s a nervous stutter from him or unwarranted silence from you. Worse, if the two of you happened to bump into each other in public, neither of you knew whether or not to say hi and commence a conversation like normal acquainted people, so it always ended up being an uncomfortably long pause before nodding out of courtesy then parting ways. It’s not like you belong to the same friendship group and see each other every week or anything.

Jungkook’s playful childisness shines brightly when surrounded by the boys, witch-cackle laugh and all. However, for some reason unbeknownst to anyone, this goofy side to him is immediately switched off in your presence, as if you’re the rain that extinguishes the flame of his candle. His body stiffens, eyes widen, voice stammers. Which only leads you to mirror his behaviour.

‘He’s just really uncomfortable around girls.’ Jimin has tried to offer the only plausible explanation. ‘Poor kid went to an all boys’ school his whole life, has only ever had one girlfriend who dumped him on their one year anniversary. Your femaleness scares him.’

That would be kind of cute, you guess, if you weren’t also a socially-uncomfortable hermit who requires soft gentle prodding in order to befriend. Because then you become two logs sitting beside each other, neither willing to inch towards the other.

Forgive Jimin’s mistake of thinking that sharing a roof would change this. Because how wrong was he… If anything, it only led to increased timidity around each other.

When you first moved in, Jungkook was eager to help you carry and unpack everything, seeing as he is the most physically apt person in the house. So you thought that it was his first step towards you, and that your dynamic was finally making progress into becoming one that’s more comfortable. He even lingered around your room the first few days with Jimin to help you open all your cardboard boxes.

However, he has since struggled to utter more than five words to you. Which has continued forth until this day. In the morning rush to class, you never encounter him due to your proneness to punctuality and his to tardiness. If you ever do, it’s only ever just a quick good morning, noona without looking up from his cereal. You both enjoy the safety of your own rooms, hence rarely peak your head out unless it’s for food. Jimin is always the one to drag you out by the foot, even if its just to his room or the sofa to watch a film with him. You say drag, but really you just enjoy seeing Jimin all pouty and whiny and sucking up to you in order to earn precious quality time with you; you actually enjoy being around Jimin. It’s worse for Jungkook though because he has his own ensuite bathroom, orders Deliveroo instead of coming out to eat with you two, and only ever joins social gatherings that you’re also involved in if a high enough bribe is offered.

Hence the time you and Jungkook are exposed to each other gradually diminished over time despite being roommates. At first you only suspected, but now you know for a fact, that he is purposely avoiding you like the plague.

It baffles you, if Jimin’s theory is true, how he could possibly be scared of you, regardless of his shyness towards the female specimen. Look at you, you’re this soft-mannered, quiet-spoken creature with a meek presence. You have more reason to be intimidated by his melon-sized biceps and aggressive shouts that echo from his room when he’s gaming at 2am.

So due to this mutually reciprocated mousiness, this awkward friendship-but-not-quite thing, has never been overcome in these months.

This is not a result of lack of trying, at least from your end. You do try to talk to him, exerting enough friendliness to burst your balloon of introversion. And you suppose he does make as much effort as he can as well. He once left you a note telling you to help yourself to the leftover pizza in the fridge. On your birthday, he gave you a card in which he drew cute little cartoon illustrations of you three housemates and wrote a short message.

Happy birthday, Y/N noona!

You are such a kind person, I hope we can speak more.

Jungkook :)

You thought the exclamation mark and smiley face were above and beyond for his standards. It made you smile for the rest of the day.

It’s 6:23pm and your growling stomach is exacerbated by the cold that has made itself at home in your bones. You’ve always been an early dinner person while Jimin and Jungkook are the opposite.

You’ve managed to get a hold of Jimin through Taehyung; your FaceTime call with him lasted a total of twelve minutes before the connection got too poor that it hung up on its own. Berating Jimin for leaving you alone with Jungkook, especially in this snow storm where everyone is basically on house arrest, all he did was laugh at your feign annoyance. You know it isn’t Jimin’s fault but you still like to blame him for all the awkward predicaments that are bound to happen.

After this chapter of the book you’re reading, you’ll go out to the kitchen and make some dinner, you decide.

Wait a second... Do you even have enough food in the pantry to last a whole weekend? Particularly since Jungkook can easily demolish three bowls of rice and a whole pound of meat, and still have room for dessert?

Looking out the window, you realise it’s snowing way too hard for you to feel confident to pop to the nearest grocery store without slipping and dying.

Shit! What are you going to eat these few days? Especially since the electricity can cut any minute?

Just then, you hear the echo of the front door shutting. Oh no… Jungkook did not just go out in this weather. He probably noticed the lack of food as well and decided to go for a shop. You know what he’s like, he’s a boy who’s really certain of his capabilities, over certain in fact. He probably does not see the hazard of leaving the house in such heavy snow, especially in the evening. Because nothing stands in the way between Jungkook and Food.

Do you go after him? Hell, if you do, you would probably get lost somewhere and slowly freeze to your inevitable death. You can barely navigate in perfect daylight.

Scrambling for your phone, you begin searching for his number. You’ve embarrassingly only called him once, and that was when you and Jimin got locked out of the house after a pub night.

No one is picking up.

In fact, when you check your screen, you don’t even have signal. The blizzard must be getting so bad that it’s refracting the radio waves. Which means it’s even worse for Jungkook to be out right now.

He’s such an idiot. Why did he think it’s okay to just take a walk to the supermarket right now in the middle of a snow storm? You’re such an idiot. Why were you too lazy to stock up on food during the day?

You pace around your room, phone clutched in your hand in case you miraculously get signal somehow. How on earth would you explain to Jimin that your roommate, his friend, whom he left in your care since you’re his senior, went out in a blizzard to buy food that you were supposed to have gotten this morning, and ended up dead from hypothermia?

Are you overreacting? Surely you’re overreacting. Everything is going to be fine! Deep breaths.

He’s going to come back any minute now and see you losing your mind over nothing. Right? Right.

Jungkook isn’t going to die. You’re being paranoid. Ridiculous. Overly anxious as usual.

But you can’t help yourself from pressing your face against your window to try to peek outside for a sign of him. The glass is ice cold against your skin, and it sends a blood-chilling shock through your veins. You can barely make out any shapes in the sea of greys and whites.

If you can’t even see out the window, how is he walking outside right now?

Screw it, you’re going to find him.

You’re a tornado getting dressed, whipping on your massive faux-fur lined puffer coat over two layers of fleece. A pair of gloves, double layer of socks, snow boots. Useless phone and hand warmers shoved in your pockets, you storm out of the house.

The cold that greets you burns up your nostrils and painfully invade your lungs. Snow is flying directly at your face, and you’re barely sheltered by your hood as you feel the icy flakes stab at your skin and melt away. Step by wary step, you steadily walk off your porch, careful not to slip. Your heart leaps out of your chest when your feet sink down at least 10 inches of snow, your squeal is muffled by the scarf you’re using as a ski mask.

It’s now been at least 10 minutes since he’s left. Jungkook is a fast walker, but in the snow, perhaps you could catch up with him.

The flickering lamp posts light up the night, but they may as well not be working because all you can see is white. Barely able to keep your eyes open, and batting away the heavy wind that’s threatening to blow you over, you trek in the direction of the local supermarket.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you realise that you don’t recognise the way anymore. Everything is a blur of snow. The cars, houses, street signs. All snow. Google maps is failing you; you’ve given up removing your gloves each time, your fingers instantly freezing at the exposure, to zoom in or rotate the navigation which keeps hopping from location to location.

You’re utterly and undeniably - lost.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you just plop down on your ass in defeat.

Where the hell are you? Where the hell is Jungkook?

Fear and frustration bubbles in your chest. It must have been half an hour now since you left the house. Surely he should be back, and surely he would’ve intercepted you on the way. That could either mean one of two possibilities: he got lost, slash, injured, slash, died on his way, or you have somehow strayed from the route to the store and he’s now frantically searching for you.

The lump in your throat festers into a ball of panic and despair. Looking around you, there’s absolutely no one. Just eerily-still buildings and snow-hidden cars. The only sound is the howl of the winter gust and your own uneven breathing.

You’re scared, and cold, and alone.

Why the hell did you think you could find him in this snow storm? You watch your warm visible exhale disperse in the icy air, the stinging of desperate tears piercing the back of your eyes. What are you supposed to do now?

And then it hits you. Perhaps you could trace your steps back since your feet have imprinted a trail in the snow. Looking behind you, you see that the downpour of snow has already began filling the footprints nearest to you. You’re praying that they haven’t already entirely covered your earlier steps closer to the house.

Gathering yourself together, you exert a lot of effort to stand up from the ground. Your butt is now wet, and a damp chill is seeping into your underwear. Determined, you follow your footsteps, which are growing fainter, back home.

You’re hoping you recognise the way now, that you’re not just convincing yourself that the street looks familiar.

Then an awful realisation hits you.

Both your hands are stuffed into your pockets, holding those hand-warming packets and your phone. But not your keys. You forgot your keys.

‘Fuck!’ Cursing is rare for you, but anyone would probably deem this situation as a very reasonable one to swear at.

Hot gushes of tears begin flooding down your face, painting streaks of cold that freeze over in a matter of seconds. How could you be this dumb? The snow is getting heavier right now. Checking the time on your phone, it’s 7 o’clock. The streetlights are dimming due to the weather, and the pitch dark night is starting to settle in around you.

You sink to a crouch.

This is it then, you guess. You’ve met your inexorable demise, rooted from your own stupidity. And Jungkook.

You can’t believe you’re going to die trying to find Jungkook in a goddamn snow storm.

The quiet sobs and sniffles that escape you are muted by the hood around your ears. A shiver overtakes your body as your muscles tremble as a last attempt to keep you alive. Your whole face is numb, teeth clattering, eyes clamped shut to stop the tears from freezing on your cheeks.

‘Noona?’

The voice is muffled but you recognise it instantly. Your eyes fly open to see a pair of shoes halted in front of you. You look up.

And there Jungkook is, eyes wide in shock, quivering lips parted in concern, carrying four plastic bags full of food and supplies. The streetlight situated directly behind him shines a halo around his head, painting a heavenly image of him. You’ve never been more glad to see anyone in your life.

Unable to contain yourself, you fling your ice-stiffened arms around his waist and bury your face in his coat-clad torso. Your knees give in and hit the ground. New tears spring from your eyes, but this time it’s tears of relief, tears of joy, tears of gratitude. A surge of his warmth washes over you, and all of a sudden, the cold cannot touch you.

‘W-What happened? Are you- Are you okay?’ Jungkook is rooted to the ground, he wants to wrap an arm around your small head or help you up but his hands are full with the groceries.

Gripping his sleeves, you tug yourself up to face him. You probably look like a mess, red eyes, nose and cheeks. But you don’t care. Jungkook is alive, you’re alive, and you’ve found each other. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, Jungkook. Everything is fine.’

‘You’re crying, noona.’ His ears are neatly tucked under his black knitted beanie.

‘Not anymore, I’m good now.’ Ferociously wiping the liquids profusely leaking out of your orifices, you give him the biggest grin your frozen cheek muscles would allow. ‘Let’s go home. Do you need help with the bags?’

‘No, don’t worry about them.’

