#which is like a cute nod to the ''hand to hand holy palmers kiss' or smth but also maybe two guys doing that would not have made it past :/

[averlym]

some very very quick costume shorthands!

[tuanyiems]

First Everything

First Everything Bambam x Fem Reader Genre: fluff, a little angst Words: 9.2k [Masterlist in blog description] Plot: Sequel to Muse (Arranged Marriage AU) Part of the Marriage Life AU series. A series of dates in which Bambam tries his hardest (poor boy) to convince you that he really, really wants to be with you. a/n – lol idunno how I feel about this but here you go~

-

When the door of the restaurant opens, Bambam’s eyes dart over to the bodies entering for the umpteenth time. When it’s not you, he sighs, rubbing sweaty palms over the deep purple suede of his pants. The designer material darkens under his touch, but he’s too nervous to fret over his outfit at the moment.

He’s beginning to regret not picking you up at your place. He should have been more insistent. But the choice was made and now he is here, leg shaking in his chair of the Michelin star restaurant that he’s not quite sure you’re even going to meet him at.

He gulps down his second glass of water, throat parched at just the thought of getting stood up. He eats at this place at least three times a month. How embarrassing would it be for everyone to witness this rejection?

The door opens again and Bambam jerks his head up like a meerkat. An elderly woman walks in, much to his disappointment. 

He sinks into the plush seat, tipping the glass to his lips again only to find it empty. A waitress promptly comes over to refill his glass, relieving him of the menacing view of the restaurant door for a fleeting moment. 

What’s wrong with him? Bambam hasn’t been this nervous since…well, high school.

-

“Kun…pi…mook uh Bu—”

Bambam rolls his eyes at the freshmen English teacher, Mr. Kim, butchering his name. “I just go by Bambam,” comes his automatic response.

Mr. Kim breaks into a sigh of relief, taking pen to clipboard, “Great, Bambam it is.”

But Bambam has already zoned out. 

Because right across from him is you—an unassuming girl in the back seat, smiling to yourself. Your lips move as you tilt your head down, but Bambam knows exactly what you’ve mouthed and his heart catches in his throat. Bambam.

His name makes your cheeks dimple. 

He doesn’t know why, but this little bit of knowledge makes his chest squeeze.

The next day and every day after, Bambam makes sure to sit next to you. Thus, began the beginning of your beautiful love story…

…is what he had hoped. 

But after the first day of high school, you don’t even spare him a glance. So instead, Bambam spends every hour of English period watching you from his peripheral. 

You are a quiet student and most days you spend the hour doodling in the margins of your notebook. Often, your doodles are centered around cute cartoons yelling at you to pay attention in class. Every once in a while, he’ll catch a funny caricature of one of your classmates.

Maybe you’ll draw him one day, he hopes to himself.

(You don’t.)

“Bambam and Y/N, please read the next passage,” Mr. Kim interrupts his daydreams one day, about a month into the new school year.

His eyes widen, fingers flipping through the pages of Romeo and Juliet.

“Page 46,” you whisper as you get up from your seat.

Bambam lets out a breath, thumbing to the right page as he stands from his seat beside yours. He squares his shoulders, attempting to stand tall though his shoulders only manage about an inch higher than yours, but every inch counts!

“If I profane,” you whisper when he doesn’t begin reading. 

Mr. Kim looks at Bambam pointedly.

“If I proFANE!” he starts loudly, cringing when his voice cracks. His classmates snicker, making his cheeks go red, but you don’t even flinch. Your eyes remain steady on the page of your own book, waiting for him to continue. He clears his throat, “If I p-profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my…lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, to smooth that rough touch…with a tender k-kiss.”

Bambam swallows, wiping a sweaty palm on his khaki pants. He prays no one notices his stutter. If you do, you don’t let on, lowering the book as you speak.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

“Ha-”

“You guys,” Mr. Kim sighs, interrupting Bambam. He looks around the room with a scowl. “Can we not read this out like robots, please? This is young love! They’re talking about kissing! Be more excited!”

“Is that what they’re talking about?” you mutter under your breath, eyebrows arching as you scanned the page.

Bambam snorts before covering his mouth with his hand quickly. You catch the sound though, looking up at him with a smile. 

His heart catches in his throat. 

The playful glint in your eyes keeps him afloat for months after.

-

When the restaurant doors open again, Bambam chokes on his water. He coughs into the red linen napkin, his grey contact eyes watering. He can’t help chuckling despite it all though. 

You’re here. And fortunately for Bambam, your gaze is focused on the hostess. You’re asking her something, probably for directions to his table. You lean towards the hostess’ podium, the heels of your blush-colored flats rising to your tiptoes out of habit even though you are at least a foot clear of the podium. You have on your signature cream oversized knit cardigan which you pull tighter to your chest, covering the simple white dress beneath. 

It is so very you—even the stroke of blue paint at the bottom of your dress (which you probably aren’t aware of). On any other girl, Bambam would have scrutinized the stain, especially at a restaurant of this class. Yet, on you, the mark is somehow endearing. 

He wonders if the paint stain is fresh. Were you so absorbed in a painting that you came rushing straight here with no time to change? Or was this an old stain on a dress you loved so much you couldn’t bear to part ways with it? 

“Hey,” your hesitant voice breaks him out of his thoughts as you take a seat across from him.

“Hi,” he breathes. Underneath the table, he pinches his thigh. Nope, not a dream. 

“Sorry I kept you waiting, I had a hard time finding the entrance,” you chuckle to yourself. There’s a story behind that smile, there always seems to be a story behind every expression and gesture you make. He wonders if he’ll ever be part of that story. When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head nervously. “Were…you waiting long?”

“Oh! Ha, no, not at all!” Bambam straightens in his seat.

You smile politely before turning away to admire the place. It’s a beautiful French restaurant that sits at the top of one of Seoul’s tallest hotels. The entire restaurant is surrounded by floor to ceiling windows, offering a spectacular view of the city. Your eyes linger on the glittering lights of Seoul’s Friday night skyline.

Bambam doesn’t bother to glance out the window. His eyes remain on you, the glow of the candle at the center of the table flickers like stardust on your skin.

When you finally look back, Bambam leans on the table, lifting a proud brow. “Like the view?”

“This place is breathtaking,” you admit, fingers rubbing absentmindedly at the ends of your sleeves.

“Right? It’s one of my favorite places in the city,” he smiles triumphantly. “Wait ‘til you try the food.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Yeah, Lisa introduced me to this place a year ago and I’ve been coming ever since.”

“L-Lisa? Like…from Blackpink?” you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that Lisa, she’s a homie.”

You blink at him. “Wow, okay…cool.”

He pauses, not quite sure how to read your tone. Before he can ask though, the waitress interrupts with the usual spiel on menus and dishes of the night. When you read through the menu, your eyes grow big.

“My card is still on file, right?” Bambam asks, quick to assuage your worries. His card has been on file for months now. 

“Yes, it should be, but I can check again for you,” the waitress smiles at him politely, knowing just as well that Bambam already knows this. He winks at her as she leaves before turning back to you.

Unlike his expectations though, the crease between your brow only deepens. He clears his throat, rubbing his palms against his thighs again.

“Anything catch your eye?”

You force out a smile, putting down your menu. “I can eat anything. Why don’t you decide?”

Bambam lifts a brow but nods in agreement. He wonders if French cuisine just isn’t your thing. He should have listened to Yugyeom and gone Japanese, huh? You can’t go wrong with omakase!

“Do you like wine?” he blurts, trying to get his best friend’s voice out of his head. 

“Oh,” your eyes dart to the clear glass cases at the center of the restaurant showcasing their selection. You sink into your seat a little. “Well, I’m not really an expert, but I can drink it. Do you like wine?”

“I’ll let you try my favorite bottle! It’ll go great with the usual course I order,” he smiles, quite pleased with his decision.

“Sounds good,” you nod curtly.

After Bambam puts in the order, an uncomfortable silence follows. Your eyes keep traveling around the room like you don’t want to look at him. And Bambam, who could easily entertain an entire party of people at any given moment, finds himself at a loss for words. There’s probably a stain on his thighs now from how often he keeps wiping his palms. He’s too afraid to check. 

“So,” he starts, extending the single word uneasily. He doesn’t manage to figure out the rest of his sentence though. 

But it’s then that you finally break into a smile. A real one.

“Bambam,” you let out, and his eyes dart to your cheek where the ghost of a familiar dimple lays. “Are you feeling as awkward as I am?”

“More like nervous,” he confesses, leaning back into his seat.

Your brows raise, “You? Nervous?”

“It happens when I’m with beautiful people.”

You roll your eyes, “Says the same guy who’s ‘homies’ with Blackpink’s Lisa.”

Bambam grins, “When you meet her, you’ll see, she’s a bro.”

You arch your brows, clearly not believing him. “If she’s a bro, I can’t imagine what I am.”

You’re frowning and his heart sinks. He hates that you actually mean it. He hates that he can’t even tell you honestly what you mean to him. It’s way too soon for that kind of confession. He’s sure you wouldn’t take him seriously anyways. After all, he barely managed to even get this date.

-

Yn_ig: The animes lied to me. High school sucks.

Bambam snorts loudly, muffling himself beneath his blue checkered duvet before his mom can hear and yell at him to go to sleep.

It’s midnight and tomorrow will be the first day of sophomore year. He really should be sleeping, but instead he’s smiling stupidly at his phone. Your scowling face lights up his screen. Your best friend smiles brightly beside you, poking your cheek with the end of a paintbrush. You had spent your break taking an art class.

Bambam knows this because he’s been stalking your Instagram, although he’s been too afraid to like any of your posts.

You’ve gotten a lot better in the span of a few weeks though. Or at least, that’s what it seems like from having spent all of freshmen year watching you doodle in the margins. He wonders if he’ll get to sit beside you this year too. His stomach flips at the thought.

When morning comes, Bambam yawns loudly, his eyes barely open as he rushes to the bus stop. He hadn’t meant to stay up so late, but one thing led to another and suddenly he was on Soundcloud, listening to an indie artist by the name of Defsoul, who you had commented about on your friend’s Instagram post fifteen weeks ago. 

He pulls out his phone, plugging in his earphones to continue listening. He steps into the bus, in the middle of bopping his head to a song when the sound escapes him and all he can hear is the thumping of his heart.

You’re sitting near the back, looking out the window. You have on headphones and a scowl that looks just like the picture you posted last night. 

Steadying his breath, he walks past you and slides into the row of seats right behind yours. He wonders if you’re listening to the same song.

Maybe you’ll share the same homeroom this year. The entire bus ride to school, Bambam daydreams about all the conversations you’d share every morning if that were the case. He’d talk to you about Defsoul and then you’d share your stories about break. He’d tell you his was alright, but it would’ve been better if you two hung out. You’d give him that look, the same one you gave when you read out loud together, and then he’d poke your cheek like he’s always wanted to, right where your cheeks dimpled.

