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myownwholewildworld · 3 months ago

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THE RIGHT KIND OF WRONG ― dbf!mechanic!joel oneshot

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3 pairing: dbf!mechanic!joel x f!reader. summary: your car breaks down and you make a deal with your dad's best friend, joel, who happens to be the best mechanic in town. you'll work for him over the summer holidays to pay your debt back, but maybe you can find a pleasant shortcut to it? a/n: well, well, well... what can i say? this whole uniformed!joel shit is giving me proper brain rot. i don't know what came over me while writing this but i just rolled with it. i do appreciate any notes you may wanna leave to keep me motivated hehe. enjoy! x edit: forgot to mention this oneshot was prompted by this ask! warnings: 18+, mdni. no outbreak AU. juicy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 48). rough, ABSOLUTE filth & i'm not even sorry. some edging. semi-public groping? masturbation (f and m receiving). oral (f and m receiving). pussy pronouns (she/her). unprotected piv. mouth fucking. very mild brat taming kink. transactional sex. alternating pov. reader is female but that's about it. w/c: ~8.9k of pure filth. divider by @cafekitsune

“Ugh, not again, c’mon!”

Your cranky little car did not have it in it anymore. It was almost fifteen years old now, having passed down from your older brother to you when you turned sixteen five years ago. Out of pure frustration, you hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand and let out a raspy grunt.

The check engine light had lit up on the dash, which was what caused your fit. And then, as if orchestrated by the universe, the engine made a loud, clicking noise. You flattened your forehead against the wheel, your fingers curling around the rubbery texture with a tight grip.

“You stupid car!”, you screamed at it as if it was a sentient being. “I’m broke, you cannot die on me like this!”

You were on the parking lot of a café. Early that afternoon you had met with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer and the end of the academic year. One more and you would be done with your degree ― it looked so damn far away, but you still had this summer to look forward to.

Rummaging through your purse, you finally located your cellphone and quickly dialled your dad.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, dad. I’m at Betty’s. The fucking light has come on again?!”

“Watch your mouth!”, he reprimanded you from the other side of the line. You could hear him huff and puff with disapproval. “I think your car is on its last legs, gonna have to think about buying one.”

“You know I can’t afford that, all my savings are going into my degree. I’ll just have to get it fixed for now.”

“Take it to Joel’s then. See what he thinks.”

“But it’s a Sunday, you think he’ll be open?”

“That man is a workaholic, you bet his business is open today.”

“Alright, you reckon he’ll do it for free?”

“For free?” He laughed; you could imagine him shaking his head. “I doubt it, but maybe he’ll give you a discount. Gotta go, little bug. I’ll see you at dinner. If you can make it, obviously.” He mocked you.

“Ha, ha… So funny. Talk to you later.” And you hung up.

The drive to Joel’s garage was a fucking torture. Every time the engine made a squealing noise, your heart would jolt to your throat. You tried to encourage it, whispering sweet nothings in the hopes it would get appeased and make it to Joel’s repair shop.

You also got distracted by your filthy mind. Joel had been in your DILF radar since you were nineteen. Three years ago, your dad celebrated his 45th birthday with a barbecue in the middle of summer. Joel had turned up in a white tee shirt, khaki shorts and flipflops, with untamed silvery curls and a crate of beer under his arm.

When the Texan heat became unbearable, he had stripped himself of his clothes, fashioning a pair of short swim trunks that had left you breathless and wet. When you watched him get out of the water later that afternoon, you could have sworn that the tip of his dick had shown briefly before he discreetly tucked it away. That image had been burnt into your retinas and haunted you since then.

Unconsciously you licked your bottom lip, your core molten with slick, as the car came to a halt. You had arrived at your destination.

There was an old Ford at the front of the garage, someone working under the hood. When the driver’s door of your car slammed against the frame, Joel peeked up from the engine he was working on.

His eyes flickered with recognition. He grabbed an old rag to clean his big, veiny hands of grease and oil. You wondered what else would be big and veiny. Stop it, you dirty fucker, you told yourself.

“Hey, Joel!” You waved at him with a smile.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the grin staying on your plump lips.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Joel. Have not been for a long time now, y’know.” You punctuated, unsure of what you were trying to achieve with that comment. Well, you knew, but did not want to admit it to yourself.

“Oh, I know”, he husked, his voice suddenly gruff.

Tilting your head to one side, you looked at him with question marks in your pupils. Why had he accentuated that “know”? And why all the sudden was your cunt gushing? How could he make you wet with three simple words? You were going to need to request a booty call that night from your friend with benefits.

“Uh, uhmm”, you laughed nervously. “The engine light on my car has come on for the third time this week and the motor is making weird noises, could you check it out for me, please?”

“Sure thing, lemme see.” He took the keys from your hand, electricity cracking between you.

You pursed your lips, a gesture he did not pick up on. Joel walked to the driver’s side, activated something and then the hood popped open. He walked around to the front of the car and propped the hood up with the metal rod that was inside.

As Joel was inspecting the motor with his broad hands, you put one foot in front of the other in a vain attempt to rub your knees together and cause some friction in your needy cunt. You squeezed your thighs some more as you watched him work with his hands, and you imagined what it would feel like if he was working you instead.

Oof! Take it down a notch, girl, you thought to yourself when your clit twitched in desperation.

Then Joel turned around to look at you.

“When was the last time you changed the timing belt?”

“The... what now?” Your mind was hazy with lust, but even if you had been at your full mental capacity, you wouldn’t have known what he was talking about.

“The timing belt. In the engine. What ensures that the camshaft and crankshaft rotate in sync?” He looked at you with a cocked brow, cleaning his hands again on that old rag.

Oh, I would pay big bucks to be that rag.

“Are you even speaking English?”, you replied back, partially because you really had no idea what he was talking about, partially because your brain was all mushy with desire.

“I’ll take that as a ‘never’ then. You should really get it replaced, seems like that’s your problem. Have you had trouble starting the car?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, this very morning.”

“Yeah, sounds like it. You need to change it asap, if it breaks while you’re driving it would be bad, very bad. You could have an accident. Also trying to fix it after it’s broken will cost you even more.”

“So… will I need to break the bank?” You asked, already flinching at the idea.

Joel seemed to take a second to consider your options, leaning against the passenger’s door and scratching his scruffy beard.

“It’ll be $800.”

Your heart almost stopped, your mouth agape.

“Eight fucking hundred?” He nodded. “Well, can I― Can you not give me a bit of a discount here? You are best friends with my dad. Pretty please?” You laced your fingers together in a prayer and batted your eyelashes at him.

With a low grunt, he straightened his back and folded arms at his chest.

“I’m already giving you one. I would usually charge $1100. You’re already getting a bargain.”

“Well, what about $300?” You counteroffered.

Joel’s brows knitted together and then loudly scoffed.

“What? You think I’m a fucking charity? No, kiddo. $800 and that’s it. If I go any lower, I’d be losing money. Got a business to run here.”

You really did not have $800 bucks to spare. In fact, you barely had five hundred bucks to your name. Asking your family for money was not an option either ― not because you were proud (you were), but because money was tight. Your parents already had enough struggles as it was, you did not want to add to the pile.

You visibly pouted and stumped one foot against the gravel, vexed. A loud sigh slipped through your lips as you pressed the heel of your hands against your eye sockets. You needed the car.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you looked at Joel with puppy eyes, covering the distance that was between you. Pleading, you palmed his strong forearm, your fingers wrapping around the girth of his muscles.

For a brief second, you wondered if you would be able to fully grip his erection. Would your fingertips be able to touch your thumb? Or would he be so thick you would need both hands to handle him?

“Joel, pl―please?”, you stammered, your arousal playing games with your vocal cords.

Unwillingly, he scanned your body up and down ― slowly, taking his time, pondering his options.

Joel had wanted to fuck you for three years now, since your lustful eyes widened at the sight of only his tip on that dreadful summer day. He could vividly remember the way you had chewed your bottom lip as you watched him slide his cock back in his swim trunks, shamelessly, without blinking. You only stopped devouring him when someone talked to you, snapping out of your trance.

That night, when he got home, he had jerked himself off with you in his mind. He had imagined your plump lips sealed around his glans, the tip of your tongue playfully caressing the slit ― your sparkly eyes looking up at him, dreamy and teary, imploring. He had taken his sweet time, rejoicing in his fantasy, until he had spilled in the palm of his hand, as if he was a hormonal teenager. And every time he would fuck someone to find relief, he would visualize your cunt sheathing him, clamping down on his dick like a beartrap.

Ever since then, every time his eyes landed on you, his blood would boil and his cock would harden. Just like now, dick pounding against his boxers, begging to be paid due attention. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw himself letting go and throwing you into the back of your car, drilling your pussy relentlessly until you came wailing, asking for more.

Joel sucked in his breath ― he needed to calm down, distract himself with something else. You were his best friend’s daughter. He shouldn’t be daydreaming about fucking you stupid. He had seen you grow since you were a babe.

Never thought of you any other way until that fateful barbeque, when he realised you were a full grown ass woman. Suddenly he had seen you for what you were: a fuckable brat who could get his cock rock-hard with the simple lick a of a lip.

An idea formed as you begged him. You looked desperate ― desperate enough to him at least.

Joel cracked his tongue, his expression unwavering. But if you could see, you would know his cock was throbbing already.

“Well. I do have an idea.” His words dragged, his erection making him feel uncomfortable.

“You do? I’m all ears!” You exclaimed with a lopsided grin, your delicate fingers tighter around his forearm.