Standing an inch apart, you walk side by side following his lead, assuming he knows the way. The material of your coats scrape at each other when either of you leans a bit too far towards the other.

‘What are you doing out here though?’ He asks quietly.

What are you doing out here? How do you give him an explanation that does not depict you as an idiot? Because once again, you’ve been stupid and dramatic and stressed over absolutely nothing. It’s twice in the same day now that you thought one of your roommates have died. When both of them turned out to be alive and well.

‘Um… Well, I thought it was dangerous for you to go outside alone in this weather, especially since it’s getting dark... I tried calling you but had no signal so, uh, I decided to... uh, come out to find you…’ Embarrassment begins to creep it’s way to your senses, it claws digging into your skin.

You peak at him in your peripheral vision to see him stiffen, eyes eerily focused on the snowy path in front. What is he thinking? Is he going to laugh at you? Think you’re dumb? Find you weird and obsessive?

‘Oh… Um.’ Clearing his throat, he glances at you and you quickly look away. Flustered. ‘You didn’t have to, I’m fine. I know this neighbourhood like the back of my hand, noona.’

‘Yeah, but you took so long. I got worried…’ You whisper the last bit.

An awkward pause is birthed. Your fists tighten around the hand warmers in your pockets.

‘I- I’m sorry for worrying you, noona.’ You hear his own fists tighten around the handle of bags as well, the plastic crinkling. ‘The supermarket around the corner was shut so I had to find another one that wasn’t. I made it just in time, though, right before this one closed as well. Then I also had to find a store that sells those so-’ He stops abruptly when he realises that he’s rambling.

‘Sells what?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Jungkook mumbles.

Another silence. The night has fallen, looking around, if it isn’t for the scarce light casted by the lamp posts, everything would be pitch dark. You’re so glad you’re not alone. Worse come to worse, you would’ve had to knock on these random houses and beg them to take you in for the night.

‘Wait,’ he says, ‘That doesn’t explain why you were crying.’

Well, crap. What are you supposed to say?

‘Uhh… Well, I got lost and my phone wasn’t working, so… I just kinda panicked.’ If your face wasn’t red from the cold and embarrassment from before, it definitely is now. You feel the blood pumping to your head, enough to make you sway a little.

‘Oh shit. I’m sorry, that was all my fault. I- I should’ve told you I was popping out in the first place. Ugh, noona, I’m sorry.’ You’ve never seen him display much emotion towards you, but currently, seeing him so alive with exasperation… It’s kind of endearing.

Screw earlier, this is the longest conversation the two of you have had, ever.

‘No, Jungkook, stop apologising. It wasn’t your fault at all!’

To be fair, you couldn’t have wandered that far if Jungkook found you on his way back from whatever shop he went to; you must’ve been close at least.

And so you two arrive safely to your house. Carefully wobbling up the porch slippery with slush, you stop in front of the door.

He looks at you expectantly. ‘Keys, noona?’ Of course, his hands are full.

Here you are, thinking you could’ve gotten away with not telling him you had moronically left your keys at home. ‘Um, I forgot to bring them with me.’ You utter, then add. ‘I was in a hurry.’

For a second, Jungkook looks like he’s about to tell you off for endangering yourself with such stupidity. But he just lets out a half-laugh half-sigh and bites down on his lip. ‘Mine are in my left, no, right back jean pocket.’

Right. He is asking you to get his keys from his back pocket.

His back pocket.

You freeze.

You’ve never so much as touched Jungkook, if you don’t count brushing shoulders. Hugging him back there was purely out of hysteria, which you retracted from the second you registered your action. Now, you’re going to grope his ass. This day just keeps getting you more familiar with him, doesn’t it?

Gulping, you suck up your cowardice and slide your hand into his back pocket, intentionally not looking at him while doing so. The firmness of his buttcheek fits snugly in your palm while your index finger hooks around his keyring. And what the hell, you strangely get the urge to squeeze it.

You yank your hand out of there before it can betray you and act on that impulse. Glimpsing up, you see that his cheeks are also crimson as he stares up at the ceiling a little too attentively.

After changing into some warm dry clothes and setting your snow-dampened ones on the radiator, you go out to the kitchen to see Jungkook cooking some ramen, which doesn’t come as a surprise as he practically lives off them. He’s dressed in sweatpants and a black hoodie; after cupping his ass through his back pocket, you can’t help but notice how round his rear is, especially in those bottoms.

God, what is wrong with you? You cannot seriously be checking Jungkook’s ass out.

This time his hood his down, and you appreciate how fluffy his hair is starting to grow. You can’t help but wonder what it sme-

Woah.

Why are you thinking so much about Jungkook?

Truth be told, that scare he gave you just now opened your eye as to how much you actually care about him. Despite never really saying much to each other, you guess you’ve grown a sort of fondness for him that you didn’t realise you have. It’s only natural; you have known each other for close to a year now, and half of which was spent under the same roof. Of course you would worry for his well being, you tell yourself.

The kitchen fan must be blocking his hearing because he doesn’t sense your approach, he’s singing softly to himself. He’s got a lovely voice, both your roommates do. But whereas Jimin sings loudly and proudly, Jungkook only does so in the shower or when he doesn’t think anybody is listening.

When he notices you finally, you’re peering over his shoulder. He jumps. You jump. The chopsticks he’s using to stir the noodles fly out of his hands, clattering on the counter.

‘Oh jeez, you scared me.’ He picks up the chopsticks.

‘Sorry.’ You squeak and take a step back when you realise your proximity.

‘Haha…’ He chuckles nervously, embarrassed. ‘Noona, you like jajangmyeon, right?’

Do you like jajangmyeon? You live and breathe jajangmyeon. You can’t go a week without jajangmyeon. You’ve had it for breakfast, lunch and dinner before all in one day. Those noodles in that sauce… Mmm…

‘Yeah, they’re my favourite.’ Is all you say though, you figure he probably doesn’t care for a whole speech about your love for them. Surely he knows at this point, there isn’t a single day in this house where the ramen cupboard is devoid of jajangmyeon.

‘Great, I’m making you some.’

Oh. Jungkook is cooking for you. A warmth creeps into your cheeks, and you’re not sure why.

‘You don’t have to, Jungkook. Just cook for yourself, I’ll make myself dinner after you.’ But then your stomach chooses now to bellow aloud like a bullfrog traitorously. You look at him, abashed.

A smile is playing at his lips, though he’s trying not to show it.

‘Go sit down, noona. It’ll be ready in a second.’ His eyes are fixed on the bubbling water, chopsticks hauling up the softening noodles to check their texture. Though you’ve never tasted his cooking, you don’t doubt ramen mastery, so you nod compliantly.

The bags of shopping are half unpacked on the dining table, so you decide to finish sorting them out. He’s bought gimbap, bread, cheese, some salad, mostly food that doesn’t require cooking; you can tell he has thought ahead for the potential blackout.

Then something else in the bag catches your eye.

‘Dinner’s ready.’ Jungkook carries two bowls of brown noodles, garnished with sausage and cucumber, just the way you like it.

He sets the bowls opposite each other on the end of the table that’s not packed with groceries. This feels extremely weird and domestic. Although you live together, you don’t remember the last time you’ve had a meal together on this table, just the two of you without Jimin. Yet now, you’re about to eat jajangmyeon that he cooked for you, right across each other. Extremely weird.

‘Thank you so much for cooking, Jungkook.’ You bow your head at him politely and take a seat opposite him.

‘You’re welcome, noona.’ He also mirrors your action. You can kind of understand why it must be so annoying to Jimin how you’re so formal to each other, it must sound so forced and awkward.

Which is what this meal is going to be. Forced and Awkward.

Jungkook waits for you to take the first bite before digging, which you have to do so without rolling your eyes back and moaning out loud in satisfaction. Jajangmyeon tastes so flipping good! Your one and only true love.

You’re too focused on slurping down the noodles that you don’t notice him smiling fondly at the rare sight of you so blatantly excited.

The meal goes by quietly, neither of you are talkers to begin with, much less while eating. Whether it’s because it’s your favourite dish, or because it’s a freezing cold winter day, or even maybe because it’s Jungkook’s own cooking, the food tastes especially scrumptious.

‘This is delicious.’ Your eyes are practically glowing at him; he shys away from the praise by sipping on his can of coke. Who drinks coke in this weather? A smile stretches your lips at the oddity of this boy’s taste.

Jungkook mumbles a thanks, avoiding your eye as usual. But the jajangmyeon has put you in a good mood, you’re feeling rather chatty actually. ‘Also, Jungkook, I saw you bought-’ You dig into one of the grocery bags and pull out what you spotted earlier.

‘Oh yeah.’ Jungkook stares at the two-pack of fluffy socks in your hand, wearing a slightly mortified expression. ‘Um… I thought... you could do with some new ones.’

Surprised, your whole body tenses. You had thought he bought them for himself after seeing you wear yours so comfortably. All thought flaps away from your mind like a flock of frightened birds, leaving an empty field. He- Why- What do you-

‘Oh.’ Clearing your throat, you murmur. ‘Wow, thank you so much.’ Unable to look at him for any longer, your eyes fall onto your noodles. Your hand holding the socks drop onto the table at the weight of his kindness. Then a realisation creeps up on you. ‘Wait… They don’t sell these socks in supermarkets…’

Glancing up, you find him fiddling with his fingers nervously. ‘Uh. I went to another shop that does.’

Knots upon knots begin to tie in your stomach. So that’s why he took so long out there, not only did he have to find another supermarket that was open, he also searched for a store that sells fuzzy socks. For you.

Why do you feel so warm everywhere?

When you fall into a silent trance of your own thinking, Jungkook gets worried. ‘Noona, do you not like them? Did I get the wrong ones?’

‘No, no, no!’ You frantically dispute, forcing yourself to look at him. ‘These are perfect! I’m just surprised… and touched. That’s all. Jungkook, you really didn’t have to.’ The fabric of the socks feel heavenly to touch, your thumb sinks into the clouds of its softness. Truly, this has taken you by surprise and you don’t know how to react.

‘It’s okay…’ Redness blooms across his cheeks like drops of watercolour.

First he cooks you your favourite meal, then he buys you fuzzy socks? Is this the same Jungkook you’ve been living with all these months?

‘No, here…’ You rip open the card of the packet and snap the plastic wire that holds the four socks together. ‘Take a pair, I only need one anyway.’

At you waving the socks in front of him, he leans back in refusal, shaking his head and muttering a string of no no no’s. You’re not at all a strong-willed person by any means, but you’re not backing down on this, not when he’s been so lovely to you all night. When he realises that you won’t take no for an answer, he sighs, scratching the back of his ears. ‘Okay, okay. You can have the mint ones.’

One pair is mint and the other is pink. You blink. He wants the pink ones?

When he realises what must be going through your head, he quickly says, ‘Mint is your favourite colour right?’

Mint is your favourite colour. Though how does he know? All your possessions are in a variety of pastels: baby blue, cotton candy pink, mint green and lilac purple. He couldn’t have possibly guessed…?

‘Yes, it is… But I seriously don’t mind if you want the mint ones, I’m not gonna make you take the pink ones.’

‘No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.’ Jungkook snatches the pink fluffy socks from you before you can argue and stuff them onto his lap.

Your heart does a little thing that you can’t describe.