His bubble bursts as soon as a guy takes a seat beside you. Bambam can’t remember his name, but his face is familiar. He’s a senior, and by the way you move your headphones to the nape of your neck and smile, it seems like you know him. Holding his breath, Bambam pauses his song.

“2A? That used to be my homeroom!”

Bambam clenches his fist. His homeroom is at the other end of the hall from yours. Frowning, he eyes the back of the guy’s head as he leans into you.

“So, have you thought about what I asked over break?”

You fold your arms across your chest and Bambam can’t help but wonder what he’s asked of you. Is it a date? The way he whispers seems like it would be that kind of thing, and Bambam doesn’t doubt a girl like you must have a lot of admirers. Is it making you uncomfortable? Should he interrupt you two? But then, you’d clearly know he had been eavesdropping. But if this guy was making you uncomfortable, that shouldn’t matter, right?

Thighs straining, Bambam almost stands from his seat when you laugh. It’s the loudest he’s ever heard you, at least in person anyways.

“I thought you’d forget by now,” you chuckle.

The guy feigns offense, holding a hand to his chest. “Me? Forget about you? I see you think very highly of me, Y/N.”

Bambam rolls his eyes.

“Sure you aren’t just trying to dump all your responsibilities on me?” you pout. Bambam melts inside.

“Ha, you caught me!” the senior laughs, making you laugh too. It’s such a pretty ring to his ears, Bambam already knows he’ll be thinking about it for the next couple of weeks. “But you know I wouldn’t give it up to just anyone. It’s practically my baby.”

“That’s true,” you admit, chuckling, and then quieter, “You think I can do it?”

He put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. Bambam squeezes his fist.

“Not just doing it. I know you’ll be a great president,” he tells you confidently. Your ears go red, and if Bambam weren’t so focused on the hand on your shoulder, he would’ve found it very endearing.

“I don’t know, I just…” you pause nervously.

“Yo,” Mingyu breaks Bambam’s concentration. “2D?”

Bambam breaks into a smile, highfiving his friend as he takes the seat next to him. “2D!”

“Sweet!” Mingyu cheers, shoulders bumping against his playfully. “Kook’s with us too. It’s gonna be a wild year!”

Bambam laughs, shaking his head. “You guys are gonna get us kicked back a year.”

His friend whistles. “Girls are into older guys, Bam, it’ll be like one of those harem animes Kook loves so much!”

Bambam laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he glances back at the hand still on your shoulder. He hopes that’s not the case for you.

-

“It got cold,” Bambam musters as the two of you leave the restaurant.

You nod, looking up at the night sky. “Seems like winter doesn’t want to leave us yet.”

The two of you pause by the curb, in front of the valet. 

“Are you sure you had a good time, Y/N? You barely touched your food.”

You look up in surprise. “Oh, I really did have a nice time, Bambam.”

He looks at you skeptically.

“The uh, the…gourdine?”

“Bouchée à la périgourdine?”

“Yeah, that!” you chuckle awkwardly. “That was delicious.”

Bambam still doesn’t believe you but you look uncomfortable, so he lets it go. Actually, you’ve been looking uncomfortable ever since you laid eyes on the menu. Most of his dates took advantage of his generosity, especially at a place like this—ordering the most expensive dishes and trying out all the wine. You though? You insisted on being full after the first course. When he asked you what your thoughts were on his favorite bottle of wine, you mumbled something incoherent as you tipped the entire glass down your throat. You only had water after that.

It was like you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Maybe he had read things wrong. He thought you were at least interested in him too. The night of Mark’s fashion launch, the two of you had shared so many things—secrets, confessions, old memories and what he thought had been chemistry.

He glances over your way. You’re turned away from him, eyes watching the valet workers instead. You had admitted to hating him in the past. His stomach sinks at the thought that maybe you still do. 

You shiver, pulling your cardigan closer to your chest. Bambam unwraps his scarf, holding out his hand for you to take it.

“Oh, I’m alright,”

He lets out a soft sigh before stepping in front of you.

“Do you maybe,” Bambam asks softly, placing his scarf gently around the nape of your neck. “I don’t know, it’s Friday, we could walk around or something or…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead biting on the tip of his tongue as he wraps the cashmere cloth securely around you.

Your fingers brush against his, just barely, but he feels it tenfold. “It’s getting late…”

Bambam tries not to look too hurt when he smiles back at you. “I’ll drive you home then.”

-

A week later, Bambam finds himself outside of your studio apartment. When you open the door, you’re wide-eyed and frozen like you’ve seen a ghost. In your defense though, Bambam doesn’t look like himself. He hasn’t ever since the night you left him at this exact spot last week.

Dark circles line his eyes and his newly dyed black hair only makes his complexion paler. 

“Is everything okay, Bambam?” you ask finally.

He sighs, squeezing at the bridge of his nose. His gold frames lift at the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I probably should have called first.”

“Hey,” you place your palm gently on his arm. “Why don’t you come in first.”

Bambam lets you tug him inside like a lost puppy. His eyes travel around the room. Of course, he’s seen your place before in videos, but it’s different being here now. He doesn’t expect the smell of ginger and lemongrass to greet him. The longer he lingers, the more aware he becomes of the subtle scent of jasmine rice wafting in from the open kitchen. It’s comforting.

Your bedroom door is open, and he can see you’re working on a series of paintings. The canvases line your wooden floors in a haphazard row across the room. 

You sit him down on your couch, a worn out burgundy but the geometric pattern is intricate despite its faded color. He lets his finger trail over a line while you poor him a cup of water.

“Your hair is black,” you break the silence. 

“Oh,” he runs a hand through his hair like he is discovering this for the first time too. A faint pink colors his cheeks.

“I like it,” you smile softly. “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” he utters. His eyes trail down your hands. Your thumb smooths down your own cup of water repeatedly. Your fingers are speckled with green paint.

When he doesn’t say anything more, you chuckle softly to yourself. He looks at you in surprise.

“I like this new look,” you explain, eyes gesturing to his outfit. Today, Bambam is in a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. Granted, the t-shirt is still Tom Ford, but you don’t know that. More noticeably though, is what he is not wearing, no sparkling diamonds around his neck, no Rolex on his wrist. Only a plain, silver ring adorns his right pinky. “So, why are you here, Bambam?”

He winces inwardly, reality setting in on him. Why is he here? Because the hair dye didn’t work? Because he agreed to too many projects in an attempt to keep busy but now he’s just tired and confused? Because Yugyeom pushed him out of the office and told him to figure things out?

Because no matter what he does, he keeps thinking about last week’s date and how you looked at him right before going inside—the mixture of disappointment and sadness in your eyes that felt like he had lost it all.

“Bambam?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

His question catches you off guard. “What? No, of course not.”

“You didn’t like the food,”

“The food was delicious.”

“Then it was me. I was boring.”

“Are you really Bambam? Where did all your confidence go?” you joke, lifting a brow.

His shoulders slouch. You make his confidence deplete like he is fourteen again. When he doesn’t say anything, you put your cup down onto the coffee table and look him in the eye.

“Hey, really, it had nothing to do with you Bambam, and everything to do with me.”

He chuckles dryly. “I don’t need a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ to soften the blow. You can give it to me straight.”

You look at him with a frown, lips threatening to jut into a pout and if Bambam weren’t about to get his heart crushed, he would’ve found your expression to be very adorable. Well, okay, that’s a lie, he still finds you very adorable right now.

“It’s really not you,” you purse your lips together, looking away. “I just…I was very out of place there, Bambam.”

“Wha-”

“I couldn’t pronounce half the menu,” you continue, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Or the wine.”

“But it tasted good?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, looking at him. “It was amazing, Bambam. But that one meal cost about half the month’s rent of this place!”

Bambam doesn’t mean to, but he laughs at your outburst. He is reminded of himself a few years ago when he first became friends with Jackson Wang, who gifted him a set of Cartier jewelry on his birthday.

When he sees your face, he immediately stops laughing. “Wait, I’m not laughing at you!”

“Yeah, sure,” you roll your eyes, but it’s a harmless gesture. Rising from your seat, you look at him, “Is that all you came here for?”

“Well, no.”

Your brows lift.

“There’s this event,” Bambam rushes, digging into the pocket of his jeans. “Actually, I was working on this mini documentary with this artist and he’s opening up a new exhibit this weekend.”

He raises the tickets tentatively towards you but freezes when your eyes bug out.

“Yoshitomo Nara?” You practically scream, falling back onto the couch right beside Bambam. You smell warm and sweet and the memory of the night you shared a few weeks ago flickers in the back of his mind. 

“Yoshitomo Nara,” he confirms softly.

You frown his way, though it quickly turns into a smile, “Well, that’s just not fair. You know how much he means to me.”

“I do,” he smiles quietly.

“So you came here to bribe me?”

He laughs, “More or less. Is that a yes?”

You smile, thumbs smoothing over the tickets repeatedly. 

“Jokes on you, Bambam. I would’ve said yes even without these tickets.”

Somehow, he doesn’t quite believe you, but you are giggling, and he has a date. 

And that is all that matters.

-

Bambam sits nervously on a stool of the art studio, his fingers twisting the lens of an old DSLR he’s still not confident about using. From the elevated windows above, the pink evening sky illuminates. Everything about this moment seems picturesque. If Bambam could use his camera properly, he would’ve known. 

But instead, the camera remains abandoned in his grasp as he stares in front of him where you stand in front of your easel mere meters away. It’s just the two of you. Everyone from both the photography and the painting club had gone home already. After seeing you continue to paint, Bambam had insisted on staying behind to practice with his camera more.

To be honest, he is hungry and could care less about photography, but he can’t find himself to go home.

“Hey,” you twist around and Bambam’s mind spins.

“H-hey,” he musters up, still unconvinced you’re talking to him.

He blinks owlishly at you, and then, his stomach growls. Loudly. His ears turn so red and he feels like he’s been set on fire, but you don’t even react.

“Mind if I play music?”

“Uh, yeah…that’s fine,” he answers you meekly, eyes diverting in embarrassment.

“Cool,” you reply nonchalantly, walking up to his side of the room where the speakers are. Plugging in your phone, the familiar tune of Defsoul’s music fills the studio. It takes Bambam a minute to get over his own mortification before the music reaches his ears and he perks up. But when he looks around the room, you are gone.

Alone now, Bambam finds the courage to get up from his seat and approaches your easel. The chair beside your easel is stacked with art books of Yoshitomo Nara. It seems you are doing a study. Just like the angry little girls on the cover of the art books, your easel holds a portrait of a little girl too. It is different though.

When he looks at the girl in your painting, he sees you. The little girl holds the ghost of a smirk beneath her scowl and her eyes glint with secrets of mischief, just like you. Without thinking, Bambam takes a step back and raises his camera. 

“Like it?”

Bambam jumps in surprise, the flash of the camera going off before it slips from his hands entirely. Flustered, he rushes to bring the camera back into his grasp, thanking god he had kept the old leather strap around his neck.

