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cinnaminsvga · 2 months

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Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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flemingsfreckles · 2 months

Text

Be a Good Teammate

Jessie Fleming x USWNT!Reader

Words: 3.4k

Preview: After Jessie misses her penalty in the Gold Cup semi final, she’s found practicing kicks by her old friend and college teammate.

Warnings: some cursing, a little angst, but nothing else too crazy.

A/N: I haven’t written anything in maybe 4-5 years. Recently fallen back into reading and then watching the Canada/US game sparked some inspiration and here we are writing again.

You could hear her before you saw her. You had come out of the dressing room well after the rest of your teammates. They hardly showered just throwing on fresh clothes in a rush to begin their celebration for moving on to the finals of the Gold Cup. The stadium had fallen silent with the exception of a faint noise coming from the far end of the tunnel toward the pitch.

It was the repetitive sound of a ball being kicked followed shortly by the swish of the net. One after the next, boot on ball, swish of the net, boot on ball swish of the net. Working like a clock, a perfect machine, that was until the sound of the net was replaced by the ringing of the crossbar and the frustration of the kicker.

“Stupid fucking penalty” a frustrated voice rang out. The sound of the voice halted your steps, you knew that voice. Jessie. You quickly recognize the voice as your former best friend and UCLA teammate. Once you hear her, you quickly realized what was happening.

You’d seen her do this when you played together, anything from missed headers, missed passes, missed shots, and now with missed penalties. Jessie was known for being a hard worker, her focus and determination was admirable by her teammates and led her to earning the right to wear the captain's armband. She pushed herself to be better and while it was that mentality that turned her into one of Canada’s best, it also came with a whole other side.

She was hard on herself, more so than anyone else, and she took it to extremes. You had watched in college as she would spend hours watching film of her mistakes, tearing her performances apart, nitpicking every step she took. Criticizing every mistake to the point of obsession. One bad touch or one missed scoring opportunity would cloud her brain, unable to focus on anything else until she could fix that mistake, that mistake was all that would matter to Jessie.

“Be a good teammate to yourself Jessie.” Those were the words you told her constantly in college when you’d find her overworking herself. Running extra laps after an already grueling practice. Taking extra shots after a game, refusing to stop the repetitions until they were in her eyes, perfect. “Treat yourself how you treat all your other teammates, you support us, you provide positive corrections, you're kind. Talk to yourself the same way you talk with me or anyone else on this team, be a good teammate to yourself.”

And that’s how you knew exactly what Jessie was doing out on that field. She was retaking her penalty from earlier in the game, the one she had kicked into the arms of your team’s goalkeeper, letting the young and your teammates erupt in celebration behind her as she walked with her head down to her team’s bench.

Now you are stuck with your brain telling you to let her be, she’s not going to want to see you, especially on a night like tonight. Just go celebrate with your teammates, you thought.

You and Jessie had been close in college, so close most of your teammates were convinced you two were secretly dating. And to be fair to them, you wish you’d made a move on Jessie but you didn’t. Too worried about losing your friend and still trying to figure out yourself in the process. Now your college days were years behind you and you both moved away after graduation to play professionally, her with Chelsea and now in Portland and you with Bayren Munich and more recently with Seattle.

Your communication with your former best friend had rapidly declined over the years, you both got caught up in your new lives, new clubs, and Jessie had gotten a girlfriend. It wasn’t public information at the time but you were close enough that she shared the news, gushing about the girl over one of your nightly phone call. You knew deep down that girl is what pushed you away. Even though you knew it was never going to work out between you and Jessie, it didn’t make hearing about her new girl any less painful.

So you pulled back, with going from long facetime calls, to short catch ups, to texts. It seemed mutual as Jessie followed suit reaching out less frequently. She figured you were busy and had forgotten about her, seeing you make new friends in your new teams. These days you were lucky if you saw a “nice game” “congrats on the win” or even “happy birthday” come across your phone from the Canadian.

No bad blood stood between you two that she was aware of, except for maybe right now as you stood wearing the crest of the team that had just ended her tournament hopes.

While your brain was telling you to head for the parking lot and leave, forgetting you heard her taking the shots, your heart refused to let your feet move in any direction but toward the pitch. As you turned the corner she came into view. The bright white 17 with FLEMING printed neatly across the back of her red jersey became visible as you watched her set up her next round of shots.

Now you were frozen again, standing just inside the edge of the pitch, only your eyes moving, watching as she placed a ball, moved backward, took a deep breath and took the shot. It sailed into the upper left of the net. You watched as Jessie once again stepped back to ready herself, having already placed the next ball while you were watching her first one go in the net. Again she took a breath and fired into the net. She continued just as you had heard her before, booting the ball into the net. Over and over and over.

The stadium that had previously been filled with fans shouting, coaches calling out, music, liveliness was now eerily silent, just the sound of Jessie methodical work taking place. You weren’t even sure how long you had been standing there watching her, you’d maybe seen her take 10 or 12 shots, all screaming into the back of the net. The systematic movement and sound had lulled you into zoning out, only snapped back into reality when you realized the noise had stopped.

Jessie was moving toward the goal, collecting all the balls she had kicked, only now you could hear her mumbling to herself. Unable to make out what she was saying, you watched as she continued moving all the balls back to start her drill once again. She had turned around, her face more visible to you, eyes still down looking at the balls she was kicking. You could see her cheeks were still bright red and her skin was shiny with sweat, or maybe it was rain. Her mumbling had turned into her regular voice, allowing you to make out every couple of words.

“idiot…if I just made it… don’t deserve this…” You watched her rip the captain's armband from her bicep, throwing it aside.

You felt your chest grow tight, seeing and hearing Jessie so angry at herself was painful. She was the kindest soul, she had been your first friend at school and one of the only ones who stuck around through all 4 years. the only thing she didn’t deserve is to feel this way about her performance.

Maybe i should leave, you thought, let her work through this, she’ll be okay with some time, how much can you really help at this point, it’s over, there’s no point in making her more upset and,

“FUCK” Jessie’s voice intrudes into your thoughts as she punts the last ball with such anger that instead of landing just outside the box like the rest, she sends it sailing, landing only a couple of feet from you. You look at the ball rolling toward your feet, being slowed greatly by the wet grass.

“Sorry,” Jessie hollers with a wave and a different, more polite tone in her voice. She begins jogging over to you, “I didn’t realize they were coming to do pitch maintenance already, I’ll pack up and go-“ she starts to ramble as you realize she hasn’t noticed that it’s you who is standing in front of her.

You move your eyes down at the grass, kicking some up unsure of what to do now while you wait for her to reach you and realize you’re in fact not the maintenance crew.

“What are you doing here?” Her accusatory tone returns and you look up to meet her eyes. Just as you’d seen from across the field her cheeks remained bright red, a layer of sweat making her whole face shine. Her lips are slightly parted and her breathing is quick. Her brown eyes that you used to stare at everyday are now puffy, as though she shed some tears following the game and you can’t help but stare for a second at her black eye. She cocks her head at you and you realize she’s waiting for an answer.

“Um, I just… I heard you. And I just wanted to check on you,” you realize you should’ve spent some of the time you were watching her kick thinking of what to say to her.

“I don’t need your pity party,” Jessie scoffs at you “don’t you have some celebrating to do?”

“I’m not here to pity you,” her change in tone makes you get defensive.

“Then what? You’re here to tell me it’s okay? That it’s fine it’s just a penalty, and maybe it feels that way to you,” she stabs her index finger into your chest, her touch surprises you. Both being midfielders you had contact during the game but that was different.

Before you were just the opponent in the same way she was yours, you were aware of her but in that moment she was just Jessie Fleming, a Canada’s midfielder who you needed to get the ball from. Now she was Jess, the girl you were roommates with, the girl whose shoulder you fell asleep on during a long travel day, the girl who you tutored in calculus while she in return tutored you in physics. Her whole face now just inches from yours. You share a similar height with the midfielder, leaving you eye to eye. You can feel her breath as she continues.

“You made your penalty, and you don’t have to wear the armband, you don’t have to sit with the expectation of never missing a penalty, but I do. And you didn’t let your whole team down, I did. So maybe it seems like not a big deal to you because you’re not the one going home!”

You feel like sinking into one of the puddles on the grass, this was a bad idea, you shouldn’t have bothered her. Before you can think of something to say Jessie starts again.

“Nothing? You have nothing to say to me? Then again, why did you come out here? To gloat? Because last time I checked, we’re not even friends anymore and that’s no fault of mine, that was all you, you ignored me, so why even bother? Just leave me alone, go away.”

Her words telling you that she doesn’t even consider you a friend anymore, sting. Sure it was nowhere near like it was before but you still would classify Jessie as a friend. You have every urge to tell her the truth, that you couldn’t stand seeing her with someone else and to protect yourself you took a step back. You wanted to tell her you never meant for it to silence your relationship, you just wanted to respect hers and that meant distancing yourself. Instead, you opted with the easy way out, “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” her brown eyes roll as she turns away from you.

“Jess, wait,” the short form of her name falling out of your mouth on accident. Hoping she’ll stay, you reach out grabbing her wrist preventing her from turning all the way away from you.

“I promise I didn’t come here to give you pity, honestly I’m not sure what I’m doing here.” You feel her shake your grasp from her wrist but instead of leaving she turns back facing you. “I just, I heard you and, I,” You try looking into her eyes but she’s staring at her hands that are fidgeting with the hem of her jersey.