The two of you finish your dinner in silence, mirroring each other with one hand gripping the socks ever so tightly and the other hand picking up the noodles with your chopsticks. Awkwardly, Jungkook take a glimpse at you. A tiny smear of sauce stains the corner of your mouth.

Does he tell you? It would make it awkward though, wouldn’t it? But then again, it would be worse for you to find out yourself when you look in the mirror and think that he didn’t tell you you have sauce on your face.

‘Sauce.’ He accidentally says before he could finish formulating what he’s going to say to you. Shit. What’s wrong with him? Why did he say it like that? In response to your confused expression, he gestures dumbly at the corner of his own mouth.

Instantly a blush flames across the apples of your cheeks. You are about to wipe it away with your sleeve when you realise a second too late that you’re wearing a white sweater.

Your hand dangles a centimetre from your face, wrist caught in Jungkook’s fingers as he notices the mistake in your action before you. His whole body is leaned over the table in order to reach you. Wide eyes locked on each other, neither of you dare to move at his sudden outburst of motion towards you.

‘Um.’ He peeps. ‘Careful, I’ll do it, noona.’

Before you can register, he lets go of your arm allowing it to fall onto your lap. When his index knuckle brushes against the end of your mouth, a wave of shock zaps down your spine. Your heart lurches down an abyss at how soft his skin feels on your sensitive lips. Then his touch is gone, leaving a warmth tingling in his wake.

As he looks around for something to wipe his finger on, pupils round like a puppy, your eyes refuse to leave him. Thank you sits at the tip of your tongue but your throat is too clogged to utter a sound. The clockworks are trying to turn in your brain but all you can focus on is Jungkook.

How is he this nice, kind, gentle boy? And how have you completely missed this about him? In fact, why have you been so demure with him when he’s… an angel?

Watching his tongue poke at the inside of his cheek, a much scarier thought dawns on you.

Do you have a crush on Jungkook?

White screen glaring at you, the words of your unfinished essay frowns at your lack of attention in disapproval. You can’t write about Jane Austen’s exploration of feminism when Jungkook has overtaken your capacity to concentrate on anything other than him.

The radiator by your desk acts as your foot rest, blazing the pleasant heat up your legs. Ever few seconds, your eyes would wander to those mint green fuzzy socks you’re wearing, so brand new that its fluff caresses your toes like a flower bed. Just the thought that he went out of his way to replace your old hole-ridden pair…

Stop.

Jane Austen. Focus.

But the phantom touch of his finger sweeping across the plump of your bottom lip is etched on your skin, the picture of his doe eyes staring at your mouth refusing to leave your memory.

What has happened to you? How have you just swung from two extremes: from hardly able to speak a word to him without stuttering, to daydreaming about his kindness towards you?

The cold is making you delirious. It has to be this godforsaken cold, because why else would you all of a sudden be so flustered from the thought of Jungkook?

You take a long hard sip of your coffee, and mark it as a new leaf. From now on, no more thinking about anyone else other than Jane Austen. Pushing up your sleeves, you straighten your slouching back and face the monster of you assignment head on.

Not 5 minutes later, your desk lamp begins to flicker. You throw it a quick glance as your fingers type on your keyboard. Weird, you just changed the bulb a few weeks ago. Nevermind it.

Then all of a sudden, all the lights in your room go out. Frowning, you get up and try the switch several times to no avail. Peaking outside your room, all that greets you is a cold darkness. So you turn on the flashlight on your phone and try other light switches of the house. Nothing. Even the heat begins to seep away from the heaters as they dim to a cool. Oh no, right now?

Using your phone as a torch, you pad towards Jungkook’s room and open his door before you can remember to knock. Perhaps your anxiety has overridden your common sense and courtesy. Unfamiliar with the orientation of his room, you trail your side against the wall to guide you.

‘Jungkook? I think the power’s ou-’

Your phone shines onto a tall silhouette, illuminating a view that makes you shriek and stumble back.

There he is, standing with a white towel around his waist, beads of water splattered across his naked body and dripping rapidly out his wet slicked back hair. The swell of his biceps catch your attention first, lined with prominent veins running all the way down to his large hands placed on his hips. Which leads your gaze to the illustrious v of his hips that arch down to-

Without meaning to, your eyes travel down to this bulge. His hefty unmissable bulge. The towel protrudes out like a tiny hill, and you want to scream at it.

If you had a drink in your mouth right now, you would surely spit it out all over him and choke to your death. But you don’t, so all that comes out of you is a strangled cat noise. Looking away from that sinful area as quickly as you can, you arrive at his face - shocked, alarmed and confused. Your cheeks burning in the flames of hell, you spin away hastily to sprint out of his room in horror.

Except you run into the wall.

The impact hits your forehead and thankfully not your nose. Phone flung onto the ground with the light facing up, you fall onto you knees clutching at the eruption of pain. But nothing hurts more than your pride and image.

‘Noona!’ One hand securing the towel covering his manhood and preserving his dignity, he scrambles over to help you despite himself.

You flinch away at his hand on your shoulder because he is now right beside you. And it’s as if you’ve zoomed in too far on a picture because his nakedness is suddenly magnified 100x. You want to Ctrl Z yourself out of his room and back into your own desk. Because what. the. hell.

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

Transfixed on the ridges of this abdomen, you cannot focus on anything other than the way his muscles groove up and down so smoothly to form a six pack. Shadows casted by the flashlight sculpting more definition onto his marble chest. Goosebumps are raised on his blemishless skin, which you almost want to stroke away with your warmth.

‘I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.’ You chant cataleptically in a daze. It’s more for your own reassurance than his. His bare upper body needs to let you breathe.

‘Are you sure?’ His concern is apparent in his expression, eyes examining your entire face for your injury.

‘Yes, yes.’ Desperately wanting to shoo him away, you wince at the pulsing ache burgeoning in your forehead.

‘I’m sorry.’ You both say in unison, though neither of you understand why the other is apologising.

Though he seems abashed about being shirtless, his humiliation comes nowhere near your level. Why isn’t he scrambling to put a shirt on?

To be fair Jungkook does seem awfully self conscious, you’ve caught him looking down at himself for about the fifteenth time now as he helps you up to your feet.

‘I’ll let you get dressed, sorry.’ Is all you say after snatching your phone off the ground, not even bothering to check for a cracked screen, before making your timely escape. This time more successful than the last.

Clutching your throbbing head, you race to your room and catapult onto your bed. The picture of a wet, shirtless Jungkook with only a towel to shield you from his crotch is now ingrained in your mind. You think shutting your eyes will help but you still see his divine abs behind your lids.

Holy shit.

What perhaps scares you more is how attracted you are to him. Since when did you find your roommate hot? This is shy, quiet Jungkook who plays overwatch until 4am. How dare he have a Greek God’s body to confuse you like this?

You need to stop thinking about his naked body right now.

Instead you check outside your window to see that the streetlights are off as well; it must be a blackout across the whole town, if not city. Without heating, the cold air begins to harshly sting your exposed skin. Panic starts to fester in your chest. How long can you last with no electricity whatsoever? You don’t even have phone signal, or something to charge your phone with except the one portable charger that may or may not be dead right now.

Though your door is wide open, Jungkook knocks on it politely outside your room. Which is what you should’ve done with him, you mentally scold yourself. Though he is now dressed in an oversized hoodie, your image of him is forever changed after seeing him fresh out the shower, hair still dripping. You blink hard in attempt to rid that thought.

‘Hi…’ He whispers. He’s holding two burning candles against his chest, their flames lighting up the underside of his sharp jaw.

‘Hi, come in.’

You can sense his hesitancy, the unease in the air between you, when he enters your room gingerly, feet clad in those pink fuzzy socks.

‘Sorry-’ You both say at the same time again, then release a breath of laughter. Mirth twinkles in his eyes, though his shyness does not stray from him.

‘I’m sorry for barging into your room like that.’ It’s an effort not to glance down at his adorable socks. ‘That was completely my fault, so don’t apologise.’

He swallows. ‘It’s okay, noona.’

His eyes hold yours for a solid moment before dispersing. A familiar blush is starting to paint your cheeks, you feel the heat from your chest blare up to your entire face. Unable to help imagining those solid muscles underneath his clothes, you tug at the hem of your sweater.

‘So,’ Jungkook places one of the candles on your desk. ‘This is for you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Instead of using the flashlight of your phone, use the candle or one of the torches I’ve put on the table outside to save your battery. I’ve checked the main fuse, it isn’t switching back on. Good thing is that we still have running water and plumbing, just no heating or any electricity.’ He glances at your own socks. ‘We need to use the water sparingly though or the reservoir will run out. From the shops, I’ve bought some food that we can eat without cooking like gimbap or sandwiches. There’s also a stash of hand warmers in the drawer of the TV stand if you’re cold.’

That’s a lot of words to come out of Jungkook’s mouth in one go, all spoken to you. What he’s saying is sinking in and relief washes over you, yet you can’t help but focus your attention on the way his lips move as he speaks. The dark red gleaming with lip balm, curving over each syllable so prettily.

‘That’s great, thank you.’ You finally snap out of it. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ That last sentence slips out of you before you could stop it.

Pupils widening a fraction, Jungkook’s lips part in reaction. Why did you tell him that? Maybe you should just lock yourself in your room after continuously embarrassing yourself tonight. But then he pulls into a smile that melts away the ice that’s numbing your limbs and burning your lungs. The front of his teeth slightly jutting out sweetly.

Again, a fondness tickles your chest.

‘Me too.’ The tingle spreads into a pulse that crushes your throat. Is that why they call it a crush?

You simply cannot suppress your own growing grin.

Jungkook begins to walk away, but then stops at your door and turns back. There’s a reluctance, an uncertainty to his slow movement as he faces you.

‘If… If you get too cold without the radiator… you can…’ His voice barely a husk. ‘You can come over to mine.’

Then he’s gone. The aura lit up by his candle gradually diminishes away from you as he walks down the hallway to his room.

Frozen in place, you’re not even sure if your heart is beating anymore. Those final words ring in your ear like wind chimes.

You can come over to mine.

Does he mean what you think he means? Is he offering to keep you warm during the night?

You watch the candle he’d placed on your desk, its flame mirroring the small fire kindling in your core for the boy who went out during a blizzard to buy you fuzzy socks so your feet don’t get cold.

On the other side of the wall, Jungkook is on the verge of combustion at his bold proposition to you, red burning the tips of his ears. Though the memory of the look of pure euphoria on your face when you took your first bite of jajangmyeon burns his heart hotter yet.

The cold is brutal and shows no mercy. Despite your tossing and turning and effort to warm yourself up, sleep does not grace you. Part of the blame goes to Jungkook, you have not been able to cease thinking about him and everything he has done tonight. It makes you reflect on all your past moments together, whether he has always been like this and you were only too closed off to pay heed.

Sitting up from your bed, you decide you won’t be able to fall asleep without extra warmth. You need hand warmers stuffed down your pyjamas.

So, muscles stiff from the cold, you clamber out the little warm burrow of your covers and head for the living room, forsaking any light since your vision has adapted to the dark. On your way there, you walk past Jungkook’s room. Without knowing why, your legs betray you and stop outside his door.

You can come over to mine.

The low rasp of his voice still echoes in your head, stirring your unwarranted feelings for him into a warm pot of honey.