His head snapped to his right, pointing to a sign that read “Hand Car Wash”.

“If you help out all summer handwashing cars, I’ll consider part of your debt paid”, he explained, looking down at your hand touching him.

“In full?” You eyed him as if he was your goddamn saviour and that unsettled him.

“I said part of it, kiddo. I’ll leave it at $300.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. Did you know that your suggestiveness was wreaking havoc?

“Anything I can do so the $300 reduces to zero?”

“I’ll think about it”, he reluctantly conceded. Joel had a few ideas in mind, but none of them were precisely appropriate. Not for a twenty-one year old to do with a forty-eight year old at least, that was for sure. “Be here tomorrow at 9 AM, sharp. The team works from nine to twelve, Mondays to Fridays.”

You frantically nodded, almost squealing in excitement. The noise you made forced his cock to twitch. He could make you squeal too, only if you would let him.

“I’ll be here! Thanks, Joel.”

Before he could think, you let go of his forearm and hugged him close to your chest. To your round breasts. Those two meaty globes he wanted to palm so badly. He could swear your nipples were stabbing at him. You embraced him so close to your body, his bulge pressed gently against your lower belly, and he wondered if you could feel him.

And then you stepped back. Quickly, too quickly for his liking.

“You’ll need to leave your car here, don’t want you driving back in that junk. I’ll have a look at it tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift back”, he offered. “Lemme close first and I’ll be right back in five minutes.”

“No probs, take your time.” You smiled at him as you went back to your car to grab your things.

Soon you were on the passenger’s seat of Joel’s pickup truck. It was dusking on the horizon, the light scattering through the windshield. Joel put down the visor so he wouldn’t get blinded by the sun.

“So how’s college going?” His attempt at small talk made you smile.

“It’s good, hard but good. The first year was really bad though. I didn’t know anyone there, so had to make friends and everything.” You mentioned, shrugging, while mindlessly playing with your seatbelt.

“I’m sure you had no problems making friends”, Joel said distractedly, checking all the mirrors before turning at the streetlight.

You placed your elbow on the window frame, the back of your head resting on your palm, and you turned to look at him.

“How are you so sure?” You asked, curious to see what his take on you was. The man was like a brick wall.

“You’re so vivacious and talkative. You’re not the shy kind either, always were part of the popular group in high school, weren’t you?” You nodded, but he didn’t see you, all focused on the road ahead. “Bet’cha you have all the boys running after you.”

Well, that was unexpected. For both you and him, because you saw how his jaw clenched. It was almost imperceptible, but you were so aware of his every move, your body so in tune with his, you couldn’t have missed it.

Had he noticed you? Like, actually? Was it possible that Joel fucking Miller, your freaking dad’s best friend, could look at you with other than paternal eyes? Why would he make hat comment otherwise?

Your cunt, still wet from your previous innocent interaction, fluttered. You had no butterflies in your stomach ― they were actually clapping their fragile wings in between your legs. This man was a fucking menace to your senses, and he seemed oblivious to the effect he had on you. Or did he? Time to find out.

You giggled at his question and patted his upper thigh a couple of times, as if he had cracked the best joke you had ever heard. The pad of your fingers almost caressed his groin, that sweet dip where his thigh met his pelvis. The denim under your touch suddenly stretched as Joel flexed his leg, trying to release the tension that had rapidly built up.

You bit your bottom lip as he peered at you askance, your hand still too close to his crotch.

“I actually do, but none of them seem good enough, y’know? I want a man, not a boy”, you ventured, your top teeth sinking further in the soft pillow of your bottom lip.

You saw Joel sucking in his breath ― and the grin in your face grew. He was definitely not immune to you, at least not as much as you had originally thought. He looked so unattainable, always so distant, you had wondered if, in his eyes, you had never grown up.

“Do you now, kiddo?” He asked between gritted teeth, tone throaty.

His brown eyes drifted down for one second, watching the tips of your fingers rubbing the denim of his jeans slightly, and then he locked them back on the road. You heard a low grunt vibrating in his throat, although he tried his best to suppress it.

“Yeah. I’m sick and tired of stupid childish boys. They are just boring now, they lack― well, you know.” You let him brew with your unfinished sentence and removed your hand from his lap.

You could tell Joel finally was able to breathe again as his chest expanded slowly. His reaction to you left a prickling sensation in your pussy ― wet, throbbing, needy. You pressed your knees together, but what you really wanted was for him to reach for you and dunk his thick fingers in your slit.

“Your dad’s there.” He stated, succinct, after clearing his throat.

You looked over your shoulder and through the window to realise that, in fact, you had arrived home. Your father was already waiting for you on the porch, probably because he recognised the noise of Joel’s truck’s exhaust pipe. And then he started walking towards you.

You suppressed a pouting grimace ― you wanted just a few more minutes alone with Joel. A few more moves and, who knew? Maybe you would have him fingering the shit out of you. But thanks to your father, you would never find out.

Your father knocked on the passenger’s window and you rolled it down, smiling. Although what you really wanted to do was smack him for interrupting.

“Hey, dad.”

“Hey, sweetie. How’s the car?”

“Well…” You looked at Joel ― you had already forgotten what was it that needed replacing.

“The timing belt is going. Bit expensive but your daughter and I have reached an agreement. Will reduce the price for her but she’s gotta come work on the hand-wash business”, he explained, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds ‘bout right. Get your first taste of what the real world is like.” Your dad laughed at his own occurrence, while your mind drifted far, very far.

“I’d love to get a taste.” You answered feigning innocence, turning your face to Joel with a very wide smile painted on your mouth.

His eyes darkened, transfixed on yours. Oh, he knew exactly what you meant. He subtly stirred on his seat and you wanted to giggle so bad, but refrained.

“Hey, Joel. There’s a game on tomorrow night. You wanna come over? Can have something to eat, few beers, will be fun. I need the company, God knows this lady over here just complains while scrolling through her social media”, he pointed towards you with his thumb and you simply rolled your eyes at him.

Watching football with your old man was as boring as it got. However, if Joel Miller was there, he would have your undivided attention. Well, not him, the screen, obviously. Duh.

Your eyes shot to his, expectant. Your cunt was even more anticipative of his answer.

“Yeah, why not?”

Famous last words. That was Joel’s only thought as soon as he entered his best friend’s home. You greeted him at the door, all smiley and welcoming, ignoring the fact that you had been trying to get him hard the. whole. fucking. day.

You had come to work with some very short jeans ― every time you bent down to rub the sponge on the car’s bodywork, the bottom part of your perfectly round ass cheeks would show beneath the denim. Did you even wear any underwear? He thought not.

And then that white crop top was the fucking end of him. You had gotten it all wet when a loaded sponge dripped all over your front while you were talking to him about some trivial thing he could no longer remember. You had tittered and apologised while you scrunched it to get as much water out as possible. And the only thing he had been able to focus on were your pointy nipples, staring right at him, screaming for his caress.

After that, he had been at full mast the whole damn shift.

“Hi, Joel, come in!” You greeted him excitedly, swinging the door open.

He had taken a cold shower before coming over, but maybe what he needed was a fucking ice bath. Because the moment you batted your eyelashes at him, his cock twitched again. Joel had fisted his dick while showering, in the hopes that emptying his nuts before seeing you again would placate his lust for you.

Nope, hadn’t worked. Not one bit. This was probably a bad idea.

“Hey, kiddo.” He greeted you, emphasizing the last word.

He could literally be your fucking father, but that did not seem to deter you. If anything, it spurred you on. Had you no shame? Had he no shame? Because he should have stopped you the moment you started to be suggestive. Instead, he had let you go on, enjoying every single second of it.

Joel walked in and made his way to the kitchen, with you on his heels, where your father was lathering up some ribs with his secret sauce recipe.

“Hey, Joel. Let me get that from you”, he said before cleaning his hands on a kitchen towel and grabbing the beer crate from him.

Feeling they were still cold, his best friend cracked two open and handed him one. Joel lifted the can to his lips and saw you looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Want one?” he asked, since you were of legal drinking age.

You shook your head no, wrinkling your nose in disgust.

“Eww, nah. I hate beer”, you sniggered and his dick spasmed some more.

“‘Course you do”, said your father before he could reply. “You only drink― What’s that crap again?”

“Gin and tonic, dad. It’s literally gin and tonic mixed. It’s not that fancy.” You huffed and puffed, shaking your head.

“This youth mixing everything because they can’t have proper alcohol. What’s next? Mixing beer with lemonade or something like that?”

“Well, that’s actually a thing. It’s called a shandy. Don’t be so old.”

Joel let you two have a go at each other. Observing the exchange, he sat down on one of the stools in front of the island, knees slightly bent.

“What?! You listening to this, Joel?” You father exclaimed with a joking tone. “Is Sarah like this too?”

“Yeah, exactly like this. Thinks beer is disgusting and everything. Thought I raised her better than that, but apparently not.” He jested, sipping from the tin can.

“How’s she doing?” His friend asked.

“She’s fine. She’s turning twenty-four in a couple of weeks. She moved out two months ago, gone to Houston for her new job.” He couldn’t help but be proud of his Sarah. She had accomplished so much. “She’s supposed to be here for her birthday, but we’ll see. She’s always so busy, don’t really know with what.”

“Aren’t they all? I barely see this one over here and she still lives under my roof.”

You folded arms, rolling your eyes again, while you sat down beside Joel on another stool.

“Sorry for having a social life? Like, what do you want me to do? Stay here with you watching football? Got better things to do, dad.”