You giggle softly, standing beside him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“It’s alright, I was just spacing out,” he mumbles sheepishly, eyes averting to the screen of his camera. You lean in, filling his senses with faint notes of your strawberry vanilla shampoo. “I’m still learning how to use the camera.”

“I like it,” you smile, looking up at him. “Can you send it to me?”

“I-really?” he looks at you surprised. Your painting isn’t in focus and off centered. The photo is not good, even Bambam knows it.

“Yeah, gives me album cover vibes,” you chuckle. 

He snorts. “When is your mixtape dropping?”

You grin, raising a brow. “You never know what could happen in the future, Bambam.”

He shrugs, pretending not to melt at the sound of his name on your tongue. He didn’t think you’d remember him.

“Here,” you hand him a bag of cheese puffs before opening your own bag. “The vending machine popped out two.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Bambam walks back to his seat, gaze on your back again as you return to painting. He glances at the blurry photo on the screen of his camera and then slowly, he raises his camera once more, one eye squinting into the viewfinder. 

Maybe photography isn’t so bad after all.

He snaps another photo. Click!

-

“Wait, this is a formal thing? Should I change?”

Bambam watches with amusement as you bounce nervously in front of his car. You are dressed in a plain pink tank top and matching satin wrap skirt. Of course, your classic cream cardigan drapes over you, and to his pleasure, so does his scarf from your last date.

“You look beautiful,” he reassures you.

You bite at your lip, unconvinced. “But you’re in a suit.”

“Okay, but when am I not?”

Your pout reluctantly turns into a smile and you huff, walking through the door he’s holding open for you, into the passenger’s seat. When he gets into the driver’s seat, you turn to him.

“When you’re wearing your designer gym clothes,” you smirk.

“Stop, you aren’t allowed to make jokes while I’m driving,” he laughs, pulling the car out of the driveway. “Also, tracksuits are still suits.”

Your giggles ring throughout the car.

When the two of you get to the venue, the place is already busy. The exhibition is part of the new contemporary art wing in the museum, which has been closed for the night for an intimate opening with select guests. Many of these guests are artist friends of Yoshitomo Nara, but even more are the wealthy collectors who are more than eager to call first dibs on the latest works. The only reason Bambam has been invited is because his mini documentary of the artist is playing on loop in one of the screening rooms.

While he loves art, these type of art scenes are not his thing. They’re a bit too stuffy for his taste and exactly why he dropped out of art school in the first place. But when he sees the way you seem to shrink into your cardigan as soon as you step into the gallery, he squares his shoulders and grabs hold of your hand.

You look surprised by his touch, but thankfully, you don’t pull away.

“You have to get used to these kinds of events, Y/N. You’ll be hosting them soon.”

You chuckle, glancing away. “Well, if I’m lucky, you’ll be hosting them.”

It’s his turn to blush now, but he pretends to be cool, pointing to the first painting to the right. “Shall we start here?”

You only grin, gripping his hand tighter. You seemed to get a little too much joy out of making him feel shy. Bambam can only sigh, quietly relishing in the warmth of your palm against his.

When you finally turn your attention to the paintings, the two of you look on in silence. Naturally, Bambam’s gaze falls onto you. There is a glimmer in your eyes, emotions passing through your features like its own movie. There is a lift of revelation in your brow, a scrunch of displeasure in your nose, the twitch of amusement on your lips.

Bambam fights the urge to take out his phone and record you. Instead, he follows after you, committing your profile to memory.

“Why do you like this guy so much?” he blurts out after passing a few paintings. You peel your eyes away to look at him in surprise, cheeks rosy.

“I-I don’t know, I’ve just loved his works since high school.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for the question to come out harsh. I was just curious, I mean, his art is really nice.”

You squeeze his hand, calming him. “I know. I guess I was just drawn to his characters. They’re cute, but rebellious and real. It’s charming.”

Bambam smiles. That’s how he feels about you. 

“And it blurs the lines of what is fine art,” you go on, turning back to the painting in front of you. “Like right now, it is hanging in this museum, so it’s considered high end art, right? But this girl can easily be inside a children’s book, and his previous works have.”

You glance back at him, looking embarrassed after your spiel. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t let you skirt over the topic though as he follows you to the next painting. “Is that why you dropped out of school?”

You sigh. “There were a lot of reasons. Maybe my skin wasn’t thick enough.”

“No, I get it,” he rubs his thumb across your skin. “I don’t like museums much, to be honest. I like the idea of them, but in reality, places like these only cater to the gatekeepers and the gatekeepers are just boring ass, tax-evading millionaires.”

You laugh, leaning into his chest as if that’ll rid you of the attention you’ve already gained around your corner of the room. Bambam ignores their stares, laughing along with you.

“Your art shouldn’t be jailed up in this stale room,” he adds, after your giggling subsides.

“But yours is,” you chuckle, making your way into the dark screening room.

Projected onto the wall is Yoshitomo Nara talking midsentence about his latest artworks. You take a seat on the bench before gesturing for Bambam to take a seat next to you.

“This is filmed beautifully,” you lean into him to whisper. The action makes him smile since you are the only two in this room, but if it’ll bring you closer, he doesn’t mind. “You’re really talented, Bambam.”

“I have a good team with me.”

“I always knew you’d make it big.”

He smiles quietly, watching as the glow of the video illuminated your face. You really did.

-

Yn_ig: This is amazing!

Bambam1a: Thx!

Bambam chucks his phone between his thighs before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth to hide the smile spreading across his face. He pretends to laugh at something his brother said, though really, he’s twisting with glee because you just liked his latest post on Instagram. And you commented!

“Remember Bammie, this weekend you’re coming with me to…”

His phone dings and his mom’s voice fades into the background. Grabbing his phone, his stomach flips when he sees your handle name sending you a direct message. Ever since the beginning of junior year, he’s been talking to you over Instagram under the alias Muse_ig. It hadn’t been his intentions to deceive you. He was just nervous about talking to you online, but still wanted a way to support you. One comment on your art led to another and suddenly you were messaging him a thank you. Very quickly, that thank you turned into memes and inside jokes. Now, the two of you were talking to each other almost every night.

He clicks on the notification, nodding blankly to whatever his mom is saying.

Yn_ig: Hey! You said you liked photography, right? You should check him out. He’s my classmate. Really talented guy.

Bambam clutches his phone, trying to keep from jumping out of his seat when he sees you’ve sent his Instagram profile.

“Bammie, are you listening to me?” his mom looks at him pointedly.

He tries to school his expression, but joy floods his face anyways. And despite her tone, his mom smiles too.

“Whoever it is, she can wait. Put your phone away,” she teases, inciting laughter from all his siblings.

Bambam laughs it off goodheartedly, tucking his phone away. You think he’s really talented and nothing can diminish the high that this newfound knowledge brings him. 

Well, nothing except, of course, you.

You see, when Bambam agreed to tagging along with his mom to her new friend’s house so she could introduce their daughter to him, he was expecting to spend a few awkward hours with some strangers. Maybe bond with said daughter over the awkwardness, but then he would go home and play video games and that would be that.

What he doesn’t expect is to greet you first thing at your doorway. He doesn’t expect to sit across from you during dinner. And he definitely doesn’t expect the glare you send him between each bite.

“You really are the prettiest thing!” His mother coos from across the table. “She definitely takes after you.”

“Oh, stop it,” your mom blushes, waving her spoon. “To think our kids already knew each other. This must be fate!”

“Hardly,” you mumble under your breath, but Bambam hears it. His heart breaks.

He can’t even blame you for it though. This dinner hasn’t exactly been easy for you. He remembers your late-night texts a few months ago and now all those self-deprecating comments make sense. Those words you were repeating? The I’m not good enough and I should just give up—They were never yours. It was your parents’.

“Bambam told me she’s one of the smartest in her grade!” his mom continues to compliment. He nods eagerly. Your frown only deepens as you poke at the asparagus on your plate.

“What good are all those As when all she does is doodle?” her mom laments, chuckling weakly. “We put all this money into her education but all she wants to do is draw.”

“Paintings,” Bambam musters. Both his and your mom look at him, surprised. He wipes his palms against his pants. In his peripheral, he knows you’re looking at him too, but he’s too afraid to look at you. “She paints, and she’s really good.”

There’s a pause and Bambam’s entire face heats up.

And then your mom breaks into a laugh. “And I heard you’re doing photography!”

His chest deflates and he nods meekly. 

His mom laughs, hitting him on the back. “Unlike Y/N, Bammie here is terrible at studying. I really hope this hobby takes off.”

“Your mom showed me some of your photos, boy,” your father speaks up gruffly, pointing the steak knife his way. “Keep it up and you’ll earn yourself a free ticket to college.”

Bambam rubs at the nape of his neck, “I don’t know about that.”

“No really, there’s a scholarship, isn’t there, Y/N?” your father insists, looking at you.

You nod, putting down your fork. You look at your dad but it’s clear in your tone that you’re talking to him.

“It’s called the Artisan Award—a full scholarship to your art school of choice. It’s given to one graduating senior for their excellence in art across multiple disciplines—including photography. I’ll be applying to it next year.” You don’t even offer him a glance, focusing instead, on your glass of water.

“Well, you’ll be applying to a lot of scholarships,” your mom chuckles uneasily. “There’s still a year to think things through.”

“You should apply too,” your father adds, looking at him.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d be any good. Sounds competitive,” Bambam mumbles, glancing at you. You’re scowling down at your plate.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try though,” his mom cuts in, smiling at him. “What are the kids saying nowadays? Have to shoot your shot into the hoop?”

He smiles, pretending to grimace at his mom, making her laugh.

“While we’re at it, let’s apply to the athletic scholarships too,” she jokes.

He laughs, rolling his eyes. “First I have to make a shot into an actual hoop.”

His mom snorts, “It’s okay, if anything you can dropout and become a comedian! We’ve got options.”

The table breaks into laughter but when he glances your way, you are glaring at him.

-

“I still can’t believe you were Muse_ig this whole time. I dropped out because of you,” you giggle, a crumpled brown napkin in one hand while the other cradles a half-eaten slice of pizza. The two of you had stopped for a bite to eat next door to the museum.

“Hey, don’t blame me, I was just sending you encouraging messages. You made the decision,” Bambam whines, one cheek still stuffed full of pizza.

“Only because I had you feeding into my delusions!”

“You mean showing you your true worth?” he corrects.

You smile, leaning onto the table towards him. “Which ultimately pushed me to drop out.”

He sighs, “Okay, fine, you win. Please don’t tell your mom, though. She’ll hate me.”

“Impossible, she loves you.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.”

You roll your eyes as Bambam finishes his last bite. Sitting in the pizzeria on a Saturday night amongst a crowd of college students from the local university, the two of you stand out like a sore thumb—Bambam, because of his tailored suit that’s probably the same price as some of these students’ tuition, and you, because, well, you’re you. 

In his eyes at least, you always stand out. However, tonight, this is especially so. Unlike your first date, you are laughing and joking together. Maybe he should get pizza with you more often.