Had he really meant it? Did he honestly invite you to his share his bed? Surely not - this is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking of, he doesn’t even speak to you most days, can’t not cower away from your glare. And he also knows what you’re like, how it took you two whole months to even warm to all of Jimin’s friends, how you only recently stopped using honorifics with those older than you.

And surely he must be at least mildly aware of the lack of boys and romance in your life, living just down the hall from you. Jimin is the closest male friend you have, and even so, you aren’t completely comfortable with sleeping beside him.

But then… All that has transpired about Jungkook’s character tonight, how sweet and kind and thoughtful he is which completely falls outside your predictions of the boy…

You realise you want to know more, want to explore the depths and mysteries that is your strange roommate. This intangible force that has been building up in the mere hours you’ve spent together this cold winter’s night draws you to him.

So screw those hand warmers, they last way too short anyway. Who needs those fidgety packets when there’s a whole Jeon Jungkook next door?

Gathering all the courage you can muster, you knock on his door.

The wood sends tendrils of cold into your knuckles. There’s a pause at first which leaves you thinking that he’s asleep, and to be fair, this late at night he has every reason to be. You’re about to turn away and head forth down the hall when you hear sheets moving, followed by his muffled come in.

Timidly, you step into his room, mind still fresh with the memory of what had happened last time you entered here unannounced, mere hours ago. Let’s not think about that right now, shall we?

Jungkook is sat up in his bed, black hood engulfing half his head. A single scented candle lit on his bedside table beside him illuminates the whole room into a golden ochre hue, it smells of freshly washed sheets.

‘Hi…’ You peep out, stopping in front of his bed.

‘Everything ok, noona?’ His eyes are fixed on your face in wonder, but when you meet them, they dart to your socks.

‘Um, yes.’ How do you put this? How do you formulate those words? ‘I just… It’s absolutely freezing with the radiators not working. Maybe- D-’ You exhale shakily. He’s gaze slowly crawls back up to your face as he realises where you’re going with this. ‘You know how you suggested that we should… sleep tog- on the same bed… to keep each other warm…? Well...’

Jungkook blinks at you. For a heartbeat, all you want to do is curl up into a ball and roll out of here. You couldn’t even finish what you were saying because your jaw has simply refused to move, refused to let you carry on embarrass yourself.

Then, although he was already on one side of the bed, he scooches over to the left. He doesn’t look at you when he replies, ‘Of course.’

Your heart is pumping fast, almost making you choke on your constricting throat. Warily you clamber onto his bed, but stop when only your knee is on the mattress. The bed frame creaks. Jungkook is regarding you with an unreadable expression, nibbling on his bottom lip. ‘Wait, if this is weird, just tell me to go.’

‘N-No. It’s fine.’ Pulling the covers over his chest, he crosses his arms shyly. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, though you could be mistaken due to the odd lighting. ‘I was struggling to fall asleep from the cold as well.’ He adds when you don’t seem convinced.

Both of you are making this a bigger deal than it actually is, you are fully aware. It honestly pains you how awkward you two are with each other; if this were Jimin, he’d be dragging you onto his bed by the waist, letting you flounder about in his arms like a cat trying to escape before smothering you with his affection. But this is Jungkook. Quiet, shy, awkward Jungkook. Jungkook who hasn’t spoken more than ten words a day to you before the events of tonight even though you live together. Jungkook who you’re slowly learning more and more about during this blizzard.

Plus, he was the one who offered to share his bed earlier in the first place. This is fine, just fine. Act normal.

Overly conscious of how he’s watching your every movement carefully, you slowly burrow into the comfort of his bed. Immediately you’re enveloped in his residual body heat under the duvet. Now you realise that he moved over to the other side of the bed, the cold side, so you can relish in the warmth that he’s been collecting under these covers.

Why is Jungkook so… considerate?

Again, the same fuzzy feeling as before tugs at your heartstrings. Suddenly you want to reach out to him, but instead, you tug at your sleeves.

You’re both staring at the blank ceiling as if it is some fascinating art piece, with enough space between you to fit a Jimin. The candle has casted long grey shadows across the room, occasionally flickering haphazardly.

Everything that is currently whizzing through your head is driving you insane. This is actually happening. You are sharing a bed with Jungkook, the guy who you can’t even look in the eye when speaking to, your roommate who has only ever tried to avoid you. This day is a jack-in-the-box of Jungkook-themed surprises. What’s going to be next?

‘Feeling warmer, noona?’ He breaks the silence first, and you can’t help but glance over at him. His side profile is mostly masked by his hood, yet you can still see his jaw clenching. You can only imagine how uneasy he is currently feeling.

‘Yes.’ It’s barely a whisper you manage, so you clear your throat. ‘Much better Jungkook, thank you.’

Another silence. Though this is an improvement from before, you still feel a chill in your bones; the cold is a resilient pest that aches your muscles and numbs your face.

‘Should I blow out the candle then?’ You ask.

‘Oh right, yeah.’

You huff at the small flame but it refuses to go out, and you kind of don’t want it to as it provides a strong beacon of heat as its smoke licks at your face. You huff again. Still, it only wavers. You’re so cold that you don’t even have the strength to take out a candle. Peaking over at Jungkook, his eyes are locked on you patiently.

‘I’ll do it.’ He leans across the bed over you, you feel his warmth radiate into your proximity as his should hovers over your face. His scent, a clean soft musk, swims up your nose; you never noticed how pleasant he smells. The veins on his neck are protruding as he strains to reach over. When he extinguishes the candle with a single harsh blow, embarrassment rains on you.

Darkness enshrouds you two. As he returns to his position, you notice that he’s closer to you than before, now only less than a foot away. The sound of his breathing provides a steady rhythm that soothes your wild thoughts.

Though your social skills are subpar by nature, Jungkook has a way of magnifying your awkwardness. Should you say something? Good night? Thank him again?

Then you realise, he’s shivering. Of course, his hair must still be wet from his unfinished shower that was cut short by the blackout. God, he must be freezing.

‘You’re cold.’ You state, though you mean it more as a question.

‘I’m fine.’ Hums his response, yet his inhale is shaky.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you know what you’re going to do next is completely out of character and will require more guts than you actually possess. Your hand gropes at the space between you until you find his hand. It’s ice cold. Jungkook jumps at the contact and you hear him turn his head towards you. You hope his sight hasn’t adjusted to the dark yet so he can’t see how abashed you are.

‘You’re not fine.’ His fingers are stiff when you interlock yours between his. Everything is screaming inside you. What are you doing? What the heck? If Jimin were here to see this his jaw would drop all the way down to hell.

Unable to suppress the urge either, you also turn to look at him. In the dark, you can barely make out the outline of his face, the shape of his glossy eyes reflecting the moonlight seeping in through the window. Slowly, his fingers curl up around your hand. Your heart flips.

Blood roaring in your ears, you inch towards him like a frightened deer until your sides are pressed against each other. Your faces must be a hand’s width apart, but the darkness fuels you with a brazenness that allows you to not cringe away. His whole body tenses in response.

‘Better?’ Voice so soft he strains to hear you.

Jungkook nods, eyes never leaving yours. ‘Better.’ His response rumbles into your ear and percolate into your mind, and only now are you aware of how close he is.

An amalgamation of unidentifiable emotions stir inside you. You feel your own warmth trickle towards him as his does with you, and slowly his presence plucks away the cold you are plagued with.

‘Good night, Jungkook.’

‘Good night, Y/N noona.’

Though it’s only briefest of movements, you feel his thumb stroke over yours once, twice, as your eyelids fall shut.

The next morning, you wake up first with your head fitted cosily on his heavily breathing chest, his arm draped across your shoulder, shielding you from the chilly morning air.

The power still isn’t back on.

It’s now nearing 24 hours since the blackout first hit.

You’ve wasted the day wandering about the house, unsure of what to do with yourself. Though you tell yourself it’s the withdrawal symptoms from the internet, it’s mostly due to the fact that you slept next to Jungkook last night.

The earlier half of the day was spent subtly avoiding him because what the hell are you supposed to say to him? Do you just carry on your usual selves around each other or are you, like, friends now? You caught yourself watching him sleep this morning, serene breaths in and out through his nose. There’s a tiny mole under his lips that you’ve never noticed before. You had poked it with your pinky before you could stop yourself. And thankfully he’s a heavy sleeper, he didn’t even stir.

With more effort than you thought would require, you pried yourself out of his arms, a cold breeze instantly welcoming you in an embrace as you left his bed.

Those scenes keep replaying in your head: him finding you out in the blizzard, watching him cook you jajangmyeon, discovering that he when out of his way to buy you new sock, then walking in on him almost stark naked from the shower, and finally, falling asleep enveloped in his warm and scent.

You’re definitely crushing on him.

You’ve stopped denying it when you saw him meander wearily out his room at noon, bed head ruffled, eyes still droopy from sleep. Wordlessly, you had passed him the ham and cheese sandwich you prepared for yourself and you don’t even know why because you were absolutely starving.

The downpour of snow only stopped for a good 10 minutes this afternoon, a tiny window in which you poked your head out for some fresh air. Jungkook had tried to shovel away some snow to clear the porch, but quickly ran back inside when he saw your worried face plastered to the window watching him.

There isn’t much either of you can do with no electricity, no internet, no television, trapped indoors. So you occupy your day curled up on the couch, nose buried in a novel, completely immersed in that beautifully crafted fictional world.

Until Jungkook walks out in a white t-shirt and shorts.

Your eyebrow raises, peeking at him from behind the pages.

‘I’m gonna work out here, if you don’t mind. There isn’t enough space in my room.’ He scratches the back of his head.

‘Sure.’ You exhale, knowing your demise is looming over your head like a storm cloud. A lot of self control is exercised in order to not ogle at his calves.

Training your eyes at the novel in front of you with great determination, you turn the page. The first minute is easy enough, you just have to angle your book to block your view of him. But then his breathing grows heavier, panting every rep. At that, you can’t help but glimpse past the corner of your page.

Oh Lord. He’s doing push ups.

Though his biceps are mostly covered by his sleeves, the muscles of his forearms tensing at every contraction catch you eye. You marvel at the way his tendons flex out, and the way his serpentine of veins snake down his hands.

Jeez.

Then he lets out an unholy grunt, setting your whole skin on aflame. Scarlet stains your cheeks, you’re sure of it. But the sinful sounds do not stop. Sweat his now seeping through his shirt, rendering the material transparent down his back. And his ass…

You snap your focus back to your novel.

Just in time as well because he stops onto his knees, head falling back as he sits on his ankles, panting. His neck is shimmering with his perspiration, droplets trickling down like a brook.

Jungkook glances over at you to see you reading intently, jaw clenched from what he guesses is due to the excitement of the plot.

But then you stand up so abruptly that it startles him. You can’t sit here and spy on his workout any longer, you physically cannot take it. Not to mention, it makes you feel so awful, like you’re perving on the poor clueless boy who only wants to break a sweat.

The both of you just stare at each other, flustered for different reasons. His breathing slows.

‘I’m gonna-’ You don’t know where you’re going with the sentence. Gulp. ‘Uh, see you later.’

Scampering away into your room, you don’t wait for his response. Why are you panting heavier than he is when he’s the one exercising? Your book is pressed tightly against your pounding chest as you lean your back on your door. Your legs give way and you slowly slide down onto the cool floor.