“So you ain’t staying tonight then?” Your dad asked.

Joel turned to study you, interested in your answer. Could he have some reprieve tonight?

“Of course I’m stayin’. Would be rude not to when we have guests over, right, Joel?” And as the last words abandoned your mouth, you placed your left hand on his right thigh under the counter.

God have mercy.

Joel’s muscles stiffened, one in particular more than the others. His thighs were tense as he gripped the beer can with more strength than what was necessary. He kept his eyes to the front, taming his breathing.

He should have done something, slapping your hand away from his lap for instance. But he didn’t. And you took that as an invitation, because soon enough you were kneading his bulge under the kitchen island. Your palm rubbed harshly against the denim, and he saw you chewing your bottom lip.

Your father busied himself with seasoning the ribs and the French fries, oblivious to what was happening just a few meters away from him. This feels fucking wrong, but so fucking good, Joel thought to himself, your hand frisking his groin brazenly.

His cock was thudding with desire under his clothing, begging to be freed from its prison. You sensed his desperation, because you quickly tried to clasp your hand around it. Feeling your frustration at the inability of fisting him properly, Joel parted his legs to give you better access. If that was not an open invitation, nothing was.

I’m already going to hell. Joel had to stop himself of sucking his breath in when you started to unzip his jeans. His eyes slightly widened, but that was his only tell.

“So who do you reckon is going to win tonight?” Your father asked as your fingers dipped underneath his boxers.

Your warm skin against his beating cock dulled his senses. Then you took his dick out of his boxers and attempted to circle his girth while working him. Joel had to drink from his beer to shut himself up.

“Not sure, but I’d like for the Longhorns to win”, he spat the words out as best he could given the circumstances.

“Yeah, would be nice seeing our hometown win something this season”, your father continued with the small talk.

Joel’s thighs flexed when you started pumping him decisively. Fuck. He briefly looked down at his erection. It felt too damn good, your tiny fingers gripping him hard as you slowly moved your hand up and down on his lap. The tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you expertly rubbed it on his foreskin with your thumb.

As your father turned around to put everything in the oven, Joel took the chance to look at you. With your gaze averted, you pretended there was something interesting in the wall in front of you, while your right hand was buried underneath your slutty denim shorts. Joel could swear he could hear the squelching sounds your pussy was making while you played with yourself.

“Right, I think this is it. Gotta wait for an hour until everything’s properly cooked. Wanna move to the family room in the meantime?” He happily chattered as he walked around the kitchen island.

You reacted quickly and let go of his shaft. With his lap right under the kitchen counter, Joel hoped to hell his friend would not see anything out of the ordinary.

“Yeah”, he said with a coarse voice. “Need to go to the bathroom first.”

Your father just nodded as he sauntered towards the living room and Joel almost let go a sigh of relief. You simply chortled as you put your left thumb in your mouth, making it obvious that you were tasting his precum.

Joel’s cock jerked on his lap as he whispered a blasphemy. Quickly he tucked away his painful dick back in his boxers and zipped his jeans as he stood up. Then he retreated to the bathroom, needing a fucking moment to find his composure again.

Until he heard you.

“Gonna go get my phone charger, be back in a jiffy!”

Before Joel could close the door behind him, you slipped your hand in the door gap to stop him from shutting it. You caught him off guard, because he stepped back, brows knitting when he saw you under the door frame.

“What’cha doing?”, he questioned you.

You could feel the rigidity radiating from him. You entered the small bathroom and silently closed the door behind you, both of your hands holding onto the doorknob on your back.

“I came to finish what I started.”

You didn’t give him time to think ― if you did, you knew he would put an end to this. You were too turned on, your cunt beating every time your heart did. Your pussy lips were all wet and puffy ― you could feel your slick trapped between your folds, almost seeping into your panties. You had unleashed the beast and wanted it all for yourself.

So you threw yourself into Joel’s chest, your teeth softly scratching his Adam’s apple as one of your hands found its way back to his cock. He tilted his chin up and groaned at your touch. His pounding dick felt warm and velvety against your palm, so hard from working him under the kitchen counter a minute before.

Once he opened his eyes again, he looked down at you as you gripped his erection with both hands. Slowly you jerked him off, feeling powerful with him on the palm of your hands. Every time you pumped him, your clit would twitch in response. He had not touched you yet and your pussy was already palpitating for him. You could not wait to feel him inside you, stuffing you full.

“We shouldn’t, your father is right there―”

You could not care less. And to make it evident, you sunk to your knees in front of him, still holding his cock, now at eye level.

Your tongue darted out and you leaned his dick forward until the tip rested flat against your tongue, your hands still working his veiny shaft.

“You were saying?” You asked before briefly pecking his glans.

“Fuck”, was the only thing he managed to mumble.

That was your cue to give free rein to your lust. You nudged his column with the tip of your nose as your mouth drifted down to kiss his balls. Then your tongue slid out in its full extension, and you flattened it against the underside of his cock, slowly lapping at it until you reached the top and sealed your lips around his mushroom head.

Glancing up at him, you saw pleasure softening his features as you took him in further and further down, until his cock reached the natural resistance at the end of your throat. When his tip bottomed out in your mouth, Joel’s eyes found yours. His jaw visibly clenched at the sight of you kneeling in front of him, cock burrowed in between your lips, tears gathering on your bottom eyelids because of how his dick was outstretching you.

You moaned as Joel pulled his hips back, his shaft leaving your wet cavity, now full of precum and saliva. You swallowed to make room as you avidly tipped your head towards him, your lips hunting down his dick again. Slurping so you wouldn’t drown in fluids, you ate his cock like if it was the last edible thing on earth.

At that moment, something shifted in the air. As if Joel, finally, let go of his prejudices and accepted what you were giving him: your mouth to use as he pleased. His fingers hovered over your temples and then they clamped down on your skull as he held you in place.

“Stay still”, he commanded, and you nodded, his cock sitting snugly in your mouth.

His hips moved back and then forward, rocking his dick in and out of your lips. First slow, then picking up a pace. You stayed put throughout while he fucked your mouth mercilessly, palms against your knees like the good girl you were. Then his glans breached your uvula and you inevitably gagged at the intrusion.

He forced you to remain still as he tried to go further down, but there was nowhere for him to go. Your eyes welled up while you fought back the need to cough, almost unable to breathe.

Joel snapped his hips back and your mouth became free. You started panting while trying to catch a breath. Joel cupped your chin up so you would look at him. His sly grin told you he was enjoying himself a bit too much.

“Can tell you’ve not eaten many cocks, have you? Despite pretending to be this slutty brat in front of everyone, hm?” He asked, his voice rumbling in his chest.

“Well, I―” He didn’t let you finish the sentence because as soon as you opened your mouth, he slotted his dick back in between your plump lips.

“I actually don’t wanna hear it.”

Inevitably your cunt gushed at his roughness. He was right though ― you had only given head to two guys before and their cocks did not measure up to his. Your jaw had actually started to hurt now due to the effort you were making to house his dick in your mouth.

Joel quickly resumed his pounding, fucking your mouth relentlessly ― his hips swaying back and forth in front of you.

“Sweetie! Can you bring my charger too please?” Your father’s question forced both of you to snap out of the sexual haziness you both were feeling.

You two froze in place, Joel’s cock still in your mouth.

“Or I can come get it.” Then you heard his booted steps coming up the corridor.

In a panic, Joel stumbled back and you sprang to your feet, eyes widened with fear.

“No! Don’t worry! I’m coming!” You shouted back, hoping that your voice sounded far away enough to him.

The steps stopped and you both listened to him walking back to the living room. “Thank you, sweetie!”

You turned to look at Joel, who had grabbed a bunch of toilet roll to clean off the mess on his still throbbing cock.

“Joel, I’m sorry, b―”

“Just go before he changes his mind and comes looking for you”, his voice was strained with effort. His erection had to be painful by now without any relief.

But he was right. You couldn’t risk it. Neither of you could. So with apologetic eyes, you slithered out the bathroom door and ran to your room to snatch a couple of phone chargers.

Fucking torture that was.

Joel had never been in a worse position than that. Sat on the couch with you, your father on the recliner just a couple of meters away ― and his dick still pulsating, his balls full of unspent cum. His cock would writhe in his boxers, asking for a relief that never came. He was in excruciating pain and was not able to concentrate at all. All the small talk your father did went over his head, didn’t pay attention to the TV’s commentary either.

From time to time, you would graze his thigh lightly ― and on one occasion you slid your naughty hand towards his groin. Luckily the living room was dark, the TV being the only source of light, so your father didn’t pay much attention to your provocations. You quietly kneaded his bulge, curling your fingers around his erection underneath, and it got to a point where Joel had to force your hand away, because he was too close to coming.

So, when he waved you both goodbye and got into his truck, he could literally not wait to get home. Under the dim light of the lampposts that filtered through the windows into the truck’s cabin, Joel freed his aching dick and fisted it from the base. With his head tilted back against the headrest, he furiously jerked off ― fast and with no measure, to the point it was almost hurting. Tension built up from his nuts upwards and when Joel finally got relief, he groaned audibly as his cum spurted out in white, thick streaks.

With a heavy sigh and some laboured breathing, he opened his eyes, looking for some tissues to clean the mess on his lap. As he was putting his cock back in his boxers, something caught his attention.

The darkness camouflaged you well, but he spotted you on the window of your room, watching him eagerly with half-lidded eyes and chewing your bottom lip. Then your head leaned forward, your chin almost touching your chest, and Joel suddenly understood what was happening. You had been touching yourself while observing him do the same thing, until you orgasmed too.

