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cinnaminsvga · 4 years ago

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a love that endures | Yoongi

→ summary:

“Oh come on! Just go say hi to him already,” Seokjin huffs. He wiggles his eyebrows, striking you with the urge to shave them off in retaliation. “I could feel your ‘God, I miss his dick’ vibes from across the room!”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

“Say no more,” Seokjin interrupts, a wicked smirk gracing his lips. His gaze is fixed somewhere behind you, but you have a sinking suspicion you know why he looks like he’s won the lottery. “Speaking of the devil, look who’s coming over to say hello!”

{or alternatively: Yoongi and Y/N. Y/N and Yoongi. High school sweethearts that were never meant to last, until a reunion ten years later manages to reignite a flame that never quite burnt out.}

→ genre: high school reunion!au, exes to lovers, fluff, humor, minor angst → warnings: shy!yoongi and shy!oc live rent free in my brain, mutual pining is poggers, hoseok and seokjin aren’t evil for once in a cinnaminsvga fic, implied smut so it’s pg-13 because i’m a wimp → words: 14.4K → a/n: SHE’S ALIVE!! this is dedicated to @himbeaux-joon who commissioned this piece ages ago. thank you again for requesting this because this was honestly so much fun to write. i’ve been in a bit of writing slump these past few weeks but this fic came out so easily and got way longer than expected (perhaps because it’s about yoongi and he’s always been the easiest one to write for me). enjoy!! ;o;

The mere sight of him is enough to knock the wind out of you.

Your body freezes, the hand curled around your paper cup filled with punch tightening ever so slightly. It isn’t like you’re surprised that he came; you aren’t supposed to be. Of course, you should have expected his arrival, but you’ve been hoping all night that he might have been too busy to attend.

He isn’t even on time—it has almost been two hours since the event started and you had been filled with a false hope that perhaps he had RSVP’d and decided he couldn’t make it.

You had seen Hoseok, his best friend from your younger days, standing outside the entrance of the ballroom before they had started letting people in. The moment Hoseok saw you, he immediately came over to sweep you into a tight hug, his infectious laughter ringing in your ears. He had greeted you happily, expressing how much he missed you since high school, but never once bringing up the elephant in the room.

It wasn’t like you were going to bring him up first. No, that would be weird on your part. Nevermind the fact that going to high school reunions was a recipe for reliving past traumas and seeing all your childhood friends either married or pregnant—you weren’t going to be that person who asked where their ex was. You refused to be the person craning their neck to spy on the entrance every two minutes, hoping to catch sight of an old familiar face.

The problem is that you are that person, and you kind of hate yourself for it. However, it is also the reason why you are probably the only person in the entire ballroom who notices his quiet arrival.

He has never liked causing commotions, which is often apparent from the way he conducts himself. He walks into the room just as a loud round of applause breaks out; an old schoolmate of yours is walking up to the podium, probably the person who had arranged the get-together in the first place. It is a perfect distraction for him as he slinks past the door, keeping near the wall so as not to be seen by anyone just yet.

(Except he has been seen—he just doesn’t know it yet.)

You do not know for how long you stare at him, just that it takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken a breath since he stepped foot into the same space as you. You take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your racing heartbeat to calm down. You swallow thickly, throat so unbearably dry that even drinking from your lukewarm cup of punch doesn’t seem to do anything.

But the undeniable truth is there, standing only a few meters away from you, and nothing on earth will be able to wash away the nerves flooding through your system.

After ten years of radio silence, Min Yoongi is in your orbit once again.

In the grand scheme of things, ten years wasn’t all that long. Four years in university had passed by in a blur, and the absolute chaos that ensued right after you graduated as you scrambled to secure a job and move out of your hometown had made the days seem shorter than they actually were. You had not even noticed that time was passing until you found that cream envelope waiting for you one day after work, your alma mater’s school crest painfully recognizable even after all these years.

During all that time, the world around you shifted without you noticing, and that meant people were changing too.

Yoongi is 28 now. And so are you, after many months of denial. You have not seen each other since you were both 18—both of you far too young to know about any of the things you would experience in the next ten years.

He might have grown a little taller since then, something you are sure that your brother will find amusing. His hair isn’t dyed like you remembered, as he has opted to keep it his natural dark black that you have not seen since you were both in middle school. It’s styled differently too: combed over and gelled back, with his bangs pushed back and his forehead exposed. When he turns his head to the side, a gasp spills past your lips before you can stop it.

“Is that a fucking undercut?” you mutter in shock, your eyes straining out of their sockets as you try to drink him in. Even under the dim lighting of the ballroom, his new haircut is hard to miss. No one else seems to be undergoing the same mental collapse as you, judging by how everyone’s attention is still fixated on the person speaking at the podium. How the hell is no one else losing their fucking minds to the sight of Min Yoongi with a fucking undercut? Some questions are impossible to answer, you surmise.

When you decided to attend the reunion, you had not once thought about how Yoongi would look like. Somehow, you had developed this stagnant picture of him in your head, even after all these years. To you, he will always be the boy with the stark blonde hair, the mismatched eyelids, the pouty lips, the dumpling cheeks. He is the boy who can’t wear his own contact lenses to save his life, the boy who sometimes wears his favorite leather jacket to sleep, the boy who only drinks Americanos like it was water.

Gone are those days, you realize. That image of him has been smashed to pieces, instead replaced by this dashing (and incredibly hot) man—a stranger. A stranger with unbleached (and healthy) hair, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He has his glasses kept away, and there is no leather jacket in sight.

But you can see him, if you look hard enough. The same spark in his eye, the same curve of his lips. You catch him smiling for a second, and his cheeks still puff up like dough. Maybe it’s just hopeless thinking, but you see him. It’s still him. To you, he will always be your 18-year-old Min Yoongi, the one who would greet you with a sweet kiss on the forehead every time you would—

Raucous applause breaks you from your train of thought, and you blink rapidly in surprise. You have to forcibly pull yourself out of your Yoongi-induced trance, clapping alongside everyone without really knowing what was going on. All of the extra noise sounds like buzzing in your ears, especially when it is drowned out by the roar of your blood rushing to your head all at once.

“Once again, I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. We will begin the program right after dinner, so please feel free to help yourselves to the buffet! Cheers everyone!” You faintly hear your old schoolmate speak, before her voice is quickly overrun by the commotion of people walking over to the extravagant display of food. It takes a moment for the crowd of heads to disperse, so when you can finally look back to where you last saw Yoongi, he is no longer alone.

Hoseok has his arm slung around Yoongi, his infectious laughter loud enough to be heard over clinking plates and silverware. The two are as different as night and day, with Hoseok practically bouncing from excitement and Yoongi rolling his eyes from annoyance. But it is easy to see that his pout is nothing but a ruse; you can already catch the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips.

You feel your own seams breaking, unwittingly sporting a grin of your own. It is nice to know that Yoongi hasn’t been alone all this time, that he still seems close with his old best friend. You cannot count the number of friendships that you have lost over time, and you still grieve many of them during your quiet moments. Alas, it was often never even anyone’s fault, the strains of adulthood often being the biggest deal breakers in your relationships.

That is, of course, except for one.

“Enjoying yourself? I didn’t think we’d share the same voyeuristic tendencies,” says a voice, creeping up behind you. Now, normal people would not usually expect other sane people to invade your personal space and breathe directly into your ear, but that’s just your humble opinion. What you do know is that one certain individual enjoys breaking the mold when it comes to societal norms, and it is none other than…

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shriek, nearly sucker-punching the offending degenerate in the face. You hold back your fist from connecting with his face, but your resulting irritation remains. Whether that irritation is because you regret holding back or not will unfortunately also have to remain unanswered. “Oh God, it’s you.”

“Oh, no need for that. Most people usually call me Seokjin,” he snickers, thoroughly enjoying your flushed face. Kim Seokjin pats you on the shoulder, his trademark “pretty boy” smile still as radiant as you remembered. It does nothing to quell your urge to raise your fists again, however. “Hello, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here!”

“The feeling is not mutual,” you snort. Much like how Yoongi was with Hoseok, your derision is nothing but a rouse. As much as you want to kick Seokjin in the nuts, you also cannot ignore how much you want to hug him the slimy bastard—but you definitely will not be the first one to admit it. So like the tsundere that you are, you decide to insult him instead. “Why are you here? You’re not even from this class. Don’t you have other things to do? Or rather, people to do?”

“My heart! You wound me,” he gasps, grasping his chest as though he’d been shot. “How could you say that to your best friend in the entire world? Don’t you know how much I missed you?”

“Easy. I do it because the only other alternative would lead me straight to prison,” you shrug, but your grin betrays you.

This time, you don’t jolt away when he closes in for a hug. “And I guess I miss you too,” you say, your words slightly muffled into his chest. Like always, he sees through your prickly act because as much as you like to pretend, Kim Seokjin is kind of amazing—loose bolts and all.

“It’s nice to know that your tongue hasn’t lost its edge, though I suppose I wouldn’t be intimately knowledgeable in that area. After all, I still am very much a raging homosexual and pussy isn’t really my forte,” Seokjin guffaws, his volume causing a few nearby guests to raise their heads in alarm.

You bow at them, sheepishly apologizing on his behalf before grabbing him by the collar.

“Will you stop being embarrassing for just one second? I swear, I thought I retired from my babysitting job when I graduated high school,” you hiss, but the way his mouth curls up with mischief is answer enough. God, you missed this son of a bitch.

“Unfortunately for you, being a pest is part of my DNA,” he smirks, carefully plucking your hands off from his neck, as though your nails were not mere inches away from ripping his trachea into pieces. “Though, I am offended by your assumption that I am still the same slut that you knew. I’ve grown up a little, you know! I’m a changed man!”

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you of all people have settled down,” you laugh, not missing the way Seokjin’s perfectly stenciled brow raises slightly.

“I know we haven’t seen each other since Christmas, but come on Y/N! You of all people should be applauding me for my improved behavior! You must have noticed how much I changed when I visited.”

“When you visited me last Christmas, you immediately insulted my taste in kitchen towels, went on Grindr to find a hookup despite my numerous pleas, and promptly desecrated my guest bedroom that no housekeeper or priest is willing to exorcise to this day,” you gag, shuddering at the memory. “And then you ate all my ice cream and proceeded to clog my toilet!”

“Um? Aren’t you forgetting that I also bought you that dress you wanted? Rude,” Seokjin retorts, not the least bit remorseful. “Well, that’s what you get for agreeing to be my best bitch for life. You know that I take pinky promises very seriously.”

Unfortunately, he does take his promises seriously. It is probably the only thing he’ll ever be serious about, as much as the man enjoys parading his depravity. “Okay, whatever. I’ll bite. Who’s the unlucky man you’ve managed to deceive into a relationship?”

“Oh, it’s someone we both used to know. I’m his plus one for tonight,” he says, supplying you with the most useless non-answer imaginable.

“Seokjin. We’re at a high school reunion. We know everyone here. That could be anyone!” you exclaim.

“Well, isn’t that fun? Then we can do a scavenger hunt!” Seokjin grins, clapping his hands together excitedly. He pulls you in front of him, forcing the two of you to survey the crowd. “Okay, hold your arm out like this—” After a few seconds of you failing to resist him, he manages to get you to unfurl your finger as if you were about to order something from the dollar menu at McDonalds. Unfortunately for you, the tall twink is stronger than he appears. “—and just keep pointing around until I tell you that you’re getting warmer!”

“Seokjin, I don’t think this is very—” you start, but Seokjin is already moving your arm for you. Like a hurricane, Kim Seokjin listens to no one but his own homewrecking whims.

“Park Chanyeol? Close, but not really. You should know that I don’t double dip with past flings,” he says, shifting you to the left. “Kim Namjoon? Now that’s a hunk of meat that I wish I’d taken a bite of, but unfortunately he’s as straight as a ruler. Pass,” he hums, continuing to move you bit by bit.

You’re both getting uncomfortably close to where Yoongi is, and Seokjin doesn’t appear to be stopping any time soon. You did notice that Yoongi had come dateless to the reunion (a fact, by the way, that you did not rejoice over when you had noticed), but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s single. You have known Seokjin for more than a decade at this point, and despite your odd friendship, you are sure that he would never do anything to hurt you on purpose.

Though, that does beg the question… How far does his dick thirst really go? Maybe you’ll finally find out today.

“Warmer, getting warmer…” Seokjin inches you closer and closer to where Yoongi is standing. You feel frozen in his grasp, unsure if you wanted to know anymore. If Seokjin really is dating Yoongi, then what? It’s not like you were dating him anyway… What difference does it make if it’s Seokjin?

(It makes all the difference, but you refuse to think about it.)

“Nope, not Wonho... A little bit to the left… Bingo!” Seokjin declares, stopping your finger right on— “No, Y/N! Stop moving! You’ve gone too far to the wall! I was pointing at him.”

“H-Hoseok? You’re dating Hoseok?!” You squeak, an avalanche of relief flooding through you. You don’t even have the energy to pretend to be composed as your entire body starts untensing involuntarily, your shoulders slumping as though a weight has been lifted from you. “Why couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person? Why must everything be tortuous and dramatic when it comes to you?”

“I am a naturally insufferable and theatrical person. Sue me,” he shrugs, greatly enjoying the exhausted look on your face. “What? Were you actually scared that I was dating your sloppy seconds? What do you think I am? An asshole?”

You stare at him. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

Seokjin scoffs. “If I wanted to get roasted, I would approach two tops at a gay bar.” He pauses. “Wait, are you seriously not going to congratulate me for finally snagging a boy who has a functioning moral compass?”

“Define ‘snagging.’ Did you, like, tie him up and blackmail him to become your boyfriend like those terrible One Direction Wattpad fanfics, or—” You stop halfway, giggling at your friend’s unamused pout. “Okay, okay. Yes, Seokjin. I am very proud of you. Congrats on finally becoming an adult. Your hoe days are over.”

“Who said they were over?” He snorts. Noticing your alarm, Seokjin rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Oh, don’t give me that look! I’m not into infidelity and you know that. I just meant that I’m still a hoe with significantly fewer options.”

“How did that even happen in the first place?” you say, jabbing your thumb in Hoseok’s direction. Thankfully, the man in question is still busy talking to Yoongi, though you don’t know for how much longer. If Seokjin isn’t lying, then there’s a high chance they’re going to walk over to say hi and you’re not sure if you’re mentally prepared to go through the five stages of grief all over again.

“Believe me, I’m surprised as well. I started dating Hoseok after he asked me for help with his sister’s wedding gift. He asked me to help arrange an itinerary for her sister’s honeymoon in America,” Seokjin explains with a dreamy smile. He sighs, holding a hand up to his chest. You can physically see the heart emojis circling his head like a halo. “We hit it off from there and dare I say… Not only is he the only person who can keep up with my high maintenance lifestyle, but dear Lord, he could totally be recruited into the NDA for his astounding dick game—”

“Ever heard of TMI? Gross,” you interrupt, your face crumpling in disgust. You shove him away when his loud cackles start rattling your eardrums.

“You were scared though, right?” he says through his giggles. “When you thought that I was dating Yoongi?”

Of course Seokjin had noticed your mini-mental breakdown, judging from the shit-eating grin on his face.

“N-no,” you stutter, but your heated cheeks and averted gaze give you away. “E-either way, I wouldn’t have cared if you did!” you say. You know, like a liar.

“I bet you don’t care that Yoongi got significantly hotter in the past ten years too, huh?” Seokjin teases, snickering loudly. Under the harsh lighting of the fluorescent chandelier lights, you might have mistaken the boy in front of you for the devil instead of your best friend of almost twenty years.

“I sincerely rue the day I introduced myself to you in the third grade,” you hiss, sipping from your cup to hide your humiliation.

“Aww, you’re so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” Seokjin coos, pinching your cheeks with the gentleness of an ape. You slap his hand away, unable to think of any retort.

“Cat got your tongue? You didn’t even deny it when I accused you,” Seokjin laughs. He claps his hands jovially, acting as though he’s enjoying a show at the circus. Given your performance tonight, that statement isn’t all that far from reality.

“I don’t need to defend myself from you,” you say, puffing your cheeks indignantly. “I just… think he looks handsome. Is that illegal or something?”

“Certainly not. Though, you might want to dial down the pining a teensy bit,” he singsongs. “That’s how I found you in the first place. I sensed your pining from a mile away and came as soon as I could!”

“I wasn’t pining!” you exclaim. “I was just… admiring the plant beside him.”

“Right, sure,” Seokjin says, arching an eyebrow in challenge. You feel your hackles rising at his smug expression, your ��Seokjin-is-about-to-ruin-your-life’ alarm ringing in your ears. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I brought you over there to say hello? After all, my boyfriend is over there and as much as I enjoy pestering you, I also want to be with him very much.”

You whistle lowly, impressed. “Wow, that’s actually kind of sweet of you.”

“Yes, I know. Kim Seokjin’s heart grew three sizes that day, yada yada yada.” Seokjin says sarcastically, but his lovesick smile ruins the effect. When he opens his mouth once more, the mirage instantly disappears. “But you would understand if you saw how much he’s packing—”

“Shut up, I didn’t ask—”

“Fine, then let’s ask the man himself! Besides, you know you’re being ridiculous, right?” Seokjin tuts, annoyed. He fixes you with a glare, making you feel like a scolded child. “It’s just Yoongi. You and I both know he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body and probably would love to see you after so long.”

You wave your hands around helplessly, almost sloshing your drink onto a nearby bystander. After muttering a meek apology at your harried classmate, you turn back to Seokjin with a defeated sigh.

You know that he’s right, and you absolutely hate him for it. “Jinnie, I’m a mess! I can hardly think with Yoongi standing meters away from me, much less if he were to stand right in front of me! I’m just going to embarrass myself,” you lament, holding your head in your hand.

“That’s true. You will definitely embarrass yourself,” Seokjin hums, nodding sagely. He shrugs his shoulders. “All the more reason we should do it. Relax, I’ll be your wingman like old times! All we have to do is remind him of all the fantastic, mind-blowing coitus you had in your youth and he’ll be a goner for sure.”

“If by goner, you mean he’ll be gone from my life permanently this time, then you’re right,” you groan. You have a half a mind to dump the remainder of your disgusting punch all over his expensive Bottega Veneta coat, though you also don’t want to spend the next three months receiving packaged turds from Seokjin in your mailbox. “Please, just let me suffer in silence for the remainder of the night, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

“I do not emit dick thirst vibes,” you respond hotly, swatting him in the tit. You pause, considering. “Wait, but do you think he misses my p—”

Swiveling around, you see that your intuition is right: Yoongi and Hoseok are swiftly making their way through the crowd, one of them appearing to be more enthusiastic than the other. You swallow thickly, your palms growing damp as they get closer to where the two of you stand.

"Seokjin, we gotta go!" you hiss, but your panic goes largely ignored as your best friend leaves you to envelop his lover in a dramatic embrace.

The two men exchange teary and heartfelt touches, acting as if they had been separated by years of war instead of the meager minutes they had spent apart to greet their long-time friends.

"My honeybunch! Oh, how I've missed you so much!" Seokjin cries, nuzzling his nose into Hoseok's neck. You might have mistaken him for a vampire with how aggressively he sniffs Hoseok's skin. Had Seokjin been 5% more unhinged, you do not doubt that he might have started suckling on his boyfriend like a leech.

"Oh, hyung. It's barely been an hour, but why does it feel like it has been forever?" Hoseok sighs forlornly, jaw clenching as though he's in pain. He croaks out a sob, lifting Seokjin in the air and spinning him around. "My love, let us never part again!"

You take a few steps away from them, trying to make it apparent to all the bewildered onlookers that you have nothing to do with homosexual Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

"What kind of shitty production is this? I want my money back," you murmur, fake-gagging behind the two of them. The lovesick fools pay no mind to your disgust; in fact, they seem to relish in it. Their efforts double, their theatrical kissy-smoochy sound effects causing goosebumps to form on your arms. "Seriously, I've had enough of this and I've only been forced to witness it for two seconds."

"Tell me about it," says a voice to your left. Startled, you nearly let out a shocked gasp when you realize that Yoongi had found his way by your side, his own disgusted gaze fixed on the bumbling buffoons still lost in their world. He glances at you for a second, quirking his lips into a small smile. "Hey, Y/N."

In just six words, Min Yoongi manages to make time grind to a halt. You gape at him, your brain ceasing in function. It takes you a full minute to realize that the man standing beside you is not a figment of your imagination. You had been so caught up in the absurdity of the situation that for a moment you had forgotten that Yoongi is a real person.

It's Yoongi, your first love. The person you haven't seen or spoken to in years. The man who has haunted your dreams for over a decade. He's standing right beside you, and he's smiling at you. He's here, he's hot, and he's saying hello.

Like the incredibly eloquent and profound person that you are, you reply: "Yellow!"

You had meant to say "Yoongi, hello!" like a normal person, but your brain had amalgamated your words during its rebooting process. And so, you are left standing there silently, frozen by your embarrassment. You swear you can hear a pin drop as you beg for the earth to swallow you whole.

Unfortunately for you, the floor remains painfully tangible beneath your feet, forcing you to clear your throat and expound on your mystifying exclamation. Yoongi watches you with curious eyes, patiently waiting for you to speak.

"W-what I meant to say is, uh," you stammer, your cheeks heating up to an alarming degree. "Those yellow streamers are pretty tacky, don't you think?"

Nice one. In terms of comebacks, you would personally give yourself a C for effort. (Note: C stands for "Can I please shove a fist up my ass and crabwalk the fuck out of here?")

Yoongi contemplates the tacky decorations in question, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess. They pretty much look like the stuff we'd make in elementary school during Arts and Crafts." He points to your mutual friends, grimacing in annoyance. "Them, on the other hand? No child should ever come into contact with those heathens."

"You're right," you snort, shaking your head.

There is a long and awkward pause. Yoongi clears his throat, swaying from side to side while staring at his shoes. You aren't any better, twiddling your thumbs as you will your cheeks to stop flushing. Your senses are practically screaming at you to run away and hide forever, but your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you.

It's like we're at the zoo on a date and the monkeys won't stop fucking each other, your mind unhelpfully supplies, offering you an image that will permanently make its home on the backs of your eyelids.

Desperate to break the silence, eventually you say, "Hey, Yoongi—"

Right at the same time, Yoongi says, "Hey, Y/N—"

Another pause, but this one is slightly less tense. The two of you share a nervous laugh, though yours sounds a little bit more hysterical. You motion for him to speak first.

"I, uh... wanted to say that you look great. Yeah. Like, you haven't aged a day at all. N-not to say that I don't think you've matured or..." Yoongi stumbles over his words, his voice cracking.

Instead of feeling relieved that he's just as nervous as you, his anxiety only exacerbates your own. There's a reason you have never been good at public speaking, and this is a good example of why:

"No! I get what you mean, don't worry about it," you laugh, on the verge of a mental breakdown. What the fuck is this conversation, even? "You look exactly the same too. Umm... Of course, except for the, uh, hair?"

"Oh, you mean the gray hairs?"

"No, no! Of course not! I m-meant your hair looks really hot—I mean good! It looks GOOD," you repeat, frantically emphasizing the last bit. You had instinctively panicked, your voice rising in pitch. If your cheeks weren't flaming hot already, then they're definitely redder than Seokjin's ass after a Friday night of fun.

The apples of Yoongi's cheek match your own flustered state, though you can imagine that you’re probably at least a hundred times worse. “Well, thank you. I was actually feeling self-conscious about my hair, so hearing that from you is really… nice,” he says, brushing his hair shyly. “I’m kinda done with bright colored hair for now, so seeing my hair in its natural state is still kind of weird.”

“I seriously doubt that Y/N was talking about your hair color, Yoongi,” Hoseok interjects, magically reappearing behind you when you don’t notice. You flinch in surprise, causing him to let out a hearty chuckle at your jumpiness. It seems that today is “Let’s scare the living shit out of Y/N” day with how many people have crept up on you in just one night.

Beside him, Seokjin looks like a bomb ready to explode, his fist jammed up his mouth to keep his guffaws from slipping out. “God, this is even better than the cringe compilations I watch on Youtube,” he wheezes, wiping a stray tear.

“Don’t be so mean to them, hyung! Don’t mind him,” Hoseok says to you, bowing apologetically. He smiles cherubically at Yoongi. “See, Yoongi? I told you that Y/N is even hotter up close!”

“God, fucking kill me,” you hear Yoongi groan.

“So, have you guys caught up yet, or have you just been fumbling around each other like a couple of horny teenagers?” Seokjin snickers, narrowly avoiding your heel stomping his foot.

“We’ve only just said hello. Leave us alone, jackass,” you huff.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, Hoseok and I can go on our merry ways if you wish—”

“Yoongi! Did you tell Y/N about your work back in Seoul? I bet she’d love to hear about it,” Hoseok interrupts smoothly, saving you from further embarrassment (courtesy of his infuriating goblin of a boyfriend.)

You blink in surprise, turning to the man in question. “You live in Seoul now? Did you move there after finishing university?” you ask.

“Well,” Yoongi starts, clearing his throat. He’s permanently pink at this point, not that you mind in the slightest. He always did have the cutest blush (and once upon a time, you used to love teasing him about it.) “I sort of dropped out of university early. Decided it wasn’t really my thing, you know?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Yoongi. You were a fantastic student. I’m sure Y/N remembers how smart you are,” Hoseok says, winking inconspicuously at you.

You force out a laugh in response. You know perfectly well what he was trying to do; Hoseok isn’t slick in the slightest, though you do admit that you are intrigued to find out what Yoongi had done over the years.

It isn’t like you haven’t been keeping tabs on him. In your defense, it’s hard to stay away from news about Yoongi when he’s such a big deal. So what if you’ve watched a couple of his interviews and streamed all of his songs? He’s always been talented with music, and all the radio shows seem to agree. You couldn’t get away from him if you tried (and it’s not like you were trying very hard, anyway.)

Yoongi shrugs, rubbing his neck bashfully. “E-either way, I decided to tough it out, you know? Follow my dreams and all that, even if it nearly killed me.”

“And now, he’s working in a famous idol company as one of their head producers,” Hoseok finishes for him, chest puffing up in pride. He slaps his best friend on the back, not noticing that he had inadvertently caused Yoongi's spine to cave in from his strength. “Yoongi is so cool, and humble too! He’s been working behind the scenes for a bunch of big names and never got greedy for attention even though he totally deserves it.”

“Damn, so no street cred? Bit schewpid, innit? Imagine all the chicks you could’ve landed, bruv!” Seokjin says, imitating a terrible British accent. You make a move to hit him in the groin, but for once, Hoseok beats you to the punch.

“Nope! Yoongi-chi is super single, aren’t you?” Hoseok says with a sweet grin, ignoring the pained groans of his lover on the floor.

“No need to rub it in, Seok-ah,” Yoongi grumbles defensively. He coughs into his fist, grinding his foot into the floor. He throws a glance your way. “Just been… too busy, I guess.”

From the floor, Seokjin holds up a hand, grasping at Hoseok’s pant leg to hoist himself up. “What a coincidence. Y/N is super single too. In fact, her pussy is so dry that there’d be no chance for any yeast infections to develop—WAIT, DON’T HIT ME AGAIN I PROMISE I’LL BEHAVE!” Seokjin is on his knees, holding his arms up in surrender as Hoseok’s boot is about to connect with his stomach.

“I know I said I was into BDSM, but not like this!” Seokjin says, faking a sob.

“Then behave, darling,” Hoseok replies, eyes lighting dangerously. When he returns his attention to you, you and Yoongi back away instinctively. “Sorry about him. We have an… arrangement,” he says, waving his hands vaguely.

“Understood,” you both say, not understanding but also not wanting to.

