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icedmatchatae · 2 years ago

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Cien Años | KNJ

Pairing: Best Friend Namjoon x Best Friend Reader

Genre: Hanahaki AU, Angst, Fluff (barely)

Summary: A sad story of two best friends who loved each other for different reasons.

Warning: UR GONNA BE SAD, namjoon being in denial, oc being out of the loop, flashbacks :(, a lot of crying from everyone, mentions of death (nobody dies tho!), mentions of surgery, illness, unrequited love, there's somewhat of a happy ending!

Word count: 15.1k because I'm a menace

Note: Italics are flashbacks.

A/N: Inspired by the song "Cien Años" by Natalia Lafourcade & Pepe Aguilar. My friends told me to write a story about it...so I did.

I've also cross-posted this originally on AO3 as well! Enjoy~~~

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

Trembling fingers gripping onto your daisy bouquet as you controlled your shaky breathing. You faced the closed doors, waiting for the queue. One by one, you saw your bridesmaids leave you until you were alone. A light sheen of sweat expanded on your back; luckily, the laced fabric hid your nervousness of today.

What awaited inside would be your most anticipated life-changing event yet. Once you leave there, two souls become one, purposeful promises are committed with expected hardship to overcome. The day you are officially united with the love of your life.

You’ve been waiting for this day, and you couldn’t wait any longer. At the other side of the doors, there stood your soon-to-be husband smiling like a maniac. You wanted this so badly, nervous because the ceremony separated you from your soulmate. But it’ll be okay.

Because he was worth it.

He was dressed in a suit with his hands intertwined behind his back.

His mouth opened in awe at the sight of you. You slowly walked down the aisle with your father at your left side. His arm linked firmly around yours. With bittersweet eyes, he looked like he didn’t want to let you go but knew he had to for the best.

Your dress flowed down with grace, the train behind dragging along the carpeted floor. Your effortless beauty that it shined through your sheer veil. You held onto your favorite flowers, handpicked by him, and will forever keep them in your memories.

Your smile beamed through your family, friends, and esteemed guests, but he could tell how anxious you were deep inside. He knew how much love you had in you, how much soul and care you had to offer. He knew everything about you. After all—

Namjoon has loved you ever since you were younger.

When you first met Namjoon, you were about 11. The smartest nerd in school was your partner for a science project. Between the introduction and the first place win, you’ve gotten to know him much better and enjoyed his presence.

It baffled you to discover the lanky boy with thick-rimmed rectangular glasses and who wore velcro shoes listened to Nas and Eminem. Did you mention that he had a bowl cut? Because he did.

He only fascinated you, even more, wanting to befriend you, not realizing he would be one of the most influential people in your life. He quickly became your best friend, and you were inseparable. You graduated high school and college together and even were roommates for many years.

You never saw life without him, your best friend.

Being together more than half of your life, Namjoon didn’t realize the day he met you was the first sign of him falling in love with you.

“Why do you have so much sugar?” Namjoon questioned, observing you next to him when you pulled out a ziplock bag of sugar packets. You pulled one out and ripped it open. You shook the pouch over your mouth, collecting the sweetener on your taste buds. He unapologetically grimaced at you.

“It’s a snack; also, since my mom said I’m too young to drink coffee, I took all of the sugar in our house since I get so much energy.” You simply explained, offering him a packet.

He paused and sighed, joining you in eating packets and packets until you both were a giggling mess.

You were pretty odd, almost lacking social cues, but he couldn’t be one to talk since he was awkward himself. Your aura was not something he was used to, but he never regretted it and grew to love your unusualness. It was one of the characteristics of why he loved you dearly.

Your bright smile, aggravating yet endearing personality, and how much you gave yourself to others wholeheartedly created a rippling effect on his heart. But almost too much as it lets you get hurt by others.

He remembered the day you came home with shedding tears falling on your face. He was working on a group essay in your shared living room with Jimin, a friend and peer from his classes, when a loud bang disrupted their concentration.

“He cheated on me!” You sobbed as you dropped your things to the wooden floor. You quickly spotted your best friend and tackled him. You clutched onto his shirt, pushing your head into his chest with your cries staining the fabric.

Without second-guessing, Namjoon wrapped his arms around your fragile form, kissing your hair. He rubbed your back as you continued to sob at your broken heart. He eyed Jimin, apologizing for the interruption, but he understood. The shorter man gestured for him to text him later before departing your home.

After your weeping died down, you explained how you saw your boyfriend of seven months cuddling and making out with another girl at a coffee shop on the other side of the city from where you lived. With the bit of courage you had, you confronted Seokjin and threw your boiling hot tea at him before running away.

Namjoon was angry for you and wanted to beat Seokjin up for doing this to you. But what’s worse, this wasn’t the first time something had happened. You were hurt by many others before because you gave too quickly; you gave the benefit of the doubt to those undeserving of it.

You tried your best to learn from your mistake and took extra precautions, but somehow the next man in your life gets trickier and more conniving than the last.

“Why does this happen to me?”

You sat on your apartment complex’s rooftop, looking at the bright glowing city. It was past midnight; Namjoon thought it was a great idea to get some convenience store snacks and ramen while you get some fresh air.

“Like was I a descendent of Judas?” You rhetorically asked.

“I’m not a theology major, but I don’t think Judas had any children.” He pointed out as he slurped his noodles.

You glared at him and his intelligence, “Don’t correct me now.” You slammed your ramen bowl on the makeshift table made from a stack of wooden pallets. “I thought he was the one.”

“I know you’re hurt, flower. Hurt is only temporary. You’ll heal; it’ll take time, though. It’s really shitty that it happened to you.” His comforting words eased your emotional state, using his nickname for you.

It wasn’t anything cute. He only does it because you told him you used to eat flowers when you were younger. Your parents were scared and brought you to the hospital, it was a whole thing, but he liked to pick on you and made sure you wouldn’t forget your stupidity.

“Is there something wrong with me? Be honest.” You genuinely asked. Your puffy eyes met his, waiting for his response.

He stared at you. Underneath the full moon and the illumination from the cityscape, faint shadows fell onto your features. Your irises sparkled with the dimming sense of hope in you. He hated seeing you like this, seeing the light in you slowly giving up.

He placed down his bowl before reaching for your hands. He intertwined your fingers together, comparing the size difference between you two. He grinned lightly, but enough to display the dimples on his cheeks.

“Seokjin was stupid and never realized what was before him.” He answered, licking his lips and tasting the spice of the meal. Your mouth curled at his words, holding his fingers tightly around yours. “Nothing is wrong with you, just your taste in men.”

“Hey!” You let go of him and slapped his shoulder, pouting your lips. “Stop it!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He chuckled, putting his hands in surrender.

“I’m questioning why you’re my best friend.” You seethed through your teeth.

“Flower, you’re one of the most special people.”

You snorted at his comment, “Nice try.”

“It’s true.” He countered. His smile faded a little, noticing your lack of confidence. “Special people like you will get infinite wishes that your little heart desires. Everything you hope for will come true. You’ll get what you truly deserve, flower. It’ll just take time.”

You gazed back at him. The twinkling lights in your pupils appeared at his reassurance. “Thank you, Joon. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

It was a common exchange between you two, but little did Namjoon know, it held a deeper meaning.

Though Seokjin never saw what was in front of him, Namjoon never noticed what he had until it was too late.

Years passed, and you eventually moved on from your heartbreak, having Namjoon by your side. You seemed happier and cheerful while he watched you. But you never were with anyone ever since.

You went on to bigger and better things, like landing a high-paying corporate job after college. Namjoon also was doing well, from being an intern climbed his way to the top in being the art curator at the national museum. You were both proud of each other and your accomplishment, always cheered one another on when times got tough.

However, despite your successes, you agreed it was time to move out of your janky apartment and part ways. It was a harsh transition since you’ve seen each other every day for over ten years, but you made it work. You promised to text and call every day and update anything that happened.

Namjoon could never leave you and you the same back. Again, you and he were inseparable.

You two scheduled dinner at the end of the week. Ever since you got promoted, your schedule restricted you from spending time with him, but you kept your promise to call and text. Namjoon was currently working on his first major project for the museum and was excited to tell you all about it. You couldn’t wait either.

But for now, he had lunch with Jimin at a café since the shorter finally had time in his hectic residency life.

“It was so wild. I saw anything like it before.” Jimin talked about a patient he had and their diagnosis, Hanahaki Disease.

Jimin explained how Hanahaki Disease was this exponentially progressing illness that stemmed from unrequited love. Flowers–the popular indication of the disease–bloom in the person’s lungs and heart and can only be intensified. His patient had stage four of this Hanahaki Disease.

“I’ve read about it in the books, and cases were rare. Seeing it first hand was very tragic.” Jimin sighed, recalling his experience.

“What does stage four mean?” Though Namjoon was skeptical, he was interested in this so-called disease.

“It means the roots from the flowers have grown into his respiratory system. He came in choking on his blood and coughing up sunflowers.”

“Why sunflower?”

“It was his wife’s favorite flowers.” Jimin’s face gloomed lower. “Poor guy caught her cheating, and the painful love was too strong.”

Namjoon hissed at the thought, “I feel for him.”

“Yeah, so at that point, he either dies or gets surgery to remove the roots.” The shorter concluded. “Sorry for the depressing story, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You’re good, man,” Namjoon reassured. “Though you saw it, it’s quite an unusual diagnosis, don’t you think? I mean, doesn’t it sound far-fetched? Like love really made that happen?”

“It does, but you won’t think that way if you saw it in front of you. Love can do a lot to someone.” Jimin reasoned back. “There’s little evidence on it, but it does happen.”

The pairing sat in silence, processing the tragic story. Namjoon wondered how severe love has to be for you to end up like that. He had never really experienced that kind of love before; it wasn’t hard to love, in his opinion, but loving someone had to be chosen wisely and thoughtfully. Love shouldn’t hurt.

“Anyways, besides me and flower vomiting patients, how are you and the art life?” Jimin changed the subject to a lighter feel. He knew about Namjoon’s project and was impatient to see the final product. “How’s the project? What was it about again?”

“It’s going great. Stressful, but I’m enjoying every bit of it.” He smiled, thinking about his passion. “I guess your story was a great transition to my project. It’s about love. Various meanings and interpretations of love worldwide, so I’ve been obtaining many pieces overseas to display them.”

“Ahh, so you’re gonna get typical ones like The Kiss by Gustav Klimt or that one by Picasso?” Jimin semi-mocked, incorporating very little knowledge about art.

“No, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Namjoon rolled his eyes, munching on his salad. “The museum wanted me to go through a different approach and find more modern and recent artists.”

“So, like up and coming artists?” The shorter asked, and he hummed in response. “I guess, what type of approach are you having with love?”

“Well, love is more than a feeling. It’s hard to put into words. It’s an essence that can be explained through various points of view.”

“Yeah, Mr. Smartass. Stop being so technical!”

“I’m just saying! Love causes emotions. It’s a concept to profess desires and connectedness to someone within an individual, so that’s why that Hanahaki Disease seems exaggerated.” Namjoon argued his thoughts. “I’m not saying love doesn’t exist or anything. It’s here somewhere.”

“This is why you don’t have a girlfriend.” Jimin scoffed, leaning back into his chair. Namjoon ignored his comment like usual before his phone pinged a message.

It was you, and he was delighted to open it. A picture of your lunch, or rather lunches. He saw another plate from the opposite end of the table. It was probably Ryujin, your coworker buddy you spent your time with.

“Is that ___?” Jimin had a devilish smile on him.

“Yeah?? What about it?” Namjoon replied to you with, “Bruh, that looks bomb. Enjoy!” And locked his screen before paying attention to his friend before him. “You know we communicate a lot.”

“Yes, I know the many instances.” Jimin agreed. “But seeing you smile just by a text says more than you say. Actions speak louder than words!”

“Jimin, we’re not going through with this again.” The taller shook his head at his friend’s persistence. “I told you I don’t love her like that. She’s been my best friend for years!”

“Yeah, but I don’t see you giggling, kicking your feet, and twirling your hair thinking about me.” Jimin retorted, folding his arms over his chest. “You probably don’t notice it since you’ve been with her all this time, but you give one another so much, more than friends usually do.”

“Maybe, it’s just you because you end up sleeping with your opposite gendered friends.”

“Hey, that was three times! And I was drunk for two.”

“Point is that ___ and I have been best friends for years . Neither of us did anything like that in the time being and never will.”

“Because you never made a move and acknowledged yo—”

“Jimin.” Namjoon interrupted sternly, wanting to end this conversation. Jimin never understood your friendship with him and constantly suspected that there was something more than what met the eyes. He could sense it, but Namjoon refused to listen.

“Fine, I’ll stop.” Jimin sighed. “At least acknowledge my words.”

Namjoon gulped his iced coffee and thinned his lips, “Maybe.”

He should have listened.

After dinner, he took you to the museum. Due to his respected status, he had the privilege of possessing the keys to artistic treasures. It was a way for him to move back and forth with any work beyond the public hours. And because you had the privilege of being his best friend, you could see the Love exhibition he finalized that morning and now waiting for the official opening in two weeks.

The stepping of your heels echoed within the empty museum. Your eyes scanned through the beautiful artwork before you, enchanted by the different styles and meanings, yet they all revolved around one concept: love.

You stole little glances of Namjoon, his attention invested in the paintings as he passed by you. You appreciated his passion for his job, bringing purpose to his life and those around him. He gave you comfort and solace in your chaotic life, and no amount of gratitude can equate to his actions and words.

However, you were nervous around him this time, playing out what to say and do. Sure, he never cared before, but you were a bit self-conscious with this one. You wanted to approach it right. After all, what he said and did matters to you. He was important.

Your eyes landed on a particular piece, never seeing anything like it. The painting contained four bodies. Two of which embraced one another on top of a hill as birds and flowers bloomed around them. Hues resembled joy and, of course, love. As you shifted down the mountain, the third subject laid down, surrounded by colors of gloom and sorrow. Wilting flora consumed the body. The complete opposite of the couple on top. However, the final form was rather strange because you barely saw it. You could see the background behind it, almost like a ghost.

“I see you found my favorite piece in the exhibit.” Your best friend announced with a grin. You were too into the painting to realize he stood by you. He carefully inspected the artwork, absorbing the emotions it gave and the purpose of the artist’s creation.

“Why is your favorite?” You wondered, your eyes still attentive to the piece.

“To be honest, I’ve met with the artist before during my work trip in Mexico. Great guy, his interpretations were so philosophical that it expanded my knowledge that it only left me wanting more from him.” Namjoon expressed. “This is my favorite piece because, for once, he had something that portrayed a specific visual he wanted to convey, and I’m also sure that many people can relate.”

“And that is?”

“It’s a story.” He began. “A depressing one. Once upon a time, a man and woman fell in love, and they lived happily ever.”

“That doesn’t sound too sad.” You chuckled.

“You didn’t let me finish.” He mentioned, making you shut your mouth. “As the couple danced to their love, they never realized that someone from afar also fell in love with her. That’s him.” He pointed to the covered body. “All the flowers he sent her returned to him, and he slowly died from it. The last body is him, but he’ll forever roam the world with this emptiness inside. But at the very least, he can stay afar, looking at her and seeing her happy.”

“Ouch, that fucking hurts.” You pouted at his description. No one should ever go through that.

“The painting is called Cien Años by Pepe Lafourcade.” He informed. “Pepe said if he lived 100 years, he’d think of her for 100 years.”

“Tragically captivating.” You nodded before shifting your eyes onto your best friend, who was already gazing at you.

Namjoon swore his world stopped by witnessing you and your very radiant form. You looked much healthier now, caring for yourself and enhancing your beauty more than yesterday but less than tomorrow. He observed a new necklace on you, perhaps a treat for your hard work, he assumed. You deserved it. You always did. He saw you like you were the only one in the world, his world.

And no one could compare to you.

He wished to be with you as long as he could.

His stare flustered you a bit; you’ve never seen anything like it. You thought you were seeing things and had some assumptions in your mind. But you merely pushed them because they weren’t necessary anymore.

You broke the eye contact as you focused on your feet. You had to speak to him. “Joon?”

“Yes, flower?” He crouched down, trying to find your eyes, laughing at how timid you were. It was peculiar to act like this with him. He didn’t want to say anything when you first met up. He wanted you to tell him naturally.

You gave up and finally faced him again. Your large doe eyes were his favorite; he never told you but enjoyed seeing them. “I have to tell you something. Something important.”

“Oh, how important?”

“Kinda big? Uh, serious, actually.”

“How so,” He was being playful, but that’s only because he was unaware of how much the words that came out of you will affect him in the long run.

“I’ve been dating this guy for the past six months…uhhh, Jungkook is his name, and I’m falling in love with him.”

Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook.

Namjoon’s attention focused on you as you reached the end of the aisle. Your father gave you a goodbye kiss before he lets go of you. You turned away from him and smiled gently, with giggles in between biting your lips. The unconditional true love flashed in your eyes.

But it wasn’t directed towards him.

Instead, it was for the man in front of him. The groom.

Jeon Jungkook.

The love of your life.

“I’m sorry, who?”

Namjoon was utterly stunned at what you just said. You were dating someone for a while, and you didn’t tell him? Your best friend? Now you’re in love with that guy?

“His name is Jungkook, and we—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He felt offended and angry by your decision. It wasn’t like you. You told him everything. You told him about Seokjin the second you talked to him. The name was vaguely familiar. He had heard it before. Wait—

“Isn’t he your boss?” Namjoon asked incredulously.

“Well, not anymore. I got promoted and transferred to another department, remember?” You tried your best to explain yourself. “I mean, he technically is. He runs part of the corporation.”

“W-why? H-how?”

“We had to keep it a secret. I couldn’t tell you….”

“Couldn’t tell me? Me, your best friend?” He forced a laugh, but there was nothing funny in his tone.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Flower, how could you be so fucking stupid like that? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

Namjoon regretted those words the second they came out of his mouth. Your facial expression said it all, insulted and hurt by your best friend. Your face became sour with your lips trembling. God, you hated how sensitive you were being. But like you said, what he said or did mean so much to you.

So it hurt when he didn’t support you.

He took a step towards you, but you stepped back. “___, I—”

“I thought you’d understand.” Your eyes were glossy, blinking away to fight the hurt from being released. You shook your head, “Like how my best friend usually is. I thought you would be supportive.”

Silence drowned you two. Namjoon had no words, all he could think about was how much he disappointed you. You said nothing and couldn’t bother dealing with him. Like what he told you if you didn’t want to deal with the situation right now, just walk away.

So you did, leaving him alone in the museum as you called Jungkook to pick you up.

Namjoon couldn’t comprehend what he was feeling right now. His breath shivered at this indescribable tension in his stomach and chest. His fingers were finicky, needing to do something to keep the thoughts at bay. But all through his mind was you. He remained unfocused, especially since you didn’t reply to his texts or answer his calls. The unknown of what you were doing and how you felt bothered him, distracting his brain away from everything around him.

You were in love with your boss, and he had no idea. He couldn’t recollect any hints or say about you dating someone. Sure, you’ve gotten happier, but he thought it was because of him…that you were spending your time with him…

If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t mad that you didn’t tell him. It was probably the rational thing to do since Jungkook was well-known in the business—Namjoon had to search him up. It was most likely to keep word from spreading, and no one knew.

In fact, he was more uncomfortable than you were with someone. He has seen what happened to you in the past and didn’t want you to get hurt. He knew nothing about this Jungkook guy and feared the worst from him yet.

It was the night of the official opening of his exhibition, and you still weren’t talking. This was the longest you haven’t spoken to each other. It made Namjoon stay up at night running a busy mind. He started getting worried, thinking he fucked up your whole friendship and his shitty remarks. He was so upset with himself that he wasn’t feeling well.

Namjoon was weary for a couple of weeks, with a scratchy throat and a loss of appetite. It was probably stress from everything that was going on with planning and, of course, his dilemma with you. Hopefully, after tonight, he’ll be a little bit better. Though he begged to differ when he developed slight coughing in the morning.

The murmur of guests crowded the museum’s main lobby, some of the artists that he collected for the exhibit also attended. Unfortunately, Pepe wasn’t here due to conflicting schedules, but he gave his wishes to Namjoon.

People went up to him, admiring and congratulating him and his work. Namjoon could only smile politely and share his thanks. It was a big day for him, and if it was a success, it’d open him to a new world of the arts. Famous artists and museums would know him, and his approach to his work would get recognized by many.

Yet, his mood was down, hoping that a certain someone would see him on a day like this.

“Sup, bro!!” A few invitees glowered at the person for the loud disruption, but he did not care. “Calm down, don’t give me dirty eyes. I’m probably more educated than all of you combined.”