Your eyes locked on each other’s through the blackness, something dark and perverted floating in the atmosphere. The whole thing felt wrong. The right kind of wrong.

The next week had been a continuous dance between the two of you. You too suggestive, him too evasive. After you had seen him wanking in his car, you had thought you had him under your spell. He had looked like a damn teenager chasing his release, unable to contain it much longer.

But you couldn’t blame him ― you had had him on edge for almost five hours. First touching him under the counter, then sucking his dick in the bathroom, and finally kneading him on the couch with your dad only two meters away.

It all had affected you too, because as soon as you had scurried away to your room and had looked out the window, you fingered yourself with your eyes locked on him. You came so hard, that you had to steady yourself on the windowsill, trembling knees and all. And once the orgasm softened its grip on you, you had realised he had been watching you as you rode the last wave of your climax.

So yes, for a week you tried to seduce him again, because you needed to know how it all ended. Having him burrowed down to your guts was a necessity now. However, it got to a point where you almost gave up ― it was draining having to follow him around like a bitch in heat. You still had one ace up your sleeve though. One that you hoped to play this afternoon. Because if you didn’t fuck him today, you were going to lose your shit.

You focused on your task, which was rubbing the soaked sponge on the bodywork of the car. Two other people were doing the same thing on the back, while you were slightly bent over the hood trying to reach the middle. Your breasts brushed against the metalwork, your white tank top completely wet with soapy water, almost transparent now. The coldness was refreshing in the asphyxiating Texan heat and your nipples especially welcomed it, wrinkling tightly and showing through the fabric.

When you straightened, you caught a glimpse of Joel eyeing you intently. But you pretended you didn’t ― maybe you needed to play difficult, show him no interest. Reverse psychology. So for the rest of your shift you just ignored him, fully conscious of how his sight followed you at all times. Let him brew.

Joel didn’t say a word though, didn’t come close to you either. But you heard him wicker while you were openly teasing one of your teammates. Were you trying to make him jealous? Absolutely. So, you giggled and played with your hair at the tasteless joke your colleague told you. It wasn’t funny, but you wanted Joel to listen to your flirting.

Midday came around and the other two people working on the hand wash business said their goodbyes. Joel employed a father and son in the shop too, who left the garage to go home for lunch. And then it was only you and Joel left. Just as you had planned.

“Joel? Can you help me with this, please?” You politely asked him after lifting a bucket full of water up to your chest.

You took a couple of steps forward and the water spilt all over, soaking your shirt completely.

“Shit”, you heard him say under his breath, jogging towards you.

He slipped his arms underneath the bucket to release you from its weight and then placed it back down between both of you.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna hurt your back with such terrible manual handling.” He reprimanded you, tutting.

“Something hurts and it’s not my back, Joel.” You muttered, your fingers wrapping around his wrist to haul him closer to you.

You were done with subtlety. You guided his hand to your pussy and pressed it gently.

“Hurts right here.” The low, needy mumble poured from your lips like honey.

Joel’s eyes squinted just a tad, and his nostrils flared. You saw the inner battle in his chocolate eyes, and you fucking hoped he lost.

Soon you had the answer you had been looking for. The palm of his hand flattened against your crotch, holding you possessively, and pulled you against his broad chest. You couldn’t help but moan when your breasts pressed against him, your taut nipples aching with sensitivity.

“You’re so fucking nasty, kiddo. Been watching you all week, trying to get me hard all over again, haven’t you?” You shyly nodded, biting down your bottom lip as you glanced up at him, his palm rubbing your cunt with determination. “Of course you have, you’re so cock drunk. You loved sucking me, didn’t you?”

You shook your head yes, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. You whimpered when his thumb burrowed in your pants, trying to find your slit over all that clothing unsuccessfully.

“Joel, please.” You begged for mercy, for relief, for something ― anything he could give you, you would take.

“You want me to fuck you, kiddo?” His free hand cupped your chin, tilting your head up, while his thumb kept nudging your damp slit. His mouth hovered over yours as you simply nodded again. “Hm? You want me to destroy your pussy?”

“Yes, yes, YES.” You were already gushing at his dirty talk.

With no more prodding, Joel bowed down and sunk his tongue in your mouth, darting in with the ferocity only a man on the edge could feel. He swept your entire cavity in an open-mouth kiss that left your knees shaking and your pussy throbbing. You moaned into his breath and your tongue lapped at his, the span on his fingers gently covering your neck and squeezing lightly.

Joel’s hand between your legs moved to your ass, pressing you into him. His swollen lump poked at your lower belly intimately and you couldn’t resist the urge to dip your hand in his boxers. He audibly groaned as you attempted to circle his whole girth and failed. Just like a week before, you would need both of your hands around his shaft to properly grip him. You pumped him once, very slow, your hand gliding down till it found his balls.

Joel grunted in the middle of the sloppy kiss and pushed you to go backwards until your body met the back of his pickup truck, which was parked at the end of the driveway. Out of prying eyes, you hoped. Not that you cared that much at this precise moment, anyway.

His beard scratched the skin on your cheek as his lips drifted down to your neck. You looked up to the clear sky before you closed your eyes, giving his pulsing cock a light squeeze that snatched a moan out of him.

Without warning, Joel broke the messy kiss and knelt before you, his hands tugging at the waistband of your shorts with no difficulty. Soon your pants were around your ankles, your panties quickly following, leaving you naked from the waist down. Joel helped you take them off but left your tennis on.

Still on his knees, he peeked up with a devilish smile, then leaned forward and lapped at your mound. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as your fingers raked his salt and pepper curls. The tip of his tongue brushed the point where your slit started and then licked upwards, his tongue skidding through your skin until it reached your belly button.

You pursed your lips, wanting him to go down, not up. In fact, you pushed him down ever so slightly and the cold of his breath against your wet skin when he laughed made you look down, frustrated.

He kissed the beginning of your slit again and when you thought he was going in, he stopped. You whimpered, thwarted, as he got back up to his feet and towered above you.

“You want me to touch you where it hurts, hm?” He questioned with his lips ghosting yours. “Your pussy? That’s where?”

Not waiting for your reply, his index dunked in your pearly furrow and traced it in its entirety, from your quivering hole to your thumping clit. And then he did it again, for good measure.

“You’re soaking, kiddo. I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” To emphasize his words, Joel suddenly dived his finger in your opening, a squelching sound making it obvious that you were, in fact, dripping. “You hear that?” He forced his finger out and then back in, the wet, sucking noise even louder this time.

You frantically nodded as he fingered you, his thumb caressing your begging clit as he did. You mewled into his chest, eyes shut, trying to calm the fluttering of your inner walls around his lonely finger. Lonely not for long, because Joel then introduced a second. You held onto his sides, his tee shirt scrunching in your fists, the orgasm building up.

“C’mon, squeeze your cunt for me. Show me how tight you are”, he whispered in your ear as his relentless fingering picked up a faster pace between your legs.

You happily obliged and squashed your walls together around his fingers as he dextrously stroked your g-spot. All of a sudden, a firing sensation built in your clit without warning and the haziness of pleasure took over your senses abruptly. You came hard, very hard, wailing his name as he kept on fingering you until the last wave of your climax washed over you.

What the actual fuck? You thought to yourself, amazed. You rested your forehead against his chest, catching a breath and feeling your arousal wetting your inner thighs.

Still recovering from your unexpected orgasm, Joel picked you up and settled you down on the edge of his truck’s cargo bed. Your feet dangled in front of you, and you parted your legs to make room for him while you wrapped his neck with your arms and licked into his mouth.

“Now I’m gonna eat you raw, kiddo. Give you some of your own medicine.” His hoarse tone gave you goosebumps. Palming both of your breasts over your wet tank top, he pushed you down until your back met the floor of the cargo bed, your legs hanging freely from your knees down. “Is that what you want? This old man feasting on your pussy, on her? ‘S she gonna like it?”

“Joel, please, just― Yes, eat my pussy. Eat her, eat me, please.” You begged with a small voice while you pinched your nipples over your shirt, eyes closed.

And finally, he did. With his hands on your knees to keep them apart, Joel lapped at your cunt in one sweet sweep. Your body trembled with elation, shivers firing down your spine. His tongue caressed all the crevices in your shiny slit, lips puffy and reddened. His thumb found your clit as the tip of his tongue played with your leaking hole, going in and out a few times ― fucking you with his tongue.

You were not able to take it for much longer ― with Joel’s tongue lodged in your creamy fold and your fingers playing with your nipples, you were done for. Soon you came undone, tension growing in your lower belly and molten lava finding its way out. You howled his name, your knees pressing against his head, holding him in place as you came in his mouth. Joel sipped from your fountain, leaving not even one drop behind, your pussy licked clean of your own discharge.

His turn to find relief.

Even though Joel had been fisting himself while eating you raw, the roughness of his palm could not compare to your warmth. He just knew your pussy would hug his cock just right. And he was dying to find out.

Pushing his work jeans and boxers down to his ankles, he kicked his feet until they came off. Soon his security shoes and socks were kicked to the side too. With renewed energy, Joel jumped on to the cargo bed. You propped your torso up with the help of your elbows to study his erection, wetting your lips unknowingly.

Your eyes lingered on his cock for too damn long and it twitched on his hand.

“Spread your legs, kiddo.”

