#sucks that i can only find yesterday on spotify | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yoonjinkooked · 4 years

Text

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien | Jimin

moodboard by the lovely and amazing @flajka, who was also my #1 helper and support through the torturous 10 month journey that this story was.

Pairing: Jimin / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Strangers to lovers, smut, romcom

Warnings: explicit sex, slight exhibitionism (fingering, out in the open but not in public, boat sex, oral (f and m receiving) brief but gory painting description, a lot of cursing, Jimin will end you Word Count: 19k+ Summary: You keep meeting a handsome stranger in Paris. One coincidence after another leads to the most amazing trip of your life A/N: This shit took 10 months to write. Thank @flajka, Kehlani and Jimin’s sexy Paris photos. Spotify playlists for this fic are: 1 / 2 / 3 - I had to separate them because you can’t put Edith Piaf on the same playlist as Ace Of Base. Hope you enjoy!

Looking up from the screen of your phone, you blink once, twice, three times – you are not where you are supposed to be and Google maps are the stupidest invention ever.

It took you two hours to find your Airbnb apartment yesterday, all because Google maps were not quite user friendly. Not to mention that your sense of direction was utterly pathetic.

Yet despite all of that, you were absolutely positive that finding ‘Shakespeare and company’ would be an easy task – after all, you were so close to it, having just spent 10 minutes mourning the fact that the Notre-Dame was still very much unapproachable. From there to the bookstore, the route should have been easy to follow but alas, it was not. Somehow, you have managed to confuse yourself even further.

Looking around in place, you breathe a sigh of relief when you see the green doors and a sign that tells you that perhaps your sense of direction isn’t as bad as you think it is – ‘Shakespeare and Company’.

There it is, the bookstore with such rich history, one of your must-see places in Paris, something that the ‘Midnight in Paris’ lover in you had to tick off the list – there it is, right before you and very much closed. You check the time, finding that it is almost nine – a quick Google search, which is something you should have done before leaving your apartment – tells you that it opens up at half past nine.

You don’t have time, you absolutely don’t have time to sit around and wait for it to open. It’s going to take you some time to reach the 7th Arrondissement and once you do get there, two museums await. Wasting time, waiting for a bookstore to open is not a luxury you can afford right now.

Perhaps you will have time before you leave. After all, you still have a week to spend in the city of light and although your plans are pretty strict and well-organized, you are aware that some changes are bound to happen. But you will leave that for the last day – right now, you only have a few minutes of your life to offer to a closed bookstore.

As you take photos of the famed location, you recall the comments your mother made before you left, about how a young woman shouldn’t travel alone in a foreign country. She had a point – one shouldn’t travel alone if they want to have at least one photo of themselves on the memory card. It sucks a bit but you don’t let it dampen your mood – you don’t need photos to preserve the memories. A selfie stick was always an option but it was also beneath you – something you’ve decided when they first appeared.

“Is it closed?” a voice asks from behind you, making you jump a bit, as you weren’t aware that you had company. The man looking at you seems to be about your age and a tourist, if the camera around his neck is anything to go by. The brief once-over you give him lets you know he is also unnaturally attractive.

“Yeah,” you tell him, offering him a compassionate smile when you see his expression sour. “It should open soon though – about half an hour, if Google is correct.”

“Thanks for the info,” he smiles, before he lifts up his camera and starts taking photos. You realize that the chit-chat is over, so you resume taking photos as well. Just a few seconds later, his presence gave you an idea.

“Hey, would you mind taking a photo of me?” you ask sheepishly, smiling when he nods his head at once. “I’m travelling alone and I just want at least one photo of me in the folder, you know?”

“I can relate,” he chuckles as he takes the camera from you. “How do you want to take it? Casually touristy, right in front of it or artsy, with you looking up at the sign in awe?”

“Artsy,” he laughs at your immediate response, to which you simply shrug. “When will I be artsy if not in Paris?”

“Touché,” he agrees, before directing you so that he can take a decent shot. “Turn a bit to the left.”

A few seconds later, it’s his turn. After settling your own camera around your neck, you take his and take a few photos of him as he stands in the same spot you did, looking up at the sign in fake awe. This gives you a chance to properly look at him for the first time. He is indeed handsome, insanely so. Dark brown hair swept away from his face, insanely clear skin and a jaw that could cut right through glass. Looking right at him is almost blinding and you rush to take the photos.

“All done,” you smile as you return the camera to him. “I think you have a few decent shots there.”

“Thanks,” he smiles as you adjust your backpack, ready to take your leave – Shakespeare will have to enjoy your company some other day. “Enjoy the rest of Paris.”

“Yeah, you too,” you smile back at the man, mumbling under your breath as you leave because it serves you right to meet the most handsome man ever half-way across the world.

By the time you finally escape the Parisian metro, you are dead tired. Musée Rodin was just as beautiful as ‘Midnight in Paris’ made it seem to be. You’ve spent the good part of the morning roaming it’s gardens, before finally moving onto Les Invalides, which housed the tomb of the oh so great Napoleon Bonaparte. That was arguably less exciting than Musée Rodin, with you actually giving up on it completely as soon as you saw his tomb. The comments you thought of while admiring the size of the tomb and him obviously carrying his complexes into afterlife were left to you alone, making you chuckle at random times and earning a few curious looks from your fellow tourists.

Your tourist escapades ended at Champ de Mars, with an impromptu picnic which included sitting on your jacket and eating a marvelous French feast made up from pre-packaged Starbucks caramel macchiato and salt&vinegar chips – mmm, so French it hurts. Originally, you wanted to wait for the infamous light show to start but after just an hour, you have already given up and made your leave, hoping not to get lost in the metro yet again.

Luckily, you didn’t. You were so tired by the time you got to the place you rented in the outskirts of Paris that you barely had the energy to shower. And tomorrow, with Versailles being your top priority, your day was bound to be even more tiring.

You are fuming, absolutely fuming, wanting nothing more than to curse out loud and stomp on the ground. You have been tricked and that was just the drop that made the glass overflow.

You woke up with a massive headache and after forcing yourself to eat a bit, you could finally drink medication. By the time you were ready to leave your rental apartment, the timetable you made for today was already long forgotten – you’re at least an hour late.

But that isn’t a problem. It’s not even the ever confusing metro, because somehow, with a lot of help from locals, you’ve managed to figure out where you should wait for the right ride to Versailles. All of it was a bit stress inducing but definitely not a problem. The real problem occurred when you were in front of the magnificent golden gates, which you couldn’t even see because of the massive line.

Clutching your fast pass ticket, you approach a smaller line leading to the entrance, hoping and praying that you weren’t wasting your time waiting there instead of in the massive crowd, hoping that your fast pass can actually let you pass, fast.

You were mistaken. Apparently, every single human being waiting in the long ass line also had the fast pass ticket. How long do people without a fast pass have to wait is a question you don’t even want to know the answer to. With a few huffs and puffs, you took your place in line, annoyed at anything and everything, starting from the stupid agency who sold you this worthless ticket, right down to your best friend who suggested taking this trip together, only to bail on you to let her boyfriend take her to Ibiza.

As if all of that was not enough to ruin your mood, rain had started to fall, damping your clothes enough so that they match your mood. At least you were ready for it, having read up about the unpredictable early summer rains of Paris and making sure to never leave the apartment without your hideously yellow umbrella.

An hour and a half later, you finally put the damn fast pass into use and enter the extravagant home of some Louis – you’re not ashamed to admit to not know which one. After all, you were about to learn.

The inside of the magnificent palace left you with mixed emotions, in all honesty. On one hand, it truly is as grand and striking as you had always imagined it to be. On the other hand, the crowd was killing you. Teens running around and touching things they shouldn’t be touching, people looking at everything through the screen of their phones and cameras instead of actually looking… It all left you feeling a bit on edge and wishing you had a chance to attend a private tour or something. Knowing that you will probably experience the same thing later today in the Louvre wasn’t helping either.

Every time you would pass a window, you found yourself wanting to be outside and after an hour of torture and not being able to enjoy anything, you have finally given up – fuck the rain, fuck it all – most people are still inside to avoid the rain after all and you do have your trusted umbrella with you.

Stepping into the gardens of Versailles was the best decision you could have made and you regretted not making it sooner. There were very few people outside and even the light drizzle could not ruin the experience of such a beautiful place. It’s fascinating, really, to look from the balcony above and to not see the end to all the gardens, green labyrinths, with many fountains and statues placed at nearly every corner.

It was almost impossible for you to decide where to start, so you just decided to roam freely, with no end goal in mind. You don’t even bother with your camera much, once you reach the seemingly endless green maze. The view from higher ground is magnificent but as you walk around, all you see is green hedges, incredibly tall green hedges – a very literal maze of plants. The smell is comforting – a mixture of the familiar smell of rain and of plants – more specifically, grass.

You wander around, enjoying the peace and quiet. There are more people in the maze but they are far from you and compared to the crowd you were in just minutes ago, they are ignorable, unless they are heading directly in your direction.

You recognize him instantly – other than a few locals you’ve asked for directions, he is the only person you exchanged more than one sentence with – it’s the guy from ‘Shakespeare and Company’, walking towards you. Your fear of awkwardness makes you lower the umbrella so that you can pretend that you simply didn’t see him. You only lift the umbrella up when you see his feet walk by you.

It would be weird and awkward. What do you say to someone you recognize but don’t really know? Hey? What if he doesn’t remember you and you embarrass yourself for no good reason? No, this was completely ignorable, luckily for you.

You are not fast enough the second time. The next crossroad in the maze leaves you making eye contact with him, as he is standing parallel to you, with a solid distance in-between. Solid enough for you to still pretend you do not recognized him. The eye contact made you feel a bit uneasy because what if he remembers you too? The awkwardness you’ve wanted to avoid might have just doubled.

So you walk on, taking a left turn as soon as you find one, finding the first ‘hidden room’ of the maze and a breathtaking, extravagant fountain that all but begs for you to take photos of it. Consciously steering away from the direction he seemed to have been taking, you walk along.

Left, straight, left again, straight, a bit to the right – you even manage to lose track of your surroundings, hoping that you are heading towards the gigantic fountain you’ve seen from the upper balcony.

Yet somehow, you still manage to see him again and much to your dismay, make direct eye contact. He is standing parallel from you and before you turned around and started walking, you could see what looked like mild confusion on his face.

Crap. He must have recognized you to a certain extent and now you’re making it painfully obvious that you are running away from him. For no good reason, too. You could have simply said “Oh hey, I remember you from yesterday, enjoy Versailles” or something along that line and made your exit but no, god no, you just had to make a fool of yourself.

You’ve never taken pride in your title of awkward social potato and this little mishap has to rank pretty high on your list of embarrassing moments. Sure, weird eye contact isn’t that big of a deal but the fact that it could have been easily avoid it and wasn’t only makes it 10 times worse.

Surprisingly enough, as soon as you realize that you’re being ridiculous, you have a chance for a do-over.

By the time you’ve reached the grand fountain, with a very confusing yet majestic statue of horses in the middle of it, you see him again, standing right on the edge of it, luckily not looking your way. Once again you are reminded of just how good looking he is and it’s not helping you with what you are about to do, since insanely attractive men tend to make you nervous and tongue tied.

“Well, at least the Versailles was open,” you try to sound as casual as possible as you stand a few feet away from him, watching as confusion disappears from his face as he puts two and two together.

“I thought I recognized you,” he laughs and you realize that his laughter is as melodic as his voice. Damn him. “They opened yesterday minutes after you left,” he tells you and to that you shrug.

“Nine days in Paris aren’t enough – I had museums to see,” you tell him, watching as he nods in understanding, still smiling at you. “I hope you enjoyed it, though.”

“I did,” he tells you. “Since you’re here, would you mind taking a photo of me?” he sounds as sheepish as you did yesterday. “You’re the only stranger I’d trust with my camera,” he adds. He makes a simple sentence like that hit you like a full force flirt and by the time you actually take the camera from his hands, you are positive you are blushing.

You take a few photos of him, his insanely good profile in particular, hoping that you are not drooling all over yourself. “Return the favor?” you ask, lifting your own camera, to which he laughs and extends his hand to you.

Posing is always awkward, period. Posing to a hot stranger is borderline traumatic. You do it anyways, looking away from the camera because you’ve had enough “eye contact” with him to last you a lifetime. Awkwardly standing in front of him, you wait as he checks the photos before smiling up at you and offering the camera back to you. “Perfect.”

“Thanks. Enjoy the rest of Versailles,” you casually announce your departure, feeling relieved and regretful at the same time as you walk away from him, backwards. In all honesty, the kind smile on your face made you want to stick around for a while longer.

“Thanks, you too.”

You turn around and walk away, taking a deep breath to relax yourself. The Louvre awaits – hot strangers will have their turn some other time.

Four days in Paris were enough for you to start your own list of unpopular, maybe even popular, opinions about the city. You were always interested in the city but never obsessed with it, like many are, so you’d say that your opinions are unbiased, at least to a certain extent.

For example, Parisians are nice and they actually do make an effort to speak English if you ask them something. Of course, not everyone has the same experience but the urban myth of them being condescending, rude and downright ignoring people who speak English was proven to be false.

Yes, the city is gorgeous but it has so much to offer beside a fairly tall tower.

And last, but certainly not least – the Louvre is overrated.

After waiting in rain, again (not the museum’s fault, obviously), you finally got inside, only to proceed and get lost four times. Actual four times, you had no idea where you were and where you were supposed to go next. You were nearly trampled in front of the Mona Lisa, all while watching in shock as the people were pushing each other to try and take a selfie with the iconic painting behind them. That was the first instance when you thought how much you hate people. The next one was when you saw a grown adult, a man in his 30s, grabbing an antique Greek statue by the balls.

It was at that point that the museum walking became torture to you. Paired with its confusing layout and the employees who either truly had no idea how to help you or simply didn’t want to bother with helping a pesky tourist, you ended up wandering aimlessly, looking at everything and nothing at all, wondering how much it would cost to get an exclusive, chaperoned, after-hours tour of the Louvre. Probably too much for someone who’s keeping cheap ramen in their rented apartment.

Muse d’Orsay, your present location, is something else entirely. It is painfully obvious that at least a third of the yesterday’s crowd only went to the Luvre because someone told them they should, you overheard a few say as much, and compared to that, the visitors of Muse d’Orsay came here on their own accord. It is decently full, but not crowded. The only place where you actually had to wait in line was in front of Van Gogh’s artwork, which was to be expected.

The entire place is casual, yet sophisticated, far less confusing compared to the gigantic mess that is The Louvre. You can take your time and go wherever, without having to consult a map and pray that you’re not confusing yourself even further. You can also sit and relax for a little while, which is something your tired feet are extremely grateful for but in a very unusual way, the people around you are making you feel uncomfortable. Most of them are casually sitting and sketching the gigantic clock, the centerpiece of Muse d’Orsay and while observing that is beautiful, it also remindes you that you are, to put it nicely, talentless in the same field.

So you keep on roaming, until you find your place on a bench set before an enormous painting. Definitely three times, if not four, your height, The Women of Gaul has your full attention. The piece is as eerie and hauntingly beautiful as it is confusing – like many times over the last couple of days, you’re not sure where to look first. What catches your attention, bizarrely, is the center character – a woman, standing tall and proud with an angry look on her face and holding a dead baby by the arm.

It appears as if she has killed the baby on her own accord – she’d rather lose everything she has than surrender. Admirable and scary at the same time. With all due respect to the masterpiece, she looks ready to bitchslap some soldiers.

“We meet again, stranger,” you only realize someone is talking to you when they sit a few feet away from you and you nearly choke on dry air when you realize it’s him – the Shakespeare guy, the Versailles guy, your unofficial photographer, in all of his ripped jeans glory.

“Wow,” you laugh. How big is Paris? How many people live here, how many tourists roam the streets every day? And yet three days in a row, you see him. “We keep bumping into each other.”

“Looks like our travel itineraries keep overlapping,” he chuckles. “I’m Jimin, by the way,” he adds, before the silence turns awkward. “It’s nice to officially meet you,” he offers you his hand, which you accept instantly.

“Y/N,” you shake his hand. “So, how’s Paris working out for you?”

“I love it,” he admits, looking away from you to focus on the much less friendlier woman in the painting in front of you. “I like it more than I thought I would, in all honesty.”

“Same here,” you admit, finding it quite easy to talk to him, given that you are usually definitely more apprehensive when it comes to people you don’t know. But hey, you know his name now – that counts, right? “From word of mouth alone, I thought it was a bit overrated but it has its charms. Plenty of them, actually.”

“Museums or city streets?” he asks, turning to look at you again. He has striking, dark eyes that have no trouble looking directly at yours – you, on the other hand, swallow a lump. “Which do you enjoy more?”

“A bit of both, depends on the day,” you sound way more casual than you feel. “You?”

“City streets,” he answers, focusing on the painting again. “Art is amazing but art is art, wherever you are. While cities… they’re all different. Each city has its own thing and as much as I enjoy looking at artwork, I’d rather pick… exploring the city, breathing it in. Polluted air and all.”

“Makes sense,” you agree, knowing just how right he is. A museum is a museum, whether it’s in Paris or the tiniest of towns. It’s fascinating but it’s still a building with four walls and a roof – outside, the streets, the people, the charm distinct to each city – that’s where all the fun is at.

“Have you seen the impressionism area?” he asks.

“Not yet, why?”

“Me neither,” he laughs, confusing you a bit. “Travelling alone is fun but at times it can get painfully dull. I thought maybe you’d want to look around the museum a bit more and then we can go somewhere?”

Oh. Okay. He wants your company. Surprising, yet flattering.

“I’d love to,” you find yourself answering, ignoring all the possible red flags you probably should have not ignored – after all, this is fairly similar to the plot of Taken, and you don’t have a Liam Neeson waiting to rescue you. Mr. Ripped Jeans Jimin has a point – travelling alone can be very dull. With how the two of you have been running into each other for days now, it seems like the universe wants you to have someone to talk to for a while. “Anywhere you’d like to go in particular?”

“Montmartre?” he suggests after considering your question for a few seconds. “The stairs in front of Sacré-Cœur are always a good idea?”

He isn’t wrong - Sacré-Cœur is very much on your bucket list – scheduled for tomorrow, right on time to see the sunset. But at the same time, you have no specific plans for this afternoon and Jimin does seem like he could be good company.

Why not?

“Sounds like a plan,” you agree, feeling a metaphorical punch to your gut when his face lights up once you agree with his idea. “Let’s see those impressionists first, shall we?”

The language barrier is quite something. Despite knowing a few basic French words and phrases, your pronunciation is so damn tragic, no transaction was possible without the use of English and sometimes, like right now, lots of waving and pointing.

Jimin was looking at you in amusement while you desperately tried to explain that you need one chocolate croissant. By the point the lady behind the counter understood what you wanted, you were more than happy to leave with whatever the hell she’d give you, even if it’s not your precious croissant.

“Do you want something? Are you hungry?” you ask, wanting to treat him to some food since he insisted on paying for the bottle of wine that is currently in his backpack.

He nods, proceeding to speak to state his order in what sounds like fluent French. “I got some for you too,” he tells you as he elegantly stands in front of you, taking out his wallet and smiling as he sees that you are about to protest. “No way,” he shakes his head. “I’m paying – I ordered more. Besides, if you are buying the chocolate croissant, you obviously have no idea what you’re doing.”

A comment like that could have sounded extremely condescending coming from anyone else, but from Jimin, with his kind smile? No way. “You did not just diss a chocolate croissant!”

“Oh, yes I did,” he chuckles as he rushes to offer money before you can – defeated, but a little glad, you return your wallet into the bag, thinking how maybe you will treat yourself to more than instant ramen for your lunch tomorrow. “I love chocolate as much as the next guy but the raisin one? Hell, even the plain one – much better,” he tells as he takes the bag and exits the bakery, leaving you to follow him.

“I’m all for experimenting but come on – it’s a chocolate croissant. It can’t be bad.”

“I’ve never said it was bad,” he laughs at you as you finally catch up with him and the two of you walk side by side. “I’ve just said others were better, which you will confirm once you try them. Now – do we walk or do we waste money on the lift?”

How can a question so simple be so complicated? Your feet hurt, you’ve walked more since you landed in Paris than you have the whole last month – of course you want to take the lift and avoid unnecessary stairs. On the other hand, stairs pretty much guarantee that you will have more time to spend with Jimin and so far, he’s been a decent companion.

“How about… we take the lift to go up and we walk on our way down?” you suggest.

“Deal.”

He didn’t have a chance to see Montmarte either, he tells you on your way up. Much like you, he had a schedule and he kept to it. Until today, when he spontaneously dropped his plans and invited you to spend the rest of the day with him. You did not have solid plans to begin with, so it wasn’t much of a change, save from the fact that you were in good company.

And good company he was – surprisingly, there weren’t many moments of awkward silence as the two of you tried to find a place that fits you both – that was a challenge, seeing as many people have gathered to enjoy the view, a nice drink and an impromptu performance by buskers. In the corner of the stairs, a little bit away from the crowd, the two of you sit and it’s a matter of seconds before Jimin is opening the bottle of wine with a swiss knife he pulled out of his bag – a bag that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent – not that you were paying any attention to it.

“So…” he starts, pausing to smile at you as he gives you your cup, before moving on to fill his own. “Tell me something about yourself. I only know your name and that we live in the same city.”

“And yet somehow we’ve met on a different continent,” you add, smiling when he ‘clinks’ his plastic cup against yours. “What would you like to know?”

“Anything,” he shrugs, nodding in approval at the taste of the wine. “Why Paris? Why alone? What’s your favorite color? An actor you hate but can’t explain why? Tell me anything.”

“Why Paris? Why not Paris? There are so many places I want to see, cities I want to explore and it all had to start somewhere. My friend had wanted to see Paris while I was pretty much up for anything. Of course, she then decided that Ibiza with her boytoy sounds like a better idea than Paris with her friend,” you add, sounding just a little bitter. It’s not the nicest thing she has done but you’ll get over it.

“And your boyfriend was not interested in the beauty of France?”

Now you are confused. His raised eyebrow and tiny, barely there smile, tell you that he is absolutely asking about your boyfriend for no other reason but to confirm whether or not you have one. However, this wouldn’t be the first time for you to completely misread signs and confuse flirting with casual conversation. You decide to play it safe and not waste time on reading between the lines.

“Don’t have one,” you shrug, looking away from him and focusing on the buskers. “It does get quite boring after a while. It would be nice to have a travel partner.”

“And if you don’t, you can always ask a random, kind stranger to take your photos for you?” you join in on his laugh, glad that you spoke up that day in front of ‘Shakespeare and Company’. If you hadn’t, chances are you wouldn’t have a conversation in Versailles, which then would not continue today.

If he can do it, so can you – the can of worms is wide open. “And what does your girlfriend say about you traveling without her?” you asks, before backtracking quickly. “Or boyfriend. Or one of each, really,” you add, making him laugh.

God, there really is no smooth way to ask about the relationship status of someone you barely know, someone you’re not even completely sure you like. If two are at a club, where the music is loud and they can’t even keep a conversation, ‘are you single’ is completely acceptable. And that setting is perfect for a rejection – if they say no, you just dance away to your drink or to the next person.

This? It’s a warm day in Paris and you are surrounded by people of all ages, families even. You have been talking about the city, travelling, art and now what, ‘are you single’ or ‘would you be interested in sleeping with me’ is the next topic of conversation? No, it doesn’t work that way. Especially when you’re not even sure what you want, much less what he wants.

“Well, I don’t have either of the two so I can’t really answer that,” is that a hint of a smirk you see on his face? Okay, you may not be a champion at flirting but it looks like things are heading that way.

“Interesting,” you mumble, earning an eyebrow raise from him. Shit. You panic and focus on the plastic cup full of wine, hoping that if you drink enough of it fast, the blush that is taking over your face can be attributed to the alcohol. It doesn’t help – you move the cup away and meet his eyes, only to find him obviously waiting for you to explain your comment.

“Are you going to explain why that’s interesting on your own or should I ask about it and force you to elaborate?” he asks and you immediately turn to your cup, making him laugh, loudly, in a way that makes his eyes crinkle and his whole body move.

“I’m awkward, please don’t make it any worse,” you tell him, a part of you hoping he won’t hear you.

“As you wish,” he is still laughing and you still want to die of embarrassment. That being said, him teasing you is a good sign, you think. Now, you’re fairly certain that you absolutely are in the flirting territory and while that doesn’t make things easier for you one bit, at least now you know you perhaps won’t make a fool of yourself if you are more straightforward. Or maybe you will. Who knows?! “Y/N, do you believe in destiny?” he asks and while you’re glad the topic is changed… really?