“This was nice,” you breathe out as you both step out of the pizzeria. When the restaurant doors close, the loud chatter muffles and is replaced by the quiet night breeze. 

“So,” Bambam lets the word drawl sluggishly, not wanting the night to end, but he is reminded of the last date when you turned him down and hesitates to extend another offer.

“So,” you copy, voice soft as you start walking back towards the museum parking garage. “You never explained why you dropped out. Such a waste of a scholarship,” you tease.

“Ah, that…” Bambam stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You place a hesitant hand around the crook of his arm and his shoulders relax.

“If it’s a touchy subject, you don’t have to answer.”

He shakes his head, looking down at you. “No, it’s not.”

He opens the passenger door for you, helping you in before heading to his side.

“I guess I didn’t have tough skin either,” he chuckles softly, starting the car. “Some days it really did feel like being jailed inside an art museum. Photography didn’t feel the same without…”

His voice trails and his cheeks heat up. You look at him curiously but he’s too embarrassed to continue. Again, he is reminded by the fact that while you grew up together, the memories you share are quite different.

He glances at you and the way you smile at him is sweet. As if to say, it’s okay to not say anything more. But instead of being comforted, Bambam remembers the way you glared at him from across the dinner table as if it happened yesterday. 

“I liked taking photos of the people I care about. I liked capturing moments that mattered…Feelings that…Art school just made me feel empty. I didn’t know why I was doing it anymore,” he finishes off quickly, looking away from you.

“I get that,” you smile weakly. 

“But look at us now,” Bambam chuckles, lightening the mood. “We’re doing just fine on our own, aren’t we?”

You smile, glancing out the window. “Well, you are.”

“So are you! Aren’t you publishing a children’s book soon?” Bambam keeps his eyes on the road but her can see in his peripheral that you are looking at him in surprise.

“Did Mark…”

At the red light, he glances at you gently. “Your mom told mines. She brags about you when you aren’t around, you know.”

You frown, playing with the strap of the seatbelt.

“I know that’s her way of caring for me.” You finally say. “Sometimes, though, I wish she was more like your mom.”

“Well,” Bambam sends you a quick grin before turning back to the road. “If you marry me, my mom comes with the package too.”

You laugh. It rings throughout the car and sets his own heart at ease.

“You don’t have to bribe me with your mother, Bambam! If anything, I should be bribing you.”

“I’ll take it!”

“What?”

He chuckles. “Whatever the bribe is, I’ll take it. Think City Hall is still open?”

You shake your head, giggling softly. “I still don’t get you.”

“What’s there to get?”

You hum thoughtfully. “A young bachelor like you so eager to marry and me of all people? Who’s holding you against your will?”

At the next red light, Bambam steels himself and turns to you, eyes steady on yours. 

“I like you. A lot. For a while now.”

Despite the dimly lit night, he can see you flush. Your fingers clutch the ends of your cardigan sleeves, a nervous habit.

When you don’t say anything, he continues. “I know your parents kind of forced you into this, but that’s not the case for me. Maybe I’m coming on too strong, This marriage arrangement thing…I get that it’s unnatural. I wish I could’ve gone about this differently, but we’re here now and I’m ready. I know you’re probably not and that’s okay, I get it. But I’m interested, I want to date, I want to go through the whole process with you. Slowly, at our own pace, and if I’m not a good fit…then that’s okay too. But I want to at least try.”

The light turns green and reluctantly, he looks away. The rest of the drive to your place is quiet. When he parks outside your apartment, he smiles as if your silence isn’t eating him alive.

“I had a really nice time, Y/N. I’m glad you came with me tonight.”

“Me too,” you reply, almost a whisper.

When you don’t say anything more, he gets out of the car and walks to your side, helping you with the door. But you don’t get up from your seat.

Instead, you turn to him, eyes staring up at him nervously.

“I like you too.”

It is soft, but his whole chest shakes. Bambam breaks into a smile of joy and relief.

He takes hold of your hand, helping you out of the car. His fingers linger, brushing softly against the tips of yours, and you smile.

“Then, I’ll see you next week at your family dinner?” he asks quietly.

You nod tentatively. You purse your lips, cheeks dimpling shyly. His heart skips as you linger, eyes shimmering under the streetlamp.

And then you lean into him, fingers clutching his and you tiptoe.

It is a fleeting touch—light and feathery on his lips—and then he blinks and you’re stepping away again.

“Night, Bambam.”

“N-night!”

He stays for ten minutes longer, waiting for the light of your apartment to flicker on, his lips still buzzing from your kiss.

-

Bambam’s lips sting from how much he’s been nervously biting them, the high from last week’s date now a fleeting memory. He sits at your parents’ dinner table across from you and it feels like déjà vu. 

His mom laughs loudly next to him. Someone made a joke or something.

He doesn’t hear it. All he can see is the growing scowl on your face. Whatever feelings you had for him last week seem to be long gone if your expression is anything to go by.

Your mom swirls her glass of wine, leaning into his mom warmly. “When you told me you wanted my daughter to be your daughter-in-law—my daughter, for your Bambam!—I almost fainted!”

“What are you talking about? The minute I saw Y/N, I fell in love at first sight! I’m pretty sure it was the same for Bammie too.”

Bambam flushes, stuffing his cheeks with salad.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” his mom nudges him teasingly and he almost chokes but he nods adamantly towards you.

“You two are so humble,” your dad chuckles.

Your mom seems to nod in agreement. “I’m sure Bambam can find better options out there.”

“Y/N has one good trait though,” your dad adds, laughing. “She won’t cause any trouble as far as the love department goes.”

“Oh, don’t get me started, this girl is so stubborn!” your mom starts up again, waving her spoon accusingly at you. “Always work, work, work with my daughter. It’s all she cares about.”

“Oh, Bammie’s the same,” his mom cuts in, smiling amiably at you. “It’s the younger generation these days. Married to their work so to speak.”

“Bambam’s got a good head on him,” you father nods to him gruffly. “There’s a difference between working hard and working smart.”

“Unfortunately, she’s only good at working hard,” your mother sighs.

Bambam swallows thickly, gaze fixed on your expression. You’ve been chewing on the inside of your cheek since dinner started. He can see the tick in your jaw every time your parents say something mean your way.

At first, you managed to fake a few polite smiles, but now your head was fully down as you played with the rice on your plate.

“I like Y/N’s work ethic,” he finally speaks up. You finally look at him, eyes unreadable. “It’s hard work that brings talent to fruition and Y/N has both.”

Your gaze lingers on him.

“If we’re talking about talent though, we have to talk about your business!” Your mom breaks the air and the ghost of your smile completely vanishes from your face. You don’t look at him for the rest of dinner.

“Ready for dessert?” your mom asks after everyone was done eating.

You scoot your chair, rising from your seat. “Actually, I’m not feeling so well.”

“Oh, are you okay sweetheart?” his mother asks.

You smile apologetically, “So sorry to have to leave first.”

“Of course, honey! Bammie, why don’t you bring her home?”

“Oh no, that’s alright.”

“No, no, let me.” Bambam rises from his seat and takes hold of your hand. He gives you an encouraging squeeze. “Thank you for the meal! I’ll get her home safely.”

When you exit the house, you slip your hand from his. He pretends not to notice, leading you to his car quietly.

-

“Congratulations to our one and only Bambam for winning the Artisan Award, one of the most prestigious art scholarships in the nation.”

The morning announcement rings in his ears and his homeroom bursts in a parade of cheers and congratulations, but his heart lurches and he thinks of you.

He is reminded of the hours you spent afterschool every day in the art studio, working on pieces for your portfolio. He thinks of all the different art programs you attended during school holidays. He remembers your mother’s voice and the way you’d repeat those words during your late-night Instagram messages.

When he sees you at the bus stop immediately after school instead of in the studio, he almost turns the other way, but your eyes meet his and goes to stand next to you instead. You only give him a slight nod before returning to your phone.

It feels like a long time before the bus arrives.

You sit where you always do, near the back, beside the window. He takes the row of seats across from you.

His stomach twists with guilt when he watches your profile. You can probably feel his stare, but you continue to look straight ahead anyways. You’re probably trying hard to look unbothered, but he can see your disappointment clearly. There’s a slouch in your shoulders, a faint frown tilting the edges of your lips.

You are disappointed and probably dislike him right now.

He wonders if you’ll tell him about this over Instagram. He doesn’t know if Muse_ig will be able to console you this time around. He wishes he had the right words to say, but his throat constricts instead.

When your stop arrives, his eyes follow your back as you stand at the door and he beats himself up for having stayed quiet. And when the bus creeps to stop, you hesitate, before turning back to him.

“Congrats, by the way,” you offer him a small smile. “You deserved it.”

You step off the bus before he can say anything back.

You take a different route home for the rest of the school year.

-

At the red light, Bambam looks over at you. You continue looking straight ahead. There’s a sadness beneath your schooled expression, he can feel this in his gut, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Y/N,” he starts hesitantly.

“The light’s green,” you interrupt.

He turns his attention back to the room. His gut clenches. 

“Cupcake!” he blurts, gripping the wheel.

Your head turns abruptly. “What?”

“C-Cupcake, my cat,” he continues, not quite sure where he’s going with this. “You met her last time.”

After a pause, you reply back, “Yeah, I did.”

“I gave her a haircut. A really bad one. She had a bald spot, so I had to bring her to the groomers to get it fixed,” he rambles. “They tried their best, but she looks really awful right now. It’s pretty funny actually.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Poor Cupcake.”

He glances at you briefly, his chest fluttering at the sight of your smile again. “You wanna go see my cats? I heard petting cats is therapeutic, although, not much to pet right now.”

Finally, you laugh. 

“Sure, why not.”

When you finally get to his place, he knows he said the right thing. You sit on his couch, surrounded by his cats and a soft smile on your face.

“Awful, isn’t it?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. King jumps into his lap and he scoots closer to you.

“Absolutely terrible,” you chuckle, petting Cupcake gently.

“But you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

You let out a quiet sigh.

“Bambam,” you look at him and his heart drops. “Maybe we should just stop this.”

“Fourteen!”

Your brows arch. “You really need to stop saying things without context.”

He puts King aside and grabs hold of your hand like a lifeline.

“I was fourteen. You mouthed my name on the first day of school. That’s when I started liking you.”

You blink up at him in surprise.

“The painting and photography club had to share the same classroom and I knew you just became the president. I did my brother’s chores for three weeks just so I could borrow his old camera,” he looks at you nervously. “I wasn’t planning on falling for photography. You’re the reason I’m where I’m at today.”

“Y-you’re giving me too much credit.”

He holds your hands tighter, shaking his head.

“Your parents have a screwed-up way of measuring your worth, but I don’t care about your job or how famous you are. I care about the girl who mouthed my name and made me feel special. You’ve always been kind to me, taking me seriously when no one else in our grade did. You were the first person to like my photos and you’ve always encouraged me, even though it came at the cost of your own feelings.” He looks at you seriously, “But it shouldn’t. I don’t want to compete against you, Y/N. I want to be on your side.”