“You already said that.” Jessie cuts you off

“I know, I know, I just,” you bring your hands up to cover your eyes rubbing your fingers along your forehead, hoping you’ll be able to squeeze the right words out of your brain. “I think I wanted to see you.” You admit finally, hoping it’s not too much at the moment.

“We just played 120 minutes against each other, you had plenty of chances to see me.” She throws back at you, her brown eyes still avoiding yours.

You begin to feel a tightness in your throat, a feeling all too familiar to you, making it harder to breathe, you start blinking away the tears that are trying to surface. You’re grateful she isn’t looking at your face. you recognize the same emotions that you felt when she had told you she was in a relationship.

Jessie had been so excited to tell you, and you tried your best to act excited for her, you really did. You had forced yourself to ask questions you really didn’t want to know the answers to. Asking about their first date, first kiss, other firsts, what Jessie liked about her, providing the typical best friend interrogation. What Jessie didn’t know was when she had hung up the phone, telling you she had to go as she was going to spend the night at her girlfriend’s, the tightness had taken over and you burst into tears.

In the moment it didn’t make sense to you, you summed it up to missing her and missing spending time with her. It took a couple months to realize your feelings were ones of jealousy. You wanted to be the girl she spent her nights with. You wanted Jessie to call up Janine and gush about you, not some other girl. And that’s when you started to pull away.

“That’s not the same, I, I just wanted to see you,” you let out a shaky breath, trying to relax before tears spill over, “I miss you.” The words come out as a whisper, almost quiet enough that you hope Jessie didn’t hear and you can move on.

A silence falls between the two of you, Jessie’s fingers are still playing with the hem of her shirt, her eyes glued to them. You look up, staring at what would be a starry night had it not been for the rain clouds covering the sky. It feels like time stops, neither of you moving, no one says anything. You stand there, looking up, while Jessie stands, looking down.

“Why now?” Jessie’s voice cracks, you can’t tell for a second if she’s looking for an answer but she continues on, “You could’ve called, or at least texted.”

“It takes you 3 to 5 business days to respond to a text.” A small laugh comes out as you say the sentence, hoping it’ll lighten the mood.

“I know, but for you,” she pauses slightly, “I would’ve answered in a heartbeat.”

Her words catch you off guard and you swing your head down. You unexpectedly meet Jessie's eyes. She’s got one hand running through her damp hair, the other resting by her side. Her stare feels intense, being under her watch gives you a feeling that sits somewhere between comfort and cowardice.

You’re lost for words, racking your brain for the right thing to say. Part of you says fuck it, tell her you love her, that you want her in every way, tell her you were jealous, you couldn’t stand seeing her with another girl, you want her to be yours and only yours.

The other and far more logical part of you says push it down, you don’t want to scare her off, you want your friend back, even if it means hearing about her girlfriend.

You’re saved from having to make a choice between the angel and devil that split your brain as your phone buzzed and a slew of texts from Lynn and Midge came in. You quickly grab your phone from your sweatpant pocket, turning the ringer off to silence the tone from going off again. You quickly skim the texts which consist of variations of ‘where are you’. You catch the time at the top of your screen realizing the game had ended nearly 2 hours ago. Sure, you had done some media, showered, and changed, but you hadn’t realized how late it was and just how long you had been standing around either watching or talking with Jessie.

“You should probably join them.” Jessie says, almost as if she could see your texts from your teammates asking when you were going to be at the bar.

“Yeah I probably should, I didn’t realize the time. The last thing I need is them sending a search party and finding me with the enemy.” You nudge her with your elbow. She gives you a quick tight lipped smile.

“I’ll uh, I’ll see you around?” You add in a raise in your voice in hopes she takes that as an invitation.

“I don’t know,” Jessie pauses, eyebrows creasing as she thinks of what to say next. “It’s just, I’m dealing with a lot right now, moving, captain responsibilities, some personal things. I just don’t know if I can add another thing on my plate right now. Maybe give me some time?” Her response isn’t the one you wanted, but you realize it’s better than a complete shutdown on her end. At least some small part of her was open to letting you back in.

“Of course, I understand the moving countries part, I mean. The rest of your stuff I don’t know about, I mean the personal stuff, and then the captain part.” You find yourself rambling at her. “But yeah that’s fine. I’ll be going.” You point your thumb in the direction of the tunnel.

She turns away, this time you let her walk away. You watch her for a moment before turning yourself and heading back to the tunnel toward your car. Just when you reach the start of the tunnel you hear it again. The sound of Jessie’s boot kicking the ball and the sound of the ball hitting the net. You turn around watching as she grabs another ball between her hands, rolls it around and then bends down to place it.

“Hey Fleming,” you call to her as she releases the ball on the ground and starts to map out her steps. You watch as she turns back over her shoulder locking eyes with you, raising her eyebrows nonverbally acknowledging your call, “Be a good teammate to yourself.”

You carry on to the parking lot, picking up your phone and calling Lynn to let her know you were leaving the stadium now. While you were too distracted on the phone, what you didn’t realize was the absence of the sound of Jessie kicking the ball.

Your words had caught her off guard, she hadn’t heard it in a few years, you last said it to her after she had a rough game at Chelsea. The simple phrase brought back feelings surrounding you that she had pushed down for a while now. She stood, staring at the ball she had just placed, taking a deep breath like she did before every penalty. Only this time, instead of stepping toward the ball with force, she simple walked toward it, picked it up and headed to grab the bag and clean up. She realized she had punished herself enough, the loss still hurt, but with your words and the smile on your face as you said it fresh in her mind, it hurt a little less.

#jessie fleming #jflem #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagine #canwnt #portland thorns #canxnt #woso x reader #woso imagine

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inuyashaluver · 4 months

Note

ello! can i request a sisters bestfriend fic with niamh charles where youre jessie flemings sister and came to live with her and meets niamh and they fall in love

sister’s best friend - niamh charles

niamh charles x reader

description: in which your sister’s best friend are secretly dating, until your sister spots a hickey and it all comes crashing down

warnings: flirty, swearing, little long

a/n: this is a cute request hehe!!, thank you for the request, love, enjooyyyy!! ❤️ feeding you all with niamhy content x

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, niamh had a funny start to your relationship, through mutual pining and endless amounts of flirting, you began to date secretly, until it was blasted out to your sister.

—

you were also a footballer, playing alongside your older sister your whole life. the fleming sister duo was relentless and everyone knew that, hence why clubs would offer you both package deals just have you under their belts.

and so, in 2020, you and jessie were offered deals as a winger and a midfielder for chelsea, both of you agreed.

your sister may seem shy but she was always the one that made friends first. it took you quite a while to warm up to new people, not because you had anything against them, it was just..difficult for you.

it was one of the main reasons you confided in your sister but she didn’t mind, you were best friends and she wanted to protect her little sister no matter what.

the first time you and jessie went to training, you were extremely nervous. you stayed back while jessie acquainted herself with everyone, one person she particularly took a liking to was niamh.

you were changing into your boots when someone plopped down on the bench next to you, you look up to see niamh looking at you with a bright grin. “hey, you’re (y/n) right?” she questioned, you nod and smile shyly at her. “hi, you’re niamh?” you ask softly, she nods back at you, mirroring your shy smile.

you engage in small talk, finding yourself extremely comfortable around niamh. jessie, also changing into her boots beside you, looks pleasantly surprised to see you making friends. throwing you a wink and a thumbs up when you glance over at her.

you could all tell you were going to be best friends.

—

one day during training, you and jessie pair up for drills. during a mini game, you and jessie are on the same team while niamh is placed on the other. niamh makes an effort to be the one marking you for the match.

the girls obviously knew of yours and jessie’s reputation but seeing the two of you work your magic on the pitch was intimidating even for them, they were glad to have you on their side.

everytime you got the ball, it was difficult, niamh was able to predict your every move and it got you frustrated. it was the fourth time she was able to clear the ball from you, and when she heard you groan she laughs.

“good thing we’re teammates after all this, huh, fleming?” she says cheekily, running beside you as you watch the other team get a goal when sam gets a hold of the ball.

“yeah yeah, charles, whatever” you tease, trying to shake it off before the next play started. whenever niamh would mark you, her hand would make its way to your waist. it made you nervous, it made you even more nervous that she’d see the effect she has on your poor cheeks but she does. and she loves it.

—

you smile when you see jessie and niamh joking around with each other, they were goofing off and play fighting when jessie yells your name, causing you to turn and smile amusingly at them. they had gotten so close in a short amount of time, it was incredibly cute.

“help your sister!” jessie pleads, niamh was fully on top of her and pressing her into the grass of the pitch, you laugh while shaking your head and drinking your water just watching.

“no, (y/n), don’t help your sister!” niamh laughs, looking up at you with a charming smile that made your stomach swarm with butterflies.

“jess, i can’t really do anything” you shrug, laughing at your sister’s expression of betrayal, suddenly, she whispers something to niamh that you can’t hear, they both look up at you with mischievous grins and you make a run for it.

“get her!” jess exclaims, both of the girls hot on your trail as you sprint as quick as you could away from them, dropping your water in the process that jessie quickly picks up.

niamh reaches you first, lifting you up off the ground causing you to let out a little yelp of surprise.