“That’s such a broad question,” you chuckle, pausing to think about it for a second. “I suppose I do, but you’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that. What kind of destiny?”

“Okay… first, do you believe that it’s all planned out? Like, your entire life?” he asks.

“Hardly,” you answer immediately, having thought about that already, many times in your life. “I suppose that to a certain extent, it is destiny. Like… the situations that you will be put in. But your reactions to said situations are your own. Destiny can’t control how you, or the people in your life, react to something. So I guess… no?” you try to sum it up, laughing at your own rant.

“Makes sense,” he agrees as he leans back, now almost lying down on the staircase, propped on his elbow as he looks away from you and towards the magnificent view of Paris. You realize once again that he looks like a full course meal, skinny jeans and all, and you reach for your plastic cup for solace, again. “Some things are set in stone… like where you’re born, who your parents are, maybe even who you’re going to be in life. But not the tiny details… like what kind of friend you are, if you can cook or not, who will be your first kiss and so on… Is that what you meant?” he asks, suddenly turning his eyes on you and faced with them, you nearly choke on the drink you’ve been hiding behind.

Damn him and his eyes. And his smirk. And yes, his ripped skinny jeans too.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And what about us?” he asks, smirking your way again. “We’ve been running into each other all over Paris… that’s why I thought that there has to be a reason behind it… don’t you agree?”

“Could be,” you agree, knowing that no matter how skeptical you might be about the concept of destiny, even you have to admit that the amount of times the two of you have crossed paths this week is something unusual. “You think it was destined for two of us to meet and hang out on these stairs?”

“Why not?” he laughs, sensing the trace of skepticism behind your words, even though you mostly agreed with him. “I can accept that not every cute girl I meet is destiny playing its tune but we couldn’t have avoided each other even if we tried, could we?”

You’re cute. Okay. You can live with that. You can definitely live with that.

“What else does destiny want us to do?”

You’ll admit it, you feel bolder now, knowing how shamelessly he had admitted that he obviously thinks you’re cute. Sure, you’re not nearly as bold as you wish you were but… step by step?

“Well, there’s this party down at the 8th Arrondissement that I thought of going to. Nothing huge, just a regular club. We don’t have to, if you don’t feel like partying. If you do, we can sit here for a while longer and then take a cab down there or something?” he suggests.

First he thinks you’re cute. Then he wants you to go clubbing. Sure, he isn’t hitting on you per se, but he obviously wants to spend more time with you and knowing that makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. Maybe it’s the butterflies that you’re feeling now, after ages of them being MIA, maybe it’s the way Jimin looks at you, with the tiniest of smirks gracing his face, or maybe it’s just Jimin himself – you’re not sure and frankly, it doesn’t matter. Bottom line is, he wants to spend more time with you and despite you not really giving a shit about destiny, you do want to spend more time with him too.

“Sounds like a good idea.”

And then he goes and bites his lip, mid-smile.

Yeah, there’s no way in hell you’ll survive clubbing with him. But you’ll be damned if you don’t try.

It didn’t take you long to realize that Jimin is a piece of work, in the best ways.

He is confident when approaching strangers, whether it was you, earlier today, or a random person to ask if the two of you could join their table. He can handle his drink and he does, in fact, drink quite a bit. His behavior doesn’t change – he’s still smiley, friendly, his words never slurring, his walk as perfect and sexy as it was when he was 100% sober – the only real change in his appearance is that three tequila shots in, he’s red in the face.

You? You’ve stopped drinking one shot ago, not wanting to push yourself into the state of ‘please fuck me in the alley behind this park, Mr. Stranger’ because you do tend to turn clingy after drinking a bit too much. No, this time around, you’ve kept yourself tipsy enough to throw away some inhibitions but sober enough to not jump on the guy in the middle of a crowded club.

And lord almighty, it is crowded.

You would have never thought that Parisians and a couple of tourists would be this into 90s trash music but here you are, dancing the night away with a hot as hell stranger to the tune of ‘Be My Lover’. You’ve been dancing nonstop for what feels like hours, the only break happening when he goes to the bar to get the two of you drinks and you take that chance to lean against the wall to catch your breath.

You want to chastise yourself for trusting a stranger with your drink but after debating it while you were still sober, you’ve come to the conclusion that you’re going to trust said stranger.

Taking a deep breath, you rummage through your bag, trying to find something to cool yourself down with, settling for a brochure you had picked up in Musée d'Orsay earlier today. You fan yourself, staying comfortably away from the crowd that’s dancing like their life depends on it.

It’s hot, it’s crowded, you’re tipsy and if you’re being completely honest, you’re turned on. Yes, in a tiny, dark, hole of a club, with a 90s eurodance song in Spanish blasting through the speakers, you can still manage to feel that way and it’s solely because of him.

For the past two hours, he has been flirting with you in ways that make you wonder if he’s actually flirting of he’s a hallucination of your deranged mind.

He hasn’t stopped touching you all night, but he does so in ways that are not… obvious. He holds your hand while you are walking through the crowd. He puts his hands on your waist while you’re dancing, but they’re positioned in a way that makes you think he just enjoys having a dance partner, not that he wants to fuck your brains out. He is close, but not close enough to make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wants to kiss you. It’s driving you insane and you’re feeling hot – literally and metaphorically.

The song changed to something a bit more bearable for listening, but still trashy enough, when you finally felt your body relaxing and calming down after the onslaught of senses it has been through in the last two hours. However, the moment you think you’ll manage to cool your head, you see him.

It’s not that he is hot. Sure, he is hot as hell and nice on the eyes, which is something you see others noticing, as they turn their heads while he walks past them, drinks in hand. It’s not that he is so damn charming, although that plays a part too. What’s really getting to you is simply the way he looks at you.

Even now, in the crowd, as he makes his way to your little makeshift hideaway, his eyes are directly on you. He’s not even paying attention on if he’s spilling your drinks or not – nope, he is looking right at you. And despite the feeling of panic that causes, you can’t look away. You can’t hide from it, you can’t fight it – you just have to keep eye contact with him, even though you feel like weak prey.

You’d lie if you say that there weren’t moments when his eyes would look… elsewhere. Your lips, your neck or at the tiny trace of cleavage your shirt lets him see (is that one a blessing or a curse?)… That you could deal with, as much as you were figuratively on fire. But a man with confidence to look you directly in the eyes, all the time? Yeah, you’ve kind of wanted die.

Especially now, with him sliding through the cracks between people, smiling your way, eyes burning into yours. With mere seconds to get yourself ready for him, you take a deep breath, thanking your lucky stars that he looked away, enough to put your drinks on the table next to you.

“I know you didn’t want anything, but I got you a cocktail in case you change your mind later,” he tells you and the only reason you actually understand every word he is saying is because you are staring at his lips. The music is loud, loud enough to make you want to come closer to him and ask him to repeat his words but at this point, you are a certified lip reader because good god, his lips.

“That’s okay.”

You wanted to say more, you really did, but the moment he put those drinks down, his hands were on your waist and he was close now, closer than he was before, with just an inch of space between your face and his. And even this close, even with a damn inch between the two of you, he stares into your eyes, directly into your eyes, as if he knows what he’s doing to you. And frankly, he most likely does.

“Let’s dance, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You let him take you down into the crowd again, not even noticing the loss of your precious brochure you’ve used as a makeshift fan. You let him stay close to you and you let him keep his hands on you at all times. You let him take over your entire mind, knowing that at this point, you can’t think of anything that isn’t him.

Where? Where are guys like these? Where are guys who are confident, funny, charming and sexy, without trying to get into your pants like desperate teenagers? He has the right amount of everything and a part of you wonders where are others like him? But with him in front of you, directly in front of you, with barely an inch of thin air between you, does it really matter?

You’ve given up, totally and completely. You let him eat you up with his eyes, sway your hips to the beats of bad music in any direction he wants, smiling back at him when he smiles at you.

He is closer now, even closer than before, your noses brushing against each other every other moment. He is closer and you feel like you’re going to faint if he doesn’t do something, anything really.

It’s a weird feeling to describe. You don’t know what you want but you want it, bad. And while in theory, it would be easy to take the last step and just kiss him, you can’t do it. What’s stopping you – you don’t know, you really don’t. Yes, he hasn’t explicitly said that he wants you to do anything but his actions speak enough on their own. You could close the space between the two of you and end the misery but you can’t. Something is stopping you and at this point, it feels suffocating.

All of it. Him, the crowd, the sweaty bodies all around you – it’s too much. You need fresh air. Right now.

“What time is it?” you yell at him and you can see he’s surprised – you’ve mostly been quiet, overcome with everything else to form rational thoughts. Not only that, but you’re asking about time, of all things.

“Almost 1:30AM,” he tells you, after glancing on his wristwatch, before returning the hand back on your waist. “Why? Do you want to leave?” he asks and for one second, one damn second, you see a trace of something other than pure confidence on his face. It’s not insecurity or worry, not even disappointment. It looks like a mix of all three and something else, but it’s all very faint and lasts for barely a second before he smiles at you. “It’s okay if you do. Truly.”

“It’s not that I want to leave,” you mumble, before remembering you’re in a damn club. So, you close the space between the two of you and put your lips to his ear, brushing his skin as you speak. “It’s not that I want to leave. But I need some fresh air. We can come back if you want to.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks as you pull away and you nod. “You sure?” he asks, looking at you with worry in his eyes. He’s questioning it, if only a little bit, probably worried that you’re running away and he’s being pushy. Which isn’t the truth. You are running away, but not from him, not exactly.

“Yes,” you laugh, taking his hand, as if to show that you mean it. He smiles back at you and leads the way. You think he’d go back to your borrowed table, so that he can finish his drink but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he leads the way to the area where you left your bags in exchange for 5 euros.

Seeing as you are the only ones leaving this early, the exchange for your stuff is quick and by the time you are breathing in the cool Paris air, it hasn’t been more than a few minutes since you’ve expressed your desire to leave. And the cool air helps. Well, it’s either the cool air or the fact that Jimin isn’t attached to you at this moment. With a bit of distance between you, you can actually use your brain.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he watches you take deep breaths. “We can walk it off if you’ve had too much to drink? I can walk you back to your place if you want to leave?” he suggests.

“No,” you smile at him, feeling a little bit overwhelmed by how helpful he is, as well as worried. “I’m not wasted. I don’t even know if I’m tipsy anymore,” you tell him. Sure, you might not be tipsy from the alcohol but he is a different story – you are very much drunk on him. But you won’t tell him that. “I just needed a bit of air. Maybe we can walk? Then come back or something?”

“Sure, yeah,” he nods and you lead the way. “You know, we don’t have to come back here because of me. I’m perfectly fine with just walking around. We can go somewhere else or find a bench to sit on. I can call a cab for you if you want to go back to your place.”

“I’m enjoying tonight very much,” you reassure him. There are… so many other things that you’d like to say, about him and the way he makes you feel, but you just… don’t have the balls to do so. So you simply settle with reassuring him that you’re enjoying the night. “Let’s just walk around and then figure out what we want to do next. The same goes for you – I’m fine with doing whatever you want to do.”

“You know, the last light show of the night is at 2AM,” he tells you, glancing at his watch quickly. “We can still catch it, if you’d like to. Maybe we even have time to go to the tower itself but we can definitely make it to Trocadéro on time?” he suggests and even though you normally refuse to be such a basic tourist, a huge part of you is excited at the thought of seeing the tower light up.

“I haven’t seen it yet. You want to go?” you ask, continuing with the tradition he had started of questioning everything for whatever reason.

“Sure, let’s go.”

There are people roaming around the area – of course there are, it’s Paris, there are tourists in every nook and cranny of the damn city. However, the numbers are smaller than they were when you went here the other day. You were definitely not alone but you did manage to find a section of the fence where no one was waiting with their cameras ready. Which is exactly what the two of you are doing now, waiting to capture the perfect moment of the tower lighting up.

You’ve been fairly quiet since you’ve left the club but it wasn’t the negative kind of silence, not at all. It was the silence that comes after a slightly overwhelming moment. You’re not sure if Jimin feels the same and if he does, he sure didn’t show it, but he was quiet along with you, speaking up only when you do, smiling your way whenever you’ve felt brave enough to make direct eye contact. It was comfortable and it made you realize just how much you have let this total stranger get under your skin.

“Doesn’t this feel a bit like the New Year’s countdown?” you ask, adjusting your camera so that the tower is right in the center of it – as much as Jimin is overwhelming, you still want to capture a decent photograph. It’s a once in a lifetime event. At least for us, non-Parisian commoners.

“It does,” he chuckles. “Ah, here we go!”

It’s impossible not to laugh at all the sighs of wonder you hear coming from around you. Yes, it’s a beautiful sight but… come on! It’s not a natural phenomenon; it’s a tower with lights on it! You sense Jimin reacting to it the same way you do, laughing a bit at the amazement of everyone around you but still taking a photo and enjoying the moment.

“Wait, let me take a photo of you,” he tells you and to your surprise, he doesn’t ask for your camera – he simply steps back with his. You don’t say anything and you try not to think too much of it but at the very least you are now expecting an exchange of social media or emails, knowing that you now have a perfect excuse of contacting him. Unable to hide a smile at the realization, you try to strike a casual pose, all while feeling like a complete idiot because he is looking at you again. “Wait,” he suddenly says and walks back up to you, reaching his hand closer to your face. “May I?”

You nod, not even sure what exactly you’re agreeing to here. Gently, he runs his hand through your hair, similar to the way he runs it through his own hair a few times a minute, messing it up a little bit. You don’t exactly have a mirror on you right now, but you imagine it’s the cute kind of messy, not the messy kind of messy. Why would he want you to look like shit for the photo? So, you let him, trying to ignore the way your pulse races because of him being so close. “There,” he steps away from you, smiling.

“Messy enough?” you joke, laughing when he does.

“It’s not messy, it’s sexy,” he tells you and yeah, your stupid heart is in overdrive, the butterflies in your stomach wilding and your face absolutely blushing. “It’s cute, natural. It’s more you than the preppy pose you’ve just tried to pull off,” and now he kind of insulted you.

“Hey!” you snap back, unable to keep a straight face when he starts laughing again. “You’ve known me for a few hours, how do you know preppy poses aren’t my thing?”

“I just know,” he shrugs. “Now act natural. Smile.”

You wanted to fight him back in a passive aggressive way and remain preppy but you just can’t – not with him making you smile. So you smile and giggle, pretending like he doesn’t have a camera in front of his face. If he wants you to be natural, you’re going to be natural.

After a few shots, he moves the camera away from his face and gives you the most blinding smile he had given you so far.

“Your turn,” you order him, unsure how you can even talk anymore. You feel like jelly on the inside and it’s actually quite worrying, seeing as you haven’t felt like this many times in your life. Of course, you liked people, you dated people, hell you’ve even loved a guy or two! But god good, they’re not Jimin. The guy has it all and all of it is affecting you in ways you didn’t know you could be affected.

You swallow a few lumps as you try to focus on the tower too, and not just him, because yes, it kind of needs to be in the picture too and that is the whole point of this, isn’t it? It takes you a few tries but you end up with a good shot. No matter how tonight ends, you’ll have a palpable memory of Jimin saved in your camera and you’d be lying to yourself if you say that doesn’t make you feel a bit more at ease.

“How can something be so tacky and so breathtakingly beautiful at the same time?” you ask while walking back towards the fence, letting the camera dangle around your neck as you stand next to Jimin.

“It really is amazing, isn’t it?” he chuckles. This time around, you are the one shamelessly staring – he is too preoccupied with looking at the tower. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if it’s Paris, or just tonight or maybe even you, but everything feels so… I don’t know, honestly,” he laughs, shaking his head as if he’s in disbelief. “I guess I’m just… really enjoying tonight.”

Here he is, this… beautiful, hot, kind, charming stranger, right next to you. Just a few days ago, he was no more than a fellow tourist. Just a few days ago, you didn’t think much of him. Today was a different story. Today, he didn’t let you push him into the back of your mind. Today he had made himself the focus of your day, night and quite frankly, this whole damn trip.

You don’t have to see him ever again if you don’t want to. If destiny keeps messing with you, you might run into him back home but by then, enough time would have passed for you to be able to keep your cool. If it goes good… it’ll go good. And if it goes bad, you can go back to pretending like none of this ever happened, and that your whole Parisian escapade was not Jimin centric. It might be easier said than done but you’re a tough cookie. You can do it.

Why not go for it? Seriously Y/N, why not go for it?

So you do.

You step closer to him and reach your hand out, putting it on his cheek and turning him to face you – he doesn’t have enough time to react properly but you can see the flash of surprise on his face. There is no time for him to say or do anything, because you lean in and press your lips to his.

Fuck it. Seriously, just fuck it. You’re here, he’s here and with doing practically nothing, he’d made you feel more than you’ve felt in months. As tacky as it is, you truly do only live once and you know yourself well enough to know you’d end up regretting not doing this.

You might regret it anyways, who knows. But you’d eat yourself away if you hadn’t gone for it.

You’d be lying if you said that the kiss is magical. Really, it’s awkward. Your lips are not much in comparison to his beautifully plump ones and while that could be overpowering, he technically isn’t moving. What you thought would be a kiss that would rock your world, ends up being nothing more than one slightly longer peck because he isn’t moving.

You can feel it – you’ve fucked up. You went for it and in hindsight, you shouldn’t have. Feeling absolutely mortified by his lack of response, you pull away, feeling even worse when you see the way he’s looking at you – no awe, no surprise, no excitement. He doesn’t look pissed either, or confused. It’s difficult to describe it but he’s almost… scowling at you.

You’ve fucked it up. But that’s okay. At least you won’t wonder about the ‘what ifs’.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, looking away from him quickly. As much as you’re trying to reassure yourself that it’s better to know than to wonder, you’re absolutely dying on the inside. If there’s a hole near here in which you could hide, right this second, you’d go there. Alas, you’re out in the open and have to deal with the mess you’ve made. “I guess I’ve misread the signals. I-“

With his hand on your back, he pulls you smack into his chest, not leaving any room between the two of you whatsoever. All that you see is him leaning into you with his eyes closed.

It’s not a peck – it’s anything but a peck. His lips guide yours to open and not even a second later, you feel his tongue moving against yours. He pulls you even closer to him, your bodies practically stuck together, with your hands squished between you. You feel him run his other hand through your hair, turning your head a bit towards the side so that he can have more access to you, as if he hadn’t had enough to begin with. His tongue is relentless and you’re absolutely sure that you’re about to faint, knees barely managing to keep your body standing.

You have never been kissed like this. Definitely not in public.

He pulls away slowly, tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth as he goes. He’s not scowling like he was moments ago, but he’s also not the cute, smiley Jimin he was for the better part of the day.

And you? You’re honestly struggling to breathe. A kiss is a surprise itself but a kiss like that is not something that’s easy to survive. You’re well aware that you’re practically panting because of him but it’s hardly something you can hide. You’re affected and you’re going to be affected, no matter how embarrassed you are about it.

“If you’re going to kiss me,” his voice is low, much lower than before and it’s not helping your situation at all. “You should kiss me like you mean it.”

Fuck everything.

You grab his shirt and pull him towards you once again.

Life works in mysterious ways. Just this morning, you were a regular tourist, doing regular tourist things, sticking to your itinerary as you try to cram all of Paris into one week. And now? Now you’re pressed up against a wall of a random building in a part of town you haven’t ventured into before, making out with the hottest guy you have ever met, who is also pretty much still a stranger.

You don’t even care about how uncomfortable you are in this position – him kissing you makes it all better, very literally. He is a marvelous kisser – hungry, but not overpowering, with lips for days. He smells of cologne you have never smelt before but somehow know you won’t be able to forget anytime soon. Even the soft cotton of his white shirt that your hand is digging into feels heavenly.

Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. All you can focus on is Jimin, to the point of even almost managing to ignore a whistle directed towards the two of you.

You’ve had it coming, really – almost dry humping in the middle of the street. When Jimin starts to pull away, probably because of the wolf whistle, you still chase after him, desperately trying to keep your lips stuck together. He still moves away but not too far – he nuzzles into your neck, leaving you gasping for air at the feel of his lips attacking your neck.

Is it too far? Maybe. But too far is the exact direction in which you want to go.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” you suggest. You’ve never directly propositioned sex to someone you weren’t in a relationship with and while you were internally panicking, you also know he probably won’t refuse you. Unless the thing you’re feeling against your thigh is his phone and not him being happy to see you. “My airnbn is a bit far but we can go there?” you suggest, not wanting to be too direct and invite yourself to his place. Honestly, you’d even go into a public toilet at this point, but you’ll keep that bit of information to yourself.

He doesn’t respond immediately and you would have worried about it, if he wasn’t preoccupied with biting your neck, with enough force to leave marks and make you want to crumble. You shudder, actually shudder with pleasure as you feel his tongue run over your skin. “The place I’m staying at is just a few minutes away,” he finally speaks up, stepping away from you for the first time in what feels like forever. “Do you want to go there?” he asks.

The way he looks at you tells you he’s asking you more than to just go over to the place he’s staying at. You know it, he knows it. Even though it was your suggestion, he is still checking in with you, despite probably already knowing that you’d agree to pretty much anything. You laugh at his question.

“Jimin… I’m… I’m more than fine with going to your place, yeah,” you settled for that. Letting him know that you’d let him fuck you in the middle of the street, right here, right now, might be a bit too forward of you. Incredibly accurate but perhaps too forward.

The beaming smile you get from him when you agree serves like a confirmation to yourself that no, this is absolutely not a bad idea. This is everything you’ve hoped for but didn’t think would happen. This is the brief romance that novels are written about, a story you might remember when 30 years from now, your 20something-year-old daughter goes on her first trip to Paris and you remember him. Jimin will be your story, one that you might revisit often, depending on how the night ends.

Taking your hand in his, he leads the way and you follow blindly, enjoying his touch even during simple handholding. You want to do more, so much more, but if you do, you’ll never get to your end destination. Jimin must have sensed that, because the two of you are walking faster than you did this whole day – now you actually have a goal in mind. And what a goal that will be.

“Not to bring the mood down but we could have been going to your place a lot sooner if you’d kissed me back in the club,” you admit. Maybe that was a little bit unnecessary but you want to break the silence between you – and if you can compliment him in the process, why not?

“Hmm, maybe,” he sighs, suddenly letting go of your hand, only to hug you around the waist and pull you into his side, giving you a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re not the only one that was worried about misreading some signals. I wanted to be sure, so I consciously waited for you to do something.”

“Thank fuck I did because that was a close one,” you laugh in disbelief, amazed to know how close you were to this simply never happening.

“Not gonna lie, I was worried,” he laughs too, giving you another quick peck. You’re positive that you’re blushing again. Every time he kisses you, your stomach does somersaults, excited at the thought of him wanting to kiss you as much as you want to kiss him. Which is a lot. More than a lot. “I’m glad you mustered the courage to kiss a guy that’s quite obviously wanted to kiss you all afternoon.”

“For future notice – be more direct,” you warn him through laughter. The lucky girl who gets to experience him next deserves to be spared the inner turmoil you’ve went through. He spent the entire night dancing on the line between being very direct and not direct enough. One step in either direction would have settled your dilemma, so hopefully the next person will have more luck.

“I’m a bit preoccupied with you right now, thanks,” he chuckles as he sneaks his hand down to your ass and squeezes it shamelessly. You jump up in surprise but don’t feel particularly troubled about being in public, seeing as there is no public around you, at all. It’s just the two of you, walking along the river, the boats moored along the way seemingly empty. Feeling brave, braver than you ever remember feeling, you’re the one who initiates the kiss this time, making sure to show him how much you want this. You move slowly, enjoy the feeling of taking the lead and the lazy movements of your tongues, interrupted only when you feel the need to bite his bottom lip, which is way more often than you’d be willing to admit. Somehow, you once again end up being sandwiched between him and the half wall behind you. Seizing the opportunity, you sit on the half wall, pulling Jimin towards you by the belt – his hands find their way to your waist as he situates himself between your legs. This time around you’re sure it’s not his phone you’re feeling. It’s a very prominent bulge, noticeable enough to make you salivate at the very thought of what’s hidden. You’re not the only one acting braver – for the first time tonight, Jimin’s hands find their way under your shirt, eliciting goosebumps on your back almost immediately.