Seokjin manages to straighten up eventually, his skin slightly paler than it was before. “A-as I was saying,” he exhales, still gingerly cupping his crotch. “Y/N has been single for so long, but I don’t blame her. Not after that awful disaster of a boyfriend, right? God, Sungjae fucking sucked ass, and not even in the sexy way.”

“Um, yeah…” you say hesitantly, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s eyes trained on you, but you’re not confident enough to know that you can keep your face neutral.

With your gaze averted, you don’t notice the way Yoongi’s posture tenses. “Is that so,” he says carefully.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hoseok says. You can hear the genuine sadness in his tone, and you chance a peek at him. He pats your shoulder gently, giving you a soft smile. “Honestly, I feel you. I’ve definitely been there, done that. That’s why I’m grateful for Seokjin-hyung, believe it or not. He’s been really good for me.”

“Hah, I told you I’m a good person!” Seokjin says. Again, he goes ignored.

“It’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge,” you say, shrugging. You can still feel Yoongi’s persistent gaze on the side of your head like a brand. You’re kind of afraid to see what sort of expression he has despite the curiosity burning inside of you.

You are still in the middle of debating if it’s worth explaining or not (and to a lesser extent, why you feel like you need to explain yourself to anyone), everyone’s attention is caught by the onslaught of waiters bringing in a fresh batch of food to the buffet. Your stomach growls in response, and you are reminded of the fact that you haven’t eaten since breakfast in preparation for tonight’s event.

“Hold that thought, Y/N,” Hoseok says, holding up a finger. “Hyung! I saw a platter of tuna belly and I know that shit is gonna disappear in two seconds. Let’s head out!” He tugs Seokjin in a hurry, the elder’s gangly legs flying about as he trips over himself to keep up. Seokjin yelps and hollers for him to slow down, but the hangry Hoseok train stops for no one. They run off, leaving Hoseok-and-Seokjin-shaped dust clouds in their wakes.

“Wow,” Yoongi says, dumbfounded. “Did we just get ditched by our two self-proclaimed best friends in the world?”

You nod, equally dumbfounded. “I guess we did.”

He shakes his head. “Fucking traitors.”

And just like that, the conversation dies.

Without your friends acting as buffers, the pair of you return to your painfully awkward states. You rack your brain for a conversation topic, anything to keep the tension at bay. You don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to ask him about his love life, even though you want nothing more than to shake the details right out of him. For perfectly sane reasons, of course.

Lucky for you, Yoongi thinks of a solution. “Um, I guess we should go grab our food as well? I’m assuming we’ll be sitting together since our friends are... you know. Unless you don’t want to, then that’s also perfectly fine with me. I can find somewhere else to sit.”

“I’d love to sit with you,” you say, cringing at your choice of words. Love to? What are you, desperate?! your brain screeches at you, and you mentally beat yourself in the coochie.

Deep down, you know that you’re overreacting, but you can’t help acting like a blushy teenager talking to your crush when you’re around Yoongi. It’s almost as if you’ve reverted to your high school days, back when you’d both started to notice your feelings for each other and the steady flow of butterflies erupting in your stomach had felt less like a burden and more like a revelation.

After tossing your disgusting drink into a nearby bin, you and Yoongi line up behind the rest of your classmates for the buffet, the scene reminiscent of having lunch at your old high school cafeteria. You’re still mildly distracted by Yoongi’s proximity, not looking at what food you were getting and randomly scooping and hoping you don’t dislike all of them.

From the corner of your eye, you notice that Yoongi’s plate is steadily piling up, probably with enough food to feed two people. You’ve never known Yoongi to be much of a heavy eater, but you suppose that free food is still free food at the end of the day.

“So,” Yoongi says after a beat. He pulls you from your trance, and you catch the small smile on his face that tells you that he figured you had been distracted. “How is Jungkook, by the way? He graduated from university a year ago or something, right?”

You pause, your hand stilling on the metal tongs. “How did you know he graduated last year?”

He shrugs. “Well, assuming that he didn’t take any gap years, I did the math and figured he should be at the age where he’s looking for a job.” He turns to you with a sly grin. “Plus, I’m still his friend on Facebook.”

“That’s surprising,” you comment. You backtrack a little, “And I mean it’s surprising in the sense that… All his posts are reshares from dank meme pages and I thought you wouldn’t be into that.”

Yoongi laughs. “I’m not. But… it’s nice to know how things are back home, I guess.”

Do you wonder about me, too? you think, but you internally shake your head. But why would he? He doesn’t owe you anything.

“And your dad? I heard he got hip surgery last fall,” Yoongi says.

“Wait, Jungkook has been posting about our dad’s surgery on his Facebook?”

“Oh! No, not exactly.” Yoongi clears his throat, suddenly nervous. He heaps a big portion of kimchi, some of it staining his sleeve. “I… called him a few days ago, to catch up.”

You’re staring at him, and you dimly register the people lined up behind you huffing impatiently. “You… called him? You have his cell number, too?”

“No, I just… happen to still have your home telephone number memorized and hoped that you guys hadn’t moved,” he says, a little guiltily.

You’re silent for a moment, thoughtlessly scooping more bean sprouts onto your plate than any sane person would be comfortable eating. The two of you inch along the buffet display as you attempt to process his sudden confession.

On one hand, you’re slightly betrayed that your own brother hadn’t thought to mention that your ex had called him, but on the other hand, what would you have done if he did? Ask if you could say hello? The Y/N from last month probably would have laughed if she had known that Min Yoongi still cared enough to call and check on her family, much less have her landline memorized even after all these years.

He still cared.

Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, your heart skips a beat at the thought. You cradle a hand to your chest, urging your nerves to quell. Keep it together, you beg your stupid, naive heart. You can survive one night without falling in love again, can’t you?

...can you?

“I…” you stammer. You swallow thickly, desperate for something to say, anything to stop your mind from going in the wrong direction. “They miss you, you know? You have no idea how many times my parents ask if you’re coming home for Christmas, or—I don’t know.”

“Yeah, my parents are the same. They always wanna know if I’m coming home for the holidays, and they,” he hesitates, swallowing thickly, “They always ask about you, too.”

Oh.

“Oh,” you mutter lamely. Your cheeks feel like they’ve been lit on fire the moment you got here, and you haven’t even visited the bar yet.

You finally make it to the end of the long buffet table where there is a large chocolate fountain just begging for you to ravage if only your stomach wasn’t besieged by butterflies. Yoongi glances at you, his own hands too full to get any desserts, but he still pauses as if he’s waiting for you. When you make it apparent you aren’t interested in the mouthwatering cakes and pastries (a big fat lie, but you also don’t want to vomit in front of him and your hundreds of schoolmates), he raises a brow as though he’s surprised.

“What? I’m not that much of a sweet tooth,” you scoff.

“This is coming from the girl who broke into her little brother’s piggy bank to buy some ice cream from a passing street vendor?” he teases.

“That’s the old me. Now, I make enough money to buy my own sweets,” you say smugly.

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say.” If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he looked endeared.

The pair of you search for Hoseok and Seokjin, only to find that the couple had somehow found a table for all of you somewhere near the back. With one last longing glance at the wondrous chocolate fountain, you walk away with Yoongi in tow. You have to push through throngs of people, a few old familiar faces stopping to say hello before they notice the precarious situation on Yoongi’s plate and let you through. You wave at them, promising to greet them later before turning to Yoongi.

“Isn’t it kind of weird to see all these people again? Not gonna lie, it’s almost hard to recognize a few of them.” You note some of the crazy hair colors and drastic fashion choices that you never thought you’d see a decade ago. An even stranger sight, however, is the occasional schoolmates with little ones attached to their hips. You recognize one of the new parents, your mouth dropping in shock.

“Wait, is that Seulgi? And is that her—”

“Her son? Jesus Christ,” Yoongi mutters, equally as bewildered as you. “Damn, I did not expect her of all people to be one of the first to have a kid. I’d always thought it’d be Sooyoung.”

You nod in agreement. You observe the little boy tug roughly at her skirt, his tiny fists making grabbing motions at the cookies on her plate. “Yeah. I always thought I’d have a kid before Seulgi, at least. What a surprise.”

You speak before you think, and it takes longer than it should have for you to realize your mistake. By then, Yoongi’s expression had already morphed into astonishment, his eyes bugging out as he chokes on his spit.

Your cheeks are burning, your mouth opening and closing as pure panic seizes you. You cannot believe that you just said that! No fucking way! Did you eat lube this morning or something? Why are words just spilling out of your mouth at an unprecedented rate?! You’re begging your brain to come up with something, anything, to control the damage, but alas your thoughts remain resolutely frozen.

If aliens were to choose to study the human race right now, they’d be sorely disappointed to find the lack of intelligent lifeforms. No complex thoughts going on over here! Not one goddamn neuron firing in this bitch!

“O-oh, well, that’s…” he trails off. He clears his throat, his jaw clenched as he awkwardly tries to feign composure. “I didn’t know you were, um, interested? Well, n-not that I think you were averse to the idea of having kids, since I remember you mentioning it when we were, um,” he pauses, struggling to find a word other than dating, or together, or in love, or not painstakingly careful around each other, like every conversation topic was a fucking minefield.

“Younger?” you supply. A safe, neutral word. Yay for you! You deserve a snack from your animal care keeper right about now.

“Right,” he nods. He looks down at his shoes, revealing his flushed neck. He’s frustratingly adorable like this, but it does nothing except distract you. “Were you, um, planning on having a kid with your ex-boyfriend? Before you broke up?”

Ex-boyfriend? Why is he bringing him up all of a sudden? You stare at him in confusion for half a second before realization strikes you. Thankfully (or unthankfully), it seems that Yoongi misunderstands the implication behind your words and has taken your little slip-up the wrong way. For once, you are so thankful that Yoongi almost failed Math during the 10th grade and never learned to put two and two together.

“Definitely not,” you bark out a laugh, but it sounds incredibly forced, even to your own ears. You stare at the plate of food in your hands, a wave of unpleasant memories washing over you. “I doubt he’d ever want kids, anyway. Seokjin used to make fun of him and call him the world’s biggest toddler.”

Yoongi winces, his brow furrowing. “How long were you together?”

“Like, two years?” You shrug. “It felt longer, to be honest. Even if we dated for so long, I could never imagine myself having a family with him,” you say.

It was almost the truth, but not quite. While your ex-boyfriend had undoubtedly been a pain in your ass, he wasn’t completely bad, especially in the beginning. You had enough self-respect that you would have ended the relationship earlier if he didn’t have any redeeming qualities. The main problem was that he had a tough act to follow, and you don’t think any man on earth would be able to live up to your lofty expectations at this point, not when you’d constantly be comparing everyone to—

Yoongi speaks up again. “Seokjin seems to really dislike him. Was he really that bad?”

“Seokjin has never really liked any of my past flings,” you admit, rolling your eyes. (You fail to mention that Yoongi has always been the only exception.) “Despite his own disgustingly high body count, I can’t say he was wrong. Sungjae was a self-centered prick who never gave me the time of day. Hell, I was almost thankful when I caught him cheating. It was the final push I needed.”

Even though it’s been so long, the pain of seeing your ex-boyfriend locking lips with a stranger he had randomly picked up from the street still throbs inside of you. It wasn’t like you were particularly sad or surprised to find out, but you’d always been a bit sensitive to people who kept secrets from you. Plus, it kinda sucked to know that they had fucked on your favorite Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Fucking bastard. If I ever saw him in person, I’d definitely kick his nuts ‘til he’s left with a concave crotch,” he seethes, eyes narrowing.

You laugh. You have to confess that the mental image is satisfying. “You don’t even know what he looks like though!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure Seokjin would tell me if I asked,” he huffs. He mutters something else after, but his volume drops to a whisper and you have to step closer to properly hear him.

“What? Sorry, I missed that,” you say, but you could have sworn he said something like “I wouldn’t have done that if it were me” but you couldn’t be completely sure.

“N-nothing,” he stutters, waving off your confusion. He tacks on a smile, but you can tell that he must have been embarrassed by whatever he’d said. If it was anything like what you thought he’d said, then you could understand. It wasn’t like he was wrong, anyway.

He makes a move to rub the back of his neck, but he greatly underestimates the weight of his platter and nearly drops everything. Something deep inside of you kicks in, and your body instinctively moves to hold his plate with your free hand, saving him from a very messy situation. However, that also means that your hands are now touching each other, your fingertips grazing his knuckles.

Instead of letting him go like a normal person, your ape brain makes the first move (as per usual).

“Your hands are still cold,” you say dumbly. You had wanted to say more, like “your hands are still as cold as they were from when we were younger,” but bringing up your past together, even for something so harmless, still feels taboo. You keep your hands where they are, your eyes locked on his. It feels like you’re in the middle of a dramatic TV show while I Will Go To You by Ailee plays in the background. You can almost imagine the numerous ads for random Korean cosmetic products framing the two of you in slow motion.

Yoongi chuckles, reluctantly pulling away from you. You already miss the sensation of his skin on yours. “I guess some things never change, huh?” he says, wavering slightly. He stares at you for another moment before shaking his head, as though he’s pushing away some unwelcome thoughts. He turns away, leaving you behind to make his way to your table.

Despite the unbidden emotions bubbling up your throat and threatening to spill over, you have no choice but to follow.

At the table, Seokjin and Hoseok speak mutely with each other, though the exaggerated expressions on both their faces tell you that they had been in the middle of an argument. When Yoongi takes his place beside Hoseok, the couple pauses in their bickering to greet you.

Hoseok looks at Yoongi’s overflowing plate. “Dude. I know I teased you about being a skinny twig a while ago, but I wasn’t implying that you gorge yourself.”

Yoongi jolts in surprise before staring back at his plate. Weirdly enough, he looks just as shocked as Hoseok to find the amount of food he had gotten, as though he hadn’t even noticed.

Perhaps he was just as distracted as you had been? you think, staring at your own meager pickings. Oops, you definitely didn’t get enough food to fill your ravenous appetite.

“That’s fine. I can share with you guys,” Yoongi says.

Seokjin peers at your plate, smirking knowingly. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Y/N would love to get some of your food. It seems like the two of you either over or underestimated how much you’d eat.”

“Aww, cute!” Hoseok coos, pinching Yoongi’s cheek. “You still have the habit of getting food for her. That’s so sweet that you still remember that about her!”

You had been in the middle of taking a swig of your water, but Hoseok’s comment nearly causes it to spew out from your nose. You cough harshly, beating your chest as your nose burns, among other things.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi scolds. He hits his friend on the shoulder, but Hoseok’s giggles refuse to stop.

“Oh shit, you’re totally right! Remember all those times when either one of us was forced to third-wheel with them?” Seokjin guffaws. “Y/N always orders something gross whenever we eat out together, and Yoongi ends up having to share half of his food with her when she starts moping.”

“I did not mope!” you retort vehemently.

“You kind of did,” Yoongi mutters under his breath, but you catch him this time.

You cross your arms, scowling. “Did not!”

Yoongi covers his mouth to fake a cough, but you can tell he’s smiling from how his eyes start to crinkle.

“You guys are so cute,” Hoseok sighs, squeezing Yoongi into a hug. Yoongi paws at him weakly, but you know that he enjoys skinship too much to push his friend away. Still, he pouts cutely, his cheeks puffing up like a pastry.

“Anyway, why were you guys arguing a while ago?” Yoongi asks, changing the subject. “Seokjin-hyung is kinda red in the face.”

“Oh, we weren’t really arguing. Hyung had gotten some wine from the bar but he forgot to get me some,” Hoseok says. He glares sharply at Seokjin. “Bastard.”

“You just said we weren’t fighting!” Seokjin whines. He stands up, raising his arms in surrender. “But fine! I’ll go get your damn wine,” he sulks, groaning when he stretches his back and a few worrisome pops resound from his joints.

“Damn, hyung. I know I told you that I hope you grow up well when we were kids, but I didn’t think you’d take it that literally,” Yoongi jokes, earning a sharp laugh from you. Yoongi glances at you then, visibly proud when he catches the wide grin on your face.

Seokjin gasps, offended. “I am not old! I’m literally a year older than you guys! And here I was, about to get you both drinks as well! It sucks to be the nice one in a friend group,” he sniffs.

“Yes, we are eternally grateful for your service,” Hoseok says sarcastically. “Oh, and remember to get some drinks for Y/N and Yoongi-chi too!” Hoseok adds, slamming his palm on Seokjin’s sore back.

Seokjin yelps, before biting his lip. “Owwie, that hurt,” he moans, winking salaciously.

As the closest person to him, you make it your right to jam your heeled foot onto his gelatinous and push away with a shout of disgust. “Leave, wench!” you snarl, but you’re unfortunately drowned out by his cackling. Even so, he does make his leave, affording your table some level of peace.

“So,” Hoseok starts, a twinkle of mischief in his eye. He cradles his chin with his hands, smiling innocuously at the two of you. “How’s it goin’? Are you both having fun?” he says, laced with meaning.

Ah, you had forgotten; peace was never an option.

Though he is undoubtedly less annoying than Seokjin, you still don’t trust the way he’s staring at you, like he’s waiting for one of you to jump into the other’s lap and recreate his favorite porn scene.

(A terrible thought to have, especially when you’d probably be as begrudging as you should be if you were swayed sufficiently.)

“It’s going fine, thank you very much,” Yoongi responds, giving his best friend a stern look.

You nod wordlessly, unable to trust yourself to keep from stammering and making your frayed nerves apparent (if they aren’t already.) You grab your glass and busy yourself with your drink to delay answering.

You don’t notice that you had taken Yoongi’s cup by accident until you’ve already gulped a third of his water, dropping it with a loud clunk. “Oh shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to drink from yours,” you say sheepishly.

Yoongi smiles at your concern. “No worries. It’s just a cup.”

“Sharing cups too? Damn, what happened while Seokjin and I were away?” Hoseok laughs. Yoongi flicks him lightly on the wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just a cup,” he repeats before turning to you. “Sorry, I think he’s a bit drunk.”

“Haven’t had a single drop of alcohol but whatever,” Hoseok says, shoveling a large piece of tuna belly into his mouth.

The sight of him eating reminds you of your own hunger, your food slightly colder now after talking to Yoongi and your friends for so long. You take a spoonful of chicken, the taste not terrible but not as good as you would like. Your face must give your disappointment away because you hear Yoongi chuckling beside you.

“Bad food again? Guess you really are the same,” Yoongi says, low enough that Hoseok wouldn’t hear. He pushes his plate towards you, carefully nudging some of his bulgogi onto yours. “This tastes kind of sweet, so I’m not really into it. But you prefer it sweeter right?”

All you can do is nod in agreement, watching as he piles your plate with his food. His sleeves, which had already been stained previously by some stray bits of kimchi, become even more saturated with sauces and oils. Now that you see it up close, his sleeves seem a bit too long for him, his palms half covered like sweater paws.

Without thinking too hard, you place your hands over Yoongi’s wrists, his entire body freezing as he waits for what you will do. Gently, as though you’re approaching a frightened kitten, you fold his sleeves until they’re no longer dangling into his food. The gesture is more intimate than you had intended, his proximity allowing you to smell the familiar fragrance of his cologne.

Paco Rabanne, your mind reminds you. Of course.

You pull away, trying your best to appear as unfazed as possible. You clench your hands and dig your nails into your skin to keep them from trembling. “If I’m the same, you’re no better. You always used to forget to pull back your sleeves before eating.”

After a beat, Yoongi returns from his stupor, licking his lips. “My hands were cold,” he explains.

“I know.” You lick your lips too, suddenly parched despite all the water you have drunk.

A forgotten treasure trove of memories resurrects inside of you, things that you had thought had been buried too deep for you to find again. You are filled with this odd feeling, an awareness. An old wound has resurfaced, one that you thought had healed long ago.

That wound throbs, still.

It’s so strange, being with him like this. A piece of your past that has come to your present, both the same and different as you remember. He knows parts of you that no one else will, as do you with him. But those parts were only ever supposed to stay buried: memories, after all, aren’t supposed to be tangible.

And yet, here he stands: real, alive, close.

It leaves you feeling emptier than before.

The atmosphere grows somber after that, neither of you offering much to the conversation. Hoseok is more than happy to pick up the slack, filling the stark silence along with the occasional hums from Yoongi. When Seokjin returns, he makes no note of the change in mood and focuses more on eating and talking with his partner. It allows the two of you to remain deep in thought.

You are pushing your remaining bits of food around your plate when the soft instrumental music playing on the overhead speaker stops abruptly, and the sound of a microphone being tapped prompts everyone to turn to the front of the ballroom. The host of the event announces that the next part of the reunion will begin shortly and encourages all the performers to head to the sound booth to prepare. A couple of your schoolmates rise from their seats, most of whom were the students you remembered being part of choir or band.

You half-expect Yoongi to stand up as well, but he stays rooted to the spot. Apparently, Hoseok is wondering the same thing.

“Yoongi? Didn’t you say that the organizers asked you to perform some of your songs?” Hoseok questions.

“They did.”

“But?”

Yoongi brings his fingers to his teeth, biting on them anxiously. Your hand makes a move to pull them away, but you think better of it. No need to supply your friends with more teasing ammunition. “But I changed my mind last minute. I felt kind of embarrassed to be performing my own songs. I’m more of a producer, not a performer.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Yoongi. You’re poggers, as the kids like to say,” Seokjin pipes up.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but he’s right. A lot of people like your music and think you’re a great performer,” you assure him. “And I like your music, too,” you add shyly.

Yoongi’s hand drops from his mouth, eyes glittering with disbelief. He looks like he wants to disagree with you, but eventually decides to just smile in gratitude. “I didn’t know you listened to my music,” he says quietly.

Before you can reply, Seokjin chooses to interrupt with his migraine-inducing cackle and ruin the moment (as he is prone to do.) “Oh bitch! If you only knew how much this girl loves your music. She even buys your physical CDs AND collects your photocards.”

“I do not!” You scream, flinging a piece of bread at his head. You refuse to peek at Yoongi.

“Don’t worry, Y/N! I collect his photocards too. Wanna trade sometime? I’m missing the one when he still had mint hair,” Hoseok giggles.

“Will the two of you stop? God, it’s like you both had been planning to embarrass us as much as possible,” Yoongi exclaims, incensed.

When neither of them responds, you and Yoongi whip your heads towards them only to find two self-satisfied, smirking shitheads.

“Why watch reality shows when you can make your own?” Seokjin says in lieu of an answer, pointing finger guns. He blows you a kiss with a wink.

You clutch your chest, pretending to wince in pain. “Augh! Poison damage!”

Seokjin scoffs. “Swagever, man. You’re just mad because you’re angry,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue.

While you were occupied bickering with Seokjin, you had not seen that one of your old schoolmates had invited herself to your table. She sandwiches herself in the space between you and Yoongi, bumping you roughly enough to topple you out of your chair.

“What the fuck?” you yelp in surprise, holding onto the table to balance yourself. After straightening back into your seat, you find that your view of the world has become obscured by asscheeks the size of beachballs.

“Hi Yoongi,” she purrs seductively. Or at least, what she thinks is seductive. To you, her voice sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

“Hello?” Yoongi says, but it comes out sounding more like a question. It’s clear that he doesn’t remember her name, as he searches your eyes for help. You shrug unhelpfully; you deleted almost all the names of everyone that you had gone to school with right after graduation. Besides, her horrendous plastic surgery makes it even twice as hard to discern her identity.

“Hi Hyejin,” Hoseok speaks up, answering your unspoken question. Oh, right. The name does ring a bell, somewhat. You don’t recall her looking like a cartoon character before, but you suppose beauty standards are meant to be subjective. Maybe she wanted to look like a One Piece character.

Hyejin purses her lips into a tight smile but doesn’t return his greeting. She turns back to Yoongi, bending forward until her boobs are practically smooshed against his face. You wonder idly if stabbing her chest with your chopsticks would cause them to burst like a balloon, or perhaps drain like a puss-filled pimple. Both, you surmise, would be very entertaining to watch.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last seen each other, hm? I heard you’ve been very busy ever since we graduated from high school,” she says, batting her eyelashes.

“Uh, yeah? Some of us have jobs,” he says, passively dissing her. You let out a strangled laugh, causing Hyejin to aim a glare back at you. You bring your (his) cup of water to your lips, feigning innocence.

Hyejin rolls her eyes. “Right. But I meant that you’ve become a real star back in Seoul! I didn’t know you were such a musical prodigy!”

“I’m really not. I just work hard,” he shrugs. He’s visibly uncomfortable, especially since Hyejin was pretty much breathing the same air as him. Every time he leans away from her, she takes it as an invitation to come closer. He is nearly lying horizontally at this point, his back parallel with the floor.

“Humble as well as handsome? My, my. I didn’t think you’d be such a charmer,” she laughs, saccharine sweet. She twirls her dyed brown hair with her perfectly manicured acrylic nails. You rub at the goosebumps forming on your arms, cringing at the phantom sensation of her nails digging into your skin.

“Just spit it out. What the hell do you want so you can leave,” Seokjin interjects. Everything about his demeanor says calm and collected, but the way he presses his lips into a thin line says otherwise. You can sense the air dropping in temperature, despite the embers burning behind his eyes.

“I came over here to ask if Yoongi could give me his autograph, that’s all. I am his biggest fan, after all,” she sulks. She winks at him for extra measure. “And maybe his number too? I’d love to discuss your music with you sometime!”

“Oh, um. That’s—” he cuts off, hesitant to answer. He tugs at his ears nervously, exchanging subtly alarmed glances with you.

You remember that signal very distinctly; it’s a distress call that he would do whenever he needed a way out. He used to do it a lot when you were at social gatherings, especially when people would trap him in boring or awkward conversations. He never did like socializing with people outside his circle, but he was often dragged to parties by his more extroverted friends.

He might be hot as hell with his stylish clothes and jaw-dropping undercut, but he’s still awkward as hell around strangers. When the universe created him, they made sure to keep everything in balance. If they hadn’t been fair, you certainly would’ve died much earlier.

“Yoongi, don’t you have spare CDs of your music?” you quip, dragging Hyejin’s attention onto you. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly, suspicious.

“I do?” He stares at you blankly.

You resist hitting your forehead in exasperation. “Yes, Yoongi. Remember? You left a couple of them in my car.”

Yoongi’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh, right! I left my CDs. In your car. That we drove here. Together. We came here. Together. Yes, correct.”

From your periphery, you can sense Hoseok barely holding onto his sanity after witnessing that pitiful display. Who can blame him when Yoongi’s infamously terrible acting skills are having their first appearance in over ten years? How he managed to pass Drama class is still a mystery to this day.

“Yup,” you say, popping your p. You give Hyejin a winsome smile, your hands folded neatly on your lap. You can almost see the steam blowing out of her ears. It fills you with delicious satisfaction. “Why don’t Yoongi and I go get them so he can sign one?”

If her eyes had been made of lasers, you’d be a cauterized mess jumble of organs by now. Can’t say you would regret it either way.

“How kind of you.” She sneers. “Also, I wasn’t aware that you two were still a thing.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were required to inform you of anything,” you retort placidly. You plaster on your fakest grin. “Now, if you can please move your fat ass—I mean, if you can please move out of the way so I can go to my car...” you trail off, gesturing for her to leave.

After a few more indignant sputters on her end, she eventually makes her exit. She throws a couple of poisonous glares, but they go largely ignored by you and your friends. With her gone, you feel as though you can finally breathe fresh air again.

“Great stuff, Y/N! Congrats on winning your first bitch-off,” Seokjin chirps, back to his usual self. You roll your eyes at his antics but smile nonetheless.

“Thanks. I learned from the best.”

Yoongi clears his throat. “So, are we still gonna go?” He looks back and forth from her to you. “Just so we can pretend you actually have my albums in your car?”