There’s one thing you know for sure.

Jeon Jungkook is not good for your heart.

It’s almost midnight and Jungkook is standing outside your door. Fist clenched, inches away from rapping on the wood, but completely frozen in action.

Just do it, idiot. He scolds himself.

After an ice cold post-workout shower, this time early enough so he doesn’t have to sleep with wet hair, you both had gimbap for dinner. It was an excruciatingly silent meal which he blames himself for, though he can’t help the way his tongue gets tied every time he wishes to speak to you.

And now, bed time, he is at a dilemma of whether or not to ask to sleep with you again. It may come across as too forward coming from a guy, he doesn’t want to scare you. But he also knows that he will be missing the warmth of your body beside him if he goes to bed alone.

Jungkook sighs and lets his hanging hand fall to his side.

If you wanted to, you would have gone to his room anyway. Might as well save the awkward rejection and just take this as a no.

However, your door suddenly swings open. He’s confronted with a pyjama-wearing, baby-faced you, flinching back a step at the surprising sight of him.

‘Op- I was just....’ His sentence falls flat. He was just what?

‘I was just coming to find you.’ You mutter, eyes softening if he isn’t mistaken. A flood of relief rushes at him, so you were planning on coming to him tonight.

Wordlessly, you pad after him to his room. Everything is dark but you see his figure clearly in front of you. It gives you a false sense of confidence which leads you to trip over his charger wire you so clumsily missed.

You don’t know how he reacts so quickly to your yelp of distress, but he turns around in time to catch your outstretched arms by the elbows. ‘Watch out.’ Feet fumbling over each other, he stumbles back onto his bed as you fall onto him. The weight of your bodies sink down onto the mattress.

Hard muscle cushions your fall. Chests pressed against each other, you don’t realise your hands have instinctively circled around his shoulders for balance. Your nose is touching his fabric of his collar, his musk instantly overriding your senses. When you look up, his eyes are a crystal clear pool somehow reflecting the constellations of the night sky in this darkness. His breath caresses your forehead. Your gaze drops to his mouth, pink and parted.

You want to kiss him, you realise. So badly. Every fibre of your being is currently yearning to meet his lips, longing to know whether he tastes better than he smells.

But then your limbs are moving for you, propping yourself up and off him. Your own mouth forms and quiet ‘sorry’ as you shuffle under the sheets. It’s as if you’re watching your own actions through your eyes, controlled by your logic rather than desire. You couldn’t let yourself kiss him.

Jungkook silently squirms into his bed beside you, unwilling to look your direction as much as you’re averse to his.

So this is how it’s going to be again. Two sleeping logs next to each other.

There’s an ache of regret in your heart for being so timid. Annoyance at yourself drips down your throat, fist clenching at the sheets. You should’ve kissed him right then and there, consequences be damned. When will you get another chance? But perhaps it was fate. You have no idea how he would’ve reacted; the pessimist in you thinks he would’ve been disgusted. Yes, it was fate. It was right not to have kissed him.

Wait, no. A boldness suddenly pours down on you. Shyness and introversion has gotten you nowhere before, and it will not help your situation now.

‘Jungkook.’ Your voice comes out crisp and clear.

‘Hm, Noona?’

‘I’m still cold.’ Turning to face him, you see innocent confusion settle in his expression. The sound of your thumping pulse has reached your ears, your heart is a speeding motor flying off to find him. ‘Come closer.’

The shadow of his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His focus does not stray from you as he slides across the bed hesitantly.

‘Closer.’

He edges further towards you. You can now just about make out the shape of the scar that flecks his left cheek.

‘Closer.’

This time, his exhale tickles your neck. Warm bodies touching, confusion and perturbation cloud his glassy orbs as he scans your face for an answer to the plethora of questions swimming in his head.

‘Thank you.’ You breathe, though it feels like no air is entering you. You can’t believe what you’re doing. This close to him, you’re entire being bathes in his presence, his aura; a familiar tingling ails your soul as your eyes flicker to his lips.

Every single muscle in Jungkook is frozen in shock, unsure of what is going on and why the sudden change in your demeanour towards him. And when you turn onto your side away from him and inch by inch back your body onto his front, his heart

stops

beating.

Nose buried in your floral-scented hair, vacillating thoughts tell him to put his arm around your waist and hold you close to him. You sense his unsureness in the way his hand rests on your side and pauses for too long before pulling you into his chest.

His frame engulf yours, the curve of your back lining perfectly with his. You feel safe, protected. His furnace touch on your waist burns through the thick fabric of your jumper and seeps into your core. The effect he has on you is nothing you’ve ever experienced before, and neither have you ever been in this position with anyone. Although it isn’t much, merely just cuddling, this feels so remarkably intimate and intense, like you’ve finally stepped through a threshold built into the emotional wall that towers between you and him.

You’re not entirely sure if you’re breathing.

Despite being the one to instigate this, you’re awfully apprehensive, not daring to even twitch incase it rattles him and sets him scrambling away. The two of you are like a pair of squirrels, slowly approaching to sniff each other, curious yet easily frightened.

His hot breath rushes down your spine like smoke. You desperately want to know what he’s thinking. Is he as nervous as you? Do you feel comfortable to him as he does to you? Or is he already falling asleep?

You should close your eyes and try to. Though who are you kidding? You’d never manage to catch a wink when you’re an accidental turn of a face away from kissing him, at least not right away anyway, not until you calm yourself down with a mental meditation exercise or something.

The urge to check if he’s indeed asleep is yanking at you, but you use all your willpower to resist, not wanting to risk rousing him when he’s as skittish as you.

But then you feel it.

Him.

It’s subtle at first, just a gentle pressure at your bottom.

Innocent and untainted as you are, you don’t even realise what it is at first, so you shift your hips unconsciously.

Then it’s stiffness grows, and grows, until it’s a baton poking at your rear.

Something in your core ignites, your chest constricts, and a wildfire of lust you’ve never felt before smoulders from your scalp to your toes before finally rooting itself in your sex. Ten hells, Jungkook’s boner is touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner and it’s touching your ass. Jungkook has a boner because of you and it’s touching your ass.

Your brain is devoid of all senses except a formidable hunger for him. Suddenly, though he’s almost surrounding you completely, the only thing you can feel is his hard member prodding you.

Is he asleep or not, you need to know.

Then a strange force possesses your lower half, and like a puppet on a string, your ass sinks back further onto him until his length is tunnelled between your cheeks.

The softest moan escapes him, almost a gasp even.

You think he’s going to say something, move away or stand up and leave. Instead he pulls himself away and slowly thrusts forward again. His clothed length slides smoothly up your crack, brushing ever so slightly over your slit. It sends a wave of arousal convulsing up your core, so powerful you almost choke.

Continuing to encourage him, your hips move in tandem with his, rubbing your ass all over his pulsing erection, occasionally letting it slide between your thighs against your clit. A pleasured mewl escapes, though you’re not sure who from. You’ve never felt anything like this, the ruin that overtakes your core at the friction. This is a divine sensation, luxury of the gods.

Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist as his pace increases, his breathing slowly shifting into wavering panting. Finally you succumb to the urge to twist around to look at him. Your heart erupts at the pure devastation contorting his face. His brows angled in pleasure, teeth clamped down on his lip to suppress those unholy noises, lids hanging heavy at the weight of his thirst for you. When his eyes lock on yours, something unleashes in him and devours you wholly.

Fire and ice. His lips feel like both fire and ice. Fire because your entire mind is burning at his smoothness, fuelled by your unkempt want for him to take over you. Ice because everything that isn’t him feels numb and insignificant, and your feelings for this man holding you is the purest flake of snow.

Your first kiss, and it’s already the best kiss you’ll ever have, you’re sure. Because the way his lips meld onto your, the desperation in the way he leans so far into you, the heat of his arousal forging it’s mark between your legs. Nothing in this world can top that.

‘Noona.’ He sighs into you. It drives you absolutely insane.

Fingers grappling in his wavy locks, you reposition yourself completely to face him. His length twitches against you as your leg swings behind him to pull him closer. He is holding your neck with a heartbreaking delicacy, thumb stroking your jaw like it’s the most fragile of chinas.

‘Jung-’ You whimper. ‘Koo…’

Tasting of mint, his tongue gently laps at yours when you open for him. You’re drowning in his essence, lungs filling with his air, though you welcome your sweet painless death like it’s a heavenly gift.

Knowing his docile nature, you move his hand underneath your top, giving him permission to roam freely on your skin. He snakes around your back and circles around your front before finally meeting your sore breasts. As he kneads them tenderly, you feel a warmth ooze out of you into a puddle of concupiscence in your pants.

Oh God.

Your own hands wander beneath his hoodie, raking up the bumps of his god-sculpted abdomen and taking hold of his muscular chest. His wet kisses are a drug, and you’re completely and utterly under its control.

‘Jungkook, I want you.’ You moan.

When his eyes fly open, you’re met with pools of desire, seething into you like jets of lust. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d experience him like this, covetous for you and withering under your touch.

‘Noona… Fuck.’ He trembles as your hand travels down his navel, daring to slide under the band of his sweatpants. ‘I want you so bad, noona.’

The whimper that leaves his mouth when you palm him through his boxers sends a flood of yearning down to your core.

Holy shit.

He feels…

Massive.

Heavy with girth, only about half of his length fits in your palm. You have to stretch your fingers in order to fully encompass him. He is fully at your disposal, groaning, grip tightening on you.

As he huffs into the edge of your jaw, his own hand comes down to find your pussy pulsing for his touch. When his touches your clothed slit, a compulsion forces your hips to buckle forwards. And when he begins to rub circles right on that tender spot, waves upon waves of ecstasy hit you.

Whining like an animal, your head falls back at the newfound pleasure he’s showing you. With you neck presented so openly to him like a platter of dessert, he plants dulcet kisses onto you, his gentleness kindling your fire for him. Despite your attempt to wind your focus back to him, your grip on his erection slackens at his vibrations on your cunt.

‘Can I?’ Jungkook whispers into your ear, softness tickling your lobe. You don’t waste a second before nodding eagerly.

Then his fingers slide underneath your panties. Sensitivity explodes at the contact between the pad of his thumb and your clit. A string of moans release from you. His fingers stroke tactfully up your slick, lubricated by your wetness for him. And when he slides his digit into you, the thread that holds your soul to sanity snaps.

‘Oh my god.’ He pushes through the sleek pressure of your walls. ‘Jungkook.’ The whimper of his name rolling off your tongue sends a rush of blood down to his aching cock.

‘Noona, is that okay?’ The genuity in his voice squeezes your heart.

‘Yes, it feels so, argh, good.’

He latches his lips onto your neck and sucks clouds of lavender to your smooth seamless sky. His finger is slowly pumping in and out. It is a foreign feeling, so strange and unfamiliar, yet all the more exciting. The rise of his knuckles hit your wall at eye-rolling angles. Your hips roll in his rhythm to help him reach newer depths. The pleasure is unforgiving, relentless.

Another feeling gnaws at your chest, a longing to please him.

‘I want to make you feel good, Jungkook.’ You mumble, shy.

He looks up at you, finger gradually ceasing its movement. The pure passion alit in his eyes drives you thrumming for him.