And so you did without complaints. You stretched your legs, Joel having a perfect view of your glistening pussy. You were so horny, he could literally see your cunt palpitating from this angle. Knelt between your legs, he leaned forward until the tip of his dick brushed against your slit, so damp again it just slid off. Jerking himself off, he nudged your soaked entrance with his mushroom head and your mouth opened, shaping a perfect O.

“So needy, isn’t she? Aren’t you? Playing difficult to catch today, trying to make me jealous with that stupid boy, but in reality, you’re just a desperate brat wanting to get her pussy drilled by her dad’s best friend.” His dirty talk did not stop while he pushed in, your flesh parting to house him until he bottomed out.

Joel moaned, sweat gathering on his brow, his hands on either side of your head. He stood still for a long minute while your cunt fluttered around him, sheathing his whole length. He could feel your inner muscles adjusting to him.

You were so cockstruck you didn’t even reply.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, so take it well, kiddo.” He warned before tilting his hips back and abruptly back in.

You wailed loudly at the first thrust, and Joel had to muffle your screams by covering your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm, but he didn’t let go. He did not want you to alert the neighbours around the garage. His hips bucked against yours and then, after a few teasing shoves, Joel started jackhammering you fast and viciously hard.

You draped your legs around his waist, the heels of your white tennis pushing on his ass cheeks, encouraging to go deeper and quicker. And so he did, uncovering your mouth to replace it with his.

Joel fucked you mercilessly, filthily. He drove his dick in and out of you in quick succession, drilling your tacky pussy. And he knew you were loving every single second of it. Your soft sobs only spurred him on and when your moist pussy clutched around his drumming cock announcing your orgasm, he couldn’t restraint himself for much longer.

He stoically let you come while riding your own climax. His balls tightened and his belly muscles strained, signalling his own relief.

“Where?”, was the only word that he managed to whisper.

Your eyes were still closed, a languid smile lingering on your lips, all blissful and satisfied while he was still fucking suffering.

“In my mouth.” Your reply was almost his undoing.

Joel snapped his hips back, his hard, throbbing cock slipping out. He dragged his body across yours until his thick, hairy thighs were on each side of your head and his nuts were resting on your chin, his ass hanging over your breasts.

“Open”, he husked, raspy and throaty.

Still with your eyes closed, you parted your lips, and Joel shoved his beating cock down your throat unceremoniously. He leaned forward over you ― his hands holding his weight off you, flat against the cargo bed’s floor. And then Joel started fucking your mouth mindlessly, as if it was your cunt ― his testicles slapping against your chin and your eyes welling up.

He could feel your head almost rocking up and down below him with the strength of his thrusts. You only stopped swaying underneath him when your hands grabbed his buttocks, your fingers sinking in his flesh.

With a guttural growl, Joel came undone and his thick cum filled your mouth. You stayed still while the last white ropes spurted out the slit on his tip, finally reaching the bliss he had been chasing for a week.

Joel lifted his hips off your face and his dick came out of your mouth with a pop.

“Eat it, kiddo.” He requested of you, towering above you.

From this angle, flat on your back and with Joel almost sat on your face, you saw first his balls and then his soft cock hovering over your eyes. What had just happened was filthy, and you loved it, even though you were sure that your throat would hurt tomorrow.

“It’s $300 if I swallow”, you kidded out of nowhere, almost gargling with his cum as your mouth was full of it.

Joel chuckled as he came off you, sitting down on your left.

“Deal”, he agreed.

And so you gulped his cum down, letting it slip down your throat until it landed in your belly. You smiled at him before opening your mouth to show him it was empty.

Joel’s chest rumbled with satisfaction.

“Good girl.”

2K notes · View notes

mrsbarnesblog · 1 year ago

Text

Tattoo

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Tattoo Artist! Bucky Barnes x Bookshop Owner!Reader

Summary: When Natasha begged you to come with her to get her new tattoo done, you didn't expect that her actual plan would be to set you up with a fine-as-hell tattoo artist.

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: +18��️smut, p in v sex, oral sex (r receiving), protected sex, dirty talk, strangers to lovers, Bucky is hot as fuck, shy and socially awkward reader, insecurities.

Author's note: sooo, it took me forever to write, but I finally finished it and I'm kind of proud of this one. Bucky with tattoos and a low bun? yup, I'm totally ready to do whatever he desires! I hope y'all will like it too. feel free to leave comments or fic ideas💘

“I’m going to be there almost for a whole day. I love those idiots, but I still need my best friend to cheer me up." Natasha threw her hand over your shoulders, trying to convince you to go with her on a tattoo session. It was not her first time, but now she wanted to get a much bigger one on her thigh, and, for some reason, she really wanted you to go with her, using the fact that it was your day off.

“Nat, you know that I hate going to such places. I’m socially awkward; what am I gonna do there for so long? I don’t even know those people.” You frowned, already feeling a bundle of nerves in your stomach.

You were what others may call boring, but you rarely went to unknown places or hung out with random people. You would rather stay with a book in your apartment and read for a whole day than get into such situations. Not to mention, that tattoo salon was full of men, and it made the whole situation even worse.

“But you’re going to be with me. They are the nice guys, I promise. You will sit with us in the room; we can talk, or you can read another book, while Barnes will do my tattoo. I just don’t want to die of boredom there. Please?” She pulled you even closer, and you knew that she wouldn’t let that go. So you had no other choice but to agree.

You didn’t know what you were thinking when you decided that wearing a light, flowy dress would be a good idea. Because now, following Nat out of her car to that tattoo studio, it felt too short, too open, and just too much. You tried to calm down, thinking to yourself that there was nothing serious; you were just going to wait in the corner, and other people probably wouldn’t even pay attention or talk to you. Natasha, with her boldness and openness, was always the center, and you were totally fine with that.

But you were so wrong.

As soon as you walked inside, four men stopped talking, turning around to face you and Nat, and you honestly thought that you were going to faint.

“Hey, guys. Hope you don’t mind that I brought my friend. So I do not have to listen to your boring asses complain all day." She teased, dragging you by the hand like a mom who tried to encourage her kid to talk. You were round-eyed, and a wave of heat washed over your body when you were face-to-face with a blonde and big guy. But before either of you could say or do something, a person who you didn’t recognise at first stepped in, pulling you into a hug.

“Isn’t it my favorite book girly ever? How are you doin’?” Sam’s enthusiasm and energy were always so refreshing to you, so when he quickly pulled away, instead wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pushing you further into a studio, you tried to stay calm and not freak out.

"I didn't know that you were working here. How’s Sarah?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Yup, for a few years. She is doing great, but AJ and Cass are a pain in the ass. They are growing too quickly, you know." He chuckled. “Now, say hi to those idiots.” He moved his head toward the men who were silently observing your interaction. “Tony, Steve, and Bucky.” Sam named them in order. Tony just nodded to you, Steve smiled with the friendliest smile you had ever seen, and Bucky...

Your head became empty as soon as your eyes landed on him for the first time. He was leaning on the wall at the back of the room, so you didn’t pay much attention to him at first. He was hot. Unbelievebly hot. He was tall and muscular, with a low bun at the back of his head and tattoos covering the visible parts of his arms and neck. And as your gaze moved to his face, you almost choked on a fucking breath.

Piercing blue eyes looked right directly at you, and the slightest smirk curled the corner of his lips. You didn’t know whether you felt too cold, too hot, or if you just wanted to vanish right on the spot. Your face heated, your eyes started running around the room, and your heart was beating a few times faster. It was overwhelming, and you thought that you would have to go out of there, but right on time, Natasha stepped in front of you, dragging all attention to herself.

Bucky had to admit that once in his life, Sam was right. Sam tried to convince Bucky to go to that book shop for a few months, saying that he had to meet with the girl who worked there, but he was way too stubborn.

He would have done it a long time ago if he knew you would look like the most precious, cute, and sweet person. Bucky could not take his gaze away from you as soon as Natasha dragged you inside, absorbing everything—from the way you looked so soft and pretty in that dress to the way you blushed and were nervous about the whole thing.

He saw your reaction—how you became even more flushed after your intense stares at each other. Bucky was never the type of guy who liked to tease you, but Goddammit, he wanted to see how you would react if he stepped closer and talked to you. He also wasn’t creepy towards women, but the only thought that came to his mind was that he wanted to taste you. The desire to shove your back into the wall, lift up the skirt of your dress, and fall to his knees was shocking; he had never felt such an instant pull toward another person.

“Barnes, are we going to start, or you’re planning on standing and staring for a whole day?” Natasha crossed her arms over her chest as if she were annoyed, but you thought that you heard something weird in her voice, as if she held back a smile.

And then she quickly looked back at Sam and nodded with a smirk.

You just followed Nat and Bucky to his own part of the studio. Too lost in your head because of your friend’s weird behavior, you sat down on the sofa in the corner, and the next thing you noticed was the tall figure leaning above you. You probably got carried away to much because now there was a cup of tea standing in front of you on the table.

You looked up, only to meet those pretty blue eyes again. Bucky looked down at you with the same smirk on his lips, and you could barely form a normal thought in your head.

“Hope you don’t mind a hot tea, princess?” Yup, you were dead. Of course, he had to have the sexiest voice you have ever heard in your life. It was not enough for him to be charming or look like a fucking sin—he also had to sound hot.

“Thank you.” You almost whispered.

Bucky gave you another mysterious smile before going back to his place, where Nat was already without her pants and ready to start.

You and Nat were talking for the next few hours—well, she was mostly talking about a girl named Maria that she met not so long ago, and you were nodding, listening, and sipping your tea. That way, you almost forgot about Bucky sitting in the room with you because he was too focused on his job and didn’t even look away from the tattoo.