“Trust me, Yoongi-chi. She does have your albums in her car.” Seokjin titters. “I wasn’t kidding about the photocard collection.”

“Ignore him. And yes, I do have your albums. I listen to them in my car from time to time,” you say, attempting nonchalance. “I’d hate to give them away to that bitch, but if it keeps her away...”

Away from you is left unsaid, but it’s heavily implied.

(No, you aren’t jealous. You’re above jealousy. It’s not like that bitch would ever have a chance with him anyway, unlike you—!

Woah there, cowgirl. Let’s stay on the right path. Don’t want your heart getting chewed up and spat back out all over again, do you?)

“I’ll just mail you a new one. Signed, if you want. You can probably sell it on eBay or whatever.” He tries to say it like a joke, but his brow is too furrowed to be convincing. (You want to kiss him there and make it go away.)

You don’t trust yourself to speak, so all you do is nod mutely. You stand up and Yoongi follows suit.

“We’ll be right back. If she comes back before then, tell her to scram,” you tell Hoseok and Seokjin. They salute you in response (well, Hoseok does. Seokjin does a very rude gesture with his fingers that is supposed to mimic something explicit. Feel free to use your imagination.)

The walk to the parking lot is a quiet one. The two of you stay side by side, his strides naturally matching your own. Unlike before, you don’t feel the need to fill the silence for once, content to just be in each other’s presence.

The hotel that your reunion is being held at is unusually unpopulated. The lobby consists of a handful of employees milling about, a few of whom look ready to fall asleep on their feet. You nod politely at the bellboy who opens the main doors for you, declining his offer to call the valet service to fetch your car.

“Just hand me my keys. I’ll look for my car in the parking lot.” It wouldn’t be hard to find, anyway. Your beat-up Toyota Corolla looks as though it’s been through three wars and then some.

It isn’t long until you find it parked close to the entrance. You unlock your car from the passenger seat, shimmying the glove compartment open to reveal your collection of CDs.

“Wow, you weren’t lying when you said you listened to my music,” Yoongi says, voice loud amidst the tranquil night. It startles you, and you accidentally knock over some of the albums onto your car floor. On top of the pile lies Yoongi’s most recent album, the one you recall he had released a couple of months ago.

Strange, how just hours ago you were listening to his music on the way to the reunion, only for the boy on the cover of the album to be just inches away from you.

“Yeah, well. You’re a pretty good artist,” you say.

“Only pretty good?” he repeats, amused.

“Don’t push it,” you snort. You grab the album on top, waving it in front of him. “This should be good enough, right?”

He plucks it from your grasp, an unreadable expression clouding his eyes. He chuckles, but there’s an edge of sadness in his tone. “Good enough,” he agrees solemnly.

His sudden quietness is different from the peaceful one before. It’s sorrowful, maybe regretful. He looks like a man stuck in grief.

“Did you know that I didn’t finish this album before releasing it?”

The question seems a little out of the blue, but you answer regardless. “No, I didn’t. They don’t sound unfinished to me.”

“The songs themselves aren’t unfinished,” he explains. He turns the album over, his finger running down the back where the tracklist is printed. “One of my songs never made it in.”

“Couldn’t you have delayed the album launch so you could complete it?”

He shakes his head. “It was actually the first song I finished out of all of them.”

“Then..?”

“It didn’t matter, at the time. I wrote it for someone specifically, but I didn’t want to put it on the album if she—they didn’t listen to it. It wouldn’t matter if the whole world heard that song because only they would understand it.”

“But now? What changed?” Fear and hope run down your spine in tandem when the question tumbles out of you. You hold your breath, and the world shifts from its axis.

But he doesn’t elaborate further.

x x x x x

You return to the hotel after acquiring both an album and some more tension. The album feels heavy in your hands, weighed down by secrets you are still too afraid to uncover. Not that Yoongi would ever willingly divulge them to you—because revealing them would make them real, and making them real would mean you would have to accept them, and accepting them would cause you to—

“They’re gone,” Yoongi announces when you reenter the ballroom. You can’t spot your table from the entranceway, but the certainty in Yoongi’s tone makes you believe him.

“No fucking way. Did those two little shits ditch us to exchange body fluids or something?”

Yoongi grimaces. “Please don’t say it like that. It’s bad enough that I was sitting close enough to Hoseok a while ago that I got accidentally footsie’d by Seokjin hyung.”

You wince, placing a pitying hand on his shoulder. “God didn’t make us his strongest soldiers.”

Yoongi tries dialing Hoseok a few times, but none of the calls connect. “Just my rotten luck,” he groans. He types angrily into his phone, worry creasing his forehead. “He was supposed to be my ride back to his place.”

“Seokjin isn’t answering his phone either,” you say apologetically. “How much do you wanna bet this is part of their evil scheme to leave us together?”

“I don’t doubt it in the slightest,” he deadpans. He sighs tiredly, rubbing his temples. “I suppose I can take a taxi there, but I also don’t know if he’ll be home to open the door for me.”

“Then why don’t you just stay with me?”

You don’t know what you’re doing.

In your head, the offer makes sense. He’s just a friend, you remind yourself. Nothing is stopping you from rekindling a friendship with him. You have purely platonic intentions. Friends help each other out.

Never mind the fact that your heart hasn’t stopped fluttering the entire night. Never mind the fact that you’ve caught yourself staring at him just as many times as you’ve caught him staring at you. Never mind the fact that you don’t want the night to end, not now not ever.

(Never mind the fact that you’ve never quite stopped loving him.)

So when he accepts, you convince yourself that offering had been the right thing to do.

(Maybe. Hopefully. You just wish your heart doesn’t end up as collateral damage.)

The drive home is short, thanks to the late hour. You had asked him if he had wanted to stay until the end of the reunion, but he had declined. “Nothing else left for me there,” he says.

You feel as though he’s hinting at something. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens. “At least I get to keep my album.”

Yoongi laughs, short and sweet.

As much as you try to fight it, sitting in the car with him brings up a lot of memories.

The two of you in the backseat as his older brother drives you to his house for dinner, backpacks filled with crumpled notes and loose pens, a promise of an intense study session for your upcoming exams ready to be broken. You remember how the sky would turn orange in the afternoon, the warm light streaming through the car window and washing Yoongi’s skin with a soft glow.

His cheeks had looked inviting, his lips even more. And you would lean over, kissing him like it was easy. Because it was easy, and you never had to think twice about it.

Your trip down memory lane doesn’t end in the car. As you walk up the steps to your childhood home, you hesitate by the door, your keys frozen over the lock. You can hear Yoongi’s soft breathing behind you, but his presence doesn’t feel as stifling as you thought it would be.

You’re far from being at ease, but you aren’t frightened either. Mostly, you’re just filled with anticipation. Of what? You aren’t sure.

“Excuse the mess. Jungkook is in the middle of moving out so there’s just stuff everywhere,” you say just as you open the door. You toe off your shoes by the entrance, kicking them off haphazardly into the pile of sneakers and boots.

You hear Yoongi huff out a laugh behind you. “Aish, that kid. Still hasn’t let go of his Timbs, huh?”

“He has also been really into chunky sneakers these days. I think he’s finalizing his transformation into Thumper,” you joke. “He’s staying at his new apartment for the weekend with my parents, so you won’t be seeing them. They’re helping him settle in.”

“Really? He didn’t mention moving when we spoke. Where is he moving to?”

“Busan. He and his best friend from college are going to start a restaurant in his hometown. Which is funny, since neither of them are the best chefs.”

Yoongi whistles. “Still, that’s impressive. I can’t remove the image from my head of when he was a kid. He was so scared of anything. He wouldn’t let go of your mom’s leg even if his life depended on it.”

He steps deeper into the house, his gaze jumping from end to end as he surveys your childhood home. You watch him, noting how right he looks standing there in the middle of your living room, like a chipped painting that has been restored.

It’s scary, how easily you’ve accepted him back into this place.

He stays rooted to the spot, the moonlight filtering through the kitchen windows and illuminating his frame. The air pulses with something magical, something dream-like, and it muddles your vision. It’s the only explanation you have for why your chest tightens when he turns to face you, with a gaze filled with sadness, mourning, yearning.

“Jungkook’s height chart is still here,” he murmurs. The small nicks on the kitchen door frame are hard to see, and other people have mistaken them for signs of wear and tear. But he knows what they are because he was there when your mother had etched the first scratch.

He looks at your ancient dining table, his hand brushing over the surface. “This too,” he says, rubbing at a large burn mark on the wood.

“Mom made sure to use placemats after that. I didn’t think a sizzling plate would burn through the table like that,” you say, giggling as you reminisce. “You know, we still use your mom’s galbi jjim recipe. We haven’t found a better one.”

“I’m sure she would love to hear that,” Yoongi smiles, but it fades just as quickly. “It’s so… strange. Being here again and seeing that nothing really changed.”

But things did change. Upstairs, in your bedroom. That night, ten years ago.

You still remember what you had said to him, when you had said it to him, how you had said it to him.

It was a sunny afternoon, the time of day when you’d be on your way home from school. The two of you had stood in your room, neither of you wanting to sit because sitting meant staying, and staying only made this harder.

There hadn’t been many tears in that moment; those were shed only after the realization had sunk in, when you’d fully understood what had happened. At the time, the decision had been as easy as breathing.

Except you had both been drowning. The clock was ticking down to the end of high school, and the inevitable wasn’t slowing down.

Yoongi wanted to chase his dreams in Seoul. You wanted to stay closer to home, with your friends and family.

You weren’t going to be the one to hold him down. You weren’t going to be that person, not when he’s destined for greater things than his hometown could offer—not even a girl who loved him would be worth staying for.

He had suggested it, first. He had been prepared for you to cry, or maybe scream, but you did none of that. Instead, you pulled him close, hugging him tighter than you ever had before. You wanted to make it last, imprint the sensation onto your brain so that his warmth might stay with you, even after he’s little more than a distant memory. You trembled, terribly so, even though the beginnings of summer crept on your skin like a brand.

It’s time to let him go, Time whispered. You refused to listen, just for another moment.

Let me have this last moment, you beg. But Time refused to listen.

“Do you know?” Yoongi had spoken into your neck, had hoped his words would stain there. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Love, not loved. “I did,” you say. You think better of it. “I do.”

When you separated, for good this time, it had left an ache deeper than you could have ever imagined.

But you were young. Young love was supposed to hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to last. “You’ll find others,” your mother had said, brushing a soothing hand through your hair as you sobbed.

Then why? Then why has it lasted this long?

It has been a question you’ve asked yourself, and you’re starting to think that the answer has always been right in front of you.

The answer is standing in front of you: real, alive, close.

“Why didn’t you ever date again?” you ask. You ask even though you know he can lie, if he wants. He can tell you anything and you would believe him.

But he wouldn’t; you know he wouldn’t.

“I was afraid of closing a door that I never meant to close in the first place,” he says. His voice crackles like static, but that might be the blood rushing to your head. He moves toward you but keeps a hand’s width away. Still too far.

He continues. “After that day, when I left,” he swallows, “after I left, I think… I think I left a piece of me with you. A-and I don’t think I ever stopped…” he cuts off, exhaling shakily.

“Stopped what?” you breathe.

“You know.” He waves his hands around helplessly. They fall heavily back down to his sides, defeated. “You know?” he repeats.

You do. Because you are the same. The old wound had never healed; it burns and it bleeds like new.

Your skull feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when you close the distance between the two of you. He circles his arms around your waist, tentative, but he relaxes when you wind your arms around his neck. Your vision is warped, so you choose to close them. You wait, with bated breath, as his warmth inched closer and closer.

The sensation of his lips on yours jolts you back to your senses. His kiss reminds you of your youth, of a love that had made you excited to start your day. Even now, your body remembers, and it rejoices.

The tenderness does not last long before it turns fervent, tongue and teeth crashing like waves against the shore. If his kisses could speak, they would tell you stories of how much he missed you, of how much he mourned the time you had both lost. They would tell you of the days when he’d almost pressed your number onto his phone, of the nights when he’d stare at the polaroids he had kept of you.

They would ask if you still love him like he still loves you.

He tastes of desperation, and you are likely to be the same. It is a desperation you haven’t tasted in years—but it doesn’t feel scary like it used to. Time no longer feels like it’s racing against you, like you had something to prove before the hour was over. This reckless abandon feels like home against your skin—it is an ache being soothed after having ripped your scabs over and over again.

It’s Yoongi.

And when he pulls you to your room, he doesn’t even need his eyes to find his way as his feet still memorize the floorboards. He struggles with the doorknob, forgetting that it always jammed, but it’s okay because you can always teach him again. You can teach him everything again.

The bed creaks under your weights and even the mattress sounds like it is sighing in relief. That sigh echoes from your lips when his hand slips under your clothes, his palm stopping over your heart.

“I won’t break it, this time,” he says. He promises. “If you let me.”

You wonder if he can feel your heart soaring, pounding against your ribs. “I think the line has long been crossed to ask for my permission.” You place your hand over where his is laid. You squeeze tight.

This time, you don’t let him go.

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la-fille-en-aiguilles · 4 years ago

Text

Dog Tags

Billy Russo x Female!Reader

Request by @nebulastarr : Hey! Whenever requests open up again, could you do a Billy Russo x Reader where the reader liked Billy but doesn’t want to tell him because she thinks he won’t feel the same way

A/N: I was going to wait and get down to writing this once I was finished with my series... But this one has simply hit a little too close to home. I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I saw it and I ended up putting a lot of personal stuff in it so I’m sorry if it feels chaotic at times. Thank you for requesting, love, I hope it lives up to your expectations. The Only Living Thing series will be back with its third part next week. The song: Isak Danielson - Power

All you heard was an excited scream, that raised above all of the New York’s past-6-pm commotion, as a slender tall body smashed into you, locking you in a bone-crushing hug. You laughed happily, albeit feeling a little bit uncomfortable in Karen’s strong hold. You knew it didn’t seem that way, but Karen packed a wicked punch in those elegant arms of hers. Those self-defense sessions with Frankie boy that she’s been gushing about over the phone must have been finally paying off.

“Once I am done hugging you, I am so kicking your ass,” she breathed out into your hair as she squeezed you harder, as if reading your thoughts. “You’ve been ghosting me for what, a month now?”

You sighed guiltily as Karen pushed you slightly away, keeping her hands on your shoulders. You watched her as she studied your face, a creeping smile stinging at the corners of her mouth.

Grabbing one of her elbows, you groaned dramatically, pulling her towards the busy road. With your hands locked, you finally admitted:

“I did suck at communicating these past couple of weeks. Work’s been…. hectic”, the lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but this was the best explanation you’ve been able to come up with so far. “Please don’t kill me”.

Trying to keep up with your power walk, Karen let a bubbling laughter leave her lips.

“You’re not the one who should be worried then,” she gave you one of those bright trademark smiles of hers. “Next time I’m going to interview Russo, I’ll…”

You stuttered at her tirade as you walked, and of course it didn’t go by unnoticed. Karen was the best journalist you have ever met during your prominent career. She just sensed that sort of thing.

“I’m getting this ‘I-meant-to-tell-you-Karen-but-I-didn’t-and-now-you’ll-need-to-fight-it-out-of-me’ vibe”, she gave you a scrutinising look. “Want to maybe share whatever it is you’ve been not telling me before I go full interrogation mode on your plump backside?”

You rolled your eyes as you led her to a terrace-ringed Upper East Side high-rise, waving to the doorman through the glass doors. Jackson, a thirty-five year old ex-military with three kids and a labrador, gave you a brilliant smile as he hurried to open them for you.

“Good evening, Mrs Y/L/N!” He bowed his head in a stiff, very army-like manner. “A package arrived this afternoon for you, should I bring it up?”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Karen looking around, confusion written all over her face. You had a lot to catch up on.

“Don’t worry about it, Jax, just give it to me,” you didn’t mean to urge him, but you couldn’t wait to change out of your corporate attire into some comfortable old pyjamas and crack open a bottle of whiskey - that’s right, some habits did die hard. And to think you were a bubbles-kind of girl a year ago when you met him.

You could feel Karen’s blue eyes drill a hole in the back of your head as you took a small, envelope-sized package from Jackson’s hands.

It wasn’t until you both stepped into the elevator that Karen cleared her throat.

“When you said you’d rather have a girls’ night in, I asked Frank to pick me up from Queens, not from…here,” she spoke, her eyes skimming expensive red wood and mirrors. “Did you finally sleep with Russo and moved in with him?”

Whatever it was that Karen expected you to say to that, it definitely didn’t include you spitting out a roaring laugh, as you nearly dropped the package on the floor.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” you informed her after you finally restored your breath. “I left Anvil. And, well, Russo. At the end of last month”.

—

A half-bottle of whiskey for you and a bottle of white wine for Karen later, both of you were sprawled out on the lambskins thrown over the hardwood floor in your living room. Jazz music was seeping out of the speakers by the TV, a couple of Diptyque candles emitting a soft yellow glow.

You stared at the ceiling of your new living quarters, your mind a blur. As you folded your hands on your stomach, you felt Karen twitch as she bent her elbow and leaned her blond head on the palm of her hand, facing you.

“So let me get this straight,” she paused, narrowing her eyes. “After becoming the Forbes’ hottest CSO, concluding what can easily be described as deals of the century - especially the one with Anthony Stark aka Iron Man and his magnificent goatee…”

Involuntary, you giggled at this. This talk brought out some very dear memories that you wouldn’t trade for the world - the way Billy’s dark eyes shimmered in the dim lights of the opera house as he gave you a look that said you did it, ever the perfect team… Or the way he threw his arms around your frame, his long fingers sliding down your back… You knew you looked good in that dress, but the moment Billy saw you wearing it… You felt like the only girl in the world, the way his jaw dropped a tad, his lips opening up in awe…

Oookay, Y/N, can’t go there, your mind screamed at you as you wiped that dreamy smile off your face. Sitting down, you took your whiskey glass, and washed those memories away with a gulp of amber liquid.

Meanwhile, Karen ranted on.

“…you just quit?!”

She jumped to her feet all of the sudden, brushing her blond hair away from her face as she watched you excitedly.

“Jesus Christ, did Billy make a move?! He made a move on you, didn’t he?”

The urge to facepalm was fierce, almost overpowering, but you managed to resist. Slamming your empty glass against the floor harder than you intended, you gave her a bored look.

“No, Karen, why… Why in the world would you think that?” You sounded just a little short of desperate, so you cleared your throat. “I was his second-in-command, that wouldn’t have been appropriate…”

When you were done studying the flame, dancing within the glass walls of one of the nearby candles, you raised your eyes to meet Karen’s. She wore quite possibly the most blatant look of ‘you are shitting me’ on her face.

“So you just quit?” she stared at you in disbelief, unblinking. “No explanations provided?”

“This wasn’t how it happened,” you said, hating the fact that you felt like you had to justify yourself. You brought your knees closer, hugging them tightly. “I…”

—

“…I’m here to see William Russo”.  

With a nonchalant gesture, you unbuttoned your Burberry coat, looking at a red-head secretary behind a desk that screamed power and status with every inch of its epic proportions.

Anvil was certainly new money. With all of those hedge funds injecting their cash into emerging companies, there was no shortage of these - entrepreneurial endeavours that didn’t last long.

You didn’t know that at the time, but you were going to make sure this one would.

“My name is Y/N Y/N/L,” you added, perching your sunglasses on top of your head. “He’s expecting me.”

The red-head gave you a polite smile before checking something on her Mac.

“Welcome, Miss Y/N/L,” she almost seemed shy, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before standing up. “Mr Russo is indeed waiting for you. If you would like to follow me, please”.

As the redhead led you through the training grounds, packed with fit men and women that looked like they walked straight outta Gym Shark ad, you did notice a couple of vagrant stares in your direction. You couldn’t blame them. You looked slightly out of place; more Vogue than the setting allowed for.

You quit your job as the COO of a global FinTech company just weeks ago, looking for a new challenge. It was an adventure of a lifetime, and while your ex-executive board had literally begged you to stay, once you’d decided something, no promise of a generous promotion could make you change your mind. While you absolutely loved your job, working for one of the most prominent online payment giants in the world, it felt like it was time for you to step down. Due to all the processes and wise investments you’d initiated, the company could make millions of profits without their CEO having so much as to lift a finger.

And you, well, you lived for the hustle. And that’s exactly what you were here for.

You still had your doubts about Anvil’s owner and acting CEO, though. William “Billy” Russo had already become a household name in the financial circles, albeit the company he was spearheading had little to do with the FinTech space. Some said he had the potential to succeed; others badmouthed him for being ruthless and balancing on the very edge of legal limits.

In short, the man had you intrigued. So the very moment he called and invited you to drop by Anvil to talk strategy, you knew you had to meet him.

See the beast for yourself, so to speak.

The first thing you noticed about William Russo as you walked into his office, spacious and entirely transparent, with its glass walls overlooking the training grounds, was experience, for the lack of a better word. It was etched into his every handsome feature, especially into his scruff strong-willed jaw. As he raised his gaze to meet yours upon the red-head’s announcement, his black eyes swallowing you whole, you realized no light reflected on their surface. There was a certain confidence to him as he raised from his chair, his white shirt straining some over his chest, long dark strands of hair falling onto his long eyelashes. This man meant business, as those black impenetrable eyes zeroed in on yours. He almost seemed too flawless - to spotless to be an ex-marine, stained with blood and murder.

All that Hallmark handsomeness was nothing but a cover.

Before William Russo had even got a chance to open his mouth, you were determined to find out what was lurking underneath.

“Mrs Y/L/N”, the hot-shot gave you a polite smile. “Thank you for coming”.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Russo”, you didn’t move an inch. He may have invited you for interview, but he wasn’t the only one with a long set of demands.

You briefly wondered if he knew that.

Before your thoughts could take you further, William Russo made his way to you, composed and calculated. He stopped by your side, albeit for a moment; rolling the sleeves of his shirt further up, he shot the red-head a charming smile (nothing like the one he gave you).

“Olivia, would you please bring a fresh pot of coffee to the conference room? Mrs Y/L/N and I have a lot to discuss”.

When he turned back to face you, you noted unconsciously that he was taller than you expected, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders. The cool and composed look was back on his face as he motioned towards the doors.

“Would you like to follow me, Mrs…”

“Y/N”, you cut in with a slight raise of your chin. “I’d also prefer to call you William while I tear Anvil’s strategy down”.

His reaction didn’t disappoint. Some tension left his arms, his stung-up body relaxing just enough for a spark of mischief and curiosity flicker its way to his eyes’ surface.

A twinkle of a smile danced across his lips as he bit on the inside of his cheek, nodding ever so slightly in approval.

“It’s Billy”, he said, amusement echoing in his every word. "I don’t expect any leniency, Y/N”.

“Good”, you replied instantly, looking him straight into his eyes. “That’s not what I came here for”.

He nodded again.

And this time, there was liveliness in the quirk of his brow and a touch of insecurity in the corners of his mouth.

Now that was the man you could potentially work with.

—

Working with William Russo was anything but predictable. There were, however, certain patterns to his way of handling things. Whatever the trouble was, Billy was good at seeing the bigger picture - he was usually able to put things into perspective, but there were occasions when he refused to. You dare say that sometimes, you felt like he thought that money didn’t matter - like Anvil’s financial prosperity didn’t matter - as long as his team got not to risk their lives one extra time. You watched him turn down several lucrative deals that you’d busted your ass to put on his table, because it involved sending his men a little too far from home, in a place where he had no strings to pull whatsoever should anything go south. A part of you (the part that wasn’t frustrated as hell) admired him for that - it didn’t, however, stop you from disagreeing with him, time and again.

You may have never been to Iraq, and may have never known the horrors of sleeping with the bombs exploding a mere kilometer away, but you knew a game-changer when you saw it. There were risks involved, there was no arguing about that, but those were calculated, and those kind of deals could make Anvil jump straight to the top of the private military sector overnight.

William and you disagreed.

When William and you disagreed, no voice was raised, no blood was spilt, but Billy usually became distant, cold and just short of snappy when those conversations took place. 

He only crossed the line once.

  You were three months into your job as Anvil’s Chief Strategy Officer when Mayhew happened.

The clock on your desk showed midnight as you paced in your office, on the phone with Rex Mayhew, the U.S. Ambassador in Cairo. A cat-and-mouse game between the Egyptian Armed Forces and the nefarious arms dealer group had become common knowledge since a week or so; the U.S. special forces got involved in the conflict when it’d been discovered that the arms were being transported onto American soil. Rex, an old friend from your Yale days, had let you in on the fact that General Richard Ravelin, in charge of the operation, was looking to reinforce his rangs with private military before “neutralising the threat”. This was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, with a potential governmental recognition in play… and Billy wanted to hear nothing of it.

You were exhausted and barely hanging in there; Billy was categorical and stubborn.

You’ve dropped the phone on your table promising Rex you were going to give him an answer in two hours, tops. Taking a deep breath, you walked out of your office, your bare feet thudding on the parquet floors of the corridor. When you reached Billy’s hideout, you found the man leaning against his desk with a glass of whiskey in his unnerved hand.

“Billy…” you spoke firmly, barely stepping through the doorway. “Rex…”

“Can go fuck himself”.

Oh, okay. No sugarcoating this. Alright.

You saw his lips barely touch the amber liquid as he slammed the glass against the surface of his desk.

“I said no, Y/N,” he wasn’t facing you anymore, leaning on his desk with his hands digging into the wood, his back tense. “Please just go home. Have a good night sleep. We will talk about this tomorrow.”

You could have sworn you felt your head starting to fume. This was the third time Billy Russo was shutting you down. For the third time he was making you feel like an incompetent fool when you were trying to do your goddamn job.

Why in hell would he hire you if whatever vision you had for Anvil didn’t match with his own?!

“You could at least say this to my face, Billy,” you spoke a bit harshly before you could stop yourself. “You know, to my tired and disappointed face, with a mouth that you have been shutting up every time it offers you a deal of the century”.

This sounded so much better in your head.

“Why did you hire me?” you asked almost immediately, trying to soften the impact of the words that had already escaped. “If this isn’t the direction in which you want to take your company, maybe I should just…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Y/N, just fucking leave already!” Billy snapped like a branch that’s been holding too much weight, the sound of it dry and final.

…maybe I should just rethink the entire plan.

There was no point in finishing that sentence now, was there?

“I was there long before you came along, so I’d think I know a shitstorm in the making when I see one!” Billy was looking at you alright, brushing his hair back, his eyes black and void.

You had wished It would have been new to you - looking in William Russo’s eyes and not seeing him there. But it wasn’t. He was back to his Hallmark version of a man, but instead of playing a hero, he was now putting on his villain guise.

“Let’s get something straight here,” he leaned back on his desk, crossing his arms on his chest, his black eyes narrowed. “While you were making your way to the top of a rich-ass cookie-cutter FinTech company, I was crawling in the dirt in Iraq under a downpour of the Trident D5LE missiles. While the closest thing you’ve come to havin’ your hands dirty was bribing an investor or two, I was fucking beheadin’ people under the direction of the CIA,” his words were cold, measured and rhythmic, like a round of bullets being fired on a range. “You know nothing of what’s it like to be in the middle of that kind of shit show, princess, so when I fucking say no, you listen. Is that clear?”

Bark. Sit. Roll over.

“Crystal. Sir.”, you finally broke the heavy silence hanging in the air, just barely resisting the urge to salute him. “I’ll see myself out.”

Biting the inside of your cheek like your life depended on it, once you turned your back on him, your first thought was don’t you dare cry on his account, bitch and then almost right away wait at least until you’re home.

You could have sworn you heard William call your name in a stranded voice, but you made sure to slam the door somewhat hard as you left his office so you could pretend you didn’t hear him.