“On my side?” you repeat, looking at your intertwined fingers.

“On your side, by your side,” he whispers. “You’re my muse, my first love, first heartbreak. I’d like you to be my last everything too.”

There’s a pause and his chest aches from the silence.

But then he sees it.

Your dimpled cheek.

“So, you had a crush on me since high school?”

He huffs. “That’s what you got from all that?”

You answer with a giggle, dimpled cheeks and very soft lips on his. 

[malereaderoneshots]

Romeo? ; Na Jaemin

Request?: Yes, “Can you please do a Romeo + Juliet AU with Jaemin as Romeo in the knight outfit and the male reader is Juliet in the angel outfit.”  Pairing: Na Jaemin x male reader Word Count: 1,885 

As the sun set over Seoul, Jaemin let out a sigh. As he stared over the city's skyline, he let out a bittersweet laugh, his parents had been pestering him about his future, specifically his future partner. Jaemin let out a sigh, laid down and threw an arm over his eyes. "Awe the little mummy's boy is sad." a voice from above him whined before laughing along with another two laughs. Jaemin groaned and let his arm fall to his side so he could look at the upside-down person. Heachan leaned over and gave the younger boy an over exaggerated smile. "What do you want?" Jaemin didn't particularly care but asking them meant they would leave soon. Or so he thought.

"Haechan are you crazy?!"

"Potentially. Why?"

"Because this is our enemy's house?"

"Suck it up Jeno, besides we have masks they won’t know. Mummy's boy catch!"

As Haechan said that he tossed a pill into Jaemins open hands. Jaemin gave him a confused look and Haechan rolled his eyes. "Eat it. You'll feel better." He smiled, whenever he smiled like that the others knew it meant trouble. Jeno pushed the troublemaker to the side, "Nana don’t, it's not a snickers and it came from Haechan it can’t be good." Haechan placed a hand against his chest and gasped in faux offense, as they argued Jaemin sized up the pill before shrugging and tossing it in his mouth. "Come on then let’s get this over with." He called, Jeno walked by his side, "Where's the pill?" Jaemin gave his friend a reassuring smile and patted him on the back before entering.

The party was full of people Jaemin didn’t know but knowing his reputation if he wasn’t wearing a knight costume, they would probably know who he is. As the boys inched their way around the outskirts Jeno caught the eye of a woman who dragged him towards the belly of the party while Haechan zeroed in on the drinks bar leaving Jaemin utterly alone. Jaemin huffed and left one of the rooms in search of a bathroom, one he found one he locked the door and ran the tap. As the water began to fill the sink the boy took his mask off and wiped down his face sighing once more, closing his eyes and sucking in a breath he submerged his head in the cool water. Pulling his head back he brushed his wet hair away from his forehead before collapsing.

Darkness surrounded Jaemin and a cool breeze sent a shiver up his spine, he couldn’t see but he could feel that he didn't have his costume on. Wrapping his arms around himself to try to keep warm he called out, "Hey! Is anyone out there?" Behind him came a gentle giggle. Spinning around Jaemin caught a glimpse of a snowy white wing. "Please don’t tell me Haechan poisoned me." Another laugh came from behind him but this time he didn’t move, suddenly a tingling warmth spread from his right bicep down to his fingertips and part of his chest. Whatever was in the darkness was touching him. A gentle glow caught Jaemins eye, it was coming from just behind him on the side where his arm was tingling, slowly he turned his head more hoping to see this creature with snowy white wings, but the light became too strong and forced Jaemin to close his eyes.

Jolting into a sitting position Jaemin grabbed his right arm and heaved a couple of breaths, he was still in the bathroom. Slowing making his way to his feet he splashed a bit of water on his face once more. Jaemin could see a cool blue hue from the corner of his eye, turning to face the light he could see movement coming from it. Cautiously walking towards it he realised it was a fish tank in the wall, for some reason these fish gave him a feeling of nostalgia, so he happily followed the fishes movements with his eyes until he bent down and locked eyes with another eye. Startled Jaemin stood properly the person on the other side following in pursuit. The person on the other side was a boy, slightly smaller than Jaemin and he had a soft blush that Jaemin couldn’t help but find cute, but what shocked Jaemin was that this boy had angel wings. For a moment Jaemin forgot himself and where he was and thought that the boy on the other side was a real angel and that Haechan had poisoned him. The angel smiled shyly and began to move towards the fish on the further side, Jaemin unconsciously followed his eyes, never leaving the boy in front of him. The boy noticed and bit his lip to conceal a smile, looking at Jaemin once more the boy let a devilish smirk play on his lips before he darted behind some coral, Jaemin followed the direction and looked for the angel in the gaps before hearing a soft tapping. Jaemin stood once more and came face to face with the boy who was still smiling, his smile faltered a bit and Jaemins chest tightened but relaxed when the boy put his hand to the glass Jaemin looked at his hand and then the boys and also put his hand on the glass. Jaemin wondered if the boys' hands were as soft as they looked and suddenly had the overwhelming urge to find out.

As the knight and the angel stayed like that the party outside continued. "Haechan! Haechan you idiot where did Jaemin go?" Jeno shook his drunk friend. Haechan giggled and shrugged, "I have no idea but these lot know a thing or two about alcohol." Jeno sighed and rubbed his temples as Haechan slung an uncoordinated arm around Jenos shoulders, "He'll be fine." Haechan burped. As Jeno turned to drag himself and Heachan out of the party a woman pushed past in a hurry dragging a boy in white behind her. As the two boys followed the boy in white Heachan giggled, "I think we were visited by an angel."

Jaemin burst through the bathroom door, looking for his angel that was dragged away. He caught sight of his two best friends and raced towards them. "Have you two seen a boy? Smaller than me, cute blush, looked like an angel." Jeno raised an eyebrow curious as to where this sudden attraction came from but Haechan threw an arm in the direction the boy just passed them, "You know, I thought I was seeing things, but I guess mummy's boy also saw the pretty angel." Haechan slurred before bolting up and swaying gently, "maybe the drug is making us see this angel." Jeno and Jaemin shared a deadpan look and shook their heads. Jeno wrapped Haechans arm over his shoulder again and turned to the entrance but Jeno quickly grabbed Jaemin's wrist, "please be careful, remember this is enemy territory." Jaemin gave him a small smile and a nod before disappearing into the crowd.

After weaving through bodies Jaemin found his angel dancing with the Prince. As the Prince gently swayed them the smaller boy peeked over the Prince's shoulder and locked eyes with Jaemin. He felt his heart skip and his body grew warm, leaning against a pillar he watched as his angel waltzed across the floor and said to himself "I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."

As the dance came to a close the boy locked eyes with Jaemin once more before walking away. Jaemin picked up his pace, scared to lose the boy. But just as Jaemin thought he lost the angel he felt a small hand wrap around his bicep and pull him, at first, he thought it was a guard but when he saw the snowy wings his shoulders relaxed and willingly followed. Jaemin gently pried the smaller boys’ fingers from their grasp on his arm and instead replaced his arm with his hand, the boy looked back slightly at the tips of his ears adorning a light pink hue. Jaemin could also feel his cheeks growing red as he discovered he was right; the angel’s hands were soft and smooth but also slender. They came to a stop just outside of an elevator, the angle called it down and turned to Jaemin who was speechless at the smaller boys’ beauty. "May I know my knight's name?" the angel asked, eyes flickering down to Jaemins lips before meeting his eyes once more. Jaemin swallowed thickly before saying "Romeo" in a hushed tone, a look of surprise crossed the other boys face before covering his mouth to muffle his laughter, straightening himself the boy held both of Jaemins hands and said, "Then I am Juliet."

As the elevator chimed someone had started to hysterically call for a boy called Y/N. Jaemin looked at the sea of people before 'Juliet' dragged him into the elevator. Jaemin laughed awkwardly, "please don’t expect me to speak Shakespearean just to ask for a kiss." The boy looked at Jaemin and slowly lifted Jaemins hand to cup the smaller boys’ cheek. "Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." Jaemin stared at 'Juliet' trying to process anything the smaller boy said, he laughed noticing Jaemins lost expression before lifting their connected hands and lacing their fingers together. "What I said was. Good pilgrim, you don't give your hand enough credit. By holding my hand, you show polite devotion. After all, pilgrims touch the hands of statues of saints. Holding one palm against another is like a kiss." Jaemin still looked dumbfound and just nodded while looking at their laced hands. "So is that a yes I can kiss you or a no you're in a cult kinda thing." The smaller boy let out a loud laugh not even bothering to cover his mouth this time and Jaemin couldn’t help but relish in the sound.

As the elevator opened the angel dragged Jaemin out still giggling but as a shrill voice made its way into the boys ears the angel gulped and pulled Jaemin back into the elevator. "Who is this Y/N everyone shouting about?" Jaemin asked, now beginning to get anxious at the thought of him being caught. Instead of an answer the smaller boy leaned up and placed a gentle kiss on Jaemins lips. The taller boy replied by wrapping his arm around the smaller boys’ waist and deepening the kiss as they pulled away the angel opened his mouth but Jaemin cut him off. "Please no more Shakespearean." The boy gave Jaemin a guilty grin before leaning in to kiss him once more.

But their fun came to an end when the elevator doors opened once more and a red faced woman stood in the way "Y/N your mother has been screaming about you now come on." she said before grabbing the angels wrist and pulling him to the stair case where the Prince and an expensive looking woman stood. "Y/N?" Jaemin said to himself, the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t pinpoint way until Jeno appeared behind him with a sober Haechan

"Y/N L/N. Enemy of the Na house."

[emilysfanfictions]

Blind Date - Winn Schott x Reader

Prompt: Winn confides in Kara about his fears of dieing alone, Kara gets an idea to set him up with one of her friends on a blind date. Little did she know the date went a little TOO well.

Type: Fluff with smut (italicized for your convenience) 18+ (if not skip the smut please)

Warning:Drunk Sex, Mentions of abuse

[Also I do put a specific appearance, you can change it if you like it’s not important] 

[ALSO ALSO I know nothing about star wars so don’t judge me]

<3<3<3

“My life is in danger every day, and I can’t help but to think that I’m gonna die one of these days and not have a relationship.” Winn vented to Kara, “Winn, your not going to die alone.” She said crossing her arms as he sighed. “It’s not like anyone would like me anyway.” He said as he lifted his Nerf gun and pointed at his monitor. An idea crosses Kara’s mind, her friend Y/n, who was a waitress at noonan’s, had been rambling about how she can never find a nice guy and all the guys are too masculine and she just wants a sensitive guy. Winn’s a sensitive guy, Y/n’s a nerd. It’s perfect. “Winn..” Kara said as he looked over. “How about I set you up on a blind date?” She said as Winn raised an eyebrow. “Sure!” He said excitedly as Kara smiled at his excited puppy look. “Okay, I’ll text you where to go but seriously I have to go.” Kara said as she stood up walking backwards Winn nodded. “Alright!”