“sorry, she put me up to this” niamh says lowly in your ear, you were sure you were bright red at this stage. niamh places you on the ground and straddles your waist, pushing you into the grass with her hips as she held your hands with hers, smiling at you apologetically but also cheekily.

jessie then bolts over, squeezing the entire contents of your water on you and niamh. you both gasp in surprise, obviously the water was just meant for you. jessie laughs loudly, bending over and holding her stomach while you both look at each other, drenched and in shock.

niamh still above you, rips off her training top and chucks it at a now running jessie, she’s now left in just her sports bra. you look up at niamh with an unreadable expression, she laughs when jessie falls over before she looks down at you, mouth slightly agape when your eyes meet. “oh, sorry!” niamh exclaims, moving off you and holding your hands to help you up.

“it’s okay” you breathe out, now unable to look at her. niamh swears her heart stops when she sees you take off your wet shirt also, watching as you wring it out with a shake of your head. both of you walking together in just your sports bras and shorts has you both extremely nervous, both of you internally conclude you like each other.

when you both near the change room, you both try to get into the door at the same time but failing. you both laugh and niamh places a hand on the small of your back to let you go first. your skin burns under her contact, slightly disappointed when her hand leaves.

at yours and niamh’s red cheeks, jessie looks at you challengingly, narrowing her eyes at both of you. she quickly lets it go, there’s nothing there and she knows it. (silly)

—

at yours and jessie’s flat, niamh would come over quite often as she lived really close, hanging out in your living room with jessie. sometimes you would hang out with both of them, not missing the way niamh’s eyes would brighten when you would sit next to her. at this point, both you and niamh knew you liked each other, you were both waiting to see who would make the first move.

you and niamh would shamelessly flirt with each other, surprised your sister wasn’t at least suspicious about the two of you. she thought it was innocent and just the dynamic between the two of you. the tension was growing between the two of you and everyone knew it, except for jessie.

—

it was a random game day, all of you agreed to carpool in jessie’s car. when you arrived at niamh’s place, jessie told you to go and get her, you hesitated but nonetheless got out of the car and knocked on the girl’s door with a shy smile.

she opens the door with a bright grin, she winks at you before bending down slightly to catch a glimpse of jessie’s car. “i need five minutes!” niamh yells, jessie just nods and waves her off, scrolling on her phone.

niamh smiles and nods her head to her door, inviting you inside. “you look pretty” she says sweetly, closing the door after you enter.

you shake your head amusingly, giving her a light shove, “you’ve seen me look like this almost everyday, charlesy” you smirk, she laughs and moves slightly closer to you, “yeah i know, but you look really pretty” she challenges, you smile and move slightly closer to her as well, making her smile nervously.

“you look really pretty as well” you say shyly, niamh moves her hand up to pinch your cheek quickly, moving quickly to grab her kit bag from her room.

you wait by her door, smiling when she comes out from the room, “got everything?” you question, you watch as niamh opens her bag and gives it a quick glance before nodding.

she walks up to you with a cheeky smile and you narrow her eyes at her, “i need to do one more thing” niamh claims, you nod, “hurry up then” you place a hand on the strap of her bag and she tugs the bag forward, causing you to stumble directly into her arms.

you look up at her in shock, both of you pink in the cheeks at the proximity. she trails her eyes over your features before settling on your lips, looking at your eyes quickly. you nod and she smiles, closing the gap and kissing you softly, you lean into her, placing a hand on the back of her neck to keep her close to you, she moves her hand to your waist, pressing you against her as you share the kiss.

she pulls away with a quick peck, you giggle once you pull away.

“what’s so funny?” she teases, kissing your lips once more to stop your little fit of giggles. “the time you finally make a move is when my sister is waiting for us outside to drive us to a game” you lean up to kiss her again, she tries to deepen it but you push her away gently,

“you look so good, i couldn’t help myself” she retorts, tugging her bag over her shoulder and winking at you. “let’s go then, pretty girl” she smiles cheekily at you, placing her hand on the small of you back and directing you to the car.

after fighting about who should have the front seat, niamh begrudgingly settles in the front seat when you squeeze her bicep warningly.

“five minutes? that was 7” jessie groans, starting the car again and driving off. “didn’t realise you were counting, baby canada” you tease, jessie glares at you in the rear view mirror and you and niamh stifle giggles when she curses you under her breath.

niamh subtly moved her hand behind the back of the front seat, you move your hand towards hers and hold it gently. when your hands make contact, she squeezes it every so often, making you both smile.

—

when you arrived at the game, you and niamh would look at each other subtly, giving each other little heart attacks when you would touch one another. whether it was a hand on the arm or back, it would have you both extremely shy.

during the game, you were passed the ball from jessie, you work it upwards towards the goal and see niamh open, you make eye contact quickly before sending it to her, letting out a bright smile when she sends it to the back of the neck.

you can’t help but laugh when she bolts over to you and lifts you off the ground, you subtly kiss the top of her head when you cradle her head to your chest. it was quick but felt slow motion to you and niamh. the moment between the two of you was interrupted when your sister hugs you both, kissing your cheek affectionately before she claps niamh on the back.

when you and niamh get into the change rooms first after full time, niamh hugs you again tightly, kissing your cheek repeatedly making you laugh brightly. “you’re the best” she gushes, kissing your lips quickly before pulling away before anyone comes in. “you’re the best” you mock her accent, receiving a little shove from her when you laugh a bit too much at her look of shock.

—

jessie drives you all back to your flat, all of you collapsing on the couch exhausted. you and niamh huddle up under a blanket as you watch a movie, you were cuddled up into her side as she drapes an arm over your shoulder, your legs intertwined under the blanket.

jessie smiles at the both of you, before focusing back on the movie. (she’s clueless and both of you can’t believe it) niamh absentmindedly rubs her thumb on your shoulder as she pulls you closer, occasionally whispering in your ear and making you both giggle with each other.

at one point, jessie stands up and claims she’s going to bed, “night, see you at training, niamh?” jess asks tiredly, halfway near her room as she spoke. “yep, night!” niamh yells after her, waiting for her to close the door before turning to you with a big smile immediately.

“i think it’s too late for you to go home, niamh, i think you should stay here to be safe” you say shakily as she kisses your cheeks softly. she hums against your skin, “it’s half past eight, baby” niamh says teasingly, letting her lips kiss all over your face.

“and? half past eight is late, you can sleep in my room” you smirk, she giggles and nods, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, she cradles your jaw with one of her hands to keep you close to her, letting out a little gasp of surprise when your tongue swipes against her bottom lip.

at that, she quickly hoists you up on her waist, clumsily walking towards your room without breaking the kiss.

she closes your door gently and lays you down on the bed, pulling away breathlessly to look at you as she hovers over your body. you smile at her lovingly, her heart beats out of her chest. you both spend the night making out, the girl leaving a couple of marks on your body but you dismiss it, no one would see it anyway.

—

you woke up early in the morning for training, niamh sleeping soundly on top of you, her chest rising and falling as her arms are wrapped around your waist, head on your chest and your legs were tangled in the sheets.

you slot a hand through her hair, “niamhy” you say softly, smiling as she stirs. “niamh” you whisper, this girl needed to go home asap to get ready for training. “baby” you plead and suddenly the girl is wide awake, hovering over you with a smirk and kissing your lips quickly. “oh you little shit” you laugh when she parts from you, she squeezes your hips gently before getting out of bed, you let her out quickly, not before she pecked your lips repeatedly as you shoved her out the front door.

you get dressed for training and wait for jessie, “you’re up early” she says surprised when she walks into the kitchen. you shrug and hand her a protein shake, she takes it looking at your rare cheery self in the morning before grabbing her back and heading to the car. you were picking up niamh again.

when you pulled up to her place, jessie nods her head to the door and you excitedly get out to retrieve niamh.

when you knock on the door, it’s answered almost immediately, she grabs your hand excitedly and pulls you inside, yelling to jessie “give me 5 minutes!” again jessie waves her off and goes on her phone.

niamh smiles at you brightly before gripping your hips and pressing you against the door, kissing you sweetly. “hello, beautiful” she whispers against your lips, “hi, baby” you grin, pecking her lips quickly. she rushes to her room to get her kit bag, giving you a wave of deja vu. “got everything?” you smile, “no” she smirks and quickly kisses you, moving your lips with hers before she hastily pulls away.

“will you be my girlfriend?” she asks nervously, you grin brightly and nod your head, she pulls you closer and kisses you until you’re absolutely breathless.

slinging an arm over your shoulder while she opens the door and heads to the car.

—

training goes well, you pair up with jessie to keep her off your back, a few of your teammates caught the lingering looks and touches with niamh and smirked at you knowingly. it was clear everyone knew but your sister.

it was until all of you were in the change room and were getting changed to go home, you take off your training top and completely forget about your current appearance under the shirt. you hold your hoodie in hand about to change before you hear a fearful screech coming from your sister beside you.

“what the fuck are these?” she cries, staring at you chest completely bewildered.

niamh tenses from the other side of the room when she hears the scream, looking over at you nervously. everyone was watching you expectantly, “they’re bruises jess, they’re from the game” you laugh nervously, niamh looks between the sister duo nervously. jessie seems almost convinced until none other than sam kerr held her hand up for a high five at niamh, causing jessie’s eyes to widen, and causing you and niamh to sigh.

“niamh charles” jessie says angrily, niamh curses under her breath and shoves sam, but nonetheless moves over to you and jessie.

“hi” niamh breathes out, making you laugh but immediately stopping at the glare of your girlfriend and your sister.

“we were going to tell you, jess, it’s really fresh” you plead, holding niamh’s arms and pulling her close to you. “yeah i can fucking see that” she scoffs, referring to the marks littering your chest and neck.