One of the security guards came toward his friend, “Excuse me, si—”

“It’s Dr. Park,” Jimin corrected before grabbing a flute of champagne from the waiter. The guard was about to protest, but Namjoon raised his hand, reassuring them that he was, unfortunately, an important guest. He winked cheekily at him through his slit-like eyes with his pride held high. Security glared at the doctor once more before leaving the premises.

“Jimin, don’t make a scene. It’s bad enough they see us together.” Namjoon exhaled, swirling his drink with a straw.

“How is it bad? We’re besties! I’m so proud of you.” Jimin shrugged but slowly changed his tone to a more serious one as he looked at his friend’s expression. “What’s wrong? You don’t look too good.”

“I’m fine, just been coughing since this morning.” Namjoon cleared his throat, but the shorter knew there was much more.

“Haven’t talked to her since?”

Namjoon sighed and nodded, “I’m worried I fucked our friendship.”

The doctor bit back his tongue. He needed to comfort his friend now, then tell him off later. “She’s upset, but it won’t be enough to stop your friendship. She’ll come around; she just needs time.”

“I know, but—” Namjoon swore he stopped breathing. From across the room, he spotted you. He didn’t think you’d come. His pupils dilated at your appearance. You were absolutely breathtaking like you were prized artwork in the museum, capturing the hearts of anyone who came by.

His heart weirdly skipped a beat.

Your eyes met his, then smiled at his success and waved. You headed in his direction. However, the closer you came, the more he realized you weren’t alone.

Hand in hand, a tall, strong-built man followed by you. His round eyes observed the area while his mouth was agape at the ambiance. His features were strong yet soft, and he looked approachable. He was around your age, reasonably young for someone running part of a whole corporation.

“Joon,” You greeted before letting go of the man to hug your best friend. You shocked him, his body stiffening up, then relaxing at your familiar warmth and comfort. He wrapped his arms around you, firming his grip. “Congratulations!”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His eyes watered up, not realizing that he had held back tears since that night. You were finally here with him, and the emotions let loose.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad anymore.” You promised as you pulled away to look at his face. Some tears fell down to which you wiped them off with your gentle thumbs. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply; that was a bitch move.”

“No, you had every reason.” He begged to differ. “I didn’t even give you a chance to speak.”

“Next time, we’ll communicate better.” You proposed, and he nodded quickly, knowing that your friendship remained strong as ever.

“Yay, you made up. What about me?” Jimin pushed his way into you. You giggled and hugged him too.

“Hello, Dr. Park. Long time no see, looking dangerous as ever.” You said.

“Hello, ____. Long time no see, Looking ravishing as ever. And yes, always dangerous, but no one needs to know.” He smiled boldly, then shifted his attention to the man biting his lips, holding a bouquet. “Who might this be?”

All your attention goes towards the newcomer, bulging his eyes but letting out a bunny-like smile. Carrying some flowers with one hand, he used the other to wave and bow.

“This is Jungkook…my boyfriend.” You revealed to the two men.

Right on cue, Namjoon coughed harshly. He gulped some water and tried clearing his throat again. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he gave you an okay signal.

“Jungkook, this is Namjoon.”

Jungkook handed you the bouquet, then he went up to the taller man and shook his hand with both of his, “Hello, Namjoon. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard nothing but great things from this one.” He gestured to you. Namjoon accepted the greeting and nodded silently. He needed to be civil, at least for now.

“And this one is Dr. Park Jimin.” You presented. “Remember, he’s a doctor.”

“And don’t you forget about it,” Jimin added on. Jungkook shook his hand as well. “I heard of your corporation. I saw on the news that you opened two new shelters for mothers and children. You do great work.”

Jungkook blushed and smiled, “Oh, yes. Thank you. It was a hard process, but I hope to do more of them in the future.”

“Oh, these are for you.” You said, passing the bouquet to your best friend.

Namjoon inspected the flowers—daisies, his favorite flowers because they were your favorite.

“This is a celebratory gift for your first solo exhibit and an apology.” You continued gazing at your best friend, trying to communicate telepathically, which Namjoon was fully aware of.

Somehow that hinted Jungkook into saying, “Dr. Park, do you think you can accompany me to the hors d’oeuvres? Let’s leave these two to talk.”

Impressed at his request, Jimin nodded, enjoying the man so far. The shorter glanced at Namjoon to give him some good luck before joining Jungkook’s food adventure.

There, you both were alone but not really knowing how to start this. This was the longest you’ve been apart, let alone fight like that. In fact, you rarely fought. There was nothing that came in between you two until now.

“He seems nice,” Namjoon commented about your new…boyfriend. “His mannerisms are a bit mechanical, though.”

You let out a chuckle, “He’s nervous. He wants to impress you.”

“Big CEO wanting to impress a small-time art curator? That’s new.”

“Well, big CEO knows that the art curator means a lot to me.” You went along with his saying. “He wants you to like him.”

“Why would he care about what I think?” Namjoon muttered, feeling a bit jittery. He held the bouquet tightly to keep his movements in control.

“Because he knows that I care about what you think.” You replied. “He was sad when I told him how you reacted because he was afraid. He doesn’t want you to think badly of him.”

“Not wanting to compare, but it’s hard not to after how many before he treated you.” He frowned as he said his thought out loud. “I don’t want you to get hurt, flower.”

You smiled softly at his care towards you. That’s what you loved about him. “Joon, he’s not going to hurt me. I can tell you that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I made the first move.” You revealed. “And though he’s stern and serious about his work—bless his soul—he is so shy, Joon. He was a nervous wreck, confessing his crush on me. It felt like I was in high school.”

Namjoon couldn’t imagine it. At first, he didn’t think that shyness would be a characteristic of Jungkook. Then again, he doesn’t know anything about him. He didn’t accept him at all, probably not anytime soon for safety precautions.

“He’s the first man in a long time for me, and I’ve been careful. He’s been careful. I actually asked him to keep it between just us two because I didn’t want my coworkers knowing about our relationship.” You elaborated. “But he suggested to at least tell our loved ones if we wanted to be serious with each other.”

“You’re serious with him?” Namjoon spoke softly. A sharp, quick pain pushed through his stomach, leaving an unpleasant feeling. Yet he didn’t try showing it; he didn’t want you to worry about him.

You nodded at the thought of Jungkook being steady with you. “Yes, that’s why I was afraid of telling you about him. I wanted you to accept him too.”

He coughed again, shaking his head. “I’m accepting of him, yet if I’m being honest. But I’ll try to.”

“He knows about my past too, and he swore he’s not like that.” He coughed harshly this time. You handed him some water that he accepted. “Joon, are you okay?”

Namjoon chugged the cup down and exhaled slowly. “Yeah, I think I have an upset stomach. I got a bad cough from this morning.”

“Make sure you take care of yourself, okay? I don’t wanna beat you up if you’re not being healthy.” You scolded, and it only made him laugh.

“I’ll be fine, flower. It’s just been stressful, from the event and our time apart.”

Your mood died a little, being guilty about what you did. “I’m sorry again. I promise to never do that again.” You grabbed his hand to squeeze some comfort in him.

His body got hit with another blow, but he bit his lips to dull the pain. “You worry too much, flower. It wasn’t your fault. You were also worried about me, too, no?”

You nodded, “I was. I care for you too much not to.”

“The feeling is mutual.” He reassured. “Then we should just enjoy the night and days to come.”

You couldn’t help but hug him. You missed him so much, crying to Jungkook about him. He knew you cared for your best friend and hoped that you two would reconcile.

“I love you, Joon.”

“I love you too, flower.”

Again, a standard practice, but Namjoon didn’t realize his love changed from yours.

Namjoon couldn’t hate Jungkook.

The more he was around the guy, the more he realized how chaotically sweet Jungkook was. He was just like you, an odd presence but very lovable. The only thing he hated about him was that he kept winning at everything, yet he was still humble about it.

Jungkook made initiatives to hang out with you and your friends from time to time just so he could understand your life and engage with those you loved. He hung out with him and Jimin, too, without you, and it was a fun guy’s night. He put so much effort into what he wanted, and he did it with ease. It was easier to like him.

Your relationship was growing healthy, and Namjoon was happy for you. You needed something like this, and he could only hope that Jungkook would continue that with you.

On the other hand, Namjoon has been on a stump. First of all, his event was a huge success. His networking multiplied, getting busy with upcoming projects. He’s been traveling internationally, attending conferences and parties, meeting other curators like him, and even making new friends like Jung Hoseok, who was overseas as a curator in Madrid.

So what was his stump?

Well, for a few months now, Namjoon has had this stomach flu. He’s been getting random fevers, uncontrollable shaking, sharp pains in his chest or abdomen, and not eating regularly.

The worst part of it all was his cough. It didn’t improve since that night, it seemed to have gotten worse. He felt the need to scratch his throat, even having the urge put his fingers down his mouth and take care of the itch himself.

He went to the doctors, and they assumed the same. They provided him more potent medication every visit, but it didn’t feel like it was working. Was it because he was growing older? Did he need to start working out and caring for his body like that? It was bothering him, distracting him from his work, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

If only he knew, his condition worsened with time.

“And now for the bride and groom to say their vows.” The ordained minister proceeded.

Before you proclaimed your love, you held your hands with Jungkook’s, focusing on him. You took deep breaths, collecting your memorized speech that you suddenly forgot. Your eyes told that you were stuck, but Jungkook helped you.

“Anything you say, I will love for. Hell, you can call me irritating and I’d say thank you.” Little giggles responded to the groom’s joke. You rolled your eyes, then remembered why you loved him in the first place.

“When I first met you, I was afraid of loving again. I was hurt and disappointed so many times. I don’t even know how many tears I shed throughout that journey. I felt like giving up and never loving again.” You started your vows. “But then you changed that for me. Though I was scared, you helped me back up and had so much patience with me. I don’t know how you do it. Jimin even questioned it.”

Namjoon looked back and saw his shorter friend nod to your speech before putting his eyes back on you.

“You brought nothing but joy in my life. Yes, we went through difficult times, but we made it out, and I know we’ll do that again in our marriage. You’ve accepted not only me into your life but also my family and friends you’ve grown to love.” You sniffled, not wanting to cry, but you just had to. “Thank you for loving me at my best and even my worst. Thank you for not giving up on us. You are the love of my life, and you make me happier than I could ever imagine and more loved than I ever thought was possible.”

Namjoon heard sniffing from Jungkook, who let out tears faster than you. Upholding the role as best man, he kept tissues in his back pocket just in case. He pulled them out and tapped on Jungkook’s shoulder. The groom accepted the gesture and handed one to you and then to him.

“I vow to honor you, listen, laugh with you, and cry with you. I just hope you do the same back. You make me so proud, proud to be called your wife. I love you, Jeon Jungkook. I can’t wait to spend my life with you.”

Namjoon didn’t know when it started in terms of the other symptoms, but he remembered the first time he specifically saw it.

Jimin threw a Christmas party at his house and invited people you didn’t really know besides him, Jungkook, and Namjoon. Everyone else was people from the hospital he trained at, his party friends, the list went on. Nevertheless, it was a casual party with cute little games he had prepared.

You, Jungkook, and Namjoon talked amongst yourself in the corner. You and Jungkook had matching grinch Christmas sweaters. After a year of being together, you and Jungkook were more comfortable in front of people with your relationship. A few kisses and hugs here and there, but you liked to keep your relationship with him private.

Still, the public display of affection was prominent, and it disgusted Namjoon. It may seem like a joke to others, but it really did gross him out. Whenever you cuddled up onto one another or just plain out kissed, Namjoon’s upset stomach or chest murmurs intensified.

Like now, he kissed your cheek, and Namjoon felt a dig in his torso. His face turned sour, exhaled slowly as he palmed the ache.

“Namjoon, are you okay?” Jungkook looked at him with concern. “Are you having chest pains again?”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna go away again.” Namjoon brushed it off. “It comes and goes from time to time.”

“Did you go to the doctor again?” You asked.

“Yes, flower. I went the other day. Since I told him about my chest, they had me do an x-ray. They said they’ll call me, but I don’t think it’ll be any time soon ‘cause of the holidays.”

“The holidays shouldn’t be an excuse to keep my best friend from being healthy.” You pouted, earning laughs from your boyfriend and best friend.

“Honey, don’t worry too much.” Jungkook patted your head. “Namjoon is grown to make his own decisions and choose what to worry about.”

“I’m gonna have to agree with, JK, flower.” Namjoon agreed. “Plus, we’re still young. I’m sure whatever they find, it’ll be easy to fix. There are also not many health issues on both sides of my family, so I’m chilling.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, “Your ease is so annoying sometimes.”

After that conversation, Jimin chimed in and pulled all three of you to a game of “Nogpong.” The four were split into pairs: You and Namjoon and Jimin and Jungkook. Losers had to do what the winners said.

Jungkook and Jimin had experience playing these games, but you and Namjoon’s teamwork was unmatched. The teams went back and forth, missing cups, shooting them while making the opposing chug the eggnog down.

Your team had two cups left while they had five. It was your turn to throw a ball. Jimin threw insults at you to distract your concentration, but you tried to ignore that little man. You threw the ball, earning another point.

“You suck.” Jimin spat back before downing the drink.

It was now Namjoon’s turn. He focused on the final cup, being so close to winning. But his coughing grew harshly at that moment, sounding like it hurt. There was so much phlegm that he grabbed a napkin from a tissue box to cough up. He expectorated all he could into the tissue, ultimately feeling better. But when he saw the content in the cloth, his pupils dilated in shock.

What he thought was mucus was actually blood. He noticed that he could taste the unpleasant taste of iron in his mouth. He gulped down the remnants and stuffed the trash in his pocket without thinking.

“Some cough, Joon. Are you sure you’re okay?” You furrowed your brows at him.

“Flower, I’m okay.” He said again. “Let’s just finish the game.”

You weren’t as convinced, but you had to let it slide for his sake.

Namjoon nodded towards the guys about how he felt before going back to the game. He shot it into the cup with ease, cheering at the close win. All you had to do was score in the same cup.

It was all on you now. If you make this, victory was yours and Namjoon's. Sure, there was nothing to lose, but bragging rights were substantial to you. You held your breath and threw the ball.

You won!

You and Namjoon yelled like deranged individuals, celebrating your alcoholic game victory. Jungkook and Jimin took their loss like champs as they shook hands.

Namjoon held you by the waist and jumped in joy as you threw meaningless insults at your boyfriend and friend. In this position, something in Namjoon sparked. He watched you bad-mouthed them, but you looked so elegant, so beautiful doing it. He saw the fluttering of your lashes, the curve of your nose, and the soft plush that was your lips.

You being in his arms was so soothing. The warmth you produced heated his larger frame. It felt so right. He wished to stay like this forever with you.

But those thoughts caused a downward spiral in his stomach. His head was light. He immediately turned green, his chest feeling like it had been shot multiple times. His throat was open as everything he consumed started moving up. He pushed away aggressively as he covered his mouth, running to the nearest bathroom.

He disregarded the calls at him as he slammed the door open. He rushed to the toilet and pulled up the lid before vomiting everything in him. He purged so explosively that he thought his eyeballs would pop out of his head, and snot ran down from his nose and onto the top of his lip. He felt the sweat dripping down his face. Damn, this was the worst complication yet.

The three of you followed behind him while you took the lead. You bent towards your friend and rubbed his back as he threw up. You both stayed like that for a few minutes. Jimin had to go back to calm his guests down while Jungkook went to get water for Namjoon.

“Namjoon, do you want us to take you home?” Jungkook asked. “We can bring your car back too?”

Namjoon couldn’t say no. He knew he didn’t feel good, so he nodded.

“Let me grab your things, Joon.” You stood up and lightly patted his back. “I’ll come back quick.” You said before leaving with Jungkook.

He retched up once more, releasing all he had left closed eyes. When he opened the inside, his heart dropped. He thought his vision deceived him. No way could this happen. It was impossible. There was no reason to have it.

What he assumed he puked was the pasta and wine from the party was actually more blood. But that wasn’t the most alarming.

He always thought of them as simple and beautiful to look at, appealing to the eye, but it was hard to think of daisies in that way when his blood coated the fresh petals, and they came out of his body.

Namjoon was now lying in bed, wide awake and petrified. He was dubious, couldn’t find common ground in what he experienced. Maybe he was hallucinating; the very reason was that he wasn’t feeling so well. Maybe the blood-covered daisies were seen to cover up the horrible sight of regurgitated Alfredo pasta. But the sickly fragrant scent of the flowers begged to differ.

Okay, if he were to have it, how did he get it? He needed answers. He wasn’t in love with anyone, right? He never loved anyone like that. The only people he loved were his family. Sure, Jimin was fucking annoying, and he loved the dude, but he was in love with him.

The only person left was you and…no. He didn’t, he couldn’t, he shouldn’t. He can’t . There was no damn way.

He refused to believe.

Yet Namjoon remembered it clear as day.

An urgent early call from his doctor’s office sent him waiting in the examination room. He was restless, with dark bags under his worn-out eyes. He didn’t even bother to change. He was in his Ryan bear pajamas.

He scrolled through his phone, seeing the multiple texts from you and Jimin. You both were worried and wished him to get better while greeting him a wonderful Christmas. You sent a bomb of pictures of you and Jungkook with hearts to cheer him on, and it was enough for his heart to throb. He locked his phone and threw it in his pajama pocket.

His doctor, Dr. Min, came back into the room with a stoic expression as he read Namjoon’s file. “Good morning, Mr. Kim. I apologize for the short notice, especially on Christmas. But I just had to meet with you.”

“No need to apologize, Dr. Min.” The man said. “I was kinda glad you called. I—” He paused, trying to regulate his breathing. “I wanted to confirm.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, “Did something happen recently?”

Namjoon bit his lips and nodded, getting antsy at the anticipation he caused. “I vomited, and I-I saw…blood and…,” He couldn’t say it. If he said it, he feared that it would come true.

Dr. Min didn’t let him finish his sentence as he nodded. Pulled out of his file was his recent x-ray. He brought it to the mounted screen and turned the lights on, displaying the condition of Namjoon’s body.

Roots grew through his lungs and around his heart. The silhouette of stems flourished all over his respiratory while the flowers weren’t as developed but expected to bloom soon. Bits of petals scattered around rested on his sternum with the most on his heart.

“I’m sorry, Namjoon. You’ve been diagnosed with stage three of Hanahaki Disease.” Dr. Min declared. “I know this is hard for you to take in, but I would like to tell you that my staff and I will do our best to help you in your next steps. But first, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Is that alright with you?”

Namjoon stayed silent, viewing his x-ray. He could only nod as the pain consumed his form. This was the truth, the reality he was living in.

“Do you know how long you’ve experienced symptoms?”

He shook his head.

“You did say you’ve been coughing for a while. Is that still happening?”

He nodded.

“When you coughed, was there blood?”

He nodded.

“Did you find petals?”

He shook his head.

“But when you threw up, there were petals?”

He nodded.

“When you vomited, was that the first time?”

He nodded.

“Do you love them?”

That very question snapped him out of his trance. He scowled at his doctor, wondering why he asked a personal question.

“Excuse me, Dr. Min. But isn’t that personal?” Namjoon couldn’t help but spit venom. He just found out he has a severe illness, and now his doctor wanted to know about his love life?

“It may seem personal, but this disease connects to love.” Dr. Min explained. “Namjoon, it’ll only worsen if you don’t admit it. That’s why the flowers are developing rapidly.”

He looked at his doctor, holding his stare. His eyebrows scrunched on his forehead with a large frown upon his mouth. Dr. Min waited patiently for his response, knowing what was gradually happening to him.

Thinking deeply about the question, his consciousness popped with a vague image. The picture subtly grew vivid at each second. Colors were lively, edges were pronounced, and the shapes were visible. By the time it was clear and detailed, a memory flashed in his very mind.

He stood on top of a roof. Inspecting around him, he realized it was his old apartment building years back. He saw the crowded shining city spanning across his vision. Buildings stood high and lit, groups of people walking down the streets, but still, he could only hear the soft white noise of the night. Light instrumental music resonated through the rooftop. It was all nostalgic. He missed the view, but more importantly, he missed the memories made here.

“Joon, dance with me,” A gentle voice begged as a small hand tugged his relatively larger one.

His head turned, presenting him with the prettiest, perfect sight. The glow in your skin shined brighter than the moon and sun combined. Your large glittering irises electrified his entire being. Your laugh rippled goosebumps on him, filling his body with sensation. Your smile captivated his very mind and soul. You intertwined his fingers with yours, your warmth coursing through his veins.

Everything about this was perfect. He never wanted to leave. He wished to stay like this forever. He loved every feeling. He loved every minute. He loved the memory. He loved the vision. But essentially—

He loved you.

Namjoon was in love with you, has been this entire time.

But you didn’t love him back.

You were in love with someone else.

The confession only brought painful tears to him as he let his emotions run loose. He scrunched his nose, sniffing uncontrollably. His mouth quivered hopelessly as little whimpers escaped. His gaze went down to his lap, noticing his trembling hands.