It’s when his fingers move to the front and graze your bra that you remember the two of you are still very much out in the open. And while at this point you wouldn’t particularly mind letting him have you here and now, the last thing you want to add to your Paris story is being arrested for indecent exposure.

“If you keep kissing me like this, we’ll never get to your place,” you warn him and contradict yourself immediately, attacking his neck with bites that make him sigh and shudder.

“Thank fuck we’re already here.”

You reluctantly detach yourself from his neck, looking around in confusion – you don’t see a house around you, at all. There’s nothing but the walkway and the park across the street. And as much as you like Jimin, you’re not going to fuck him on a bench which he sleeps on. He sees your confusion and nods towards the river. It takes you a bit too long to connect the dots.

“You’ve rented a houseboat?!” you ask in surprise and he gives you a quick kiss, pulling away with a smile.

“Of course,” he chuckles. “Hotels are boring. Boats are awesome.”

“Who even rents a boathouse?” you ask in wonder, all the while feeling slightly pissed at yourself because why the hell didn’t you think of that? It sure would beat your tiny airbnb, with a building that has no damn stairs – nothing but an elevator. Why would you be locked in such a claustrophobic space when you can have a damn boat? Lesson learned.

“I do,” he smirks at you. “And tonight, I’m going to fuck a very beautiful girl on that boat. So I guess it was a good call. Don’t you agree?”

“Yep. Wholeheartedly. You win.”

You know you’re going to die of embarrassment when he realizes just how wet he’s made you but you’re past the point of caring. With the words he says and the way he kisses you, you and your pussy never stood a chance.

Before you can kiss him again and prolong the wait, he takes your hand and leads the way, first down a set of concrete stairs and then towards the second houseboat in a row; it’s close to the ones on its side, but not too close for comfort. Climbing up the stairs that lead to the impromptu balcony on the boat, you immediately realize the appeal of choosing housing like this – once you can take your eyes away from Jimin’s ass, that is. No, once you are not looking at it, you can appreciate the view the boat has – you can even see the Eiffel tower, a bit down the river. The deck has a huge table, a few chairs and way more plants that a boat deck needs. It looks comfortable, beautiful and with how easily accessible it is, just a bit dangerous. All the words you can use to describe the man who is now kissing your neck, standing behind you as you reach and lean yourself on the boat rail, hoping it is safe.

“I see you’re an exhibitionist,” you laugh when he pulls you back so that your ass is right against his crotch and good god, you can feel how hard he is as he rolls his hips against you.

“No. Maybe just a little,” he chuckles. You laugh too, until you feel one of his hands leave your hips and reach for the button on your jeans. You gulp, eyes widening and as if he can sense your alert, he doesn’t unbutton them immediately. “You?” he asks. God, consent is so fucking sexy.

You’ve never dabbled in it, never really thought about it either but now, in this predicament? “Maybe just a little,” your voice is low as you give him permission. You weren’t joking when you thought that he can do anything he wants, were you? It doesn’t matter, because you said yes and holy fuck, his hand is going down your pants.

You jolt immediately and how could you not, when he went straight for your clit, right off the bat. Jimin does not play around, that much is obvious. You can only pray the fence is secure enough to keep you out of the water.

“Didn’t think you’d be this turned on by foreplay in public,” he laughs directly in your ear because the moment he ran his fingers against your slit, you threw your head back to lean onto him more, afraid of your legs actually turning into jelly because of him. “I’m proven wrong.”

“You don’t know me well enough to assume my sexual preferences,” somehow, you manage to laugh and remain sassy, thought that is cut short the moment he returns his attention to your clit, circling it very, very slowly. “But I suppose you found out some.”

“And I have the whole night to learn, don’t I, Y/N?”

“You do,” you bite your lip to hold back a moan because he started rubbing his fingers against you, the sudden change from slow to fast catching you off guard.

“You don’t have to keep quiet baby,” he presses a quick kiss against your neck, pushing you more into the rail as he rubs himself against your ass in a manner that almost has you begging for more. You are, internally, but not aloud. Not yet, at least. “I don’t think anyone could hear you down here. And I know I want to.”

“Duly noted,” you moan out because he presses his fingers into you harder – with the pressure and the speed, you know you’re going to fall apart way sooner than you’d though.

There has to be some flaw, right? He cannot be this perfect, no human being can be this perfect. If you were to stick around long enough, maybe you’d find a personality trait of his that makes him less perfect than what he is now, in your eyes, but you won’t be staying long enough to find out. For tonight, you’re more than fine with letting him be your little perfection.

“Let’s go inside?” he suggests as he drags his hand away from you and that is by far the worst thing he had done the whole night. You never want him to stop touching you, but that can be arranged at a more appropriate location. You nod, or so you think you do, unsure of your movements and thoughts, and you let him pull you by the hand and towards the door, pausing to fumble with the keys.

He opens the door and you stumble inside as he puts his bag on a hallway table – you choose to throw yours on the ground, waiting for him to turn on the lights. The moment you can see him clearly, the passion takes over you.

Driven by it, you all but slam him into the wall, almost laughing as his eyes widen in surprise. You don’t though – you don’t laugh, you don’t say anything. You simply reach for the hem of his shirt and lift it up slowly, making sure that your fingers cross every inch of skin you uncover. Seeing him shiver is worth the torture you’re putting yourself through, because a part of you wants to drop to the floor and start unbuckling his belt. You fight your own instincts, wanting and hoping to give him at least a fraction of the pleasure he had given you just moments ago.

Soft to the touch but very well defined, his body is a work of art that could rival those that you have spent the last few days observing. The tattoo you discover on his ribs serves as a perfect imperfection, a blemish on the canvas that somehow looks so right. Gulping, you let him take off his shirt and as soon as he does, you’re against him, kissing those lips of his again.

You don’t stay there long – slowly traveling under his chin, down his neck and all over his chest, staying there long enough, pressing soft kisses and licks until he is properly panting. When his hips roll, subconsciously looking for any kind of friction, you decide to move further down, slowly kissing a trail down his stomach, looking up at him, enjoying the sight of him so visibly… distraught. The moment your eyes meet, he closes his. And now you know you’re doing it right, if for the first time he is the one afraid of eye contact and how deadly it can be.

“You’re killing me,” he chuckles nervously, his voice breathless. And you simply smile, slowly unbuckling his belt and pushing the pants down to his knees as slow as you possibly can. You want to offer a remark about how he’s clearly enjoying it but his cock is one major distraction, in the best way possible.

He’s hard and ready, the sight filling you with instant pride because you know that you did that. You made him like this. A little bit pliant, a little bit breathless and very much not ready for what’s about to come. He’s hard, twitching under your gaze, making your mouth water. You still take it slow, enjoying the pace set to tease him – slowly licking the tip of his dick, smiling as you watch his Adam’s apple bob from above you – he still can’t look at you.

“I love how you’ve been staring me down the whole night and now you can’t handle looking at me,” you admit as you slowly drag your hand up and down his cock. Of course, now he opens his eyes and looks down on you but the lump he swallows shows you that even though he responed to your challenge, he is still very much affected and you’re living for it.

“I see you like to tease,” is what he says, making you smile.

“Very much,” you nod, giving him a quick lick that is followed by another muffled curse coming from him. “But I can be kind too,” you conclude, before finally taking him into your mouth properly.

It’s a bit of a challenge but you are more than happy to take it, slowly sinking your mouth up and down his dick, enjoying the symphony of noises that is coming from him. Every sigh, every curse, every moan – it all just makes you even more adamant to give him the best head of his life.

“Fuck Y/N,” he barely manages to say, moaning as you speed up your movements. He gathers your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slowly starts guiding you faster, eyeing your reaction, despite being momentarily distracted by the sight of you taking all of him into your mouth. “Fuck, you look so… You’re gonna make me come,” he lets out a slightly panicked laughter, gently pushing you away from him, to which you pout. Despite not being that big on blowjobs, giving one to Jimin felt somewhat like a privilege and you wouldn’t admit that lightly. Not wanting to stop completely, you squeeze him in your hand, slowly moving up and down, watching as he goes through another crisis. “Y/N,” he laughs in warning, making you stop, albeit reluctantly.

“Isn’t it the point to make you come?” you ask but still stand up when his hands grab yours by the elbows and he lifts you up to stand next to him.

“Absolutely,” his eyes don’t leave your lips and he gives you a quick kiss, biting into your bottom lip hard enough to earn a moan. “But not like that, not before I fuck you. Not before I have my way with you.”

The smile on his face looks sinister enough to make you even wetter than you were moments ago. He doesn’t sound like a man who makes promises lightly and you get your confirmation as he puts his hands on your hips and starts pushing you back towards the room behind you. You’re too fucked out to notice anything other than the fairly modern design of the furniture around you. Before you can notice anything in particular, your ass slams into a hard surface and you jump up, letting him settle between your legs again and kiss you even harder than he did all night.

You’re the target now, and good god, you’re loving it. His lips alter between being gentle and harsh, kissing you with so much passion before biting, as if he wants to show you that he’s the one in charge. And you let him. By god, you let him.

He takes your shirt and bra off quickly, not wanting to drag it out like you did, but the moment you’re half naked before his eyes, he slows down. If him staring you down made you feel nervous before, you are positively burning right now because he is eating you up. He doesn’t even have to touch you – just the sight of him, looking like he’s about to ruin you is enough to cause goosebumps to form all over your body. He comes closer, attaching his lips to your chest. You are losing your mind because he is purposely slow, kissing you all over before finally attaching his lips to your nipple, taking it into his mouth and slowly rolling his tongue against it. You swear you can feel him smiling, but you’re too far gone to check – especially not when his hand reaches for your other breast, squeezing it shamelessly. You’ve been able to control your noises for a little while, but the moment his teeth come out to play, you’re a goner. With his fingers and lips moving at the same time, you can only moan, reaching towards something, anything to hold and settling for his hair. You grip it, perhaps a bit too harshly if his moan is anything to go by – but he doesn’t stop you. In fact, he simply sucks harder, making you arch your back towards him.

He’ll ruin you. He will absolutely ruin you and you are perfectly fine with it.

After what feels like an eternity, he detaches his mouth away from you and your eyes meet. He truly is a sight for sore eyes, especially now when he looks so blissfully fucked out. His hair is a mess, his lips red from all the kissing and sucking, his torso a work of art. He looks so fucking hot, you moan. At the very sight of him, you moan. He’s not touching you, he’s not teasing you, he’s not doing anything but looking at you and that is enough to make you moan, moan and rut your hips in his direction, looking for friction which you find in the form of his thigh. He lets you, he lets you move against him. Your moment of pleasure doesn’t last long, because he steps back, fumbling to unbutton your jeans. You lay down, ignoring the cold of the table against your naked back, lifting your hips to help him undress you completely. Unlike the slow, sensual moves that you used on him, he is quick, taking them off as fast as he possibly can. When you’re left in nothing but your underwear, that is when he slows down again, crouching down out of your sight.

“Fuck!” you gasp in surprise when you feel him nuzzling his nose against your clothed center – you can feel how wet you are and you know, you know he can smell it, feel it, see it and you absolutely do not care. In fact, you’re even more turned on by the thought of it – he clearly is enjoying it and you want nothing more than to let him know how good he’s making you feel.

He doesn’t torture you for too long and other than a muffled curse, he doesn’t comment on how wet you are for him. Instead, he goes right down to business, using his fingers to move your underwear to the side and he immediately attaches himself to your clit, sucking on it harshly, with the same fervor as when he was sucking on your nipples.

“Fuck, Jimin!” you moan out, gripping his hair with all the strength you have, knowing that that must have hurt – again, he shows no signs of having a problem with it. Fuck, he probably even likes it.

“What is it baby?” he asks, not waiting for your response and instead choosing to lick up your center. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” you manage to reply, momentarily distracted by the feel of his finger sinking into you.

“If you let me, I’ll eat you out for hours tomorrow morning,” he tells you, pausing to bite on your thigh, a bite that you know will leave teeth marks, but you don’t protest. “As much as I’d be willing to do it for hours right now, I really need you on my cock.”

“Yeah, okay,” you laugh, biting your lip at the feel of him sinking another finger into you, slowly dragging them in and out as he stands up, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. You say nothing more – you couldn’t, even if you wanted to. You move your hips in time with his fingers, riding them like you would, and hopefully will, ride his dick in a matter of moments.

“Bedroom?” he suggests as he stops his assault on you. You nod, somehow managing to sit up, nearly laughing at the sight of him. Half naked, with his jeans still hanging right above his knees, his member standing up proudly. How he could wobble you towards the table in that state is beyond you. You don’t have a chance to ask, too distracted with the sight of him licking his fingers, all while looking directly into your eyes. He’ll be the death of you, that’s for sure.

You stand up, leaning against the table as he loses the last articles of his clothing – you barely have the time to take a few deep breaths before he starts kissing you again, his tongue overpowering yours as you moan at the taste of him. You don’t bother opening your eyes, letting him lead you towards the bedroom, trusting him that you won’t end up overboard, hoping that if you do, you wouldn’t be too turned on to notice. You hit a wall and a door on your way there, giggling by the time he is pushing you onto a bed, finally letting you breathe. Standing above you, he somehow manages to look both menacing and hot at the same time. His eyes tell you to wait, which you gladly do, watching him as you settle yourself on top of the covers. You choke on your own breath when you notice his ass, for the first time without the barrier of skintight jeans – it’s a sight, alright. You watch as he fumbles through his suitcase, smiling at him when he turns around, waving a condom at you.

No matter how much you’re into him, there’s no way he’s fucking you without protection. You’re glad he’s on the same page, not even stopping to suggest going bare. While you’d like that and you’re guessing so would he, it’s simply not happening. He walks towards you, not putting the condom on immediately, instead choosing to give his member a few strokes, enjoying the view of you on his bed, naked and waiting. Though your lip bite was an unconscious reaction at the sight before you, he is affected, grunting at the sight – the moment the condom is covering his dick, he is rushing to get on top of you, finally letting you feel his whole body against your own.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he tells you before kissing you passionately, flicking his tongue slowly as he settles between your legs. He doesn’t enter you immediately, instead choosing to grind onto you, making the both of you moan into the kiss. You’re the one who pulls away, if only for a moment.

“Please,” you moan out, enjoying the feel of his dick rubbing against you, pushing you closer to the edge – too close, considering you didn’t even have a chance to feel him inside of you. “Please just fuck me.”

“Gladly,” he gives you a quick kiss before finally sliding into you. Slowly and with ease, he fills you up in a way that makes you moan – louder than you did the whole night, feeling absolutely shameless. You don’t care, you don’t care where you are or who can hear you, if anyone – he feels that damn good.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you gasp, taken by surprise with him slowly rolling his hips into you. It’s as if he can tell you need no more time to adjust to him, he starts moving a bit faster with each roll of his hips, making you curse out as you grab onto him, your fingers digging into his skin. It seems he enjoys you being rough with him, showing him how good he’s making you feel because he isn’t complaining and you know it has to hurt. He wastes no time, dipping down to take your nipple into his mouth, never stopping his dick from moving in and out of you in the best of ways.

“God,you’re so tight baby!” he grunts as his thrusts become harder and faster, so much so that you faintly notice the sound of the bed thumping into something, most likely the wall. You don’t care, you really don’t – you pull him closer to you, blindly reaching for his lips, enjoying the way he overpowers your senses, even smell - he smells like sex and expensive cologne, the most mouthwatering scent you’ve ever had the pleasure of smelling. The moment your lips touch, you feel his hand graze your clit, eliciting a particularly loud moan for you. Unable to focus on anything, you give into pleasure and let him do whatever he wants with you, the onslaught on your senses killing the little sanity you had left.

You dare and think it can’t get any better than this and right as you do, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, pinching your clit between his fingers at the same time. You weren’t ready – you weren’t ready for it at all and with his actions catching you by surprise, you lose the little control you’ve had, coming hard. The orgasm washes over you stronger than any orgasm in your recent memory, making you gasp and moan, holding onto him with all the strength your body has left. He is losing his cool too – his hands give in and he’s pressed up against you completely, lips grazing your ear. “Just like that, come all over my cock,” he urges you through your high, his words making it even harder for you to calm down.

Body shivering, you somehow calm down your breathing – it’s a challenge, seeing as he still hasn’t stopped moving completely. He slowed down enough not to send you in complete overdrive too soon. Even his consideration is a turn on – almost as strong of a turn on as him using your body to pleasure himself, still rolling his hips into you and moaning softly, directly into your ear, the moan turning more high pitched when he feels your nails running up and down his back.

Turning your head towards him, you search for his lips. He kisses you eagerly, stilling himself inside of you for a moment, as if he wants to focus on the kiss and kiss alone. Slowly, he moves away from you and leans back, running his hand up your thigh. He raises his eyebrows as he pushes your leg up, asking you for permission. You nod, moaning as he moves your leg towards the side. Quickly, you turn to your side completely and judging by the moan he lets out, that’s exactly what he needed you to do.

You want to do more, you do. You want to ride him till you can no longer move but he is so damn overwhelming, all you can do right now is just… take it. And you’re not complaining. Slowly but surely, the pleasure builds up again and you realize there’s a strong chance you’ll come again. Suddenly brave again, you look at him, directly at him, as you put a hand between your legs and start rubbing yourself. The moment he realizes what you’re doing, he looks down, lifting your leg up so that he can have a better view. “Fuck,” is all he says, followed by the sexiest groan you have ever heard a man make.

“I’m so close,” you warn him, wanting to feel all of it again but somehow not wanting it to end.

“Come on baby, come for me again,” he urges you on. As much as you want to, you really don’t want it to be over anytime soon - the buildup was so damn hot and you simply don’t want to stop. Thinking about his earlier promise about eating you out for hours is what pushes you over the edge. Feeling Jimin and think of the dirty words he whispered in your ear is enough for you to come again, your entire body shivering with pure pleasure. Looking up at him, you notice the way his face scrunches, the way his voice is deeper and his moans never stopping… he takes over you again.

“I’m going to come,” he warns you, making you remember that he can’t come inside of you and fill you up, which is something you would really, really like. You settle for the next best thing.

“Come on me,” you tell him, moving your leg out of his still firm grip, and spreading your legs as much as possible, now having a perfect view of him slamming into you, much faster than he did before. “Come anywhere you want,” you urge him, biting your lip as his hips lose rhythm at your suggestion. In the speed of light, he slips out of you, leaving you empty and wanting more, more of him, more of his dick, more of anything he’d be willing to give you. You watch as he takes the condom off in the speed of light, still rubbing yourself and ignoring the overstimulation you are feeling, absolutely urged by the hottest sight you have seen in your entire life: Jimin, stroking himself with a firm grip, moaning loudly as he closes his eyes, his face scrunched in pleasure.

You watch in awe as he finishes all over you, the streaks of his cum reaching all the way up to your breasts. You have never, never in your entire life, experienced anything hotter than this. You know now, there is nothing hotter than watching Jimin orgasm. And you have never in your miserable life had sex nearly as good as the one you had now.

Jimin’s body gives up and he falls directly on top of you, making you chuckle. Your hands roam his back, as if you are comforting him through the aftermath, completely ignoring the fact that his now softening member is still rubbing against you. Both of you are sweaty, your bodies covered in his cum but you don’t care and neither does he. Once he is finally able to move, he simply leans a bit to the side, just so that he can look at you. And he does. With the brightest, sweetest smile that shouldn’t belong to a man who fucked you as hard as he just did.

“Hi,” you speak up first, shocked at how rough your voice sounds. Perhaps you were a bit louder than you thought you were. He smiles and you feel yourself melting again, accepting that you are whipped for him, way more whipped than you should be for someone you barely know. He doesn’t make it any easier on you when he leans in for a kiss, his lips slow and lazy and yours following suit, ignoring the butterflies that are going berserk in your stomach again. You ignore it all, shutting your brain off and enjoying the post sex glow that he is radiating with.

He pulls away but not before caressing your face and pushing hair behind your ear – a very sweet action for someone whose mouth can do all those dirty, lovely things.

“That was… wow,” he admits and for the first time since you’ve met him, you think you see a blush on his face – a blush that isn’t caused by alcohol, that is. Is he suddenly shy? Is it the post sex blush? You don’t know and you don’t care, as long as you can keep looking at him.

“Wow seems appropriate,” you agree, joining in his laughter. He is still chuckling as he nuzzles into your neck, giving you a few quick pecks before pulling away.

“Do you want to stay the night?” he raises his eyebrows, giving you a way out if you don’t want to take him up on his earlier offer. “I could call you a cab or even walk you back to your place. I’d like you to stay the night though.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can use my legs at the moment.”

It wasn’t supposed to be such a funny remark but for some reason, he laughs hard and after fighting it for a few seconds, you can’t help but join in. If you look past his hotness and the ease with which he communicates with people, he really does have a comfortable aura around him – if he laughs, it’s contagious and you don’t mind joining in.

The two of you calm down and after a few moments of silence, he runs his hand through your hair again, pushing it away from your face as his eyes focus on different parts of it – first your eyes, then your lips, then your cheeks. It looks as if he is trying to memorize you and to that you can relate because this is one night you’d never want to forget, not one part of it. And not one part of him. “Let’s go and get cleaned up?” he suggests.

You’ve lost count of how many times you have let him take you by the hand and lead the way for the both of you. You are yet to regret those decisions, gladly letting him lead the way now, knowing that wherever he takes you… it’s going to be good.

You wake up feeling content, well rested and sore, all at once. With a dumb smile on your face, you giggle and bury your face in the pillow – it smells of him, making your memories of the night before even more vivid.

His promise of devoting hours to you and your body this morning did not wait until dawn. It all occurred the night before, with you still kissing one another by the time sun had started to rise and the birds had started chirping.

It all comes back to you in flashes, the bath you took together, the way he caressed your skin as he was washing you up, before his hands went a bit further south. Both the sweet words and the dirty talk are engraved in your mind forever, just like the way he made you feel all of last night.

You knew it before, you’re sure of it now – he has ruined you. He has absolutely ruined you, in the best way possible. And you don’t want it to end.

You knew it had an expiration date. This is a trip romance – short, sweet, steamy and memorable. It had an expiration date the moment the two of you shared the first smiles in front of ‘Shakespeare and company’. While the thought of it does leave a bitter taste in your mouth, you’re a big girl and you can live with it. Smiling, you decide to enjoy the morning, or early afternoon, with Jimin. You’ll deal with the negative side effects later.

“Afternoon, beautiful,” you hear him, turning around towards the direction his voice is coming from – he is leaning against the doorway, smiling at you, looking too hot for his own good with gray sweatpants, a white shirt and a part of his dark hair pulled back in a makeshift bun. “Did you sleep well?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” he smiles as you close your eyes and shamelessly yawn, remembering a second too late that you should put a hand over your mouth. You open your eyes just in time to see him sitting down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on your naked thigh and slowly moving it up and down your skin. It’s not as sexual as his touches were last night – in fact, this feels more comforting than anything else. “How long was I out? Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, I slept like a log. And it’s 2PM now, so you’ve had a few hours.”

“2PM?” you’re shocked to realized you’ve already lost half the day. It was very much worth it, though.

“You have somewhere to be?” he teases you, probably unaware how he makes the butterflies in your stomach go nuts. You have a sneaky suspicion that he’s not aware of your dilemma – do you go, do you stay? Does he want you to go or does he want you to stay? What are you even supposed to say now?

“No, not really,” you shrug, cowardly throwing the ball into his court. You’ll admit it, you’re a whimp and you are more than happy to let him decide if you should be on your way or stick around a bit longer.

“Well, I’ve made us some quick lunch. I wanted to order something but wasn’t sure if you’d want to stick around for food… so I figured I’ll make something and eat both portions if you bolt,” he admits through laughter and you’re immediately relieved – you weren’t the only one uncertain about everything.

“I don’t have to bolt. And I’m also kind of starving,” you admit, shuddering when you remember that the last thing you ate was a croissant almost a full day ago – you’re absolutely starving.

“We can eat on the deck if you want?” he suggest, before breaking out into a sudden smile.

“What?” you ask, confused with how he’s looking at you. You either have something on your face or he’s going to make this whole thing 20 times more difficult and you’re afraid the second situation is more likely.

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful like that,” he shrugs as you let him run his hands through your hair.

“Half-dead and messy looking? I’m sure I am,” you roll your eyes.

“Not messy. Sexy,” he corrects you, the same way he did last night. With a sigh, he pulls away and stands up. “I’m starving too, so you’d better hurry up if you don’t want me eating you up instead.”