“it’s serious, jessie, i really like her” niamh says earnestly, looking at you with an affectionate smile before settling back on your sister.

jessie looks at you both angrily before it fades into happiness, “this is good actually, if you get married, niamh will be my sister” jessie concludes with a shrug, you and niamh burn.

“jessie!” you yelp, hiding your face in niamh’s arm out of embarrassment, causing your girlfriend to giggle profusely.

jessie walks up to niamh, a serious expression on her features, “you hurt my sister, i hurt you, got it?” niamh nods understandingly, “never” she promises, smiling at your sister reassuringly when she claps her on the shoulder.

—

you and niamh have now been dating for over 3 years. jessie truly loved your relationship, happy to see her sister and her best friend so happy. you’d become a popular couple, people loving how your relationship was filled with love and laughs.

you and niamh brought out the best in each other and everyone saw that.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - just pretend it’s you, ily magda!!

liked by _jessflem and 44,232 others

niamhcharles17: easy to say i’m a fleming magnet

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yourname: a hot one too

↳ niamhcharles17: my pretty baby

_jessflem: we have beef, charles

↳ niamhcharles17: what!

↳ _jessflem: you stole the innocence of my dear sister

↳ yourname: it’s been three years! get over it!

↳ _jessflem: no!

↳ niamhcharles17: sorry jessie

↳ yourname: baby, don’t apologise

↳ _jessflem: buy me a coffee and all will be forgiven

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #woso imagine #niamh charles #niamh charles x reader

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thepursuitofcomfort · 2 months

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The Benefits of Using Welding Boots: Ensuring Safety and Comfort

Introducing Usine PRO's welding shoes, crafted for ultimate safety and comfort in high-intensity welding environments. These shoes feature durable construction with heat-resistant materials, providing protection against sparks and molten metal. With a focus on ergonomic design and superior performance, welding shoes ensure welders can work with confidence and ease.

#welding boots #work chelsea boots #best work shoes for women

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hellativity · 2 years

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um. i want a trenchcoat. im sorry but im not gonna be able to fight this forever

#don't tell anyone but i was vaguely thinking abt buying Chelsea boots for work and then #i saw that's what cas wears and i was like. ok now I'll definitely get some #no one needs to know that was the final push though everyone can just assume i got another pair of docs for lesbian reasons

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months

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Training

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Zećira Mušović x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You train with Zećira

You put your foot up on Momma's knee so she can lace up your new boots. You're very excited and can't stop wiggling around. You've already got your gloves on. You've been wearing them since you got up this morning and snuck into the Big Bed to worm your way between Momma and Morsa.

Morsa's pacing in front of you, muttering under her breath and waving her hands around. Every time she calms down, she looks at you and it all starts up again.

"Momma," You say," Why is Morsa being weird?"

Momma laughs as she taps your leg to get you to drop it. "Morsa's just a bit jealous," She says.

"But why?"

"Because your wearing Zećira's Chelsea shirt."

You look down and tug at the hem. It's true. You are wearing Zećira's black Not-Wolfsburg shirt but you've paired it with your Wolfsburg green shorts so it balances out. "I don't have Zećira's Rosengård shirt."

Momma laughs again as Morsa moves to open the door. She helps you stand up and puts your training backpack on your back.

"Looking good, y/n," Zećira says, hand out for a high five as you run to greet her.

You spin on your heel. "It's your shirt!"

"I can see that! Are you ready to go and do some training today?"

You nod quickly, head bobbing up and down before you reach to take her hand.

Morsa clears her throat. "What's going on? You wear Zećira's shirt and suddenly you're too cool to say goodbye to us?"

You drop Zećira's hand to hug Morsa and then Momma. It's barely a hug though. It's more of a quick squeeze before you're running to hold Zećira's hand again.

"I want her back in a few hours," Morsa says in her captain voice which means Zećira has to listen or else. She tried to use that voice on you once but you just giggled and gave her a little kiss.

"Yes, captain," Zećira laughs before taking your hand more firmly and leading you out the door.

Her car is parked out the front of the house but you don't get in. Instead, you cross the street and walk down it to get to the park.

There aren't many people out because it's a Wednesday and normal people are at work so it's just you and Zećira at the goalposts and a few people walking their dogs.

"Okay." Zećira dumps hers and your bags by one of the posts. "Do you remember what the most important thing to do is before we train?"

"Warm up!"

"That's right. So, we're going to jog from this goal to the ones over there. Ready?"

"Ready!"

Zećira runs with you. It's a lot easier for her because she's got longer legs but you make sure to keep up even though you have to take more strides than her.

She makes you do it twice - there and back before showing you how to stretch properly and then how tight to do up your gloves. By the end of it, your face is all sweaty and your flyaways stick to your forehead as you pant.

Zećira lets you take a water break so you guzzle down enough water to feel full before arriving at her side again.

She sits in front of you, legs spread with a ball between them. "Okay, so today, we're going to go very slow. One step at a time."

"Okay!" You sit in front of her, legs spread like hers.

"So, I want you to stand in goal and then I'm either going to roll or throw the ball at you. I want you to get it in your hands and lay down on top of it, okay?"

"Okay!"

You hurry to go stand in goal, bouncing on your feet because Zećira once told you at Not-Wolfsburg training that keepers need to be light on their feet.

She rolls the ball to you. It's kind of slow but you grab it in your hands before tucking it into your chest and moving to lay down on the ground.

"Very good!" Zećira praises," Now we're going to try a high one."

She throws it underarm at you and you reach out to grab it before lying on your stomach again.

"Well done! Do you know why we do it like this?"

You shake your head as you kick the ball back to her and she repeats the exercise.

"Well, if we just catch the ball, there's always a chance that we drop it so if we cover it with our whole body then the other team can't kick it in while we're distracted. It's a surefire way to keep the ball while you recover a bit. Sometimes if you catch a shot then it can wind you and you need a little moment to breathe properly again."

You nod along as you make another little save.

As time goes on, Zećira stops rolling the ball and starts kicking at you. They're not her proper goalkicks that she does at matches but they're still kicks and a few of them catch you off guard.

Your face falls as it happens again and Zećira pats you softly on the shoulder as she collects the ball.

"It doesn't matter if you miss a few," She says to you softly, brushing some hair out of your face," All that matters is if you try, okay? Always try your very best. It doesn't matter if it goes in, just as long as you try.

You nod.

"Ready to go again?"

"Ready!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #zecira musovic x reader #zecira musovic #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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libbyfandom · 5 months

Text

Personal Modern!Mizu College Headcanon Stuff

Major: Welding Engineering (just like her adoptive father)

Club: Kenjutsu (so she can sword fight people legally lol) (this club is also where her and Taigen fight a lot)

Hobbies: Working out. Reading. Collecting knives. Knife flipping.

Roommate: Ringo! This backfired on her when his friendly demeanor and cooking brings other people around more than she likes. But hey, that's how she meets you.

Style: A lot of navy and black and dark brown. Leans more masculine. Used to wear just hoodies and sneakers a lot until Akemi became her friend and went "Absolutely not." Akemi wore her down into at least wearing a leather jacket and chelsea boots. She found a pair of vintage orange circular glasses she likes to wear a lot. Wears her hair tied up mostly, but will take it down if she's tired or has a headache.

Quiet Place: By the lake in the middle of campus. Students don't linger there too long, and it's a widespread area so she can just lay down near the water without being interrupted.

Past Relationships: She dated a much older guy once... it didn't end well.

Secret: If you genuinely call her pretty her ears will turn red.

Number of fights she got into on campus: 2. She promised Eiji she wouldn't get kicked out. Only two is pretty impressive.

Number of fights OFF campus: .....

.....

Listen.

Half the time Akemi started it. She just steps in to help her end it.

(((You wanna know something funny? I saw people saying she'd do fencing in college and I remembered "Aren't there modern Japanese martial arts with sword fighting?" and started looking into it a bit. And then I realized where I remembered that from. Fucking SWORD ART ONLINE)))

#mizu x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu #blueeyesamurai #mizu blue eye samurai #modern mizu

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notafunkiller · 1 year

Text

false god

Summary: On the night of your movie premiere, you and director Bucky finally get closer.

Pairing: director!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 24, Bucky is 35), teasing, dirty talk, pet names, fingering, nipples play, oral sex (the reader receiving), clit play, come eating, metal arm kink, no condom (but they are both clean and the reader is on birth control), alcohol (but neither is even tipsy), aftercare, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 8.7K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: Bucky's look is obviously inspired by Sebastian's appearance at the Sharper premiere in London. The dark prince vibes and that hair... ahhh!

An extra thank you to @marvelouslizzie and @lavenderhaze967 for being my beta readers and for the endless support.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

It wasn’t your intention to interrupt him at first, but he was going to notice you anyway and you didn’t want him to think you are actively ignoring him. Because you obviously aren’t. How could you?

“Hi.”

Your voice is really low, but he hears you nonetheless, stopping mid-sentence when he turns his head and sees you so close. “Hey.”

Not only do his eyes get bigger, but there’s also a huge smile that spreads all over his face as he leans in to give you a quick hug. And you clearly aren’t prepared for physical contact at all, especially for the cheek kiss that follows the embrace.

“It’s so nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you, too!” His strong perfume hits you, and you hope the camera doesn’t catch your red face as you both pull back.

“You look amazing!” He’s not even attempting to hide the fact he checks you out. His eyes try not to linger too much on your chest, hips, or legs since the slit of the dress exposes a little bit of skin. The last thing he wants is for you to feel uncomfortable and think he’s a creep.