He never thought of the day he finally understood what love was. He was too analytical with his beliefs in the past. But he also gave himself some credit. Love was still an essence that powered emotions. All these interpretations and meanings were interconnected. You couldn’t have this without the other. It was more than a concept, more than a feeling.

Love was larger than life itself. Love was greater than anything in the whole universe. It was impossible to put a limit to love.

Perhaps, Jimin was right.

Love can do a lot for someone.

Namjoon refused to tell anyone about his condition. Not only did he have to say to them that he was slowly dying from unrequited love, but he would have to reveal his true feelings for you.

He couldn’t deny them any longer, he loved you with all his heart, and it was killing him. But if it had to be anyone to do it, it had to be you.

He knew he couldn’t tell you. You would blame yourself, crying to him that you wished you would have loved him back. But you did love him.

Just not in the way he loved you. It wasn’t your fault at all. You were the type to make anyone fall in love with you. Namjoon had to just be part of that statistic.

He knew he couldn’t have you, you were with Jungkook, and you loved that man dearly. He was good to you, the best even, probably more than Namjoon would have done.

For the following months, he continued occupying his life with work. He had to focus on things other than you since you were on his mind every waking moment. He thought it was best to keep his distance. Maybe the flowers inside him wouldn’t flourish rapidly.

But you were adamant in keeping him close. You confronted him, going to his work. Your irritation dissolved once you saw his sunken face and the dark in his eyes. He convinced you that he wasn’t eating adequately since he was constantly working. Then you begged him to have lunch with you, and he couldn’t say no to you. He was too weak.

Too weak for you.

He gave in and, at the very least, texted and called you, but less than before. Sure, he hung out with you and Jungkook but was less engaged. Lately, when you asked to hang out, he told you he was busy or needed to fly out last minute.

When in reality, he went to the hospital for his condition.

“You’ve been taking the prescription, correct? Three times daily?” Dr. Min inquired. And Namjoon nodded. The doctor examined the man, he looked weaker, but somehow his body was stronger in motor and movement than the regular people who had this illness.

Hanahaki Disease cases were rare and the first for Dr. Min’s long-time patient to be diagnosed. It wasn’t as successful, but when it did, there were still some downfalls, but the individual would be okay in the end. The doctor felt the need to provide the best for him, not fathoming what he was going through.

“Good, it helps the flower wilt. It doesn’t stop the process completely, but it gives more time.” Dr. Min clarified. “Your bodily functions are still running normally, so that’s good. But I can’t say you’re getting any better….”

His health was deteriorating, the symptoms increased, and not a day went by without him coughing or throwing up petals.

“I know, doc.” Namjoon sighed. A nurse came in to check his blood pressure.

“Since you’re at a high stage in this, it’s hard for a cure unless….”

“No.” The man interrupted, knowing what he was going to say. “She’s been dating a friend for a while now. Great guy and loves her dearly..”

Dr. Min noted and nodded carefully at his response. “There’s also surgery. Many people who were diagnosed refuse to take it; that’s also why the fatality of Hanahaki is high. However, a small percentage who do, don’t feel love for the other person. But there are consequences.”

“Like what?”

“It is likely you will never feel love again. The memories of your love for that person won’t exist anymore.”

“Isn’t that worse?” Namjoon knitted his brows. He feared a life without loving, without loving you. He’d probably feel empty inside, lingering around like a ghost. “How can someone live on without love?”

“I…I don’t know.” And for once, Dr. Min didn’t have the right answer. Namjoon accepted what he said; it wasn’t his doctor’s fault. He was only suggesting possibilities. “It’s just another option because, at this rate, the illness is going into the four-stage.”

“And what happens at that stage?”

“If something were to happen that speeds it up, the flowers would bloom all over your lungs, and you will die before the end of the year.”

To live without love or to die with love.

A question that has been running through the mind of Kim Namjoon. He didn’t have much time left, but he couldn’t get himself to make a decision.

Obviously, he didn’t want to die. There was still much more for him to do. He wouldn’t be able to do what he wanted. But…a life without love? How would that be plausible? No human would walk on Earth with no love in their body because everyone has to love something or someone deep down.

But the thing that heated his mind was never loving you. He has fallen in love with you since you both were 11. Every drop of love in his body was for you. You were the one who would give meaning to his memories. How would he survive moving on after you?

Namjoon was deep in thought when fingers snapped in front of his face. He blinked back into his surroundings. He was in his office, trying to email Hoseok about some future collaborations.

The culprit, Jimin, rested on one side of his body with his hands on his hips. He had a concerned yet annoyed face on him as he inspected Namjoon. “You’re wasting our precious lunchtime together zoning out.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, quickly finishing up the email and sending it to his fellow art curator. As they walked up the street to the cafe, Jimin couldn’t help but take multiple takes at his friend.

“Stop staring. I’m not a fucking picture.” Namjoon caught his friend’s gaze.

“Dude, you don’t look so good.”

“Wow, thanks. That definitely helps with my self-esteem.”

“Stop joking. I’m serious.” Jimin refuted. “You look sicker. You barely eat, and you keep having colds.”

“I told you, Jimin. I’ve been going to the doctor, and it’s just stress—”

“ I’m literally a doctor. I can tell that this is more than stress. If you have something and you’re not tell—” An incoming call from Namjoon stopped Jimin’s rant. The shorter’s mouth thinned as he faced forward, waiting for the crosswalk to turn green.

Namjoon pulled his phone out, assuming it was Hoseok. But it was actually Jungkook. He rarely called and usually preferred texting to his introverted self. Nevertheless, he answered and greeted the man.

“Hey, thanks for answering. I really needed your opinion or like help with something.” Jungkook spoke out.

“No problem, man.” Namjoon grinned. “You know I’m always here to help. What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t really know how to say this….”

“You literally sound like ___ right now. It’s baffling.”

“Ugh, I—okay, fine. Obviously, you know ___ and I are together and in love, right?” A pain in his chest hit hard as Namjoon cleared his itchy throat. The crosswalk turned green, and the two began walking across. He hummed in response for Jungkook to continue. “Well, I’m gonna propose to her, and I want you to help me with her ring. You know her taste better than I do and—”

Namjoon stopped. He couldn’t hear anything after that. Jungkook started to sound like the adults from the Peanuts series. The words “I’m going to propose to her” echoed in his brain, repeated like a broken record. Was he hearing it correctly?

“I’m sorry, what? You’re what?” Namjoon forced himself to ask, praying that what he said wasn’t true.

“I’m proposing to ____? I want you to help me with t—”

His vision went fuzzy, his head feeling heavier than normal. His mouth became dehydrated while breathing went rapid. Namjoon couldn’t control his body shaking; everything went numb. His eardrums inflated, unable to hear the horns honking but only a long ringing sound amplified within seconds.

Jimin reached the end of the crosswalk but looked back to see why wasn’t his large friend was by his side. Jimin let out a sob. He saw his friend fall forward, dropping his phone. He ran up as he watched Namjoon vomit blood in the middle of the street.

He got down on his knees in distress, rubbing his friend’s back as he pulled out his phone to call an ambulance. Some people crowded the scene, even going as far as getting out of their cars to help them.

While Jimin instructed the hospital on their location, Namjoon gagged harshly, feeling stuck with something burning through his throat, almost like it was too large to even consume, let alone retched up.

“Yes, please. We’re here at W 6th and Namu Avenue.” Namjoon pushed as hard as possible, and the content finally came out. “Perfect, thank you,” Jimin said before ending the call. “They’ll come in five mi—Joon.…”

With barely enough strength, Namjoon open eyes and turned to see his friend’s aghast expression. Jimin felt himself grieving over him, the tears burst out of control and ran down his reddened cheeks. So Namjoon looked away, unable to see his friend’s crying. Then he suddenly realized why—

There lay blood-stained daisies in the pool of crimson, enough to make a bouquet. Loose petals plastered around, mocking creating a large heart surrounding the arrangement.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jimin whimpered, resting his forehead on the taller’s back. He felt the tears staining his shirt, but that was the least of his problems.

“I’ll give you two some time alone,” Dr. Min told them. He looked at his sickly patient, then towards Jimin. “Maybe talk him into it.”

“Thanks, Hyung.” Jimin nodded. Dr. Min excused himself and closed the door while Jimin kept his eyes on his friend.

After the incident, Namjoon lost consciousness. Jimin was there every step of the way and almost recklessly used his authority to get his friend help. Fortunately, Dr. Min was his supervisor and a good friend that came quickly when he found out what happened to his patient.

Namjoon woke up to them discussing his choices regarding this illness, but he stayed quiet and drank water. He knew Jimin was upset at him for not telling about his condition but was more afraid of him telling you , someone innocent in all of this.

“I know you’re still not feeling well, but I need to know, as your colleague, your friend, your brother, fuck as me! Someone who cares so much about you!” Jimin huffed, feeling frustrated at the situation. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Namjoon chuckled, but nothing was light about it. “You really think I’d tell her? She’d blame herself, and it’s not her fault.”

“At least, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sure you’d say the same thing as Dr. Min….” Namjoon glowered, inspecting the needles and tubes attached to his wrist. “This is something that’s my problem. Because in all honesty, Jimin, what would you have done? You can’t tell me I shouldn’t love her. You can’t tell her to love me. There really wasn’t anything you could do.”

“But…but…I would have been there for you.” Jimin sniffed, his eyes glistening at the sight of his friend. “I would stay by your side even if you were getting worse. No one should go through this alone.” He walked up and gently clasped his hand, noticing how weak he’s gotten.

“How long since you’ve known?” Jimin licked his lips, trying to see any more pain in him.

“I don’t know, but the first time I saw flowers was during your Christmas party.”

“So you’ve been keeping this a secret for almost a whole year?” The shorter released his hold to pace around the room, having many emotions riling his body. “Joon, you’re dying, you know that? There’s no cure unless you do the surgery? Why haven’t you said yes?”

“Because there are consequences to it that I don’t know if I’d accept.” Namjoon had to stay calm. It was better this way, thinking it’d make his friends hurt a little less. “Why live a life without love?” Jimin kept silent, gathering his reasons for the hypothetical question. “The doctor said if I do the surgery, I can’t love again. Go on my life not loving? I’d live an empty life. I wouldn’t get married, have children, see them grow….”

“Technically, you still can.”

“Jimin, life would still be empty, and it would hurt everyone around me, including my parents, you, Jungkook, ___.” He cried at your name. “I can’t live without loving her. It’s hard. I loved her since I was 11, Jimin, and as it pains me to see her with someone else, I have to let her go.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you’re dying!”

“And if I don’t love, I would be dead inside.” Namjoon smiled bitterly. “I lose either way.”

Jimin sighed, brushing his fingers through his hair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying his best to talk to him. “While you were unconscious, I talked with Dr. Min. He explained to me how there was a recent study on post-surgery for Hanahaki. There were about ten subjects. The researcher found that despite the common knowledge of not loving, there’s a 50% chance that you may feel it again.”

Namjoon’s eyes glimmered towards his friend, “What? How’d you get this?”

“Yoongi Hyung didn’t know much about the illness, so he had to go through studies and experiments to learn more about it. He stumbled upon this one issued almost two years ago by one of the nation’s prestigious schools.” Jimin articulated what he absorbed from his superior. “There’s still hope for you.”

“Jimin, I don’t know…I don’t feel like gambling my life like that.” Namjoon was uncertain. He was stuck in the middle because either he loved again or didn’t. With the adversity he has been under, the universe wasn’t on his side on this.

“You’re not gambling your life; you’re finding reasons to live, to love.” Jimin reasoned. “You can do all the things you wish to do. You shouldn’t give up, Joon.”

“I-I need time to think this through….” He concluded. There was the temptation to all of it, but he needed to think carefully about his decision. Right now, he’s emotional, Jimin’s emotional; this whole thing is an emotional mess.

“Though Dr. Min can’t say this, I can. You don’t have much time left. That scene triggered you going into the final stage. I don’t want you to die.” Jimin spoke his thoughts. “But whatever decision you make, I’ll be right by your side.”

“Thank you, Chim.” Namjoon nodded. “D-did you tell her? About my condition?”

The shorter breathed out before shaking his head, “No, I thought you would be the one to tell her. But she does know you’re in the hospital. She and Jungkook are in the waiting room. I said you fainted and threw up on the street.”

“You can’t tell her about it, please.” Namjoon pleaded. “I don’t want her to take the blame. None of this is her fault.”

Not arguing with him, Jimin questioned, “So what do we say? You’re dying, and you can’t say you have a fever.”

“Just say I have a tumor.”

“I don’t know if that’s worse or not….”

“I technically do, except instead of a tumor, it’s fucking daisies growing in my lungs!” Namjoon retorted. “Look, whatever it is, she can’t know that I have Hanahaki because she’ll find out I’m in love. She can’t know this, please.”

Jimin bit inside his mouth, “Fine, I won’t tell her, but make your decisions on the surgery soon.”

“Oh, Joon!” You cried, rushing towards him. You threw your hands over his body and sobbed. Jungkook trailed behind with a stuffed koala with a ‘Get Well’ balloon, then Jimin was the last to come back in before closing the door.

Namjoon didn’t like how sad you looked as he hugged you back. He caressed your hair before parting away to get a glimpse of you. You were whimpering, snot running down your nose, crocodile tears shedding, and the spark of pain yet relief in your eyes.

“Jimin told us what happened. We left work and sped here, we waited for hours, and… why didn’t you tell me you had a tumor?” You had so many questions, but this was taking priority.

Namjoon glanced at Jimin, who had his arms crossed over his chest. He nodded slightly, keeping the promise.

“Uhh, I didn’t want you to worry.” He answered softly.

“Now you’re in the hospital, on the brink of death!” You were hurt; he kept it from you, but more so, scared for his life. You didn’t want to lose your best friend.

“I’m sorry, it’s complicated…Doctor said I could go through surgery, but….”

“But? But what? Why don’t you?” You reached for his hands. It was a thing you used to do as children, and you did find a way to comfort each other.

But though it was comforting, it was also intensely painful for Namjoon.

His heart throbbed, but he contained the ache. He pushed your hands off of him and rested them on his lap.

“It’s just…it’s complicated.” He responded the best that he could without lying. He’s already lying so much more than he did in your entire friendship.

You stared at him, trying to comprehend what he said. You needed to understand, and you had a hunch that he wasn’t adequately telling you.

“Do you think you two can leave, so we can talk privately?” You rotated back at Jimin and Jungkook. The sense of desperation was oozing through your contact.

Jungkook nodded without missing a beat, understanding the privacy needed. He placed the koala on the table and mumbled reassurances to the taller. Jimin said nothing but followed your boyfriend out and closed the door behind him.

Now you two were alone.

It’s been a while since it was just you and him. You missed it. Though you tried your best, your days grew hectic, and schedules were tight, being unable to hang out with your best friend.

You observed his state, he lost the honey color in his skin, and the darkened puffs around his eyes were accentuated by his bloodshot eyes. His hair was matted and greased, not having its usual volume. His body looked thinner, seeing his bones popping out every now and then.

“I never would have thought you’d end up like this.” You spoke truthfully. “It pains me to see you like this, Joon.”

“I know, flower.” He agreed, not wanting to look you in the eye. It really could be damaging to him.

“Are you doubting the surgery? Is it the cost? The quality, because I can help you—”

“No, it’s not like that, flower. I promise.” Even at his weakest point, he strived to make you not worried for him. “It’s…there are consequences to the surgery that I don’t know if I could live with.”

“What do you mean?”

He tried getting himself together to come up with a reasonable explanation without saying too much, “The doctor said I’d lose feeling to some parts of my body.”

“And so…”

“So, I wouldn’t live my life the way I want to.” He sighed, thinking about his tender memories with you. His eyes started to swell at the possibility of it disappearing. “I would feel dead inside. I don’t know if I can survive like that.”

“Did he say anything else? Is there something that can counter that? I—was this only option?”

“He talked about some study on it and said there’s a 50% chance I could feel again. It’s just risky, you know? I’m shooting through hoops for it, and I’m….” His voice trembled in tone. “I’m tired. I’m tired of all of it. I wanna give up.”

“No, I refuse for you to give up.” You disapproved.

“No, it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay, Namjoon.” You seethed with rage, standing up from the bed.

“Look, flow—”

“No, I won’t let you. You used to tell me to never give up, stay hopeful, and that I’ll get better with time.” Your eyes welled with tears at the very thought of Namjoon giving up on himself. “Now that you’re giving up, you’re telling me to be okay with that?”

“Why not?” He bawled back.

There it was, what he’s been hiding from you—the loose, broken pieces shattered instead of being taped together like everything was fine.

When he first found out, he lost all hope in what he had to offer the world. He didn’t want to act upon being a human and grieve on his experience. It wasn’t like him. He wanted you to see him be okay and happy and work his way through life and obstacles with ease like he always wanted for you.

This was the first time you saw lost.

“I’m already dying. What’s the point, ___?” He broke down. “I can’t be strong anymore. It made matters worse. Look, I failed myself. I failed you as your best friend. I’m really a failure. I’ve been blinded by hope and being content, not noticing that I’m getting worse.”

You took in his words, trying to understand him. You saw him fall into a pit of insecurity and despair. It was scary for you, this being one of the few times you saw him like this. It was usually the other way around, and for that, you needed to be there for him. Comfort him like he did with you, care for him like he did with you, continuing on his side with love and support.

“Remember when Seokjin cheated on me, I asked you why things like that happened?” You pointed out, taking a step to sit back down.

“Yeah, you were a mess. You couldn’t stop crying.”

“Yeah, but I slept good that night.” You chuckled, earning a slight smile from him. “You said hurt is temporary, and you’ll heal from it.”

“Wow, I said that. I must have been a liar.” He joked, causing you to snort at his self-deprecation. He shifted his head out to the window, the sun setting for the day, bringing a soft, warm hue into his bleak room.

“No, you were telling the truth, and things got better.” You said. “But then I asked you if something was wrong with me because bad things kept happening.”

“What about it? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“You called me one of the most special people out there.” You grinned, reaching over to his hands and intertwining them into yours. “If I’m one of the most special, Namjoon, you’re irreplaceable.”

He finally faced you. Your face was touched by the golden hour, the dried tears reflected. All the hope he once had was migrated onto you. The building of hope he helped you through the years was finally reflected. It was your turn to give back.

You sniff-kissed his palms, and it didn’t hurt him for once. It melted his troubles away for a split second and made his heart skip a beat in the way it was supposed to be.

“No one in this world can match you. You are like no other. You brought better days than I could never imagine, always thinking of others before yourself.” Your promising irises said it all, the truth of himself within. “The universe gives the hardest challenges to the most powerful, resilient ones because it knows how much you can endure. It’s testing you.”

Your grip was firm, more robust than his, as he applied pressure to your hands. “Once it’s over, you will be rewarded vastly. It’ll give you the best things, you name it. You won’t regret anything your heart faces and desires. Good will happen to someone like you. Please don’t give up.” You wheezed out, sobbing into your linked hands. “You’ll be alright, I promise. We’ll be here for you. I’ll be here for you.”

Namjoon joined closer to you, his forehead resting on the top of your head. You felt his tears dripping on your scalp, but that didn’t matter. You then embraced one another, refusing to let go. The dimming sun cascaded your shadows onto the white walls of the hospital room.

Serene was anything but you two. Instead, a fire ignited within, blazing a rush, lighting up the untapped potential inside both of you. The flames grew when together, too powerful for the world to see. So it was decided they had to stay apart, as they’re not always meant to last. Still, without their mirrored flame, if one died, so did the other.

Separation should never be permanent with you and Namjoon.

The day was young. The window was opened to lure fresh wind into his nostrils. He’s been in this room for days, but he won’t be in here any longer. He eyed the skinny cylindrical vase, and a single daisy emerged into the half-filled water. The decor was a small gesture from Jungkook, who got the idea from Jimin.

Though alone, that one daisy carried purpose to its life, creating beauty and awing anyone that surrounded it. It was the last one he probably would see for a while.

A knock interrupted his gaze from the vase. Following the sound, he found his doctor in the doorway with a bright smile.

“Ready?” Dr. Min asked.

Namjoon closed his eyes and breathed a final deep, flower-filled breath.

“Ready.”

The ceremony was absolutely breathtaking, with nothing but large smiles on everyone. Laughter filled the air, food filled their stomachs, and you and Jungkook’s love filled the entire reception. Everyone felt your eternal love, resonating with that very feeling in their own lives.

All but Namjoon.

After the successful surgery, he recovered quickly, bringing joy to your lives. But he lost his loving memories with you. He still remembered who you were, how you grew up, and the memories you made with him. He even knew why he had the surgery in the first place. But he doesn’t remember or feel ever being in love with you.

He was your best friend who you platonically loved.