To be honest, you accidentally looked at him one or two times because it was hard not to notice a few curls slipping out of his bun, or the way his tattooed and veiny arms seemed so sexy, or that perfect face profile... Fuck. But everything was good until Nat suddenly asked him to stop for a few minutes.

“I really need to pee, Barnes.” She quickly jumped out of her place, winking at you as she walked away.

“Natasha…” You hissed at her when she left you and Bucky alone in the room, your insides already shivering with nerves. She was fucking doing it on purpose. You were sure that everything here was her plan to set you up with Bucky because she had never left you anywhere alone, knowing your nervousness.

“Are you afraid to stay with me alone?” Bucky chuckled, stretching his neck from an uncomfortable position. Your cheeks heated, and you unconsciously started scratching the surface of your phone case. He was charming. He obviously knew that, judging by the way he acted to tease you. When his question was left without an answer, he just shook his head, smiling to himself. “I didn’t know that Nat was dating girls.”

Bucky was desperately trying to make you talk. He saw how you looked at your friend when she left you alone with him, and knowing Nat, she would not have done it if you were truly afraid of him. So he was hoping that you were just too shy to talk to him and that he could make something out of it.

“Mhm. What, you hoped to have a chance with her?” You finally looked up, and you couldn’t hide the disappointment in your voice. Of course, Bucky was just trying to hit on your friend. Everyone tried. And you knew that she was so pretty and an amazing person, really, but you just wanted to experience it yourself at least once.

“With Nat?” Bucky almost laughed, genuinely taken aback by your response. “Nah, she’s cool, but not my type.”

“And who is your type?” You asked before you could even think about it.

"You know, those cute and shy girls who can barely talk to anyone and easily blush or get nervous." You froze in your place, and you swore that the blood in your veins had done the same. Your eyes widened in shock, looking at the proudly smirking Bucky. Did he really mean that, or was it just a stupid joke?

Natasha came into the room, curiously looking between you two, but you just stayed silent and looked away again, staying even quieter until the end of the session.

“Why did you do that?” You frowned, looking away from Nat and crossing your arms over your chest. As soon as she was done, you almost ran out of that place, the mixture of weird feelings bubbling inside of you, and you were too frustrated to even talk to someone there.

“Did what?” Your head snapped back at her innocent, unbothered voice. She rolled her eyes, not looking away from the road. “I did that because I love you.”

“And I love you too, but I hate that you and Sam put me in this position!”

“I’m sorry if we made you uncomfortable. Don’t be mad at what I’m about to say, but I know that you feel lonely and that you want to have someone or to date someone. I understand your anxiety; I really do, but I wanted to help you.” Her voice sounded so genuine, and even if you were mad, you knew that Nat had always tried to do what was best for you. “Bucky is a good guy. He’s attractive, he’s kind, he’s funny, and he's definitely not a player. I just wanted you to meet him, and from what I saw, there was a sparkle between you.”

You didn’t say anything to that, because she was totally right. Even if you had never said that out loud, you wanted someone to like you. Was it that much to ask? It was just hard to believe that someone as attractive as Bucky, who could easily get a good handful of women whenever he wanted to, had actually flirted with you.

The next day, when you finally returned to your favorite place in the world, it was crazy. For some reason, too many people came to the bookshop, and almost everyone needed your advice or help. You were running around the shelves, putting the books in their places, receiving the payment, and then welcoming new customers. So when, at 9 p.m., you put the sign ‘closed’ on the door, you felt the relief that the day was almost over.

You still had a lot to do, though. Taking the pile of books from the front table, you went to the back room, where you stored some of them. Suddenly, you heard the bell ringing and heavy footsteps on the wooden floor.

“I’m sorry, but we are already closed. Please come tomor—” You forgot what you wanted to say when you looked out of the room into the main part of the store and saw the last person you ever expected.

“Hey, princess.” Bucky put his hands into the front pockets, which made him seem even bigger, and smiled at you in a way that made your knees weak. He looked similar to what you saw yesterday—a low bun, black jeans, and a shirt that revealed some of his tattoos. God, his tattoos made you imagine things that were too inappropriate to say out loud. “Sorry that I came so late, but I just got off work, and I really wanted to see the place Sam has been bugging me about for weeks.” He noticed how you were looking at him again, but he decided not to tease you about it.

“Um, hi.” You dusted off your hands and fixed the bottom part of your dress to make sure that everything was in it’s place. Bucky couldn’t help but follow your hands, staring at the way the hem of your dress moved around your thighs. “Do you need something? Like a book? Or you came just to get rid of Sam?”

“Yeah, maybe a fantasy book or something like that.”

“I can show you where we have it, but I, um, need to finish the work here, so it would be great if you'd find a book that you like by yourself. Is that okay?” His stare was intense, and you really didn’t know what to do with this. Was he always like that with women? But Nat said that he wasn’t a player, and you trusted her more than yourself.

“Totally.” You nodded, calmed down your nerves as much as you could to not embarrass yourself in front of him, and you showed the way to the shelves at the back of the shop.

“Take as much time as you need; I’ll go... there.” You pointed behind you to the piles of books, and Bucky chuckled at the way you were nervous around him. That was so fucking cute that he wanted to just scoop you up in his arms and make you blush again and again.

Almost ten minutes later, you showed up again with a few books in your hands that were from the fantasy section, and as much as you wanted to escape Bucky, you also wanted to finish your job. He just quickly looked at you, too interested in the book in his hands, but didn’t say anything.

You tried to reach the highest shelf to put the book in it’s place, but it was too far away. Usually you used a small ladder, but it was somewhere else now, and you just tried to do it standing on the tiptoes.

“Let me do it, princess.” Bucky chuckled, closing his book and putting it down, and reached out to help you.

“No!”

“You won’t reach it. Just give it to me.” He placed his hand on your back, stretching the other one.

“I can do it myself!”

You couldn’t. Because the next thing you know, the book slipped out of your hand when you tried to make more distance between you and Bucky, and you also lost control of the ones you held near your chest. Everything fell onto the floor with a loud ‘boom’ and you prayed that nothing got damaged.

Your head snapped back to say to Bucky that it was his fault, but he was already looking down at you, and you immediately forgot about everything. Only then did you realize that he was so close to you; his hand was holding your waist, and your back was almost pressed against his hard chest.

“Sorry.” He didn’t know what he was sorry for. That he distracted you and made you drop everything, or for what he did next. After his eyes quickly looked at your plump lips, his right hand fell onto your cheek, and he kissed you.

Your instant thought was to push him away, run, and hide in the storage room, but the firm hand on your face and waist made it impossible to move. Bucky almost devoured your mouth and completely controlled you, and you could barely keep up with the rhythm of the kiss.

He was good at it.

No one ever kissed you as if it were the best thing they'd ever tried, but Bucky just couldn’t stop. He spined your body, so you were not in that awkward and uncomfortable position anymore. Now that you were standing chest to chest, your back got pressed into the shelves, and Bucky was towering over you. It felt unknown but so right at the same time. Your experience in this area was really poor, but the adrenalin in your blood made you a little bit more sure of yourself.

“You’re doing something to me.” He breathed into the kiss, and you just whined without realizing it. He connected your lips again, tightening his hands on your waste and, that way, pulling you even closer. You had no idea where to put your hands, but your body seemed to work on autopilot, so they landed on his chest.

You felt something hard on the lower part of your belly, and the thought that Bucky had become hard solely because of the kiss nearly drove you insane. Hot, handsome, and charming men had never kissed you as if you were their last meal, teasing you with their bulge in the middle of your shop.

God, he must be big.

Your heart started beating so fast that you heard it in your ears. Was it the right thing to do? What should you do or say after that? Did he think that you kissed badly?

“I can almost hear the thoughts in your head. Why are you worrying? You don’t like or want it? Just say, and I’ll step away.” You licked your lips, as if you tried to taste him again. You felt how your face heated again from being so close to Bucky. He didn’t sound or look as if he were judging you, and it made you feel safe enough to tell what was going on in your head.

“I just—I'm not really familiar with it. I barely know you, and you just kissed me, and I am at a loss for what to do." You said, nervously playing with the material of his shirt. Bucky's hand cupped your cheek, making you look at him. It surprised you that he didn’t try to do anything to push you, like many other men who just think with their dicks. Your stomach tightened from the way he stared at your face.

"I understand and that’s okay if you feel a little bit scared. I’m not pushing you and you can say no to me. I really came here just to talk to you, but I cannot think of anything else but you. Can I kiss you, princess?” Your eyes closed when you felt his breath on your lips again. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it too, so you just slightly nodded to his question.

Bucky kissed you deeper and slower, allowing you to follow him. He stroked your cheek gently as his tongue slid into your mouth, causing you to moan. You swore that he smiled at your reaction, and it encouraged him to push his other hand from your waist to your thighs.

Your skin started tingling when you felt it going under your skirt. Tattooed fingers traced the soft lines on your legs until they reached your underwear. Only then did you realise that you were getting wet. This whole time, it was not just nerves; oh no, your body actually just craved that man in front of you and now you could do nothing to hide it. In your last attempt, you tried to push your legs together, but you made it worse when Bucky’s hand slipped higher and touched the wet spot.

“Holy fuck.” He growled, ending the kiss and looking down, where his hand stayed under your clothes. “You are not so innocent, huh?”

“Shy and innocent are two completely different things, Bucky.”

“Right.” Biting his lip, he looked up at you again with darkened eyes, and you felt his hand pressing onto your dressed core more firmly. “Can I taste you?"