If you were to face him now, with all that power and toughness he exuded… You would never admit it, even to yourself, but you’d just end up on the floor, huddled into a shivering little ball.

—

You were grateful that the next day after the shit went down with Mayhew fell on a Friday. When you stumbled into your apartment in Queens at almost one in the morning, you immediately shot an email to the HR department asking for a day off. Once that’d been done, you dialled Rex to decline his offer to introduce Anvil to general Ravelin, washed the makeup off your face and crawled into bed, hugging the second pillow close to your chest.

You didn’t cry, if that’s what you’re wondering.

As you rolled out of bed in the morning at around 8 am, you took a shower and grabbed a coffee from the kitchen before settling behind your home office desk with a heavy head. When you opened up the Keynote presentation with your strategy outlined for the H1, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at the iPhone you left on your couch last night.

You weren’t going to check if you had any missing calls.

There was nothing you had left to say to each other.

…with your chest hollow, you powered up the screen. There were no missed calls and no new messages.

It all looked like you had another strategy to build now. If Billy Russo thought that calling you a rich-ass princess that knew nothing of the world, all butterflies and rainbows, was going to make you resign, then man, was he in for a surprise.

You once heard one of his men compare you to a military convoy, when the guy thought you weren’t listening.

He had no idea.

You spent the morning refilling you coffee cup and rebuilding your H1 plan from scratch. After about eleven calls with the people you knew could get you a foot in the door of the offices of some government officials, billionaires and generals, after typing, deleting and typing again for 5 hours straight, by 2pm you had a solid game plan. You were pretty sure it would still need some tweaking from Castle, who essentially held the role of the Chief Operating Officer, dispatching men and women on missions and planning operations, and, well, from Billy Russo.

The Badass-ex-Sniper-turned-CEO himself.

You kept the email short and to-the-point, sending the document over to Russo with Castle on copy, saying you’d be in the office to debrief on Monday.   Refusing to check whether your email’d been opened, you slammed your MacBook shut.

The rest of the day rolled on uneventfully. You grabbed a coffee with the People Culture Officer from your previous company, who also happened to be one of your dearest friends; then you picked up your dry cleaners and did some shopping, cracking for a pair of new shoes in Saks Fifth Avenue.

Shoes were, indeed, your weakness.

By the time you got home, the tired sun was yawning, stretching its rays in one last effort before rolling into bed. Humming a Dua Lipa song under your breath, you were putting your new Jimmy Choo’s away when you suddenly heard your phone ring.

You didn’t even have to look at it to know who it was.   You checked the time, however, noticing is was two minutes after the official end of the working day.

“Hi, Y/N”, Billy spoke, clearing his throat. “Are you… Um… Any chance you’re available to meet tonight? I would really appreciate it if you could give me fifteen minutes of your time. Please.”

It sounded like the real Billy Russo was back around. Insecure. Rugged. Imperfect.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked softly, “I’ll text you my address. There’s a pizza place just around the corner, I could use a free slice”, you circled the cold coffee cup you left on the counter with your finger. “Free as in you’re paying, Russo”.

A laugh that came somewhere from within caressed your ear.

“Uh, yes, I’m actually… Yeah, thanks. I’m leaving the office now,” even if he tried to hide it, a shocked surprise still seeped through the cracks in between the vowels.

You chuckled silently at his reaction.

“Just one more thing,” you ventured, placing the cup in the sink and making your way to the balcony - your small piece of heaven with a wooden chair, pillows and lavender. As you stepped outside, you put oyour free hand on the railing, just to feel the coolness of it, the evening air and the gentle flower smell stroking your skin. “What kind of car should I be on the lookout for?”

Billy hesitated, biting his bottom lip, running his nervous fingers through the thick strands of dark hair. The setting sun was hitting him just from the right angle, making his sculpted cheeks look like they were made of marble.

“A Rolls Royce Wraith”, he squirmed, rubbing his forehead, probably realising how lame and pretentious it sounded. “I’ll call you once I’m downstairs”.

“Uh-huh”, you smirked, leaning on the railing with your forearms.

You saw Russo pinch the bridge of his nose, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip again.   Your small balcony provided quite a view, when you really thought about it.

“Don’t take too long”, you couldn’t help it, it really was stronger than you. “I’m starving”.

With a wide grin, you dropped the call and went back into your apartment.

You were planning to make him wait for ten extra minutes when he would finally “arrive”.

Just for the hell of it.

—

“That’s a lot of hot sauce for one pizza”, Billy commented, watching you spray your truffles and cheese generously with the piquant olive oil.

You gave him a mischievous smile.

“What can I say,” you shrugged, leaning back in your chair and licking the tip of your finger after you swept a drop of it from the top of the bottle. “I like them hot”.

That startled a laugh out of Billy as he eyed you with something in his irises looking a lot like awe.

Just when he was about to speak, a servant brought a glass of red wine for him and bottle of sparkling water for you.

You thanked the guy with a sweet smile, while Billy eyed him a bit coldly, obviously waiting for him to leave.

When the waiter had finally made himself scarce, Billy softly called your name.

You raised your eyes to meet him, struggling as hell to keep your stare vacant. (Which was hard to do with some foreign tightness in your throat).

“Before we dig in and I hope spend a nice evening as two friends, getting together on a Friday night”, he didn’t even blink? Was he blinking? You couldn’t tell, his black eyes swallowing you whole, again. “I want to apologise. I was completely out of line… It was unacceptable. You don’t need my validation, of course, but I still want you to know that you are doing a terrific job at Anvil, taking us to the heights I never even thought existed. It’s just… It’s hard for me sometimes to be a good CEO and someone who promised to take care of my men at the same time… Everything is happening so fast, I’m afraid to lose my footing.”

You reached out for his hand across the table before you could stop yourself. You didn’t take it, but your fingers brushed his ever so slightly before you realized what you were just about to do. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, searching for a reaction.   Billy remained perfectly still, not taking his eyes off you.

You grabbed a napkin next to his wrist, pretending this was what you had meant to do all along.   “We’ll get there, Billy”, you said, a small encouraging smile blooming on your lips. “We just need some tweaking”.

You weren’t sure if you were talking about strategy at this point anymore.

—

You had a great time at dinner.

(And a whole-hearted laugh as Billy finished your remainders of the truffle pizza, downing a litre of water to numb down the burning sensation in his throat afterwards).

You talked about your respective lives, your ex-colleagues, your hopes for the future… You dared think this who the real Billy Russo was.

And he was incredible.

After the two of you were done with dinner, you offered him to come upstairs to your place and go through the new strategy together. He didn’t hesitate, although you could swear you’d seen something ambiguous flash in the depths of his dark eyes before he nodded.

(You must have imagined it.)

The two of you ended up sprawled out on your soft faux fur carpet talking game plan, bouncing ideas off each other. You watched Billy frown, as he rubbed his mouth with his long fingers, smile in excitement and shake his head in awe when you voiced your ideas - you felt proud and appreciated, and you wouldn’t trade the sensation for anything in the world.

A couple of hours later the two of you had finally decided that it was enough brainstorming for one night, and you rose to your feet to go and make Billy a coffee before he got behind the wheel. As you pushed the start button on your coffee machine, you heard him speak over the noise.

“You know I’ve done four tours - three in Iraq and one in Afghanistan”, you popped your head up, only to see him play absentmindedly with something on his chest. “And every time I’m considering a mission for Anvil, I find myself back in there again… A part of a death squad.”

You carefully picked up his cup of coffee and made your way back to him. You didn’t say a word as you leaned lower to hand it over to him, encouraging him to go on.   Billy thanked you in a whisper before clearing his throat.

“Every time I have to send them somewhere, especially overseas, I force myself to stop and think… Is this really worth it? Is a fat check really worth putting the lives of my men and women in danger? And most importantly - you may think it’s stupid…” he avoided your gaze, staring into his coffee cup, a miserable smile on his lips. “I think, will it make a difference? If one of them dies on a mission, I have to at least know they made a difference… it’s selfish and it’s more about the peace of my own mind, but it is what it is, you know?”

When he looked up at you, his eyes were full, full to the brim. There was so much emotion in them, hatred, misery, hope, adoration, all whipped in a wild mix that was Billy Russo’s dark, velvet eyes.

“I carry these at all times,” the fingers of his free hand dropped to his chest, as he got a hold of something hanging around his neck. A necklace? “When in doubt, I just look at them - they help me remember where I’ve been and what I’ve done - and I just know if it’s worth it or not. The answer is usually no, by the way”.

He smiled again, the curve of his lips looking less haunted this time, as he sipped on his coffee.

Dog tags. Those were Russo’s dog tags.

“So they’re your reminder that, even being a badass CEO of a private military company”, you couldn’t help but feel some kind of zero gravity settling in your lower stomach as you saw him chuckle at your words. “…you still have a heart”.

“How poetic”, Billy teased you without missing a beat, putting the empty cup on the floor next to him. “But yeah. Sort of, I guess”.

As you fell asleep that night, you dreamed about explosions, piquant olive oil and holding Billy Russo’s dog tags in your hand.

—

The time flew by after that. In 8-month time (after some tweaking) Billy Russo and you became a team. It sometimes felt like nothing could stop you, as long as you were together.

It should not have come as a surprise that the two of you earned yourselves a catchy nickname - at first, it was spoken solely behind your backs, but soon enough it became some kind of a title, more powerful than that of the CEO or the CSO.

Anvil’s men and women (and especially Frank - the fact that he invented the nickname secretly tickled him pink) - were now calling you Bonnie and Clyde. The ultimate partners in crime, against all odds, doing the impossible.

The two of you also settled in an almost homely kind of routine. Ever since that Mayhew fiasco and the day that followed, Friday had become the non-spoken partners in crime day. What it meant in practice was exchanging Friday jokes on Anvil’s internal communications suite…

(Billy once attacked you with a “would you look at this, just found the actual footage of your interview @ Anvil”. Before you even got a chance to answer, he forwarded you a cheesy meme with two old women speaking to each other, one of them saying “We need someone who can do the job of two men”, and the other responding “oh, so it’s only a part-time job then”. When you shot him back a message asking whether he really considered himself an arthritic old woman, that seemed to have shut him up).

…grabbing a beer in a bar nearby…

(you sometimes invited your colleagues to join you, plus it was an unspoken rule that Frank and Karen were to be there as well)

…you making fun of Billy Russo’s eating habits…

(It was honestly a nuisance to have a lunch with him. The list of things he refused to eat went on and on: no asian food, no food chain restaurants (even high-rated), no soups, no cheesecakes… He sure was settling well in that peaceful life he earned after spending all those tours living off canned food).

…and just overall enjoying each other’s company.

By the time the ninth month of your being Anvil’s CSO had rolled in, you couldn’t imagine not seeing Billy Russo every day. Not noticing him rolling his eyes at a smart-ass comment you or Frank made, or his orbs lighting up every time you told him the deal with that or this decision maker had gone through. You simply could not understand how you managed to live day in and day out, and think you were genuinely happy, before you actually met Billy. Everything before him just faded away somehow, your memories lost their colour and spike in comparison to the life you were living now. You kicked ass at your job, your career thrived, but most importantly, you were feeling like this was exactly where you were meant to be, braving the obstacles by Billy Russo’s side, knowing he would catch you should you fall.

He would, wouldn’t he?

It was your usual Friday night outing, the seven of you - Billy, Frank, Karen, Curtis, James from legal, Ashley from mine clearance and yourself - occupying your usual table at Whimsy, the bar that must have made 90% or their revenus off of Anvil’s folk. It was just around the corner from the headquarters, after all.

The overall mood of the evening was rather nostalgic. It’d been four weeks since you’d lost a team member in a crossfire in Falluja, Iraq. After everything was said and done, his loss still hung heavy in the air, and it felt right to get one more drink in Jasper’s honour. The conversation flowed easily, even though the topics you’d spoken about were anything but.

“I remember how I felt when I lost Andy”, Ashley nursed her beer as she stared into the distance. “I just literally had the weight of the entire world on my shoulders, pinning me to the ground, I just couldn’t move on”, she finished her bottle in one go and motioned for the bartender to bring her another one. “Sometimes, I just ask myself, what would have I done if I’d known he was going to die the next day? Would I have stopped him from going? I think I would,” she thanked the bartender as he put the beer in front of her, her eyes a bit foggy. “Yeah, I definitely would have.”

Frank grasped Ashley’s shoulder and squeezed it hard in a comforting gesture; Karen gave her a tender look.

You didn’t know why your mind had gone there, but all of the sudden a memory of Billy sitting in his office chair, laughing his ass off at some offhand comment you’d made flashed before your eyes; it quickly got replaced by the recollection of his hand brushing against yours during the Zoom meeting you’ve had with general Warren Singer; then you remembered him putting his hand on the small of your back, staring daggers at some army brat wanting to join Anvil, eyeing you like a piece of meat (you learned later that day that the man’d been thrown out before having a chance to introduce himself); until finally, your brain stopped dead at the picture of Billy running his nervous fingers through his hair as he called you from his car, telling you he was only leaving the office.

What would you do if you knew he was going to die tomorrow?

Your heart sunk at the thought as you gulped hard, ducking your head and staring at your hands folded in your lap.

A soft touch enveloping your elbow had you facing the man of the hour, his black eyes shimmering with concern.

“Are you okay?” he half-whispered, half-mouthed, not letting go of your hand.

No.

Nothing is okay, Billy.

I’m so happy that I met you, but you’re scaring the hell out of me.

I never wanted any form of eternity until now, I never saw the point…

So stay. Please, stay forever, and feel something for me, too.

“Yes. I’m fine,” you whispered back, staring into his eyes, hypnotised and helpless. You watched him turn away from you as if in slow motion, the warmth of his hand leaving nothing behind but emptiness in your bones.

“Here is to always telling the things that matter to the people who matter”, Billy spoke firmly, raising his beer. “Here’s to never missing a chance to open up to the people we love”.

Well, if this was his way of crossing the t's and putting the dots to the i’s regarding his feelings for you, he couldn’t have been clearer.  

As far as confessions of love went, this one was non-existent.

—

You tried, time and again, to convince yourself you had to go. You learned the hard way that your unrequited feelings were feeding on a sort of inadvertent parasitic relationship where every moment of your day depended on the level of Billy’s unintentional emotional indifference. Your days were spent questioning his every move - every look and every touch; until, the grown-ass woman that you were, you’d commanded yourself to stop second-guessing everything - stop feeling - and decided your best course of action would be… to work yourself into the ground.

If Billy ever noticed anything, he didn’t show it - your were still you, after all, working hard, laughing when he said something funny, calling him out on his bullshit when needed. He didn’t notice slight change in your eyes, when their icy surface cracked at every other compliment he threw in your direction (and there was no shortage of those). He didn’t realize the smile you gave him was different from those tightlipped signs of appreciation you gave to Anvil’s potential clients, he didn’t think twice about the reason for which you glowed around him, your every move softening, your every gesture emanating warmth.

Because Billy hadn’t really known you until you started to have feelings for him.

You knew this couldn’t go on forever. This entire situation was bound to result in some explosion of nuclear proportions, and then all hell would break loose. You needed to get yourself out of this situations, but you just… couldn’t. You couldn’t imagine your life without Billy Russo. You couldn’t leave him.

Even if being friends with him meant tearing yourself apart and suffering in silence.

  Long story short, you waited with fear in your bones for someone to walk into your life and to get you out. You’ve had no fight left in you to do it yourself.

Your salvation came in the form of a phone call on a Friday evening, when Billy was on a recruiting mission in California.

You were typing back a response to his cheeky message when the call cut in half-sentence.

Billy Russo: Please remind me to take you with me instead of Frank next time? He’s driving me insane trying to set me up with the ladies from the Organising Committee. Any ideas on how I can calm him the fuck down?

You: Sorry, Billy, but recruiting is out of my mission scope. As for the calm down part, try bondage maybe? :)

Billy Russo: I’m going to pretend you did not just suggest I engage in sexual practices with Frankie. Karen will have my balls.

Billy Russo: But perhaps you’re right. Taking you with me is probably not a good idea. Wouldn’t want my new recruits’ brains to turn into mush because of how beautiful you are.

You: The flattery will….

“Hello? Y/N speaking”, you brought your phone close to your ear, your cheeks still a lovely shade of pink. If you were going to feel miserable when Billy came back, acting like nothing happened, you were sure going to make the best of that fuzzy feeling in your chest right now.

“Miss Y/N/L”, a smooth deep voice greeted you, and you could have sworn you’d heard it many times before. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Frowning in an attempt to remember, you urged:

“No, not at all. How can I help you?” you stared into the screen of your Mac, wheels turning in your head as you silently catalogued all the men you were in discussions with regarding a deal. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Oh, how rude of me”, the man chuckled but there was no mockery in his voice, more like self-depreciation. “Tony Stark, from Stark Industries”.

Your mind went blank. Did you hear his last words correctly?

“Uh… Mr. Stark”, you quickly got a hold of yourself - well, as quickly as you could. “I appreciate you reaching out to me directly. What can Anvil do for you?”

You did a pretty bang-up job trying to mask your amazement with polite cheerfulness, and Stark had caught on that.

Tony Stark just called your cellphone number. What in the world?…

“We don’t really do alien invasions”.

Ohyourgod, did you just say it out loud?!

His uproarious laughter took you by surprise, reverberating through your entire body. It took every ounce of your self-control not to giggle in response.

“That’s a good one, I love it”, Stark finally said, restoring his breath. “And the better question would be, Y/N - can I call you Y/N? - what you can do for me”.

Before your brain could take you into some naughty direction, freaking Iron Man cleared his throat.

“Okay, this came out wrong,” he admitted with a sense of self-irony. “I um… I’m looking for the Co-Chief Executive Officer for Stark Industries. Well, Virginia Potts is actually looking for a Co-CEO, I’m just her errand boy. And my missions apparently include recruiting…. Anyway,” it was a bit of a challenge to follow Anthony Stark’s train of thought, but you were also still shocked, so that could explain it. “…I think you are the perfect fit for the job”.

You just stared into the screen front of you, your breathing barely audible.

“Mrs Potts and I would love it if you could swing by the A-Tower, let’s say, on Thursday? You’ll be surprised, but I can also whip up a mean cup of coffee…”

Say something.

Fucking hell.

Say something!…

“Thursday sounds great,” you blurted out without thinking. “Let me just shuffle my schedule around… I could stop by after lunch?”   Your hands were slightly shaking as you clicked on your mouse, opening your schedule window.

“Whatever works for you, Y/N”, you could hear Stark smile. “Not to sound like a creep, but I’ve been following your career for quite a while now, and I think that the work you've done in such a short span of time for Anvil is outstanding, even though you still don’t offer protection from alien invasions”.

That made you chuckle, pushing you halfway out of your stupor.

“I’ll put that on the list of things for us to consider”, you promised.

"Tell Mr. Russo I sent my best,” Stark added, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. “I actually might have some ideas for how we could collaborate. Let's discuss this on Thursday, too, shall we?”

After you said your goodbyes, you fell back in your chair, dropping your iPhone on the table.

You: The flattery will….

...get you nowhere.

You never finished that message, leaving Russo on Read.

—

Starting with that evening, things were moving fast - too fast for you to keep track.

After a three-hour long coffee and the tour of the A-Tower, Virginia Potts, the acting CEO of the Stark Industries, had offered you the job - just like that - and asked you to come back to her executive assistant should you wish to take the job, with your salary expectations and the information about your notice period. You thanked her for her time and promised to get back to her as soon as you made your decision.

Virginia Potts was a brilliant woman; but running a company like Stark Industries while being equipped with a vagina was certainly no walk in the park. Sexism was still very much present within the Boards of the Tech Businesses. You understood perfectly well why she wanted a woman in her corner - it would have been a massive slap in the Board’s face, but it was also about having someone to lean on, who just understood.

In any other circumstances you would have peed your pants in excitement. It was an opportunity to work for Stark Industries - no, scratch that - it was an opportunity to step in as a Stark Industries co-CEO. The idea of it still made you dizzy.

…but as you looked at Virginia’s email sent to your personal address thanking you for stopping by, your eyes were swimming with tears.

You weren’t ready to leave Billy.  You just couldn’t.  You couldn’t leave him.   There was no epic finale to your story. There was no big revelation, no closure, no moment of relief, no acceptance, nothing. Only a fat-ass what if.

And you didn’t know how to let go of a what if with Billy Russo.

And that was exactly why you had to do it.

You heard Billy come in the next Monday earlier than usual. He was positively humming Usher’s Yeah! quietly as he made his way past your office’s doors straight into his own.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. You’ve been psyching yourself up during the entire weekend, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal, we wouldn’t even flinch when you were going to tell him.

You had to tell him.

As you stood up from your chair, straightening you skirt with the palms of your hands, you suddenly heard the footsteps coming back in your direction. You froze in place like a deer in headlights when Billy swung open the door to your office, a box of Pierre Hermé macarons in his hands.

Your goddamn favorite Pierre Hermé macarons.

“You’re here!” Billy’s warm smile illuminated the room. “So much for a surprise, huh?”

He shook the box carefully in the air. You stared at it, dumbfounded, every single thought leaving you.

You couldn’t breathe.

In the hazy morning light seeping through the windows of your office, Billy looked beautiful and dissolute, shirt open at the collar, longer strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

He was going to be the death of you. It really wasn’t fair.

“Billy, I have to tell you something.”

Was it you who spoke those words? They seemed distant and cold, so uncharacteristically detached.

Blood roared in your ears.

“What’s wrong?”

Billy’s reaction was instant. In three decisive steps he closed the distance that separated you, leaving the macarons on your desk. He stood still just mere inches away, and just like during your very first meeting, you had a fleeting thought cross your mind: you really were tiny next to him, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders.

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, trying to keep your composure. He stared at you unblinking. He wasn’t touching you, but it felt like his eyes were looking straight into your soul, undressing you, blowing that wall you built around yourself into dust. They were taking you down, piece by piece, determined to see what you’d been keeping from him.   Because, of course, he knew. He should have known something was going on. Hence the surprise this morning.

He had no idea what it was though.

“Maybe you should sit,” you said, making a physical effort to tear your eyes away from him, feigning sudden interest in the buttons of his shirt.

  That chest…

  …was going to be just fine. He didn’t feel the same way you did. He would just find someone else to fill your position. With brilliant women stalking him - in cooperative packs - that would not be a problem.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you”.

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as his words reached your ears.  Fucking hell, you should have done that by phone. Or with other people around. You should have…

“You’re leaving”, you heard Billy repeat as his voice broke a little. He stepped away, burying his face in his hands as he dragged them down his jaw and neck, staring into the ceiling.

“Billy, listen, I…”

You were the one to close the space between the two of you this time, and before you could think too much into it… You threw your hands around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

The sensation struck you like a bolt of lightening when you felt his hands cross behind you back and pull you closer.

He smelled heavenly. Like a forest fire, a hint of smoke with oud and pine. You inhaled deep, deeper still, losing yourself in his comforting touch.

In his arms, just for a second there, you felt home.

“You… The company doesn’t need me anymore”, you nearly choked on words, screaming internally at yourself to keep the waterworks at bay. “It’s thriving, there’s not much else I can give you. My job here is done.”

I need to leave because your indifference is destroying me, and when I think I’m ready to let go, all it takes is one look from you, and I’m back to wanting you, to settling for anything you give me, like a goddamn fool.

“What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?!” Billy exclaimed, his hands grasping your shoulders as he distanced your bodies just enough for him to look into your eyes. “I nee- The company needs you! I was… You know, I was planning to make you the CEO of Anvil in a couple months time,” his smile, as earnest as it was, did not reach his eyes. “Yeah”, noticing your eyes go wide in shock, he let his hands slide down your sides. “You’re so much better at it than I ever was. I was going to join Frank and just manage operations… under you”.

You just stared at him, dumbfounded, not feeling a stray tear escape your eye and rolling down your cheekbone.

“These are the tears of happiness, I hope”, Billy added, and you barely registered his touch as his thumb wiped the salty drop off. “Well, I guess Anvil will have to settle for the little old me. With my best girl going places."

You gave him a strained smile before you carefully wiped your cheeks, just taking a moment to look at him. To try and read him.

Billy Russo was a goddamn ceiling. Plain white, cool and unattainable. In all of your time working for him, you have never seen this Hallmark version of him before. Which one was it?  

Oh wait, you guessed you knew. The happy-for-you friend.

“So where are you going?” Billy asked, his eyes empty. “Who snatched you away from m- Anvil?”

The stutter was so subtle you barely noticed. You were finally tired of reading into shit.

“Stark Industries. I’ll be their co-CEO”.

—

Before you left Anvil you promised yourself you’d get the deal with Stark Industries up and running. There was no one in the world you trusted more in terms of security than Billy.

(The fact that you couldn’t keep your heart safe from him didn’t really count, did it?)

As a matter of fact, Billy and you were going to shake hands with Anthony Stark on the deal on your last night of being Anvil’s CSO. It was happening in The Metropolitan Opera and required both Billy and yourself to dress for the occasion.   He promised to come pick you up at 6pm sharp; you were putting on the Jimmy Choo’s you’d bought a coulee months ago in Saks Fifth Avenue when you heard a low knock on your door.

Straightening up, you threw a quick glance at your reflection in the mirror. You decided to go with a long Marchesa black velvet gown with a rather deep V-line, a pair of long diamond earrings and an elegant half-up half-down hairdo, soft curls in the front framing your face.

“I’m coming”, you yelled out, picking up your leather jacket (because why the hell not) and your purse from the kitchen counter. Sharply opening the entrance door, you realized moments later that you didn’t even take time to prepare yourself for seeing William Russo in a tux.

If you weren’t already half in love with him, the sight before your eyes would have sealed the deal.

God-fucking-damn, like he needed any help being unforgettable.

With a black jacket thrown on a crisp white shirt with a couple of buttons undone and the tie hanging loosely around his neck, Billy was here to make a statement, to leave a mark. His hair was coiffed back in his usual style; honest to God, he looked like he just stepped out of the Man of the Year special GQ edition…

Just when your thoughts were about to switch to the way you must have looked next to him, ridiculous in your simplicity, like you refused to make an effort…

…Your eyes met his.

And the way he looked at you was so intense, his big black eyes with galaxies in them probing into yours, his strong jaw slack. There was beauty and tragedy reflecting in those orbs, but only just for a second - just for a second, he looked at you the way he probably looked at the sky he could never reach. Just for a second, he looked at you the way that made your heart beat twice as fast, like the world could crumble all around him and he still would not have blinked.

Would not have taken his eyes off you.

“Wow, Y/N, you look… You look beautiful”, he finally said. “I just can't spot a part of you that beats the other.”

Something in your chest exploded silently.

“Thank you, Billy,” you smiled at him - a genuine and happy smile, because you felt on top of the world with his adoring eyes on you. “You’re quite a catch yourself”.

Before you could scold yourself for your choice of words, you stepped out of your apartment and locked the door behind you.

“Shall we?” Billy offered his hand to you, without hesitation it seemed.

“We shall”, you replied instantly, slowly sliding your hand into the crook of his elbow.

And, just like always, you were going to enjoy it while it lasted.

—

The crowd in the opera was so posh, the looks all the women had been throwing you first made you question your choice of outfit. It’s after overhearing their conversations that you realized, the reason they stared daggers at you was the man that kept by your side no matter where you went.

Virginia and Anthony welcomed you at the buffet with sun-stained sincere smiles. After a short small talk, Anthony Stark informed you both that he had signed the contract earlier today, thus officially giving Anvil an exclusive security deal with Stark Industries. As of now, Anvil was the only company allowed on the Stark Industries’ premises in the quality of guards and protection officers.