“I don’t think I’d mind that, to be honest,” you admit, hiding your face in his pillow, knowing that you no longer have the dark to hide the blush that appears whenever you say something a bit more straightforward.

You expected him to say something or maybe laugh – you absolutely didn’t expect to feel his teeth on your right ass cheek. You jump up in surprise, nearly hitting him in the head when your leg jerks, but that only makes him laugh. You’re smiling way too wide for someone who’s just been bitten on the ass and you decide to scream into the pillow once he’s away enough not to hear it.

“Your clothes and underwear are dry and clean but feel free to steal that shirt from me,” he winks at you. “I’ll wait on the deck.”

With that, he leaves you alone to get dressed, try to gather your thoughts and maybe, just maybe, control your emotions a little bit. It would have been a lot easier if he was the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ kind of guy but surprise, he’s not! No, he fucked you like a full-fledged sex god, giving you the best night of your life, while caring enough to throw your clothes into the washer and drier and even wanting to feed you the next day. Nope, still no flaws in sight for Park Jimin.

You wash up quickly, slapping yourself a few times for good measure, hoping to calm yourself down enough to be able to turn around and leave very soon. You still don’t know if it had worked but your bag is packed and you join him on the deck, dressed in your jeans and the shirt he wore yesterday that he generously let you sleep in and steal for good.

He doesn’t notice you immediately, leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed. The sight of him sitting like that, with his dark hair pulled back and tied, his neck in full view and all but glowing in the sunlight makes you want to cry. The man is actually so goddamn pretty it almost brings tears to your eyes. It doesn’t help when he notices you and smiles at you, pointing at the two bowls set on the table.

“I know it’s just noodles but honestly, I’m too pretty to know how to cook,” he explains as you take a seat. You burst out laughing at his comment.

“Cocky yet very true,” you nod in appreciation. “Don’t worry, I love ramen.”

“It’s lame but I at least I’ve added poached eggs,” he tells you, looking oh so proud about adding an extra ingredient.

“Nothing beats instant ramen,” you reassure him. “It smells of youth, not having enough money and artificial flavoring. I’ve never felt more at home,” this time around, it’s he who laughs, wishing you a good meal as the both of you dig into the food. You weren’t lying when you said it’s more than okay – you just need some food in the belly and it’s not like you’ve expected him to greet you with a full course meal. It’s the thought that counts and it’s more than enough. Actually, it might even be too much.

Halfway through your lunch, the silence between you turns slightly uncomfortable. It isn’t anything that either one of you did – it’s just the entire situation. The clock is ticking, the both of you know it and neither one of you is quite sure how to act about it. You can’t stay here for another day, even if you wanted to – your stuff and a huge chunk of your money is back at your airbnb. Even with that little detail aside, you’re not even sure if you want to say – not to mention, if he wants you to stay or not.

But it feels… wrong. It feels wrong to leave just like that, pretending like he hadn’t given you an amazing night. Not only was the sex mind-blowingly good… even before that, he was a perfect travel partner yesterday. He’s good company and knowing you’ll be saying goodbye to all of that… it doesn’t sit well with you.

Despite avoiding eye contact for a few minutes now, you fail and the moment your eyes meet from across the table, you know you’ve reached that page of the little novella the two of you wrote. He knows it too, setting away his chopsticks, sighing as he leans back into the chair. You say nothing, watching him as he stares you down, slowly shaking his head.

“I don’t want this to end,” he admits. You stay silent, following his suit as you put away your own chopsticks and lean back into the chair, completely shutting down the rest of the world – you no longer hear the birds or passing boats. You don’t see the tourists walking along the river, you don’t even feel the subtle waves that gently sway the boat you’re on – you can only focus on him, on his face, on the way he looks bothered by this. “It feels wrong to end this but at the same time, doesn’t it feel like the only proper way to go about it? Am I making any sense?” he asks, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah,” you nod immediately, assuring him that you do understand it. “It feels good, it feels right, like it would be a shame to walk away from but… what else can be done?”

“Exactly,” he agrees, leaning towards you. “It feels equally right and wrong. What are we going to do?”

You can go back to get your stuff and spend the rest of the trip here with him. You can exchange numbers and meet up back home. It could lead to something beautiful, a continuation of a marvelous chapter one, just as easily as it can lead to a complete disaster. Life’s unpredictable and you don’t know if it’s worth it to possibly ruin this amazing… encounter.

How can you even find an answer to that? Not like this whole thing hasn’t been…

“You believe in destiny, don’t you?” you ask him, suddenly putting two and two together, smiling at the confused nod he gives you. “We met here so many times. Different days, different times, we somehow ended up together. Who’s to say that won’t happen again?” you ask.

“What are you suggesting here? To… see if we meet again?”

“Exactly,” you nod, feeling proud of the solution you’ve come up with. “You believe in destiny and I don’t. If we meet again, I’d be willing to question that belief. We go our separate ways. If it ends up being a onetime encounter, we’ll remember it with smiles on our faces. And if we meet…”

“I don’t let you walk away again,” he smirks at you. You don’t say anything as that smirk turns into a genuine, real smile. He means it, he actually means it. And if you meet him again… you will too. “What happens if we run into each other back home?” he asks.

You remember how you talked last night, realizing that the two of you were hanging around the same places before, perhaps even at the same time. It made you wonder how many times you have passed one another, without a second glance, thinking of other things, of other people. Running into him back home seems more likely than seeing him again here in Paris.

“Then we say hello and see where that takes us,” you answer adamantly.

“Deal.”

He offers you his hand from across the table and you shake it firmly, suddenly a lot more hopeful than you were moments ago. No, you don’t believe in destiny but if there’s someone that could make you question that, it’s Park Jimin himself.

“Fucking hell,” you curse under your breath as you wrestle your way through the crowd – for the first time since you’ve arrived in Paris, you were stuck in the metro during rush hour and you have never felt so many backpacks smacking your face in such a short amount of time.

Trying to get Google Maps on, you make your way up the stairs and into fresh air, taking a deep breath when you do. If your phone is correct and based on your previous experiences, it’s probably not, you’re a five minute walk away from the Luxembourg Gardens. A perfect way to end your last full day in Paris – outside and hopefully away from any kind of crowd.

You walk in the direction your navigation deems right, checking every few seconds if it had started spinning out of control like it did yesterday – there is nothing more stressful than your GPS telling you to turn right and once you do, immediately telling you to take a sharp left.

It’s the smell that makes you take a detour – it’s always the smell. Sure, you could continue to sheepishly follow your navigation but when the smell of freshly baked pastry smacks you in the face, you know where you’re heading. The bakery is fairly empty and you test your poor French as you order a plain croissant.

Damn him and his plain croissants. Something that should be so simple and so irrelevant now irks you, almost to the point of you changing your order to a chocolate one. You don’t, already knowing that you’re nowhere near proficient enough in French to explain your change of heart.

The lady behind the counter is a bit of a bitch, not waiting for you to put your wallet away before she hands you your meal, giving you a dirty look when it takes you a second too long to take it from her. Offering her a sour, kiss-my-ass smile, you take the pastry and head towards the door, now trying to juggle your food, phone, wallet and the door handle, all at once.

You’ve just managed to close the door behind you and turn around, nearly avoiding a collision.

“Jesus Christ!” you gasp, gripping your phone and the pastry harder, stopping them from flying out of your hand.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!”

Your heart stops at the sound of his voice. You slowly look up, scared of both confirming and denying your suspicions, unsure which one would hurt more – him being here or him being a product of your imagination. You know that voice and you know it well.

It’s him, looking panicked and checking if you have a hold on your things. “I’m sorry, I…” he goes mute once his eyes meet yours and he realizes it’s you.

Jimin stares at you, not saying anything. One second before the encounter turns uncomfortable, you watch in amazement as he grins at you, a grin so wide and genuine your heart skips a beat.

“I… I could have dropped my croissant.”

He huffs a small laugh at your horribly timed Vine reference, pursing his lips as he tries to hide his smile – why, you don’t know and don’t care to find out because he can’t do it. He can’t hide his smile and it’s evident that he’s happy to see you. So are you, thanking and cursing at destiny at the same time.

Taking your empty hand in his, he says nothing as he intertwines your fingers and starts walking, slowly leading you away with him. You follow him, desperately thinking of what to say, of what to do but somehow too panicked to actually do anything. It feels like one of you should do something and apparently, he thinks the same because he suddenly stops and turns your way.

He puts his hands on your face, pulling you in for a kiss. The moment your lips are pressed against his, you remember how much you’ve wanted to do this since the last time you’ve kissed him, before walking down the steps of his boathouse. The relief that fills you as he deepens the kiss makes you a reluctant but firm believer in destiny.

No words are needed, you know that now. So when he leans away and smiles at you, you smile back, reaching for his hand again. He leads the way and again you follow, knowing you’re definitely not going to regret it this time either. THE END

#jimin smut #bts smut #jimin scenario #bts scenario #jimin #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts au #jimin au #park jimin #jimin writing

1K notes · View notes

1ddiscourseoftheday · 4 years

Text

🎪 Wed 22 July ♾

Anniversary madness!! Crazy times!! Oh wait, uhhhhh, not really lol... Let's see, the One Direction accounts posted, the tweet instantly shooting above a million notes to break a record and the instagram account gaining over a million followers. Always the most! Good thing they had plenty of time to take that into account with their promised website! Although Sony still don't own the actual OneDirection dot com url and didn't bother to correct that even for this occasion they did put up a site, I guess? Is it really new? Anyway just as predicted, it crashed instantly, lmao, and then when loaded it appeared to be the same old site but if you dig into the "streaming partners" content you can eventually find some unseen content in the form of vertical videos on Spotify, but not like new vertical videos for each song just like a tiny few second clip for each song. If, on the other hand, you follow the merch links you end up on ETSY looking at fan merch LMAOOOOO it's so janky WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS. Oh but wait THERE IS MORE there's... a playlist of One Direction songs. Huhhhhh okay but also unreleased songs...? No just ones that weren't on Spotify before, like for example three versions of You and I, including the "You and I duet version" which is some kind of y/n karaoke thing?! OKAY I guess???? In short: not only is the website content as underwhelming as predicted tbh it doesn't even live up to the jokes about it being not much! BUT as we saw yesterday one picture can truly yield a thousand clues so it may not be much but those Spotify pics are already being combed through and contextualized with interesting results, including that the single 'unseen' photo had, in fact, been seen.

Rolling Stone published an article talking to early 1D songwriters (but not the band.) Savan Kotecha has apparently finally realized he was on the wrong side of history and ignores his (major) role in trying to shut Louis up and talking shit about him back in the day to now praise the way Louis successfully prevailed over his, Savan's, best efforts to shut him down, going on to preside over the renowned 1D sound of their later years. In "hindsight, that was the right thing to do," he admits. MHMM. Julian Bulian on the other hand comes through with the acknowledgement that "a lot of the songs were double- like somebody might be singing about their girlfriend, but there was another meaning that applied to the group as well."

A twitter user claimed that a radio announcer said the Infinity video would drop at midnight EST tonight; that turned out to be incorrect but "unseen tour moments" are going live at midnight from iHeartRadio.

Meanwhile, a current picture of Harry in Italy (unmasked) in a restaurant kitchen pressed in close to the entire restaurant staff (mostly unmasked) for a photo was posted, and Niall posted about sports.

But let's be real, tomorrow's the big day we're looking at. It's the actual anniversary, plus if the theory that what the label is up to (so far: inexplicably squandering the opportunity to make giant piles of money off merch, and sucking Spotify's dick) and what the band themselves might get up are separate is correct we could still have some exciting content in store... right? LOL. So far that we know of we have Liam on the Capital FM breakfast show, Niall on the FM104 (Dublin) breakfast show, Niall and Liam both on another Irish breakfast show, and Liam on Radio One later. If you're noticing a trend here, well... yes. Louis and Harry, always the elephant in the room! Very on brand.

#one direction anniversary #Liam #Harry #Niall #Louis #savan Kotecha #julian bulian #er bunetta #meanwhile Niall #I'm rolling my eyes so hard at The whole content being 'listen on Spotify' but TBH #the number of people who are IN THE FANDOM who have recently revealed to me that they not only don't listen to 1D #they HAVEN'T ACTUALLY HEARD most of their songs... 🤯#Sony might be onto something #They have truly transcended their existence as a band to become a Phenomenon #tbh the funniest news of the day is the larrypocalypse (coming tomorrow!)#oh those antis always so silly hot tip guys if you're trying to issue ominous warnings #you should make them a little more ominous and less hilarious #22 july 2020 #dude you guys are freaking me out I'm used to toiling in near obscurity at least compared to this suddenly there are like one million people #looking for content and finding... me??? help

470 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Mold Me New (6) — Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, sliht angst, Slice of Life

Rating: suggested 18+ for future smut

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe!🥰✨

In this episode: Frog and Taehyung are gettin closer and closer. As they both face their most vulnerable moments since they met, finding comfort in each other's arms.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: kissing, mild swearing, allusions to smut. Taehyung suffers from tendinitis in his hands after he worked too much. Frog talks about the end of her marriage and her approach to attraction, mentioning that she could be demisexual. About this specific point, the discussion is very short and doesn't focus on details, but THAT doesn't absolutely mean that demisexuality isn't a large and delicate topic that should be disucssed in depth, it only means that the character is growing in that direction and that she'll eventually educate herself more about that topic.

Once more I'm thanking Rid (aka @taegularities). We're in this soft sh!t together 🤍

In case you like my writing, here is my directory for idol!AUs, scenarios and imagines. And in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

Enjoy 💜✨

Entering the studio was mind blowing. It looked like a garden of statues.

Sitting on the floor was Taehyung, using his elbows and forearms to wedge a large body of clay.

“Tae?”

He looked at you standing in the doorway, smiling at you almost apologetically while you were entirely shocked.

“Why are you wedging with your elbows?”

“Tendinitis.” He still smiled like his fingers and palm didn’t feel shredded by thorns.

“For god’s sake, Tae!” You made your way to him, feeling like a cat trying to slalom through an endless field of obstacles. “Baby,” you murmured, crouching down next to him, tutting and fussing once you spotted how messed up he was.

He had clay in his hair, on his face, all over his apron. “Babe.”

“I wanted to create.”

You held his face in your hands, kissing his forehead over and over. “How long have you been here?”

“What time is it?”

“It’s five o’clock. Like all of our lessons,” you reminded him, wide eyed, shaking your head.

“I’ve been here since four.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled. “Tell me you mean four in the afternoon.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. Of yesterday.”

Your face contorted in disappointment. “Get out of here!” You helped him up, clicking your tongue once you noticed he was barely able to hold himself up on his knees.

“I just stayed in the same position for too long,” he whined at your stern look.

“This cannot do, Taehyung,” you scolded him, before blocking his face, which was aiming at the crook of your neck. “No cuddles. We need to clean you up first.”

He pouted as you got rid of his apron quickly. “How aren’t you tired? Look at the floor! How can you even move in here, Taehyung!”

“Don’t call me by my full name, it scares me,” he objected, puppy eyed. “And your lesson?”

“We’re postponing that. Have you eaten at least?” You stared at the floor as you led him to the large sink.

He followed you as your hands held his hips. He liked how you touched him, and he loved how comfortable you looked doing so. Once he stood in front of the sink, you grabbed some soap and foamed it up, holding his hands and running them under the water, covering them in bubbles and getting a small groan out of him. “This will teach you a lesson,” you mumbled, intertwining your fingers with his and rubbing them together. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head before leaning his head against your shoulder while you stood behind him. “It feels better with you.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back from placing a gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s clean up your pretty face.”

Still, he tried to deepen the kiss, chasing you, hoping you’d let it slide. “You think I’m pretty?”

“You’re not just pretty. You’re scandalously good looking. You’re disgustingly perfect.”

He smiled and tried to turn. He wanted to plant his face against your chest and feel your digits massaging his scalp. He also wanted to feel you naked against his skin, but that was far from any sexual motive: he simply wanted warmth, closeness, affection. He wanted softness and intimacy. “Can we cuddle now?”

“You still have half a kilo of clay on your arms,” you replied as you took it off with gentle strokes of your palms, adding more soap to make sure no dirt was left.

“Can we cuddle after that?”

You nodded, nuzzling your nose into his hair. “We can do anything you want.”

He lowered his face to the faucet and cleaned it up, washing away the smear of dried up clay on his cheek.

“You should shower, darling,” you said, grabbing a paper towel and dabbing it against his wet face. “Or we could wash your hair.”

“Are you staying over?” He looked so hopeful, so entirely enamoured. You could barely resist him.

“I stayed over last week. I’d feel a bit out of place,” you replied shyly, trying not to feel conflicted. On one side, you felt like you were taking advantage of him, on the other you longed to caress his hair and kiss his nape until he fell asleep at your side. You also wanted to wake up with his hair tickling your chest as he gave you tiny kisses all over your neck and throat, exploiting the warmth and softness of that special spot for a gentle wake up call.

At the beginning you had worried about staying over on that first night, after dinner and… and the couch thingie. You slightly feared the thought that sharing a bed somehow meant pressuring each other into a type of intimacy neither of you was ready for. And then, a week after that fatidic rendezvous, he had asked for you to stay the night and sleep — just sleep — together. He had been extremely clear about his intentions, declaring them after dinner as you were lounging on the sofa once more. You had watched a film, made out, calmed down, washed up and headed to bed, where he had clung to you until his breathing turned into a delicate huffing sound.

You had barely resisted tears once you noticed he tended to pucker his lips in his sleep, his cheeks becoming fluffier and rounder. He had an adorable baby face.

“What if I wanted you to stay, though?” Taehyung murmured, giving you a dubious look. As he noticed you hesitating, he added: “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to stay. It would be on the same terms as last time. I’m not pressuring you or anything I—”

Finally you gave up. Maybe his presence would help you. “Okay.”

He grinned, “I should shower then.”

“You want me to cook something as you wash up?”

His eyes got wide and glittery before he kissed your cheek. “Yes, please.”

“What should I make?”

“I like anything in the fridge. Do as you please,” he replied before you moved your head in confirmation.

Once in the house, you headed for the kitchen while he immediately hit the shower. He wanted to be away from you as little as possible. Most activities were painful, like grabbing bottles and massaging his scalp and basically anything that required him to grip and strain his hand muscles and tendons. At a certain point he entirely gave up on his hair, washing his body and getting out of the shower, drying up and wearing a pair of boxers and loose pyjama pants.

“Frog?” he called from the door.

“I made bruschetta! Bread, sliced cherry tomatoes, it’s in the oven,” you answered.

“Can you come here?”

You quickly lowered the oven temperature and reached him.

You inhaled brusquely once you noticed his lean, smooth torso naked, little droplets of water still glistening here and there. “Could you wash my hair? I can’t really use my fingers much.”

You nodded silently, inhaling as you took in his chest. He looked so beautiful, his chest lithe and well-built, his tummy holding a millimetric curve, flat but not muscled. You liked it a lot.

“Shall we?”

Silently you followed him, watching as he bent down over the sink and opened the tap to further wet his hair. You noticed the bottle of shampoo and squeezed a small amount on your palm, watering it down and beginning to energetically scrub his scalp. “This okay?”

Taehyung hummed in reply, turning his head to the side a little to offer you a better angle. “Very okay. Actually, fine. Ideal.”

You smiled.

It took you a bit more time than you thought, mostly because you were a bit distracted. “Are you sleepy, sweetheart?” you asked once you managed to finish, helping him stand up straight and drying his hair haphazardly with a towel.

“I’m so caffeinated I can barely think straight,” he murmured, purring once he noticed the way you were still looking at him. “Frog. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He cupped the back of your head before he leaned to your face, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and forcing you to unseal yours, his tongue sliding in sinuously, his other arm pinning you to him. “Like you really want me to do this.”

Once your back hit the wall, his warm body contrasting with the cold tiles against your spine, you realised you needed to slow down. “Tae. Dinner,” you reminded him.

“Sure,” he unglued you from the tiles. “Do you even want me to put a shirt on?”

You shook your head and smirked. “You sure are a smooth mess.” His eyelashes looked magical from this up close. After almost three months of knowing him, you still wondered how he could be so absolutely perfect, and so real.

“Is that a yes or a no?” He cocked an eyebrow, adding a mischievous grin on his face.

“It’s definitely a yes, you tease!”

After dinner you decided to go for your usual shenanigans and headed for the living room, finding yourself a little dumbstruck when you noticed a large sculpture on the coffee table, which had been moved out of the way and to a dry and cool place. The structure was as large as your upper half and, as you switched on the lights you recognised exactly what it was. The torso was still drying, as the colour showed, and for a second you asked yourself how it would ever dry. It would of course hold water in its core, causing the structure to fail and break. And then, it would never fit in his kiln.

“You like it?”

You turned towards Taehyung. “What material is it?”

“Modelling dough. It’s made for large structures. It dries in a couple hours.There are about ten layers latched on a metallic structure. It’s modelled after you.”

Your eyes widened. “Is that why your hands have been acting up?”

He looked away in a manner that told you that yes, that was the very reason.

“Do you have a balm or something?” you asked, trying to fix the mess he made.

He left the room and came back with a glass jar. “Arnica gel smells very bad but works fine.”

You took your place on the sofa, patting the spot at your side to invite him there. He joined you in a nanosecond, placing the jar on your lap. Methodically, entirely caught in your thoughts, you opened the lid, got some lotion on his palm and began rubbing the pressure points on his palm before turning to the back of it and tracing the tendons energetically.

His relieved groan echoed into the room before he let his head fall on the back of the sofa.

The massage went on for a bit, the motions so mechanical that your mind started to wander until you eventually said your thoughts out loud.

Having him to assist had calmed you down enough that you felt ready to reflect over your worries.

“Today is my wedding anniversary. Or it was.” You kept staring at your digits digging into his flesh. “I don’t really know how I should talk about it.”

Taehyung, though looking like a lazy feline, was actually paying close attention to your words. “How was it, being married?”

You shook your head. “At the beginning there was a lot of emotion and companionship. And then life carried us away from each other. Like two leaves scattered in different directions by the wind.” Your explanation was something that had become a truth to you: at the beginning you had tortured yourself with understanding why and how it had happened. And then you had accepted the blatant way of things: separation.

“Are you scared of it happening again? That companionship to separation process?”

You shrugged. “Not really. If people drift apart, then maybe it’s because they were meant to be together for a while before they could venture towards different destinations.”

Taehyung moved closer to your neck, to get impossibly nearer. If he could, he would have crawled underneath your skin, to inhabit you like a squirrel does a tree. He wanted to build his nest in your heart and sing all his favourite songs to you, and from you he would never, ever part.

He knew he was letting himself romanticise the affection and comfort he felt for you, however, he couldn’t find anything that made him disappointed with you, or that annoyed him. There were small things here and there that made him question your approach to life, but your grounded self was the kind of roots he needed to drift in the wind and let everything surprise and amaze him.

You were his anchor and he was so infinitely glad to have met you.

“How do you feel about the whole marriage thing? Do you still believe in it?” His voice was incredibly velvety, like a mother’s caress, a lover’s glance.

You pondered your emotions and sensations. “I believe I do. I mean, it’s not like I think I failed something or love is a lie and all of that. I’m just trying to understand the… the ground rules—” You took a pause, trying to explain yourself. “Like, the foreword, you know?”

He listened and let you talk.

“What makes a couple fit for marriage? And then, what is marriage? I need it to be more than just a bunch of paperwork and legal duties. But maybe it’s just that.”

Taehyung rubbed his naked foot against yours. His feet were freezing. Plus it felt funny to test the smoothness of your calf with the sole. He wished the two of you could cuddle under the sheets, talk until the larks would start singing and thin rays of premature sunshine would start lighting up the dawn and stream into the room, colouring your face with a greyish halo before it turned pink, and then orange and then deep red for the briefest minute until bright yellow settled in.

He wanted to study the colours of you bathed in any type of light, any shade and palette that would come with the passing hours.

“I think I want more than paperwork and formalities too. It's a promise after all. You're officially telling your beloved that you will be by their side forever.”

“As someone who betrayed that promise, I don't think I can see it from that point of view anymore.” You exhaled before he placed an arm around you, almost sitting on your lap as he offered you his untreated hand.

He frowned. “It’s not like you betrayed it. You honoured it. It might say ‘till death do us part’ and all of that, but the biggest promise is to be at each other’s side, to find happiness and support and comfort in each other. You realised you couldn’t hold on to each other anymore and you let go.” He kissed your cheek. “Your right to happiness is way greater than a promise neither of you wanted to keep anymore.”