Your eyes widen in shock. You were not a complete virgin, but unfortunately, you had never experienced that before. “My sexual life is actually really, and I mean really, meager, and no one ever asked me to do it.” You whispered, almost in embarrassment.

“So you’re telling me that no one asked to eat you out, princess? Well, that’s a shame. I bet your pussy is as sweet as you are.” He ran his nose across your cheek, enjoying your delicate skin and the light scent of your perfume, until he reached the sensitive part of your neck. “Your scent drives me crazy... You’re so sensitive, God. When was the last time you were with someone?” You tried to act normal and not shiever, but when Bucky’s finger was running up and down the soft cotton of your panties, it was nearly impossible to do.

“I don’t know. I did it just a few times, and I don’t date. Guys are not really interested in me.”

“Loosers.”

“Bucky.” You moaned his name when he suddenly fell to his knees. That view was so surreal for you. He seemed desperate to touch and taste you, to please you, even though he was painfully hard in his jeans. But he did not go too far because he was waiting for your response. “What if someone walks in?”

“There is a sign on the door. Are there many people who go to bookshops at that time?” Bucky took your left leg, slowly putting it on his shoulder. Your eyes followed every move with curiosity and a hint of worry when he turned his head to softly kiss your thigh.

“Okay.”

Bucky took your leg off his shoulder but only to slide his hands under your dress and take off your underwear. He did not break eye contact when he helped you step out of it and then put them in his jeans pocket. With a quick motion, your leg returned to it’s place near his face and you blushed, realising how close he was.

With his right hand on your thigh and the left one slowly creeping up your other leg, Bucky started leaving kisses higher and higher, until he finally reached your pulled-up dress. When his head suddenly lowered and you felt the first touch of his tongue, you almost died.

Up until that moment, you didn’t even realize how tense your body was, but that first lick sent a hot wave over you and you could not hold back a whine. You just became a fucking puddle under his touch.

Bucky was not much better than you. He gripped your thigh harder, as if he wanted you to be even closer, and moaned when your taste blossomed on his tongue. He knew that he was addicted now and that he could spend hours in between your legs. His tongue slipped across your folds, collecting your juice, and then circled around your sensitive clit.

“Fuck, princess. You’re s’ sweet.”

"Bucky—oh my god, please!” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but that tight knot in your stomach was becoming almost too painful, and you felt tears forming in your eyes. As if Bucky had already understood your body better, he put two fingers of his left hand at your entrance, slightly pushing in just the tips.

You moaned again, your hand moving on it’s own and grabbing Bucky’s hair in despair. He slowly slipped inside, letting you adjust while still not stopping the movements of his tongue. You felt so fucking tight and wet around his fingers and his cock painfully twiched in his jeans. He started pumping his fingers in and out of your pussy, and if you weren’t so far up in your head, you would’ve been embarrassed by the noises coming out of you.

The combination of his thick digits and tongue pushed you into your first orgasm. Your back arched, and your legs unconsciously tried to close, but Bucky did not let that happen, gripping your thigh tighter and holding you in place.

“Cum for me, pretty girl. C'mon, don’t be shy.” He encouraged you and that was everything you needed.

You had no idea what happened next because your body felt like it was floating and your head fell back with a moan of Bucky's name. He let you go through it, slowing his pace and pulling out his fingers. As much as he didn’t want to stop, he knew that it was enough for you for the first time.

You felt how Bucky jently lowered your leg and then, holding you by the waist, stood up and shamelessly licked his shiny lips. “I can’t believe you actually just did that. No one has ever given me an orgasm.”

“Princess… You’re unbelievable.” He got closer to you, nuzzling into your neck and breathing in your scent. You could feel hardness in his pants, and while Bucky did not try to push it any further, the desire within you made you bold.

“Do you have a condom?” Bucky immediately pulled away from you, his eyes darker than before and his hands tightening on your waist. You bit your lip and lowered your gaze, as if you said something wrong.

"No, no, no, you can’t get shy after you just asked me this. Eyes on me, princess. Do you really want it?"

“I do.”

Bucky connected your lips, distracting you from unnecessary thoughts, and you felt two hands on the back sides of your thighs. Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist, as if your body knew what to do better than you. You both moaned when his bulge met with your dripping core; Bucky’s grip tightened and he slightly moved your hips.

Firmly holding you in his hands, Bucky stepped away from the shelves and went to the table that was standing nearby. He blindly moved aside some books there, dropping a few on the floor and receiving a groan from you. He put you on the flat surface, not moving away from between your legs.

Your hands finally felt more confident to study his tattooed skin. You never realised that you were into people with tattoos, but now, looking at the variety of things covering his tanned skin, your belly tightened with anticipation. Your hands slowly reached his neck, slightly pulling him closer.

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you have it?” Instead of replying to you, Bucky, not breaking eye contact, reached into his pocket and pulled out a wallet. He opened it, taking the shiny square that was sticking out of there.

Your eyes shot up at him, meeting his half-hooded and full-of-lust eyes. Bucky looked right back at you, mesmerized by your beauty—by the way your cheeks heated and your lips were slightly swollen. He quickly unbuttoned his pants, sliding them with boxers down his legs, until his hard as rock cock was free with pre-cum leaking from the tip.

“If you’re going to look at me like that, then I might cum like a teenager before everything starts, princess.” Bucky growled, squeezing your thigh in his hand. You closed your eyes for a few seconds, then looked at his face again. You didn’t want to stare at his cock, but holy shit, it was better and bigger than everything you’ve seen before. You wondered what it would taste like, and that one thought made you clench around nothing.

With a quick, smooth motion, Bucky opened the package with his teeth, sliding the condom down his shaft. His hand moved you closer to the edge of the table, so now your faces were just a few centimeters away and you could feel his cock through the fabric of your dress.

“Be a good girl and hold it here for me.” Bucky folded your dress on your stomach, guiding your hand there, so he had better access to your sweet pussy. He had to see how he was disappearing inside of you with his own fucking eyes.

“Bucky…” You whined because of the way you were exposed to him, but you still did what he said. With wide eyes, you looked at how he moved even closer to you, slightly brushing your folds with the tip. Your free arm gripped his tattooed forearm, digging in your nails.

“So wet for me, so pretty... God, princess. I won’t be able to keep my hands from you. Say you want this. I need to hear it.” He palmed the side of your face, making you look up at him, and held himself at your entrance at the same time.

“I want it. Please.” You whispered, your eyes running back and forth between his pretty blues.

When he finally started slowly pushing into you, your mouth opened with a silent moan, and your eyes almost crossed with the way your whole body got covered with goosebumps. Bucky could not tear his eyes away from the place you two were connected. He felt every movement of your body and felt how your pussy almost sucked him inside.

He knew that you would feel good, but he did not realize that it would feel like the most correct thing in his life.

Bucky finally bottomed into you, stretching you the way you had never been before. You both thought that you could cum in that exact second, but you also both wanted to extend this moment as much as you could.

“Princess…” That sounded so desperate when Bucky finally started moving his hips, dragging his cock out and then pushing right back in. "Fuck, I need to kiss you. You feel like a fuckin’ heaven, holy shit.” Not stopping sliding into you at a steady pace, he dragged your face closer, as if his life were depending on it. Bucky greedily bit and sucked your bottom lip, swallowing every moan and whine you let out.

“Mh— I can’t— oh, Bucky!” You cried, trying to hide your face in the crook of his neck.

He pulled you back away from his body, holding you that way so he had a better view of your face and body. He felt the way your thighs tried to squeeze together, your face started to heat and you tried to look away.

“Don’t you dare become shy when I’m balls deep in you, princess.” He slowed his movements and teased you until you almost begged him to fuck you properly again. “You need to cum, huh? Show me those pretty eyes; don’t hide from me, c’mon.” You looked up, almost whining from the way he was looking at you. Pupils blown out, eyes slightly narrowed, and running around your face with interest and desire. “Do you need something? Speak up, sweet girl.”

“I want to cum. Let me, please.”

“Good fucking girl.”

Bucky started fucking you with a new forse; the table under you was squeaking with every move, making the whole scene even dirtier. You could not care about embarrassment anymore, moaning Bucky name and begging him to be harder.

You both felt how close you were.

Your hand, with your skirt in it, tightened around the fabric, your spread legs were trembling and you started uncontrollably squeezing Bucky’s cock inside of you. His dirty words made your vision foggy with satisfaction and the way he didn’t stop hitting your sweet spot was enough for you to go crazy with an overwhelming orgasm.

“Bucky! Bucky, oh my— fuuuck!” You cried in pleasure, feeling a few more thrusts of his throbbing cock, until he finally slowed down and emptied himself in the condom. Your body fell forward right into Bucky’s chest, too tired to even sit straight. He wrapped his hands around you, slowly stroking your back and kissing your temple.

“You are fucking amazing, princess.” He mumbled into your hair and you just hummed in response. After a few quiet minutes, when your head started to clear up and the whole weight of this situation fell on you, you finally pulled away, hiding your eyes from him again. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I just… I don’t know what we are supposed to do in this situation; I mean— it was just sex for you, right?” You asked, focusing on one particular tattoo on Bucky’s neck to not show how nervous you were.

Bucky didn’t answer for a few seconds, but you felt the weight of his eyes on you. Then he lifted your face with one of his hands and softly smiled at you. “If it meant nothing for me, I would’ve already been on my way home. I want you. I wanted you from the moment I saw you and I won’t be satisfied until you let me take you out. Are you free tomorrow evening, sweetheart?” He cooed, playfully tilting his head to the side. That man and his charm would be the death of you…

“Um, okay. I’m free, if you’re not kidding.”