----

“No Kara.” I said into the phone, a blind date? Was she crazy, only 43% of blind dates work out. Plus how did I know if it wasn’t some psychopath who was gonna kill me and eat my skin, or some stranger who doesn’t know what star wars is. I mean come on! “Kara, you know how I am with strangers.” She said as Kara laughed, SHE WAS LAUGHING, how dare she laugh at my social anxiety. “Y/n, trust me, you won’t wanna die and crawl into your shell by the end of this date.” Kara said as I groaned. “Fine, but if it sucks it’s your fault..” I said in a quiet voice. “Okay, so where is it and when. I have to get back to my shift.” I say reluctantly. “7, at Palmer's(idk go with it).” Kara said as I sighed. “Okay, fine.” I groan out as my boss yelled into the back room. “Y/n, get your ass out here. We’re slammed!” I nodded. “Yeah, okay! Sorry Kara, gotta go I’ll be there just make sure my blind date doesn’t flake.” I say hanging up the phone and putting it in the pocket of her apron as she walked out into the restaurant.

---- 

Y/n sat at a single table, the heel of her flats tapping against the floor. Her thumb flew to her mouth as she nervously bit her nail. Her long brown hair was twisted into curls and she wore a white top with a black skirt that hit above her knees, and her top had straps across her chest. She looked around quietly examining everyone, she didn’t know what he or she looked like and wanted to make a good impression so she dressed nicely, she had a glass of Merlot and apparently Kara had called in earlier and ordered for them. 

She watched a nicely dressed man walk in looking around, seemingly just as nervous as her. He was cute, he had curly brown hair and a slight stubble and he wore a black button up and tie with dark jeans. She leaned over glancing at him when he noticed her he glanced at his phone and then back up at her walking over, she nervously adjusted her hair as he walked up. “Y/n?” He asked and she shyly nodded. “Yeah, are you Winn?” She asked and he nodded and released an awkward laugh that she smiled at, his laugh was adorable. He stood awkwardly until she pointed at his seat.

 “You can sit.” She said as he looked over and laughed nodding. “Sorry, I’m not good with this whole date thing.” Winn said as Y/n giggled. “Me neither, don’t worry.” She said as Winn smiled, a waiter walked over holding two plates and sat down some sort of chicken dish that both Winn and Y/n looked at with confusion. “What would you like to drink?” He asked Winn as Winn glanced over to her cup seeing the red wine and looking back over. “The same as her, Merlot, I think.” Winn said with a smile as the Waiter nodded and walked off only to return with a wine glass holding the deep burgundy liquid. The waiter walked off as Y/n took a bite of the strange food and looked up to Winn. “It’s actually not that bad.” She said as Winn took a bite and nodded in agreement.

----

“Wait, wait. I’ve got another one!” Y/n said between her laughing as Winn chuckled along, they had been talking for a half an hour and were both very tipsy. 

They had been telling bad jokes over and over again, before this they had discussed their interests and their lives. Turns out they have alot in common, they were both foster kids, they were both mega geeks, and when they talked about their dream partner they basically described each other without thinking. They had taken a minute and gotten serious and vulnerable, talking about how both of their parents were basically horrible people, since Winn’s dad was Toy man and Y/n’s dad walked out on her leaving an alcoholic mom and she basically got removed from the house and placed in foster care. 

“What do you call five Siths piled on top of a light saber?” Y/n said giggling as Winn shrugged with a dopey smile. “A sith kebab.” Y/n said as Winn and Y/n giggled in sync as they both sipped on their drinks. “That one was bad.” Winn said as Y/n laughed with a knowing smile. “I know right!” She said as she placed her hand over Winn’s on the table with a smile, they had finished their food and the waiter walked over sitting down strawberries and a bowl of melted chocolate.

“I love those.” They said in sync and looked at each other and giggled which cause a snort to fall from Y/n’s lips making her blush and Winn smile admiring her adorkableness. Y/n grabbed a strawberry and dipped it in the chocolate, Winn did the same but Y/n placed it in her mouth and sucked all the chocolate off leaving the strawberry clean before biting it. Winn eyed her as she did his mind immediately went to naughty thoughts he should not be having on a first date with such a sweet girl, a quiet and involuntary groan falling from his mouth that he quickly followed with a cough, holy shit.

After they finished eating they payed, which they fought over but Y/n inevitably won, Winn swearing he would pay her back. They were both drunk and giggly as they exited the building talking among themselves. “So, uhm, I guess this is where we part ways.” Y/n slurred as she hailed a taxi. “Yeah, tonight was fun.” he said, a slur to his voice as well, as she nodded, there was a quiet tension that hung in the air. The taxi pulled up but Y/n didn’t get in she glanced at Winn. “You... uhm, wanna come over to my place and watch a movie?” Winn asked as Y/n nodded eagerly. “Yeah, sure!”

Y/n got in the car after Winn and she glanced over at Winn with a smile, it must have been the alcohol but right then she had never seen a more attractive man. The way he constantly had a content smile tugged onto his lips, his super kissable lips. She watched contently as his hand went through his hair. She let out a shaky sigh as he glanced over making eye contact, noticing she had been staring.

[For those who don’t like smut. Basically they kiss in the car, then go to her house and don’t watch a movie]

 He examined her features as she did the same, in that moment there was nothing else to do. She leaned up pulling him by his tie and connecting their lips, leaving him in shock as he gasped lightly before his lips formed to hers and his hands landed on the back of her neck, hers resting on his chest as their lips molded together. She felt the car stop and pulled away both breathing heavily. She quickly scampered out of the car followed by Winn as she took his hand they entered the apartment building getting in the elevator as Winn pressed her against the wall his hand felt for the buttons instinctively pressing the button for his floor as their lips connected again, their eyes filled with passion, and lust. 

Y/n lifted her hand and ran it through his hair as she pulled him closer sliding her tongue against his lip as he opened his mouth and their tongues met deepening the already intense make out session. The elevator dings and they separate, both breathing heavily as he holds her wrist pulling her to his apartment aggressively searching through his pockets pulling out her keys and opening the door throwing her bag onto his counter as she turned and slammed him into the door, her heels giving her the added height she needed as she kissed him deeply his hands felt for her waist as she held onto his tie firmly and they never parted as she backed toward his room feeling for the door handle quickly opening it as she pulled him back turning around and pushing him onto the bed, she had a new surge of confidence that Winn couldn’t help but admire as he sat on his elbows she leaned over kissing him again and sitting on his lap as her skirt flared up his hands ran up her thighs under her dress as she could feel the growing hard on in his jeans as she adjusted her hips he couldn’t help but release a groan at the added friction. 

“P-please do that again.” Winn whined as she smiled and began to kiss on his neck as she grinded against him causing moan after moan to leave his mouth as she was breathing heavily against his neck, leaving small marks all over the sides of his neck. She disconnected from his neck as he began to untie his tie and she unbuttoned his shirt tossing it to the floor. He made quick work about her top pulling off the lose white garment. She ran her hands down his chest as his eyes gravitated toward her chest and she slid off his lap as she quickly worked on pulling off his jeans as she pulled them down she saw the large bulge in his boxers as she palmed it he panted lightly. She tugged on his boxers as she released his dick looking up at him with lust filled eyes as her hand wrapped around him she leaned forward pressing her tongue to the tip as his breathing quicked and he released a quiet moan. She smirked as she took him in her mouth, He leaned back onto his elbows as he moaned running his hands through his hair as his other hand reached over pulling back her hair as she sucked quickly.  

Winn moaned loudly as he bit his lip. “Y/n” He let out a breathy moan as his hips bucked up slightly. “Y-you’re gonna make me cum.” He moaned out as she looked up at him with a smirk as she kept going his hips would buck occasionally, his fists curled into the blanket as he moaned her name loudly and came panting loudly as she looked up at him and swallowed causing him to gulp lightly as she leaned up to connect their lips again, crawling onto his lap as she pulled off her underwear tossing them behind her, the strap of her bra slipped down her shoulder as her skirt rested over her butt and she lifted her body over his lap taking a breath. “Y-you okay?” She asked as Winn nodded eagerly. She lowered her body down onto him as her head shot back releasing a moan as he kissed her neck, nibbling gently leaving marks all over her neck, just as she did him. She rolled her hips quickly as Winn looked unaware of where to put her hands. “You can.. you can touch me, you know.” She said breathlessly as he nodded and put one hand on her hip and the other reached up gently groping her breasts. The room filled with moans, pants, and quiet curses, as they moaned out each others names.

[I’m not good at smut I know lmao]

----

Winn woke up with a yawn as he went to move he realized his arms were wrapped around a person, he looked down and his heart stopped when he realized there was a naked woman beside him, her messy dark hair resting over her shoulders. He realized they were in his room and he slowly pulled away from around her as he quickly began to pull on some pajama pants as he walked into the bathroom noticing his chest and neck were covered in marks and lipstick as well as his own lips and most of his lower face were covered in the deep maroon lipstick as he heard a quiet mumble.

Y/n yawned as she sat up realizing she was wearing a skirt and bra she looked around to see her clothes strewn all over the carpet, wait, her room didn’t have carpet. She looked around as she heard a shower start her eyes darted to the door that was closed and had light coming from under it she stood up and looked around seeing another set of clothes thrown everywhere, her memories from the night before flooding back.

Y/n went to the extra bathroom washing her face of the makeup and seeing the hickeys all over her body as she had pulled on her underwear and a random shirt. She heard a knock at the apartment door and froze when she heard a familiar voice. “Hey Winn, you didn’t respond to my texts so Ijust wanted to make sure that your okay and the date went good.” She said as Y/n peaked into the hallway seeing Winn pulling on a button up and sipping his pants as he shook off his hair and glanced over seeing Y/n he pointed to his bedroom as she nodded and ran in he walked out and opened the door as his bedroom door closed quietly, Y/n began to get dressed in her clothes from the day before. “Hey Kara, yeah the date went grea-” He began but was cut off as she pointed to his neck. “Are those-” She started but as she looked up she could see Y/n pulling on clothes through the wall and released a loud groan. “Ugh, Winn! Seriously!” She said as Winn realized she could see Y/n. “Just, I’ll see you at work!” Winn said ushering her out of his apartment as Y/n stepped out sighing and straightening her hair. “I..I normally don’t do.. this.” She said pointing to herself and him. “I’m not like that.” She said as Winn nodded. “Yeah me neither.” Winn said quickly as they stood awkwardly. “I had a nice time last night.” Y/n mumbled as Winn nodded. “yeah.” Winn said as Y/n smiled lightly. “I have to go, but I did put my number on your phone.” She said as she walked to the door grabbing her bag. “I’ll text you.” Winn said as they smiled at each other. “Alrighty.” She said walking out with a smile.