You found refuge in his hair, sniffing it gently before letting your eyelids lower. “I’m afraid I’ll break future promises, too. Sometimes I ask myself how I could keep one.” You felt incredibly calm as he started delivering gentle pecks from your temple to your ear to your jaw, the sound of his lips disclosing in quiet pops slipping into silence as he lost the excuse of kisses and started simply skimming your skin with the smooth petals of his mouth.

“You will not be alone keeping it.” He drew a line with his nose, from your cupid’s bow to the middle of your forehead, where he placed one final kiss. “It’s a shared responsibility. You won’t need to go all the way. The right one will meet you halfway, and they will be willing to go a bit farther on the days you can’t reach, just like you’ll be willing to take a few more steps on the days they’re not feeling good. It’s a compromise, and the border moves and melts.” He hummed as you kneaded the base of his thumb between your own thumb and index. “At least that’s the way I like to imagine it.”

You would meet him halfway. And you would reach for him, on days like this, when you need him and he needs you. And you would walk a bit more when he’s tired and worried and afraid, just like you knew he would come for you.

“I think it really works for friends too,” Taehyung mused. He looked at you. He wanted to meet you halfway, and renovate that promise day after day after day. One day at the time, as long as you loved him. And then he would let you go, not without trying to fix the distance between the two of you. “Sometimes the difference between lovers and friends confuses me.”

You looked at him and blinked. “Well, I would never do anything sexual with a friend. I would with a lover, though.”

He nodded and hummed as he reflected. “So I should call you my lover?”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Sure, if you’d like to.”

“I’d love to.”

You smiled, a tiny chuckle parting from your lips.

“Once you said you don’t feel attracted to just anyone. What is it that makes you feel attracted to me?” Taehyung asked, genuinely curious.

You gave a small laugh. “You know all about me meeting my husband when I was a kid, growing up together, being with him, only him until we divorced and then some.”

He nodded.

“I think that made me used to being extremely close to my partner before being capable of perceiving any type of attraction. And even when I was with him, I didn’t ever think about anyone else. All people were just—” you thought about the right word. “They were only human beings to me. I couldn’t see them as somebody I could be attracted to, especially since I never got to know anyone as much as I know Terry and him. I think you’re the first one I want to explore.” You let go of his hand.

“Thank you,” he murmured before letting his back fall against the pillows, laying down and dragging you with him so you were resting on your side, your legs tangled up with his before you found your spot flushed against his side, his chest pillowing your head and your leg thrown over his hip. He wanted to comb your hair but he didn’t want to mess it up with the balm, so he decided he could simply draw circles against your arm. “What do you mean with ‘exploring’?”

You yawned as you felt relaxation wash over you. “I mean I want to take my time to get to know you. I’ve read somewhere that people who only feel attraction for those they have an emotional bond with are called demisexual. And somehow I feel I could identify myself with that, but I think I still have too many open questions to feel like I fully belong to that category.”

Taehyung felt blessed he could listen to your thoughts out loud. They felt so precious to him, like they could give him a way to understand you better. And the more he understood you, the deeper he fell for you. “You’re still so young, you have all the time in the world. Maybe you could talk to a therapist, or find some support through online forums. You know you have my full support.”

You softened and furtherly cosied up in his arms. “Thank you so much, Tae.”

“It’s the least I can do.” You felt his voice sweeten with joy and gratitude. “We take care of each other.”

He had become your solace, your reprieve, your second chance at happiness. Hopefully, your definitive one too.

You calmed down, trying not to rush things through, reminding yourself this had been the strongest, most unreasonable form of enamourment you could have ever thought of; nevertheless, you couldn’t deny the sudden lightness and warmth and fondness that invaded you whenever he peeked into your thoughts or appeared in your sight.

“However, yes, I feel attracted to you because I’m emotionally attached to you. I don’t know what this will become, or if it will evolve into deeper feelings, but it feels good to be your friend. And to be your lover too,” you continued delicately, trying to play it cool. “I just don’t know how long this sense of attraction will last — you know, because of this being an actual first time and me being afraid of making promises and not keeping them. For now I only know I want to know you deeper. And I want to be your lover.”

Fear crawled into his veins but he let the present reassurance comfort him. “It’s okay. It’s not like I’m experienced. We’ll just let ourselves feel whatever comes our way. The only promise I need you to give me is that you’ll allow yourself to feel everything life will give you, without being afraid.”

You stretched to press a kiss to his lips. “Okay. Can I count on you to meet me halfway?”

He nodded. “As a friend, as a lover, as anything you allow me to be.”

You kissed him again, your body relaxing even more. You couldn’t hold back another yawn.

“Let’s get you to bed. I don’t want you to fall asleep on the couch.” He traced your profile with the tip of his pinky. “Come on.”

As you laid in bed, your legs tangled together, you caressed his hair, watching his eyelashes fan against his cheekbones.

“I hate that my hands hurt. I wish I could touch you more.” He turned to fit his back against your front, your hand meeting his chest and feeling his calm heartbeat.

“Did you really shape that sculpture after me?”

You noticed him nodding. “I could still feel you under my fingers. It was torture to lay in this bed without you.”

You kissed his nape. “Good thing I’m here now.”

“You make it so much better, darling.” His voice was reaching that depth that fit night-time pillow talk so perfectly.

You thought about how your life had changed since he came into it. “You make it better too, Tae.”

Taglist is open

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung x y/n #thebtswritersclub #thetruthuntoldnet

26 notes · View notes

taeyohonic · 4 years

Text

Just a Taste – Chapter Three

Summary: Being asked to take a blood test just to work at a merchandise booth should have been the first read flag for you. But you just gave them a sample of your blood in exchange for a very much needed paycheck and a summer job during BTS’ world tour. After the youngest member of the popular kpop band finds himself in a difficult situation, you come to realize that this wasn’t the last time you shed blood for your idols. or: You becomes the new donor for seven bloodthirsty idols, who seem to be way too interested in their new food source.

Pairing: OT7xfem!Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Smut, (Fluff)

Warnings: some profanity

Words: 3 k

Chapters: Prologue, Chap. I, Chap. II, Chap. III, Chap. IV, Chap. V, Chap. VI, Chap. VII

“Okay, there is no way this guy isn’t on drugs”, Joo-Won snorts as he jokingly nudges your shoulder. You can’t help but chuckle, eyes trained on the maknae… smiling radiantly in the camera. It’s such a striking contrast to his rude stone-faced smirk the day before. Of course, Joo-Won would notice.

Hell, you don’t even want to imagine the fansites and all the twitter threats dedicated to the youngest’s mood shifts. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle and his steps are light as feathers. He has such a carefree aura surrounding him – it’s enticing.

To clear your head, you take a hefty swing of the beer your friend has sneaked into the backstage-room. It was sheer luck that you met up – with your phone mysteriously vanishing and you no longer working at the booth. But it seems your … promotion was the gossip of the whole pre-concert team, so of course Joo-Won was up-to-date.

It’s not that uncommon to help out during tour, when there’s a shortage of employees. For you to move this far up in such a short time? Okay, granted, that does raise a few questions. But after your explanation, your friend was convinced, that everything was fine and dandy. When in reality…

“Or maybe he just got laid”, he shrugs, and you cough on the alcohol in your mouth.

“Damn… Woo… Why?”, you wheeze, and your friend tries not to laugh at your red face.

“Oh come on, don’t be a prude.”

“I am not”, you defend yourself, taking another sip to calm your body. The alcohol Joo-Won provided, after finding you starstruck in a dimly lit corridor, helped you getting over the fact, that sweet summer-child Jimin was a shadow. The thought alone makes you empty your bottle.

“Maybe this would be more believable, when your face doesn’t look like a tomato”, he teases and you are glad that color is returning to your face. After last night’s blood loss, every form of healthy blood flow makes you think of yesterday’s attack as a smaller incident than it was.

“Argh, stop it, Woo”, you say, punching his arm in mock anger. You two stay like this, glued to the screen and watch the concert. All the idols seem to be in great spirit – joking amongst themselves and performing to their full capacity.

It makes you wish to erase the last hours – meeting most of them in terrifying situations. Their music means a lot to you and now it will forever be tarnished by the blood and secrets spilled in the last hours.

“Want another one?”, your friend asks, after the concert finished and the people around you are again running around, packing up. Tonight, you’ll have dinner with seven vampires.

“Of course”, you answer.

***

“_____-ah!”, Jimin’s voice is extremely familiar from the hours of Spotify-loops you listened to during their last comeback. But the sweet voice is way too near and way too authentic to be coming out of your nonexistent earbuds. You turn around, the beer bottle in your guilty hands as you see the singer running towards you. His steps are es excited as his exclaim and you brace yourself for impact, his sweaty body colliding with you in no time.

The embrace feels alien, his figure roughly the same height as yours – his nose brushing against your own, warm, sweet breath meeting your skin. Wow. Jimin seems to feel way too comfortable around you for your first meeting. Well, if you count getting introduced to his shadow as well, it’ll be your second meeting. But still, invading your personal space so carefree makes your heart race. He smells so amazing, you’re not even bothered by his sweat against your brand new clothes.

“Jimin-ssi”, warns a hard voice behind him and your stare meets Taehyung’s cold eyes. They don’t stay on you for long, fixing on something behind you instead. If it’s even possible, his eyes defrost more. You remember your friend exactly at the same time Jimin’s soft embrace morphs into an uncomfortable grip. You try to turn around, but the idol doesn’t let you move an inch.

“Who are you?”, he asks. The air feels cold against your skin as a shudder travels across your body.

“Uhm, Joo-Won”, there is a short silence, “I... manage the lightstick booth.”

“I don’t see any ARMY bombs here, Joo-Won”, Taehyung answers, stepping closer to the three of you. You can clearly hear the stern tone in the way he pronounces the stranger’s name. What you can’t hear, are the profanities and treats coming out of the vampire’s mouth – too low for human ears to detect.

“Uhm, Jimin-ssi?”, you ask, awkwardness coloring your question as you – again – try to move out of his embrace.

He complies wordlessly, but doesn’t let you get far away, an arm draped around your shoulder is keeping you in place – by his side. Now you see Joo-Won’s eyes screaming for help and you feel an instant guilt resting in your stomach.

“Joo-Won is a... friend of mine", you start to explain - missing the hissed not for long as you gesture nervously around the boys. Your movement shifts Jimin’s arm from your shoulder blade to your neck and you feel his fingers flex against your skin.

Taehyung has fully joined you, having moved to your other side. Both idols flank your figure almost protectively. It’s... weirdly exciting.

“Is that so?”, the deep-voiced asks and... offers your friend his hand. Joo-Won looks at Taehyung’s offer like he has never heard of shaking hands. Before the silence gets out of control though, he grasps his hand. The lights flicker as you see Joo-Won wince in pain. What the hell?

A sickening ash complexion travels up his outstretched arm and you panic. What is Taehyung doing? In two quick steps you manage to break the handshake by moving between them. Jimin seems too enthralled by his bandmate and lets you out of his hold by accident. Now you turn your back against Joo-Won, facing the adored duo of Vmin, while shielding your friend.

“You’re here to get me for the work dinner, right?”, you say with more meaning behind your words. Both look at you with an unreadable expression. Then they nod, as if they just remember where and who they are.

“So... let’s go!” You step around both of them and head towards the exit, not even daring to turn around. The sound of hurried footsteps confirms, that both idols are following you. If you had known it’d be the last time you ever saw your friend, you might have turned around to memorize his handsome face.

***

“Where are we going?”, you ask as the two vampires hush you into the tinted van. They sit facing you and spread their legs comfortably. Taehyung’s shoes rest against your feet and his face looks so relaxed, you wish he could lend you some calm.

“To our hotel”, Taehyung answers. Jimin adds: “They have an amazing cook.”

“And a private room”, Taehyung finishes.

They do complete each other in a harmonized way, that makes you feel... very excluded.

Your hands are resting in your lap and you watch the car drive away from the concert hall. Two more events, then you’ll leave. You remember that the group stays in one of the most prestigious hotels of Tokyo. A stark contrast to your hostel. And far away from it as well. It´ll be a pain in the ass to get back later. Especially without a room key, or even a cellphone.

“Do you guys happen to know, where my cell and my key card is?”, you ask and look in the eyes of a smiling Jimin.

“Oh, Gug should have them with him.”

Yeah right, Jungkook should be there. The vampire, who sucked your blood last night. Cool, cool, cool, co-

“What do they say, ______? They are more afraid of you as you are of them”, Taehyung says reassuringly.

“That’s what people say about animals – not vampires”, you snort.

“Some say our kin is more animal than human, so...”, Taehyung shrugs and you muster him curiously.

“And what do you say?", you ask.

“Ah, don't get philosophical on our first date, _________”, Jimin whines and you do not even want to think about the word “date”. Instead you still look at the younger singer. He seems to be conflicted, before answering.

“It’s more of a balance. And sometimes it’s... more fun to agree with these people.”

You don't like the way he thinks, always believing that humanity is the only solution to live in content.

“There we are!”, both boys exclaim at the same time and you shrink in surprise. Are these two for real?

Without missing a second, Jimin opens the car door, and motions for you to step out of the vehicle. With one hand he covers his face with a mask, and you do the same. It would be more practical for him to get out first. Then you would have more room to move. But he is still as stone, as you stumble out of the car, brushing against his rumbling chest in the process.

You are at the back entrance of the five-star hotel and you can see the open door with a fidgeting waiter. After a few quick steps and two vampires behind you, you enter the building. The young staff member bows formally and you do the same – both idols not even thinking about returning the greeting. So, the good manners are just for vlives – good to know.

Soon you step into the private dining room, the air thick with anticipation as you make eye contact with the maknae. His exciting body moves at lightning speed and you are glad the waiter stepped out of eye side. For the second time today, you collide with a strong body. Jungkook’s nose dives instantly to the crook of your neck and you feel his hot breath against your earlobe.

“_________”, he murmurs and lets his nose travel up and down your pulse. You shiver in response, the recurring invasion of your private space making you feel terribly uncomfortable. Flashes of last night, the pain, the helplessness, the fear... all emotions are rushing back to you and you feel tears in your eyes.

“Jungkook. Enough”, Jin commands and the youngster whines, not moving.

“Jungkook”, the eldest tries again, this time with more volume to his voice.

Before a tear can fall, the vampire lets you go and takes a step back. His excitement crumbles when he sees the unshed tears in your eyes.

“_________?”, he asks, and your name sounds starkly different to the first time he happily called you mere moments ago.

You take a deep breath and you think you're losing your sanity, because you swear you can ... smell them. The odor doesn’t even scare you; it’s weirdly calming. With two more breaths of air you feel grounded enough to let your eyes travel across the table.

There they all sit. Jin – half standing, ready to intervene. Namjoon is watching you closely, is expression full of curiosity. Then there are Hoseok and Yoongi. The duo looks at you... in disdain. The younger rapper with rumored sunshine in his heart musters you like you are a cloud, hiding the bright orbit behind you.

And Yoongi’s eyes are filled with... dissatisfaction. You don’t need to be a mind reader to basically hear his scream “YOU DUMB HUMAN!”. Yeah, you didn’t follow his orders. But how could you not agree to Namjoon’s offer? You don’t even have to do a thing; just be there. But as you feel seven sets of inhumane eyes on you, you’re not sure, if this is really easy money.

“Alcohol!”, Jimin shouts behind you, making you jump in place. Damn, the two singers move with leisure steps forward; pushing you to the group, cold hands against your back.

Jungkook jumps away from you, creating more distance as his sad eyes linger. Why is he so upset? What did he expect? He attacked you not even twenty-four hours ago. How fast were you supposed to overcome such trauma? His bite under the band-aid burns as you self-consciously take a seat next to Jin. No way in hell will you sit next to Hoseok or Yoongi; it’s easier to face your opponents than rub against their side while eating. Before you are fully seated, you feel Jungkook take the place on your other side.

You eye him with suspicion, but the young man looks at you with big, innocent deer eyes, you can’t begin to compare him to the vampire version of last night. Maybe it’s for the best if you don’t even try. You are only here, getting paid handsomely, because of this boy. You are the leftover he needs around.

“Is that okay, Noona?”, he whispers as he – again – leans close to you. You shiver; this time not in fear, as you nod silently. Across from you Hoseok chuckles humorlessly. You ignore the blunt mockery and look at Namjoon for any form of leadership. He still just observes, now focused on the youngest as Jungkook smiles. You accepted him next to you. And he can’t smell fear on you anymore – maybe a bit apprehension, but no fear. He is getting even more excited now that your warmth radiates against his cold, dead body.

“Uhm – … did you mention alcohol?”, you ask, no longer able to stomach the thick silence. Jimin, sitting next to Taehyung, laughs freely as he brings out a few unopened soju bottles from under the table. With ease the young singer moves your favorite – strawberry flavor – in front of you and you thank him with a kind smile.

The others soon join, Hoseok being the only one without a fresh bottle, still managing half of his last one.

“It seems this isn’t your first today”, Yoongi comments, cold eyes on you as your cheeks redden – making Jungkook groan in satisfaction.

Is your drinking with Joo-Won this noticeable? You hold your alcohol well, and you are sure you didn’t stumble or slur in the last ten minutes, so how c-

“It’s your breath”, Namjoon explains unsolicited. A hand flies to your mouth. They… can smell the alcohol in your breath? How? You chewed gum before Taehyung and Jimin collected you.

“We have a heightened smell”, he adds, “all our senses are improved.”

“That makes concerts extremely fun”, Jimin says toasting his bottle in your direction. “The lights, the screams, the sweat and all the blood-bags in a stadium – it’s intoxicating.”

Your eyes widen at being called a blood bag. But before you can voice being offended, Yoongi repeats his question, rephrased.

“You pre-game, when you know you have dinner with seven vampires?” There is belittlement in his voice and you feel shame.

In your college days it wasn’t unusual to participate in daydrinking, or just an after-lecture beer. But now – faced with idols, who performed relentlessly for hours in tiering conditions – it makes you feel cheap. And watching the sadistic pleasure in Yoongi’s eyes makes you think, that this is exactly what he wants.

“I- it was just a drink with a friend”, you defend yourself and don’t notice, how the movement in the room stills.

“What friend?”, Namjoon asks icily, as he freezes your time, while looking at Taehyung and Jimin.

“A low leveled booth worker was all around her, when we found her”, Jimin starts and tries not to move too much, so you won’t get a whiplash when being in sync again.

“I took care of him”, Taehyung finishes and takes a swing from his non-alcoholic beer. He didn’t like alcohol when he was alive and he sure as hell doesn’t care for the intoxication now that he is dead. But that doesn’t mean the vampire doesn’t adore Jimin’s drunk stumbles and Jungkook’s alcohol infused exhibition.

Every single vampire at the table knows what the vocalist means with his words. The uncontrolled power to extract life-light through touch equals a disaster. But after many years of training Taehyung can control and dosage his ability to… everybody’s benefit. Joo-Won will be weak, ill and even thinking he wants to die. But the few seconds of power extraction wasn’t meant to kill – it was meant as a warning.

“Did anything else happen to her while you were supposed to look after her?”, Jungkook hisses sarcastically and looks at his brothers. Both avoid the venom in his eyes.

“If you can’t remember, we were actually with you on stage during the concert. How could we control her whereabouts, when we were hip-thrusting next to you? Hm?”, Jimin responds and the room fills with confrontation. Jin shifts uncomfortably in his seat – the emotions in high drive from his brothers. He is very thankful that the leader froze you, otherwise he couldn’t manage all the feelings in this group.

Jungkook stands abruptly, ready to pounce on the smallest.

“If you had let me keep her with me, this conversation wouldn’t even happen.”

“Ha”, Yoongi laughs darkly, “If we had left you with her, you’d be sucking her nipples by now.”

The lights flicker and Namjoon – again – just observes instead of intervening.

Hoseok moves suddenly, circling around the table until he stands directly behind your still form. He stares at you with dark curiosity.

What the hell where you doing with them? What could be so fascinating about you to make Jungkook this mad at Jimin and Taehyung? What made Yoongi leave his bed last night?

Why isn’t Namjoon stepping up as leader? Why can’t Jin control the room?

Why is he standing behind you? Why is he bending down to your face? Why is he craning his neck to face you – supporting himself with a hand on the table? Why are your eyes deeper than his desire to eliminate you as the thread you are?

And most importantly: Why are you blinking at him?

“What the hell?”, Namjoon and you exclaim at the same time as you stare at Hoseok’s surprised eyes, which are closer than logic would permit.

_______________________

AN: Sub, people! I’m sorry for the late post, covid-19 is a real b**** and my workload has doubled over the last few weeks. Thank you so muc to every single one, who commented, rebloged, liked, read! I am still very touched to hear, which parts/characters/storylines you enjoyed!

What did you guys think of “eight”? I’m a deep rooted shawol, so the MV in particular hit right at home.

I hope you all stay safe and happy! Let me know what you think! All the best, Dana

#ot7 x reader #bangtan fanfic #bts x reader #vampire bts #bts x you #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #seokjin x reader #namjoon x reader #bts smut

637 notes · View notes

ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 3 years

Text

You Say It Best (When You Say Nothing At All)

Pairing: Starker (Peter Parker/Tony Stark) Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: This one was based off an anonymous prompt asking for the use of the quote “you say it best”. In typical Bobbie fashion, I set to spotify and made music the ultimate muse. Word Count: 7.4K Warnings: Tony is deaf in this one and ASL is mentioned/used frequently. There’s also some NSFW stuff, but that’s a usual for me. Summary:

Peter Parker doesn't like the subway, but relents when he gets a job with the New York Philharmonic. The gig he's been waiting for all his life is definitely worth an early morning ride. Things go from good to not so much when a stranger takes Peter's coveted seat - every Monday morning. It doesn't take long for Peter to confront him, only to find out that people aren't always what they seem.

Or - the one where Peter and Tony learn what love really is.

Read it on AO3 here.

It all started with a monumental misunderstanding.

For most of college, Peter got away with never riding the subway. His home-grown roots and the steady cliché personified by practically every move based in New York left a dirty taste in his mouth about the underground motor system – a part of him didn’t want to admit that they scared him (just a little). For the 6 years he diligently attended Tisch’s music program, Peter lived close enough to avoid any sort of transportation aside from the use of his own two legs.

Staying in the city, Peter should’ve figured that he would inevitably need to ride the subway some time or another – taking a taxi was a total no-no and not everywhere could be reached by bike. Of course, that predestined time finally made itself apparent when the New York Philharmonic came calling – after years of practice, performance, and gritting his teeth against the teasing, Peter was finally realizing his dream; and, ironically, getting himself a subway pass.

Despite the weird fear he harbored for all of his existence in the city, Peter found his rides on the subway to be pretty calm and easy. Having to grab the earliest train, Peter realized that there were good and bad times of the day to be catching a subway. He sent up a little word of thanks when his usual car stayed relatively empty for the third week in a row. His trusty seat by the window with just enough space to fit his saxophone case stayed empty and ready for him every day. Life was good.

Until it didn’t – and then suddenly life wasn’t that good again.

For the first time in weeks, Peter got onto the subway and immediately found himself frowning. His usual seat was rudely occupied with someone completely new, the curly brown hair of the man both flattering and unkempt. Attempting to be cool about it, Peter stealthily glared daggers over at the individual, his frustration for the break in his routine bubbling just barely under the surface.

Determined to speak up for himself the next day, Peter got on his train to find his seat once again empty, the man from yesterday nowhere to be found. Letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Peter quickly took his seat – the need for sameness overcoming the curiosity the brunette man from the previous day stirred up in him; he wanted to be frustrated by him, not attracted to the honey color his dark brown hair changed to when it caught the light.

Things stayed normal for the rest of the week – every morning, Peter prepared himself for a turf battle, and every morning, he found himself a little bit disappointed that his seat competition wasn’t there to both look gorgeous and be frustrating in Peter’s self-proclaimed space.

Boarding the subway a week from that first encounter, Peter was once again caught off guard by the same man sitting innocently in his seat. Though the man couldn’t know how much drama he was causing him, Peter felt his anger boiling up again, the idea of not sitting in the usual place grating against the already abysmal feeling of a Monday morning. By the time he worked himself up enough to actually talk to the other man, his seat was conspicuously empty. In his brooding, Peter missed his opportunity – he cursed himself of the lost chance, then quickly took the seat so no one else could ruin his everyday routine.