The look Billy and you exchanged spoke volumes; while your eyes were sparkling with excitement though, screaming “we did it!!”, his bottomless black eyes were whispering “thanks to you”.

The four of you then shook hands and went through rounds of gratitude and appreciation; when a pleasant woman’s voice announced the imminent start of Onegin, inviting the guests to go to their seats. Virginia immediately took you hand, leading you straight into the Opera house, saying something about leaving men to finish their drinks. You threw Billy a laughing look over your shoulder, mouthing “come join me” before disappearing out of his sight.

“So on the scale of one to ten, how pissed at me are you, Mr. Russo?”

Billy turned his head sharply to a side, leaning on the high table, and spotted Anthony Stark himself, nursing a glass of whiskey. “For taking your queen away from you? Excuse the chess metaphor, but that woman”, Stark took a sip of his whiskey and savoured it before swallowing it down. “Is a goddamn queen.”

Billy chuckled, straightening up, digging his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“That, she is,” he whispered, his eyes still piercing the spot in the crowd where your smiling face was mere minutes ago.

—

When the opera ended, both Billy and you couldn’t be more relieved - because both of you hated it with passion.

Exchanging meaningful glances in the dark during the singers’ performances now and then, you had to bite your tongue in order to not just ask Billy if you could maybe sneak out. Russo proved to be more stoic than you, carefully covering your hand with his in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You didn’t look at him once after that, afraid to say or do something that would make him remove his hand.

How much more pathetic could you get?

When the performance was over, Billy led you out of the opera house without saying a word, his hand hugging carefully the small of your back.

His silence was unnerving. You didn’t know what to make of it. Should you have shaken his hand off back in the darkness of the concert hall? Or should you have caressed it with your thumb?

Your mind was spinning in circles by the time he opened the door for you and you slid into the front passenger seat of his Rolls goddamn Royce.

When he got in the car and gripped his steering wheel, you reached out and placed your hand on his whitening knuckles.

“Billy,” you spoke softly, barely audibly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” he whispered back, turning his head to a side to face you. His black eyes stared into yours, looking hypnotised and helpless. “Everything is fine.”

It didn’t take a degree in Psychology to see that he was lying. You could feel his gaze on you as you turned away from him, taking your hand away at the same time.

Billy started the car. The revving engine filled the silence, loaded with the unsaid words.

—

“…he then walked me to my door, we exchanged our goodbyes. And that was it,” you finished lightly, looking back at Karen.

Her eyes were red as she stared at you, unblinking.

“Unbelievable…” she whispered. “So you never told him?…” her lips barely moved.

You sighed.

“Have you ever felt like you’re potentially in love with someone? Like, you don’t actually love him, you know you don’t, but one day you realise that you could? You realise just how easy it would be for you to fall in love with him? With all the teasing and the banter, the play hitting each other, calling each other names, just…. You start to pick up on little things - like if you listen closely, in every shut up, there’s a barely-there ring of I could love you.”  You shifted on the floor a little, and Karen watched your memories transport you somewhere else again. While physically your were here, in your apartment - with your fluttering eye-lashes, uneven breathing and loaded expression - mentally, you were somewhere else.

“….You probably don’t notice it at first, but your body is drawn to him. Every accidental or absentminded touch…” you continued quietly. “And there’s that twinkle in his eyes when he looks at you and it messes you up, because - what’s going on with you? What the hell does it even mean? Are you imagining shit? You’re trying to make sense.”  

Karen didn’t interrupt, still staring at you as if she were seeing you for the first time

“I mean, he didn’t ask for any of it, you know?” you finally raised your foggy stare at Karen, as if searching for confirmation. “Maybe he just did something dumb one day, smiled at you or said something that seemed important and then all of the sudden you’re full on Looney Tunes, seeing stuff that isn’t there?”

Your words barely audible, you swallowed hard, before continuing.  “…I just kept looking at him with what ifs, and could haves, seeing all that goddamn potential. It’s so fucking twisted. Over-analyzing everything? Waiting for a sign?…” you chuckled bitterly all of the sudden. “…I was so fucking scared of reading too much into it, of crossing that line, because… It would be so easy!… Falling in love with him would have been so easy.”

Oh sweetheart, Karen’s eyes glowed with comfort as she reached out for your hand and squeezed it softly. But you already are in love with him.   

A loaded silence ripped through the air in your living room. The sound of an engine revving somewhere close squeezed its way through the slit of an opened window, and it seemed to break the trance.

Both Karen and you shuddered, and as you took in the realisation Karen’s eyes just bestowed upon you, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“It’s pretty late,” Karen spoke up, reading you like an open book. She knew it was her cue to leave the stage. You needed time to process. “Frank is in a bar nearby with Curtis, let me just give him a call, okay, sweetheart?” she gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. “You know where to find me when you need me”.

“Yes”, you responded, blinking tiredly. “Thank you so much for coming, Karen. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that…”

“Shut the hell up,” the blonde advised, raising her eyebrows. “But honestly, Y/N, please call me once you… come to terms with things, okay?”

You nodded.

When Karen left, leaving the sweet and pleasant smell of her perfume behind, you closed the door behind her and turned around, leaning on the cold wood and metal with your eyes closed.

It’s been a month. This was supposed to pass by now. Billy was supposed to stop inviting himself into your dreams. You were supposed to heal.

You may have just realized you were in love with the man instead.

Letting out half a moan, half a groan, you peeled yourself from the door slowly, and brushed your hair back, wanting nothing more than to fall face-first into bed.

After you at least cleaned up a bit and put out the Dyptique candles, that is.

As your eyes scanned your living room in an attempt to asses the size of the job at hand, you stopped mid-way, zeroing in on the box Jax gave you earlier in the evening. It rested silently on the kitchen table.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you made your way to the kitchen area. Grabbing the package, you turned it around, looking for any indication of the sender.

The package wasn’t even stamped.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you took a moment to grab a knife from one of the drawers, and carefully swished it between the two cardboard sheets.

Flipping over the envelop, you heard something fall out of it before you could actually see it. A small sheet of paper floated in the air before falling on the surface, partially covering whatever fell out of the package.

Your heart squeezed the second your brain identified the object, attached to a worn silver chain.

With trembling fingers, you slid two metal pieces from under the paper, covering your mouth.

Finding their home in the palm of your hand, Billy’s dog tags shimmered in the dim candlelight.

Squeezing them in between your fingers, you grabbed the paper with your free hand, your eyes staring at one single sentence scribbled on its surface.

“You took my heart with you”.

#billy russo x you #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo angst #billy russo fanfic #billy russo story #the punisher imagine #billy russo imagine #the punisher story #billy russo request

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liquid-luck-00 · 4 years ago

Note

Do you think you could write an Au where Bruce Wayne is Marinette's bio!dad, but they don't learn that until she interns under Tony Stark, please?

@jumpingjoy82

Okay so disclaimer I mainly know marvel through fanfics and a couple of the MCU movies. Having said that this was a fun write hope you like it.

Oh and Marinette knows Tom isn’t her bio dad. Tony is Sabine’s cousin.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette was a lot of things. She was a dancer, a gymnast, a bio chem major, an engineer, an amateur detective, a superhero, and completely over her class at idiots who followed a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Marinette was actually done with high school. In fact she was two years into her first Masters degree along with skipping two years. Making her two years younger than the sheep in her class and at least four years younger than those in her university class.

Mari was sitting in the back of the class during her last period when she received an email and several texts, thank kwamii her phone and tablet were on silent.

She decided to open her email first.

You have been selected as one of the lucky seven applicants to study and intern at Stark Industries for two weeks this summer. Below is the date, location, and mentor you will report to. We hope to meet you then. -Sincerely Co-CEO Virginia Potts

She would have answered her text had the projector not began to glitch and calling her name. "Mari bug answer your phone!"

'Ugh' she sighed running her hands down her face. "I would have Uncle T if you hadn't started yelling from the projector!"

"But Peps just told me and..."

"Wait," her head snapped up. "How many screens are you projecting on." She started to look around, her uncle, who never not used the camera unless... Then she saw the Iron Man suit.

"I dunno maybe the whole school, the city, the country I don't know."

"Ya I'm not dealing with this at least not here." She walked down the stairs her bag packed hung from her shoulders. "Oh and Uncle T, fe...male 4 o'clock." He began to sputter but she didn’t stay in the classroom and walked out without looking back.

Thank kwamii that her uncle was only projected in her class. It did have the unfortunate side effect of her class sending confused and curious looks at her. Even Lila seemed to stop her tirade for a while. But all good things must come to an end.

"Alright do I have all the permission slips for the summer graduation trip." Miss Bustier started counting the slips. “Marinette your permission slip is missing."

"I'm aware."

"If you want to go you need it in by the end of the day."

"Seriously Mari, if you want us to beg you to come save it. We don't want a bully on this trip wit us." Alya huffed before Marinette could speak.

"One only my friends call me Mari, you are not one of them so it's Marinette to you Cesaire. Two you save it I don't want to hear any of you beg me for anything. Finally three, I already had plans for this summer. So this trip I’ll be a no show so have fun."

“Y...Yes but this is a class trip,” Miss Bustier stammered.

“I understand that but it would still be a class trip even if I don’t go.” Was Marinette’s retort.

Miss Bustier would have continued had her Uncle not burst into the room. Her head was now banging against the desk. To his credit he was not in a suit, Iron Man suit included. He was in more ‘Civilian wear' with a baseball cap and shades.

"Ready to go Bug! I already signed you off."

"How mad is Auntie Pepper going to be when she finds out you came to Paris." She was now next to him at the door still in the classroom.

"Pete's here!" He shouted.

"Fine our secret." She smiled leaving the class behind without a wave or goodbye.

---

Interning with her Uncle Tony was great. Especially because she could get his input on her projects and learn from him directly.

It also helped that she stayed in Avenger's Tower and that ment leaving for akuma's was easy and was expected. Every summer she would spend with her uncle for the past five years. Meaning that they knew when she became Ladybug since it's kind of hard to keep a secret identity from FRIDAY, who is constantly monitoring the tower.

On the plus side that meant she had adult guidance and mentors.

"Mari bag mind going to pick up the Bats and Hood?”

"Suit?"

"Suit."

she left and was swinging between the sky scrapers, until she landed at the meet up point. She didn't have to wait long.

"Who are you?" Red helmet, so Red Hood, asked.

"I'm Ladybug. My guess is he just sent that bug was going to meet you guys."

"That's night how did you know?"

"There's three bugs at the tower right now Black Widow, Spider Man, and me so it's understand able, come on."

They made their way to the tower and she dropped her transformation. "If you guys want to change FRIDAY will guide you." she faced them, smiled, and walked off.

---

Something had been bothering him since he first saw the girl, Ladybug. Two days had passed and that feeling was not going away.

"Don't even think about it Bruce." Tony glared at him. "You are not adopting her she already has loving parents."

"I wasn't... why would you think that."

"We told you you have a problem B!" Jason yelled from across the room. "So what is your name anyway everyone just calls you either Maribug, Buginette, or just bug."

"Those all sound more like nicknames," Bruce now added having made his way across the room with Tony.

"That's because they are," she gave them a bored and a 'duh' look. "My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

A memory flashed in his mind from 16 years ago.

"You wouldn't happen to know a Sabine Cheng?" Bruce asked.

Now both Marinette and Tony turned on him and the glare Marinette was giving him. Well he would recognize it anywhere, he trademarked it after all.

"Why would you ask that?" Tony was the first to answer, but not soon after Marinette spoke.

"Yes. She's my mother." Then she looked at him as if she were analyzing him. "Oh fuck" she groaned.

"Language!"

"Oh not now or kwamii help me I will beat you to a pulp later during sparing Uncle Steve."

"I'll bring the popcorn." Natasha piped.

“You’re not helping.” Steve argued.

“We both know she can take you. She added as they left the room.

"Mari Sweetie, what's up."

"Eyes, hair, build, complexion"

"Glare," he added.

"Not helping but yes. Ya know apparently being a hero is genetic," She had began to laugh.

"No don't tell me, that my sweet smart niece is related to..." Tony Just motioned at him not finding the right words.

"Ya well it looks that way uncle Tony."

"B. Demon spawn is not going to be happy." Jason scolded once he seemed to grasp the concept. "Hey at least you have a kid who already knows your a vigilante and a hero to boot.” Jason grinned.

Of all the ways Mari had thought she would meet her biological father, this was not one of them. Who would have thought interning with her uncle would lead to meeting her father. This is by far better than a class trip with those sheep she calls classmates.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @miraculouspenta

#maribat #dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc #dc x mlb x mcu #mcu x mlb x dc #mcu x mlb #mlb x mcu

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yeojaa · 4 years ago

Text

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi? Answer: Jeon Jungkook.

pairing. french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating. hybrid!au set in college. super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out. explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself. oops.

tags / warnings. honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning. but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns... the usual.

wc. 4.4k

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif as always become, c’mon. i’m me. she’s her.

author note. this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii). i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy. feedback goes a long way! xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in. Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant. (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.) He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile. All the girls swoon. So do the guys. Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes. You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur. His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes. He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag. They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him. You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his. (You try not to think about it much.)

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change. It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air. Weird.

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother. Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does). “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that. Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball.

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there. Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible. But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it.

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama.

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something. Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time. Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,” he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes. His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often. Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak. Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?” Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,” you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever. But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural. You wonder why that is.

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest. Not bulky by any means, but big. Strong. Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind. It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut. “Got a problem with me standing here?”

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point). “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?” You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop. “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.” You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’. He’s cute like this, you think. Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I do?”

There’s that cheek thing again. It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin. “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,” he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright. They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable. So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours. You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine. A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.

“What’s what?” You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest. (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.) “Are you okay?” He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton. It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later. The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind. It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid. True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare.

“No I don’t.”

“You do.” Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie. The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails. “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell. He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee. It’s made up of too many moving parts: the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth. You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class. (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A. You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,” he hums, looking down at you. You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night.

“It’s not bad.” Really, it isn’t. It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another. But it isn’t unwelcome.

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar. It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars. You can practically taste it. Him.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations. It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting. Should you? Shouldn’t you? You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.

He beats you to it. “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”

You don’t think you could want anything more. “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch. The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures. There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours. It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air.

“So—” You start.

He finishes, “do you wanna go on a date with me?”

That’s surprising. (Or is it? You’re not really sure.) You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person. Something something all or nothing.

“What?”

“Do. You. Want. To—” He’s being insufferable for the hell of it. You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.

“Not if you keep that up,” you retort, though you both know you’re lying. You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him. Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning. Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.

“Is that a challenge?”

“You won’t get it in.”

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief. How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature?

“What do I get if I do?” The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim. He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.

“A pat on the back?” As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms. A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers. (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.) “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.” He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose. It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch. “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you. Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking. He must be joking. This is your third date.

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest. It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor.

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?” It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No. I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.” You should say no. Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news. Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.

“Is that a yes?” He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it. (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag. What comes out isn’t what you expect. “Okay.”

Damn you. Damn him. Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over. (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din. It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.

“Cool,” he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool. He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing. You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth. How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream). How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro! How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists). How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch. How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special? Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?” He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple. It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in). You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes.

“Let’s.” You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine. It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place. He takes the blue gun, you the red.

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon. “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,” you return.

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen. Neither of you mind that much though. He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.

“Kook!” Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips. “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over. Not even your second or third. You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court. You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different. You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow. It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.

“Are you hungry?” He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.

“I’m good.” You are, really. You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness. You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you.

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack. Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours. Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair. “Are you tired?”

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.

“No bed then?”

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?” You’re only teasing. A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets. (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home. He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home. “Can you blame me?”

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.” Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders. He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid. “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?” He asks, just to make you laugh.

“If you don’t shut up—”

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks. “Don’t be mad, kitten.” The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter. “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again. Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day. You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage. He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them? Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do. Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook. Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look. Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?” The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood. (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.) “Don’t ignore me,” he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,” you retort. You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest. You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay. People don’t tell him no - only you. Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.

“Sorry.”

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves. How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go. Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around. He’s impossibly big, thick and long. The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him. He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips. (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,” you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his. The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.” When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine. He’s demanding and unrelenting. It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”

“Not.” Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder. “A.” He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with. “Wookie.” Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut. (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.” It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.

His rhythm stutters. The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame. No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.

It doesn’t work. You love it anyway. Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head. You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care. You can’t. Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out. It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base. It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it. It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle

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dykeninthdoctor · 4 years ago

Note

You asked for prompts, so maybe Rhodey/Tony with the Avengers meeting Rhodey for the first time and realizing how devoted Tony is to him? Like Tony has been doing that Trademark Stark thing but then the team sees him with Rhodey for the first time and realizes THIS is the real Tony.

thank you for the prompt!!! this was so much fun to write, i hope you enjoy!!

Tony Stark is an enigma.

He wears expressions like they’re masks, and wields words like they’re weapons, and takes people apart with one piercing glance.

He’s more than a man, he’s a paradox; he isn’t made of flesh and bone and blood, no, Tony Stark is made of gears and wires and lines of code that run the solutions to every possible problem before they happen.

It’s terrifying.

Natasha looks at him, and to her, he’s a mirror; Tony reflects what they all want to see. And mirrors are not glass. She can’t tell what’s real, can’t see through him at all, and she hates it. It makes her feel weak. She tries breaking the mirror, breaking Tony, but it doesn’t work. Even at his lowest point, sitting across from her and Fury in the diner, he reflects what she wants to see–a broken man. And yet, not a broken mirror.

Steve doesn’t know what to think of him; he is nothing like Howard, and yet he is everything like Howard. Steve sees Howard in the way Tony balances five conversations at once, the way Tony knows he’s the smartest person in the room and acts like it, the way he carries himself with his hands constantly in motion. It makes Steve ache for the time he left behind.

Bruce only sees an equal in him; their minds attract each other like magnets. But magnets can repel each other, can become polar opposites so very easily, and as Tony starts pushing, Bruce lets himself be repelled, because it’s easier than answering Tony’s questions that strike too close. Bruce doesn’t know how he does it, how he can find someone’s heart in minutes, especially because Tony acts like he doesn’t understand people at all. It’s fascinating, and confusing, and not a magnet Bruce wants to draw in.

Clint thinks it’s all a show; Tony acts like the people he grew up around, performers who used flashy tricks to distract the audience from their real movements. Tony is a magician, Clint realizes, after he reviews the footage of the days he missed, and sees things no one else caught, sees the bugs he plants and the seeds he sows, because Tony was too busy distracting them all with his words.

He’s a myriad of things, a collection of lies and half-truths, and the Avengers don’t know what to do with him.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you,” Tony hears, and he knows he’s covered in engine grease and that there’s probably some in his hair, but that’s not really the point. Then there’s arms wrapping around him, a chest pressing to his back, lips against his temple, the smell of jasmine lotion surrounding him, Rhodey slotting into place behind him.

It’s embarrassing how long it takes Tony’s brain to register the facts, and he turns around so quickly he gets whiplash.

“You’re home!”

“Clearly I’m less interesting than that engine that you’re working on.”

“I haven’t slept in two days,” Tony says, just to watch Rhodey get that crinkle in his brow. He kisses it. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, genius.” Rhodey’s lips trail across the exposed skin of his shoulder. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

“When am I not wearing your sweatshirt, honey bear?”

“When I’m taking it off of you,” Rhodey says, punctuating it with a bite.

“Oh, yeah, fair point–“

Rhodey cuts him off with a kiss.

Steve walks in on them first, in the kitchen, where Tony’s sitting on the counter with his legs crossed under him, drowning in clothes that are too big for him and mismatched socks, wearing a smile that’s as blinding as the sun.

He feels like it’s a moment that needs to be captured in time, but only for the two men in front of him, a moment that he wasn’t meant to see.

Tony doesn’t look anything like Howard as he draws Jim Rhodes into a kiss.

Steve leaves, and if he draws the smile on Tony’s face and gives the picture to Jim later, that’s between them.

Natasha finds them during movie night, when Tony’s sleeping on top of Jim Rhodes, head pillowed on his chest and arms wrapped around his waist, bare feet hanging out at the end of the blanket that covers them both. The movie plays as background noise; even Natasha can see that Jim’s only got eyes for Tony.

When she comes closer to pull the blanket over Tony’s feet and Jim mouths a silent thanks to her, she sees Tony’s face, half-pressed into Jim’s neck.

He looks content. No mirror to reflect what she wants to see, only glass to show her what Jim Rhodes always sees.

Jim’s gaze shifts to meet hers.

“Wanna watch?” he asks softly, motioning towards the T.V. with a brush of his hand across Tony’s back.

The offer is surprising, but what’s more surprising is when she sits down, and Jim lets her put Tony’s feet in her lap to keep the blanket from slipping off of them again.

Neither of them watch the movie much, and Natasha realizes, as Tony starts to stir, and is greeted with a soft kiss from Jim, that the mirror doesn’t need breaking to show her the real Tony Stark.

Bruce comes across them in Tony’s workshop, where Tony’s lying on his stomach across a workbench, focused on a holographic blueprint of the War Machine armor, arms and legs dangling off the edge of the bench like he’s a little kid. Jim Rhodes’ fingers are loosely entwined with Tony’s from where he sits on stool, looking at the same hologram but in a smaller size.

Before Bruce can say anything, Tony rolls off the bench with no verbal warning; Jim catches him anyway.

They stand up together, and then suddenly they’re working together in a seamless dance of passing parts and trading kisses, the moon orbiting the earth, or the earth orbiting the sun, and Bruce thinks that maybe he does want to draw in the magnet that is Tony Stark.

Clint’s the last person in the Tower to see them, and when he does, they find him, rather than the other way around.

He’s sitting on the roof, because open air clears the clutter in his mind, and he hears the door open behind him.

They don’t even notice him, too wrapped up in each other, Tony tugging Jim outside, his quips and tricks and words turned soft, and they’re met with a smile that’s just as soft. None of it is a show, not for Jim Rhodes.

Clint clears his throat.

“You two should get a room.”

“Christ, birdbrain, warn a guy!” Tony yelps. His hand doesn’t leave Jim’s, and his face doesn’t change, and Clint thinks that maybe the curtains have closed for real, and the show is over for the Avengers, too.

Tony Stark is still an enigma.

But now, the Avengers understand him a bit better.

They understand that he belongs to Jim, and that Jim belongs to him, and that they are each other’s. They understand that if they don’t try to learn who Tony is, it won’t work, because the only person who can know him without any effort is Jim Rhodes. They understand that Tony will be what they want to see, that he will be abrasive and sharp, that he will be polarizing, that he will put on a show, unless he is with Jim Rhodes. They understand that Tony is not what they thought.

It’s still terrifying.

But it’s terrifying because Tony’s love is terrifying, all-encompassing, and they’ve only experienced a fragment of it.

It’s a miracle, they think, that Jim Rhodes hasn’t burned up yet.

Then again, Tony Stark protects his own.

#someone tell me to stop using the sun/icarus metphor like SERIOUSLY i need to stop #anyway uhhhhhhhh tony stark is human and he's only human with rhodey so....yeah....stan that #tony stark #james rhodey rhodes #iron man #war machine #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #ironhusbands drabble #tony stark drabble #aven.writing #aven.ask #?? ig bc i answered a prompt request #anon

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Leave No One Behind

Ch 6- Kiss The Girl

Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Episode Summary: Ari is trying to find the right moment to talk to Hannah about their kiss but things and people just keep getting in the goddamned way…

Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. A world of smut via flashback (NSFW no under18s)

Episode Pairings: Ari Levinson x OFC Hannah Horowitz

A/N: So, we promised you some soft daddy Ari, and here he is…you might want to grab a fan or something coz we ain’t gonna lie, this one left us in a puddle on the floor!!!

Leave No One Behind Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 5

“Life can be short or long, love can be right or wrong, And I if chose the one I’d like to help me through, I’d like to make it with you, I really think that we could make it, girl.” Make It With You by B.R.E.A.D

It had been days since the kiss, which soon enough turned into weeks. 4 and a half to be exact. Ari knew. He had counted them along with each phase of the moon, and nothing happened. They had kissed and that was it and to say it was bugging him would be an understatement.

He had tried, though. Well, sort of. The night after the kiss, Ari had seen Hannah walking Simon towards her spot as she had gotten used to doing before going to sleep. He had started after her on impulse, but then he had stopped on the beach sand and chickened out when he realised he hadn't thought about what to say and ended up going back to his hut after finishing his cigarette.

A couple of nights later, he had mustered enough courage and was determined to go after her. He needed to speak to her. He didn't know exactly what he would say but he had come to the conclusion it would be best to wing it and let his mind speak for itself. Just get your ass there and let's see how it goes, Levinson. And then Sammy (who else?!) had appeared with a bottle of whiskey asking him to join him and Jake. It was a good thing, though. They had sorted their differences which had left them on an even keel, although Ari wondered for how long. If Sammy only knew what was on his mind just a few seconds before... But Sammy had also told him he had also apologised to Hannah so things were getting better, that much was undeniable.

Still, the fact was, that little gathering around a bottle of whiskey had meant Ari had left another few days go without speaking to her. And even though she hadn't reached out to him either and things, everything considered, weren't awkward between them, Ari knew he had to speak to her.

The next chance he got was another few days later. Everyone was busy after dinner and he decided it was the perfect opportunity to go for it. But he had to stop when he met some tourists on the beach near her spot. He had to feign he was checking up on them and after a polite exchange on the wonderful time they were having at the resort he had to turn on his steps and head back to his hut, cursing all the way.

The more time that went by the harder it was getting not only to find the perfect moment but also to gather the courage to have that pending conversation with Hannah. So Ari found himself one night wondering if it was just better left alone. Was there even a pending conversation to have? The atmosphere was good, Hannah was fine with him, even her and Sammy had taken a trip together to Port Sudan and no one had died. That was another bump in the road, every time he commented on having to go to Port Sudan or even Khartoum hoping for Hannah to come with him, someone called dibs or even offered to go on his behalf. So he had stopped faking reasons for the trips and coming up with real reasons as chances were he would end up going with someone else or staying at the resort.

Fortunately Simon made it impossible to stay in a bad mood. The dog was as cheeky as it gets. Hannah had been teaching him some tricks so he now sat, gave his paw and rolled over. Well, sort of, he more like got onto his back and stayed there with his short legs extended in the air. It was hilarious. He also went conveniently deaf whenever anyone other than Hannah or Ari told him to do anything. So it was a common joke now that Simon was his and Hannah's kid, which didn't bother Ari in the slightest. On the contrary, he happily played along when someone told him to take care of his child.

Thus, week after week went by and before they knew it they were in the middle of February and Rachel was preparing to take the first Shore Leave trip home. She was the only one with kids other than Ari, but Maya was with her mother while Rachel's kids were with their grandparents so they all agreed she should be the first to travel home. Hannah would take her place as managing director, aerobics instructor and much to Max and Jake laugh, masseuse.

The night before Rachel travelled to the US, Hannah was in the kitchen feeding Simon after they had already had dinner while the rest of them were chilling on the patio. Rachel had sneaked a bottle of Tequila from the stash of alcohol they had been gathering from their trips to Port Sudan or the nearest village market, to toast for a safe trip home. Jake, encouraged by the Tequila shots he had been gulping, was hitting on a group of young female tourists that were gathered around an improvised bonfire on the beach.

"It's the first time I see him do that in the nearly two months we've been here." Max snorted, seeing Jake stumble on the sand and fall on his ass next to one of the girls.

"Guess the real Jake has taken over Luca Morano." Sammy scoffed.

"It has." Ari chuckled. "Did I ever tell you how I found him with a girl in a decompression tank when I went to recruit him in Belize?"

"Now that's Jake Wolf." Max laughed. "Must have been a sight to see."