But you are too busy staring at him to notice. He doesn’t wear a simple suit. No, he went for a freaking villain...ish look that drives you crazy. It’s an all-black outfit: from the Prada blouse he wears under his suit, to his gloves, elegant coat, and Chelsea boots. And that hair? That hairstyle looks absolutely fantastic on him.

“I love this so much!” You say with a grin while gesturing to his body.

He bites his lip shily. “Oh my god… Thank you.”

You turn your head to the woman who is supposed to interview him and whisper a “Sorry”, but she doesn’t seem to mind at all. She watches your interaction with a genuinely warm smile on her face.

Bucky, though? He unexpectedly takes two steps toward you, and you see the camera move to catch you both. “Look, guys,” he points out his index finger in your direction. “She’s the one that gave life to this project, the one you should watch it for. Her performance is unbelievable! No one could have done it better.”

If you think you were blushing visibly until now, you’re wrong. Your cheeks get so hot that you have to refrain with all you have from touching them.

“This means so much.” You give him a quick, thankful look before shifting to the camera. “This man,” It’s your turn to point out to him. “...is incredible. His past projects and now False God… Everything he makes is golden. I am very thankful he believed in me and gave me a shot. He’s the best director I have ever worked with, and I really hope you’ll enjoy this movie.”

He thanks you with a tilt of his head and his folded hands, very grateful for your words, and you have to wave goodbye when your first interviewer calls your name.

Bucky shakes his head. “So where were we?”

The rest of the red-carpet interviews go well, with Bucky keeping an eye on you from distance, fully aware of how nervous you must feel since it’s your first premiere as the lead actress. But you mask it perfectly, making jokes and complimenting people now and then. And everyone loves you.

But the introduction in the theater makes you sweaty as Bucky presents you with an encouraging smile. You are the last one and the journalists are already recording. You pray you’ll not make a fool of yourself in front of everyone and fall while climbing the stairs. Thankfully, you don’t, and Bucky tries not to laugh when he sees you breathing out in relief. You watch him place the card he was holding in the pocket of his coat before raising his microphone to speak for a bit about the experience of directing and co-writing, about the cast, the messages, and how thankful he is to his loyal audience, but also the one that will form after this film. You can’t lie and say you’re listening to his speech entirely since you’re often distracted by some hair strands or his beard… His smile is a killer, too. You try to focus as much as you can, though, and when it’s your castmates’ turn, you actively nod and smile. When they pass the mic to you, you try to be as honest and professional as you can, thanking everyone for being there, supporting you, and believing in you. Of course, you praise Bucky extra much. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be standing here, and you’ve learned so many things from him. He’s such a wonderful and understanding director, always informed and always looking to improve himself and adapt.

But sometimes you wish you didn’t work with him… simply because in your delusional mind, maybe you’d stand a chance.

You don’t know why you chose to stay at the after-party. It’s not like you have your friends or family with you since you’re out of the country, and you haven’t had much contact with even half of these people. But maybe it’s an opportunity to get out of your comfort zone and make some new connections. Plus, you can freely observe Bucky outside the workplace.

Some journalists and photographers are still here, but he seems more relaxed. He enjoys having a chat and taking pics with a few actors he worked with in the past, and after he’s done, he invites you and the rest of the cast to join him.

The photographer is very friendly as she tries to arrange you, and you end up in the middle, right next to him.

You gasp when you feel his arm wrapping around your waist so that he doesn’t cover your dress with his coat.

Fuck… He makes focusing so hard.

You don’t know when you developed this crush, to be honest. You worked with him for more than five months, almost every day and everything was professional, sometimes friendly. But nothing more. He’s never even jokingly flirted with you or anyone else on set. He’s not a creep. He’s a really cool —single— guy and it’s so easy to forget how who he is.

You don’t even realize that you’re frowning until you feel Bucky’s fingers tickling you over the dress, making you burst into giggles.

Without thinking twice, you sneak your arm under his coat and return the gesture. He doesn’t chuckle as you did, but he smirks. And that smirk is so charming and sensual you feel like you won a prestigious award.

The photographer approves immediately, giving you a thumbs up, and after a few minutes, you finish. But Bucky makes you all stay in the same position as he takes his phone out of his pocket. He gives it to Steve after he opens the camera and returns next to you.

Unexpectedly, you feel him leaning in as he lets his hand rest on your back. “Should I tickle you again to get that gorgeous smile on camera, doll?”

And just like that, you’re left red and speechless by James Bucky Barnes.

Your sister’s reaction to the selfie makes you smile. She didn’t waste any time and commented on how you got lucky enough to take a photo with the dark prince of the film industry. Such a perfect nickname based on how he looks tonight.

“You’ve changed.” You jump when you hear the dark prince himself right in your ear all of a sudden. You lock your screen and turn to look at him.

“W-what?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to catch you off guard. I meant your dress.” You nod in response and immediately remark he’s no longer wearing his coat. That suit looks so, so good up close. But he still has his gloves on, which makes you sad.

You read a little about his metal arm before your audition and you’ve noticed he always had his hands covered on set, so you assume he’s not quite comfortable showing it in public. You only saw it in a few pictures taken by paps in New York, at a restaurant, around two years ago. “May I sit down?”

“Of course.” You clear your throat and look at the table in front of you. He brought two glasses of wine with him. “Is that for me?”

He gives you a teasing smirk before taking a sip. “There’s no one else sitting here, is there?”

“I didn’t want to assume. Thank you.” You smile shily, ignoring his playful rhetorical question, and follow his example, raising the glass to your lips. Surprisingly, it tastes better than you expected, but you don’t drink more. You didn’t eat almost anything tonight and the last thing you want is to feel sick.

“You’re welcome, I thought you’d like this.”

“I do.” You look him in the eyes as you speak. “Very thoughtful of you.”

If Bucky senses your nervousness, which is probably very obvious, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he keeps glancing at you in a way that makes you think he wants you to keep talking. But you don’t. He caught you off guard coming here and offering you wine. It’s a nice gesture: him wanting to check on you and chit-chat a bit, but you don’t know how you’re supposed to act. Especially when you have this consuming urge to touch the strands of his hair that keep returning to his face despite Bucky’s many attempts to keep them still, tucked behind his ears.

“It’s not as good as Natasha’s, but that’s all they have here.” You smile, remembering the day on set when you finished filming a super draining emotional scene after a couple of hours, and Natasha came to take you home. It was the second time she met Bucky, and she offered to take you, him, and the very few members that could come to a small pub, after seeing your exhausted faces. You had dinner and the best wine you have ever tasted. And it was so cheap!

“I didn’t expect it to be.” You straighten your back.

“How comes she left you alone?”

“Well, she has a full week at the agency, she wasn’t even supposed to be here.” But she came anyway because you’re more than her client. She became one of your closest friends shortly after she discovered you at the acting camp. And she’s been with you through every rejection, every small part you got, and now this.

“What about your family? I expected to see them here, I know they were excited. Is everyone okay?”

You smile, raising and shaking your phone a little before putting it in your pocket. “I was actually talking to my sister when you came. They’re all good, thank you for asking.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting.” His wrinkles make him look extra attractive when he raises his eyebrows, frowns, or smiles. You noticed that on set… But in this context? So close? It’s even more challenging for you to keep a neutral face.

“No, no. I am actually glad you came to me, I was planning to leave in a few minutes since it’s late, but I really wanted to thank you for your words today and overall, for the opportunity.” Your voice is shaking, full of emotion, and he immediately leans in, invading your personal space, and reaches for your hands.

Fuck... He’s touching you! He’s actually touching you.

“Don’t ever thank people for something you’ve earned and deserve.” His voice is so gentle and low, making the words hit you even harder. “Alright, doll?”

You nod, breathless, but he doesn’t accept it, squeezing your hand to get your attention. He wants to hear you say it out loud.

“Alright.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise you.”

With a playful smirk on his face, he lets go of your hands slowly and pulls back. “Good girl.”

And right at that moment, you want to screw everything and go for it… You are so worked up and tired of refraining from even thinking about it, that you don’t care how scandalous it would be if you jumped to kiss him right there. At least, you’d satisfy this need. For once…

You sigh, mortified. Even if you had the courage to do it, you don’t even know if he likes you like this. He’s been friendly and trying to make you comfortable tonight, and your mind went in another direction.

He probably had so many people in the industry hitting on him, but he was never photographed with them. You don’t know if it’s his personal ‘policy’ or if he is just discreet, and you shouldn’t think about it. But you do, it’s impossible not to.

You need to leave before you’ll start actually indulging yourself in this… fantasy.

You smile, raising from the couch. “Thank you for the wine. It was a wonderful night, but it’s getting way too late.”

And as soon as you finish the phrase, he’s up too, arranging his suit jacket. “You’re right. It’s really late.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you in New York.”

“Me too. At least we’ll be home.” His expression shows how fond he is of the city, and it warms you up. “I already miss it and I’ve been gone for one day.”

You gasp. “You arrived yesterday?”

“Nope, I wish. I landed last night because I had to take care of some additional stuff.”

You’ve been here for two days and you could barely sleep. You can’t imagine how tired he is and you really admire him for not turning down any interview today, but you guess he’s experienced this before.

“Wow, what are you doing still standing here?” You ask jokingly and he looks you straight in the eyes.

“Maybe I was just waiting for you to decide to head out so we can leave together.”