[jeserai]

"Everyone thinks we’re already dating, but we’re just best friends- oh wait" because this is adora

38. Everyone thinks we’re already dating, but we’re just best friends- oh wait

aka 5 times they were gay and didnt realize it, and the one time they finally realized

Catra can’t stop staring at Adora’s hair. She’d cut it boyishly short as the summer heat wore on and now the golden strands just barely curl against the back of her neck. Freckles dot the skin of her shoulders and neck and Catra kind of wants to connect the dots with her finger to see what constellations they’ll make, kind of wants to kiss each one to count them all. Either way, she doesn’t move.

1—

It’s been a longer day than usual and Catra is quite honestly exhausted, ready to get off campus and head home and sleep. She’s just getting to the car when her phone buzzes in her pocket, and usually, she’d ignore it—but it buzzes in the custom pattern she has for Adora, so she checks the message immediately and responds just as quick.

Adora: :(

Catra: gimme 15 min princess

Adora doesn’t respond, but she reads the message right away; so Catra pockets her phone and makes a quick detour to McDonald’s to get what she calls Adora’s Bad Day meal: a McDouble, medium fries, medium mango smoothie, and an apple pie. While she waits for the food, she tries to think of what could be wrong—and, oh. She probably got back the results on the test she’d studied so hard for recently. Knowing Adora, she did well too; she’s just so goddamn hard on herself sometimes.

When the food comes, Catra texts Adora again to let her know she’s on the way, then speeds home and finds Adora curled up in bed, eyes closed. “Hey, babe. Bad day?”

Adora nods and Catra sits down beside her, placing the food on the bedside table and waiting for Adora to sit up so she can wrap an arm around her and hold her close. Adora doesn’t speak, and Catra doesn’t push, just holds her safe and quiet until Adora decides she’s ready for words again.

2—

In her sophomore year, when Catra still lived in the dorms, she spent so much time at Adora’s that they joked that she was her third roommate. They walked home together after classes almost every day, studied together on the couch, had dinner and watched TV until passing out, curled under the thick fleece blanket Adora brought down from her room. By now, Catra has long since learned where all of the utensils and cooking supplies are kept, and where to put the blankets when they’re done with them, and most importantly, how to work the oven.

The first time Adora invites her up to her room isn’t until the end of the school year, and Catra doesn’t think it’s a big deal, until Bow barges in and ends up just staring with wide eyes at the sight of them sitting on opposite sides of the bed, each on their own laptops and enjoying the other’s silence.

“What is it, Bow?” Adora asks without looking up. Catra would be proud of how hard her friend is working if she didn’t already know that Adora had been online shopping for the past fifteen minutes.

“You—just. You have someone in your room. You never do that.”

“Yeah, well...Catra’s just special.”

“About time you admit it,” Catra grumbles, yelping as Adora kicks her. But Adora’s laughing, and that makes Catra smile too, and she doesn’t even notice the way Bow slips out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

3—

It’s almost Thanksgiving break of their junior year, and when Adora calls her mom to make sure someone remembers to pick her up from the train station, it’s Mara that answers. “Hey, brat,” she says, sticking her tongue out at the camera. Adora sticks her tongue out right back, trying not to laugh because she’s supposed to still be mad at Mara for hanging up on her after their last call.

“Where’s mama?”

“In the kitchen, making dinner for her favorite daughter, of course. Oh, tell Catra hi.”

From the floor, Catra calls out, “Hey, Mara,” and Adora ignores the way Mara is grinning at her now.

“Are you picking me up from the station, or should I ask mama?”

“Hm. I don’t know, I’ll be out—”

“I haven’t even said when I’m coming!”

Mara winks and then twists around, and Adora watches as she passes the camera to Razz, smiling wide at the sight of adoptive mother. “Hi, mama!”

“Oh, how are you, dearie?”

“I’m good—”

“I am too, Razz,” Catra interjects. Adora holds out the phone so Razz can see Catra, studying on the floor at her feet.

“C’yra! Are you coming home with Adora too?”

Very matter-of-factly, Catra says, “I don’t know, I wasn’t invited.”

“Of course you’re invited, dearie! You’re always welcome here, you know that!”

“I know, Razz, I was just teasing Adora—you know, she still hasn’t invited me?”

“What! Don’t put that on me, you—” Catra twists around and grins at Adora, and god, she’s never hated her more.

“I’m surprised she didn’t invite you, you’re all she ever talks about,” Mara cuts in.

“Oh really now?”

“Oh my god, Mara, shut up!”

“Be nice, Adora. Your sister is just telling the truth.”

Catra’s smile is absolutely devious at Razz’s words, and Adora feels her cheeks go pink as she asks what exactly Adora’s been talking about. Before Mara can begin to speak, Adora grabs her phone and hangs up.

“Not a word, or you’re uninvited.”

“You never officially invited me, so…”

Adora decides then that she absolutely hates Catra.

4—

The first time Catra comes home with Adora for break is...interesting, to say in the least. Razz is usually super chill with who stays over at the house, but she’s made up the spare room and told Adora in a stern voice that Catra will be sleeping in her room and that Adora will take the spare. Mara is home too; she and Catra take an immediate liking to each other, bonded over sharing embarrassing Adora stories and baby pictures. Even Razz falls for Catra quick, and Adora rolls her eyes with a smile every time her mom calls Catra “my dear” and piles more food onto her plate every night at dinner.

But she can’t say she’s any different; she shows Catra all around the town she grew up in, takes her to all of her old haunts: the ice skating rink, the movie theater by the river, the bowling alley that they used to celebrate Christmas at every year when she was growing up. She shows her the best ice cream place in town, and her high school, and they go on a whim to the new escape room that’s just popped up.

Catra loves all of it, but she especially loves teasing Adora with Mara, because of course she does.

“Adora, you never told me about your thing for horses,” she says one night after dinner. They’re curled up in Adora’s bed watching youtube videos on Catra’s laptop, Adora half asleep and not really paying attention. She keeps dozing off on Catra’s shoulder and shaking herself awake—the third time she woke up, she realized that Catra turned the volume way down low so as to not wake her.

“I did not have a thing for horses! Whatever Mara told you, she lied.”

“And I suppose she made up the Christmas letter you wrote Santa asking for a talking rainbow unicorn pegasus?”

Adora struggles to sit up, still sleepy, and Catra pushes her back down easily. “Relax, princess, I’m just teasing you. It’s cute—and if it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure I asked Santa to be able to turn into a cat so I could get away with not doing chores.”

After a moment, Adora lets Catra push her back down; she tries to settle down on the pillow Catra isn’t using, but her friend makes a disgruntled noise and guides her head back to her shoulder before unpausing the video.

Adora falls asleep like that, to Catra’s quiet breaths and warmth and the quiet drone of the video she’s watching. When she wakes up in the middle of the night, they’ve both been tucked in, and though she must be uncomfortable, Catra has left her there, head pillowed by her shoulder. It’s probably the best sleep Adora’s had in years.

5—

Adora meets Catra—officially—in her freshman English class.

They’ve been reading Romeo and Juliet for the past few weeks and today the teacher decides that since no one’s actually reading it at home, that they’ll read outloud, acting out the play to the best of their abilities. It feels very high schoolish, but Adora doesn’t mind so long as she doesn’t get a character with a lot of speaking parts.

So of course, she gets assigned Juliet.

The teacher assures those with large speaking parts that they’ll switch out every so often so that everyone gets a chance to read—they’ll switch every page or two.

The Romeo that speaks before Adora’s turn is Catra. She doesn’t know her name then; all she knows is that her Romeo slouches in her seat, has wild brown hair and reads in a monotone voice.

Until—

“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim,” Adora says, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees her Romeo straighten and turn to look at her, “lips that they must use in prayer.”

All of a sudden, it’s like a new person reading. This time her voice comes out low and smooth, and Adora can practically hear her smirk as she says, “Oh then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do, they pray—grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

The glance her Romeo flashes her makes Adora’s cheeks go pink, and she’s read this play enough times to know what comes next, but she’s sure the way her voice shakes will just play into character more. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”

“Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take,” and now her Romeo is standing, coming close to her, sitting easily on her desk as she leans in close to continue, “thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

And then, by the book, she kisses her.

(The whole class loves it, and Adora cannot stop blushing and sneaking glances at her Romeo for the rest of class. Whenever their gazes meet—which happens often—her Romeo just gives her that shit-eating grin again, and though the whole encounter shouldn’t matter that much, Adora finds herself intrigued. Especially since her Romeo just shrugs and tells the teacher that she was “just getting into character” when asked.

She finds out later that her name is Catra, and that despite the bold persona she put on for class, she’s actually quite shy and easily flustered. But she is warm, and familiar, and they get along so well that Adora is honestly surprised she hasn’t known Catra all her life.)

1—

Catra can’t stop staring at Adora’s hair. She’d cut it boyishly short as the summer heat wore on and now the golden strands just barely curl against the back of her neck. Freckles dot the skin of her shoulders and neck and Catra kind of wants to connect the dots with her finger to see what constellations they’ll make, kind of wants to kiss each one to count them all. Either way, she doesn’t move.

“You know what Mara asked me when she called yesterday?” Adora suddenly asks.

Catra startles and blinks; when she comes back into focus, she finds that Adora has rolled over to look at her. She’s got a faint smile on her lips, the one that she reserves solely for when Catra does something dumb, and after a pause for a beat too long, Catra remembers what Adora had said and asks, “What?”

“She asked me how you were doing. Or—no, she asked ‘how’s your girlfriend’, and when I said I didn’t have a girlfriend, she said she meant you.”

“Dork,” Catra mutters, and when Adora sticks her tongue out, Catra wiggles closer to her just to poke her forehead. “Tell your sister I’m doing good, if not dying in the heat.”

“We’ve only got two weeks left before we go home, you’ll live.” But Adora is frowning sympathetically at Catra’s curls, frizzy and wild from the oppressive heat. As much as they’re loving their vacation to Aruba, the heat is not doing it for either of them.

“Come here, I’ll—” Adora stands, brushing sand from her knees before sitting behind Catra. With a grumble, Catra sits up as well and closes her eyes as Adora begins to run her fingers through her hair, gently detangling it the best she can with her fingers. Once she’s satisfied, she begins to braid it—and she’s done this enough that the processes is over quick even with the thick unruliness of Catra’s hair. When she’s done, Catra leans back into her and like clockwork, Adora’s arms come round to wrap around her waist. Catra tries to ignore the way her back presses into Adora’s chest, tries to ignore the way Adora’s fingers are toying with the hem of her shorts, tries to ignore the way her heart is racing double time in her chest.

“I just thought it was funny, what Mara said.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, just…” Adora shrugs and rests her chin on Catra’s shoulder, “she’s not the only one that does that, you know. Everyone thinks we’re dating even though we’re just best friends, and I—”

Adora cuts herself off so abruptly that Catra reluctantly pulls away from her, turning around to look her in the eye. “And you what?”

Adora frowns, chewing on her lip as she thinks, and she reaches out blindly for one of Catra’s hands to hold as she thinks. Catra lets her, staying quiet and stroking her thumb across Adora’s knuckles; she knows that Adora needs time to think through and process whatever’s on her mind, that she’ll speak when she’s ready. So she waits. She’d always wait.