‘O-Okay.’

‘You… You have to teach me though.’ Redness flushes your cheeks.

‘Okay.’ He says again, and you wonder if you’ve broken him at the way he’s frozen.

Sheepishly tugging down his pants, you inch yourself down and settle between his legs, the duvet rested upon your shoulders. He bobs free from the restraint of his apparel.

Your eyes bulge at his cock that is, despite the darkness, standing tall and proud, beaming at you. How is that monster going to fit inside you?

A strong vein runs down the course of his length. Angry red tip swollen and trickling with a clear liquid. You look up to find him staring helplessly down at you, gulping. A nervous fear is eating away at your throat; you’ve never done this before, how are you supposed to know how right now?

‘Teach me.’ Your fingers come around the base of his shaft and he gasps audibly.

‘Uh-’ Another gulp. ‘Lick the tip.’

You lick the tip. Drawing your tongue over his engorged head, tasting his salty precum that continues to leak out of him profusely. He curses.

‘Like that?’ Your mouth doesn’t leave him as you say.

‘Mhmm.’ He runs his hand through his dark locks in exasperation. ‘Suck on it gently.’

You suck on it gently. Lips wrapped around his tip like a vacuum while you breath him in. Your cheeks hollow. You look up at him for approval. One eye is clamped shut, the other is barely held open to witness the most seraphic scene.

‘Fuck, noona, like this.’

You try to take in more, letting his wide cock slide into your mouth, careful not to scrape your teeth against his hilt. When he hits the back of your throat, you gag and splutter around him. Embarrassment shoots at you, yet when you glance up, he doesn’t seem to care.

Instead, he brushes your hair behind your ear and coos, ‘Careful, noona.’ He’s so sweet, so dear, you feel a crack in your heart.

So you try again, this time slower, swallowing as much of him as you can. Your hand swirl around his shaft while his massages the back of your scalp. You roll your tongue around his head every time you come up, flickering at his slit. Soon, your pace increases along with your confidence. Jungkook is a mess under you, thighs quivering, toes curling. Humming in satisfaction, your vibrations resonate into his dick and he yelps.

‘Noona, stop before I cum.’ The way he pleads sends your cunt throbbing. You pull his member out of your mouth almost obscenely, inhaling sharply for air.

He gently places you on your back, finger tracing your drenched lips in endearment. ‘Was that ok?’

‘That was perfect, noona. Are you sure that was your first time?’ Doe eyes wide in awe of you. You giggle and nod, glowing in timid pride. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

At that, the reality of this situation hits you. This is happening, this is actually happening. You’re going to have sex for the first time. With Jungkook.

Are you sure you want to do this?

You are sure you want to do this. If not with him, then no one else.

‘Yes.’ You state firmly, eyes never once wavering from his.

His gaze on you is so soft, yet so intense, you want to melt under him. ‘Okay. I- I need to go find a condom in Jimin’s room.’

Fuzzy with your feelings for him, you watch him scramble off in the dark to the other room. Loud clangs echo down the hall, you can’t help but smile at the thought of him digging through Jimin’s pig sty, frantically searching with his rock hard cock.

Jungkook returns moments later to the sight of you completely naked on his bed. Gaping like a little boy, he almost falls onto you as he climbs onto the bed while he tears off his own top. For a minute, you two just stare at each other’s bodies, allowing the beauty to sink in and etch itself forever in your souls.

‘Noona, you’re so beautiful. Do you know that?’ He leans over to kiss all over your face.

A warm prickle sieges your heart. No one has ever called you beautiful before. Emotion floods you like an ocean, and you’re suddenly met with a familiar sting behind your eyes.

He hovers over your lips, nose rubbing on yours so lovingly you want to cry. You’re at a loss for words, so you just nod, not daring to peep a sound lest a tear escapes from you.

His hands are shaking as he rolls on the condom. Prudently, he kisses up your inner thighs before spreading them open with care. Finally, he pecks the top of your flower fondly.

Then slowly he rests his elbow beside your head and situate himself between your legs. Both your breaths are wobbly, you search his face for security and find it. His irises reflect his galaxy - you. And your fear ebbs away.

Stroking his tip along your wetness, he kisses the shell of your ear. ‘Are you really really sure?’

‘Yes, Jungkook.’ Your fingers entangle in his hair assuringly.

‘Tell me to stop if it hurts a lot. Promise, noona?’ His concern is heart wrenching.

‘Promise.’ You whisper, other hand locking with his.

Only then does he begin to ease into you. At first you don’t feel much, just his tip diving into you. Then the rest of his length pushes in, plunging through a tremendous pressure built into your walls. Pain blooms inside you as he enters deeper and deeper, it’s an ache that you anticipated but never imagined. You both cry out, though for different reasons.

‘Are you okay?’ You can tell he’s struggling to stay still, shoulders tensing at the temptation to thrust again.

‘Mhmm.’ You manage to gripe. Because despite the blinding pain, you are okay.

‘I’m gonna go as slow as I can.’ He ensures you, fingers tightening around yours.

When he plunges into you again, you expect the hurt to lessen, but it doesn’t. It overwhelms your whole body, yanking inside you. Though, every time he kisses your lips so tenderly, your forget the soreness he’s impaling into you for a fresh second. Opening your eyes, you see him panting at your tightness, trying with every muscle in his body not to go wild at you.

‘Fuck, noona.’ He exhales, forehead rested on yours.

Seeing him so berserk with pleasure calms your running anxiety. His thrusts inevitably quickens, and you just about begin to see pass the pain. Behind the ache, there’s a gratifying sting clenching your walls. The slap of his hips against your thighs ring loud.

‘Still okay?’ Jungkook asks again, worry painting his face at your silence.

‘Yes, you can go faster.’ You answer despite the ever-present soreness. When he drives hard into you, stars and tears blurring your vision.

Something in him snaps as you feel him twitch inside you. His movements grow sloppy and feral, just like the grunts that he heaves. Chasing his climax, you can tell how close he is to his sweet release.

‘Oh- Noona, I’m so cl-ose.’ He’s whimpering into your neck.

‘Jungkook, baby. Come for me.’

At your name for him, he goes crazy, ramming into you with a strength and stamina that you couldn’t expect less of from him. ‘Noona…’ He begs. The pressure inside you is easing, pain dulling, though you know you won’t feel any pleasure this time round.

Then, in one last powerful push, he ejects into you with a loud cry. You pull his lips to yours immediately to soothe his euphoria. This look of pure pleasure on his face rips you to shred as he refuses to let go of your hand. His hips jerk into yours to ride out is high as his whole body deflates onto you.

Although it’s a freezing night, goosebump plaguing both your skins, neither of you feel cold. Instead, you are enshrouded by the warmth of your passion and desire, all you feel is each other.

You, wrapped tightly around him, and him, spasming inside you.

Heavy with exhaustion, he nuzzles up to kiss you. Long, slow and hard. You have never truly appreciated his beauty until this point, under the subtle snow-clouded moon, eyes boring into you with a never-dimming glow of adoration.

Jungkook removes himself from you, hastily disposing the condom to not miss a moment by your side. Dressing you first so you don’t catch a breeze of cold, his touch feels so much warmer, gentler.

Snuggled up under the covers, he holds you so close to him that you hear his beating heart. For a timeless passage, you stare into each other wordlessly, fingers tracing delicately over every patch of skin.

‘Y/N...’ He muses out loud. ‘Y/N… You don’t know how perfect you are…’

Again, he has rendered you speechless.

Caressing your cheek in his palm, he continues. ‘I wish you could see yourself through my eyes because then you would understand why I’m so completely in love with you.’

At his words, your throat constrict. ‘What?’ You choke out.

‘I’m in love with you, noona.’ His lips are trembling, chest pounding against you. Disquietude emanates from how he’s peering at you.

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t know how you never knew, I mean- I guess it’s pretty obvious from the way I act around you. Even Yoongi-hyung spotted it right away…’ He begins to ramble, focus hopping to the collar of your jumper that he’s toying with. ‘I just… I don’t know. There’s something so special about you that I can’t find in anyone else. I thought it was just a crush but... but then you moved in with us and… And my feelings for you just drove me insane. That’s why I kept trying to avoid you. I know I wouldn’t be able to hide it if I actually spent time with you, I’m kinda stupid when it comes to girls if you can’t tell already.

‘But the truth is,’ he takes a deep breath and sighs, ‘I am truly, deeply, madly in love with you, Y/N noona. Everything about you. The way you devour jajangmyeon as easily as breathing. The way you never go a day in winter without wearing these fuzzy socks. The way you only drink lattes and chamomile tea. The way you would rather spend your friday nights curled up with a book. The way you pretend to find Jimin annoying but secretly love the attention he gives you. The way you rushed out to find me in the snow and forgot the bring your keys. And the way you can’t talk to me without stuttering just like how I can’t look you in the eye when we have a conversation.

‘I know this is a lot to spring onto you, and I don’t expect you to love me back at all. But just know that I’m here for you whenever you need. I’m your furnace in a snowstorm, hand warmer in a blizzard. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same for me, I’ll still be here.’

Jungkook finishes with a final huff.

You stare at him, dumbfounded by his confession. Emotion floods your veins at the revelation, and you can all but break down into sobs. Jaw gaping, you regard him from his arms, trying to piece together your scattered thoughts.

‘Noona, say someth-’

You kiss him, urgently and desperately. Like you’ve been drowning in a sea of lostness, aimlessly floating about to try to find your way, and he’s your first gulp of air. Mist of perplexity is finally starting to clear away, and you see the path ahead of you with crystal lucidity.

It’s Jungkook. Jungkook, who knows your favourite colour when even your own mother doesn’t. Jungkook, who waddled out into the freezing snow to buy you new socks. Jungkook, who so gently and delicately made love to you tonight. Jungkook, who has loved you unconditionally and will continue doing so regardless of your feelings towards him.

‘I think… I think I’m falling truly, deeply, madly in love with you too, Jungkook.’

End

extras: christmas special

@shookpreme @hazelelizabeth99 @teenage-hippie @bunbundesu @tangledsparkles @gingerpeachtae idk who wanted to be tagged lol 😬

02/09/2019

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Three Gates - on ao3 (for content warnings check Ao3) - on tumblr: pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7, pt 8, pt 9, pt 10, pt 11, pt 12, pt 13

- Chapter 14 -

“I would like your advice on something,” Meng Yao said to his mother.

Meng Shi was wearing silk again, rich colors that suited her – she had fully recovered from the serious illness she’d had a few years back, something for which he would be forever thankful to Qinghe’s doctors because he knew she wouldn’t have made it if they were on their own – and a fur-lined jacket that made her look especially comfortable. She finished pouring the tea and smiled at him.

“You do?” she teased. “Still, after all these years?”

“I’m never too old for your advice,” he said and kissed her on the cheek before sitting down.

The weiqi board in the corner was midway through a game, he noticed, and was glad: Sisi was terrible at weiqi, and the only other person who routinely played against Meng Shi was Nie Huaisang. Things between them had grown better as he’d grown older – he loved to paint, to play, to keep birds and raise flowers, and those were the things Meng Shi liked the most.

It was good to see them spending time together. Meng Yao hoped that Meng Shi could show Nie Huaisang how to forgive, and to remember how to be as carefree as he had once been.