After the fourth week of the Monday seat-napping occurrence, Peter felt fed up and impulsively followed the man off the subway when they got to his usual stop. Realizing how creepy it was that he watched the stranger enough to know when his prime opportunity would be, Peter almost stopped himself from pursuit, his feet hesitating a few seconds before his frustration won out. Gritting his teeth, Peter shook his head and continued to follow.

When the foot traffic brought them together, Peter reached out and grabbed the man’s shoulder – his touch light, despite the aggression of the move to begin with. He kept himself from blowing up until they were facing each other – then let shit loose.

As he spoke and gestured wildly, Peter noticed the man’s expression moved from surprised to confused pretty fast. His eyebrows were pinched, both eyes attempting (in vain) to watch the way his lips moved. It wasn’t until he saw the man shuffling that he stopped his fast talking (should be read yelling) and paused to take a well needed breath.

All of a sudden, Peter saw the man pull his gloves from his fingers, the thought of getting punched at the forefront of his mind, before noticing that those very fingers were moving a mile a minute. He remembered just enough from his freshman sign language class to recognize the ASL but was lost after that. The stranger continued to gesture before a grin randomly broke out across his face. Peter figured his own facial expression was worth the stranger’s smirk.

An obviously underused voice sounded in his ears next, Peter’s face dropping again, a rush of a deep blush rushing to his face at the words that were spoken from the stranger’s mouth. “I can tell you’re confused. It sucks not being able to understand someone, doesn’t it?” Though the man was talking, his fingers gestured with each word – the man obviously more comfortable with his hands than with spoken dialect.

Letting go of a very embarrassed breath, Peter let his eyes fall to his shoes, apprehension and shame filling up the space between them. “Shit, I’m so sorry. Not just for not knowing that you’re deaf, but for yelling at you at all.” He stopped then, the realization of his words hitting him square in the chest. The guy standing in front of him was deaf, and he was still talking at him a mile a minute. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I – you probably don’t even know what I’m saying.”

The man let his grin grow at that, a look of amusement fresh in honey-hazel eyes. “I can read lips, actually. You’re very emotive.”

A beat of silence rested between them before the slightly scratchy voice sounded again. “I’m Tony.” The man – Tony, pointed to himself, his hands fingerspelling as he introduced himself.

Peter couldn’t keep the smile from blooming across his lips, eyes twinkling as he finger spelt his own name back, those specific letters close to the extent of his ASL knowledge. “I’m Peter. And insanely embarrassed by my behavior. Can I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

Tony’s answering beam made Peter’s stomach lurch, the heat settling there unlike anything he felt before. It took a lot of effort to push it down, even more so when Tony nodded, his eyes twinkling with mirth and interest.

As one could expect, it took them a few minutes to really master talking with each other.

After getting the affirmative, Peter tucked his head and started to trudge towards the nearest coffee shop – Tony’s usual stop was only two away from his own, so the turf felt relatively familiar. He wandered these streets often between his morning and afternoon rehearsals – enough to know about the cute little hole in the wall with the best espresso. His feet led them there easily, Peter only looking back over his shoulder twice to make sure Tony was still there, following closely on his heels.

Peter let Tony deal with ordering for himself, then stepped up and added his own triple shot espresso to the ticket – his bank card coming out faster than it ever had before. A simple cup of coffee was the least he could do; it wasn’t often people got yelled at by random strangers on the street.

For such an awkward way of meeting, Tony took everything in stride. He too must’ve been a regular at the coffee shop – Tony stood in what looked like his usual spot and waited patiently for the barista to slip the cup in front of him, instead of yelling out his name like she did for every other patron.

In his observation, Peter noticed Tony’s way of speaking without saying anything at all. He smiled widely and allowed his eyes to do a lot of his talking, the deep color of them just as animated as the looks being cast about. Though he gestured with his hands often, Tony adapted to those around him easily, the man quick to find a way to get his point across.

When they sat down across from each other, Peter took a sip of his drink before even thinking to speak – the thought of his undercaffeinated mind causing him any more drama a very real worry.

The coffee did its job a couple of moments later, Peter’s insides warming suspiciously like they did when he saw Tony smile for the first time. Brushing that thought aside, Peter let his eyes roam over Tony, the man still sitting there patiently, his patented grin pulling at lips that looked to be way too kissable for their own good. He let his eyes stay there for a moment before clearing his throat, unusual nervousness washing over him.

Much to his surprise, Peter felt a hand on his own before he could get any words out. His eyes bulged for a second at the weird feeling of rightness that overcame him – Tony’s tan hands were calloused and covered in what looked to be paint or marker. Interesting, even down to his very hands.

“Don’t be nervous. I can get five words out of ten and keep up pretty well if you don’t start yelling at me like you were. I don’t expect you to know how to sign and these” he said, gesturing at the hearing aids Peter hadn’t even noticed, “help muddle through the vibration of your words. I’m probably a better listener than you are.” Tony flashed him his eyebrows at that, his amusement at the entire situation written so plainly on his face.

Blushing, Peter nodded, his gaze averting for a second to collect himself. Though they weren’t touching anymore, Peter could feel the pressure on his skin, Tony’s kindly spoken words wrapping the rest of him up so peculiarly. From being a complete ass to totally smitten, Peter wasn’t sure what was happening to him – what the man in front of him could do to him just by being an admirable person.

“You’re probably right about that. The only thing I really like to listen to is music. And that’s usually just to make sure I don’t miss my own cues when I’m playing.”

Tony’s eyes lit up at that, his hands making the sign for music without much thought. “You’re a musician? What do you play?” His eyes glowed with earnest; a genuine interest written clearly in his gaze.

“I’m the second seat saxophone for the New York Philharmonic. I usually play the alto, but I fill in on the bass line when the pieces demand more of a commanding sound. I’d prefer to play the bass, actually – much more my style.”

“I played the tympany for a while in high school, if you can believe it. Percussion gives off the best vibrations.” Tony mimicked playing the instrument, his hands holding the pretend mallets the same way he would’ve if the percussion was actually sitting there. Peter let himself feel a little giddy at that – music was his life; sharing the passion for it felt good for a change. The usual forced enjoyment of his colleagues could be so grating, but Tony – Tony made it feel novel, like it used to before performing became a job.

“I was too small for the drums when they were distributing instruments in sixth grade. I was lucky to have landed the saxophone instead of the flute.”

Conversation flowed easily between them after that.

Tony fumbled every now and again, the quirk of his brow causing Peter to slow down or back up to make his words clearer. Aside from that, their conversation didn’t falter. Peter eagerly sussed out that Tony was an artist that worked in graphic design, the dark marker on his fingers making sense as he dug into his bag and pulled out his latest work. The blue on his fingers matched the lid of the tracing marker stuck in the middle of Tony’s book of art. His eyes lit up as he gestured and pointed at the different pieces of the work – Tony’s energy and enjoyment insanely intoxicating.

By the time Peter’s ‘oh shit’ alarm went off, they were deep in conversation about the difference between Marvel and DC’s comic prowess, Tony more interested in the art than Peter and his character driven preferences. Looking up as he shut the alarm off, Peter gestured to his phone, the screen still alive and bright.

“I’ve got to go, but I’d love to get your number.” Peter pushed the phone towards Tony, his cheeks warm from the hope and want of a nice conversation and obvious chemistry.

Tony pulled the phone towards him, his pointer finger tracing the edge of Peter’s case. “You can have it, under one condition.”

Peter quirked his brow at that, his head rising in recognition. “Sure, what is it?”

“Tell me why you were yelling at me.”

Blushing more furiously, Peter let his hand drift to the back of his neck, the nervous gesture one he picked up after having the shoulder harness on during hours of playing. “It’s kind of stupid – but you were in my seat. Have been, every Monday, for the past few weeks.”

The oddest sound fell from Tony’s lips, the soundless laugh choked off like the chuff of a dog without a voice box. The joy in it sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, his face splitting into a grin, despite the raging embarrassment that lashed at his skin.

“I knew it. I kept taking it after that first week just to see what you’d do. You’re something else, Peter.”

And though he wasn’t the most familiar with ASL, Peter knew Tony’s parting gesture was something affectionately close to the one used to call someone an idiot.

For a while, the bulk of their conversation existed through the realm of text messages. Having just got into performance season, Peter didn’t have a lot of in-person time to spare. Between rehearsals and practice concerts, there wasn’t much time to function normally, let alone nurture a new courtship – so, they made do.

Most mornings, Peter woke up to some sort of text message from Tony. From little things like quips about the weather to snippets and sneak previews of his latest drawings and commissions. No matter what he opened up, Peter came to enjoy whatever Tony Stark sent his way.

The messages continued throughout the day, usually Tony narrating a zoom meeting, or talking mad shit about the neighbor who lived across the hall from him (based on her comings and goings, Tony swore the older woman was a British spy). There was always something to respond to between songs and stints of rehearsal – the idea of not being alone more than welcome after spending entire pieces and concerts in the depths of his music space, that section of his brain lonely now that Peter knew what good company felt like.

It was almost weird, then, when Peter found himself with a couple nights off after the hustle and bustle of the city’s celebration of Christmas. Aside from his New Year’s obligations, Peter was finally free to spend a little time with Tony in person. So free, in fact, that he found himself brushing up on a few rudimentary signs before meeting up with him.

When the day finally came, Peter felt the slightest bit of apprehension. They were surprising, the nerves – for all intents and purposes, Peter spent the last three months in constant communication with Tony. When they weren’t texting, they were sending pictures through snapchat, their multitude of faces saying so much more than words between them ever really could.

Maybe that was it – the rightness of the thing between them. Having never experienced it before, Peter couldn’t decide if it was the greatest thing to happen to him, or the weirdest experience of his life. Not growing up with his own parents made it hard to understand connection – especially the guttural, natural kind that usually came from the relationship between parents and child. Most of his relationships served a purpose, but his thing with Tony only brought him joy and excitement; a feeling so foreign, he wasn’t really sure what to do with it.

Putting it all away, Peter did his best to shake off the nerves – the least he could do was give whatever it was between him and Tony a chance. They were so good together in so many ways. He could practically feel Tony in each of his text messages, the man good at choosing his words to make the most maximum of impact. There was a connection that wouldn’t exist if Tony didn’t have to spend so much time trying to understand the rest of the world – Peter didn’t understand himself, but Tony luckily seemed to; so much that Peter learned a thing or two every now and again.

Despite it all, Peter felt whatever negative feelings within him completely dissipate when Tony answered his door. They figured the best way to really spend some quality time together was for one of them to cook, an action that Tony took upon himself without hesitation (the face Peter made when Tony brought up the idea probably had something to do with that, but Peter sure as hell wasn’t going to point that out). The other man’s smile was genuine and if the smells wafting from the apartment were anything to go by, the food was going to be insanely delicious, too.

Before he could psyche himself out of it, Peter drew Tony into a quick hug, then let his fingers fly. “It’s nice to see you again,” Peter said with his hands, his lip drawn between his teeth the entire time.

Letting out a soft gasp, Tony lit up, his grin dimpling with its intensity. He took a step forward, his own hands reaching out to grab Peter’s. “You’ve been practicing. That greeting has its own sign,” Tony babbled proudly, their arms moving together through the correct movement. “Lazier, but more recognizable.”

Peter felt himself melt into the touch, the thought of not getting his attempt right flying from his brain the second Tony gripped him. The warmth that radiated from Tony’s chest pulled him in, their innocent embrace bringing him an unnamable happiness.

Just as that thought started to settle, Tony released him, a knowing look sitting between the crease of his brows. “Come in, come in. Want to sit for a drink? The stuff on the stove still needs a few minutes to simmer.” Now that he was aware of Peter’s practice, Tony used his hands with every word, the signs a lot slower than the last time they muddled through conversation.

Peter followed Tony over to the small bar in the corner of the room, his presence more than enough of an answer for the other man, who was already pouring them a dense finger of what looked like amazing whiskey. After passing Peter his, Tony raised his glass for a toast – his eyes practically glowing. “To new things,” Tony said, his voice clear and filled with warmth – more than likely affection, too.

Clanking their glasses together, Peter ducked his head – the entire situation between them so new, and yet, so damn familiar all at once.

By the time they nursed their first drink, a blinking light at the entrance of the kitchen caught Tony’s attention, his body springing to action before Peter even recognized what could possibly be going on. Tony shot him a smile, his hands already moving. “I can’t hear the buzzer on the oven, so the light tells me when it’s going off.”

A flush moved over Peter’s skin, the simplicity of the explanation making him feel a little silly – in all of his time as a human, he never gave any thought to the things he used on a daily basis, how some people couldn’t use the things that seemed so simple and normal to him. Like every second of his time with Tony, Peter felt both out of his depth and completely mystified to constant be learning new, eye-opening things.

As he initially thought, Tony’s cooking was absolutely excellent. They ate at a small table in the corner of Tony’s kitchen, the room well equipped, the space an obvious lifeline of the apartment.

“I spend a lot of time in here,” Tony mumbled around the chicken parmesan in his mouth. His eyes caught Peter’s, the glance saying just how tuned in to his thoughts Tony actually was. “The kitchen has the best light for drawing – and I love to cook.” He enunciated the last word with a sign, his fingers deft in their movement.

“I can tell. Everything is amazing. You even cooked fresh pasta!” He twirled a noodle around his fork for emphasis, the freshness of it apparent even then.

“It’s a way to connect. Cooking. I’m not the best communicator – but I sure as heck know how to get my point across.”

Those words sat with Peter for the rest of dinner, and well into the after dessert making out they were doing on Tony’s insanely comfortable couch.

Peter didn’t hesitate to close the distance between them when Tony led them back into the living room, a drink in each of their hands. As they sat down and put their crystal glasses on the coffee table, Tony slung his arm around the back of the couch, Peter allowing himself to narrow the distance and absorb all the points of contact on offer. Like magnets, their lips found each other, the firm press of Tony’s against his own like the rest of him – pure, genuine, and upfront. In all things, Tony was upfront.

Straddled across Tony’s lap a little while later, Peter broke their kiss, the softest noise of confusion sounding in the room around them. Unable to decipher who made it, Peter quieted them both by climbing up and off Tony, his hands pulling the man up with him. “Will you show me your bedroom?” Peter needlessly asked as their lips sealed together in a chaste kiss, both unable to stay separated for too long.

Instead of answering, Tony gripped Peter’s hips and pulled him close, their bodies pressed flush together. Breaking the kiss, Tony used his hold to guide Peter back, the two of them stumbling in the awkward dance of too many limbs and not enough space all the way down the hall and into a well decorated bedroom.

A gigantic king-sized mattress took up much of the room, a large wooden bedframe outlining it and making the feel of it grand, almost eye-pulling. Crisp maroon sheets were jumbled in the middle of it, as if Tony didn’t make his bed after rolling from it earlier that morning (he didn’t), and an avalanche of pillows took up the head of it, the collective feeling of fluffiness making a rush of affection sneak into his chest. Tony liked to be comfortable, that much was obvious.

The softest touch against his cheek brought Peter back from the vortex of his thoughts, Tony’s questioning gaze warm in its inquiry. Calloused fingers brushed over the meat of his cheek, the caress pulling a moan from his lips.

“Is this okay? I really want you, but you look a little nervous,” Tony said softly, the words kind of jumbled against the skin of Peter’s neck where lips were worrying endlessly.

Moving suddenly, Peter grabbed Tony’s cheeks, his grip just enough to bring Tony’s focus back to Peter’s face, the need for his smile to be seen more important than the physical arousal coursing through him. “I am nervous. You mean a lot to me. I don’t – want to fuck this up. I want you, Tony. I do – I want you so much.” He spoke slowly, each word important, each one needing to be heard more than anything else.

“You can’t fuck it up. I’m here. Right here, Pete.” Tony pulled back enough to make the sign he chose for Peter’s name – a finger spelt P followed by the unmistakable sign for beautiful. “You can have me. It’s okay.”

Not a lot of words were shared after that. Peter gave in to the chemistry that roared between them, his hands making deft work of Tony’s shirt, then his own before there was nothing left between them but the slightly graying hair on Tony’s chest. In eager exploration, Peter ran his fingers down the length of Tony’s stomach, up his sides, and across soft lips – his hands for once doing all the talking for him.

Settling back against the bed, Peter felt Tony take the same path across his skin, his fingertips and nails followed shortly by tongue, lips, and teeth. By the time Tony made it down to his cock, Peter was hypersensitive, each one of Tony’s touches feeling like a shock to his core. So distracted by the goodness of it all, Peter didn’t notice the opening of a drawer, or the subtle click of the top of the lube opening. It wasn’t until the combination of warm lips around his cock and cold fingers pressing against his rim, that Peter realized Tony was moving things along – eagerly, if the desperate thrusts against his leg were to say anything.

Before pressing any further forward, Tony used his free hand to sign “okay?” in the cutest of ways. Peter was splayed open wide, on display like a fucking meal, and Tony still wanted to make sure. The thought struck him to the core. Shaking the immensity of it away, Peter nodded, his eyes slipping closed as Tony redoubled his efforts.

One finger quickly became two, Tony methodically pressing in and spreading his fingers to test the stretch and give of Peter’s rim. He found Peter’s prostate pretty early on, the tip of his middle finger hitting it within the first few strokes of his fingers pressed into tight heat. The constant pressure and immense fullness kept him from spiraling over the edge – but just barely.

Sliding a hand into Tony’s hair, Peter gripped the locks tightly, his fingertips digging into the soft scalp below. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to make a mess.” Peter let himself pant out a few breaths, a few pulses of pre-cum dripping with each word. “Please, I’m ready. I’m ready, Tony.”

He wasn’t sure if Tony saw the words coming out of his mouth, but he moved like he did – his body completely in tune with Peter, like each movement Peter made was another page in the instruction manual, another thing for Tony to categorize and use for the rest of time.

A displeased noise left his lips when Tony pulled his fingers out, the feeling of emptiness both uncomfortable and unsatisfying now that Peter knew just how good Tony felt inside him. The emptiness didn’t last for long, though – Tony drew back just enough to tear open the condom with his teeth, the rubber going down over his cock quicker than Peter thought it could. His last rational thought revolved around the opening of the lube cap and the slightly cold press of a warm tip to his most intimate place.

Inch by inch, Tony pressed himself inside, the obvious pulse of his cock enough to force Peter to relax – he wanted to feel every part of the other man, all of his twitches and throbs included. When he finally bottomed out, Peter grabbed Tony’s face, forcing his eyes up and on his own. “You feel so good, Tony,” Peter whispered, his mouth exaggerating every word.

The pure joy on Tony’s face made Peter’s cock twitch, the feeling of happiness an unknown aphrodisiac with a line straight to his pleasure center. Closing his eyes, Peter let everything wash over him, even the sign for ‘me too’ Tony pressed into the skin of Peter’s chest.

With Tony starting to thrust, Peter relaxed further and gave his body over to the other’s manipulations. Like all things, Tony moved with what seemed like a never-ending amount of energy. His fingers dug into Peter’s thighs as he held them tightly in his hands, Tony’s grip flexing with every thrust. His lips traced the length of Peter’s neck and clavicle, the slightest suck marks left behind in the most gentlemanly of ways. From the subtle brush of chest hair over peaked nipples, to the friction their bellies created, Peter felt on edge from the very start.

Little by little, Tony shifted the intensity of his thrusts, his hips rolling and grinding down against Peter’s prostate the second he managed to find it with the tip of his cock. Though Peter was sure he wasn’t conscious of them, Tony’s grunts and moans got louder in pitch with each steadily increasing thrust, the sound like the beautiful music Peter made on a daily basis.

When it was finally too much to holdout any longer, Peter let his fingers tangle into the hair at the back of Tony’s head, his clenching grip enough to draw Tony’s attention back to Peter’s face. His beautiful hazel eyes took in every miniscule facial expression Peter made as he came apart; every crinkle on his brow, every flare of his nostrils, even the shape of his lips when he finally took that plunge over the edge. Peter managed to get his eyes open just enough to see Tony lose it, too – the magnitude of this sort of vulnerability not lost on Peter a single bit.

----

The beautiful thing between them continue to bloom as the month’s past.

Despite living in a life continually filled with noise, Peter loved the silence that came with his place in Tony’s life. After understanding just how important it was to have a direct line of communication with Tony, Peter eagerly started his quest to learn the in’s and out’s of ASL – his teacher one of the best and most knowledgeable on the subject.

With a good reason to want to learn, Peter took to the language like a duck to water. They stilled verbally communicated pretty frequently, but Peter didn’t feel nearly as lost when Tony started to talk without using his words like he so often did. The signs and little subtleties were becoming a part of his life, each one just as important as the notes he used to create his life’s work.

Of course, Peter still felt a few reservations throughout their time together. Sometimes, no matter how hard he tried, Tony couldn’t keep up; especially in big groups of people, or around strangers that weren’t familiar with his particular brand of needs. He never went out of his way to let Peter know how he felt, but the obvious lack of Tony’s presence in those conversations could be felt.

As much as it frustrated Tony, it grated on Peter every now and again, too. It took so much effort to communicate, his old habits of talking fast or not facing Tony coming back without thought – the idea of not being able to send his signal to Tony easily just as frustrating as not being able to receive it.

And when it came to his music, Peter found it the slightest bit sad that Tony couldn’t hear the smooth tones and sounds that came from his instrument. Though he talked often about the way music felt, Peter wanted Tony to hear him – to appreciate the craft the way it was meant to be appreciated.

One of their evenings together, Peter was practicing in Tony’s front room while his boyfriend worked diligently on his latest commission, the head-down look about him one that Peter recognized pretty easily after so much time together. He warmed up with scales, then brought his first piece of music out of his folder, the familiar notes bringing him a sense of comfort that not a lot of other things could touch (Tony, of course, being the one exception). Playing through the first piece without much thought, Peter was surprised to feel a hand on his shoulder that easily slipped down to palm at his chest.

Letting the saxophone rest against the side of his thigh, Peter signed swiftly, his ASL so much better now that the two of them spent so much time with each other. “What’s up? Everything okay?” Peter asked, his fingers almost perfectly making each sign.

Tony smiled softly at him, his cheeks pinching into the adorable little dimple Peter loved so much.

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to listen to you play.”

Quirking his head, Peter pointed at the couch – “I’d like that, sit down and I’ll play you something.”

Without thought, Tony moved closer to him, his hand pressing more firmly against Peter’s chest. “I’ll be able to hear it here.” Tony said aloud, his voice twisting a little in annoyance. “The floor muffles the sound over there. I want to feel it.”

Unable to stop the small flare of irritation from slipping, Peter shook his head, eyes rolling. “It’s distracting. I can’t play with you standing right there.” Each word was a lie, the both of them more than aware that he could, in fact, play with Tony’s hand pressed against him – they’d even attempted (unsuccessfully) to have Tony’s cheek pressed tightly to his chest. Peter wasn’t sure what made him lash out or say something to hurt – it just fell from his mouth carelessly, without thought.

The way Tony pulled his hand back, almost as if he’d been burnt, made Peter feel guilty, which inevitably led to him letting more of his temper rear its angry head. “I sometimes wish you could just hear like everyone else. It’d make things so much easier.”

For the first time in their entire relationship, Peter felt the silence. In the moments between such nasty words leaving his lips and Tony’s reaction, the usually easy absence in noise felt louder than any concert Peter could remember playing. It was palpable, alive in a way that shouted turbulence ahead.

Then, Tony shifted until they were level with each other, his hands moving stiff, ruthless in their sincerity. He didn’t speak, not like Tony usually did when saying something he wanted to make sure Peter understood. “If it’s so hard to have me in your life, you’re welcome to go. I don’t need this – your lack of understanding. I thought you were different; but you’re just like everyone else.”

Tony didn’t say anything more, he simply got up and padded quietly into the kitchen where the sound of squeaking markers against paper could be heard just a moment later.

Knowing how much he fucked up, but still feeling a little bit of that lingering anger, Peter packed his music and saxophone up, leaving Tony’s apartment with no sound at all left behind.

It took a few days for Peter’s wallowing to get the best of him.

In the twenty steps it took to get to the elevator from Tony’s door, Peter realized just how shitty his behavior was. In all of their time together, Peter never thought of Tony as a burden or any sort of problem. Instead of turning around like he should’ve, however, Peter walked on, the ding of the elevator like a final note in their piece. He took every step of their attempt to communicate (and do it well) in stride, trying as hard as he knew Tony had to every second to get where they wanted to go together. It wasn’t a problem. It wasn’t.

Yet, in his anger, Peter let the one thing Tony couldn’t change or help become an obstacle between them when it never was before. He felt frustration towards the hurdle they were always jumping, but never towards Tony – no matter what stupid words came out of his mouth.