"Oh, it was. Stark naked. Refused to cover himself up all through our conversation." Ari confided before taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Well, he has managed to keep himself away from tourists until now. We have to give him that." Max commented.

"Maybe it's because Hannah’s not into him after all." Rachel deadpanned, always the perceptive one.

"What do you mean?" Sammy asked or more like groaned.

"Just saying they're not diving as much now as they did before. She’s cooled off, certainly over the last month anyway." she shrugged.

Everyone fell silent for a few minutes, enjoying their shots and taking in Rachel's words. Of course she had noticed, she always did. That was what made her, along with other qualities, one of the best spies Mossad could ever hope for.

Ari could see the clogs in Sammy's brain turning, as usual his brain short-circuited when it came to his sister. He, on the other hand, was low-key pleased to hear that. He wouldn't be feeding himself to the sharks after all and he couldn't help the smile that spread on his face when Hannah came back with Simon and grinned at the sight of Jake flirting with the group of women.

"How's he doing?" she asked, nodding towards Jake before taking a seat next to Ari.

"Working on it." Max answered, looking first at Hannah and then discreetly at Ari who was still smiling widely.

*********

The following morning, after having waved goodbye to Rachel who had left after giving some last minute instructions to Hannah and promising them all to make the most of her week off, Jake, Max, Ari and Hannah were sat at their breakfast table.

"They must think we're stupid." Hannah said, pointing to the fact that Sammy had offered himself, more like jumped to the opportunity of driving Rachel to the airport in Port Sudan.

"What?" Ari asked.

"Ok, maybe you all are stupid." she said rolling her eyes as she poured herself some more coffee.

The three men ignored her jab and looked blankly at one another for what looked like an eternity until Max twigged it. Hannah spotted the exact moment coz he grinned and gave his trademark chuckle. That was enough for Ari to realise as well.

"Rachel and Sammy?" Ari asked, not believing it.

"You're a dumbass, Levinson." Hannah teased him.

Simon then rolled on the floor and gave a loud yip as if to highlight his mum's words.

"Wouldn't be so pleased, pal. He's coming back." Jake said, looking down at the dog.

Everyone chuckled at the comment and as much as Jake tried to hide his hangover behind his shades, his hoarse voice was betraying him.

"This is good." Max said, still grinning. "I mean Sammy needs to get laid, release some tension."

"Don’t we all?" Jake quipped, thus unwillingly confessing he hadn't been lucky the night before.

"Cheers to that." Hannah said, raising her mug.

Max, Jake and Ari all raised their mugs to join Hannah in her toast as they laughed, though Ari was internally groaning. He wasn't expecting having to visit the shower again that morning.

*********

With Rachel gone Hannah was busier than ever as she had to pick up a lot of her chores, including the aerobics classes. Having to witness Hannah every morning clad in those colourful tight leotards and tights, bending and stretching sent Ari into a frenzy. At some point he tried to avoid her classes, either to dodge suspicious looks from Sammy or to prevent Jake from drooling shamelessly over Hannah and other female tourists too.

“What? Why can you be at the classes and I can't?” Jake asked Ari one morning after he gave him a reproachful look because the truth was that Ari’s attempts to avoid them had failed, miserably, and instead he had found any excuse possible to lurk in the reception area. Be it a document he needed to check, a key someone from the staff had asked him for or a glass of water he had to grab from the kitchen, among other things, which always caused some giggles from the group of young female tourists. If they only knew it wasn't about them.

Ari had come to the conclusion that he needed to speak to Hannah, because it was starting to get embarrassing and Simon wasn't helping. The dog was exposing him even more as he would bark at him and look for his attention every time he walked in to the room with another lame ass excuse. He had no idea what he would say or how he would address the elephant in the room after so a month, he just knew he needed to be alone with her or he would go crazy.

However, he failed again and again not only because with Rachel gone Hannah was busier and didn't have much free time but because most of the scarce free time she had was spent with Sammy, who was excessively clingy to his sister. Ari now realised that Hannah had been right, the man clearly had a thing for the blonde.

Which was even clearer the evening before Rachel was due to return as Sammy had been particularly jovial after a week of exacerbate grumpiness and moping around the resort. A fact that didn't go unnoticed by any of them. What was more, Hannah was not letting the opportunity to tease his brother go by.

Sammy had offered to walk Simon with her before going to sleep and they were walking along the sea shore in a comfortable silence when he threw a stick towards the waves so that Simon could go and fetch it. Hannah didn't hesitate to bug him when he bent to scratch Simon's ear when the dog came back with the stick in his mouth.

"I don’t recognise you, Samuel Navon. You’re even being nice to Simon." she said.

"Well, he’s growing on me." he shrugged, smiling at the dog.

To be honest, Hannah knew Simon was indeed growing on him. The dog had become a sort of celebrity in the resort, with all the guest ladies cooing over him like a baby whenever he was near and him going from group to group of guests on the beach, demanding attention from everyone, most of them willing to give it to him. But, there was something else to Sammy's sudden cheerfulness and Hannah was sure she knew what it was.

"Bullshit. Just yesterday you were wanting to kill him because he chewed your shoes." Hannah smirked, stopping to look at her brother.

"Why does he have to chew my shoes when he has Jake’s shirts to go at?" Sammy whined.

"It’s a woman, isn’t it? More specifically, it’s Rachel. She’s back tomorrow and you’re happy…" Hannah insisted, smiling at him in an attempt to make him confide in her. Sammy had never been the one to let his emotions take over. Even when they were kids she had been the lively, expressive one and he had been the brooding older brother.

"Will you shut up if I tell you it is?" he asked, more of an order than a question. He knew her sister and there was no going back at this point, he had been busted. Better to get it over with in the most graceful manner possible.

Hannah grinned "You sly dog." and then she offered him a warm smile "Good for you, Sammy. I’m pleased."

"I don’t know if she feels the same way…so I don’t want to make a fuss about it, ok?" he said, trying to dim his sister's enthusiasm.

"My lips are sealed." she made a zip gesture over her mouth. "But you know there’s only one way to find out? Ask."

"Easier said than done." Sammy scoffed.

Hannah then sighed, "Don’t I know it."

Sammy looked at his sister, his brow furrowing.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh nothing…was just talking in general." she said, trying to make it sound casual.

"No, you weren’t." he retorted. "But it's ok if you want me to pretend you were. After everything that’s happened I’m probably better off in the dark."

Hannah smiled at her brother's words. After all, he was trying hard not to meddle in her life, unless she asked him to do so, as she had requested when he had apologised to her weeks earlier.

"Just give yourself the chance to be happy, Han." he said as he reached to hug her.

Hannah sighed and leaned into her brother's embrace. She knew full well he didn’t mean Ari when he was talking about her happiness, but that was where her mind went. The thought of Ari's shore leave looming in the horizon, as his turn would come only a few days post Rachel's return, made her shiver. And the realisation that she needed to speak to him before he left hit her like a landslide. She needed to reach out to him before he went back to the real world. To Maya. To Sarah.

"Easier said than done." she forced a smile, repeating her brother’s earlier words back to him.

*****

Rachel returned the following day and she was beaming. Being able to spend time with her kids had, no doubt, suited her. It was now a matter of days for Ari to be able to spend time with Maya and he was looking forward to it. The countdown to his leave officially started and he was excited to see Ethan too as he was proud of how they were set up and operating. His idea of turning the resort into a running hotel had been a great success and Ari couldn't wait to report to Ethan face to face, or Isaacs for that matter. The Head of Mossad had been a whiny bitch about them taking in real tourists and Ari, arrogant as he was at times, was hoping to have the opportunity to rub it in his face.

Yet there was one thing that was bothering him and would keep him awake late at night, and that was Hannah. Over the past few days Ari had noticed she had started to withdraw again. She should have been more relaxed now that Rachel was back but she had become warier and quieter instead. But that wasn't the only thing bugging him. He was well aware that he was going to miss her and he was finding it quite odd. They hadn't seen each other at all over the last four years and now the idea of being apart from her for ten days was bothering him.

They say time flies. Either because you're having a great time or because you don't want time to pass at all, which was the reason in Hannah's case. The night before Ari left they were gathered together as usual after dinner, having drinks and toasting to Ari's safe flight home. Hannah was trying to keep it cool and ignore the churning feeling in her stomach, but she was failing spectacularly. She was a jumble of nerves, she had been for the past few days, but that night it was getting worse so she decided to stop drinking before she barfed or even worse got so drunk she would start doing or saying something she would regret. She felt like she was gonna start crying any minute and Max and Jake goofing around weren't helping her in any way.

"Come on, Red. Drink another shot with me." Jake said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he poured two tequila shots with his free hand.

"I don't want to drink, Jake." she refused the drink with a wave of her hand.

"What? Are you pregnant? Don't tell me, a hairy Nazi knocked you up after a massage." Max snorted, visibly drunk.

"You're not funny, Maxwell. Fuck you." she growled at him, standing up to shove him in the chest almost sending him flying backwards on his chair.

"What's wrong with you, cracker?" he yelled back, visibly surprised, trying not to lose balance as the chair teetered precariously on its back two legs.

All the group, in fact, were surprised. Not only because Hannah and Max were best friends and got on but also because they joked and pranked each other on a daily basis and Hannah had never snapped at him like that. Normally she would have come up with a smart reply and they would have been bickering for minutes but that night Hannah was behaving out of character.

She didn't answer Max, instead she shook her head and left, with Simon following trail. Everyone then turned to glare at Max who shrugged and leaned to grab the bottle of Tequila.

"Something has gotten her on edge. She's been odd for a few days but today she's been particularly bad." Rachel explained, looking worriedly towards the path that led to the huts.

Ari sighed, both of his hands brushing his hair back. He wanted to go after her but wasn't sure if it would be weird in the eyes of the rest of the team. While debating what to do he looked at Sammy but he was busy looking at her and asking Rachel what she meant. Max was out of the question as he had decided to drown his concern in Tequila shots, so he looked at Jake who nodded meeting Ari's eyes. Go talk to her, he mouthed.

He didn't have to be told twice. Ari stood up and went to find her. In order not to raise suspicions, more on Sammy's part than on anyone else's, he went in the opposite direction before doubling back around the front of the resort. He went to the beach and started walking thinking maybe Hannah had decided to go to her spot on the rocks after all. But she wasn't there so he decided to try her hut. And there she was as he heard Simon bark when he knocked on the door.

"What do you want, Ari?" Hannah asked the moment she opened the door.

She didn't seem surprised to see him at her door but she didn't seem excited or pleased either. She seemed so messed up, as she didn't give a damn about anyone anymore.

"Wanted to see if you’d drive me to the airport tomorrow." he said shyly.

He hadn't thought about what to say to her, not knowing the mood she would be in and the idea came to him out of the blue. He thought it was the perfect chance to be alone, to talk.

Hannah frowned at him "Thought you already asked Sammy."

Busted.

Ari looked down at his feet, put his hands on his hips and sighed.

"What do you really want, Ari? I’m not in the mood." she asked again.

"No, but you’re in A mood. I noticed, matter of fact everyone did..." and then he paused as a thought hit him. As unlikely as it was, he decided to ask anyway, edging his bets. “Is it…is it because I’m leaving tomorrow?"

Ari saw her eyes beginning to cloud and she looked away

“No.”

"You’re as bad a liar as Sammy." he said, trying to lighten up her mood.

But his attempt to make her smile resulted in her turning away from him. She left the door open though so he stepped in and closed it behind him, accepting the silent invitation.

"Firefly I…" he began.

"I’m just stressed Ari…a little homesick too, I miss mama, but that’s it." she cut him off.

"Promise me?" he asked, tilting his head and smiling softly.

"Yes, Ari." she replied drily.

"I don’t believe you." Ari said, his hand caressing her cheek. A bold move if you will but he had nothing to lose at this point.

Hannah started crying immediately and Simon let out a little whine when he heard her. Ari then pulled her in for a hug. He was beginning to wonder if it had been too much but then he felt her shoulders relaxing as her hands connect round his broad back. Simon felt her change in demeanour too and jumped up at them wanting to take part in the comforting gesture, his paws resting against Hannah’s thigh. Hannah chuckled as she stepped back slightly to pet him.

She stayed quiet for a minute, her eyes focussed on the dog and then she lifted her eyes to look Ari before speaking “Are you going to see Maya?”

It was a dumbass question, as she knew perfectly well he was, but he instantly understood what she was really asking. Are you seeing Sarah?

"Is that what’s bothering you?" Ari asked, looking at her with concerned eyes.

"No it’s just I.. " she started protesting but he cut her off.

"Han, if I want to see Maya then I need to speak to Sarah."

Hannah fell silent again, she knew she had just shown her cards so there was no point denying anything anymore. She looked down and started fiddling with the hem of her top for a few seconds before her shoulders started to shake and tears began to run down her cheeks again.

"Hannah, what’s going on?" Now Ari was genuinely confused. They had not been alone since that night, not talked about the kiss so he wasn’t sure why it was bothering her so much. He had assumed from her silence over the past month that she thought their little moment was all a mistake and that was it for them, but the fact that she was bothered by the thought of him seeing his estranged wife meant something else, didn't it? "I don’t want you to go." her voice now a whisper. "I mean, I know you have to but.." she swallowed before continuing "I don’t want to be here without you." She had said it, right? She had admitted it. I don't want to be here without you. Ari was suddenly floored, utterly floored. This meant she felt something more.

"Firefly, look at me." he demanded. But she didn't move. "Look at me, please." he spoke more softly this time.

Hannah then raised her eyes, locking them to his, her bottom lip quivering slightly. "I’m coming back." Ari assured her.

"I know. It’s just…I’m gonna miss you." she said lowering her eyes again

"You’ve got Simon to keep you busy." he said, nodding down to the dog who was sat watching them both. "And Sammy to placate when he growls at him or eats his shoe. Jake to take you diving, Max to…well…just be Max and Rachel…" he paused to lift her chin to make her look at him "You got your safe place for when it all gets too much, the sea, the stars at night…what else could you ask for?"

"Well, when you put it like that I’m not sure." she chuckled.

There it is, that damned smile. Ari thought as he chuckled too. "Guess I made my point."

There was a slight pause as he reached for her hands, his fingers caressing hers “I’ll miss you too Han, more than you know.” he said before pressing his forehead to hers.

"But you’re gonna.."

"I’m going to see my daughter, that’s all I care about in Tel Aviv." he paused before asking her again the million dollar question "Why are you so bothered, Han? Tell me honestly."

Hannah swallowed, her fingers fiddling with his as their hands are laced together "I just…what if you see Sarah and decide you want her back."

"But why do you care?" Ari asked, he was frustrated at this point and he knew his voice showed it. They were going round in circles and he just wanted her to say it.

She pulled back to look at him, her eyes locked onto his, their faces inches away.

"Because I wouldn’t be able to…" she swallowed once more, stumbling over her words "It would break me again Ari. I’d be happy for you but…”

She had said it. She had admitted it out loud. She had feelings for him. Wasn't that what you wanted? Your move Levinson. Ari thought before taking a breath thinking his next words carefully.

"Listen to me carefully, Hannah." he said, sternly.

Hannah was deflated by the look on his face and those words. He had called her Hannah, no Han, no Firefly. She thought that was it, she had pissed him off. She had fucked it up and this time she was the only one to blame.

"There’s no chance I want her back, even if she wanted me, which she doesn’t. We’re over."

"But for Maya." Hannah blurted out.

"Not the slightest chance, Firefly." he said, taking her face in his hands.

Hannah then let out the breath she had been holding and sniffed.

"God, I’ve been going out of my head for almost a month, Han. Going over that afternoon in Port Sudan and that kiss…" Ari confided, tracing her lips with his thumb at the mention of the kiss.

And she gasped. It was electric. An electric blue bolt of lightning sending shivers down her spine.

"Me too…" she whispered, trying to recover from the jolt that had just travelled through her body “Why are we so shit at communicating?"

"I did try and find you at your spot a few times but someone always got in the way" Ari admitted.

"Story of our lives huh?" she said with a soft smile.

"Yup." Ari chuckled "Maybe it's time we changed that…" he said as he cupped her face in his hands. "Wait for me to get back…"

"Not like I can go anywhere, mi lobo." she said smiling at him.

And Ari knew why. MI...not EL, MI. My. It had been 9 years since she uttered those words to him. His heart was literally bursting and at that point he thought fuck Sammy, fuck Andy, fuck Max. He didn't care anymore. With his hands still on her cheeks he tilted her face to meet his and kissed her. And it was everything he needed and more. It was only them now, as far as he was concerned the world could go to hell. It was soft, gentle, but oh so loaded at the same time and when he pulled away eventually, he kept his head pressing to hers.

"You said Mi…" he whispered.

Hannah bit her lower lip, a wide smile forming on her face and was about to reply when there was a loud noise outside and Simon started barking.

"I best go, it's an early flight." Ari said, fighting the urge to press her body against his and never let go. But he was leaving the following day and it wouldn't be fair for any of them.

"Ok…" Hannah nodded.

Ari turned slowly to go, his hand still on hers for as long as his reach would allow but had to let go when he reached the door.

"Come back to me this time." Hannah said before he opened the door.

Ari paused and turned to look at her "Promise…my firefly." When he left her hut, a smile that could lit up an entire city on his face, the feeling in his chest was warm. That crappy pang he had associated with being around her over the past few months gone, hopefully for good.

********

Ari left before breakfast the next morning, his flight was early. Nevertheless all the agents were up to bid him a good trip. He shook hands with the boys, hugged Rachel and finally reached Hannah. Giving her a smile he swept her into his arms and she closed her eyes momentarily, holding him close before she stepped back and smiled, both of them trying to play it cool. Tearing his eyes away from her he crouched down to give Simon a scratch, the dog leaping up at him to lick his face.

“Gonna miss you too.” he said quietly, and Hannah knew full well he wasn’t just talking to the dog.

The day was fairly busy, which kept Hannah occupied for the most of it, right through until the evening at which point she bid them good night and headed off to take Simon for his usual pre-bed walk.

“Mind if I join you?” Rachel asked “I haven’t stretched my legs properly all day.”

“Sure.” Hannah looked at her, and the two women headed out onto the sand.

“So, You and Ari…” Rachel said as soon as they were out of ear shot. Hannah spun to face her, frowning.

“Me and Ari what?” “Don’t play dumb with me, Cracker.” Rachel looked at her “I saw the way he was hugging you before, and the way he looked at you as Sammy drove them away.”

Hannah sighed, and knew there was no point playing dumb. “You know, it’s pathetic really. I mean I hadn’t seen anything or heard anything from him since Andy’s funeral and then within 6 weeks of us being here I’m catapulted right back to where I was 9 years ago.” “Must have been some fling…” Rachel looked at her, and Hannah snorted.

“You know full well it was more than that.”

“You loved him.” Rachel shrugged

“Ironic thing is I never told him.” Hannah sighed “Not whilst we were together anyway. I came close once.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, it felt too soon, you know, we’d only really been dating a few weeks.” Hannah shrugged “But if I’m honest, I fell for him way before we got together.” She stopped walking and looked around, before she gestured with her head and Rachel followed her lead, sitting on the sand besides her. “I remember the nigh though. Instead of using the actual 3 words I told him that I’d fallen for him years ago. We’d been on a date, just a small restaurant not far from his and we were walking home…”

“You know, everyone at work keeps asking me who my mystery girlfriend is.” Ari’s glanced down at Hannah as they walked down the pavement, his hand around hers.

“I thought you liked the secrecy?”

“Yeah, well, as much as it’s been fun I’d like to be able to introduce you as my girl one day.” he looked at her.

“I’d like that too.” Hannah smiled.

“Though you friend, Abi is it? Yeah she might not like it that much…” Ari said and Hannah let out a snort.

“Yeah, she would go mad. She keeps on asking me about you.”

“Really? What’s she say?”

Hannah laughed, “Fuck off Lobo,” she said, shoving him playfully in his chest.

“Easy firefly…” he caught her hand softly, raising it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her wrist “She never stood a chance”

“Neither did I” Hannah look at him as his fingers laced through hers.

“What do you mean?” Ari frowned.

“The minute I met you I was a goner, Ari”

“But you’ve been dating other guys, I’ve met some of them.” he looked at her.

“Yeah, but they weren’t you. I knew you were out of my league but still, always hoped one day you’d see me.”

Ari took a deep breath and shook his head “I saw you, Hannah. How could I not? You were this smart, sassy kid, old before her time. I constantly had to remind myself how young you were and then I watched you grow up…” He smiled “And then, a few months after your 18th, at your graduation I came over and for the first time, well I saw you then as this gorgeous young woman, not just that sassy little kid and…” he shrugged, trailing off.

Hannah shook her head, her eyes fixing on Simon who was barking at his reflection on the calm ocean.

“It was funny that he brought up my graduation, as that was when I fell for him big time. I’d always had a crush on him, you know…” “Every little sister does on their older brother’s friends.” Rachel said wisely, and Hannah nodded.

“But then he gave me a pair of earrings. Just silver ones, in the shape of a crescent moon as a congratulations. But, they were so special because it was a little joke between us, you know, the fact I used to say he probably turned into a werewolf every full moon because he used to eat mama out of house and home…” “El Lobo Hambriento…” Rachel repeated and Hannah nodded.

“But that…that was the moment. He’d gone to enough effort to get me something that was personal and meant something to us both and I knew then I was falling for a guy I had no chance with. I tried so hard to ignore it. I dated other guys but it was pointless. And then on my 21st.” she shrugged “We had a whirlwind of a 3 months before he ended it and left. I heard nothing more until Sammy told me he had a girlfriend. So that was that, and it turns out it was all down to my late husband.”

“That must have been really hard.” Rachel said after a pause

“Well, I knuckled down, finished medical school and pretended I was ok.” Hannah shrugged “Even went to his wedding because I figured having him in my life one way was better than not at all. I didn’t see much of him then until I joined Mossad 2 years later.”

“Did he go to your wedding?” Rachel asked.

“No.” Hannah shook her head “I dunno why. Maybe he was on a mission, maybe he was too busy living his life with his then wife and kid…I never asked.” she took a deep breath and smiled as Simon bounded back across the sand towards her, flopping down onto his back for a belly rub which she happily provided “And then Andy died and just when I was beginning to come to terms with it all Ari shows up at the clinic and I find myself here in the desert and once more he’s turning my life upside down.”

“Maybe you need to set it the right way up again.” Rachel looked at her. “What’s stopping you, honestly?”

Hannah shrugged “Look, the other night, you’re right…we had a moment. Just a kiss, nothing more, and then last night we talked about it, kissed again and I dunno, maybe when he comes back…” She trailed off.

“Do you both want it?” Rachel looked at her. “To try again I mean?”

“I know I do and he says he does so…” she shrugged “I just…is going back over old ground the right thing to do Rachel? I mean we’re here…then there’s Sammy and his fucking reaction and…” she shook her head as she glanced out over the ocean. “Why does everything have to be so complicated?”

“It’s only as complicated as you make it.” Rachel said, laying her hand on Hannah’s arm “Look, screw Sammy and screw everyone else. If they weren’t in the picture…” “Then I wouldn’t hesitate.” Hannah looked at her friend. “You know, I loved Andy, and in a way despite me being so angry at him, I always will do but what I felt when I was with Ari, well, it was like this raging fire, it consumed every single part of me whereas Andy felt safe...not that I was any less happy with Andy, I wasn’t but…”

“Was Ari your first?” Rachel looked at her, and Hannah nodded. “That’s why it felt like that.” Rachel continued wisely. “You were discovering things, it will have been exciting, passionate…” “I know, and I understand that we’re both different people now and I don’t know whether, even without everyone interfering we would have made it back then, probably not to be honest but I’m wondering if this was life’s little plan all along. A way of giving us a second chance when we both have a more mature understanding of what we had…does that make sense?”

Rachel smiled and placed an arm around Hannah’s shoulder “Perfectly.”

“You cannot tell Sammy.” Hannah looked at her “Not until Ari comes back and we’ve decided on what is gonna happen…if anything.”

“Cross my heart.” Rachel smiled.

Hannah, satisfied she could trust the woman turned her attention to the ocean. She knew Ari would be home now, and she couldn’t help wondering if she was on his mind, as much as he was on hers…

******** Ari was exhausted. Upon landing back in Tel Aviv he had been greeted by Ethan, and he’d been back into HQ for an hour or so before heading to his apartment. Thankfully, Mossad had agreed to keep funding the rental fees whilst he was away which at least meant he didn’t have to stay in a hotel on his trips back home. He’d debated calling Sarah to tell her he was back, but it was getting late and not wanting to wake Maya he had instead decided to call in the morning.

He showered, revelling in the comfort of having decent water pressure before he collapsed into bed. But try as he might, as tired as he was he just couldn’t turn off. His mind was wandering, in particular over everything that had happened with Hannah just before he had left. She’d basically admitted to him what he knew anyway, that her feelings for him were still there, and moreover that there was a chance that they could make something out of the whole sorry mess. He should be happy, and he was, but part of him was still tentative. There was a lot at stake, if it went wrong they were stuck, thousands of miles away from home…and he didn’t even want to think about Sammy’s reaction, or Andy for that matter. What he did know, however, was that whatever they both decided it was going to be their decision. He wasn’t letting anyone make it for them, not like last time.

The rain was lashing against the windows, and he was suddenly taken back to a rainy evening one March almost 9 years ago when he and Hannah had been out for something to eat. They were walking back to his and she was telling him how she’d fallen for him big time over a pair of earrings he had bought her. He had just been about to tease her about being materialistic when the heavens had opened…

“SHIT!” Hannah shrieked, ducking as if that would prevent the rain from hitting her. She pulled her jacket a little tighter around her but the rain fall was ridiculously heavy.

“Come on!” He said, tugging on her hand and the two of them began to run towards the doorway of a shop. Ari pulled her under the awning, glancing down at her. Her hair was dripping, sticking to her face and she looked at him and started to giggle. Her jacket wasn’t done up all the way, and he could just see the rivulets of water trickling between the swell of her breasts, through her cleavage and dampening the fabric of her little flowery dress.

“My face is up here.” She quipped and immediately his eyes flew to hers and he gave her a sheepish grin, before he arched an eyebrow.

“Seems I inadvertently got you a little wet.”

She snorted, shaking her head at the joke and then looked up at him, her eyes flashing as she bit her lip.

“Better take me home and do something about it then,”

Ari groaned at the memory of her, stood there in front of him. They’d only been dating a few weeks at that point and he’d taken it slow, deliberately not wanting to rush her but as she stood there in front of him, giving him the blatant come on, her eyes fixed on his, not a shred of doubt in them, he’d pretty much dragged her back to his. He shifted slightly on the soft mattress, his hand sliding into his boxers. Just that image of her in front of him had him hard as fuck, and he needed to do something about it. With slow, deliberate strokes he began to palm himself to the memory which was now fresh in his mind…

As Ari was fetching them both a towel each from the bathroom, he heard Hannah on the phone speaking in Spanish to her mama. When he walked into the living room she was just finishing up and he handed her the towel which she used to start drying out her hair as she kicked off her shoes.

“Mama ok?” he asked.

“Yeah she’s fine. Didn’t ask where I was,” she paused, squeezing her long locks with the towel, “which suits me as I didn’t have to lie.” Ari sighed. “I meant what I said before. I don’t want it to be like this forever.” “Me neither.” she agreed. “But, I just don’t want anyone interfering. Not yet anyway.”

He smiled and used the towel he had grabbed himself, to rub at his hair and face, emerging from it and Hannah giggled, reaching up to smooth down his hair.

“This is getting long.” Her nails raked on his scalp as she straightened it down.

“I might grow it.” He mused.