Namjoon didn’t know what love was all together. It was something he couldn’t fully grasp. If someone were to ask, he gave an indefinite answer or a simple ‘I don’t know.’

He did feel like a big hole was in his chest, finding it difficult to get anything to fill it up. Days were long and tiresome. Things happen, things don’t. It was all mundane for him. He felt numb to the world at times. He doesn’t know if he regretted his decision.

But if there’s one thing he knew was that he cared. He cared a lot about his friends, work, and family, never wanting them to feel down or hurt. If they needed him, he’ll come in faster than you could say his name. He enjoyed being there for them. It made him happy.

But not enough to love, whatever that was.

You were his best friend he cared for.

He cared so much that he helped Jungkook plan his proposal with you and the wedding. Jungkook even begged him to be his best man, to which the taller agreed with flying colors.

In your opinion, the ask to be his best man was unexpectedly more notable than your own proposal.

Namjoon watched you and Jungkook dancing on the floor, nothing but smiles and stolen touches between the two. Even when crying, you were still happy with your husband. He was glad you finally found someone worthy enough for you, also glad you weren’t wasting your time with stupid boys who only cared about their dicks in something.

He wondered what it was having that, but he felt nothing. The crater in him only expanded. Was it even possible for him? It didn’t seem as interesting, so he pushed it aside.

“Hey, you okay?”

His head turned to see Jimin sitting beside him at their designated table. The doctor offered him a glass of wine, which he gladly accepted.

“Yeah, just watching.” He shrugged.

“You holding up alright?”

Namjoon’s lips twitched in dissatisfaction, “I think I’ve been before. I don’t know.”

Jimin peeked at the newlyweds and asked, “Do you’d ever tell her?”

“It happened; it’s already in the past. Just gotta move on.” He sighed. “Again, I know she wouldn’t forgive herself if I told her all about it.”

“I understand.” The shorter nodded, swirling his glass in his hand.

“But I will tell her what’s happening now. I think she needs to know that at least.” He took one more sip before putting it down on the table. He got up and headed in your direction.

Jimin smiled, seeing the last moments of you and your best friend together.

Namjoon tapped on your husband’s shoulder, catching their attention. He cleared his throat and pushed forth his hand in front of you. “May I have a dance with my best friend?”

Jungkook beamed at him and nodded willingly. He palmed the small of your back and assisted you to your friend. “Just don’t fall in love with you.”

You all laughed as Namjoon snorted, “Gross, never.”

Jungkook walked away, leaving you to sway to the soft beats of the music. You wrapped your arms around his nape while he palmed your sides firmly. He wasn’t the best dancer, but this was manageable. You both swayed seamlessly together, almost like your bodies were conditioned to.

You looked up at him. He was much healthier, cheeks protruded like when you were children, and his body grew thicker as he ate well and exercised more. But what pressed you was his eyes. Though being better, they struggled to keep luminosity. Some days were high; others were low. You assumed he had gotten moodier after the surgery, but still the authentic Kim Namjoon.

“Ummm, though I want you to enjoy your wedding, there’s something I needed to tell you. It’s important.” He announced as he took the lead in the dance. He unexpectedly twirled you around, making you squeal and grab the collar of his suit.

“You’re not dying again, right?” Though the tone seemed sarcastic, you hardened your face.

“No, I’m not.” He scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes.

“Good, you’re not allowed to leave me.” You pouted cutely.

“Well, I can’t say that I’m not gonna leave.”

“Huh, what do you mean?”

“I got a job offer to work in Madrid. Remember Hoseok? He referenced me to one of their museums, and they liked my work.”

“Oh, Joon! I’m so happy for you.” You congratulated him, then squeezed him tightly in your hug. “You’ll do great. When do you leave?”

“In a few months, I told Hoseok I needed some time to transition and finish up some work. I think it’ll be good, you know? A new change after my…tumor. Maybe I’ll feel better…I’ve been feeling stuck. I know I didn’t tell you right away, but you had the wedding and planning….”

“I don’t care. It’s fine. It’s understandable.” You smiled endearingly at your friend. “You know I’ll always love you, right?”

Namjoon crooned, “I love you too.”

Of course, he didn’t think he meant it, not grasping the words. It held no effect on him. But he knew that you enjoyed saying it to him, so to avoid any suspicions, he says it.

“You’re gonna be so far.” You frowned.

“Hey, I’m gonna call. We’ll do video calls now, and you’ll be able to explore Madrid vicariously towards me.” He promised, holding your form.

“You better…”

“Okay, enough about me. How do you feel?” He changed the subject to the meaning of tonight. “You’re a married woman.”

“It’s weird. My last name is now Jeon.” You stated. “I’m not used to it.”

“Could have been worse. Could have been Kim.” He quipped, making you throw your head back.

You scrunched your nose. Your grin morphed lower as a thought came up. “You remember Seokjin, right?”

“My God, why are you bringing up your ex on your wedding day?” He retorted. You gave a stern look, but it didn’t cause him fear. “But yes, what about him?”

“It wasn’t much about him. It was something he said after we broke up.” You squinted up as if it helped you remember.

“And?”

“Well, I ran into him in the cafeteria. It was like during finals. You weren’t there. You had your art analysis exam.” You recollected from the back of your mind. “He apologized, but it didn’t matter. But he told me he cheated because he knew he couldn’t win.”

“I know I’m not that experienced, but I don’t think a relationship is about winning,” Namjoon commented, still having the urge to punch that guy.

“No, no. He wasn’t like that. But I didn’t know what he was talking about at that time.” You breathed deeply and sighed. “He told me it was because of you.”

“Me? What about me?”

“He saw our friendship and deemed it as a threat.” You uncovered. “You and I were so closer, he felt like he was in the way and that he lost before it even started. ”

“But it wasn’t like that, right?” He probed, not thinking anything more. However, with your long pause and the discomfort on your face, it made him raise a brow at you. “___, speak please.”

“He got me thinking—what if it was you?” You shared. “That the love was much more than what we showed.”

The hypothetical question consumed his mind. It’s been a while since he was deep in thoughts like this. They were always meaningless and showed no impact. Similar to this one, inside him went blank.

“Can’t fathom it….” He could only say.

“I thought he was nuts, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought about wanting it to happen.”

That’s when Namjoon blinked dumbfounded at you. What did you mean by that?

“What did you say? W-why say it now?”

“Because it was in the past, and it stopped after meeting Jungkook.” You answered, reminiscing about those thoughts and feelings. “Now we’re good, happier now, and just look back at it and laugh.”

“You said it was in the past now. What did you think?” Namjoon wanted to understand, curious about what you were hiding from him.

“That…that I liked you. Maybe even falling in love with you??”

Namjoon only wished to have felt what you said, but it was all numb. “O-oh.”

“I’m sorry. Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no. You’re not, flower. I’m…I’m just a bit surprised.” He denied it, inhaling slowly and releasing his breath.

“I was too. Now thinking back, it would have been very cliche.” You giggled. “We’re breaking stereotypes.”

“We’re unmatched.” He smiled, his dimples being emphasized. “What made you stop having those thoughts?”

You tilted your head and gazed to the side of you to find your reflections. “Mmm, I think our souls were destined to meet like we had a gravitational pull that couldn’t tear us apart. I thought about twin flames.”

“Interesting concept. Tell me more.”

“Kinda like two peas in a pod. We’re one soul split in between two bodies. We see things in us that others can’t.”

“Flower, you can’t say we’re twin flames when you just married your soulmate.”

“It’s different! Twin flames just understand each other to no avail, while soulmates are naturally compatible.”

“Then how did this make you stop? Because in my opinion, it only would lead to more.” He went being a devil’s advocate for no reason. Maybe a stab at you for his past self?

“Two fires together will only create a bigger fire.” You simply explained. “We were meant to be, but we aren’t meant to be.”

The two of you continued to dance, being the few left on the floor. Your loved ones looked at you, intrigued by the strength of your bond.

And it indeed was.

You were made to test and develop your very understanding of yourselves, energy, and one another. You provided active spiritual growth as each other’s catalysts, awakening your mirrored souls. You pushed each other to release your wounds, remove any blockage that came your way, and help to lead you to true love, whether it was self-love or finding the love of your life.

Right before his surgery, Namjoon wondered what would have happened if you had reciprocated his love for you. Would it have been a happily ever after? Or ruin your friendship through the combustion too much for you both to handle?

What if you saw in him what he saw in you? What if you spoke to him like he spoke to you? What if you thought of him like he thought of you? What if life hurt you like it did with him? Would you ever love him the way he loved you?

He will never know.

But above all, he was glad to be with you, even if it meant being only your best friend. You continued your life and yourself, attached to his existence.

And if he lived a hundred years, for a hundred years, he’ll think of you.

#namjoon fanfic #namjoon angst #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #kim namjoon #bts x reader #bts fanfic #matcha masterlist

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taechaos · 4 years ago

Text

A Thriller Film

pairing: director!Jungkook x fem!Reader

genre: oneshot, yandere, smut

synopsis: Jungkook's life is his movies, but people don't know his movies are his life. As an anonymous director, no one can suspect him as the villain in a story, but he leaves a clue in his movie about you.

warnings: smoking, stalking, murder, solo masturbation, public fingering

word count: 5.4k

a/n: i don't know why i put so much effort into this but we love to see it flop 🥰

Smoking is bad, but there are worse things in life.

Jungkook noticed you for the first time when a cigarette was hanging off his lips, exhaling the stress from the process of organizing a new thriller film with a less than cooperative crew. Fresh out of high school, you were bright and skipping on the sidewalk in the early hours of the morning. What would such a young woman, applying for colleges left and right, be so happy about?

He didn't know you at the time, but looking at you was like a breath of fresh air. While he survived off of coffee and nicotine, you seemed to have a lot of happiness to share. Your smile was incompatible with his frown.

So he ignored you when you passed him with your earphones blasting a song so loud, he involuntarily caught the lyrics.

Fall... back... in... to... place.

The second time he saw you, he was smoking again and you were just as happy as the day before. How can someone be so in tune with themselves, with life? The same song played from your earphones, the one he listened to on repeat after searching up the lyrics: Space Song. An urge to approach you surged up in him, but he only watched you as you walked past him. A single glance from you was all it took to anticipate tomorrow.

Today, when he recognizes you from your clothing first; colorful, silky, gorgeous. So much personality in one outfit, a polar opposite to his casual black outfit in jeans and a plain shirt. Even your bag is eye-catching, and he flicked the ash off of his cigarette before nodding at you as you passed the bus stop, reaching the front of his studio.

Why did your eyes just widen? You acknowledge him with a friendly smile, and go on your merry way. That is until he lightly taps your shoulder, and you turn instantly.

"Hey," he greets before you can utter a word, "where are you always rushing off to?"

Your lips part in surprise; the man you secretly - guiltily - side-eyed for the past few days noticed you when you weren't looking? "I have an interview. Well, a few," you chuckle.

"For what?" he tilts his head curiously and takes another drag from his stick.

"Career counseling," you plainly reply, but it sounds enthused. "I'm a clueless graduate." Your hands clutch your tote bag before you discreetly check the time on your wrist. You're going to be running late soon.

"You interested in cinematography?" Smoke follows his words, but you aren't fazed.

"I'm interested in all forms of art, why?"

He notices you checking your watch again. "I'm a film director. This is my studio," he cranes his neck behind him. "You can apply for an internship here. Maybe for a stylist even," he points at your floral romper with his chin as his eyes trail.

You shift your weight on your left foot when his stare flusters you, and you consider his flattering suggestion for only a second before saying, "thank you for the offer, but I need to go now," you grimace sheepishly, "can I think about it?"

"Take your time," he reassures with a sly smile and inhales from his stick, filling his lungs with the sweet scent of your perfume alongside.

He doesn't look away when you walk off with a shy wave, entranced by your struts until he's called back in. It's with newfound inspiration that he's inside of his studio.

The storyboard of his upcoming project needs a few tweaks, and he doesn't fail in enhancing his crew with a different idea.

It’s been a week. Okay, it might’ve been shorter, but Jungkook is impatient. Besides, it didn’t help when he saw you holding hands with someone... so less than. It really baffled him to see you with a guy who wore such shabby clothes. He looks like the type that Jungkook would cast for a flop character.

The two of you are like a toy display across his studio in that cutesy, obnoxious café with a smoothie in the middle of your booth. He chuckles as he lights up another stick when he notices the two straws in the single cup. Cliché, cheesy, but cute in a childish sense. Your age shines through the amateur romance between you and that loser.

It especially shows when you look to the side with a laugh and lock eyes with him; so flustered that you gasp and focus back on your date. What makes you so shy about seeing him? You seemed so confident during your conversation two days ago.

He whistles when he notices a stray dog in an alleyway. You look at him as well but don't hear anything beyond the glass wall, but it catches his attention regardless. He whistles again before saying in a hushed voice, "come here girl." It's difficult to suppress a smile when you gaze at him questioningly, as if trying to decipher his words. "Naive little girl," he mouths as he smokes, "what are you doing with that boy?"

He almost chokes when you take out your wallet in front of a waiter; are you paying for him? That's why you ordered one drink - so you could share? Jungkook isn't cruel but, he finds it laughable that your boyfriend is so... unappealing. He can't help but wonder why you're with him; maybe his face? The boy is somewhat handsome, but he only has his facial features to go by. It's rather strange for Jungkook to think about this in the first place, so he gets back inside his workplace after harshly shooing the stray dog away with a stomp of his foot.

"I'd like to start my internship today."

Jungkook runs his eyes up and down your body while leaning against a brick wall. "Paid?"

"I-I'll do it for free. Besides, I don't know if I'll even work in this industry," you twiddle your fingers while smiling up at him. He intimidates you, but this morning you decided you did enough thinking and here you are, an aspiring stylist all of a sudden.

"Get inside," he nods at the door before stubbing his cigarette and following you to his studio. "You know what you're going to do?"

"I'm going to decide the outfits, right?" The place looks cozy to you, with its minimalistic interior design and blunt switch between the stories. The first floor is strictly for business, with lined up cameras, lights and a microphone. There is even a green screen! And the second floor seems to be more of a resting area with its couches and open laptops, but you can't make out much from the entrance. Jungkook starts walking ahead of you, making a beeline for the black stairs. You tail behind him and smile at anyone who notices you, which isn't a lot of people. It's not crowded.

"Right. We're still working on a storyline, haven't finished it yet so it's possible this project might not be published. You with me so far?" he glances at you, and at your firm nod, continues, "when we finish planning, scripting and shit, you come to play."

"So what do I do now?" you innocently inquire and watch him plop down on the red velvet couch. He clicks on the space of his keyboard to light up his screen.

"I have an idea for a character, and I want to know how you would design her," he vaguely explains as he scrolls through his document.

"You want me to sketch it or explain?"

"Let's hear you out first. Irene," he suddenly calls out loudly.

"Yes?" a female responds from downstairs. You see a woman with a grey cap look up at him, her attire nothing short of casual.

"Come here."

She skips a few steps while climbing up the stairs at his command. You're not awkward when you greet her, and she offers a coy smile.

"This girl - what did you say your name was?" he asks you. You tell him and he continues, "she's going to be our intern. I want you to critique her with me."

"What's she in for?" Irene asks before sitting across from him.

"Wardrobe stylist."

Her eyes widen as she takes a second look at you. Your style is definitely unique, but... immature. She has half the mind to not question Jungkook about his choice.

"Okay..." she trails. "I'm Irene, by the way. I'm going to be an executive producer for the upcoming film."

"Nice to meet you," you brightly chirp. "Sir?"

Jungkook smirks at your addressing of him. "Yes?"

"What is your name, if I may ask?"

"I'm Jeon Jungkook, but you may know me for my pen name Shin Dong-hyuk."

Your mouth falls open when you instantly recognize the name. "Wait, what? You directed My Time?" you incredulously wonder aloud.

My Time is a movie that took the world by a storm; it brought recognition to the whole country for its popularity and clever writing. You never knew the name was a pseudonym, however. It's a suspense genre, about the life of a crazed fanboy who is obsessed with a foreign celebrity. He stalks her on the internet, has a fanpage of her and pays a hefty amount of money to strangers to update him on her whereabouts. He's portrayed as a young college student in the story, and inevitably runs out of cash from reckless spending. When she gets into a dating scandal, he goes on a theft spree and flies out to meet and confront her. It ends with her murder when he finds her with another man in a hotel room, and he stabs himself in the heart afterwards. There are a bunch of clues that foreshadow his ending, from his family life to his friendships. It's an amazing thriller, and you researched his name in the credits to find more of his works after seeing the movie but to no avail; there is only one listed.

"That's me," he nonchalantly reveals as if he didn't just give you the shock of your life. "Don't tell anyone though, will you?"

You whimsically put on an imagery zipper over your mouth while trying to recover from your racing heart.

"I don't have a clear outline, but the female lead is going to be naive but charming. She has to stand out, alright? Happy, extraordinary, special."

"We didn't decide on that," Irene butts in with a displeased expression.

"I forgot to tell you, I deleted our previous plan."

"You did wh-"

"What do you think?" he turns to you as he ignores Irene's shrieks. "What color are you imagining?"

You feel nervous when he puts you on the spotlight after revealing his identity. You close your eyes with a deep inhale before answering, "I'm thinking red and green, like Christmas. There should be a hint of white as well."

Jungkook drinks in your outfit before grinning mischievously. "Perfect." All of your colors.

Stalking is bad, but there are worse things in life.

Is it such a bad idea to follow you home when it's dark out? He kept you for a long time in the studio, allowing you to dress up a mannequin with all sorts of costumes you had in mind in the backroom. He's certain you had fun with him when you left with a permanent grin on your face.

You live with your parents, and he knows for sure he's at least 5 years older than you. You look about 19, so he's assuming he's only 8 years older.

A small villa with windows all around, he observes, before glancing back at your bedroom. The lights are on and you're swinging your legs with excitement on your bed after you face planted on the mattress. He didn't see you greet your parents before running off to your room, and he can't help the smile growing on his face at your hyperactivity. It was like an instinct to walk you home in secret and he isn't sure why he is still watching you. He should look away when you get off of your bed and heave your shirt over your chest, but instead he steps away from the lamp post to hide from the light.

You're changing, and he can't take his eyes off of you. As if that wasn't enough, you unclasp your bra without even pulling the curtains. Do you know he's there? The thought excites him, and his pants begin to tighten around his crotch. He lowly whistles at you, but you don't hear him again. You do look outside for a few seconds while stretching your arms, however, and he's certain you have a connection to him.

He leaves when you put on your pajamas with the image of your bare tits imprinted on his mind. He doesn't head home first, as the studio is only a few minutes away from your home and he wants to leave you a gift.

When the familiar building enters his vision, he doesn't waste time in unlocking the door and switching on a single dim light. He rushes to the backroom after locking the entrance for a second time and unzips his jeans as he goes. You were here not too long ago, and he can pinpoint exactly where you stood while striding to each corner with purpose. Bending, crouching, leaning, doing just about anything to tease him.

Now that he can imagine your perky nipples realistically, he immediately takes out his length from his restraints and picks up a random handkerchief to pump himself with. He doesn't stop to think over his actions; he's acting on urges, on impulse. Never has he ever done something like this.

He's rather relaxed as he sits down on an idle stool to close his eyes and run his hand up and down his shaft. What he would do to press your tits against his cock while he slides it up and down, smearing his cum all over your lips while you sleep. You would swallow it without a second thought once he finishes in your gaping mouth, and wonder why there's a dull ache in your breasts the next morning.

His breaths grow shallow the faster he strokes himself, the more he thinks about using every part of you for his pleasure while you're knocked out cold. He involuntarily thrusts into the air while quiet moans slip out of his open mouth. Something about how taboo it would be to fuck you while you're unconscious turns him on so much. Would that be something you're into?

The handkerchief is so soft, so silky against his length, he can almost imagine it to be your hand. He starts twisting his hand around his cock, from the base to the tip as his other hand palms his balls before he begins to reach climax. Strings of cusses fall out of his mouth when he quickens his pace, the fabric against his skin resounding in his ears before he finally spurts out his cum into the cloth.

"Fuck," he exhales as he coats his makeshift glove with his release. White on white doesn't make much of a difference, and he's panting as he folds the handkerchief to rub it evenly so it sinks in completely.

He leaves it on the stool after zipping his pants, and his eyes twinkle under the moonlight on his journey home.

You aren't alone when you walk to work. Jungkook is taking his usual smoke break while watching you swing your interlocked hands back and forth with the guy next to you. Your smiles exude the same aura, and Jungkook sarcastically notes how compatible the two of you are. The boxy grin shines with the sun, but it doesn't hide the boy's worn out clothes.

"Good morning, Jungkook," you greet before introducing your boyfriend. "This is Taehyung, Taehyung meet Jungkook. I'm going to be under his wing until I decide my major."