After missing three practices in a row, Peter wasn’t surprised to see one of his fellow orchestra members at his door – the beautiful Natasha Romanov knocked the way she played the cello, primly and without any room for bull shit. Her hand was rhythmic and demanding, the tone telling Peter he shouldn’t even think about ignoring the person on the other side. Bucking up (because he knew she’d never go away if he didn’t), Peter pulled a sweater over his three-day-old t-shirt and answered the door.

“Parker, you look like shit. Smell kind of like it, too. What the fuck’s going on? It’s not like you to miss rehearsals.” Natasha’s voice was booming, her words loud after so much time intimately wrapped up in Tony’s silence. “Who do I need to beat up?”

Peter couldn’t help the small smile that overtook his face – despite the guilt and shame hanging so heavily upon his shoulders, it felt good to have someone have his back; even if it wasn’t all that deserved.

“Me, actually. You should come inside. We’ll need coffee for this conversation.”

Leading her into his somewhat disordered apartment, Peter set about making coffee before saying anything more. He refreshed the grounds in the French press, then poured them each a piping hot cup of the good stuff, his anxiety lessening ever so slightly with each delightful breath of delectable coffee scent being pulled into his lungs.

It took him three sips before he felt ready to talk, the heaviness of all the things finally lifting.

“I’m an asshole, Nat. You’ve met Tony – good, genuine, sincerely lovely Tony. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me and I was… unkind. Incredibly so. I told him it would be easier if he could hear – if he wasn’t who he is. I’ve been too embarrassed to step foot outside of my apartment. Or play. I can’t – not when I made such a mess of things.”

In her no-nonsense way, Nat took in his words, paused to let them sink in, then slapped him across the back of the head. She looked him down squarely, her eyes unblinking. “You and I both know you deserve that.” Natasha remarked before letting her features soften, a look of understanding settling on her face, instead. “Do you know what I like so much about Tony? Not the fact that he can’t hear, or that he’s incredibly attentive to make up for it – it’s that he listens. Genuinely. Actively. Like it’s the only thing in the world that’s important to him. The barrier he’s had to overcome has made this beautiful openness to connect within him.”

Patting his hand on the table between them, Nat took another sip of coffee before continuing. Her voice seemed like it was shaking before she stopped, the emotion of her words obviously threatening to overcome her. “With you, I know that’s the case. You, all of you, are the only thing in the world that’s important to him. Peter, it’s like he takes all of you in. Everything that you give to him, he keeps and uses to bridge that gap. I’ve never seen another human smile at someone that way Tony smiles at you. He says so much by saying nothing at all. Because he knows, Pete. He may not be able to hear you in the sense you think he should, but he’s listening.”

He looked at her blankly for a second before nodding wildly, his eyes wide and open for what felt like the first time. Thinking about it, Peter recalled the many times he turned to see Tony staring at him, an inquisitive, yet affectionate look in his eye. When things were good (which was every day they were together but the last three) they didn’t need any words to communicate what was going on, not really, anyway. Tony spoke to make it easier for Peter, but the closer they got, the easier living in the easy rhythm between them became.

Jumping out of his seat, Peter looked at Nat gratefully, a genuine smile overtaking his lips. “I don’t know how I let myself not notice that for so long. Thank you, Nat. Thank you.” He grasped her hands tightly before turning to head out the door, Peter only stopping when he realized leaving meant leaving Nat in his house.

“I’m going to go and hopefully fix this. You’re welcome to stay. I have some of that wine you like in the fridge.”

Casting a glance over his shoulder before closing the door on his way out, Peter caught the mischievous look on Nat’s face, the cellist wasting no time in her pursuit for his good wine.

It took 20 blocks and many tireless minutes to get to Tony’s apartment. His timing was atrocious, but there wasn’t any time to spare. Tony deserved an apology, many apologies, and Peter wanted to start making it up to him as quickly as he could. Tony was a forgiving person, but forgiveness only went so far – and things between them were too good to give up; too vital and important to let pettiness and irritation rule over all of his actions and subsequent reactions.

Not wanting to presume they were still completely okay, Peter decided not to use the key Tony gave him a couple of months ago. Instead, he pressed the doorbell a couple of times, the flashes of it recognizable even outside of the apartment. Waiting with a heavy sense of tension and bated breath, Peter watched shadows dance at the bottom of the door, the sound of Tony’s footsteps just barely audible through the heavy wood.

It took Peter a second to take Tony in, the man’s presence overwhelming in how good it felt – to just be there, standing in front of him – like heaven. When he allowed himself to truly take Tony in, Peter realized Tony was just as wrecked as him, the usual bags under his eyes deep and purple, the sign of tiredness more like bruises against pale skin. Though he tried to project an air of fineness, Tony looked like shit.

Before Peter could talk himself out of it, he fumbled to sign his apology, his eyes locked onto Tony’s as he moved his hands. “I fucked up. You’re not a problem. You’re not a hardship. You’re everything. The rest of the world is all talk, but you – you say so much without saying anything; I was just too stupid to take it all in. Too wrapped up in my own shit.” Peter stopped then, his hands moving to cup Tony’s cheeks. Tony hesitated for a moment before leaning into Peter’s touch, the caress like kryptonite.

“I love you, Tony.”

Peter searched Tony’s eyes for a moment, the flood of tears at the corner of them confusing and the slightest bit frightening. There wasn’t anything else after this, no plan B or back up – if Tony didn’t want him, that was that.

Sucking in a deep breath, Tony softened his expression, the feeling of having his mind read enough to make Peter’s head spin. He forced himself to stay in the moment, though, his eyes watching in fascination as Tony moved to reciprocate the phrase, his lips moving without the use of his hands – a totally rare occurrence.

With a finger to his lips, Peter caught him before he could mumble out the syllables, his other hand wrapping around Tony’s waist, tugging until they were pressed tightly together, a touch of contact between them from chest to toe. Carefully, Peter pulled his hands back and signed instead –

“You say it best, when you say nothing at all.”

#starker #you say it best (when you say nothing at all)#bobbie writes #starker fanfiction #deaf tony stark #musician peter parker

51 notes · View notes

notmanagingmymischief · 2 years

Note

yes this took way longer than 2 hours and yes it takes up a 10-page google doc and no im not ashamed <3

—

also this is my universe now and ransom riggs can go suck it because in my head Abe never leaves for war because we do not need jacob entering the world. Ever.

Tbh idk where or why the fandom started hating jacob but im here for it (granted i havent seen the movie in ages and didn’t finish the book series lol)

When you'd realized that you could play your downloaded music offline

Hello spotify premium ad (im kidding, i love this opening line <3)

But starting December 1st, the only music you had played was Christmas music.

I start the week of halloween hehe

But it also made her smile, especially when you had your door cracked open and she could see you dancing around your room, singing the lyrics loudly, the younger children joining you occasionally, singing and dancing along with you.

AAAAWWWWWWWW ALMAAAAAAA

And amongst the four of them, they hatched a plan.

Uh oh ;)

Saw how you acted around each other, each interaction strangely tense and, sometimes, bordering on flirtatious, and Emma was nothing if not a hopeless romantic, one who in turn got most of the others just as invested in your relationships.

Lmao emma you poor sweet soul. I love you

You found some old fashioned string lights, which you hung around the edges of the sitting room, as well as some areas outside--that was a challenge, seeing as there was no electrical source outside the house, meaning you also had to find a way to sneakily retrieve an extension cord that you spent at least an hour, possibly more, getting put in place so that it was out of sight (and out of mind).

Pfffftttt lmaoo

Once the job was finished, it earned you a kiss on the cheek from Alma, which honestly kept you going for the rest of the week without a drop of caffeine; quite impressive.

Literally me when I get a hug from my favorite person whom I will never ever get together with and yet I love perhaps too much

No but in all seriousness this is so cute wtf

Also alma giving free cheek kisses????? I will gladly volunteer myself <3333

A decent amount of the ornaments had ended up near the bottom of the tree since most of the kids could only reach so high, though they did have some help from you and Alma, lifting them up when they really wanted to place theirs higher up.

Good thing they don’t have a dog bc that would really mess with those lower placed ornaments

OKAY BUT ALMA LIFTING UP THE KIDS IS SUCH AN ADORABLE IMAGE WTF

Watching the ymbryne interacting so actively with her charges was endearing, and left a fond smile resting on your face even hours after everyone was finished.

Screaming, crying (perfect storms)

Sorry i was listening to taylor swift yesterday

BUT ANYWAY– THIS IS SO CUTE

At some point, Alma got confused as you worked on one of the special ones, a batch of peanut butter blossoms.

Not gonna lie, i did need to look up what those kind of cookies are but thats fiiiiiinnneee

She hadn't seen these kind, and had ended up positioning herself behind you to watch you work over your shoulder, hips pressed snug against you and hands absently resting on your waist. Your breath got caught in your throat, but you did your best to pretend that the closeness wasn't affecting you even as your cheeks burned hotly. Still your hands worked steadily, years of practice making it easy to work on autopilot. "What are you making?" Alma whispered in your ear, and you cleared your throat before replying "They're called peanut butter blossoms. They were my dad's favorite so I've made them a lot," you recalled, "I think that--that the children will like them." Alma hummed, resting her chin on your shoulder for a moment longer before finally stepping away and returning to her own tray, checking the oven absently.

oKAY WHAT THE FUCK

THIS IS SO CUTE

DOES ALMA KNOW WHAT SHE’S DOING BECAUSE IF SHE DOES ITS VERY SMOOTH

No but actually i love this paragraph so much, it just melts my heart

The casual intimacy of this moment is described so perfectly; i love it.

It was an action that made Alma quite happy, always enjoying you interacting with her children so easily, doing things for them that you really didn't have to do, simply because you wanted to.

<333333333333<333<3333333

I love this so much omg

You caught her eye once, in the window, and grinned towards her, casually tossing a snowball at the window that made the ravenette step back automatically. When she returned she was scowling, but you could tell it was playful and winked back before bringing your attention to Hugh, who was pulling at your arm to help him build a snowman, aptly named Frosty.

DUDE THIS IS SO CUTE WTF I LOVE IT SO MUCH

Also because it’s totally something i’d do

It was every part the classic Christmas card image, like coming home to a warm house, wife and children waiting eagerly to celebrate Christmas Eve. The correlation you automatically made between the idea of a wife and Alma made your pace stutter, along with your breath, but before anyone could notice you schooled your features.

OOOOOOOOoooOOOOooOooooOOOOOOOOOOoooooOOOOO

Her eyes moved up and caught on a few spots of snow in your hair. Casual as can be, she reached out and raked her fingers through it, effectively melting the delicate flakes, along with your heart, and you ducked your head, flustered as you thanked her quietly.

aaAAAAAAAaaaaaAAAaAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaAAAAAAaaaAAAaaaaaaAAAA

MY HEART IS DYING

THIS IS SO ADORABLE

AGAIN WITH THE CASUAL INTIMACY WTF

They received it of course, until finally Alma stated that it was time to eat. You felt bad that you'd forgotten to come in and help her, but she assured you that it was fine and you playing with the children--therefore keeping them out of the kitchen, and the house peacefully silent--was enough help.

Look at them working together without even realizing it <3

You muttered a compliment to Alma about her cooking, delicious as always, and the ravenette smiled back playfully, teasingly stating "Did you expect any different, darling?" You went along with the jeer, and just as smoothly replied "Of course not, dear." Paired with a wink it left Alma a bit speechless; you weren't often one for endearments, so the sudden use of one was a welcome surprise. Still the woman cleared her throat and refocused on the rest of the kids and her own meal, refusing to give you the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. You chuckled at her stubbornness but made no comment on it.

PFFFT THIS IS SO CUTE WTFFF

I LOVE IT AND YOU <3333

ALSO THE PET NAMES IM DYING

All of them besides the older children fell for it, of course, but even they kept the spirit up and pretended to believe your words.

Tbh im continually surprised that these teenagers are actually nice people. They don’t complain all the time or ruin things like santa for the littler (idk if thats a word but whatever) kids. It’s actually so refreshing to see and I love the way that you portray that <3

Alma lingered in the doorway as her children walked past, some giving her hugs and others passing with no more than a smile and nod.

LOOK AT EVERYONE RESPECTING EVERYONE ELSE’S BOUNDARIES I LOVE TO SEE IT

Finally you found one, tapping on it and turning up the volume as "I'll Be Home for Christmas" began playing.

I totally listened to this song while reading this part of the fic hehe

You smiled mischievously and held out your hand, dropping the phone onto a table. "May I?" Alma looked between you and the proffered hand skeptically, asking "Do you even know how to dance?"

ALMA

LMAO

You scoffed playfully, mocking offense as you exclaimed "Do I know how to--Alma! What do you take me as? Uncultured?" "Yes, actually." The casual comeback, slipping from her lips alongside a blank expression, made you laugh loudly.

THIS IS SO FUNNY OMG I LOVE IT SO MUCH

Your grin had dimmed into a fond smile and you automatically placed your other hand on Alma's waist, earning you a strange look; perhaps she's used to leading.

Of course she’s used to leading. That's a very alma thing to do

You watched carefully as Alma's expression relaxed and she muttered "I will admit, you do have...some skill."

Normally you'd return it with your own teasing jab but tonight you just hummed and murmur "Told you so." Alma rolled her eyes but also smiled, and you knew that she was enjoying herself as her hand tightened just slightly in yours.

AAAAWWWWW THEY’RE SO CUTEEEEEE

Also lmao alma

A few minutes passed, and Abe finally prepared to leave you two be, giving you some much needed privacy, just barely hearing you mutter "I believe we're being watched," and Alma replying "Oh yes. You just now noticed?"

Lmaooooooooo

I love this little scene

As soon as the room fell silent again, you bid your goodnight to Alma, snuck in a quick kiss to her cheek, and slipped out of the room and up to yours, ignoring the little "hey!" the ymbryne let out.

AWWWWWW <3

Together, they talked quietly and finished planning their...well, plan, and promised to put it into motion at the first sign of Alma's wake the next morning.

Hehehe

I love these kids so much

The next morning, you were awoken by a beam of warm sun in your eyes, having forgotten to close your curtains the previous night. You yawned and stretched your arms above your head, reluctantly getting out of bed after a few more minutes of rest.

Imagine being able to sleep in on christmas morning

Couldn’t be me

I woke up at 4am on christmas this year and didn’t go back to bed until 12 that night

"Wait! Not yet!" You gave her a skeptical look, already suspicious. "There's a surprise for you and it's not ready yet," the small brunette claimed, and you took a deep breath, hesitant to believe her but, not wanting to ruin the 'surprise', nodded and agreed to wait until she gave you permission.

EVEN THE LITTLES ARE IN ON IT TOO

Instead of kids sitting by the tree, you instead found Alma by the tree. Not sitting, rather kneeling. She was wearing her usual outfit, but as she raised her head, having heard your surprised gasp at seeing her, you noticed a ruby red bow tied loosely and delicately around her neck, the same color as your lipstick.

BIRD

HOW ON EARTH DID THEY GET ALMA TO DO THAT?????????

Nearly speechless, you did manage to choke out a slightly cracked version of her name, earning you a nervous smile. When she didn't move or stand up, you hesitantly walked closer, watching her unusually timid behavior carefully. The woman's head bowed slightly again, gaze not meeting yours even when you stood directly in front of her. Taking a chance, you carefully hooked your fingers under Alma's chin to tilt her head back up, forcing her eyes up as well. They connected with yours and you could see the anxiety swimming just beneath the surface as you stared down at her in confusion. "How in the world did you let yourself be talked into this, Alma?" You asked, a smile finally playing on your lips. It slightly relaxed the woman, and gave her enough courage to reply "Honestly, I'm not quite sure. I suppose I have a weakness for seven children collectively begging me to."

HONESTLY I DONT HAVE ANY WORDS

THIS IS JUST PERFECT IN SO MANY WAYS AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH

"You look like a present, all wrapped up so prettily. Or are you a puppy with your pretty red bow?" You teased her, voice dropping to a purr and effectively bringing a flush to Alma's neck that crept slowly up to her face. You leaned down a bit closer and murmured "The question is, who gets to unwrap you?" with a smirk, eyes dropping to Alma's lips for a moment, parted with surprise.

aaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Well that all depends on who wants me, doesn't it?"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

ALMA!!!

So you breathed "I may have an idea of who that could be," unconsciously licking your lips, which inevitably caught Alma's gaze, cobalt eyes focused on scarlet.

AGAIN

NO WORDS

DONT MIND ME SCREAMING INTO A PILLOW BECAUSE OMG THIS IS GLORIOUS

They stayed there for quite some time, the ymbryne not quite able to respond until she finally managed to choke "Who do you have in mind?" Your smirk twitched up a bit further, and Alma just had time to look back to your eyes before you had replied "Me," and finally brought your lips to hers. The suddenness took Alma's breath away and she instinctually leaned up on her heels, trying to get closer to you with you still firmly keeping her head in place by her jaw. The kiss was tender but left both of you breathless as well as speechless; though you weren't planning on talking with your lips still very much preoccupied. Neither of you were willing to break the kiss, even as the angle began to get slightly uncomfortable, and your free hand absently fiddled with the bow at Alma's neck, running your thumb across the silky material and up to the woman's jaw, where you traced the length of the bone. Finally though, you did have to breathe, so you pulled back a few inches, letting go of Alma's chin but still running your thumb against her jaw affectionately. The look in her eyes was overflowing with fondness, and she went to say something.

jsbdjhcbsdKJBDVHSBDCKSNDOCIBSWCJHADHVBCJAEORFVBOHADVCJHVASDCBAJCD JHVADWCVALWDCJLVHBADUFYVOIWEKJF VJDFVUASBDPVJSDLJC AHSDBCPIAJVJHASDVHCBwj flhqoyefapejfvKJIFBVPIFDIPVUAPEIRBVPAIHDFBVOAEBFVPHAEROF

DHBDCBHDCHBcjhbshDBCBSDC

DYING

DEAD

IM DEAD

ITS FINE

aAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

THIS IS SO FUCKING ADORABLE AND FOR WHAT?? JUST TO MAKE ME SCREAM?? PROBABLY AND YOU KNOW WHAT?? IM OKAY WITH THAT

DUDE YOUR WRITING SKILLS ARE JUST BEYOND

THEY’RE SIMPLY UNPARALLELED

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS <3333

But before she could, the shouts of excited children entered the room, followed by grinning teenagers, and you knew exactly who had put Alma in this position. You almost wanted to reprimand them for making her uncomfortable, but you also knew that without this little push you most likely wouldn't have ended up where you are now.

<333333333333333333

The blonde nodded, clearly not ashamed in the least, and the others also piped in with admittances of guilt.

I love those kids so much

After a moment of silence, you gave them an expectant look and gestured behind you to the other, non-human presents, and instantly the kids were in motion, crowding around your legs and falling to the floor looking for their respective gifts.

“Non-human presents” LMAO

As soon as the headmistress had disappeared, Emma approached you with a small smile. "Took you long enough," she said, and you rolled your eyes. "How did you even come up with this?" you asked instead of scolding her, and the blonde replied "Well, we heard you listening to that one song on repeat and decided we'd, you know," she laughs quietly, "Take a hint from it." You knew what song she was speaking of almost immediately and stated "You're all I need underneath the tree," dumbfounded at their cleverness.

SMART KIDDOS <3333

"You know, I've got a present for you too," you mumbled, resting your chin on her shoulder.

I love the image of someones chin resting on the other persons shoulder, its just so impossibly sweet <33

The ravenette hummed in interest, continuing to work but responding with "And what might that be, darling?" You laughed airily and exclaimed "Well I can't tell you! Then it wouldn't be a gift!"

Cuties omg

"Are you planning on taking that off? Or do I get the honor of opening this present?" You breathed, slipping behind her and wrapping your arms around her waist. Warm breath fluttered against Alma's skin and sent shivers down her spine, the double meaning not lost on her in the slightest. As you placed gentle kisses against her neck, the woman shakily replied "Who gave you the idea that you get to do such a thing?" Her voice wavered as she spoke and you waited patiently as she continued; "Haven't you heard of 'you can look, but you can't touch'?"

ABSCABDIUBADCNAKSC

O-OKAY ALMA

Though Alma's heart was nearly beating out of her ribcage she still managed a playful smile, one which would no doubt be wiped from her face soon enough, and replied "But you look so wonderful when you're frustrated."

OOOOOOOOOO

well practiced and honestly putting her own skill to shame--in the best way of course–

LMAO ALMA <3

I love her so much omg

playing on loop in her mind and occasionally spilling from her lips as you lavished her neck with attention, finally pulling the bow's tails and undoing the knot, letting it hang across her shoulders. It's ruby red a sharp contrast to her navy jacket, you absently registered that's what had been in Horace's dream last night. Still you didn't think about it too much as Alma pulled you back to her lips before she could let a too-loud noise pass them, the borderline moan instead felt against your lips.

1) OMG

2) the ribbon!!!!

3) OMG

4) I LOVE THIS SCENE AAAAA

You spoke her own name against pale, burning skin, orisons of worship to the woman you love. And when you finally had to stop, when you at last removed your lips from Alma's, still you repeated benedictions like it was your last day alive, like Alma was the only one who could save you.

Ive said it probably 1,000 times and i will say it 100000 more times but HOLY SHIT YOUR WRITING IS SO DAMN GOOD

The way that you string words together and mould them so that they form these delicate, beautiful, delicious sentences is simply extraordinary. You have so much skill, and it really shows. You clearly know and care about your characters and when you suddenly get sentences like these– ugh. It’s just gorgeous. <333

The woman whined when you removed your lips from hers and tried to lean forward and catch them again, somehow completely abandoning her natural tendency to keep a tight schedule.

Cutie pie <3

No but seriously alma is so adorable

You weren't very good at it though, not nearly as good as Alma, but luckily she got the hint quick enough and shook herself out of her daze, clearing her throat and snatching her time piece from your hand, checking it herself.

Look at them working together again omg

This ending paragraph is adorable, seriously

It only took a glimpse of the hands to have her stating "We have seven minutes and thirteen seconds to finish breakfast." You nodded, and let her up with no more than a quick peck to her cheek, still warm to the touch. It took Alma a moment longer to fully collect herself, but after taking a deep breath, closing her eyes tightly, she snapped into action, back to her usual self (mostly). And as she worked, stealing the occasional kiss here and there, the ymbryne couldn't think of a better way to start Christmas.

ASCANSOCIABSCHJLSDHVCLS D I LOVE THEMMMMMMMM

THIS IS SUCH A GOOD ENDING TO A BEAUTIFUL STORY

I LOVE IT SO MUCH <33333333

OKAY SO OVERALL: one of the best christmas fanfics ive ever read (but honestly who’s surprised bc its you who wrote it)! Alma and y/n are just so adorable together. I love how they work as a team, even sometimes without realizing it, and are able to be so casually intimate with each other. That is something that takes time and trust to build up to, i think, especially for alma. I feel like a lot of the time we see her as a strict, kinda frigid (idk if that is the correct word for what i'm trying to describe but imma use it anyway cuz im too lazy to think of another one lol) and closed off woman, who clearly cares for her children but has a wall built up for some reason. (I may be completely wrong but whatever.) but the way that you describe her and y/n’s relationship is calm, quiet, teasing and intimate in a way that makes them seem like they’ve been married for 50-some years, while also keeping that spark that they have bright and new. y/n is able to crack open alma’s shell and get her out of her own head. Basically what i’m trying to say is that the way you write these two characters is AMAZING and I love you so much<333 keep writing because the world deserves to hear what you have to say

Help your reviews continue to leave me breathless 😭😭

Legit squealed in excitement when I realized you'd sent this tyhgrfdcs

BUT thank you my love!!!! ughhh never stop doing what you do 🥺💖💖💖

I do care about my writing and characterizations, the biggest reason as to why I don't post often is because, even if I've finished the story, I'll go back and read and reread every action and piece of dialogue from characters just to make sure it's perfect. Very time-consuming, but completely worth it if it continues to earn me such wonderful feedback like yours 🥺💖

#ask #petit etoile <3 #fic review

2 notes · View notes

booknerdproblems · 4 years

Text

Liberty Chapter 1

Hello my loves! Right. SO. Here is Chapter oneeee. Excitinggg. Anyways. I probably should have come up with a better starting point for the first chapter but anywayssss. Also some of the formatting is a little of so sorry! Comments and replies make me so happy!

You can find my masterlist here.