After all, Nie Huaisang had taken up what had once been Meng Yao’s duties, during the war, all the intelligence work and strategy, the battlefield clean up and the politics, and it had left its marks. Indeed, if Meng Yao had been anyone other than Nie Huaisang’s dearly beloved brother, he would probably be the subject of a decade-long plan of utter obliteration right now, good motivations or not – in fact, he was pretty sure that Nie Huaisang had one already plotted out, and was still considering it an option if Meng Yao didn’t make regular deposits on the infinity of fans he apparently owed him.

(The brat wouldn’t take duplicates, either. Meng Yao had put in an order for someone to send him an entire ship’s worth from Dongying in the hopes that that would earn him a little credit. The relevant someone being Wei Wuxian, who was off exploring the world with Lan Wangji - possibly for no other reason than to get away from the rest of them all teasing them about the long and overly dramatic way in which they’d confessed their affections for each other.)

Still, Nie Huaisang had forgiven Meng Yao, even if he hadn’t forgotten, and they were most of the way back to being as they had been before – which admittedly was closer than he’d ever been with Meng Shi, who Nie Huaisang seemed to treat as a casual acquaintance instead of a mother. He treated her about the same as Sisi, actually, and usually acted as if he thought Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue were his birth parents instead of his brothers.

And possibly Lan Xichen as some sort of rich uncle he could (and routinely did) extort for gifts.

(He still called him ‘pretty gege’, though he’d recently started up several debates – mostly monologues – as to whether Lan Xichen ought to now be called ‘er-ge’ and Meng Yao ‘san-ge’ according to their ages, being that he was now part of the family, or if they should just all go ahead and get properly married already so that he could call him ‘sao-zi’ instead. They’d all collectively decided to ignore him.)

“Is it about those sworn brothers of yours?” she asked, lips curving up into a smile that was entirely unlike the practiced ones she had once used most of the time, a real one that was a little bit crooked, and that made it all the more beautiful in his eyes.

Meng Yao batted his eyelashes at her. “I will of course let myself be guided by Mother.”

She laughed. “I think it’s a good cover,” she said. Her eyes crinkled at the corners, now, and she didn’t try to hide it with make-up or anything else. Meng Yao treasured every blemish and imperfection. “You three can spend all your time in each other’s pockets, putting each other above everything else, and no one will question it – or, well, question it too much.”

“Let them talk,” Meng Yao said. There would never come a day when people didn’t whisper about him behind their sleeves, calling him the son of a whore, and nothing he could do, no matter how hard he tried, would stop it. He could only adjust his own thinking and ignore them, at peace in his heart with the knowledge that they were wrong about him. With the knowledge that he was better than they were or indeed would ever be.

Perhaps there was something to Lao Nie’s old exhortation after all.

“But do they have something to talk about?” his mother asked, arching her eyebrows at him. “You retire to the same room to sleep, but I’ve never seen any of you walking strangely the morning after – what are you waiting for? Actual marriage vows?”

“The sworn brother oath served that purpose,” Meng Yao said dismissively, just as he’d explained time and time again to Nie Huaisang. It was just as permanent, after all; they would be bound together in this life and the next, each name forever placed alongside the others in the annals of history. “And we’re just moving slowly.”

He’d explained, in the end, what Wen Ruohan had wanted, what Nie Mingjue was, what that meant; he didn’t want to keep it hidden and risk anyone later thinking that he was taking advantage.

He didn’t want to keep even one more secret from his lovers in this lifetime.

Nothing. Not even surprise parties.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t cared one bit about finding out that he was a furnace, because of course he didn’t; he was still an idiot after all these years. Lan Xichen, at least, had been rightfully alarmed – neither he nor Meng Yao wanted to risk harming Nie Mingjue by accident, no matter how much he argued that his cultivation was high enough that he wouldn’t even notice a setback, and anyway that he trusted them not to try to steal away from him.

Nie Mingjue had finally convinced them to try, the night after they’d taken the oath. Emotions had been running high, and they’d all fallen into bed together, their blood running hot.

It had been – an experience, to say the least.

Sex was pleasant, something Meng Yao knew intellectually from his days in the brothel and personally from the few experiences, male and female, he’d forced himself to have in order to ensure he didn’t have any demons in his heart on the subject. He’d been glad to confirm that although he liked it well enough, it wasn’t so good that he would become addicted to the feeling, descending into dissipation and cruelty the way his father had.

What they’d shared together on that night, however…that wasn’t just sex.

That was something he could become addicted to.

Meng Yao had insisted on a strict moratorium on any further activities until they could process what had just occurred, and it had been telling that neither Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen had argued.

It had been mindblowing, a combination of overwhelming physical pleasure and emotional satiation, and then there was the spiritual ecstasy of cultivation – Meng Yao’s own cultivation, never especially strong, increased at an almost frightening pace for the next week, and Lan Xichen had confirmed a similar effect had occurred for him. Nie Mingjue’s cultivation seemed just as high as ever, unharmed, but obviously they had to do more research before they did anything else lest they accidentally cause harm to him somehow.

That meant they were back down to the basics, limiting themselves to rubbing up against each other at night and offering each other helping hands, given that Meng Yao and Lan Xichen weren’t willing to do anything together if it meant excluding Nie Mingjue – though recently they’d figured out that Nie Mingjue could narrate pornography without batting an eyelash with that frankly magnificent voice of his, and also that he liked telling people what to do (they knew that already, but still)…

They were going slowly. That’s how Meng Yao thought of it, and it was fine – he had no doubt that they’d figure out how to move to the next step sooner or later.

Sooner rather than later, given how quickly Lan Xichen was pouring through their respective sect libraries; apparently sexual frustration was a very effective motivator for him.

“If you’re sure you’re happy,” his mother said, and he smiled. “You seem to be. I’m glad.”

He nodded.

“So if it’s not about that, what do you want advice on? You haven’t needed to consult me on political matters in years. A-Sang would be better at that.”

“It’s not entirely political,” Meng Yao said, “though it’s not entirely apolitical, either, and don’t worry, I’ll consult Huaisang as well. Nevertheless, I wanted your views on the subject. You see, a rather complicated situation has arisen…I’ve been made an unusual offer.”

“An offer? A-Yao…”

“I know, I know,” he said, smiling. “Be careful of offers from strange men, especially bad men, and this is exactly that. But I still thought it was something worth considering. After getting the benefit of your insight, of course.”

“Well, then,” she said. “Now I’m curious. What’s the offer?”

He gave her the letter that he had received and drank his tea while she read it, her eyes going wide and then even wider.

“So,” he said, when he judged that she was done. “What do you think? Do I look like a ‘Jin Guangyao’? Or should I tell my father to go commit anatomically improbable acts on himself?”

“A-Yao…”

“I’m serious,” Meng Yao insisted. “This was always your dream, well before it was mine: whatever you decide, I’ll do. If you’d like for me to claim what should have been mine from the start, I’ll do it, though obviously if he thinks a mere name is enough to convince me to leave Qinghe in favor of Lanling he’s got a nasty surprise coming his way. But if you want me to tell him to his face that I’d rather be your son than his, I’ll do that too.”

He leaned back in his chair, and smiled.

“After all, I already have everything I want.”

- END -

#mdzs #meng yao #jin guangyao #meng shi #my fic #my fics #three gates

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

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The alluring charm of Henry Cavill - Chapter 1

Summary: Adelaide Park meets Henry Cavill for the first time and she is obviously very nervous.

Henry Cavill x Adelaide Park (ofc)

Wordcount: 3.5k

A/N: If you want to be on the taglist, just let me know. And please let me know what you guys think. I’d love to hear your thoughts about it 😘

Masterlist // Introduction // Next chapter

I’ve never been to Italy before. Actually, before I was a renowned actress, I never came outside of LA. Growing up, my parents never had the money to go to a different city, let alone other countries. My vacations were spend solely in our small one room apartment back in Los Angeles by myself.

My parents were never rich. My dad worked long hours in a factory every single day, but earning just enough money to pay the rent and for me and mom to eat. One night, I saw him scraping the packages or our plats clean, so he had something to eat as well. After I saw that, I never ate all the food off my plate, because I realized that my dad was working the hardest, but was eating the least.

It always broke my heart to see both of them struggle. My mom used to be a cleaning lady, but after she got fired, she became a live-in nanny, which basically meant that from my sixth birthday, she was barely home anymore and I had to raise myself.

Hours on end I was alone. Back in school I barely had any friends—correction: I had no friends at all—and when I came home from school, I’d sit outside to do my homework, because dad didn’t have enough money to get a second set of keys.

I never complained about it, because I knew they were trying and I learned all too well from that one time when I asked for a Barbie doll back when I was five and I kept crying about it, because other kids had Barbie dolls and I was the only one who didn’t. My mom got so mad, that she grabbed my empty plate and threw it against the wall, while she was screaming something about how ungrateful I was. Mom never got mad, she was always admirably calm and collected, even when life got in the way like it did with us. Seeing her like this, meant she was serious and I never said anything about something like that anymore. I never asked for anything, at all.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents and I am so thankful for everything they taught me and did for me. It may have been a hard time, but every year for my birthday, they gave me something. It was always something I really needed, but I always appreciated how they went out of their way for me, wondering how many meals they skipped for this present.

It all became worse when I finished high school at the age of nineteen. I was older than everyone else, since I read so slowly and didn’t even understand it most of the time, causing me to get behind on many classes over the course of the years. Besides, our school wasn’t known for having the best results overall, so the fact that I didn’t score well, meant I was blending in with the rest.

I was working in a diner, because I wasn’t smart enough at all for a scholarship, when my mom got in a terrible accident, when she walked back home and she was hit by a car who ran through a red light. She was paralyzed from her waist down and besides the high hospital bills, she also needed psychical therapy, something that unfortunately isn’t free.

With what my dad and I were earning together, we couldn’t even pay two percent of those costs. I was thinking about putting myself up on a sugar daddy website, but I know I couldn’t lie to them, when I would come back with a lot of money. Besides, my dad was always very strict about what mom and I could and couldn’t do to make money and sugar daddies were off limits. He told me multiple times—even after mom’s accident—that we had nothing to worry about. That he would take care of it.

But I had something to worry about, because my father wasn’t getting any younger. He had been working too hard for too long and all he wanted, was staying with his wife, who he still loved so so much, despite everything they had gone through. I took up more shifts at the diner, only slowly coming to terms that, even with the tips I was receiving, it was never enough to cover the bills.

In about two months, my mom would be discharged from the facility, if we hadn’t paid at least something significant.

One day, I was walking back home from work, when I saw a huge billboard, with a message that a studio was looking for someone to star in one of the biggest sitcoms of that time: Remembering High School. Apparently, one of the new main characters (who was an adult) was having a flashback from when they were in high school—the main premise of the show. And that character happened to be an Asian lady.

I went in and decided I would try it out. I mean, I had no acting experience and solely did it to earn some money, but being Asian American was apparently enough and that was the beginning of my acting career.

At first the amounts of money I made were not enough to cover the medical costs, but it was enough to delay further payment and my mom could stay in the facility.

For years I had difficulty with reading, let alone reading out loud, with an audience, but somehow on the set, I could forget about that. I could finally be someone I really wanted to be. For a few moments I could forget all the sorrows and worries I had resting on my shoulders.