“As long as it’s not into a mullet.” At that he laughed, his hands falling to her hips. “Not a chance Firefly.” She looked at him as she continued to attempt to dry her hair before he couldn’t take it anymore. Gently he took the towel off her and tossed it, along with his own, over to the sofa, before his hands cupped her face and he kissed her slowly. Her hands fell to his waist, tangling in the bottom of his grey shirt and he let out a little sigh at the feel of her fingers brushing his skin. She pulled back slightly and he pressed his forehead to hers, both of them breathing deeply and she looked at him, giving him the same eyes she had in the shop doorway.

“Lobo…” she swallowed.

“What do you want Firefly?”

“You…” She blinked up at him. “All of you.” At that his cocky demeanour wavered slightly. She’d told him only a few days ago when they’d been getting a little heavy on his couch that she was a virgin. She’d done other things, but not that, and now the thought of him being her first…well it was a head fuck. But a good head fuck.

“You sure?” He asked, searching her face for any shred of doubt. But he found none. Instead she nodded and bit her lip. Permission granted he’d reached down, gripped the soft flesh at the top of the back of her thighs and hauled her up, her legs locking around his waist. His lips smashed onto hers, their teeth clanging together in the urgency of the kiss as he carried her over the hall to his bedroom, where he softly set her down on her feet, flicking the lamp on besides him.

She’d stood, looking up at him, all doe eyes and damp hair and he’d had to fight back every single urge he had to push her back on the bed and fuck the life out of her. He wanted her first time to be soft, gentle, special. So instead, with a restraint he wasn’t sure he even possessed up until that moment, he reached out and pulled her to him again, kissing her softly and her fingers drifted to the buttons on his shirt. She broke the kiss so she could look down, her hands fumbling slightly but Ari let her carry on. Eventually she had it open and she pushed it back off his shoulders and down his arms where he then shrugged it off and let it fall to the floor. She looked at him, biting that damned bottom lip again and Ari couldn’t help but feel slightly smug at the hungry way her eyes were roving his torso. He ran, worked out with weights and he knew he wasn’t in bad shape. He couldn’t afford to be with his job after all, but he was enjoying the appreciative way she was taking in his broad shoulders and chest, following the strip of hair down to his waistband. She looked up at him once more, reaching out with her hands and she smoothed her fingers over his chest to his shoulders as he leaned down and caught her mouth again. This time his hands moved to the back of her dress, finding the buttons and he flicked them open one by one. Hannah stilled at little and he stopped, glancing down.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.” She nodded.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just, no one’s ever seen me…”

“Let me.” He whispered softly, almost pleading.

Her cheeks flushed red and she moved her arms to allow the dress to fall down, shimmying out of it as it dropped over her hips and Ari let out a soft groan as he took her in from toe to head. Lithe legs gave way to a softer curve over her thighs and hips, up to her trim stomach, her waist cinched in before it met the swell of her perfectly proportioned breasts which he’d always had a real thing for. She was dressed in a simple matching cotton pair of baby blue panties and bra, and the pure innocence of it was driving him wild.

“See,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers, “beautiful, my firefly…”

He leaned down and dropped a kiss to the crook of her neck and shoulder and she gave a little shiver.

“Like that?” he asked softly, she nodded so he did it again, his arm curling around her waist, holding her still, letting her get lost in the sensations as he lavished affection on her, working across her collar bone to the other side, before he trailed hot kisses up her jaw line, pressing his lips to hers again. She kissed him back, the kiss hungry as her hands tangled in his hair. Taking the lead, he backed her up slightly, until her knees folded against the edge of the bed and she sat down. Her eyes were level with the top of his jeans now, and there was no hiding the evident bulge at his crotch. She glanced up at him, giving him a little smirk, almost of pride, before she popped the button on his jeans. She tugged them down, and he stepped out of them, leaving him in his tight boxers and he crawled over her as she moved up the bed, settling into the space between her legs. His hands trailed up the outside of her thighs to her hips and up her ribcage before he gently palmed her breast over her bra. He felt her relax under him, which is what he wanted, and he gently pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he pulled down her bra strap, repeating the motion at the other side. He slid his hands underneath her and she arched her back allowing him to pop the clasp. Taking another look at her, she nodded and he pulled the garment away, and he glanced down, taking in her bare breasts with a soft moan.

“Fuck, Han,” he groaned softly, his mouth dropping to her cleavage, soft kisses trailing up her sternum as his thumbs softly skated over her nipples. She wriggled a little, letting out a tiny whimper at his actions which encouraged him and he moved his mouth over to take over from his left hand, gently flicking his tongue.

“Shit, Ari…” she gasped, her hips bucking upwards slightly and he ground down against her, this time her noise was louder as she mewled at the contact, her hands fisting around the duvet at either side of her. He moved his attention to the other breast, repeating his action, drawing more noises and reactions from her, before his lips moved downwards, trailing over her belly where he gently rubbed his nose above the waistband of her panties. Glancing up at her again, she was watching him, her eyes wide with excitement and he hooked his fingers into the cotton, sliding them down her legs. He knelt up, taking a second to look at her before he parted her knees with his hands. He felt her shift slightly and looked up, that bashful tinge was back on her cheeks.

“Hey…” he said, looking at her as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee. "You trust me?”

“With my life, Mi lobo…”

That fucking name did things to him, and once more he found himself fighting to keep control. But knowing he had to take it slow he did just that, trailing soft kisses up the inside of her thigh before he reached his goal and gently slid his tongue up her entrance, causing her hips to buck again.

“Easy firefly…” he mumbled gently, his arm looping over her waist to keep her still as he gently lapped at her, teasing her sensitive bundle of nerves before his tongue poked deeper into her, fucking her with his mouth. She writhed as much as she could, her breathing deep, almost at a pant and he glanced up to see her head was thrown back against his pillow, mouth forming a perfect O shape, and her hands were flat against the bed. With his spare one he reached up, taking her right hand and he placed it on his head, where she gently gripped at his hair. As he continued to eat her out, god she tasted amazing, her fingers tightened, and at one point she pulled on his hair to the point of it being painful. He let out a groan and she stopped and he glanced up.

“Sorry….” she began to apologise but he shook his head.

“Don’t, I like it.” She arched an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t give her much time to think about it as his mouth set to her once more. As he continued alternating his attention between her entrance and her clit, her breathing became nothing but a sharp, staccato pans and he felt her legs beginning to tremble.

“Oh, God, Ari…” she keened above him and he gave a little grin as he upped his speed slightly., “I’m…gonna…” and with that she gave a loud cry, her hips jumping upwards as her body trembled. Her legs became rigid for a second before she relaxed, completely boneless in the after throws of her orgasm. Knowing she’d be sensitive, he moved away slightly, wiping his mouth on his arm as he crawled up her body.

“Good?” he asked, already knowing the answer as she was utterly wrecked beneath him, but he wanted to hear it from her.

“Yeah…really good…” she panted, her eyes flickering open to lock onto his before he kissed her again. She was clearly feeling a little braver now as her fingers grasped at the waistband of his boxers and she pushed them down. He shuffled out of them before he practically fell over her, propping himself up on his elbows, and she looked at him for a second, her hand pushing into his hair.

“You got any….” “Top drawer.” he nodded, to the nightstand. She shuffled slightly and he sat back on his heels, his erection hard and slapping against his abs as she found the condom and handed it to him. He easily tore it from the packet, and once he’d carefully rolled it down over himself he moved forwards again, so he was settled and lined up. Taking another look at her face, once more making seeking assurance she was absolutely sure, she nodded and slowly he began to push into her. She tensed up a little, her hands gripping at his forearm and he took his time, gently moving his hips until he was fully sheathed inside her.

“You ok?” he panted, she felt tight and warm around him and fuck, it was euphoric.

“Yeah…” she assured him. “Just go slow.” “I got you sweetheart.” He gently pressed a kiss to her mouth, moving his hips back before he slowly pushed into her again, and again, taking his time, keeping his eyes focused on hers as he caged her between his arms. He gently pressed a kiss to her hair line as he ground into her again, causing her breath to catch in her throat, but it wasn’t in pain. No, he could tell she was enjoying this. Taking that as encouragement he repeated the action and her hands tightened around his biceps.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice ragged and she nodded eagerly.

“Feels good.” she panted, as he pushed up against her, his hips bumping hers as he continued his movements, picking up the pace ever so slightly, but all the time being careful to still take his time. Her hands hooked round his shoulders and he pressed a bit more of his weight onto her as he found a slow, steady rhythm. It wasn’t long before he began to feel the warming deep in the pit of his stomach and balls, and he really wanted to get her there again, but was now beginning to question how much longer he was going to last. His lips met hers, the kiss desperate, and she cried out into his mouth as he pushed deeper. He could feel her fluttering around him and he knew she was close.

“Come on Firefly…come on…come on…” he said, his breathing deep in between each word as he nudged at her chin with his nose, gently nipping along her jaw line before he softly sucked at the point under her ear and with another push upwards he felt her tense and she gave a desperate mewl once more, her nails digging into his shoulders, before she stilled completely, her mouth slackening, eyes fluttering shut as she tightened around him, her release crashing over her in wave after wave. A few thrusts later Ari found his own, the coil in his belly finally slapping and with a loud cry he came, hard, his hips stuttering before they slowed completely and he gently fell forward, his face burying into her neck. He stayed still for a moment, waiting for the world to tip the right way up again, and he moved his head to kiss her, both his hands holding her face before he pressed his forehead to hers. She smiled at him, her lips once more meeting his as her breathing started to even out.

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked softly and she shook her head.

“No, no you didn’t.” she smiled “That was…that was perfect Ari…”

With a loud groan Ari finally brought himself off and felt the hot, white ribbons streak over his abs as he gently worked himself through his release. With a sigh his head fell back against the pillow and he gave himself a moment before he reached over for a tissue from the box by his bed.

“That was perfect Ari…”

Hannah’s voice echoed round his head and he swallowed as he cleaned himself up. Yes, it had been perfect, he’d loved the fact he’d been her first. Something no one else could ever claim. With a sigh he tossed the tissue to the side, his breathing deep as he settled himself down for the night, the earlier tension and unrest he had been feeling slightly abated. Jerking off to his own internal filthy thoughts was nowhere near as good as the real thing but for the time being, a memory would have to do.

**** Chapter 7

#leave no one behind #Ari Levinson #ari levinson x ofc #ari levinson x original female character #red sea diving resort #chris evans #chris evans characters

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marvelousstevetony · 4 years ago

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would you do: Behind Closed Doors - (character) has a solid public face, but in private they let themselves be taken care of when they’re not well, for stevetony? thanks!

Ahh, anon, I love this prompt. It definitely gives me all the Tony-feels, so that’s what I went with. Hope you enjoy this little ficlet of sick!Tony and a very sweet Steve taking care of him. (2.1k words)

———

Had Steve not woken up to Tony’s stuffy, little snores, and had he not noticed the quiet sniffles and subtle nose rubs throughout breakfast, Steve would’ve never thought Tony was any less than a-okay. He would’ve kissed his boyfriend good morning with a gentle brush of their lips instead of pressing a peck to his temple, and he would’ve filled Tony’s mug with dark roasted coffee instead of lemon tea with honey. But Steve was… well, he was Steve, and though Tony was thought to be the genius of the two, Steve was an expert when it came to Tony Stark. It had not taken long, even in a sleep-induced haze, for Steve to conclude that Tony had caught a cold and that he was in for a very interesting morning. It went something like this:

Tony awoke to an empty bed that was still warm from where Steve had lain, which meant it could’ve only been about fifteen minutes since he’d left. Wincing at the sudden soreness he felt in his throat, he swallowed and coughed a few times as he scrubbed his hands over his face. He could hear pans clattering from the kitchen and figured Steve was making breakfast, but he wasn’t sure as he couldn’t smell anything through his blocked nose.

He was right, though, because when he emerged from the bedroom and entered the kitchen, Steve was stood at the stove —clad in his apron that said I am tortellini in love with you, which Tony had gifted him because it was the corniest thing he’d ever seen and therefore very Steve— and something that looked a lot like blueberry pancakes were sizzling on the pan in front of him.

“‘Morning,” Tony rasped, slumped onto the chair at the breakfast bar and smiled sleepily and murmured a quiet thanks when Steve handed over his mug, then went on to frowning at it when he realized it wasn’t coffee. Steve couldn’t help but chuckle and said “It’ll feel good on your throat” as a way of explaining, then continued to ask, “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

Tony shrugged and sniffled into the cuff of his long-sleeved t-shirt, and Steve gave a sympathetic hum in reply.

“How did you know something’s up? I literally just woke up,” the brunette said and grimaced when he sipped at the tea, muttering something along the lines of disgusting flower-water.

“It’s not flower-water, Tony, it’s lemon,” Steve said with a roll of his eyes. “You were snoring,” he clarified, unable to keep the fondness from his tone.

“I don’t snore,” Tony defended grumpily.

“You do,” Steve retorted with a laugh. Tony huffed. “Especially when you’re sick. Thus, tea and pancakes.”

“You’re a heathen and a saint, and I don’t know how to feel about that.” Tony narrowed his eyes, forging a thoughtful expression.

“I think you love it,” Steve said charmingly and reached over the counter to place a stack of blueberry pancakes drowned in maple syrup in front of Tony, sweet and warm and perfect.

They chatted as they ate, Steve talking about the new recruits he was training at the compound, Tony grumbling about the press conference he had to attend later that day. When Tony’s nose visibly twitched and his eyes began to flutter shut, Steve reached to grab a few tissues from a box on the kitchen counter and handed them to Tony, who gratefully accepted them just as he drew in a desperate breath.

“h’uhh- hetCHISHhew! snff… hehSCHss!” Tony muffled the sneezes into the tissues and sighed stuffily.

“God bless you, baby… If you’re sick you should cancel. Tony,” Steve said earnestly, frowning concernedly when Tony rolled his eyes.

“It’s just a small cold,” Tony shrugged, “I’ve worked through worse things.”

Taking Tony’s hands in his, Steve rubbed Tony’s knuckles with his thumbs, then brought their combined hands to his lips as he plastered a myriad of soft pecks on the back of Tony’s hand.

“I know you have,” Steve said in between the kisses, “but the things is… you really shouldn’t have to. I want to take care of you.”

“It won’t take long,” Tony offered, his voice low and warm despite the slight rasp. “And then, later, I’ll let you fuss about me all you want, Doctor Rogers,” he added with a playful wink and a blinding smile, and how was Steve ever going to argue with Tony when looked like that; soft and sweet and drop-dead gorgeous.

“You play dirty, Mr Stark,” Steve sighed and shook his head, unable to keep the creeping smile from tugging at his lips.

——————————————

Steve was sat in front of the television in the common room, reading through various forms and applications, when he caught sight of Tony’s face in the large frame of moving pictures. He looked amazing, he always did, clad in a casual suit that fitted him faultlessly. It accentuated his body in all the right places, his shoulders, his waist, his butt… Steve caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and placed the piece of paper he was holding on the coffee table. Now that he was already distracted, he might as well watch his boyfriend outwit all the reporters.

Tony maneuvered his way through all question he was asked with ease; a trademark quip and an equally characteristic charming wink.

“Mr Stark! Rumor has it you and Captain America have separated. What’s your respond to this?”

Steve had seen the reporter before, multiple times, actually. Short, blonde, eyes so wide and piercing it made Steve a little uncomfortable looking at them. She worked for one of the tabloids, the one with all the celebrity gossip and that published an article about Iron Man and Captain America breaking up about every three months. The rumors were never true, of course, but Steve still felt a prickly feeling in his chest whenever he’d read what they’d written. Even just the headlines made his blood boil.

Tony Stark cheating on boyfriend Steve Rogers!

Trouble in Avengers Tower: Power-couple SPLITTING UP!

Iron Man leaving Captain America for personal assistant!

Tony had advised Steve not to read them — it never left him in a good mood and it was all a bunch of bullshit anyways. Steve couldn’t help it though and, as expected, he was furious at the fact that anyone dared calling his boyfriend a bedswerver. Tony just shrugged it off, I’ve gotten used to it, he’d say and laugh at Steve’s grumpy mutterings and adorable pout. The rumors didn’t matter, though, they both knew where they stood in terms of their relationship, both feet planted solidly, their names invisibly engraved deeply into each other’s chest. Which is why Steve barely even flinched when the reporter asked the question.

“Ugh, I wish. He’s such a distraction sometimes and never lets me work overtime. He’s all kinds of stubborn, though, so I doubt I can get rid of him that easily. And, he makes sure I’m alive, so I might just hang on to him until I get bored,” Tony said nonchalantly, but eyes twinkled and his tone was fond and left no doubt that they were still very much together.

Steve felt warmth rise to his cheeks and went back to reading the recruitment forms.

Every once in a while, he’d look up to catch a glimpse of Tony. If Steve hadn’t already known Tony was nursing a cold, he never would’ve guessed it. Tony was so good at switching between his public figure and the man underneath the armor, wether it was a three piece suit or his actual Iron Man amour. It made Steve sad, in a way, knowing Tony had so much experience pretending that it didn’t even bother him anymore. He loved Tony in every way, but he never hid the fact that his favorite Tony was the one who dressed in worn-out band t-shirts or Steve’s sweatshirts that were way too big on him. The one who sang and danced along to the overly loud music playing in the workshop and who didn’t care that he looked ridiculous doing so. The one who clung onto Steve like a koala bear when they were tangled up in bed, refusing to let go of him in his sleep-warm haze.

God, Steve really wanted that press conference to finish.

————————

It did finish, and not too long after, Steve heard the doors to the elevator open, revealing a tired and soft looking Tony.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve said as he got off the couch and walked to where Tony was taking off his jacket and kicking off his shoes. He started helplessly fumbling with his tie, but Steve quickly intervened. “Here, let me do that.”

Tony sighed thankfully, closing his eyes when Steve’s strong hands removed the fabric around his neck and sighed once more when Steve stroked his jaw with his thumb.

“You alright?” Steve asked softly and moved his hand closer to Tony’s face, tracing his index finger down the bridge of his nose. The gentle touch seemed to have an immediate effect as Tony’s nose twitched, and he drew back a couple of inches before turning away from Steve, crushing a fit of sneezes into his fist.

“hetCHISHhew! hetCHshh’oo!” Steve chuckled as Tony’s body shuddered slightly with each sneeze, and with a fond voice commented, “So sensitive when you’re sick.”

Tony managed to give him a disapproving glare before letting out a final sneeze.“huh’uhh… huhESChhh! snff! Ugh, sorry, excuse me.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve murmured, “you’ve probably been been holding those off all day, hm?”

Tony sniffled into his wrist and smiled wryly. “I guess so, yeah… didn’t really think of it, to be honest.”

“I truly don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?”

“How you handle all those reporters, all those stupid questions. Especially when you’re this sick, babe.” Steve voice was a mixture of pure awe and deep concern.

Tony shrugged. “I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Stark men are made of iron and all that jazz. They’re just stupid reporters, anyways.”

Steve bit his lip, drawing Tony in close until he felt Tony’s stubble rub against his neck. “Yeah I- I know. It’s just… those articles, what they’re saying about you, it makes me so… so angry, and I-“

“Hey, no, none of that,” Tony interrupted. “I couldn’t care less about what those reporters say, hell, what anyone says about me. The only opinion I care about is yours.”

Steve sighed with a watery smile Tony couldn’t see. “I love you,” he said and leaned in to press a kiss to Tony’s forehead, which was warm, too warm, and frowned. “God, Tony, you’re burning up. You must be feeling awful.”

The cough Tony let out into Steve’s sweater confirmed that statement, but for good measure Tony said, “yeah, I think I need to lie down soon. I’m kinda tired and, uh, I-ihh, heh- huhETsch’oo! ehH’eschoo!”

“Bless you! How about you get ready for bed, and I’ll bring you soup and then some tea afterwa-“

“No! No tea,” Tony disrupted and winced just at the thought of it, “None of that yucky flower-water.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve let out a laugh and tried once again to explain that lemon tea wasn’t flower-water, and Tony just muttered tastes like flowers to me, but neither could bring themselves to discuss the matter any further.

“Okay, so no tea then. Soup, maybe some medicine, tissues, definitely, and— Tony, no.”

Steve’s expression went flat and stern when he looked down at Tony, who in return was looking up at the blonde with big, brown doe-eyes, pouting. “But Steeeve-“

“No, Tony, absolutely not!” Steve repeated. “No coffee, you’re sick and need to rest.”

Tony groaned dramatically. “Such a spoilsport. I guess you’ll have to compensate the lack of coffee with cuddles instead, then.”

“Cuddles instead of coffee?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise when Tony nodded into his shoulder. “Now that is probably the best negotiation I could’ve hoped for.”

About thirty minutes later, the two of them were snuggled up in bed, an empty bowl on the nightstand, tissues scattered randomly across the bed, and some movie neither of them knew the name of was playing on the tv. Steve had him arm around Tony’s shoulder, feeling the heat from Tony’s cheek on his chest through his thin t-shirt. It wasn’t hard to tell the moment Tony drifted off to sleep, the way he cuddled even closer to Steve and his quiet, small snores were enough to tell Steve that he was finally resting.

#my fic #anonymous #stevetony #sickfic #sick Tony #and a very sweet caretaker-Steve #my babies #steve rogers #tony stark

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denimbex1986 · 4 years ago

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“...Bucky comes from the Jim Crow era and hasn’t really socialized that much, whereas Sam is very much a black man of this time, so what can these two stand to learn from each other as they embark on this global journey together?”

Sebastian: “Bucky’s gotta come out of his shell, you know what I mean? And learn to accept the past and, and move forward and get to know the world as it is, you know? And who else to better introduce him to that than Sam Wilson?”

Anthony: “I think both characters, coming from where they came from and being the men that they are, they realize that the world has changed and evolved. The Blip has put us in a position where we no longer are accessible to the way of thinking that was before the Blip. That’s what gave us Thanos. So, both characters are smart enough to know that the - the future is different, and they’ve always been progressive enough to see that and move along with it.”

Kari: “Both Sam and Bucky are facing - you know, from a personal place - issues that - that are very real world. Sam’s family’s in crisis and Bucky is in his own crisis because he’s dealing with guilt issues. He’s got mental health issues; he’s trying to navigate what the consequences of his actions are.”

Malcolm: “We say it like this. Bucky showed up with more baggage than any hero in Marvel history, right? And we took all that baggage and distilled it down to a single storyline and a single character that he’s dealing with. If he fails, he is the monster that he worries he might be. And if he succeeds, he’s reborn as someone that might actually be worthy of becoming a hero in his own right. Because in Bucky’s mind, he’s never been a hero.”

Kari: “And then we have, you know, the discussion of the shield. Because Sam was given the shield, and he says: ‘it doesn’t feel like mine’. And he has to decide if it is his, and what is it for a black man to pick up that shield? Is it both good and bad? What is it for the black community? Is it relevant?”

Malcolm: “Sam’s reaction to the shield is not what people expect. The journey in dealing with the stars and stripes is not an easy one for him. Rejecting it is hard, and accepting it is extremely hard, you know what I’m saying? The stock he comes from - I don’t wanna spoil it - but there’s a long legacy of black folk who come from that stock. When you see these unique scenes that he has, confronting these villains, and you see him respond in a way that isn’t typical for a superhero, the audience now will have a deeper understanding as to how because they got to spent time in his personal life, and regarding Anthony - we stole a lot of his personal life to create that personal life for Sam.” (laughs)

“Oh, wow.”

Malcolm: “Yeah.”

“What are you excited for fans to see, because this is the first time we’re going to see them in this light?”

Sebastian: “Just for them to get to know them better, you know? To spend a day in the life of Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes as - as we haven’t seen, you know? And - and that actually ends up being much more relatable than all those epic times you’ve met them in the movies.”

“This episode confirms that, you know, as Avengers, you don’t really get paid for your work. I’m curious about what your reaction was when you saw that in the script, and do you think the Avengers should unionize - for benefits?”

Anthony: “I think that was called Civil War (laughs). No, we definitely should. I think, you know, it’s interesting; I always ask the question, like, you know when the Avengers show up, they destroy whole cities and just, like, crush people and how - what do they do for a living? Like - where, where does their money come from? Always believed it was Tony Stark and, you know, ‘cos, he owns - ob - obviously, he owns an Audi dealership somewhere. The idea of them making a living at what they do - I , I don’t think that’s the important thing. I think they do it for the betterment for the world, for saving people’s lives. So, they have their ins and outs, their odd-jobs to make sure that they’re taken care of; government sponsorship, funding, government housing.”

“What was also nice...in this first episode was seeing Rhodey there and just like the mentor-sort of mentee relationship...can you just talk a little bit about what that relationship means in this series?”

Kari: “You said it; it’s sort of got a bit of a mentorship kind of quality to it, It’s also - you know - very relevant to the story of Sam and the shield and what he’s gonna decide. Rhodey is kind of posing the question: ‘Is there going to be a world where nobody carries the shield?’ Allies have become enemies and the world has changed. During the blip obviously there was a certain amount of cooperation, much like our pandemic; shared grief, shared loss, and so you had a world that was cooperating in a different kind of way and now you’re post Blip, and all of a sudden, people want it to go back.”

Malcolm: “We were all in love with the idea like, you know, Marvel’s two black superheroes - the ones that are most well known anyway - ‘cos, you know, T’Challa’s African - they’re African-American. There’s a shorthand that they have together, you can imagine, you know what I’m saying? - where all the issues Sam is coping with, with, with Don Cheadle, with the actors on that level - by - by them just pausing and being silent for a minute, the audience can fill in the blanks and just having them two brothers on the screen at the same time; that was huge for me, man - I , I, I - I just; I geeked out over that, you know?”

“...outside of Black Panther, you don’t get that moment really.”

Malcolm: “That’s right, and like I said, T’Challa and Black Panther basically shattered all the biases against black heroes, but if we’re taking about identity, T’Challa is a King, and T’Challa is African. And though he does deal with some of the same issues that Sam and Rhodey might, they have a unique perspective on the world.”

“And we do know that Sharon Carter is gonna be in this series. What can you say about her role and her dynamic with the team?”

Malcolm: “She’s - she is flipped. Not flipped out or crazy or nothing like that, But Sharon has - if, go watch - if the fans watch Civil War - they can fill in the blanks on what Sharon has probably had to deal with and so when we meet Sharon, she has definitely evolved. The term I use, it’s not dramatic or nothin’, but she has definitely grown up.”

“...there’s going to be threat that brings the Falcon and the Winter Soldier together, so can you talk about what this threat is and how that sort of forces the Winter Soldier and the Falcon to sort of team up?”

Kari: “It’s relevant to the - the blip and as I just said, the fact that world has, you know, now enemies and al- allegiances have changed; and it’s all changed quite quickly. In the opening action sequence, we get a taste of what that is; that it’s - it’s kinda of - it’s a bit unwieldy. And so, we’re gonna discover, through, through the course of the next episodes just what that means.”

Malcolm: “We wanted the crisis that the heroes were dealing with to be something that every single fan could - could look at and be like ‘Oh, I identify with that - that’s a very real; that’s a very real crisis.’ We wanted these villains to be born from this crisis and we wanted our heroes to have to be approaching them from a point of view that is so human and anchored in modern struggle today that this whole piece feels like the superhero franchise of the future.”

“...can we expect some easter eggs or some, you know, cameos...?”

Kari: “Well there’s always - there’s always easter eggs, and what’s wonderful about Marvel and MCU is each series is very much it’s own unique animal. So, ours is very different from WandaVision and so obviously, you know, one of Marvel’s trademarks is the easter eggs, what’ll be interesting to see is if everybody catches them. “

#falcon and the winter soldier #Sebastian Stan #anthony mackie #kari skogland #malcolm spellman

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lockefanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Business Trip - Pt 35: Itaewon

NOTICE: this is the newest chapter of Business Trip (I’ve been crossposting the earlier chapters on here from AFF). If you want to get caught up, read the rest of the chapters here before reading this. Otherwise, spoiler warning!