"Hello, Taehyung," Jungkook coldly says before blowing smoke in his face.

Taehyung scrunches his nose before chirping, "hi!" He then turns to you and whispers, "I thought you wanted to study medicine."

You shake your head dismissively with a light laugh before responding, "it's just an internship." You let go of his hand and bid farewell with a peck on his cheek before going inside the studio.

"Well, have a good day," Taehyung smiles as he's about to leave before Jungkook holds out his hand to block the way.

"Taehyung, who is your girlfriend?"

"Um," he furrows his brows before saying your name.

"And who are you?"

At Jungkook's blunt question, Taehyung pauses and takes a step back. "What do you mean? Like my full name?"

"No, who the fuck are you? What is your contribution to society? What do you do for a living? What are you wearing?"

"Sir, I-" Taehyung's stammering is cut short when Jungkook asks, "how much money for you to stop leeching off of her?"

He scoffs, "excuse me? I'm not leeching off of anyone, and I'm sure as hell not breaking up with her for your money." Taehyung's face heats up from the shameless confrontation, and he starts walking in the opposite direction.

"So you're not going to leave her?"

Taehyung doesn't turn to look at him as he emphasizes, "no."

"Good."

He abruptly stops in his tracks. "What?"

"Your dedication is admirable," Jungkook comments with a shrug. "I'm satisfied with your answer."

"Were you testing me?"

"Bingo."

He starts chuckling before shaking his head. "I always knew directors were crazy; you scared me for a second."

"Where you headed now?" Jungkook smoothly switches the subject, but notes the fact that you've spoken about him to your boyfriend.

"I have a farm two blocks away." When Jungkook raises a brow, he explains, "I stayed the night with her, so I decided to drop her off before leaving."

"Want me to drop you off?"

It's a kind offer, really, but Taehyung is still put off by the insults thrown his way just a minute ago. Doesn't he have work to do anyway? "That's alright, thank you, but I'll just take the bus. Have a good one, Jungkook."

Jungkook doesn't stop him as they both wave goodbye. He doesn't bother putting out his cigarette before going inside.

Where would be a farm only two blocks away from the city center? It has to be a lie.

You're wandering around the place as to not awkwardly wait for Jungkook who sharply inhales at the sight. He calls your name.

"Yes?"

"What do you want to become?"

"I," you look at him funny with a laugh, "I still don't know."

"Then take a gap year."

Your brows shoot up to your hairline. "Why?"

"I want you to be invested in this project completely. Once the planning is finished, I'll give you a salary. What do you think?"

He's asking you to work full-time for him. Not as an intern, but an employee and you are beyond willing after only being here for two days. He's a famous director; how can one pass up this opportunity?

"I'd love that."

You noticed that Jungkook has a very unique way of working. You've heard that he's been keeping his crew until late at night, already having an outline for his plot and he's moved onto screenwriting. He apparently disappears randomly throughout the evening after you leave, and you've had some different experiences with him of your own.

He asked you to steal from the wardrobe of his backroom. "Take everything that you'd wear," he said before stepping out of the room.

When you confusedly compiled all of the clothes that caught your eye under your arm, he took them from you and brought them upstairs with a huge grin. "Keep that one," he pointed at the handkerchief you thought about lacing your neck with.

Taehyung's quiet with you. He doesn't respond to your texts, doesn't call you, doesn't come over. You're too busy spending time with Jungkook to check up on him, and it serves as a well distraction when you keep glancing at your notifications. It hurts, especially when your wallpaper is a picture of you and him. It hurts because he isn't with you in your proudest moments when you were with him even at his parents' funeral.

The only thing keeping you happy is casting. Jungkook asked you to make a list of all the actors that would suit his characters after giving you a vague description of their traits. The budget isn't an issue, and you're having so much fun. He makes you forget your worries without even trying.

Jungkook intimidates you, but he's so lovely.

A mere "aspiring" stylist is casting actors for a movie. How many people can brag about that? You almost stumble on the stairs as you quickly climb up with Jungkook's laptop in your hands. He gave it to you for research purposes as he drew a rough storyboard with Irene.

"I made a list," you exclaim brightly. Heads shoot in your direction and you sheepishly grin at your volume. Jungkook's eyes linger on your covered neck; it's almost like a collar.

He whistles and beckons you to sit next to him. You obey and anxiously present your list to the professionals; you have no idea how to go on about this task, and no one guided you. You're certain you look utterly amateur in front of them.

Irene is inspecting your list without hinting her thoughts as Jungkook asks, "who are your favorites?"

"Well, I think Kim Namjoon is um, suitable for the male lead's role and Joy-"

"It's decided then," he claps his hands twice without hearing out Irene who scowls at him.

"You're not cooperating with us," she voices in a complaint, "why are you always calling the shots on your own? These are major decisions-"

"Ms. Bae, don't take any offence now. I'm taking your opinions into accounts when I make these decisions. Unless you have an issue with something, let's not dwell on this, hm?"

She sighs as you stand there awkwardly. She's upset, but stays silent.

"The two leads are Kim Namjoon and Park Soo-young. The team will decide the rest of the cast, thank you," he informs you with a ghost of a smile.

"Of course," you breathe.

You don't know how long it is supposed to take to shoot a film, but surely it's not this fast paced. Jungkook is relentless with his production; there are hardly any breaks in between takes. There are bags under his eyes from pulling all nighters to work on his scripts.

He is a perfectionist and a hard worker, as you've come to find out. You feel bad for the amount of times the actors recited their lines when they didn't capture a scene right in Jungkook's eyes. It was an honor for you to meet these famous people beyond a screen, and you were strictly ordered to do Joy's makeup only. You are her stylist, but the professional one does help you after she's finished with Namjoon's.

"Cut," Jungkook says into the speaker. You're located in a rented mansion outside of the city, but you can't enjoy it when everyone is so stressed. "Start over from line "he's leeching off of you"."

Even actors can't hide their annoyance from having to do a 25th take of one scene. Jungkook pays them enough to go on with this torture however, so they have no room to complain.

They start over and you force yourself to watch them again and again.

"Oh my god, cut!" You can hardly resist groaning yourself. Everyone on set is overworked, and you know the director has it the worst, but it's overwhelming you too at this point. You flinch when your name is called. "Act Joy's lines, will you?"

"Me?" you point at yourself in surprise.

"Go ahead," he urges with a nod.

You have no idea how to act, and it's nervewracking having to do it in front of A-listers. You pick up the script handed to you from another woman and start reading:

"He's not leeching off of me," you pause to inhale shakily; your hands tremble from the heavy stares on you.

"I'm his family, the only one he has left. No one would know if he was gone, and he trusts me to look after him without having to dangle a dollar bill over his head."

This goes on until the final scene, and the retakes cut down to half.

A few months pass, and it is time for the premiere. The movie, simply titled Pretty Girl, easily got a green light for display in theatres, and it's been heavily promoted on YouTube and TV. You are excited to your core, and watching the celebrities walk the red carpet was a first for you. Jungkook easily blends in with the crowd as he once again didn't reveal his real name in the credits, but his pen name is gaining more and more recognition. You have never seen the movie throughout the editing procedure, but you can't wait to see everyone's efforts show on the big screen.

You're dressed fancily because Jungkook asked you to go with him, and the two of you are sitting in the crowded theatre with not a single empty seat to be seen. Even the entrance is decorated in retro style to fit in with the movie's theme! The jazz music playing in the halls reaches your ears, and your knees are bouncing in anticipation of the movie. Jungkook is smiling as he listens to you ramble.

"I can't believe I played a part in this whole project!" you gush with shaking fists. "I met the best director I know, and I worked for him! This all feels like a dream... No one even likes my style, and yet I became a stylist!"

"I love your style," he denies, "even now you have all the attention in the room."

"Pfft," you roll your eyes playfully, "they all think I must look weird. I tried to wear something classy so I don't stand out, but it hasn't been working out."

"Keep it that way, you're beautiful like this."

Heat creeps up to your cheeks at his compliment and you squeak, "thank you."

He doesn't get to relish your flustered state as everyone goes quiet once the movie starts.

The time period is unclear, as the language is modern but the filter is black and white. The first scene is in a bar, a man in a suit eyeing a woman with a date who is an outcast with his clothes. They're washed out and ugly, but he looks handsome with his dazzling smile at the woman.

An involuntary grin spreads across your face when you hear their dialogue.

"I want to touch someone's shoulder to see how they react. Did you see how they looked at me when I walked in here? I think they think I'm your sugar baby or something," Jimin's character jokes with a laugh.

"I know! They're all so boujee, but I'm willing to be your mommy without sugar," Joy winks. They have fun until Jimin leaves to the bathroom and Namjoon's character approaches her, who has been staring at her ever since they walked in. Joy is offered a modeling career, and she accepts after she's told that her fashion only works with her because of how beautiful she is. She's bashful when Namjoon gives her a business card.

Jungkook's film is only over an hour long, but everything is timed so perfectly. His directory is straightforward, and you admire his work until a song comes on.

"That's my favorite song!" you whisper into his ear. It's Space Song by Beach House.

"Mine too," he whispers back.

There are montages of photo shoots, Joy's rise to fame in the modeling industry, but the trouble is Jimin, her boyfriend. Namjoon confronts him one day when Jimin drops her off to her new workplace.

"How can someone so poor be able to court a woman like her?" he asks rhetorically.

"Excuse me, Sir?" Jimin is offended until Namjoon laughs it off and reveals it was a joke. The audience sighs in relief, and all is fun and games until Jimin is brutally murdered next to a dumpster. You gasp at the gore scene and glance at Jungkook, until something dawns on you.

The story is starting to sound familiar. Was this movie inspired by your encounters? Your eyes light up as you give your utmost attention to the movie. The line between reality and fiction is beginning to blur.

Joy goes to Namjoon's house, where the dialogue you first reenacted comes to play. The shots are gorgeous, the script filled with metaphors on poverty and currency, and the romance is sickly sweet. There is a sex scene not long after... Joy forgets all about her boyfriend in the snap of Namjoon's fingers.

You tilt your head when you remember Taehyung. Where is he? How come your boyfriend didn't even show up to this life-changing experience?

Jungkook's hand slides over your thigh out of nowhere, as he murmurs, "do you mind?"

You stammer when his fingers reach under your dress to poke at your panties. "S-Sorry?"

"I said," he grazes your folds as you tense at the feather light touch, "do you mind if I touch you, pretty girl?"

Your chest heaves as your lashes flutter in a daze, but you nod nonetheless. His low raspy voice already has you clenching your thighs, unintentionally trapping his hand against your pussy. He's gentle, almost curious with the way he runs his fingers over your silky underwear before he moves it to the side. You're shivering with delight and thrill, and you don't take your eyes off of each other as he begins to flick your clit carelessly.

"Looks so pretty on you," he compliments the makeshift choker on your neck. It's his handkerchief you wore for the occasion, unaware that it's dried with cum. He pulls on the knot like it's a collar, and you're entranced. Your pants fan his lips at the close proximity, and he doesn't shy away from slotting his mouth against yours. You quietly moan into the kiss when his thumb starts to rub your clit, and his long finger pokes at your entrance.

"You mind?" he murmurs against your lips, his words slightly slurred as he doesn't stop kissing you. The wet noises are drowned out by the loud volume of the movie, but you can't focus on what's going on.

"I don't," you breathe before he slips in two fingers, exploring your walls with precision. He's multitasking as he circles your sensitive clit, and you're not very experienced in regards to sexual encounters but your hand lands on his hard-on anyway.

"Don't be shy," he chuckles into your neck, "touch it."

You don't know what you're doing when you slip your hand under his pants and palm him over his briefs, but his sigh is encouraging you. You're touching each other in a room of 100 people.

It's embarrassing when his free hand joins yours to help you touch him while simultaneously fingering you. He must have sensed your lack of confidence, because he starts to stroke his erection over your hand. You start to imagine his fingers as the real thing, and with your particularly low stamina, have a hard time suppressing your whines.

"Kiss my neck," he suggests as a solution to your nibbling. You didn't even realize your nether lip is bleeding from how hard you were biting on it. You bury your head in his shoulder and start pecking his neck. He holds back a laugh at how shy you're being, and he feels proud for predicting this moment perfectly in the movie. Joy is having the time of her life with Namjoon, unaware of Jimin decaying in the attic.

He quickens his pace in your cunt, and you bite him rather harshly at the sensation. He hisses with a chuckle; he likes it when you're impulsive. He can pick up the squelches from his thrusts because of how wet you are, and you climax all over his fingers in a matter of seconds with a whimper. You're twitching in your seat, and your hand strokes him faster but he stops you.

"In my studio," he says and you nod tiredly against his shoulder. The issue isn't that he doesn't want to cum in his pants, but the movie needs to become reality. He wants to fuck you on that one stool, with Taehyung's corpse decomposing in the backroom.

Jungkook always adds a pinch of fiction to his stories, but they're mostly based on true events. If you paid attention to the ending, maybe you would've realized that.

Lying is bad, but there are worse things in life.

#bts imagines #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #yandere bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook #jjk smut

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

Text

The Devil’s Tongue

Summary: A mask of virtue hides a man riddled with lust and while his stoicism proceeds him, even he can’t withstand a begging girl.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Warning: 18+. Manhandling, abuse of power, MaleDom/FemSub, some thigh riding, unprotected sex, deflowering, loss of virginity, mild mentions of blood, sex in front of mirror (auto-voyeurism), profanities, bodily fluids, possessive behaviour.

Words: 4.5k

A/N: Many thanks to my muse @agniavateira for supporting me through this story and for betaing. This was inspired by a certain scene in the film. My pervy mind took it elsewhere. Sincerely, I am not sure how I feel about it, so I’ll let you be the judge while I’m having my panic attack.

Please reblog and give feedback if you enjoyed. 🖤

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Title: The Devil’s Tongue

The treacherous moon was already high in the midnight sky and winds of melancholia whispered through the ivy leaves that grew timidly around the window’s panes. Despite the solace of night, her blood seeped with venom, and vicious thorns grew beneath her skin.

Striding through the desolate corridors of Holmes’ estate, Vanessa fumed while listening to the sounds of the old house: the creaking of the floorboards, the glass panes rattling in the wind, and the scratching of mice that ran between the walls. A kerosene lamp hung heavy between her sweaty fingers; her knees cracked as she marched forward to face her master.

Same as every night, Sherlock hid in his library to chase adventures behind thin sheets of paper. He was not to be disturbed, though he left her no choice.

Sent her away he did, claiming that her service was no longer needed even though she was promised a home at the estate, despite Enola’s departure. The worst of it was that he didn’t even bother telling her himself, but simply sent another servant to announce that she must pack her belongings tonight.

‘Like hell, I would!’

Vanessa willed her heart to beat slowly as she tiptoed, cursing every wooden plank that grated beneath her feet. It’s been over a year since she started working for the Holmes family, and despite battling her concupiscence tooth and nail, Mr. Holmes has possessed her very existence. Sleepless nights left her yearning to drink the mead of his mouth and feel the slapping of his skin onto hers.

Wistfully, the brooding detective only stared at her with a lustre of ice. But the notion of never seeing him again felt like holding a blade pointed to her chest; the wish to confess nibbled in her gut like a pesky little fish.

‘At least I will have the chance to say farewell…’ she mused as she finally reached the open doorway of the library. It was a cosy cavern, stuffed with endless shelves of books and vases of pink roses to mellow its austerity.

Wood burnt to a crisp within the hearth, its aromatic scent bleeding into the air and a light layer of ashen mist wafted over the chamber. There sat her master, resting comfortably on his maroon leather armchair with a book in one hand and a pipe pressed between his succulent lips like a king on a throne of solitude.

Silently she stared, brow furrowing at his sight. It baffled her how a man can be so oblivious to the dangerous power he had over women. Sherlock was as divine as the coldest day of winter: eyes of crystal snow, curls darker than the night, and sharp facial features that gave a tinge of intimidating flavour. The ancient god Hades would have been jealous of his divinity. Even in these serene moments, Sherlock’s presence exhumed dominant masculinity, consuming oxygen like the fire that burnt in the mantle.

Clad in a white cotton shirt loose over his broad chest, he calmly turned a page on his book and sighed.

It was impossible not to sense her nearby. The young woman was a breeze of autumn wind: spiced yet soothing, bringing the omen of a season’s change. She tried very hard to hide her feral nature, abiding, serving, and acting polite. While she fooled everyone, including herself, he detected the brazen kiss that raged within her.

Nights were riddled by dreams of dismantling her shackles, only to bind her further to himself. And yet, every time he looked at her a loathing rage gnawed inside. To him, she was a dire trap meant to expose the thing that hid behind his mask of virtue—a reckless savage, sick with twisted desire.

It took true power to send her away. Yet, here she was, barging into his shelter to pour another drop of simmering turmoil into his already seething blood.

“Can’t sleep, Nessie?”

Vanessa jolted with a startle. His deep voice threaded tendrils of dark silk around her heart, attempting to draw it further out of her fragile ribcage. Maintaining attention on the book in his hand, Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a cold grin of respect, sensing her glare stabbing at his nape.

“You might be a mouse, but you have the stomp of an elephant.”

Forcing the book shut with a soft thud, Sherlock turned his head aside, daring to catch a glimpse of her. His pretentious smile died, and a surge of passion seized at his groin. Like the virgin Persephone, she stood before him wrapped in a sheer nightgown, the creamy fabric barely hiding her delicacies. A mystic glow of sweet honey and amber gold rimmed her flesh, kissing down her clavicles and leading his enslaved gaze to the soft heaps at her chest.

By courtesy, he should have looked away, but the wish to incinerate the silken threads that retained whatever left of her modesty whispered in his ear like a little devil that sat on his shoulder. It was cruel of her to provoke him like this.

Quirking an eyebrow with disdain, he finally battled the sight away.

“Something ails you, girl.” Sherlock’s rich baritone dropped. Touching the pipe to his maw, he took a long whiff and suckled his lip. “You seem unnecessarily emotional,” he noted dryly, pretending as if her appearance was a mystery.

Noticing the uncaring shift in his tone, she scowled and stepped carefully into the room. Placing the lamp on a nearby stand, she purposely stepped into his line of sight and looked at the frowning detective with the feral wilderness growing inside her chest.

“You’re sending me away tomorrow,” an unmistakable hint of rage seeped between the cracks in her voice. Grasping her knuckles, she began striding back and forth across the Parisian rug as if lost in her own musings, “why? What have I done to you?”

A small huff escaped his nose, and he rubbed a finger beneath his bottom lip. His patience spread thin as the young lady scurried about with hysteria. The mere idea of bending her over and teaching her some discipline caused the fabric of his trousers to stretch over his engorging desire.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, it was simply my decision.” He answered, striving to sound neutral and remorseless. “A lady’s maid without a lady is useless in a place like this. But now, Vanessa, it’s late, and I’d like to get back to my book. No reason for you to stand here in your... undergarments.”

Lips agape and feet nearly colliding on to one another, Vanessa paused on her steps. His words crept a chill down the length of her spine, making her cheeks blaze. Passionate and irrational, she never even noticed her lack of chastity when she left her room.

“I… didn’t think much, I was upset…”

‘Of course, she didn’t think much. Irrational, savage thing.’

A string twitched in Sherlock’s cheek, and a dark errant lock fell rogue upon his pale temple as he turned his head aside, adamant to brush her away. His self-restraint was but a delicate, dying leaf, hanging by its last yellowing strand.

“I came here to ask you to…”

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.” Sherlock interrupted and swatted his hand flat on the leather binding. His stern glance floated out the window, focusing on a large spider that threaded lines of silver amidst the peeling frames. “You will find a new job in London, a better house,” he apprised and took a deep inhale, turning the book over to open it where he paused. “Now please leave before we’ll both hurt one another.”

‘Before I will pierce cavities in your soft flesh.’

Stunned by his dismissive, arctic demeanour, her stubbornness and frustration only grew to monstrous proportions. With clenched fists and water pooling at her lids, she grunted and took a courageous step closer, standing at the fore of his couch while shaking her head.

“No!”

“No!?” he scowled, eyebrows lowering with dismay. “You forget your place, woman.” He flashed her a quick warning look, his icy glare tinted midnight black as he stood at his wit’s end.

If only it didn’t make her heart shrivel with wanton. Their proximity perilously close, Sherlock’s strong scent pervaded into her lungs: a musky blend of whiskey, leather, and fine tobacco that made her thighs wobble. Before she could even register what’s happening, her knees were brushing the thick carpet, her decorum and dignity gone.

“I want to stay here. With you.” Slender like stalking vines, her fingers crawled onto the armchair, squeezing at the smooth leather with pitiable desperation.

“Keep me, please!”

“Vanessa,” Sherlock drawled, still refusing to meet her gaze while his thumb circled deep into the coarse binding. Furious tides rose in his eyes, whisked by the rageful storm that inhabited his mind, “Do not make me regret this night.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was pretty when she begged.