And, of course, you’re taken aback for a few seconds, trying to decide how to answer him. Since he’s in a good mood, you place your hand right over your heart and playfully say:

“Aww, you’re offering to take me to my hotel, Mr. Barnes? You’re so thoughtful.”

“I do actually.” He replies and takes a few steps until he’s by your side. “Sharon is driving, and since we’re all staying at the same place, I wanted to see if you want to come.”

You mentally slap yourself. He’s just being a nice person while you fantasize about kissing him in front of everyone. And as much as you want to find an excuse, you know it would make no sense. It’d be a short ride, plus you really like Sharon. She’s not only a great writer but also a great, fun person. Bucky wanted her on set all the time in case she came up with new lines or scenes as she watched you.

You smile. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Perfect, let’s get your coat.”

He insists on carrying your bag all the way to your door after you say your goodbyes to Sharon. Bucky’s room is just one level higher, so there isn’t much of a bother. You can’t help yourself but steal a few glances at him as you walk together. You even catch him looking back at you a couple of times, which makes you childishly happy. You realize your crush is getting even bigger tonight and you don’t know how you’ll put an end to it.

You’re right about to open your door when your stomach starts to ramble, and Bucky almost drops your bag out of laughter.

“Hungry?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You bite your lip not to groan, then give him an embarrassed smile. “A little.”

“So the fancy appetizers weren’t enough?” You know he’s teasing you by his tone and the playful grin he displays, so you let out a short laugh.

“Nope. I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

You didn’t have time, truth be told, but you’ll eat a great breakfast tomorrow. Now you’re just gonna take a bath and update Nat that you’re going to bed.

Bucky shakes his head disapprovingly. “This is not good for you at all. Your poor stomach should sue you.”

You snort. “I need to find a good lawyer then.”

“Well, if you could eat anything right now, what would it be?”

“Why are you doing this?” You fake complain, trying to match his dramatic vibe. It’s a fun way to end your night.

“Just curious.”

“Burgers and fries. But chicken, not beef.” You say without hesitation and extend your hands so you can take your bag. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome.” He gives you one of his sweetest smiles ever and you almost melt on the spot. You’re definitely crushing on him even harder now.

You look at him one more time before finally going inside. “Good night, Bucky. See you in New York.”

“Good night, doll.”

But you don’t have to wait two days to see him again. Because a few minutes after you get in bed, just watching random Tik Tok videos, he’s back, whispering your name while knocking on your door.

You literally jump, letting your phone on the nightstand, and arrange your clothes as you move.

You wonder if you forgot anything or maybe something dropped from your bag, but when you checked, everything seemed right in place.

Then why would he be here? Is he okay?

You’re even more surprised to see him leaning against the side of the wall when you open the door. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You wave toward the bag he’s holding with a curious look. “What’s this?”

“Burgers.”

“What?”

“I got us burgers and fries. And soda, of course. May I come in?” He asks so casually as if you’ve done this one thousand times before.

“I…” You’re so overwhelmed by this simple gesture, especially since it’s coming from him, that you don’t know how to react.

“Hey, it’s totally okay if you don’t feel like eating with me, alright? I can just give you your food and-”

You haven’t even realized you are frowning until you saw his worried expression, so you immediately cut him off. You don’t want him to get the wrong idea. “No, no. This is so sweet and unexpected. You… You really didn’t have to, thank you so much.”

“So I can come in?” His grin is so playful and confident again that you find yourself smiling back like a fool.

“Of course.” You step back so he can follow you inside, then you close the door. “Bucky, you have the flight tomorrow, too, right?”

“Yes.” He answers as he lets the bag down on the bed and starts taking his shoes and coat off. You watch him carefully, trying to keep your thoughts as innocent as possible, but it’s very challenging. He’s so hot and cute, and he brought you food despite being tired as fuck.

“Jesus, Bucky.”

“What, doll?”

Not doll again… You’re clearly gonna die tonight. A heart attack caused by this dark prince.

You clear your throat. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Nope, but I wanted to. Plus, you’re not the only one who’s hungry.” He unbuttons his jacket quickly, then rolls up his sleeves a little as you take the food out, placing it on the empty bag you use now as a tablecloth. “You weren’t sleeping, right?”

“No, I was chilling.” You assure him with a smile, waiting for him to join you on the bed. And he does, crossing his legs as he leans in to unwrap his burger.

“Fuck, I’m starving.” His cute, desperate tone makes you chuckle as you watch him smell the food.

He seems so comfortable around you like this, and you don’t think you’ll ever erase this image from your mind. Fuck this man!

“What?”

You giggle again. “You’re about to eat a huge burger all dressed up in Prada.” Sitting on my bed, you want to add, but you keep it to yourself. You don’t want to weird him out in any way.

“At two in the morning, with a gorgeous woman. What can I say? I love my life.”

You don’t know how to answer for a few seconds, but you’re too tempted to match his energy to pass on this opportunity. What can go bad? It’s not like a little flirting will make him think low of you since he started this... And he called you doll. You have every right to play along.

“Maybe I’m the lucky one.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows as soon as you finish your sentence, and you try to hide your smile with a napkin, pretending to clean your mouth.

“W-what?”

Oh my god, his cheeks are getting flushed! You want to congratulate yourself on this. You didn’t expect him to get flattered by a simple phrase, he’s so adorable.

“I said that maybe I’m the lucky one.” You repeat shily while staring at his hands. You notice he took off the glove he was wearing on his right hand. “I mean, I’m eating burgers with this handsome, super amazing guy, who didn’t let me starve.”

When you move your eyes to his face and see that his cheeks are even redder now, you giggle. Until he leans in and steals a few fries from you.

“Hey!” You pretend to be offended. “Give them back.” But before you can take them back, he’s shoving them in his mouth, and you both start laughing.

You spend the next twenty minutes in the same good mood: finishing eating while laughing at some set memories and making a chewing gum balloons contest like two kids before talking a little about your plans.

“You’re sure you can tell me?”

“Unless you’re planning to tell anyone,” You say jokingly. He’s in this industry, it’s not like he’s gonna release the info to the press. And he’s not in any competition with other directors. If there’s something you learned about Bucky super fast is that he’s a really healthy person. His mindset is not to be better than others and this is why he is so good at what he does.

In response, Bucky brings his thumb and forefinger together and moves them in a closing zipper gesture across his mouth.

“Well, to be honest, I don’t know if I’m even gonna make it to the shortlist.” You shrug your shoulders. You know how tough it is. “Nat heard some big names are auditioning, too.”

“Like?”

“Wanda Maximoff, Jennifer Walters… Yelena Belova.”

“Well,” He gives you an encouraging smile. “You had tough competition for False God, too, but you got it, didn’t you?”

You nod, remembering how exciting and scary it was. “But I have to keep my hopes low, you know? Not all directors have your patience or your willingness to take risks.”

It’s the truth. You have no connections and your past projects —if you don’t count this one— are not good enough. But you’re gonna try anyway.

“What character?”

“I'll read for both sisters, actually. What about you?”

“I have some meetings next week, but I still don’t know if I’ll accept it. The script is kinda weak.” Bucky sighs. “Can I take off my jacket? It’s really hot.”

“Of course.” It’s really hot indeed even though you have the AC on, which is surprising. It’s raining outside and it’s February…

You shamelessly watch him undress and almost groan at the sight of him in that semi-transparent black blouse. Jesus, he looks so freaking good, it’s just unreal.

“So yeah, I’m trying to be careful about what films I’m choosing. I’ve got an offer for a show, too, but I don’t know much yet. I’d love to collaborate with Sam Wilson.”

You heard about Sam a couple of times from Nat. He’s a great producer.

“Okay, random. What’s your dream vacation right now?”

“Dream vacation?” He frowns as if he’s never heard those words before in his life.

“Yes, where would you like to go and chill at this moment?”

He thinks about it for a few seconds, biting his bottom lip all thoughtfully, probably recalling all those places he’s visited and wants to visit as well.

“Italy or Greece. Somewhere warmer at least.” He giggles, leaning in unconsciously, and he’s suddenly so, so close to you. You can’t help but stare at him as that slight movement makes his hair strands fall on his face again, and you think dramatically that you’d die if you didn’t touch him right now. Right fucking now!

And you do, but you’re so gentle he doesn’t even realize you’re touching him until you bring your other hand to his face, letting go of his hair to you stroke his cheeks.

You swear he stops breathing for a few seconds as his lips half-open, and that’s when all your second thoughts and fears go out of the window. It’s your chance to be brave and go for it. He’s not a creep, nor the type of person who would take advantage of you. And you’ve flirted a few times tonight… Plus, he can reject you anytime.

So you look at his mouth, then up, into his eyes, waiting for him to say something, maybe a no, because there’s no way he doesn’t realize what’s your intention. But instead, he moves his left hand to the back of your head, holding you tightly as he presses his lips against yours.

You close your eyes instinctively, opening your mouth as your fingers go straight into his hair. It’s the perfect length and so soft… you can pull it without any effort. The feel of his tongue and his hands on your hips make you let out a soft moan right in his mouth as he pulls you onto his lap.

Your legs part even more, and you don’t even realize you’re rubbing on one of his thighs until he groans. Your lips are crushing, and crushing, and crushing. It’s hot and magnetic… out of a dream. And he’s so good at it! You’re literally sad when you have to pull apart to breathe a little more.

“Jesus, doll.” His eyes are glowing. You can’t help yourself but touch his face again, stroking his beard, surprised that it didn’t tickle you while kissing.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want to sound creepy or anything, but I wanted to do this for some time.” He outlines your lips with his thumb, and you try very hard not to open your mouth. You’re talking now, this can wait for a bit more.