The first five weeks, I’d combine my new acting career with my job in the diner, but after awhile I became a recurring character and for a whole year, I was part of the cast. I remember walking into my mom’s room, showing both her and my dad the first episode I was going to star in. ‘I’m from Minnesota,’ was my first line and the beginning of a very promising career.

My parents were so proud of me. My dad didn’t even care about the money I made at first, because he was so happy that I was doing something that from the looks of it, I actually enjoyed.

Over the years, I’ve come to love acting, but no one knows I do it because of my family. Actually no one knew about my family situation and since I have zero friends, even in the industry (because I barely talk about my personal life and I never budge, even when the try to pry information about it. My co-stars are acquaintances, almost like neighbors: you know one another, but you don’t know them), no one is aware that every penny I earn, goes directly to my family.

Nowadays I make millions, but I’m mainly spending it on my mom, but also on other people who are paralyzed and need psychical therapy, but were in the same boat as my family and my parents met over time in the facility. Money doesn’t mean a lot to me and these people can use it a lot better than I can.

Besides, my parents worked so hard for me growing up, this is the only way for me to pay them back. Despite not having any money themselves, nor stuff, they always taught me to share, to make sure that other people are well taken care off.

The flight from Japan to Italy moved along pretty quick, but maybe that’s because I was traveling first class. My latest movie took place in Japan and though I loved it there, I really want to see what Italy is like, after spending eight months in a lousy hotel in Japan.

After becoming an actress, I went to a lot of great places for shooting movies. I went to Suriname, Canada, Spain, Australia and this time it was Japan. I’m so blessed that I get to travel, knowing really well that other people are still struggling with what I used to struggle with. Sometimes I donate the earnings of a movie to movements that catch my eye, that help kids in certain areas of California with their school work, and with access of clothes and food. I always donate anonymously, not wanting to seem like a philanthropist who is doing this solely for her own image.

I always think that if you really care about something, you would do it without earning praises.

Participating on ‘The Celebrity Project’ wasn’t something I would normally do, but when they reached out to me, I was actually delighted that I was going to be part of this. Maybe I could finally show the world that I’m not as stupid as I appear in interviews.

Being a loner, a slow reader and probably has multiple learning disabilities (if I actually got tested, but the tests were too expensive and no one at school seemed to care and I’m actually too embarrassed to get myself tested now I’m a twenty-five year old), I often come off as an airhead and it’s my own fault really. I do give them enough stupid material to go on about that accusation.

However, I’m really nervous. I mean, I’m going to work together with Henry Cavill. He is charming and sounds so intelligent. When I was done filming and back at my hotel room, I’d watch his interviews, because I wanted to know what I was going to work with. The way he is so articulate and he obviously knows what he is doing, makes me feel even worse about myself. I’m a total disaster and already a burden to him I presume.

I’m sitting in a taxi, waiting for traffic to calm down a bit. It’s early in the mornings and thankfully I got to make myself a bit more presentable in the plane already. I notice the tiny camera’s being strategically placed in the car. It really begun, I think to myself. I’m part of a reality show now. ‘How are you feeling, miss Park?’ the taxi driver asks. ‘I recently heard about this program.’

‘I’m a bit nervous,’ I say, wondering whether or not he is payed to to talk to me about this. I rummage through my purse, hoping I can find my lip balm.

‘Are you looking forward to work with Henry Cavill?’

That name alone makes me nearly make me shit my pants already. ‘Yeah, he seems like a nice man, so I really look forward to work with him.’ And I sure as hell hope that I won’t let him down.

The drive to the hotel is about an hour, but it feels like time is going by a whole lot faster. The chauffeur talks about his family and how his wife is actually a fan of my movies and has watched every single one of them. I took a few pictures with him and signed the inside of the cracker box, because that was all he got with him for me to write something on.

After I said goodbye to him, I’m told that I should go to room 346. With my suitcases with me, I step into the elevator, a cameraman close by. They told me that at one point, these cameramen would just be invisible to me, but I highly doubt it. They are only with us during the assignments. In the cars and at the place where we’re staying, the camera’s are hidden.

When I’m in front of the door, I take a deep breath.

I can do this I think to myself. I have starred alongside other talented people. My first real role was playing Keanu Reeves’ daughter, I was Angela Bassett’s assistant and I also had some pretty steamy scenes with David Castañeda, after his Umbrella Academy days. I can handle being around Henry Cavill, right? I knock on the door three times and I open it a bit, peeking my head around the door.

I can conclude that I’m severely underdressed. I’m wearing a simply jean short, white crop top with some lace on the borders and socks with the same lace details as my top, paired with white sneakers.

I look like a slob, compared to Henry, who seems like he stepped out of a Disney movie. His white blouse, off-white pants and those loafers. The only thing that is missing, is his yacht with the name Serenity.

A smile creeps up on my face, as I step into the room, rolling my pink suitcases with me, because he actually looks approachable.

‘Hi there,’ he says with a small smile on his face. He walks up to me, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Henry, nice to meet you.’

I can’t help but blush. He is so charming and his accent makes him so posh. I place my hand in his and it almost disappears. Not to be that girl, but my size kink is activated right here and now. ‘Adelaide,’ I say. ‘Uhm, it’s nice to meet you… Too.’

I curse my tongue.

‘How was your flight?’ he asks, as he gestures to the couch for us to sit on.

I take place right next to him and I feel like a child sitting next to her dad. Why is he so massive? ‘It was okay. Yours?’

‘It flew by.’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Was that… a pun?’

Henry chuckles nervously. ‘Maybe, I’m sorry.’

I look around me. The hotel room seems okay, but I bet we’re not going to stay here for long. I stare at the silver tray in front of us, with a set of keys and an envelope with our names on it.

Henry takes the envelope from the tray and holds it in front of me. ‘You want to read it?’

I shake my head. ‘No, you go.’ The whole idea of reading out loud without practice, makes me want to vomit. Before the table reads, I use this program that will read everything for me, even using the right intonation. I stay up for way too many hours for that, because once I’ve heard it, I made notes, I can better read it.

Back when I was doing ‘Remembering High School’ I had the woman who played the adult version of me read it to me, because I had to portray the young her and keep her character in mind. Since she was an established character on the show, she had certain ways of saying things I had to copy. She never knew the real reason I wanted her to read it out loud for me.

He cocks an eyebrow, but then opens the envelope. He clears his throat, before a dramatic reading of our first assignment rolls out of his mouth. How can he make a simple note sound so… Sensual, almost? His deep and dark voice, making it sound way more intense than it actually is. I wouldn’t mind if he read my scripts out loud for me.

‘Dear Adelaide and Henry, the adventure of ‘The Celebrity Project’ has officially started,’ he says, tilting the card a little, so I can read a little bit with him. It’s a nice gesture really and I appreciate the thought. ‘We have provided you with a nice car, to drive to the little cottage, specially arranged for the two of you. Tomorrow will be a nice day for you to relax (because you two are both severely jet lagged we presume) and the day after that, you’ll be expected for your first assignment. Enjoy the car ride and remember: look out of your window every now and then. We are aware that Henry is really handsome, Adelaide and you’ll be forced to only look at him, but nature can be beautiful too.’

I scrunch up my nose. That last sentence seemed so forced and this is exactly the reason why I don’t like these types of survival, borderline reality shows. It’s not reality. It’s this forced setting, hoping to get people to believe that this is how real life should look like.

And I don’t like deceiving people like that. I almost regret participating.

‘Right, well, we might as well just go,’ he says, his tone flat, maybe just as annoyed with that last sentence as I am. Probably even more so.

◎ ◎ ◎

Why is there a pink carseat in the passengers seat? I mean, I’m not the tallest, but I’m definitely not that tiny. I look around us, only to see no member of the crew around. This is great. I want to take the seat out, because I don’t want to sit on it, but it’s securely fastened and only with a different set of keys, I can undo it.

And of course I don’t have that.

I really regret being here.

However, I still sit on the carseat, because I don’t want to sit in the back because I’ll get carsick and when I see Henry’s cocked eyebrows and a poorly hidden smirk, I simply say: ‘Don’t.’

Okay, maybe I do understand why they put me on a carseat, because this man looks so enormous and otherwise I’m simply non existent. He starts the car and simply drives off. I don’t know whether or not I should say something to him, because I feel like we should talk. I mean, that’s why the camera’s are here right?

‘What is your newest movie about?’ Henry asks.

‘About a woman escaping from her past and she moves to Japan, when one day an old friend becomes her new manager,’ I say.

‘Romantic comedy?’

‘Of course.’

He nods. ‘You don’t get tired of doing those?’ he asks.

Yes, I do get a bit tired of them, but there are two things: for starters, just like those romance books (that I would buy my mom one for her birthday every year, because I knew how much she loved those), romantic comedies sell really good. And no one wants me for something else. I feel like directors don’t trust me with big roles, like Rose in Titanic or someone else major. Besides, I’m Asian American, when was the last time one of us got a major part in a movie that’s not a romantic comedy?

But I don’t want to seem ungrateful and it’s a nice stream of money coming in every time and that’s basically all I want.

‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s okay. You shot something new… new movie… Right?’ For fuck sake, Adelaide, you were doing so well.

‘I did, actually,’ he says. ‘It’s something I’m very excited for. It’s more of a dramatical part.’ I listen to Henry, as he is talking about this movie. How he plays a single dad, trying to figure out this parenting part with his daughter, when his brother and sister-in-law pass away and he has to take in four monsters of boys in his house. The way he talks about this, I notice a shimmer in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologizes. ‘I let myself go there for a second. It’s just I’m really excited about this movie.’

‘No, I get it,’ I say, as I look out of the window. I let out a deep sigh, as we drive over the sandy roads. Before I can say something else (as if I knew what), Henry hits the break and like the cliches in the movies, he holds out his arm in front of me, as the car comes to a halt.

There are four dogs and one owner on the road and the man screams something in Italian to us. Clearly we were supposed to stop for him. ‘Shit, sorry,’ Henry mumbles, as if the man could hear that.

His warm hand dropped to my bare thigh and with my pointer finger I tap him on the back of his hand. ‘Excuse me,’ I say.

‘Oh no, terrible sorry,’ he says quickly, retracting his hand. ‘What do you think the cottage will look like?’ Henry asks, when he pulled up again, not driving as fast as he did before.

Shrugging I play with my water bottle. ‘I don’t know, but I think I know one thing.’

It takes me a while before I can get the words out of my mouth, but Henry doesn’t force me to say anything, by asking something like: ‘Care to let me in?’ He actually lets me find the words and it feels nice not to be rushed into saying something.

‘I bet there is one bed that is large and comfortable. However, there is also one uncomfortable couch, too small for you. So people want to see whether or not you are a… gentleman and offer to sleep on the couch.’

‘You think?’ he asks frowning. ‘A bit far fetched, don’t you think?’

When we arrive at the tiny cottage, we walk inside. It’s nice decorated, warm colors mixed with nice hints of different pastel colors. My eye falls on the very uncomfortable looking couch that is pretty tiny if Henry is supposed to be sprawled out on that, but we don’t know what the rest looks like.

After a small tour through the house, we have come to the conclusion that there is indeed only one bed. I look over my shoulder, my eyes meeting Henry’s. ‘See?’

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