“You don’t know what it is that you’re asking, I am not the gentleman you think I am.”

Ignoring his warning, she insisted. Daring, needy talons rose from the armchair to claw at his arm, clutching it with demand. Even through barriers, a surge flushed between their bodies.

“Sherlock,” she half-whispered, crystal droplets of sadness gliding down the smooth slope of her cheeks. Not caring the least as they dribbled onto the soft sleeve of his shirt, leaving tiny stains that dampened his arm.

“Guide me, teach me, make me yours!”

Nostrils flaring and breath rigid, the large man finally snapped his stare at her with the sanguine hunger of a starved vampire. The mask of his virtue fell shattering to the floor, and a harrowing silence took over the room, diffused only by the sound of crackling embers and Vanessa’s shaky breath.

“Remember this tomorrow when you’re raw and hurting; this is what your begging bought you, little Nessie.”

A strangled gasp died at her sternum as his hand suddenly grasped her throat. With a quick yank, she was up on her feet, her toes barely scraping the ground as the hulking man held her up to his face.

“Oh the things I’ll do to you..” he whispered as his thumb dug deep onto her cheek and the rest of his fingers etched at her throat.

Swinging on his boots, he swept her across the silent halls. His stride a dark ceremonial gyrate, the creamy fabric of her pristine nightgown floating mid-air like a sheer tongue of white morning mist.

“I will make you mine as you begged,” he rasped barbarically, one hand pushing the door open while the other held her attached to his chest, “I will teach you what you asked…” his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot over her cheek, “your first lesson begins... in my bed.”

With a swift shove, she was forced into his realm. Feet stumbling upon the tepid wooden floor, her ears throbbed with shock. Her hands reached to grasp onto the engraved bed column to prevent herself from falling.

His bedroom smelled of dying roses and smoked wicks, echoing the putrid decadence that gnawed at Sherlock’s mind. A dozen melting candles burned in every secluded corner, their little orange tongues licking the reflection of a sizable mirror that stood opposite of his large bed.

A dull metallic click broke the air, followed by Vanessa’s sputtering breath as she saw him lock the door. Her faith sealed - now caged in the lair of the beast. Reduced to his own shimmering shadow, Sherlock advanced toward her, ripping his shirt off.

Fingers biting into the wooden pole, Vanessa stared, unable to determine if it was a man or a lycan god who stood before her. Every breath made his bare torso look menacing. Under the deep dusky twilight, his muscles curved and stretched, coated by a virile, dark fur.

Curious, her gaze followed the striking veins and the trail of unkempt hair that paved its way down his fine abdomen and disappeared beneath his trousers. Guiding to that which she feared and wanted at once.

Eyes of blue flame shone with absent remorse, brows arched with a pretentious demeanour as he reached a hand to seize her to him. “Your innocence dies here tonight,” he hissed in her ear, “from now on, you’ll be my little whore to plough as I please.”

The air died in her lungs as his firm chest collided with hers and his knee forced her legs apart. Bulging and muscular, his thigh rose to brush at her clit, the thin fabrics a shy barrier.

Shuddering, she swallowed hard in a dire battle to find her voice. “I will be whatever you need me to be,” she retorted as the thought of being exploited by her master released fluttering butterflies of fear and excitement in her chest.

Sherlock smirked and captured her jaw between his finger and thumb as he leaned in. Torrid lips hovered over her own, offering a phantom kiss to distract her from the greedy fingers that pushed the sleeves of the gown off her shoulders.

Like warm milk it poured down her body, exposing her delicacies to the night and to the gluttonous hands that kneaded her breasts while he flicked his tongue over her closed mouth, tasting the plumpness of her lips.

A true creature of the underworld, Sherlock’s touch was cruel like his promises; he took as he pleased, leaving his sigil seething on her skin. Her sputtering gasps served as an opportunity to invade her hot cavern. The detective’s kiss was even more ruthless, his tongue smooth as silk seized and conquered her breath.

She could feel him streaming in her blood, tasting him all the way down through her gut. Dark and intoxicating like poisonous absinthe, the promise of death swung amidst their hot, serpent-like dance.

Yet she only yearned to drink to her demise.

As if under a stupor, she swayed to his spells, bucking her hips to ground herself on the meat of his thigh, leaving the coarse fabric wet with sticky arousal. A condescending grin tugged at his lips, and his hand rushed to the back of her head, weaving through her hair and yanking her back.

“Already the wanton harlot,” he spat, swiftly turning her over and holding her against his chest. “Look at yourself,” he growled hoarsely in her ear, forcing her doe eyes to stare at their reflection. Sherlock rested his dimpled chin on the top of her head with his brows lowered like an apex predator examining his prey.

His hand disappeared behind, hastily fumbling with his trousers, “You wanted me to show you, you want to see,” he called as his trousers piled at his feet and he carefully stepped out.

Something hefty and hard nudged at the small of her back, turning her veins into thin tendrils of ice. Abysmal panic coiled at her gut at the realisation that Sherlock meant to reshape her as the vessel of his primal urge.

Hand snaking around her belly, he snatched her to fall back onto the mattress with him pillowing her fall. Her firm buttocks slid across his hairy abdomen, hands fumbling to grasp his thick thighs while her eyes flared at the sight of his hardened cock displayed in front of her in its full generous size.

It was nothing like the medical illustrations she saw in books: bulging tendons swerved across an imposing, meaty rod. Ridges rippled across its girth like soft silk, and the heart-shaped head dripped of glistening, pearly arousal.

Curious, her trembling hand wandered to feel him, stunned by the liquid-like texture that engulfed the absurd rigidness. By order of her touch, he twitched and swelled, causing the radiating heat at the apex of her groin to palpitate.

Pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, Sherlock growled, “Do you like what you see, little one?”

His taut hands reached to grasp her thighs, spreading her wide over each of his legs and holding them apart to expose her untouched sleek at the mirror. The thundering in his throat was nothing but animalistic as he glowered at her perfect sight: his little Nessie, his little untainted flower blooming fresh with dew, yearning to be plucked.

“Look at yourself,” Sherlock demanded with a whisper drenched of fervour. His coarse hand dragged to capture her chin and forced her to face the salacious spectacle reflected before them. Her breath shuddered; she saw their skin mapped onto one another, their bodies entangled and their souls unmasked.

How could something so forbidden be so beautiful?

“I dwell in the darkness, Vanessa.” Sherlock explained, his voice stroking her temple as his lips inched closer, “You must know that, you must have me as I am.”

He laved his tongue over her cheek as if he was tasting the sweetest delicacy and reached for his erection, stroking the pulsating girth between his fingers. Eyes still glued to their likeness on the glossy surface, she glanced as he pressed his pink, meaty tip between her dripping petals.

“Watch as I take something from you that can never be given back, something that will forever belong to me.”

“Sherl….”

His name died on her tongue, the moment forever lost in a loud shriek. Savagely and unceremoniously, he pried her virginal cunt open the way a predator rips at its prey’s throat. His massive shaft tore through her purity with no resistance to fight back against his brutal invasion.

Pain rattled its way through her entire entity while the dark spectacle of the loss of her innocence played right in front of her eyes, spurring grievous tears. Lost to the bliss of her warm cavern, Sherlock chanted in loud groans, continuing to force himself all the way between her squeezing walls. Remorseless of her cries, he never stopped until every hollow inch inside her was full of his cock and his sac smacked against her stuffed opening.

“My! You feel good!” He panted with astonishment, his virility twitching within the lush sanctuary between her thighs. Noxious pride flowed in his veins at the reflection of the naked young girl, spread open with him inside her.

“Do you like having me inside you, my little harlot?”

“God!” Vanessa screamed, stunned by the sensation of him swelling at her core. His invasion seared, her legs trembled against his in a plea to be kept together. But he only stretched her wider, hooking both hands below her thighs.

“It will feel good in a little while,” he promised and slowly shifted his hips back. Inch by inch, his cock slid out of her now defiled slit, coated by blood and a sheer layer of arousal. It was something of decadent theatrics; his broad chest puffed against her spine, a blissful hum leaving his bobbing throat at the image of the crimson stain that decorated his sword.

“From this moment and beyond, this belongs to me,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and planting wicked, butterfly kisses along the tender slope, “do you understand? Your little cunny is my property, your moans, your pleasure, all belong to me.”

Her cunt clenched around nothing as she watched his full length slipping out, tainted by broken purity, the empty void leaving pure urgency to course through her tendons. Hopeless for something she couldn’t even recognise, she whined and writhed on top of him. Her eyes levitated from their sexes to meet his icy glare.

“Sherlock, please, more! Please put yourself back inside me!!!”

“Fuck!” Sherlock rasped in awe of her wanton, his control nearly lapsed. Fingers digging into her thighs, he undulated his hips and pulled her down the length of his throbbing erection. Low melodies of pleasure rolled on his tongue as her wet cunt pressed around him again.

Gawking at the mirror, she nearly fell apart in his arms, cries of daze escaped her as Sherlock's drove back into her sleek. Every bit of his flesh unfolding hers, disappearing within her body to defy the loneliness aching in her cove until his entire shaft was lost in her depth and the tip of his cock hit something lush and tender. She could have sworn she felt him waver deep in her gut.

“Sherlock!!!” she cried, shutting her eyes at the sharp twinge that shuddered through her core.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes, dove,” he warned, and the authority in his voice left her no choice but to obey. Wickedly, his fingers slithered to the little nub of flesh above her slit and ruthlessly tugged at it to expose more of her battered sex. He continued to pound into her mercilessly, quickening the rhythm with each one of his thrusts.

“Look at you, taking me so obediently. Perhaps I was wrong about you, perhaps you are easily tamed.”

The thick bones of his hips crashed into her rump vigorously, his girth violently splitting her protesting walls. He was fast, wet, and hard inside her, his cock drilling into her over and over, every plunge stripping more layers of her soul and pushing her higher toward the heavens.

Enslaved to the beguiling aphrodisiac, she squirmed on top of him, her body beginning to push down to meet every thrust. The vision of herself being brutally taken by the large, civilised beast made the blood pool at the seams of her womanhood and tingle with frustration.

A shuddering quake began to spread within her, spiralling out in a sequence of spasms sourced at the spot where they connected. Bliss and ecstasy shattered her body and a sudden flush of pleasure exploded through her body as she came all over his cock.

Engulfed in her milking cunt, Sherlock could hardly believe what beheld his eyes. His beautiful nymph, coming undone around him, ethereal and divine. Her blissful chants a song to his ears only, she was like dryad humming a hymn to call upon a lonesome hunter.

“‘My Vanessa, I wanted you for so long.” He called, fucking her wildly through her orgasm. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he choked out on his grunts, her sugary walls closing around his thickness like a predatory flower, demanding to suckle his sweet elixir.

Still riding her climax, she shook her head, hesitant of speaking such profanities. But the stern glower on Sherlock’s face instantly forced her into submission.

“I want you to come … come inside me!” She panted and then screamed as another wave of intense rapture swept her away.

Her squeezing cunt forced the thick stream to vibrated through his shaft, making him drill into her with zeal. His fingers clutched her waist as he slammed her down onto his swollen cock, burying himself the deepest he could. Vanessa yipped as something hot sprouted into her, flooding her womb like a soothing kiss that slowly began trickling between their tight flesh.

Still locked in an embrace, they shivered together. Soft maple hues glimmered over their wet skin, their bodies heaving against one another while a symphony of pants and gasps filled the silence.

Sherlock’s glaciers sought to capture her reflection, a dark, brooding look on his sweat-silken face while his lips ghosted over her shoulder. There was no question in the rough expression of his face.

Nothing spoke louder than the possessiveness that pierced through the sharp reflection.

~*~

A tender stream of sunshower kissed her lids awake. The cerulean sky winked at her through the open window while her senses gingerly regained their functions after what felt like graveyard slumber. Finding herself alone, she wondered for a moment if the night before was only a fantasy; but this bed was too soft and far too large, and the sensation of shame licking between her thighs told her otherwise.

Even in his absence, Sherlock’s presence lingered. His pungent sweat layered on her skin, and from her torn seal trickled the pearly, forbidden essence of his loins. She allowed herself a moment of coy bliss, pressing her lips upon her bare shoulder to kiss the taste of him off her flesh when the thud of inching footsteps and creaking wood made her sit up with fright as if her presence was forbidden.

Huddling the blankets around her chest, she gulped as the door flung open.

Already dressed in a clean shirt, a vest of golden brown, and a long black jacket, the hulking man offered her a small wrinkle on his brow. Fine silks were folded on his forearm, and his eyes fell upon the naked beauty in his bed. A shadow of dark desire danced upon his slanted smirk as he noticed the little inkling of dry blood on the edge of the mattress.

“Slept well, my little Nessie?” He asked, passing a finger over his neatly combed locks before gesturing for her to approach him. Obedient as ever, his little servant quickly climbed out, immediately regretting her haste as a spear split through her core. With jolting legs, she swallowed her discomfort and approached him with her head lowered to the floor.

“No, we will have none of this,” Sherlock chided, his finger stalking beneath her chin to fix her stare on his. Their gazes met for a shy second and then he stepped back, unfolding the fabrics held beneath his arm.

A waterfall of black and crimson flowed down, hanging from his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes rounded with wonder; being a woman of lower status, she never owned anything as beautiful and expensive as the dress he held before her.

“Lift your arms, dove,” Sherlock commanded and she did as he bid.

The soft fabrics felt like warm liquid washing over her skin as Sherlock carefully slipped the dress over her head. His hands smoothly roamed her body, tugging at the delicate fabric to fit over her figure. The tall detective stepped to stand at her back and began working the laces of the corset embedded into the gown.

One by one, he tightened the silk binds as he pulled at the laces. Vanessa slightly hissed when her breasts squished against the generous cleavage.

“Forgive me,” Sherlock mumbled as he heard her distress, “I am not used to such… arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” she asked naively, though it quickly dawned on her that her dear master never had a wife or a mistress, which didn’t come much as a surprise after witnessing his bohemian desires the night before. And yet, no regret touched her heart as Sherlock pressed his hand over her torso and perched his chin atop her head once again.

“Look at us.” His lustrous eyes carried to the mirror, guiding hers to follow as he stroked his hand lower to flatten the folds of her dress and pushed her hair over her shoulders with the other.

“Don’t we make a pair?”

Glancing forward, Vanessa took a deep inhale. Crimson and black were unusually beautiful as they graced her figure. The rim of the cleavage was beaded with fine black jewels that gave her appearance an elegant, yet erotic flavour.

Taken by her new design, she allowed herself to be swallowed into Sherlock’s beautiful darkness.

She wouldn’t have him without it.

___________________________________

Additional notes: I don’t own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes franchise. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and @sapphirescrolls for moral support.

#henry cavill #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x ofc #Henry Cavill fanfiction #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry cavill x reader #sherlock holmes x reade #enola holmes fanfiction

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l-artemisia-del-secolo · 3 years ago

Text

Broken bone

Yelena Belova X reader, fluff, a lil bit of misunderstanding, inspired by this, one shot, protective girlfriend vibes

"You broke a fucking what?" Yelena couldn't believe what she heard.

"A foot." You sounded pretty confident.

"How do you even... How can you break a foot? Did someone step on it or something?" She was baffled. How didn't she notice a serious injury.

"Babe, let's talk about it at home. I'm waiting for a taxi right now." You tried to calm her down.

"Yeah, right. Wait, how did you get to the parking?"

"Wheelchair."

"Oh. Are you sure you don't want me to pick you up?" She insisted.

"No. I'm fine. The car will be here in five minutes. Twenty more and I'll be at home. Don't worry."

You ended the call. Yelena didn't know what to think. It was the first time during your relationship when you didn't want her to be near. Yelena quickly brushed it off. She must have just imagined it. There's nothing to worry about. Well, surely there is. But you were not ignoring her, pushing her away.

Yelena couldn't wait to get home. She was imagining how she would cuddle you, massage, take care of you and overall be the best girlfriend you could dream of.

It was important for her. One of the reasons was that she didn't take care of anyone before. She was never usefull in a humane sense. And she desperately wanted to change that.

But the other, more important one was her desire to be with you. Throughout your time together you were always there for her. During the days she needed you, days she didn't deserve you, even days she thought you couldn't be together.

Both mentally and physically you belonged to Yelena, asking so little in return. And now this was the perfect opportunity for her to show that she cared deeply about you.

On her way home she got your favourite food and drinks, bought you a few books of the authors you loved so much, planning to spend the rest of the month with you. To hell with her job. The world can burn if her woman needed support and comfort.

"Love, I'm home." Yelena gracefully announced her arrival. "Hi, Fanny..."

The dog almost knocked her down, barking as loud as possible.

"Don't be so noisy. We should let our girl relax. She needs it right now." Yelena gestured the dog to be quiet and left the bags in the hallway.

Fanny barked again, this time softer though and pulled the owner by the sleeve with her teeth to the living room

"Oh, I haven't heard you coming in." You took off your headphones.

"Well, shows how much you were waiting for me." Yelena examined your position carefully. You didn't look relaxed sitting on the couch with your leg straightened and placed on one the IKEA poufs she herself bought a long time ago. Crouches standing by your side

"Love, of course I did." You smiled.

Yelena sat next to you, a little bit farther then usual. What if you didn't want her to be so close, what if you were in pain and one of her clumsy moves could make it worse. Somehow all the courage and determination she had before was fading away. Yelena didn't know how to approach you.

"So, what happened?"

"well..." You were surprised your woman didn't hug you or at least touch you. Because of that you chose not close the gap between you, staying exactly were you were. "...apparently something happened three of four weeks ago. There was a pressure on the bone and now the problem finally showed itself. There's no need to worry. It's a common thing. 4 weeks and I'll be ok."

"Are you sure in this? Maybe we should go to our doctor? I mean avenger's one. The one I trust."

"There's no need for that. I'm sure, he has more important stuff to do, than deal with a woman who apperently loves her heels too much." You really tried to turn all the situation into a joke. You noticed the tension in Yelena's movements and looks. The tension which none of you needed right now.

"Fine, if you don't want me to be the part of it." She grunted. "You could have just so easily not tell me anything at all."

"Hey." You tried to reach for her hand, but she was already on her feet. "What is bothering you, love?"

"Nothing."

"I can see that." You tried to get up, but the pain didnt let you do it fast. As soon as you used your injured foot you lost your balance. Luckily Yelena got you.

"What are you doing? Didn't your precious doctor order you not to walk?" With her tight grip around your shoulders, she guided you back on the couch.

"He did. But what do I care If something"s bothering you."

This whole thing was getting out of control. Why did Yelena think about herself when you clearly needed her, craved for her? Maybe she was a heartless monster, exactly like others called her.

"It's..." She inhaled deeply. "Nothing. I know that whatever it is it's only in my head."

"But it doesn't make it less real for you."

"it's just..." She only now realised that she was still holding you hand, not wanting to let you feel no aid at all. "What should I do now? I mean, you clearly didn't want me around. And even now... Is that a sign, I'm reading something wrong?"

Yelena was lost. As confused as she was during her first days after chemical control. When she had to figure out how a basic level of communication worked in the real life. Sometimes the fear of being bewildered would return. And you heart ached every single time for her. She didn't deserve all the sorrow and regret in her veins.

"Love, I'm so sorry. I had no idea you would read it like this." You took her hand in your own. "Come here, Yelena. Come to me. I want you."

Few seconds of hesitation, but this time she placed herself close to you, the closest she could, her fingers gently brushing your palm.

You took the chance to snuggle up to her.

"I just didn't want to bother you too much. The fate of the world sometimes depends on you. And sometimes you don't need even more distraction."

"You're not a distraction." She protested.

"That's not..." You kissed her cheek as a sign of guilt. "I'm sorry."

"You are my priority." She allowed her look to linger a little longer on your lips. "You are my everything. Let me be everything for you."

"The world can burn..."

Yelena didn't let you finish that sentence. Her kiss was everything she felt at the moment. Love, trust, commitment, acceptance. Everything she couldn't describe, yet everything she was ready to give you.

#black widow 2021 #black widow fic #marvel self insert #yelena belova #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you

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elysianslove · 4 years ago

Note

Hiii & congratulations on 500 followers. Can I request gojo with smut # 39 blindfolds he uses his own blindfold on the reader. Thxxx.

hiii thank you so much!! also this concept? i love it

nsfw under the cut, my loves!

500 Follower Event; 39. blindfolds ━ satoru gojō

when he’d suggested incorporating something different in the bedroom, you hadn’t expected this. you’ve grown to prepare yourself for the worst with gojō, and he’s always surprising you with something new. if anything, this is pretty tame in comparison to other things he’s asked of you. but it’s the sentiment behind it that baffles you, only a little.