---

“I’m not gonna whip out my dick in public for no reason, ladies.”

“Right, of course,” Seulgi answers, “not without some motivation.”

Seulgi’s left arm, still wrapped around Yeri’s back, drifts down to the younger girl’s chest. Her right hand joins it, and together she pulls down her friend’s low-cut pink top, revealing more and more of her chest until her breasts, round and full, bounce free - leaving her chest exposed.

Yeri, for her part, looks up at you and licks her lips, her face written now with lust. Gone is the cheerful, bright girl you’d only known briefly - this was another girl altogether, one that didn’t mind in the slightest that she had her breasts out in public.

She’d done a good job of hiding her assets, that was for sure. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, large for her frame, tipped with enticing looking nipples that were clearly already stiff with arousal. Her pink top, bunched up beneath them, did a good job of pushing them up and together, creating a delicious looking cleavage.

Seulgi’s hands leave her friend’s top and dance slowly towards her nipples, where she begins to fondle the stiff buds, circling them and pinching them with the tips of her index finger and thumb.

Yeri’s eyes close, a soft, wordless sound of desire leaving her lips.

“What about now?” Seulgi asks.

Seoul’s Itaewon neighborhood was probably your favorite, with the hip bar scene and plentiful foreigners from all over the world helping you feel a little more comfortable than you were in the other neighborhoods of Korea’s sprawling capital. You’d spent more time in Korea over the past few months than you had your own home, and while you quickly found yourself falling in love with the country’s charms, the imported beer on your table and the occasional sound of familiar language in the air made Itaewon feel, just a little, like you were back at home.

It was a bit of a struggle to leave Nayeon’s hotel room - the girl seemed to have a boundless supply of energy, combined with a self-admitted reserve of pent-up sexual frustration that she wanted to release on you. Her tight, perfect little body and the history you shared with her made it all too easy for you to oblige her whims and desires, and you spent the following day and much of the morning after happily entangled in those perfect arms and legs of hers.

But you had an appointment to keep with Momo, and although Nayeon followed you all the way to the hotel’s entrance and tried to entice you with one more quickie in the lobby’s bathroom, you had to tear yourself away from her and hop into a waiting car.

Momo had sent Chaeyoung to pick you up, and despite the way she’d left you tied up and unfulfilled during your impromptu session in their van the last time you’d seen her, she still made for fun, relaxed conversation on your way to Itaewon. It was refreshing to speak with someone who had little stake in what was going on, even if she was directly involved in it - she was so detached, so relaxed and easy going that you were more than happy to chat with her about her favorite craft beers and her growing collection of tattoos, if for no other reason than that it took your mind off of what was probably going to be an intense meeting.

She dropped you off at the bar with a wink and a finger gun, telling you Momo was already waiting for you inside. It didn’t take you long to find her, although she wasn’t alone; Seulgi and Yeri were there as well, the former with her trademark resting bitch face plastered all over what would otherwise be beautiful features - you found yourself wondering if you’d ever seen her wear anything other than a constant frown. Seulgi had a cold aloofness to her that reminded you somewhat of Mina; but whereas Mina possessed a warm, princess-like quality beneath her prim and proper exterior, Seulgi was more like an ice queen, always icy and unsympathetic, always seeming to look down on you.

She was well balanced by Yeri, who greeted you warmly with a bright smile, in stark contrast to her friend.

Almost as soon as you reach their table a waiter approaches with a bottle of your favorite beer from back home - Momo must have ordered it in advance for you. You instinctively give her a smile in appreciation, but it quickly fades when you see the serious look she has on her face.

It pained you, somewhat, to see her lacking the brightness that was such a trademark of her personality. She was so serious these days, so focused on bringing Irene down that she almost seemed like a different person. Her hair was blonde now, parted near the middle and without bangs; her physical transformation mirrored her internal one, and while she was even more stunning now than she’d ever been, you found yourself missing the old, clumsy, ditzy Momo you’d shared so many easy days and passionate nights with.

“Well?” she asks, forgoing any sort of formal greeting, her tone so different from the one she used to use with you, “What do you want to talk about?”

“We’ve had the chance to look over the data Nayeon retrieved from SM,” you answer, doing your best to overlook her cold welcome, “and it’s more than enough to put Irene away for a while.”

“But you don’t know here she is, and your partners in the police are just as clueless,” Seulgi chirps. She sighs and looks away dismissively.

“Yes,” you admit reluctantly, “Which is why I’m here. I’m hoping we can work together to find her. Once we do, Seoul PD can arrest her and we’ll be done with all this.”

“So you want to do the cops’ job for them, is that it?” Momo says disdainfully.

“No, I want to help them. We can bring her down together.”

Momo lets out a huff and crosses her arms. “A lot of good that’s done so far,” she says under her breath.

You are a little taken aback by Momo’s attitude, but you decide to let it pass for now. There were more important things at stake.

“Regardless of how you feel about working with the cops, the fact is we need them to arrest Irene at some point if we’re going to finally get rid of her. We can’t go arrest her ourselves. We’re not cops.”

“Why do we need to arrest her at all?” Seulgi says.

Her question stuns you, mostly because you had no idea what she meant by it. What was her goal, if not to arrest Irene? It takes you a few long moments to digest her words and formulate a follow up question.

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean. When we capture her, who says we need to turn her over to the cops, or let them arrest her?”

Seulgi’s words seem to surprise even Momo, who is looking at her team member with a look of surprise, her mouth slightly agape.

“Irene deserves to pay for what she’s done,” Seulgi continues, “and sitting in a nice cushy jail cell for the rest of her life doesn’t begin to make up for what she’s guilty of.”

“She’s ruined lives,” Yeri begins, “including ours.” The youngest girl at the table suddenly looks sad and sullen, as if she were reliving unpleasant memories behind eyes that had become forlorn.

It takes both you and Momo a few moments to digest Seulgi and Yeri’s words; it surprised you somewhat that this was probably the first time Momo had fully realized their intentions when it came to Irene’s ultimate fate. You weren’t sure just what Seulgi was getting at, but you were sure you didn’t like it.

“I don’t know what you’re implying, Seulgi, but-”

“You must’ve seen the tape,” she interrupts, her voice straight and stern, her face lacking any sort of sympathy or warmth. Her eyes, piercing and direct, are locked to yours.

“...Yes,” you admit, knowing she was referring to the tape of Red Velvet’s escape from YG, and how she and Yeri were left behind, seemingly on Irene’s orders.

“Then you know she left us behind.”

“Yes.”

“We worked with her for a decade. We bled and sweat and cried together. We on YG and Blackpink for years. And when it came down to it, once she had what she needed from us, she left us behind like we were broken tools. Maybe she decided we were liabilities, that we knew too much and wouldn’t blindly follow her like Wendy and Joy did. The SM mission was a perfect opportunity to get rid of us.”

“The YG guards-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yeri snaps, her cold tone now matching Seulgi’s. Her face was deadly serious now, all semblance of the cheeriness you’d usually associated with her completely absent. “She could have still stayed and fought with us, even if it meant we all got caught. Even Wendy and Joy wanted to stay. I heard them shouting at Irene, asking her for permission to stay and fight. But now that she had the Blackpink girls, she had what she needed. They would replace us. She ordered them to leave us behind, and what happened after-”

The girl’s voice wavers, and Seulgi reaches over and grasps her hands on the table in a rare show of affection.

“We would have all been captured, all five of us, if she’d stayed. The mission would’ve been a complete failure and SM wouldn’t have the Blackpink girls. But at least we’d know we were really the sisters we thought we were, and not just unneeded tools she’d cast aside.”

“We managed to escape three months later. But those three months were hell. They hurt us,” Yeri says, her voice wavering as she relives painful memories. On the table her hands clench into fists, and Seulgi covers them with her own, stroking the younger girl’s knuckles with calming fingertips.

“Now you understand why putting her in jail isn’t enough,” Seulgi states, not looking up from where she is cradling Yeri’s hands in her own.

There is silence at the table for a few long moments as you and Momo digest Seulgi and Yeri’s story. You are both speechless, dumbfounded by the girls’ story and the depth of their desire for revenge.

You found yourself thinking of the getaway with Nayeon and Jeongyeon - the situation was so similar. And Jeongyeon stayed, while-

“I need a smoke,” Seulgi declares, and Yeri nods as they both leave the booth and make their way out of the bar.

“Jesus,” you swear once the girls are out of earshot, “that was heavy.”

“Yeah,” Momo agrees, her expression one of concern for her team members, “I had no idea about any of that stuff. Irene really left them behind? Is that what it looked like on the tape?”

“It sure looked that way,” you answer, “I don’t even want to think about what YG put them through.”

“God,” Momo sighs, rubbing her forehead with a hand, “this is going to get complicated. My assumption was that they wanted to get Irene arrested, like we did. What the hell do they want to do with her? Torture her? What if they want to k-”

“No, don’t assume that,” you say quickly, “that’s something I don’t even want to think about.”

Momo sighs again, rubbing her face now with both hands. She seemed genuinely surprised - she was definitely hearing all of this for the first time and seemed a bit overwhelmed by it.

“I wanted to take the gloves off when it came to capturing her, but I was operating under the assumption that the goal was just to put her behind bars,” she admits.

“So you agree, the endgame here is to have her arrested.”

“Well, yes. But Seulgi and Yeri-”

“We’ll deal with them once we have Irene. I think we should focus on that first.”

---

When a half hour passed without Seulgi or Yeri returning to the table, you and Momo decided to settle the bill and head outside in search of them. Momo had tried without luck to contact them on their phones, and so the two of you had decided to split up in search of the two ex-Red Velvet members.

It being a Friday night, Itaewon was bustling with bar hoppers and partygoers. You tried your best to find the two girls amidst the rowdy crowd of youth in various states of intoxication, and were about to give up and turn around to regroup with Momo when you caught, by chance, a glimpse of Seulgi through the window of a slightly quieter cafe off the main streets.

The small coffee shop was only half-filled with half a dozen patrons - a couple of students cramming for an exam and a few partygoers seeking some slight reprieve from the constant party going on a block or two away. Seulgi and Yeri had snagged a corner booth that provided a modicum of privacy from the other patrons, divided from the rest of the seating area by a vintage bookshelf filled with old toys and knick knacks. Seulgi has her arm wrapped protectively around the younger girl’s shoulder as she takes a few sips from the oversized mug of coffee she has on the table.

“There you both are,” you say as you approach.

“Tell Momo she’s draining our phone batteries with all her calls and texts,” Yeri says, her eyes red with recent tears even as she smiles softly at you. Her tone, at least, had regained a little of the bright cheeriness you’d associated with her.

You return her smile as you take a seat in the booth opposite the two.

“I’m sorry about making you relive those memories,” you say, “that wasn’t my intention.”

“It’s not your fault,” Seulgi answers in between sips of coffee, “It’s no one’s fault but YG and Irene’s. And since Irene’s done us the courtesy of taking YG down, I guess she’s the only one left to blame.”

The three of you spend a few moments in silence, eyes unwilling or unable to meet each others’ gaze. You play idly with a napkin on the table, not quite wanting or even knowing how to broach the topic of what would happen to Irene once you’d captured her. When the waitress approaches, you order a coffee - thankfully, she saw that you were a foreigner and took your order in only slightly accented English.

Before the waitress leaves, Seulgi reaches into her jacket and retrieves a few bills. She slides them across the table to the waitress, a serious look on her face.

“For privacy,” she says softly but sternly, and the waitress gives her a small nod of understanding before turning and leaving.

You are left only a few moments to process her request before Yeri speaks up again.

“Enough about us and our shitty past,” Yeri says, her voice slowly regaining more and more of her brightness, “tell us about you and Momo. You two have plenty of history, it looks like.”

You are a little surprised at Yeri’s request, but there is an underlying desire to change the subject in her young face that convinces you a swap in topic was probably the right thing to do.

“Um, where to begin? We’ve worked together for years now. She’s a good friend of mine.”

“That’s it?” Seulgi quips.

“Well, to be perfectly honest we were fuck buddies for a bit. Then we dated for awhile - seriously - before all this started. But shit hit the fan and things got complicated… now we’re back to being friends. Once this is all over, we’ll see where we stand.”

“Just friends? Because I’m pretty sure she’s still carrying a torch for you,” Yeri says with all the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl engaging in locker room gossip, leaning forward with a smile.

“Yeah, she still loves you,” Seulgi states, “God, men are so stupid.”

“And blind,” Yeri adds with a smile. “She’s been pretty tense lately, especially ever since we rescued you and your friend - what was her name, Jeongyeon? Anyway, when she saw you and how close you were to her, I think it freaked her out a little. She’s been on edge ever since. She probably thinks you two are together.”

“I bet you’ve got a nice dick,” Seulgi states bluntly to Yeri’s shy giggles, “Otherwise why else would a ten like her fuck a guy like you?”

“Why does everyone say that?” you say, a little exasperated, “Everyone thinks the only reason I get girls is because I can fuck. I’m not just a dick on legs. I have a great personality, too. I’m also really a humble guy.”

Yeri lets out a healthy laugh, and even Seulgi cracks a rare smile. You were happy to lighten the mood, even if it meant a joke at your own expense.

“So,” Seulgi says, her eyes locked on yours now, her face suddenly a little more serious. She takes another sip of her coffee before placing it off to the side of the table.

“Let’s see it,” she says.

“Uh, what?”

“Your dick. Let’s see it.”

“What-”

“That thing between your legs,” Yeri says, a mischievous look appearing on her face, “let’s see it.”

You take a glance around - while the cafe was relatively quiet and the bookcase kept most of its patrons from having a direct line of sight to your booth, it wasn’t exactly empty. Just anyone, including the waitress, could still walk by your booth and see what was going on.

“I’m not gonna whip out my dick in public for no reason, ladies.”

“Right, of course,” Seulgi answers, “not without some motivation.”

Seulgi’s hands leave her friend’s top and dance slowly towards her nipples, where she begins to fondle the stiff buds, circling them and pinching them with the tips of her index finger and thumb. Yeri’s eyes close, a soft, wordless sound of desire leaving her lips.

“What about now?” Seulgi asks.

The audacity of what was happening in front of you drives you insane - you were in a public, half full coffee shop, and here you were in front of two girls, watching as one of them played with the others’ breasts. You quickly feel yourself hardening beneath your shorts.

You reach down and unbutton and then unzip the cotton shorts you were wearing, revealing the quickly growing bulge beneath your boxers.

“That’s… not enough,” Yeri says, her words a half-sigh as Seulgi continues to fondle her chest, “Let’s see all of it.”

Another quick glance around confirmed there was no one within direct eyesight, and no trace of the waitress either - Seulgi’s request for privacy appeared to have kept her on the other side of the cafe. Most of the other patrons of the cafe were either some distance away or too absorbed in their phones or textbooks to notice.

You reach down and pull your shorts halfway down your thighs, dragging your boxers along with them. Your cock, almost fully erect, springs free from its cotton prison, immediately catching the eyes of both girls in front of you.

“Mmm, I guess I was right. She loves you for your dick, after all,” Seulgi states with a smirk after she leans over the table and gives your cock an appraisal.

You return her smirk with one of your own.

“It’s not very fair that you’re the only one enjoying those tits, Seulgi,” you state, gaining some aggression now that you had committed to exposing yourself. If you were taking the risk, you wanted to get something out of it, and Seulgi seemed all too willing to indulge you.

“I suppose he’s right. How about you let him see what these can do, Yeri?”

The younger girl, already reduced to putty by Seulgi’s ministrations on her sensitive breasts, wastes no time in following the orders she is given. Leaving Seulgi’s embrace, she slides under the table, crawls over to you, kneels between your spread legs, and takes your cock into her wet, warm mouth.

The very idea of it - getting a surprise blowjob from a gorgeous young girl under the table at a coffee shop - drove you utterly insane; and the feel of Yeri’s wet, slick tongue lathering your shaft from base to tip with her saliva before beginning her blowjob in earnest quickly drove away all of the tension that had been building in your mind.

You look down and watch as Yeri’s blonde head slowly begins to bob up and down on your stiff shaft, her lips pursed tightly around it, leaving it glistening in the low light of the coffee shop. She lets it pop out from her mouth before poking out her tongue and swirling it around your head, tracing the tip and underside of it with the very tip of her tongue.

It’s your turn now to let a soft, wordless sigh escape your lips. You reach down and stroke the young blonde girl’s hair as she makes eye contact with you, her innocent features in stark contrast to the actions of her altogether sinful pink tongue. You let your fingers comb her hair, cupping the back of her skull, ostensibly to keep her from banging her head against the table, but also to push her slightly further down your cock with each entry into that succulent, wet mouth of hers. Her tongue wreaks delicious havoc on your sensitive head, swirling it around the tip before dipping under it, pressing against the underside of your dock everytime she takes your shaft into her mouth.

“Now now, Yeri,” Seulgi begins, eyes locked on yours as she watches the pleasure worming its way throughout your brain, “I did say you should show him what you can do with those tits.” Seulgi pulls the table towards her, leaving Yeri a little more room to poke her head and most of her chest out from beneath the table.

“Right,” Yeri answers as she straightens up in front of you, eyes locked on yours, “I was just getting his dick ready.”

Yeri takes a moment to spit on your cock, a long rope of her glistening saliva landing squarely on your head. She pumps your shaft a few times with a small hand, ensuring it was wet from base to tip.

When she leans forward and captures your shaft between her soft, warm breasts, your breath catches in your throat - and at that moment you couldn’t have cared less that you were just a few metres away from half a dozen people.

Yeri was just a little less endowed than Jihyo, who was the only other girl large enough to give you a titjob - but Yeri’s breasts were softer than the detective’s, and Yeri was better able to wrap them around your glistening dick, trapping it in a tunnel of warmth and wetness as she begins to bounce her mounds up along on your length, thrusting the shaft between her breasts, up and down, up and down.

You are left powerless to do anything but watch the scene play out in front of you as you enjoy the pleasure radiating from your shaft, travelling up your spine and intoxicating your brain. Yeri’s hands travel towards the front of her breasts as she captures her own nipples with her index finger and thumb, pinching the stiff peaks even as she bounces her mounds up and down on your dick.

“Does that feel good?” Seulgi asks, and you tear your gaze away from the young girl between your legs to lock eyes with the older girl.

“Fuck yeah it does,” you hiss, reaching down with your right hand to stroke Yeri’s cheek. She nuzzles her face in your palm like an obedient pet, not breaking her rhythm, pushing your stiff shaft into her cleavage over and over again.

“I… I want to touch myself,” Yeri hisses, her face flushed, her features lustful.

“Her tits are sensitive as fuck - look at her get off on giving you a titjob. Pinch her fucking nipples,” Seulgi orders, and you are happy to oblige, reaching down with both hands to the front of Yeri’s breasts, capturing her brown tips in each hand before pinching both peaks, eliciting a sharp gasp from the young girl. Her hands freed, she reaches down and slips a hand beneath her skirt, and the soft moan that leaves her mouth tells you all you need to know about what she is doing to herself.

You squeeze her large breasts together around your shaft, thrusting up as best you could between her delicious cleavage given your sitting position. The friction is delicious, and you savor each thrust between the girl’s tits.

You are so lost in enjoying Yeri’s breasts, watching the expression on the girls’ face glaze over into full pleasure as she fingers herself - that you almost don’t realize Seulgi is leaning over the table, watching intently.

“Enough, Yeri - we don’t have all day. Make him cum.”

It embarasses you, somewhere in the back of your mind, that it only took a few minutes of a blowjob and titjob to get you to cum. But you weren’t one to fight the pleasure coursing throughout your body, not when it was so delicious, and not when it was given to you under such dangerous circumstances - right out in public.

Yeri’s hands pull yours away from her tits, and you have only a split second to lament the loss of her large, warm mounds around your cock before she replaces them with her mouth. Grasping the base of your cock and pumping it with one hand while she gently cups and squeezes your balls with the other, Yeri quickly launches into a hard and fast blowjob, taking the top half of your cock in and out of her wet mouth with a rapid pace.

It all becomes too much, and it hits you all at once - getting a blowjob from a beautiful young girl, in a public coffee shop, while another equally hot woman watches - and you quickly find yourself nearing that inevitable peak.

“Fuck, Yeri-” is all you manage to say before your orgasm overtakes your world.

Yeri releases your cock from her mouth a split second before you erupt, shooting long, thick strands of hot semen all over her pretty little face. Yeri’s face glazes over in pleasure and you are all too happy to watch as strand after strand of cum lands on her cheeks, her pretty little nose, and finally her open mouth and jaw. You watch, through half-lidded eyes drunk with pleasure, as the thick streams of cum flow down her face, dripping onto her upper chest and those perfect breasts of hers. Her face is flushed and her mouth open, as though she herself was on the verge of orgasm.

The next few seconds pass by in a blur, your mind still trying to make sense of what just happened. But when you manage to pull yourself together you realize that Yeri is sitting next to Seulgi again - and that the two are making out passionately, Yeri’s cum covered face pressed against Seulgi’s even as their tongues duel between their locked mouths.

Seulgi breaks the kiss to lick strands of your semen from her friend’s face, which elicits a look of pleasure to wash over Yeri’s features. It takes you another moment to notice that the older girl’s hand is working busily between Yeri’s legs, and it only takes another moment or two before Yeri is reduced to a quivering, shaking mess, cumming hard on Seulgi’s fingers even as your fresh, hot cum is licked from her face. She buries her face in the crook of Seulgi’s neck and lets out a sharp, wordless cry - one that temporarily worries you with its volume.

It is a scene that would have been utterly spellbinding in the privacy of a bedroom. But the audacity of the two girls to do so out in public - in an open, half-filled coffee shop, no less - completely overwhelms you, and you can do nothing but watch as Seulgi finishes her work between Yeri’s legs and licks the last large strand of semen from her face.

Seulgi gives her friend one last soft kiss on the lips before turning once more to face you, using a finger to capture a stray strand of semen from the corner of her lips. She licks it and Yeri’s juices from her glistening fingertips, the same way a cat would lick milk from its paw, her eyes locked on you the whole time, filled with a sly lustiness that you found utterly captivating.

Yeri is a disheveled mess, her face still flushed and pink, but she finally manages to gather herself enough to stuff her breasts back into her top. She gingerly takes a napkin off the table and wipes the last remnants of your cum from her face and upper chest, still breathing heavily, still quivering occasionally as her orgasm finally winds down.

It’s at that moment that the waitress finally arrives with your coffee order, placing the large mug on the table. You couldn’t help but notice that her face was flushed and red as well - was she watching the whole thing?

The waitress catches Seulgi’s eyes for a moment, and the ex-Red Velvet member winks at her, before taking one last sip of her now-room temperature coffee, a sly, devilish smile on her lips that you found both arousing and frightening all at the same time.

---

It didn’t take Momo long to arrive after you’d texted her with the location of the coffee shop. She’d called Chaeyoung for a ride back to their safehouse and the four of you were waiting outside the coffee shop for her to show up in the van. Jeongyeon, who happened to be in the same neighborhood, had texted you an invitation to shoot some pool and she was likewise on her way.

“I trust the three of you got to know each other better,” Momo says, and you are heartened to find no malice on her tone - it was more of a tease than anything else, which led you to hope that perhaps the common ground you’d found regarding Irene’s arrest had warmed up her attitude towards you.

“He got to know Yeri pretty well,” Seulgi replies as she casually lights up a cigarette and takes a drag, “He still owes me one, though.”

“I get why you kept him around for so long,” Yeri adds, blushing.

Momo rolls her eyes and gives you a look, to which you can only shrug. You remembered how much she loved hearing about your sexual adventures with other women when you were together, and you wondered whether those feelings remained.

“So, boss,” Seulgi begins as she taps the ashes off her cigarette, “are you gonna tell him about our big operation next week?”

There is a moment of hesitation from Momo as she weighs Seulgi’s question, but she eventually relents.

“We have a plan in motion to catch Irene. We have a confirmed time and location where she’ll be.”

“What?” you blurt, more than a little surprised that she had taken this long to tell you, “When exactly were you going to tell me?”

“I wanted to see what you wanted to meet about first,” Momo explains. “Now that I know you have the evidence we need to arrest her, I can tell you about it.”

Seulgi lets a hiss of smoke leave the corner of her mouth. She gives you a sharp look at the use of the word ‘arrest.’

“We’ve decided to use Seulgi’s old Red Velvet email address to send Irene a meeting invitation,” Momo continues. “We told her to show up at an old Red Velvet safehouse next week. Alone.”

“She’s not going to show up alone. She’s going to have that place bugged and under surveillance way before we get there,” you state.

“Not this one,” Yeri says, “This is a special place. Irene may be a scheming traitor of a bitch but even she wouldn’t bring other people here. She doesn’t know what happened to us after YG, and she probably doesn’t know we’ve escaped. She would want to know who sent this email. There’s no way she would just ignore an invitation like that.”

“What if she thinks it’s a trap? What if she thinks YG broke you, or got into your email accounts, and someone is setting her up?”

“She wouldn’t. There’s few things that are sacred in that girl’s life, but this place is one of them.”

“Where is it?” you ask, curious.

“Our old dorm,” Seulgi answers, “From when we were just lowly little paper pushers at SM. We all started there at the same time and were poor as fuck, so we decided to room together in company housing. It’s where the five of us became friends and decided to form Red Velvet. It became our base of operations and even after we moved out we kept it as a safehouse - the one we treasured the most, where we went when we needed to feel secure.”

“When we were in that apartment, we were just friends,” Yeri adds, “just young girls. We spent so many happy nights in that place. We felt like sisters there.”

There is a sudden sad wistfulness in her eyes and in Yeri’s that spoke of better days long past.

“She’ll show up alone,” Seulgi continues, “I guarantee it.”

“My team will help out,” you say, convinced, “we’ll do whatever you need.”

“Good,” Momo agrees, “we’ll be in touch. Get ready.”

At that moment Chaeyoung arrived in her van, shooting you a smile and a finger gun. The girls pile into the vehicle, although Seulgi lingers at the sliding door with one leg inside the van. When she turns to speak to you, the coldness in her eyes matches the iciness in her tone.

“When we get Irene, don’t get in my way.”

Even when the sliding door slams shut and van peels away, you are left with a chill at her words. Jeongyeon appears at your side a few moments later, breathing heavily after evidently having jogged there.

“Was that Momo and her team? Damn, I would’ve liked to thank them for saving our asses last week,” she says, oblivious to the weight of the evening’s previous events.

You smile at her and change the subject. She hooks her arm in yours and you both begin to stroll down Itaewon’s still-busy streets towards a local pool hall - but even her warm smile and bright aura do little to dismiss the impending sense of dread looming over you.

---

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay!

Hope you’re all staying well in these times. Be safe :)

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #pov smut #Smut #male reader #red velvet #red velvet yeri #kim yeri #yeri

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years ago

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Leave No One Behind Ch6: Kiss The Girl

Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing

Episode Summary: Ari is trying to find the right moment to talk to Hannah about their kiss but things and people just keep getting in the goddamned way…

Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. A world of smut via flashback (NSFW no under18s)

Episode Pairings: Ari Levinson x OFC Hannah Horowitz

Song for Episode: Make It With You by B.R.E.A.D

A/N: So, we promised you some soft daddy Ari, and here he is…you might want to grab a fan or something coz we ain’t gonna lie, this one left us in a puddle on the floor!!!

Series Master List // Main Masterlist

Life can be short or long, love can be right or wrong, And I if chose the one I’d like to help me through, I’d like to make it with you, I really think that we could make it, girl.