“I wanted to do this for a long time, Bucky. You don’t sound like a creep.” You pause, changing your expression completely, catching him off guard. “Unless you gave me the role because you wanted to get into my pants.”

The way his lips part in shock and horror, his eyes widening, full of panic immediately makes you feel bad for faking this indignation. “No, no. I’m sorry if this is what-”

He tries to move, nervously, thinking you want space, but you interrupt him.

“Bucky, I know you.” You caress his face over and over again. His reaction itself shows what type of person he is, so your gut is not wrong. “It was a bad joke, I know you wouldn’t do this.”

He lets out a deep breath as he realizes you mean it, and his hands return to your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. “You scared me, doll. I would never do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. Especially since we worked together and I’m…” He pauses, but you still realize what he wants to say.

Older. And yes, you were in the same project, but he has no power over your career. Never had, and never will. And no actress or actor that worked with him has ever said publicly or privately anything bad about him. You know he’s not a prick.

“I leaned in first.” You whisper.

“But I flirted with you first… and I am the one who kissed you.”

You snort, dropping your hands just to give him a big smooch. “You’re adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“Yes. Very adorable.”

Bucky’s hands lower from your hips to your ass without warning, making you rub on his thigh again. And it feels so good. You wonder how long it would take you to come if you started to dry hump for real.

“You’re very adorable, too. And beautiful.” His lips are touching your neck now. Barely. But the sensation of his warm breath and beard on your skin drives you absolutely crazy. You need to fuck him.

You’ve been craving this for so long… you didn’t even realize how much until now. So you can be as excited and impatient as you want.

“Bucky.” You moan his name. “I want you.”

“Hmm?”

You raise your head, desperate for more. “I want you. Now.”

“Wait, are you sure?” He tries to read any sign of discomfort or doubt in your eyes, but he finds none. You really want to do this.

“Positive.”

“Okay, but let me get this out before we do something more. Anytime you have second thoughts or you don’t feel good, please, tell me and I’ll stop. If you don’t want to go all the way in-”

You interrupt him. “You mean sex? Because I’ve just told you how much I want you.”

“I know, but things can change and I’m just making sure you know this.”

He’s serious and thoughtful, reminding you of how he was on set. He always asked if you and the rest of the cast feel okay and tried to adjust based on your level of comfort.

“The director in you jumped.” You giggle, then caress his face again. “I know you, Mr. Barnes, and I trust you. But I really need you to do something because I’m getting impatient.”

He nods, biting his lip, and you can’t refrain from leaning in and biting that lip yourself. Just a little. He moans, relaxing under you, as he realizes you’re honest, so he stops thinking and buries his head in the crook of your neck. Your hands find their way to his shoulders when you feel him starting to leave a trail of little kisses on your skin.

“I need you naked,” he whispers before pulling away so he can already start taking off your T-shirt. You raise your arms to help him and in no time, the air hits your breasts.

Bucky’s eyes immediately go right to your nipples, followed by his hands.

“Fuck.”

“We will, don’t worry.” He laughs, squeezing your left breast enough to make you whimper, but in the next second, he frowns, groaning.

“What’s wrong?” You try not to panic. Is he hurt? Did he change his mind? What’s happening?

“I-I don’t think we can do this tonight, doll.” He sounds frustrated, but you don’t understand. He seems to enjoy this very much. And he’s so hard…

You’re trying to keep your voice under control as you speak. “Did I do anything wrong?”

“No, no.” He pecks you immediately, his gloved hand stroking your hair. “Nothing like that. I just don’t have a condom on me. I didn’t expect…”

You bite your bottom lip, trying not to giggle. Good to know he’s careful, keeping it safe. “I’m clean and on the pill.” It’s worth a try to see if he’d be willing to do it with you.

A big smile spreads over his face. “I’m clean, too, promise.”

“I said I trust you, Mr. Barnes, didn’t I?” Your glance falls on his bulge without realizing it. “So let’s see you in action.”

Of course he snorts at your set semi-joke. And of course you laugh. “Funny.”

“Thanks, now let’s see you naked.” You toy with the edge of his blouse, excited to finally be able to touch his skin. You’ve wanted this for so long… But he’s so tense all of a sudden. And he’s trembling. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure you want to see me completely naked?”

“What?” You ask surprised. What kind of question is that? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This.” He waves his left hand as if it’s supposed to mean something bad. His metal arm could never scare you. It’s a part of him, and he should not be ashamed he’s a survivor. Then he slowly takes the glove off, waiting for your reaction. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, I can put it back on and I take off only my pants.”

You’ve never wanted to slap anyone more than those people who made him feel like he has to hide and feel ashamed of his arm. It’s absolutely mind-blowing how protective you feel over this man, but you don’t care if it’s crazy.

“Bucky, what the fuck? I want to see all of you. I don’t… I don’t get how this would make me uncomfortable at all,” you say softly, covering his metal hand with yours. It’s colder obviously, but it actually feels really nice.

“It’s my entire arm, doll…” He smiles unsure as he stares at your hands. “You probably know about the accident.”

“A little.” You look him in the eyes, wanting him to see you’re one hundred percent honest about what you’re gonna say. “But unless you feel uncomfortable, don’t worry about me. Or anyone else in general.”

He nods, a little unsure, but he still takes off his blouse, letting it fall on the floor. Your eyes go slowly from his abdomen all the way up to his chest, shoulders, then arm.

“Can I touch it?”

“What?” His voice is low and soft, full of surprise as he’s fidgeting. His metal fingers move exactly like his flesh ones, which makes you wonder how they’ll feel on your skin.

“Can I touch it?” You blurt out. You’re running out of patience… this is how much you want to feel him. And you really hope you’ll manage to make him more comfortable by the end of the night.

“You want to? Of course you can, but you don’t-”

“You’re joking?” You immediately brought your hand to his metal forearm and start stroking, curious. “Oh my god, the gold feels different.” He almost laughs seeing you so giggly. You’re not disgusted or bothered, you’re like a happy kid, and Bucky’s never seen anything more lovely than that expression you have. And he made that happen! “Why are you hiding this beauty, Bucky?”

He shrugs. “I don’t want to make people feel weird.”

“Screw them! What about how you feel?” You don’t even care how loud you are. You’re really upset about this. Why should he hide? Why should he be sorry and care about what strangers feel when they obviously have no decency? You know it’s rich coming from you, a person who’s been worrying about others your whole life, but he deserves more. “Think about what you want! If they are dumb enough not to like it, then they can look away.”

“It’s not just that, many pity me.” He sighs, and you quickly realize that this probably hurts him even more. It would if you were him.

“Well, they should envy you,” you say, making sure you keep eye contact. “Fuck, this is so cool, what else can it do?”

“You want to find out?” Bucky winks at you, moving his metal arm to your hip. The coldness feels so good on your skin that you can’t help yourself but moan.

“Dirty mind!”

“So you don’t?”

You giggle, aware of what he means, but you need something else right now. “Later.”

“Ihm.” He smiles mischievously, bringing his flesh arm to your pants so fast you basically fall with your back on the bed. “You have a point. Now it’s time for something else.” And just like that, you’re sitting naked and wet in your hotel room with Bucky Barnes, waiting for him to finally fuck you.

“Aren’t you gonna take these off?” You whimper, wanting to touch him through his pants, but before your fingers can make contact, you see him getting off the bed. “What?”

And then he kneels. He fucking kneels in front of you as he drags you quickly toward the edge of the bed.

“I’m gonna eat you, is that okay?” He looks feral somehow as he asks, his eyes glowing. “Please.”

You raise a little, shifting your weight on your elbows so you can see him better. He really wants this… you.

“Y-yeah. You can.” Of course, he can.

You moan as soon as you feel his lips on your calf, his beard rubbing on your skin as he leaves kisses all the way up to your thigh.

You close your eyes when his hand finds its way to your entrance.

“May I?”

You nod immediately and shiver when you feel his perfectly curled-up index flesh finger starting to move inside you. He’s trying to explore what you like while continuing to kiss and lick your inner thigh, but it’s torturously slow. And you can’t take it.

“Bucky.” It’s all you say, basically asking him to move a little faster or add another finger.

“You’re so wet.”

“Yes, and I need more. Add another finger.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but he still hears you. Yet, he doesn’t give you what you ask for.

“I like how you smell.” He mumbles as if he’s talking to himself. And maybe he is, you don’t know and you don’t have the time to ask since he takes his finger out, grabs your thighs, spreading your legs so he can fit his shoulders between them, and then puts his mouth directly on your pussy.

Just like that.

“Fuck.” Your hands basically fly to his hair as your hips lift to meet his tongue just as quickly. Not even your body anticipated the change, but it feels so good. His hands go to your ass, trying to stop you from moving, but it’s so hard. He licks so fast that you can’t control your reactions.

“You taste so fucking good.” He lets out a moan against your skin, and you’re not okay. His tongue is absolutely perfect. Especially when he moves it all the way up to your clit. You can’t believe how more comfortable your body actually gets every second he spends touching it. You really want this man.

“Bucky…” You flinch, shocked when you feel his flesh finger back inside you while he starts licking your clit faster. You grab his hair even harder, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Can I die here?” You can barely understand what he says because he speaks without taking his mouth off your clit.

“Faster.”

He moans and starts flickering his tongue in circles quicker than before while adding a second finger inside you. Then a third. And you feel so good you don’t even realize you’re basically suffocating him with your thighs.