“gojō,” you start, carefully. it’s a bit comical, how you’re both naked as the day you were born, but there’s not an ounce of discomfort or awkwardness. “i don’t mind the blindfold, just why yours specifically?”

he chuckles, reaching over past you to grab the blindfold from where it lay next to you. you shiver as he momentarily hovers over you, and he chuckles, flicking one of your hardening nipples jokingly. “you sure the idea doesn’t excite you?” he teases.

you scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms over your chest. “course it does. you know it does. but things get messy, and this is yours,” you argue.

he grins at you, lifting the hand with the blindfold. “i’m the one offering, sweetheart,” he points out, and he’s already pushing you back against the pillows. you fall back with a sigh, watching as he crawls over to you, straddling your waist. no argument left in you, lust overtaking your senses as you glance up at your lover, beautiful as ever, you let him bring the blindfold over your eyes. “you trust me, yeah?” he asks, and it’s gentle, with no teasing touch to it.

“with my life,” you reply. with that, he secures the blindfold, and your world is encased in darkness.

at first, it’s clumsy. you’re not sure what to focus on, your senses overwhelming you all at once. his hands are on you, featherlight, tracing the skin of your stomach and middle, down to your hips and waist, and you can hear every shift of his body, every sharp inhale he takes. when you hear him exhale, you feel it between your legs, exactly where you want him to be, but you’re least expecting it. your hips jump up in surprise, and gojō reacts quickly, his large hands settling on your lower abdomen, pushing you back down on the bed as he shushes you calmly. “i got you, my love,” he promises, and you breathe out steadily.

you’re still unprepared when he places his mouth flat against you, but he is, and his hands press harsher, keeping you steady and still for him. his tongue licks a long stripe along your sex, before the tip pokes at your clit teasingly, circling it slowly. your breath stutters when he repeats the action, flattening his tongue against your clit, until his mouth closes around it, and you scream as he sucks lightly. you can feel him smile against you, at your reaction, and you whine. he sucks harsher on your clit, his thumb caressing your skin soothingly.

his mouth travels lower again until his tongue is poking at your entrance, licking at the arousal that you have to offer. he eats you out greedily, like you’re his favorite candy, swallowing around you deliciously. his tongue only slips inside slightly, and you’re not sure if he’s teasing you or deliberately wanting to wait for the main event to feel up inside you. you gasp again when he licks at your folds up to your clit, hands flying to tousle and pull at his hair. against you, he hums appreciatively, savoring every taste of you. the blindfold intensifies every sensation tenfold, because you’re forced to focus on everything you’re feeling purely, and not confusing it with what you’re seeing. god, your lover’s a genius.

a hand removes itself from your waist, but you don’t feel its presence again until you feel a pair of fingers lightly caress your folds. you squeal out in surprise as he pushes both fingers in, lips wrapped around your clit, sucking harshly. you pant heavier, hands pulling harder at his hair as he fucks you sensually with his fingers, twisting them inside you, his mouth forever latched on your clit. the stimulation is fuzzing up your brain, and with the added deprivation of your sense of sight, you climb up the ladder to your high a lot faster than usual.

you call out his name weakly, a high pitched moan replacing it on your lips as he curls his fingers inside of you, and you breathlessly, in a small voice, warn, “gojō, m’gonna cum.” he sighs against you, placing your clit between his teeth and tugging. you groan, chest heaving. your back arches, your hips rolling in time with his seemingly endless ministrations. with a muffled moan behind tight lips, you push him harder against you, chasing the delicious high, until, as unexpected as everything is tonight, it crashes onto you, and suddenly you’re trembling uncontrollably beneath his grip.

his mouth remains latched onto your clit, his fingers continuing to fuck you as he milks you of everything you have to give him. he’s still sucking on you, drinking up your arousal, smearing it across his lips and mouth, even as you try to push him away, dangerously tipping near overstimulation.

with a shaky hand, you pull down the blindfold, wearing it as a collar instead, and hazily glance down at your lover. he’s grinning sheepishly up at you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he crawls up to hover over you. still breathless, you stare up at him dreamily as he says, “looks pretty on your neck,” and kills you all over again.

500 Follower Event is now closed!

#500 follower event #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #saturo gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru imagine #jjk satoru #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #saturo gojo #satoru smut #gojo smut

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from-a-reckless-writer · 4 years ago

Text

“So, Andrea asked me out, today.”

“Fucking finally,” Sam mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes at Lena as if Lena’s an idiot who should’ve seen this coming.

“I’m sorry what? What do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“Oh my God, do you seriously have no clue about it?”

“About what?” This time it was Kara who speaks up. They were having a Girls’ Night tonight, well, usually it was just a Kara and Lena night, but Sam came in for a rare visit and here they all are.

“About how Lena apparently is an idiot who still doesn’t know that Andrea has been making heart-eyes at her since Day 1,” Sam deadpans and Lena’s eyes widen, brows shooting up to her forehead.

“What? What- No, she doesn’t. Oh my God, Sam! She’s my best friend. We go way back, there is nothing— Sam! Stop laughing, I’m serious!”

“Oh, honey, ever since boarding school she’s had a thing for you. She wouldn’t ask if it was nothing. Remember the first time I met with her?” Sam asks and Lena just nods because, okay what the fuck she really needs time to process this.

“She was jealous, she thought I was coming on to you or something, but then you said I was just a business associate and she calmed down,” Sam finishes and flashes of memory zip unto Lena’s brain. Yes, she does remember that day, how Andrea had acted hostile and odd until they met up again with Sam again during that merger and-

Oh my God.

“Ah, there it is. Moment of realization hit hard much? Here, have a drink, buddy.”

Sam thinks this is funny.

Sam thinks this is so funny and she is so smug about being right and Lena wants to wash the damn smugness off of her face. Sam was too busy laughing and Lena was too busy plotting to kill Sam that they failed to notice how Kara completely turned silent.

“Good of her to finally have the guts to ask you out. Been a long time coming,” Sam rambles mindlessly sipping at her wine.

“Wait, I’m still processing— Why didn’t she say anything?”

“Probably didn’t want to ruin your friendship.”

“Then why now?”

“I don’t know, maybe because she tried not asking you out to keep your friendship. But shit happened and your friendship was lost anyway, but now she doesn’t have anything to lose so maybe she thought, might as well...” Sam shrugs as if it were nothing, but Lena, Lena’s brain was scrambling and—

“Man, am I glad, I chose this week to visit. Say yes already, and me and Kara would even help you choose a dress. Right, Kara?”

They both turn to Kara, who has been uncharacteristically quiet this past few minutes.

“Huh? Wha- Oh, yeah. Yeah. Dress, right. Yeah,” Kara stutters out and Lena knows something is definitely wrong.

“Are you okay?” She asks and Sam just raises a brow at her.

“Oh, yeah. Just— long day, you know?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

But the answer was subdued and Lena wasn’t really all that convinced but Sam is interrogating her again and she really just wants to solve this Andrea Dilemma first. Besides, she’s staying over anyway, she can talk to Kara later.

“How did she ask you out? Spill, right now. Spare us no details.”

Well…

***

“Well, I’m glad that we got that over with.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Andrea.”

“Mm, that’s nice to hear. I missed that, coming from you. I- I missed you.”

“Andrea Rojas, you’re getting soft on me. But for what it’s worth I missed you too.”

“Listen, I uh- I wanna ask you something, but you have to promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Is everything alright? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Gotodinnerwithme.”

“Did you say dinner?”

“Yeah, I- want to get dinner. With you. Possibly. As my date.”

“Oh.”

***

“Well, can you blame me? I didn’t know she— “ Lena trailed off, finding it hard to think of words.

“Oh?! Oh?! That’s the only thing you said?!” Sam screeches, wine sloshing about in her glass.

“Didn’t know she had feelings for you?” Kara finishes for her with an unreadable look on her face that Lena desperately wants to decipher. But can’t. Not with Sam hovering.

"Yeah, that,” Lena says lamely, this is ridiculous. She feels like a teenager unaware of how to function in the real world just because a pretty girl asked her to dinner. But to be fair though, Andrea isn’t just some pretty girl.

Andrea was…

Something.

Yeah, Andrea was Lena’s something. Once.

“I mean, I did say I was going to think about it. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings but I also didn’t want to lead her on? But I think I kind of did? Did I? Oh, fuck this. Somebody get me more wine.”

Sam pours her a generous amount.

“Well, the question is, do you want to go out with her?”

“I don’t...know,” She admits and Sam just looks at her with the kind of eyes she sees her make when she wants Ruby to understand something.

“The question is a simple yes or no, Lena. If you don’t want to, then don’t. If you want to, then go. You don’t owe anybody. If she feels that way, she feels that way. It’s not your fault she caught feelings. You can always say no.”

“I know that, but— “

“But what?”

“It’s Andrea.”

Before Sam can give her another lengthy advice, her friend's phone buzzes and her niece’s face lights up the screen.

“Well, that’s my cue,” Sam says before picking up and telling her daughter that yes, she’s coming home soon.

“I guess we should call it a night,” Lena voices out as Sam hangs-up. Sam gives both of them bear hugs, whispering in her ear, “You’re going to tell me everything, after.”

And Lena kicks her out of the apartment with an eye-roll.

She hears Kara moving behind her, probably using her superspeed so Lena doesn’t have to do anything.

“Hey,” Lena calls out carefully, she’s been eyeing Kara all night and she can’t ignore that something was up.

“Yeah?” Kara answers coming from the kitchen, wiping her wet hands on her pants as she approaches.

“Sit with me?”

Lena gestures to the other unoccupied side of the couch. Kara plops down with a sigh, Lena automatically putting her feet up on Kara’s lap.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

To which Kara answered with, “No.”

Well, Lena wasn’t expecting that. Kara tells her everything, that was their thing. Lena has no idea how it happened but Kara tells her everything and Lena tells Kara everything, that’s just them. That was how it is. So, Lena was more than baffled at Kara’s silence.

“Okay, then. Help me with my problem instead?”

“Fine.”

Cold. Wow, Okay. Okay. She wasn’t going to push but this is really odd behavior for Kara.

“Do- do you think, I should say yes?

”“To Andrea?”

“To Andrea,” Lena confirms and Kara tosses her head back on the sofa and closes her eyes.

“I don’t know, Lena. That’s...your choice— “

“I know it’s my choice, I’m just asking for your input. How ‘bout a pro’s and con’s list?”“Pro’s first,” Lena says and begins a list, “She knows things about me, in a way that most people would never, that’s a good reason, right?”

“Yeah th-that’s good. She’s rich,” Kara adds and Lena laughs at that.

“Darling, I’m rich too.”

“Well, that’s another pro, you’re on the same level. No worrying about the media, no worrying about tight schedules because she’d understand, anyway. No worrying about gala dates because she’s going to be there, too. No worrying about what friends would say, it’s clear Sam approves and Jess would too. No worrying about long distances since I heard she’s staying around. She’s…”

Kara pauses and there’s this moment where Lena is just looking at her, Kara’s words looping in her head. As if Kara has thought about Andrea dating her a million times before, and what that might mean, as if—

“-perfect. She’s perfect for you, Lena. There’s— uh there’s no competing with that,” Kara’s voice trails off, “I don’t think there’s any con, about dating her. So, there you go. I helped didn’t I? I— You know what? I’m tired, I-”

Kara doesn’t even bother finishing her sentence, just pushes Lena’s legs off her lap and stands-up. Shoulders defeated and foot-steps heavy. Lena stays there on the couch. Usually, they’d get ready for bed together, but Lena has a feeling that Kara wants space, right now. So, she sits there, in the silence of Kara’s apartment, mind running a mile a minute about the implications of Kara’s behavior, listening to the way Kara’s flitting about in the bedroom, before she hears the duvet rustle and she knows it’s time.

Lena takes her time, brushing her teeth, putting on the pajamas she keeps at Kara’s, combing her hair. She knows Kara never falls asleep without bidding her good night first. But the silence from Kara’s end makes her believe her best friend had already been taken by slumber.

Lena slowly climbs into bed, Kara laying on her side, facing away from Lena. She claims her side and slowly leans into Kara’s back, she can feel Kara stiffen from the close proximity. Lena takes a breath and starts wrapping her arms around Kara, spooning her. Lena gives herself a moment to just breathe her in. Kara doesn’t relax.

“You know, there is a con,” She starts and she knows Kara’s listening, “There’s one con, about dating Andrea.” she waits for Kara to reply, hoping that she would.

“What?”

“She’s not you.”

“What?”

“She’s—“ Lena inhales, braces herself, fucking now or never, “She’s not Kara Zor-El. She’s not the woman I want to be dating. She’s not the one who I want to ask me to dinner. She’s not you, Kara.”

She feels Kara turn and Lena slowly loosens her arms so Kara can face her.God, her eyes are so blue even in the dark.

“Lena, what?”

“Then why would you ask if you should date Andrea?” Kara asks, voice small and Lena clings to her tighter, puts a palm against her cheek.

“You already said that, darling,” she teases before clarifying, “I said, I want you. I don’t want Andrea. I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

“Okay, wow. I— give me a minute, wow okay, wow.” Kara stutters out in disbelief. As if Lena would want anybody but her.

“I needed to know if you felt the same. I have been trying, Kara. I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel. Wishing you’d pick up on it but I don’t know if you don’t notice or you just really don’t see me that way, but tonight—”

“Tonight, what? What gave me away?”

“You don’t really think, I won’t notice when you’re hurting, do you? The moment I mentioned Andrea, your face fell. You were quiet the whole night. Not to mention you were giving me the cold shoulder once Sam left.”

“I thought I was being subtle,” Kara whispers sheepishly and Lena can’t fight the grin off her face.

“You weren’t,” Lena breathes and becomes aware of the fact that Kara’s lips are right there, and she’s pretty sure that if she asks, Kara would kiss her. Kara would kiss her, right?

“Kara— “

“Can I— “

They say at the same time and Lena doesn’t really know nor does she care who leaned in first, just that their lips are pressed together, and it’s perfect. This moment is perfect and Lena wants to keep this moment tucked away in her heart, somewhere only she and Kara have permission to.

And God, they were just as bad as the other. Idiots pining, sneaking glances, buying companies, heroic saves, but Lena guesses it doesn’t really matter, because now they have this.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

Three weeks later, Lena receives a call from Metropolis, Sam’s name flashing briefly on her screen.

“You have a shit ton of explaining to do, Lena Luthor. What the fuck did Jess mean when she said, ‘Miss Luthor and Miss Danvers are out on a lunch date as of the moment.’?”

#so this has been rotting in my brain #finally sat down and wrote it #supercorp ficlet of sorts #and also i miss sam #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercorp #the reckless writer writes #rcklss writes

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bloomyagi · 4 years ago

Text

beautiful, beloved, mine (m)

summary: you set him ablaze. he can only hope you like watching him burn for you. alternatively: this love for you is consuming him, and it all comes out in a badly vomited confession after he corners you at a gala.

pairings: shouto todoroki x f!reader

genre: pro heroes au, characters are aged up 20+

warnings: smut, dry humping, shouto comes in his pants, sub!shouto, he’s a good boi for you, he loves you very much n wants to be your baby

length: 2,447

notes: can u tell how much i love him pls -

“Can I be yours?”

Shouto Todoroki, ranked third pro-hero in Japan, has his strong arms braced around your head. In all your years of friendship, he has never been anything but exceedingly polite. He is well-behaved, thoughtful and sharp. He is guarded, though not intentionally, not anymore—it is reflex, a shield he has never really learned to lower. A reminder of his childhood.

You think he’s drunk. He must be, beautiful dual-coloured locks dishevelled, black button-up half-open and exposing his gorgeous collarbone. You watch, unwittingly, as a bead of sweat trickle down his neck. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, biceps flexing.

The dimmed lighting unfairly accosts you with his devastatingly handsome features and muscular body. And his eyes. His heterochromatic eyes are alight with something fierce and intense. They are also clear, glowing, almost, in the dark.

The two of you are somehow on the balcony, shut away from the rest of the world, the bass and the sounds of life fading in your little bubble until all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, the warmth of his breath, the heat of skin and the fluttering of your heart in your throat. The cement wall digs into your back.

No, you correct yourself. He isn’t drunk. He’s barely tipsy. He doesn’t like to drink, rarely acquiesces to Kirishima’s insistence of shots.

He doesn’t smell like alcohol. His scent has always been calming, detectable under the thin layer expensive cologne he uses—he doesn’t like perfumed smells either, only uses it on nights like these, when he’s obliged to look the part—that fresh, cool scent. Of clean sheets, laundry detergent.

Still, this is out of character. Todoroki has never once crossed a line with you, with anyone. He’s quiet, reserved, though he smiles more now, the forming dimples in the corner of his eyes a living testament to his character growth. He treats others fairly. He is not unkind, honest and straight-forward. He is many things, and with the way he’s gazing down at you now, you are suddenly reminded of Midoriya’s hushed remarks earlier.

“You can’t see it, but Todoroki-kun treats you differently. He thinks about you, what you’d like and what you like. He cares about you so he’s careful around you. He wants to cherish you. He’s cold because he uncertain. He doesn’t know what to do. This is all new to him.”

“What is?”

The number one pro-hero had looked at you strangely. “Being in love.”

Midoriya is indisputably Todoroki’s best friend. Still, his actions are baffling. Why you? Why now? No, you couldn’t see it at all.

“Todoroki, are you drunk?”

“No. Though I required a little … liquid courage, as they say,” he rasps. He’s so close. His voice, so deep and husky, has you biting your lower lip. His gaze falls immediately.

He doesn’t touch you. The way his arms flex, hands clenching and unclenching, and his stiff posture tells you he wants to. He’s visibly restraining himself. Waiting, watching. Hoping.

“You never … why me?” You say softly.

“I could not. I wanted to, so badly. I have always wanted you. I always thought it was impossible for someone like me—to find someone I would want to share my life with, given my upbringing and dysfunctional family. But then things changed, got better, and then I met you.” He takes a shaky breath.

“I found wordless comfort in your mere presence. I found I could be emboldened, empowered, changed by your words. Every day I wondered how I could be worthy of you—if I could ever be worthy of you. Then I realized it was you … it would not matter to you, so long as I was honest with who I was. That is just the kind of person you are …” He shuts his eyes. His lashes are so long, you note absently.

“I am touched by your existence … I find joy in your spirit, yearning for your embrace, for the heat of your skin pressed against mine, I crave it … these foreign desires, they elicit something dark within myself,” he continues, breathing a little ragged now.

“This need, this desperation, like fire spreading in my veins, uncontrollable and hungry … I feel restless, itching for something, someone … Now I finally understand. I feel like I want to—to devour you. It is no longer enough, seeing you as I do, being as we are, mere friends … I want more, need more. With this desire to monopolize, I fear I have become … insatiable,” he trails off, turning his face to the side in shame.

Oh. Shouto Todoroki is in love with you, you realize with a jolt. He longs for you. For your companionship, your wit, your soul and your body. Your heart.

You reach up with a trembling hand to touch his jaw, guiding him until he looked at you once more. He doesn’t resist, pliant and eager as he leans into your hold.

“Only if I can be yours in return,” you say.

He lurches forward, knees nearly giving out as he slumps in your arms. “Oh, thank god, I … I was anxious I would have ruined everything. I knew it was unlikely they would be reciprocated, but I—I had to try,” he gasps. “This desire, it was consuming me.”

“Todoroki …” You thumb his cheekbone. He sighs faintly, body curving over yours as he presses close. “Call me Shouto, please …”

“Shouto.” He makes a strangled noise.

“Again. Please. You must understand, I have longed for this for so long …” He pleads shyly.

“Shouto,” you whisper, stroking his cheek. He’s so unexpectedly adorable. So, so adorable.

“My apologies, darling. I know I’m taking liberties, but I’m weak … I’m not strong enough to resist such temptation. Not while you are here, in front of me like nights when I dared to dream… So beautiful.” He nuzzles your palm.

You flush at his term of endearment, at the rawness of his tone. He has laid himself bare, singing his truth like a Shakespeare sonnet.

“You woo me like you’re waxing poetry … does this often work with others?” You murmur. You think you’re in real danger of melting.

His eyes fly open in alarm. “No. Never. It has only ever been you. I speak only from the heart, I have never—never done this before, am I explaining myself poorly? I am often told my words could use some more tact …”

Your heart swells.

“I’m just teasing, Shouto,” you say softly, combing a hand through his locks apologetically. “Your words are beautiful, I’m touched, truly.”

He relaxes, curling closer in your embrace.

“You don’t know … how I dream of building a home with you, of sharing all my firsts with you, cooking and setting the table with you … breakfast after long nights, filling the space between us with laughter and joy. Sleeping next to you,” he slurs. And then he goes on plainly, “How I fist myself every night thinking of the swell of your hips, the curl of your lips, your sweet, enthralling scent …”

You inhale sharply. Part of you is entirely taken back by the dual-haired hero’s use of uncharacteristically vulgar descriptions. His words drip over you like a honeyed aphrodisiac. Sweet and addictive.