And finally: “And I...I think I kind of love you, in every way that there is to love.”

Oh.

“Are you going to...say something?” Adora asks. She seems hesitant, unsure, and god, of course she would.

“Adora, you’re...you know how I am with words, but. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. I think I always will. I don’t know when I realized, but…” Catra shakes her head, giving up on words to just stare. Because Adora, her golden, summer-freckled, sun-burnt Adora, loves her. “We’ve known each other for only what, four years? But it feels like—”

“Forever,” Adora finishes. Catra reaches out just as Adora collapses into her, and on the summer beach in Aruba, they kiss for the second time. As Adora sighs against her lips and slots their fingers together, Catra thinks that this, this is the final puzzle piece, finally slipped into place.

(The next day, when Razz asks how Adora’s girlfriend is, Adora very smugly reports that she’s good. Catra finally lets herself kiss the beauty mark on Adora’s shoulder, and relaxes into her as Mara and Razz begin to interrogate her about what happened.

And finally, Catra realizes that this is what it feels like to finally come home.)

[choco-glow]

Dance With Me, Pt. 3

Trudging quietly up the stairs to Cid’s bedroom hand in hand was…different; Tifa liked it, because there was no air of expectation, no snarky smirks or heavy gazes. No, there was just…Cid’s warm palm in hers, the faint flash of a grin as they passed a window, and the gentle cuddle as he pulled her close when he opened the door. His room was much like his guest rooms and his home, simple and clean, with an old metal bed frame that seemed charming with a battered comforter. The corners were military precision, the hamper by his personal bathroom almost overflowing (but nothing on the floor), and Tifa bit back a groan as her tired feet sank into soft, soft carpet.

Cid flicked on the lamp by the bed with a sigh of relief, and Tifa looked around the room, even more curious now, spying a well-worn spear hanging on hooks on the far wall. It was definitely more than just a show weapon; fresh nicks in the blade gleamed in the low light, and she heard Cid come up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and tucking his chin into her shoulder.

“That’s th’ Highwind weapon o’ choice for th’ last few centuries, if yer curious…” He murmured, voice soft now with love and pride, and Tifa hugged his arms close, kissing his cheek softly.

“I am…but maybe in the morning?” Cid smiled, and nodded, then moved to an equally battered dresser that matched his footlocker at the base of his bed, rooting around in the first two drawers for a moment before he pulled out a soft set of sweats and a tee shirt, which he tossed to Tifa with a grin.

“Here, so ya don’t haveta muss up your clothes.” She grinned, padding over to kiss him softly.

“Thank you, but most of mine are dirty anyway…”

“Need ta use the washing machine? It’s just in my bathroom, haven’t yet put it downstairs.” She brightened at that, and Cid chuckled behind her as she all but skipped into the bath, flicking on the light. Sure enough, his washer and dryer were shoved into the space where the sink should have been; here it was obvious that he was still renovating, but the toilet and shower clearly worked (even if the latter was gutted with tarps draining water to the tub and a shitload of duct tape), and she loaded up all of her gear, stripping down to nothing and shoving everything but her last clean set of underwear and bra into the washer. She dressed again, this time in Cid’s clothes, and hugged the soft cotton to her chest as she set the washer, loaded up the detergent, and as the cycle began to spin, she let out a soft sigh of relief.

With a happier heart, she padded back to the bedroom, and leaned against the doorframe, admiring the sight before her. Cid was shirtless, in low-hanging sweats of his own, tugging out the corners of the bed and cracking open his two window for a breeze…and Gaia help her, he was gorgeous in the moonlight. He turned, and she could see the smirk on his lips.

“See somethin’ ya like?”

“Yes, I do.” Tifa responded, simple as that, and a blush crossed his cheeks, but he kept on grinning.

“Yer pretty cute in my clothes, y’know…” She giggled at that, and popped her hand on her hip, posing, curious…

“See somethin’ you like?”

“Hell yeah I do.” His immediate response was just this shade of a growl, but instead of stalking towards her, he simply came over and gathered her up in a soft kiss, nuzzling her cheek. “No rush, though…”

“…You sure?” He flicked off the lamp, eyes still warm, and she leaned into his chest with a happy sigh.

“Yup. I’m kind of an asshole, but I’m not that kinda asshole.” She giggled at that, and he drew her to the bed, snuggling her into his chest the moment they laid down. She purred and melted into him, tucking her head under his chin, and Cid drew the covers up over her shoulder, wrapping his arm over top around her waist, keeping her cuddled close. Tifa pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, and he let out a soft sigh, relaxing against her…then—

“Well, I kinda lied. There is an inn in town, but it’s run by th’ most sexist, racist piece o’ shit this side of th’ Nibel mountains. I just…well.” She could feel his blush now, and she smiled against his neck, kissing his collarbone.

“Couldn’t bear to see a lady suffer so?” His chest shook with quiet laughter as he chuckled low and deep, and his lips touched her forehead, the faintest scent of nicotine permeating the space between them, mixed with a touch of his soap and her own as he kissed her gently.

“Somethin’ like that. An’ he charges a hundred gil a night, per person.”

“Oh, fuck that.”

“Absolutely my thoughts too, sweetheart. So…hope ya don’t mind the little white lie?” His voice was oddly hopeful, and Tifa pulled back to meet his eyes, then kissed him on the lips.

“Not at all, handsome—” She was cut off mid sentence by a yawn, and Cid chuckled softly, tucking her back into his chest, and Tifa went without a fight, eyes growing heavy as the warmth, plus Cid, plus a REALLY comfy bed was hitting her with a 1-2-3 knockout.

“Sleep sweet, Tifa…”

—-

Cid hated that he was a light sleeper, but hearing someone moving around his house always set off alarm bells in his head, and so he dragged himself out of the bed carefully, prying himself out of Tifa’s strong arms with a real reluctance. Pulling on a shirt and grabbing the spear, he slipped out to the hallway, shutting the door behind him…and almost stabbed the glowing pair of eyes floating a little under his own eyeline before swearing softly.

“Goddammit, SOLDIER boy, the fuck you doin’?” Cloud sighed in the darkness, and Cid moved to the window, relaxing as the SOLDIER walked over, dressed down in shorts and a tank top, looking exhausted over the glass of water in his hand. He really didn’t look great, and though Cid was feeling less than charitable to the kid (who turned down Tifa? WHO?) …well, SOLDIERs had a reputation. And it wasn’t good.

“Sorry, Highwind, woke up from some old aches, figured I’d get a glass of water and wait it out. Didn’t mean to wake you too.”

“…Apology accepted, and I’m sorry too; ain’t yer fault I’m a light sleeper.” Cid sighed out, setting the spear aside. “Cot okay?” Cloud smiled a little at that, just a touch, but Cid was beginning to read him a little better, and he leaned against the wall, biting back a yawn.

“Cot’s fine, and Barret’s snoring is kinda nice anymore…don’t tell him I said that.”

“Ain’t gonna hear it from me.”

“Thanks…So. You know why we’re here, took us in anyway, and you haven’t turned us into Shin-Ra. What’s up with that, Highwind?” Cloud sipped his water, looking serious now, and Cid heaved a sigh, glancing out the window, to the stars he longed to see in person…and shook his head a little.

“…I never liked Shin-Ra; only ever joined the Air Corps so I could fly. I’m from th’ North, Strife, an’ well…there ain’t a lot there anymore. Family’s been gone for a long time, an’ I took what little I could get from the sale of the house an’ farm and put it towards a career. Learned ta fly, build my own plane…then found an airship. A real one, from the time o’ the Ancients.”

“…Oh holy shit…” Cid nodded, because the kid looked awestruck, and he smiled with real pride now.

“It took the better part of the last ten years, but Rufus’ old man let me christen it th’ Highwind and rebuild it from th’ ground up…they footed the bill, obviously, so the airship’s in Junon but…well, that bird’s the best damned bird I’ve ever flown, an’ I’d do almost anythin’ ta get her back.” A shrewd look crossed Cloud’s face, and Cid shook his head. “I said almost anythin’; ain’t stealin’ it back for you lot.”

“Well, it was worth a try. Don’t suppose you’d part with the plane?” Cid snorted, shaking his head.

“An’ who’s gonna fly it? You? Boy, you are outta yer damn mind if ya think I’m just lettin’ the Bronco go to anyone.” He sighed, and Cid shrugged. “I sympathize with y’all, but I ain’t gettin’ into yer affairs; I got enough shit goin’ on here.”

“And what about Tifa?” Cid froze, willing his reaction to not show in his eyes, but he was caught; Cloud’s voice was light, but those eyes were narrowed and more than a little angry…and Cid let out a breath. “…I ain’t gonna hurt her.”

“No? And what if you stay here and she goes on with us? What if she doesn’t come back?”

“…Then I’ll miss her, an’ I’ll wish her well. Strife, I ain’t gonna say that I’m immune ta a gorgeous lady, because I ain’t. But Tifa was just as interested, an’ we both know how th’ mornin’s gonna likely have ta go; we ain’t happy about it, but…she’ll have a place here, long as she wants it. You lot too, so long as ya don’t bring back some fucked up shit from Hojo’s lab or somethin’. Hell, use Rocket Town as a base of ops, if ya want; Palmer don’t come round but once every coupla months, y’all just got unlucky with tomorrow.”

“…I’ll have to talk it over with the others, but that’s…that’s a kind offer, Cid. Thank you. And…thank you for not making us deal with the Inn.” Cid winced in sympathy.

“Ya heard about that?”

“Worse, Yuffie went in with Aerith, and they both about beat the hell out of the keeper. When Tifa called us, well…”

“…I’ve had worse houseguests, y’all are welcome anytime.” Cloud smiled now, a real smile, and Cid grinned back. “Now, if ya don’t mind…”

“Yeah, I need to try and rest; good night, Captain.”

“G’night, Strife.” Cid made to move past him, and Cloud put a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Thank you for letting Tifa talk.” Cloud murmured, and Cid froze. “…I should have been there to help her. I was…am her childhood friend. But, my best trick always has been running away.” He gave a tired laugh, and Cid winced in sympathy.

“…Sometimes, ya just need someone outside the equation.”

“Gaia’s truth, that. Thanks, though. She needed you…and I think you need her too. Goodnight.” With that, he slipped into the spare bedroom without a second glance, and Cid made his way back to his rooms, mulling over the conversation. Tifa was blearily padding back to bed, and Cid heard the sound of his dryer going; he smiled, setting the spear on its hooks and snuggling back in with her, tucking her close.

“Everything okay?” She mumbled, and he stroked her hair back, pressing a kiss to her nose.

“Yeah, sugar…everything’s gonna be okay. Sleep, we’ve a little while till mornin’.” As Cid drifted off, he hugged her tight, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t dream of space; instead, he dreamed of wine-red eyes and curves for miles, a sweet smile and the softest kisses he’d ever known.