“S-sorry.” You manage to say between whimpers, but he is too absorbed in what he’s doing to even hear you. When his fingers hit a new angle, you pull his hair so hard he gasps, yet he doesn’t stop. “Just like that. Just like that.” You repeat frenetically until you finally come with a loud moan. But Bucky doesn’t stop his movements at all, thrusting his fingers even faster as he sucks on your clit until you finish coming.

You open your eyes slowly to watch him kiss his way up to your neck, spending extra time licking your nipples, one by one. His wet beard feels actually good on your sweaty skin.

“I wanna mark you up, pretty girl. I want to… Fuck.” His lips are right below your ear as he speaks, sucking on a small spot. He doesn’t do it hard enough nor does he use his teeth to leave a hickey, but it’s still hot. Very teenager…ish from him.

“I want to fuck, too.” You laugh and you feel his smile.

“You need to sit on my face the next time.”

The next time?

“I’d suffocate you.” You choose to ignore the hole in your stomach when he moves his head back so he can look into your eyes. So blue... “Maybe hover,” you offer, but you’re not sure that’d be safe for him. He needs to breathe. And would there even be a next time?

“I feel offended. You think I can’t handle you?” He sounds offended, too, and honest. “If I can’t, then let me die happily, woman. We don’t do hover, okay?”

You snort at his words, but he seems so serious, you can’t make fun of him now. Especially after he gave you one of the most intense orgasms of your life.

“Okay.”

“Good, now taste yourself.” He grins before leaning in to kiss you. You open your mouth as soon as you feel his tongue licking your bottom lip, then you drop your hands to his ass and squeeze. “Fuck,” he breaks the kiss, all breathless.

“Take them off, Bucky. I need you to fuck me.” You’ve never said these words before, but you don’t feel ashamed at all. It’s hot to be able to voice out your needs and wishes like this.

He nods twice as he gets off you to do what you told him. And in less than a minute, he’s standing naked and very hard, staring at you.

“You can tell me to stop anytime,” he reminds you as he gets back in bed.

“You look so hot. Especially with your hair all messed up.”

“Thank you.” He grabs a pillow that he places under your head before positioning himself between your already spread legs. “You’re ready for me, doll?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I’m gonna make sure you’ll use that mouth for other things than mocking.”

You feel him at your entrance and fight the need to close your eyes just so you can stare at him. “For example?”

“Moaning, begging… crying out my name.” He doesn’t give you the chance to answer with a challenging remark because he’s sliding inside you. And he’s so… thick.

“Easy,” you whisper, shocked by how full you started to feel and he’s barely even halfway through. But he doesn’t seem to hear you as he thrusts even more way too quickly. “James, I said easy.”

He groans when he feels your arms wrapping around his neck and kisses your nose. “Sorry, baby. I didn’t realize.”

Baby? Fuck me… Don’t freak out!

“It’s okay.”

“I’m gonna be gentle.” He promises you, lowering his lips to yours.

“I’m not made of glass, you know? And you can start moving.” You raise your head to look at him, but he lowers his at the same time, and you end up hitting your foreheads so hard, you see stars.

“Ah.” He groans in pain.

“Is your head made of metal too?”

Bucky’s laugh is so cute and contagious that you also start laughing. But then you lift your hips, trying to create some friction and he freezes.

“You feel so fucking good.”

“Then move!” You complain and before you can do something about it again, his grip on your hips stops you.

“How do you want it?” A normal question since you’ve never done this together before, but it frustrates you.

“Just fucking move, James.” You’re close to crying at this point. This man is finally inside you and he’s holding back. “Fucking move!”

“Fuck, say that again.” He tilts his head back as he asks.

“Make me.” And then he finally gives you what you want and starts moving back and forth, trying to see what makes you moan the most. Long strokes. Deep short strokes. Fast. Slow. And you love them all in different ways because he’s really good at it. Like really good.

“James, please…” You grab him by the chin with one hand so you can kiss him properly, but also to try keeping your voice a little down for a bit. You didn’t know you can be this loud, and you’re a little embarrassed. But he seems to enjoy that way too much.

“Come on, doll, talk to me. Please... go on.” You feel his teeth on the skin of your neck while he keeps moving his hips faster and faster every time.

“Bucky.”

He sucks on the same spot, and this time, there’s no way he’s not gonna leave a hickey. But you don’t care. Not even a little.

“Yes?”

“James, please.” You close your eyes, your moans louder than before, and Bucky realizes you’re so close again.

“What do you want, sweetheart? Tell me and it's yours.”

Holy fuck, that mouth will be the death of you.

But can you tell him? You don’t want to push him too far. “I d-don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Try me.”

“P-please, just... let's just focus on this.” You trace his back with your right hand, trying to distract him.

“Only if you tell me.”

You sigh, knowing he won’t let it go, so your fingers slide down between your bodies. You can touch your clit yourself, no need to ask him to do it. But before you can reach it, he stops your hand with his.

“Hands in my hair, doll. I can do this for you.” His voice is so hoarse and gentle, opposite to his thrusts.

“Use your other hand, Bucky,” you manage to breathe out, shocking him.

“What?”

“Please. I want- fuck, please, James, I want to come… Metal fingers, please.”

He doesn’t ask twice, thanks God, giving you exactly what you crave. And you welcome his cold touch by arching your back in pleasure and kissing his shoulder.

“I f-feel you everywhere.”

“You do? You like the way I fill you?” He barely finds the power to ask. He thrusts so fast that he’s breathless.

“Oh, fuck. Yes. Yes, Bucky, it feels so good.” The pace of his fingers is quicker too, and it’s like something electrocuted you when he lightly pinches your clit. “Bucky, don’t stop. Please, I’m coming. I’m coming...”

You don’t even realize what’s happening to you when the orgasm hits you. You’re crying and basically screaming at this point, and not even biting into his shoulder can keep your voice down. All you can feel is pleasure. So much pleasure everywhere… It’s blinding. How is it possible?

“What a good girl you are… coming all over my cock, asking nicely for my fingers.”

You can barely breathe when you come back to him. When you can open your eyes and watch him so close, too. When you can grab his ass and make him move faster.

“Come for me.” Your other hand caresses his face: forehead, cheek, beard, lips. “James.” You moan when his head lowers until his mouth can wrap around one of your nipples. And that sound is enough for him to finally let it go. You don’t expect him to be this loud, though, and you smile like a fool, stroking his hair patiently.

You’ve never had someone coming inside you before, truth be told. You had bareback sex once or twice with your first boyfriend, but he always pulled out, so this sensation is new.

“Wow.” He opens his eyes to look at you.

“Wow,” you repeat as he pulls out slowly, but it still makes you hiss. You’re still full of his come… You’re supposed to go shower or at least clean yourself with a towel, right? Maybe you can wait for a little.

But then you feel his cold hand back at your entrance all of a sudden, and two fingers slide inside.

What is he doing?

He surprises you even more as he places the metal fingers covered in come on your lips, but you open your mouth without hesitation. Bucky smiles, which warms your heart before you start sucking on his fingers properly.

After a few seconds, satisfied, Bucky takes them out and immediately moves his hand down, between your bodies.

“You're such a good girl when you want, doll.” Then he kisses you fervently, almost falling on top of you. “Eating my come… tasting us.”

“I don’t even know what to say.”

“Speechless. Even better.” His grin is wide and playful, lighting up his face. He pecks you one more time before leaving the bed. “I’ll be right back.”

You watch him as he walks to the bathroom, and he clearly has the hottest ass you’ve ever seen. And you got to touch it.

You wonder if he wants to leave right after or maybe… You sigh.

As much as you’d want more of this, of him in general, you’re not gonna push him. Even if that was all, it was good. He’s a very thoughtful and skilled man. A perfect combination with that face.

“How are you feeling?” He’s coming back, all freshen up, with a semi-wet towel in his hand, and before you can answer, he’s spreading your legs carefully, then starts cleaning you. “Sore?”

“A little,” you whisper, surprised by his gesture, and he lifts his head.

“Going shy on me, doll?”

“You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to.” He interrupts you with a smile, taking the towel away. “Maybe next time I can clean you up differently.” And he winks.

Next time…

“What do you mean?”

He comes back, slipping into bed next to you, and licks his lips. “What do you think? Gonna let me?”

Does he mean licking? “How?”

“With my tongue, of course.”

You bite your lip not to moan at the image he’s just planted in your mind. He’s driving you crazy just like that.

“Why not? It sounds so hot. But when’s ‘next time’?”

“Whenever you want.” He smiles, his hair draping all over the pillow as he turns to the side to look at you.

You blush. “I didn’t expect it.”

“What? Me making you come like that or wanting more with you?” He pauses. “I am older than you. A bit more than a decade… But I want to remind you it’s totally okay not to desire more than sex or this. You can always tell me to fuck off.”

You immediately frown. “You’re not a creep, Bucky, we’ve already established that. The age gap is irrelevant in your case since you’re a good man with a healthy mindset, who doesn’t constantly go for younger women.”

His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “To be honest, I’ve never dated anyone more than four years younger than me.”

You peck him on his red nose. “That’s what I mean. And I trust you. I’m willing to take this shot because I think it’s worth it. The press talks anyway. Whatever it will be, it will be.”

“I think it’s worth it too, doll.” You feel his lips on your forehead. “Very much. Now let's go to sleep, it’s so late.”

“Good night.” You cover both of you with the sheet.

“Good night.”

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