“May I?” He draws closer, hands releasing you to brace against the concrete behind. Your body shivers involuntarily, missing the heat of his palms immediately.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Shouto dips his head, beautiful heterochromatic eyes watching you carefully for any sign of hesitation or indication you wanted to stop. Ever the gentleman.

This is who he is, you realize. Respectful of your boundaries, honest and, with you, gentle. He eyes flutter close when his lips touch yours. They’re warm, sweet with a hint of the alcohol he consumed earlier. Your fingers bury themselves in his locks, the kiss unhurried, savouring each moment.

Then you open your mouth, tongue touching his. And Shouto falters. He groans throatily, your nose tickling at the scent of ash. Ah. He’s losing control. He jerks away quickly, right hand enclosing over his left.

“Don’t tempt me,” he rasps, blush rising.

You snag the rumpled collar of his shirt, pulling him close. “Kiss me again.”

And when you guide his hands over your hips, he grips them tightly and crushes his mouth against yours, kissing you hard. Spit runs down your chins, messy and sensual.

Something hard presses against your inner thigh. You push his legs apart and shove your leg in between. He chokes, eyes rolling back.

“Ngh—!” He gasps. “More—hngg—please!”

You pull back to survey him. He chases after you, lips slick and swollen.

“Shouto. You like this?”

He pauses, sucking in a breath sharply, eyes flickering. And then—

“Yes,” he whispers, a whisp of flame flaring on his left.

Your core clenches over nothing at his needy, humiliated tone.

“I like this too,” you confess, trailing a hand over the ridges of his abdomen, fascinated by the way the muscles clench.

Shouto mewls, chest thrusting forward when you pinch his nipples experimentally through the cotton. “Ah—ughh—yes!”

“Can you come like this?” You wonder absently as you twist his perked nubs harshly. He moans brokenly, hips jerking.

“I—I d-don’t—kno—hah,” he pants, eyes half-lidded as he struggles to focus. Pleasure clouds his senses, head fuzzy and vision hazy.

“Can you get off here, like this?” You ask softly. “I want to see you come undone.”

Shouto blinks blearily at you, nodding eagerly. “Hng—yes, wanna be good for you,” he slurs. Oh. My. If you weren’t dripping before, you certainly are now.

He stumbles a little as you push him against the wall, switching positions. He’s barely standing at this point, leaning heavily against the cement as he gazes up at you with glazed eyes. He looks utterly fucked out and utterly delectable.

You undo the remainder of his buttons, holding him back firmly when he whines, pawing at the fabric, wanting to rip it off.

“We still have to walk out of here,” you remind him, giggling. His only blinks at you blankly as if to say and? Too gone to think of the consequences.

“This view is reserved for my eyes only,” you murmur, nails scraping against his nipples. He gasps, back arcing. “Yes, yes!” He agrees mindlessly.

He grinds against your thigh desperately, the weight of his cock heavy and hot. He throbs at every touch.

“Kiss—kiss, please,” he whines, reaching for you. You oblige, internally fawning over his cuteness.

His hips move faster, chasing release as he moans and keens into your mouth.

He parts from you with a gasp and wet shlick. “Feels so good—sho good—hngg,” he babbles. His asymmetric temperatures intensify, the heat of his left searing you and the chill of the right piercing you.

“Oh—I’m—I’m c-cu—” he cries out, gripping you tightly as he fucks himself against your thigh urgently. You push your leg against him harder, nails digging into his stomach.

“Come for me Sho,” you murmur, biting his lower lip. His mouth parts in a silent wail, head tossing as his eyes roll. His body shudders, something warm seeping into the fabric of your jeans.

With a strangled groan, he sags against you, exhausted and spent. You stroke his hair soothingly, brushing back the sweaty locks and peppering chaste kisses over his face as he comes down slowly.

Faintly, you register someone calling your name.

“Oh, Midoriya. Over here.”

Shouto is too out of it, still coming down from his high, his soft moans tickling your ear

“Oh, there you are! Have you seen Todoroki-kun? I—oh!” He squeaks loudly, spinning on his heel immediately and covering his reddening face.

What a sight the two of you must be. A perfectly debauched Shouto, shirt falling over his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to his glistening skin, raised lines over his bare chest that appear angrier in the darkened lighting, slumped over you, body trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

The One for All user pales when he spots the noticeable burn the size of a palm on the wall behind your head.

“Uh—neverminditwasn’timportanthahahaohsomeone’scallingmegottagobye!” Midoriya practically screams in your face before bolting from the scene in the next beat.

Shouto manages a tired chuckle as you blink in the wake of his dust.

“You’re surprisingly shameless,” you remark when you turn back to him.

His wry smile slips, letting out a weak mewl when you squeeze his cock over his slacks teasingly. He’s already chubbing up, hips rolling slowly against your touch.

“I told you, didn’t I? I’m insatiable when it comes to you, darling,” he murmurs, cheeks dusting.

“Then let’s continue,” you say, helping him stand. He valiantly tries to salvage whatever is left of his shirt, but it’s hopeless. He gives up, letting it drift apart, sculpted abdomen and chest in full view.

“Hmm. I quite like this view,” your palm rests on his stomach, smiling when he jolts at your warmth.

“My place or yours?” He breathes, pulling you flush to him.

“Yours, I think. I’ve been meaning to try out your new jacuzzi,” you rest your cheek against his chest, tracing nonsensical patterns on his pec. Goosebumps rise on his skin, and you can hear the rapid fluttering of his pulse. He’s—nervous?

“I built it for you,” he confesses, burying his face into your hair. “After you mentioned how much you wanted to try one, I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. I only know that I went out the next day to hire a contractor and expand my bathroom. I suppose part of me nurtured a hope I’d one day pluck enough courage to ask you to come over and give it a try …”

You pull away, looking up at him in disbelief. He laughs dryly at your expression.

“Yes. I know. It sounds as irrational as it felt. I still haven’t used it yet.”

“Then …,” you hesitate. And then you say shyly, “Then if you’d like … we could try it today? Together?”

“I … yes, I’d love that,” Shouto swallows thickly.

You take his hand as the two of you start to make your way back. He squeezes your hand once.

“Let’s go home,” you say softly. The corner of his heterochromatic eyes crinkle, lips curling into a gentle beam. He looks radiant, beauty amplified by his dishevelled and unkept state. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”

#shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha imagines #mha imagines

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oitommothetease · 3 years ago

Text

Invisible String (15/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 3.2k words

Warning : fluff, smut, Steve being nice for once, mention of assault, healthy communication, drinking, Bec is Bucky’s sister - Rebecca, talk about therapy, fucking on a dressing table, I added the link for the dressing table so it could be easier to imagine lol

Both of you were far from okay, Bucky knew that. You needed time and energy to put in this relationship, and Bucky would patiently wait and giddily put in the work required.

Just like last time all those months ago, Bucky prepared a plate of fruits with juice for you. If you'd let him in your life, then one thing was sure — you were never having that damn coffee for breakfast. How did you even survive? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and Bucky was baffled when he found out you functioned on nothing but caffeine.

“Good Morning!” he greeted, you were awake and seated on the couch. “I got you breakfast that isn't caffeine.”

You didn't meet his eyes, but smiled timidly nevertheless. You cringed at your immaturity. Getting drunk instead of having a proper conversation like adults was not your wisest decision. Your last conversation was horrid. What was worse was that he was still being so nice to you when all you wanted was for the ground to open and swallow you whole. It was embarrassing.

You avoided his gaze, and Bucky didn't press the matter any further.

You exhaled loudly and requested, “We need to talk.”

Here it was, Bucky thought. He hoped you both could at least have breakfast blissfully, ignoring the elephant in the room. But he assumed the sooner, the better. Bucky took a seat beside you on the office couch.

“I’m sorry.”

Both of you apologized at the same time. Bucky continued, “What I did was a fucked up thing to do. I had no right to decide for you. I'm sorry for hurting you.”

“I’m sorry for handling the situation immaturely. It was dumb to get drunk and act like that.”

Bucky nodded, he didn't need your apology. He was the one who was at fault here. Although, he would never acknowledge this, but he was glad you got drunk and came to him. He wasn’t smart enough to realize his mistake and if he continued with his stubbornness, then he would have lost you.

Instinctively, he took your palm in his, lacing your fingers with his and placing the entwined hands on his lap. “I — The incident with Rumlow and the kidnapping affected me a lot. More than I would like to admit,” you acknowledged, “And I don't think I’m dealing with everything healthily.”

“What do you need me to do?”

You sighed and propped your head on his shoulder. “Just be there for me.”

Bucky raised your intertwined hands, pressing a kiss on your knuckles, “Always.”

“I don't want our bakery to be just a dream,” he sounded so unsure that you raised your head to look at him. “I want to get out of this life — of the club.”

“Can you even do that?” You weren’t very knowledgeable about his business, but from what you've gathered getting out wasn't an option.

“I talked with Sam and Steve, and it would take a while, but it's not impossible. I’d have to put in a lot of money, and it will take time, maybe even years, but it can be done.”

For the millionth time, Bucky left you speechless. You didn't want him to change his entire life because of you. You loved Bucky and you would take him just the way he was. With his good and bad, albeit there wasn't anything bad. “Do you want that?”

He looked at you in offense. To him, you sounded insane. Of course, he wanted that. All he ever wanted was a serene life, and now he could have that life with you in it, you were double guessing your worth. Maybe he didn't think this through, but there was no need to question his choice. Bucky was sure of one thing in his life. “I want you. I want you in my life and I want my ma and Bec. And I can't have the most important people in my life if I don’t leave this behind. So yes, this is what I want.”

You smiled at him, and he would kill to make that smile a permanent residence on your face, you didn’t want him to make this crucial decision in his life because of you.

“Plus, maybe some chocolate essence would finally break you out of your writer's block,” Bucky teased, quoting the words you said to him all those days ago and you giggled.

The rest of the morning was spent in comfortable silence as you both ate breakfast.

Bucky wanted to tell his friends about his decision, and he wanted you there beside him. You were terrified, you finally made friends with someone, and now they were going to hate you because you were taking their friend away from him. And Steve already hated you, that wasn't the impression you were planning on forming on his best friend.

To your dismay, everyone looked pleased with the verdict. Turns out, all of them hated hiding their families too. You should have known — worrying every second about your loved ones could make one very restless.

It was finally decided that the club would just be that — a club. No more side businesses or illegal deals or enemies like Rumlow — it would just be a normal club. The club would go to Sam and Steve, and Wanda would take Clint’s place as the manager. It was also collectively decided that Peter had to go. He was just a kid who wanted to make money for his college tuition. Which now would be paid fully by Bucky. Peter could still work at the club as a part-time job, but he had to go to college too.

It was satisfying to see all of them so content with this decision. You expected at least Steve to interject, but he looked pleased too. What you did not expect was for Steve to approach you and start a conversation with you. You were just standing on the balcony while everyone was celebrating. You told Bucky you needed some air when he asked you what was wrong.

“He really likes you, you know.”

“I hope so,” you joked, and you saw a smile forming on Steve's lips. Progress, you thought to yourself.

“I haven't been the nicest person to you and I’m sorry for that.”

You looked at Steve in disbelief. Okay, you weren't expecting that. “I don’t know why you hate me. I mean, we barely know each other,” you replied, honestly.

Steve inhaled sharply as he said, “I knew Buck since we were kids. He never hid anything from me until a few months ago.”

What has that to do with you? You looked at him puzzled and he continued, “He attacked Rumlow. Around 3 months ago, he attacked him and we never attack first — always retaliate. That's why Rumlow came after you because Bucky started the fight. I knew it had something to do with you, but he just wouldn't tell me.”

And just like that, you knew exactly what he was talking about. The timing matched with Rumlow’s attempt to inappropriately touch you without consent.

“I — Rumlow came here during my shift,” you stammered, you didn't know how to tell him. You wanted to heal, you wanted people to know on your accord with your permission. And you wanted Steve to know. “I told him no - several times, but he just wouldn’t stop touching.”

You wanted to be able to talk about this without breaking down every time. And that was a good enough start, you knew Bucky would be proud of you.

Steve's expression morphed into one of guilt immediately. He was smart enough to join the dots, and he felt like an idiot for blaming you and Bucky. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don't be,” you smiled at him, “You didn't know.”

Steve didn’t know how to react. He felt like a dick — he was a dick for not even considering your point of view. Bucky kept saying that he couldn't tell and Steve should have understood or taken the hint, but he was so mad at you that it blinded his judgement.

The conversation turned uneasy, so you quickly changed the topic and retorted to a joke. “Did you know that Bucky owns a customized t-shirt that says ‘I heart Y/N’?”

Steve chortled a laugh and said, “Now that I do, I’m never gonna stop teasing him about it.”

“It was cute, okay?” you defended.

“Sure it was,” he huffed, “Would you and Bucky like to come for dinner this weekend? Sarah misses her Uncle Bucky and to date Bucky for real you would definitely need her approval.”

***

You examined yourself in the mirror as you straightened the outfit you decided to wear for dinner. You wondered whether it would impress a four-year-old.

Bucky stood behind you, fixing the collar of his shirt.

“I’m kinda nervous,” you confessed.

He furrowed his brows in bewilderment, snaking his arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest. He whispered in your ears, sending a chill down your spine. “You look gorgeous, doll.”

You sighed, resting your head on his shoulder. He gently rubbed his thumbs along your clothed stomach, and you felt calmer. His touch had that effect on you. His touch and presence was enough to make you feel content and for the first time in your life, you weren’t scared. You weren't running away from your vulnerabilities — no, you were swimming into it. And you weren't scared of drowning because you knew Bucky was holding you.

“I love you,” you breathed, “I love you so much, Buck.”

Bucky extended one of his hands towards your face and gently held your chin between his fingers. Lightly, he rubbed his thumb across your lower lip before lifting your face sideways, claiming your lips with his in a tender and slow kiss. “I love you so much, doll. More than humanly possible.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears and you kissed him again reverently, “Do we have time to spare?”

“We always have time,” Bucky mumbled against your lips, turning you in his arms to face him.

Both of you were so eager to feel each other that you didn't even get rid of your clothes completely — just enough to feel the other. He held your hips and lifted you on the dressing table, and you facilitated by spreading your legs open.

Bucky didn't waste a second before diving his tongue inside your mouth, making you feel dizzy with just the intensity of the kiss. One hand in your hair, the other running up your back to hold your neck, craning your skull to give him better access to your mouth. He devoured you like you were a delicious meal that he was starving to taste.

The hand in your hair hastened towards your breast, squeezing your covered nipple enough to make you gasp into his mouth and get your core wet. He did the same with the other before his hand continued its journey towards your cunt.

Bucky didn't waste any time — quickly, he pushed your dripped panties out of his way and his fingers teased your slit before one digit made its way inside you. His mouth left yours, and he nibbled your jaw and reached the lobe of your ear before whispering, “I’ve barely touched you and you're already so wet for me, pretty girl.”

Before you could react to his lewd words, another finger entered your willing cunt and you clenched around him. “Bucky,” you breathed, your voice barely audible with the intensity of your oncoming orgasm. “Want you now, baby.”

Suddenly, his digits retreated, leaving you empty, whimpering and clenching around nothing. He gave a few quick strokes to his already hard cock before plunging inside you and muffling your cries by crashing his lips with yours.

He gave you time to adjust to his length and when you nodded, he started thrusting in an enticing speed that had you grasping him around your cunt. Every push of his cock had you seeing stars. All that pent-up anticipation and sexual frustration had you coming in no time, but Bucky didn't relent. “Give me one more, sweet girl.”

His hand reached in between your bodies, instantly locating your clit, and you moaned loudly against his shoulder. Bucky toyed with your ear lobe, gently biting then moving downwards to the spot between your neck and clavicle. He licked before sucking harshly and then licking again to soothe the pain. You held his back so tightly that you were sure it must be hurting him, but he didn't complain, instead he growled in your ear as you tried to hold him inside you — tighter than before.

His hand was running calculated circles on your clit combined with his ruthless pace, and you were reaching your second orgasm faster than you imagined. “Bucky, I’m gonna —”

“I know, baby,” he groaned in your ear, increasing his pace, and a moment ago you didn't think that was possible.

You both reached your high together as he released his seed inside you, and that solely had you nearing your third orgasm. Bucky noticed and smirked before his still hand started running circles on your bundle of nerves again and gave you a few languid thrusts that made you reach the euphoria where you hadn't been before.

He held you, brushing your hair off your face, rubbing his thumb across your forehead to rid you of the sweat, praising you for being such a good girl for him. Once you were back from the land of bliss, he cleaned you both up before straightening your dress out — making you appear like he didn't fuck your brains out on a dressing table.

***

“Traffic,” you lied while Bucky smirked as he placed his hand on the small of your back.

Sam looked at you - both of you with a playful look in his eyes and Steve bought your lie without a second question.

As you entered the living room, you were met with a kid that reminded you a lot of Alec and Izzy. “Uncle Bucky,” she squealed before jumping in the arms of a bent down Bucky.

She stretched a hand towards you and said, “Sarah.”

You smiled at her and took her hand in yours before giving her your name. She looked at you with so much delight in her eyes that had you melting in a second. Oh, that reminded you, “Babe, the cake.”

“Oh, right,” Bucky scrambled to his feet and made his way towards the car to bring the gift you two brought for the family.

“Did you make it, Uncle Bucky,” Sarah asked as Bucky handed her the cake. She grinned when he nodded, “I’m gonna eat all of this myself.”

Bucky smiled, “It's all for you, sweetie.”

She held the cake in one hand and your hand in another before rushing into the kitchen with you.

Sam handed Bucky a glass of a drink that he didn't even notice because his gaze was fixed on you helping Steve and Sarah. You said something to Steve and he laughed loudly. When did you and Steve become friends? He wondered.

“Traffic, huh?” Sam teased Bucky once his daughter was out of their hearing range. Bucky nearly choked on the drink and coughed in embarrassment.

Sam eyed Bucky mischievously and told him to take a seat on the table. Bucky didn't listen and if he did then he pretended to ignore Sam’s words and made his way to the kitchen - to you.

You yelped when you felt two strong hands engulf you from behind, calming down only when Bucky chuckled and whispered in your ear, “Hey, it's only me, doll.”

Eventually, everyone made their way to the dinner table. The food was amazing, some of it was made by Sam - some of it by Steve. Sam’s cooking was clearly better, but Bucky told you not to tell him that because then Sam would get all smug about it. Bucky’s hand rested on your upper thigh for the entirety of the meal.

It brought you back to the time when you both were at your parents’ place and even then the gesture was so welcomed by your body and you. Although you always told him about how inappropriate a relationship with him would be, you secretly hoped that he would call you out on your bullshit. Anyone with eyes could see that you wanted him since the very beginning. Well, anyone except Bucky.

After dinner, Sarah went to bed and it was just you, Bucky, Sam and Steve situated in their living room with a drink in everyone’s hand.

“The cake was amazing,” you told Bucky when he took a seat beside you on the sofa. Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and held your outer thighs with his other before placing you on his lap. You wrapped your hands around his shoulder and awkwardly looked around at Sam and Steve, exhaling in relief when you found them busy in their own conversation, oblivious to their friend’s antics.

“I can make cakes forever for you, doll.”

“Well, you'd have to make cakes forever if you wanna open a bakery,” you sassed and he laughed before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You beamed at him, placing your head against his shoulder, “I’ve been thinking. With everything that has happened with Rumlow and my family. I think I’ve not dealt with all of it and it still bothers me.”

Nervously, you looked at him and found him already gazing at you with a look so patient and intense. You could see his adoration for you swirl around his eyes and you hoped he could see that same emotion reflecting in your eyes.

“And I don’t want to burden you with my shit, I think I’m gonna start therapy.”

He cupped your face in his palms and you looked at him anxiously. It was a big step - your relationship with him - finally acknowledging that you carried trauma that is affecting your life in more ways that you would like to admit. “Whatever you need, honey. I will be there for you.”

You leaned into his touch, craning your neck before pressing a kiss on his palm. “Did you think you'd be crazy for me when I walked in for the bartender's job?”

He laughed at your teasing words, holding your chin between his fingers and dipped his head down to kiss you. “I love you,” he mumbled against your lips, “And I have a feeling that we’ll be alright.”

“We’ll be alright,” you repeated his words. It was a promise of a happy and hopeful future - a future you were going to have with him. ”I love you.” You sealed the promise with your lips on his.

⁓

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A/N - I had an epilogue planned but idk - this feels very complete to me and I'm scared that if I add anything then it'll ruin the end. I think I'll take a day, think it through, try writing the epilogue and if I ended up liking it. Then of course, you'll get it. Bye Take care!!

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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