T/W: cursing

“Morning Nox!” Rowan waved to the security man.

“Morning young Whitethorn.” Nox replied, scanning his beaten-down, second-hand car from front to back.

“Aw, a new trainee,” Rowan pointed to the small sniffer dog being led around his car.

“Yeah, got her yesterday.”

“She’s adorable.”

“She’s trained to seek out bombs.” Nox said dryly.

“Doesn’t mean she’s not adorable.”

“Alright, Mr Whitethorn, you are good to go.”

“Bye, Nox.”

Rowan drove slowly up to the back door of the White House, marvelling at the architecture for what felt like the billionth time. No matter how many times he visited, it never got old.

Getting out of the car, he shouldered his backpack, walking inside.

“Morning Ress,” he waved.

“Morning Rowan.” The young guard replied.

“Aelin ready to go?”

“She hasn’t left her room yet.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. Typical. Utterly typical. His best friend… wasn’t the most punctual person in the world.

He continued along the marbled corridor, racing up the stairs.

He sucked in a sharp breath as Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius came round the corner.

“Hey, Rowan,” Rhoe smiled at him, “Here to pick up Aelin?”

“Yes, sir.” Although he’d known the president and her husband for a year, he still felt like he owed them as much respect as he could muster.

“Honestly, Rowan, you’re practically family by now, please call me Rhoe.”

“No can do. Sir.” Rowan winked.

“Joining us for dinner tonight, Rowan?” Evalin interjected, smiling warmly at him.

“If you’ll have me, Madam President.” The title was more in jest than anything.

“Pizza on the couch, bring pajamas.”

“Thanks Mrs G!” He called as he drew further away, heading towards Aelin’s room.

Rowan nodded to Brullo, on guard outside the door, and the older man just frowned at him before waving him through.

He entered the cream wallpapered room, the walls plastered with posters of Aelin’s favourite bands, actors, athletes. He scanned the room, and his eyes landed on the lump in the middle of the bed. Strands of long blonde hair were strewn across the pillow, and Rowan sighed.

There was only one thing to be done, when Aelin was asleep, and it wasn’t gently shaking her awake. Reaching into his back pocket, he clicked on Spotify, thumb hovered over ‘Highway to Hell’, raised it to his best friend's ear, making sure the volume was on full blast, and clicked play.

“FUCK OFF, BUZZARD.” A muffled shriek came from beneath the sheets as the painfully loud music filled the room.

“Aelin. School. First day. Senior year. Late.”

A beat of silence. Then-

“Shit!” Aelin jolted upright, frantically scrambling at the covers, but only managing to get herself more tangled.

Rowan laughed as she tugged and pulled but only succeeded in getting her top half hanging out of the bed, legs still twisted. He laughed even harder when she fell on her ass on the opposite side of the bed, or at least until she hit him- hard- with a pillow.

Rowan was still chuckling slightly as she glared at him, hair wild, hands on hips, faint mascara remantants streaked over her face. Aelin in the mornings wasn’t the most amicable person ever.

When it became apparent he wasn’t going to stop looking smug, Aelin huffed and headed toward the wardrobe, hips swaying. Rowan tried- tried- goddamn him not to ogle her long legs in the dangerously short nightgown, and failed miserably. He’d always known Aelin was attractive, even when he met her as a slightly gangly sixteen year old, but this past year- shit. There was no doubt about it- Rowan was hopelessly in love with his best friend. Who also happened to be the Pride and Joy of Terrasen.

When Evalin became President when Aelin was fourteen, she’d been painted as this bright young teenager with a stunning future ahead of her. Painted demurely for every event, her mother’s PR team had a fabulous time making her the figurehead of Terrasen’s youth, and she was widely loved across the country.

In reality, Aelin was quite the rebellious teenager. She swore, she had an atrocious temper that Rowan had been on the end of one too many times. Aelin loved anything wild and reckless, much to the chagrin of her secret service team.

Ever since it became apparent to the press around her sixteenth birthday that Aelin was becoming a very attractive young woman, the tabloid’s had taken great pleasure in splashing highly speculative articles about her across the front pages, most of which were highly inappropriate. Since she was technically a minor, nothing too damaging had been published, but she turned eighteen in two months, and Rowan just knew the articles were simply going to get worse. Rowan knew she hated it, but Aelin was, well, Aelin. She simply acted like she didn’t give a flying fuck.

The door to the walk-in wardrobe swung open, and there was Aelin, freshly clad in black chunky boots, black tights, a mid-thigh black skirt, a band t shirt, and a denim jacket. No press appearances today, just another day of high school. Aelin smirked at his blatant staring, shoving his shoulder and grabbing his hand.

“Come on buzzard, “ Aelin tugged him out the door and down the corridor, a secret service agent falling into place behind them.

She winked, “senior year awaits.”

Tags:

@yesdreamblog

@morganofthewildfire

@woollycat22

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@faerie-queen-fireheart

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@http-itsrebecca

@rockgirl321

@stardelia

@bookworm232020

@queen-of-glass

#aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #aelin and rowan #rowan x aelin #high school au

63 notes · View notes

tirednotflirting · 3 years

Text

you're the one to help me get to sleep // maybe i fell in love when you woke me up

oh boy that title looks a lot longer on tumblr than it did on ao3. anyway.

i got stressed out yesterday and finished some fluff bc that’s what we do here at tirednotflirting. forgot to post it here yesterday though so i am doing that Now post-first cup of coffee of the day and halfway through the french toast i made.

random side not but i’ve been listening to my time capsule playlist on spotify and i highly rec checking yours out bc this is So Fun.

here is this on ao3 if you wanna read there.

The sun is just beginning to set over LA and Alex is in love.

The day had been long but good. One of those California summer days that stretched on long enough that it made him wonder if the sun would ever start heading toward its resting place below the horizon. Warm but not hot, the slight breeze allowing them to spend the afternoon writing outside instead of stuck up in the studio.

He’s out on the balcony now, already changed into pajama pants since they decided they would stay in for the night, and a glass of wine dangles between his fingers in between sips. The city is somehow quiet from his spot above it though he can tell it must be loud from all the activity he can see on the street. It’s nice, Alex thinks, to find peace among the blaring white noise of Los Angeles. Today had been his last full day in the city, his flight back to the farm and his furry friends sometime in the early afternoon. He has his boarding pass loaded onto his phone and could easily wander back inside to find his phone and triple check the time so he could make note of when they need to be up in the morning but he’s not quite ready to start thinking about how he has to leave again yet.

Jack would also just immediately kick him back out to his current spot if he tried heading inside right now anyway. Over coffee that morning Jack had declared he would be making dinner for Alex’s last night (It’s romantic, Al, and I only have one more night to romance the fuck out of you). At the time Alex had assumed it was the still half-asleep side of Jack speaking but when Alex arrived back at the apartment after spending part of the afternoon writing, he’d been handed the glass of wine currently resting in his hand and ushered to the balcony door by an apron-clad Jack.

It was rare for Alex to feel this much peace on his last day of a trip to see Jack. Usually there was some element of sadness or anxiety over the impending time apart until more band things or another trip to either coast. But as he tips back the last of his wine and stares back out toward the last bits of light in the city sky, all Alex can feel is a fullness in his chest.

He decides he’s going to want more wine with dinner and given the time, he figures Jack must be close to finishing things up. Alex pulls himself up and pushes the sliding door open to call out toward the kitchen.

“Jack, babe, am I allowed into the kitchen for more wine?”

Jack’s head pokes out from the kitchen with a pout on his lips. “Five more minutes, Alex. You have to give a chef space to work.”

“Bring me the bottle then, please,” Alex says in his sweetest voice, his lashes fluttering. He can see Jack’s dramatic eye roll from where he leans against the door frame before he steps back into the kitchen, emerging a few seconds later with the bottle of white he had poured for Alex earlier.

“Here you go, you lush,” Jack says while passing over the bottle once he’s close enough. Before he has a chance to step away, Alex pulls at the front of his apron to briefly press their lips together. Jack drops a hand to the bottom of Alex’s back to hold him close, his fingers pressing into his skin through his t-shirt.

“I like the apron. It’s cute.” Alex compliments as he smoothes out the wrinkles in the fabric.

Jack’s hand runs up and down Alex’s spine as he hums. It’s an action that mimics the way Jack had been waking him up most days, and a lazy smile pulls at Alex’s lips at the memory of the fond moment. “Thank you,” Jack muses. “I only wore it because I figured you would think that, so it’s nice to know I was right.”

Alex laughs. “You wore something just because you thought I might find it cute?”

“I like being told I’m a cute boy. Sue me,” Jack says, his hand wrapping more securely around Alex’s waist. “Now go back out. I’m just putting things into bowls, I’ll be out in a second, handsome.”

Alex feels himself blush as Jack leans forward to press his lips to Alex’s temple before spinning on his heel and heading back toward the kitchen. As he steps back outside, Alex can’t help but hope that they never leave this phase of their relationship. This not quite honeymoon but not quite settled phase, where they’re so damn comfortable being with each other (in a way Alex used to spend hours awake at night worrying they would never find the path to) but compliments like the one Jack’s just thrown his way still make him blush. It’s a nice spot to be in for now, he thinks.

He pulls the cork from the wine and gives himself another generous pour before leaving the bottle in the middle of the table they’re meant to be eating at. The sky is just fading into dusk, the city draped in a blanket of purples and blues when the light above him clicks on. Alex turns from his spot to find Jack sliding the door open mostly with his foot, two bowls somewhat precariously balanced in each of his hands. Alex jumps up and ignores Jack’s whines as he takes the bowls from him and wanders back to set them on the table while Jack jogs back through the apartment to return with plates and silverware and another wine glass.

“Alright so if this sucks, we’re blaming my mom because she basically walked me through the whole thing step by step,” Jack says once they’re back at the table while he pours wine into his own glass. “Also the caprese salad was her idea since I wasn’t feeling leafy but I feel like romantic dinner date is incomplete without salad.”

“You called your mom to have her walk you through a recipe?” Alex smiles as he lets his head drop to rest in the palm of his hand while he watches Jack spoon some kind of pasta onto the two plates.

“Listen, you know I’m helpless in a kitchen,” Jack says while pushing one of the plates in Alex’s direction. “And it’s your last night here and I wanted to do something nice for you, damn it.”

“That’s very cute,” Alex replies before taking another sip from his wine glass. “You’re very cute.”

“You already told me I was cute. You gotta get more creative with your adjectives, Mr Songwriter.”

Alex shakes his head in mock protest. “I said the apron was cute before, not you.” Jack scowls at him while gently kicking his ankle. “Hush, I knew what you meant.” A smile pulls at Alex’s lips when he notices how Jack leaves their feet all tangled up together under the table after the kick. It’s silly, he knows, to get all blushy over such a simple, nonchalant action but he can’t help it.

Jack points his fork across the table at Alex after taking a bite. “Also my mom said to call her when you get back. She wants to catch up and probably bug you again about when you’re going to propose.”

Alex laughs brightly. “Well my mom was asking that I get you to Facetime her when you’ve got some free time likely for the exact same conversation.” He gestures down to his plate with a nod. “This really does not suck, by the way.”

“Our mothers really ought to be more strategic in their approach on this,” Jack says while shaking his head. “I mean it’s completely impractical that we both propose. And thank you, I try.”

“I think they figure if they double the effort they have a greater chance of success or something.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.”

The banter back and forth over their meal continues well into the night. After a while, Alex insists on clearing the table and taking things inside. He quickly cleans the dishes before grabbing another bottle of wine from the fridge and clean glasses and heading back out. Jack has moved over to the couch he keeps out there and has a blanket pulled over his bare legs, the nighttime breeze dropping the temperature enough to call it a cool night. Alex fills their glasses and leaves the bottle on the table before wandering over to where Jack has decided to lounge.

“For you, sir,” Alex announces while handing over one of the glasses. He takes a seat next Jack, scooting closer to his side to steal some of the blanket and drops his head to rest against Jack’s chest.

Jack hums his thanks as he takes a sip and wraps an arm around Alex’s shoulders. His fingers immediately move to play with the sleeve of his t-shirt as he sighs. “Is it selfish to ask you to cancel your flight and stay longer?”

“Not selfish but also not really a possibility, my love,” Alex says while tilting his head up to press his lips to Jack’s jaw. “I’ve got animal friends to attend to and you’ve got that trip out to see Zack to pack for.”

“Mmm, yeah you’re right,” Jack says while swirling the wine in his glass. “The goats and Zack need cuddles too, I guess.”

“Exactly.” Alex sighs as he lifts his shoulder, asking Jack a silent question that he thankfully knows the answer to. Jack drops his hand to rest in his lap and Alex reaches over for it, his fingers slipping into the spaces between Jack’s and squeezing to press their palms together. He smiles lazily at the action. It’s the little things about time with Jack that stick in his brain when they’re apart. The weight of Jack’s hand in his own, the steady sound of his heartbeat below Alex’s ear, the tapping of Jack’s foot against the ground since even in the quiet, still moments Jack has to find a way to expel the extra energy he always seems to possess. It’s all so familiar and warm. Alex isn’t sure what life would be like without the small details that make up them.

He isn’t sure how long they sit there, sipping and resting against each other while staring out at the light polluted LA night sky. Long enough that Jack eventually lets out a yawn that breaks Alex out of the daze he’d fallen into, the gentle rising and falling of Jack’s chest beneath his head acting as a lullaby of sorts.

“Bedtime?” Alex asks with a gentle laugh. He lets their hands fall apart in favor of moving to cup Jack’s jaw. His thumb runs across the top of his cheek, just below his sleepy eyes.

“Think so, yeah,” Jack slurs his words slightly as he leans into Alex’s touch. “Don’t you need to pack? We’ll probably need to head out at like eleven since your flight is at one.”

And of course Jack remembers what time his flight is at when Alex hasn’t bothered to check all night. He’s always taking care of him in the little ways. In the ways that Alex didn’t realize he needed taking care of, really.

Alex moves to stand and smiles at Jack’s pout when he reaches to pull him up with him. “I can pack in the morning. Right now I just want to cuddle my boy.”

Jack grins at his words and rises without any more protest. They gather the glasses and shuffle back inside. Jack steals them away from Alex once they reach the stairs and gestures for him to head upstairs while he goes in the direction of the kitchen. Alex pouts at the action and leans against the railing to wait for Jack to round the corner again.

Jack jumps a bit when he finds Alex in the same spot he left him. “And you thought I was a sleepy boy?” Jack laughs, something warm and soft behind his gaze. Jack takes a couple steps up, his hand reaching back to loosely link with Alex’s to guide them upstairs.

They get ready for bed quickly despite the half asleep state they both drifted into and soon enough Alex is crawling beneath wrinkled sheets. He’s just barely plugged his phone into the charger when a pair of arms pull him toward the center of the bed.

“How are you always so warm?” Jack mumbles into the back of Alex’s hair as his arms wrap more fully around Alex’s middle. He turns in his arms and Jack settles against his chest. “Not that I’m complaining since it’s freezing in here. But still.”

Alex laughs as he tries to keep his eyes open while Jack nuzzles his cool nose against his collarbone. He reaches a hand up to thread into the hair at the back of Jack’s neck. “Somebody’s got to keep you warm.”

“I’m glad it’s you,” Jack mumbles almost incoherently. Alex waits for him to say more as he continues drawing short patterns through Jack’s hair but he only softly hums and nestles further against his chest.

Alex is moments away from falling falling falling to a peaceful rest when Jack’s hand settles against the bottom of his back beneath the sweatshirt he stole from his closet, the extra layer of Jack’s familiar scent providing some additional security on his last night in this bed. Alex feels Jack’s sleep steady breath puff against his neck and in his final moments of consciousness, all he can think is Jack Jack Jack. His gentle laugh and warm gaze fills Alex’s mind as he lets his eyes finally flutter shut.

And maybe that’s what love is, falling asleep already in a dream.

It’s pouring down rain in Maryland and Jack is in love.

He’s only just woken up, his mind still cloudy from sleep and his eyes still locked shut. Jack isn’t sure what time it is but given that he’s rising naturally and not from an alarm or kisses being pressed against his cheeks, he assumes it must be pretty late into the morning hours.

It’s his first morning on this visit out to the farm. His flight the previous night had gotten in before dinner so Alex had declared it date night (Is every night we’re together not date night, Alex? Romance mode 24/7, baby.) and insisted they stop at the store for ingredients before heading back to the house. Once they were at the farm, they tended to the animals (or Alex did while Jack sat on the floor and let the goats chew on his hoodie strings) before heading back inside where Jack sat at the counter and told Alex stories about his airport adventures while watching him cook. They had tried to start a movie after food but Jack kept falling asleep every few minutes with his head in Alex’s lap so it wasn’t long before he was being pulled in the direction of the bedroom.

He sighs as the last moments of sleep drift off and he settles back into the land of the living. He’s yet to open his eyes in case the sun is peeking in anywhere in the room since he knows he’s not yet awake enough for true daylight. Two thoughts enter his mind almost immediately though: it’s cold as hell and there’s coffee brewing in the kitchen. Both of these things are a result of a third thing that Jack notices and it’s that Alex has left him alone in bed.

Jack would get whiny about the third thing but he knows that given where they are it would be pretty selfish of him. Mornings at the farm are loaded with more responsibilities than mornings in LA, and Jack knows the animal friends deserve breakfast and Alex’s bright, sleepy smile just as much as he does. Plus, his boy did make him coffee.

Jack takes a deep breath and catches the scent of dark roast mixed in with the scent of Alex (his cologne and the same laundry detergent he’s used since his mom would pack it for him on their early tours) before finally pushing himself up from the mattress and opening his eyes. The room is thankfully still dark since Alex left the curtains closed for him but he can hear the rain beating down against the windows even through the heavy fabric. Jack pouts then, suddenly worried about Alex having to wander around out in the January rain by himself.

He finds a hoodie and the slippers his mom gifted him for Christmas a few weeks earlier on the floor beside the bed and pulls both on before shuffling from the bedroom. Jack immediately pulls at the sleeves to cover his hands and considers going back to the bedroom to steal a shirt to throw on underneath the hoodie but the coffee hits his nose again and he continues in the direction of the kitchen.

The only light on in the room is the one over the sink and because of the rain, the kitchen remains pretty dark despite the clock on the microwave reading that it’s a little bit past ten. Jack wanders through the room to the drying rack by the sink to get his mug (the one he found in some little thrift store somewhere in Texas with the painted butterflies) before turning back to the island. He fills the mug from the mostly full French press that must have been made pretty recently, Jack thinks, as he burns his tongue a little on his first sip. Fresh coffee means that Alex has already been out to the stalls for the morning so Jack turns then, having a good feeling about where Alex may have wandered off to, and lets his hip rest against the edge of the counter.

From where he stands leaning against the kitchen island, Jack can see Alex’s head poking out from the back of the couch out on the front porch. He’s got a blue beanie pulled over his head and Jack can see his hands cupped around a mug and he can see the steam rising against Alex’s face. He pulls his phone from his pocket to check the temperature and rolls his eyes at the number shown on the screen but it doesn’t stop him from lifting his own mug to head in the direction of the front door.

Alex looks over in his direction as Jack pushes the door closed behind him to join Alex out in the cold morning air. The rain had settled mostly and a thick fog blankets over the property, the trees at the end of the road and pasture just barely visible. A soft smile pulls at Alex’s lips as he pats the cushion beside him. Jack returns the grin as he takes in the crinkles beside his boy’s tired eyes. Sometimes Jack forgets they’re getting older but then notices a gray hair when he’s looking in the mirror while brushing his teeth or notices Alex’s laughter lines deepening ever so slightly and it reminds him just how long they’ve been on these wild adventures together.

He takes the spot beside Alex and pulls the blanket he’s got covering his lap over his own before letting his head drop to rest against Alex’s shoulder. Jack turns to press his cold nose against Alex’s neck and smiles when he hears a soft whine in response to the action.

“Why are we having our coffee outside when it’s nearly freezing out?” Jack mumbles against Alex’s skin. He feels a hand reach up to card through his bed head and smiles at the feeling.

“You’ve been in California too long,” Alex teases. “We would have been calling this a warm morning back in the day.”

“Jesus, are we really old enough for things to be back in the day now?”

“We’re definitely getting there, love.” Alex laughs before pausing to take a sip from his mug. “Anyway, I finished up feeding everybody and wanted to keep listening to the rain.”

Jack figures that’s a fair enough answer (at least coming from Alex) so they sit in silence for a little while. They sip from their respective mugs and Jack cuddles impossibly closer to Alex for warmth as he searches for patterns in the sound of the rain against the roof. Jack notices the shapes Alex has been drawing through his hair change suddenly and he sits up a bit to see his face and pouts at the expression he’s met with.

“What are you thinking so hard about, huh?” Jack asks as he reaches a hand up to rub away the lines across Alex’s forehead. “Is everything okay?”

“Do you want to move in together?” Alex asks in a somewhat rushed voice while his hands pull at the ends of his sleeves. “Like here? On the farm?”

Jack’s hand falls from Alex’s forehead to cup his cheek. “What?”

“I mean, you should probably keep the place in LA since we’re over there enough for work stuff. And I’ve just been thinking that this feels like a good place to settle down and,” he pauses to take a breath and looks up to meet Jack’s gaze. “And I don’t know if I’m moving too fast but I want to settle down with you.”

“Al, I’ve known you for like, half my life. We’re not exactly operating on a normal relationship timeline here. I’d love to move in,” Jack says into the space between them and he can’t help but lean forward to brush their lips together when Alex’s eyes widen. “Though you’re going to have to teach me how to actually be helpful around this place rather than just sit and look cute while petting the goats.”

“Having someone to sit and look cute with the goats is an essential part of farm maintenance, Jack. Don’t sell yourself short,” Alex says while reaching to cover the hand Jack still has against his cheek. “But don’t worry. We’ll teach you to be a proper farm boy. Get you some boots and everything.”

“I want a cowboy hat, too. But sounds perfect.” Jack says before leaning in to press their lips together again. Alex pulls him closer and Jack feels himself smile into the kiss. Alex’s warmth almost makes him forget about the cold winter air surrounding them and his mind is flooded with the thought of a future where everyday is spent with the eternal summer’s day that is Alex Gaskarth.

Alex pulls away first and a giggle leaves his lips as Jack whines at him. “Guess we should go ahead and actually get the day started then?”

“Has to happen eventually, I suppose.” Jack sighs as he sinks further into the couch.

Alex laughs as he stands up, his hand reaching down to link their hands together. “Come on. We’ve got brunch with the mothers in an hour and now we’ve got good news to share with them. Moms love good news.”

Jack allows himself to be pulled up from the couch and in the direction of the front door. He leans against the wood once they’re back inside and pulls Alex into his hold while his arms move to hang over his shoulders. “We smell like farm and wet dog. And since we’re going to be sharing a home now, I think it only makes sense that we try to conserve resources. What do you think?”

Alex rolls his eyes and slides his hands up to rest against Jack’s chest. “Thank you for the invitation but I figured I would make up another pot of coffee for us while you go get ready?”

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“I keep asking myself the same thing.”

With a final press of his lips to Jack’s cheek, Alex heads off to make the promised coffee. Jack watches him head into the kitchen from where he stands in the front hall. He sees Alex leave the mugs on the island in favor of pulling his phone out to connect to the speaker next to the sink and a second later a song starts playing that immediately has him bouncing on his toes as he fills the kettle from the sink. Jack smiles as he leans against the frame into the dining room while he watches Alex dance around and softly sing while scooping new coffee grounds. He turns then and Jack is caught as Alex smiles and winks in his direction, a mouthed Go while pointing in the direction of the bedroom being his parting gift.

Jack blows a kiss and starts making his way down the front hall to the stairs. He pauses for a moment at the table where Alex had left a mess of different holiday cards he’d received throughout the season. Bright colors and happy smiles meet Jack’s eyes as he spots friends and their families and pets. He sighs and continues down the hall after a moment, wondering if maybe they could get the goats to sit still long enough for a holiday card sometime next fall. It’s a swirling, dreamy thought, but he spends the rest of the morning stuck on the idea of seeing their smiling faces and well wishes mixed into their loved ones’ piles of cards.

And maybe that’s what love is, waking up to the beginning of another dream.

#jalex #jalex fic #i said this on ao3 but i sent the first half of this to bella but not the second half so ignore that the grammar is probably better in the #first half bc of that #this was the first piece i've written in probably several months that's longer than 2k so that's kinda cool #probably bc it could have been split in half but shhhhhh

11 notes · View notes