“Not in the slightest. Now get dressed. I'm taking you home.” He pecked your lips before slowly pulling out of you and getting rid of the condom. You slowly jumped from the table, legs trembling from two mind-blowing orgasms, not missing how Bucky’s smirked at you.

“You don’t have to take me home, Bucky.” You fixed your dress and hair as much as you could without a mirror and then picked up the books from the floor that were forgotten during your makeout session.

“Well, I didn’t see a car near the shop, so I assume you’re walking home. And it’s dark.” He walked behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist and burying his face into your neck. “I don’t like this idea. I’m driving you home, princess.”

“Fine. You won.” You playfully made an annoyed voice to what Bucky just chuckled and held you even closer.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky x y/n #marvel smut #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfic

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heavenlyraindrops · 6 months ago

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☆ “ɪ’ᴍ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ☆

☆ She said “fuck me like I’m famous”| Chapter one

☆ Warnings: fem!reader, afab!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering, awkward!reader, reader is literally a hermit, no established relationship, not proofread, porn with like a drop of plot, they get slightly awkward after doing it but it’s ok <3 ☆ Word Count: 3.3k | Available on Tumblr & AO3

“Out? For dinner?”

You tore your eyes from your phone to look at Ami, who was watching Chiho roll around on the floor, immersed in whichever new game of pretend she had devised.

“Yes, dinner,” she repeated, then turned to look at you. “I’m meeting a… friend. Not a close one, but a friend nonetheless. And it would do you some good to meet new people, and to get out more.” She raked her eyes over you, from your baggy clothes to messy updo.

“What’s that meant to mean? I get out plenty often. I’m out right now with you, aren’t I?”

“‘Chilling out’ at my house twice every week isn’t exactly going out, [name],” she sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood up, stepping towards the kitchen. “You’re like a hermit.”

You furrowed your brows together. “Maybe that’s how I like it.”

You heard water trickling as it filled up her glass, and her voice drift down towards where you were sitting. “I tend to wonder if I’m your only friend.”

At those words you stiffened, eyes opening wide and shooting up, back straight. “What? Friends?” You spluttered. “I have friends. I have plenty of friends. You’re not my only friend.” The words tumbled out of you hastily, and then you paused, flashing her a charming smile, trying to distract her. “You’re just my favourite one!”

She rolled her eyes as she sat back down. “Well, you have awful taste.” She handed you a drinks can. Your favourite.

“Hardly,” you uttered

“Just- you focus on work too much, okay? You need to find balance.” She took your palm, uncurling your fingers and placing the cold can in your hand. “Just come to this dinner.”

“…Fine.” You dug your finger under the tab, trying to get it open. “Who even is this friend, anyways?”

“Kenji Sato.”

You stared at her.

She must have mistaken your silence and blank stare for shock, or stupor instead of a reaction to what you considered to be an underwhelming statement, because she just sat back, letting her words sink in. They did, not that they meant much to you.

“Who?” You said blankly.

She blinked, then leaned forward. “Uh, Ken Sato? The really famous baseball player?”

You took a slow sip of the drink- the carbonation danced on your tongue. “No idea who that is. I don’t follow baseball.”

“You don’t follow anything,” she pointed out. “You’re completely out of the loop.”

You threw your hands in the air, exasperated. “Just- look, is he someone I should be impressed with? Like, am I-“

“I’ve mentioned him once,” Ami cut in. “Played in the States, moved to Japan suddenly? I was wondering why, and mentioned it to you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Unless you weren’t listening.”

“No no, I was,” you said quickly, then frowned, furrowing your brow. “Wait, didn’t you interrogate him, once? Twice?”

“Thrice,” she corrected you. “And it's called an interview, not an interrogation.”

“Same thing,” you said indignantly, with another gulp of ice cold carbonated sugar. “And you’re sure he’s just a friend.” You eyed her, testing her for any telltale signs on her face suggesting otherwise.

She simply stared at you, unimpressed. “Yes.”

“Okay,” you said, stretching out the vowel, rolling it along your tongue. You stopped. “Okay, fine, I’ll come to your dinner thing.”

“Yes!” She said, sounding a bit too relieved. You stared at her. “Sorry, it’s just- I’m so glad you’re finally-“ she cut off with an excited, pleased noise.

You looked at her, concern for yourself creeping into your expression. “Am I really that-“

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Now, please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night-“

“Tomorrow night?”

“Yes, do you have plans?” She didn’t wait for an answer, because she already knew it. “No? Thought so. Please put some effort into your appearance tomorrow night, because it’ll be worth it.”

“Uh huh,” you said slowly.

“I wonder if you even remember how to behave in a social setting,” she mused, and you smacked her shoulder.

That night when you got home and flopped down on your bed, pulling out your phone, your finger hovered over the search bar.

What was his name?

Kenji Sato.

You were typing in the words before you even realized it, and seeing the images, you froze.

Oh.

Shoving down any sort of deranged thoughts that could have been formulating in your head, you buried your face into your pillow and tried to fall asleep.

“[name]!”

“Ami!” You stuttered. Ami came towards you, eyes lighting up as she took in your appearance.

“You look really different,” she said, taking in your appearance. “Really pretty.”

You didn’t often wear clothes that were form-fitting or flattered your figure, but you’d decided that since it was a dinner with basically a celebrity, you might as well have put in some extra effort into your looks.

“Thanks,” you said, as she led you through the restaurant doors and to your table. Pausing, she turned to look at you.

“You look sick,” she frowned. “And nervous.” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe this really was a bad idea. I should have know you can’t handle-“

“No!” You almost burst out. “No, I mean, I can do this. It’s not that big a deal. I’m just meeting a new person, right?”

She nodded hesitantly, still frowning at you.

“Right. So, not a big de-“

“Hey, Ami.”

You froze, shoulders stiffening.

“Kenji.” Ami turned to him. You still hadn’t looked at him yet, eyes fixed desperately on Ami’s face. “This is [name]. Name, this is-“

“Ken Sato.” He held out his hand to you, to shake. You stared at his long fingers, then slowly looked up to his face. He was wearing this easy, charming grin. Your knees almost buckled. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”

You grabbed his hand and shook it. “N-nice to meet you.” You both held your stare a few seconds longer than you needed to.

He raised a dark brow, and you could have sworn his expression had flickered with amusement before he turned back to Ami. “And here I was worried I was late.” He waved you both on towards the table, where you took your seats.

Ami was looking at you, frowning. You gave her a wobbly smile back.

Oh, fuck this.

“So, what did you say you work as, [name]?”

Kenji’s voice snapped you out of your haze, and you looked up at him, eyes widening. “Oh, I’m an, uh, I’m an author.” You stared hard at your food, then looked back up at him to gauge his reaction.

He just leaned back against his chair. “Cool.” His eyes were set on yours. You flushed. “What sort of stuff do you write?”

“Uh,” your eyes slid to Ami, who was looking at you expectantly. “Romance, mostly.” The confession made your cheeks burn but you were too much of a mess to lie smoothly, not that it had even occurred to you in the first place- and Ami would have teased you about it later.

But Kenji just formed a small ‘o’ with his mouth, then smirked. “That’s cute.”

“Is it?” You had to fight to not make your voice sound like a squeak. He just nodded, taking a bite of his food like it was nothing.

He’d said it so casually that Ami hadn’t even noticed, instead pouring herself more of her drink and commenting on how Kenji had healed up. You blinked, confused, and turned as he held his arm out, flexing it.

“Yeah, quicker than I thought,” he said. You could see the faint outline of his muscles through the fabric and were so prepared to just jump out the window, then and there. He must have caught you staring because, without turning his head, he locked eyes with you and fucking winked.

You bit your lip, rubbing your thighs together and trying to ignore every instinct in your body screaming at you to throw yourself across the table. “You got hurt?”

He dropped his arm back to his side, rolling his shoulder. “Yeah. It’s fine now though.”

You didn’t press any farther, just eating your food in flushed silence, trying to ignore the burning you could feel in between your thighs.

“How’d you get here, [name]?” Ami asked. You stared desperately at your phone screen.

“Cab,” you muttered, rubbing your hand on the back of your neck. The app was empty. “But there aren’t any available.”

You checked the time. Half past eleven. You shivered, the night air biting at your skin. Ami looked at you, concerned. “Should I drop you?”

“No. No.” Guilt ate away at your gut. “No, you need to get home to Chiho, and I’m in the completely opposite direction- it’s not worth it.” You stepped back, and you could feel Kenji look over your shoulder at your screen. He leaned down to your level, breath warm on your ear. You shivered again, but not from the cold. “I’ll just wait until something shows up.”

“What’s your address?” He tilted his face slightly towards you, before pulling away. You stared at him, then frowned at him slightly, opening your mouth to reply, but Ami cut in.

“Look, I-“ she glanced at her watch. “I really need to go.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, [name].”

You waved her off. “Don’t be.”

And she was gone, her car rolling off. You looked back at Kenji, and quickly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, mumbling your address.

He tapped something into his phone, and his face twisted into a satisfactory grin. “It’s on the way to mine. So I’ll just drop you.” He started walking down the street.

You stumbled after him. “Oh- are you- are you sure?”

He turned, walking backwards, in the same direction but facing you know as he shrugged, grinning. “Why not? Better than waiting around in the cold for a ride.”

“R-right.”

He led you to where a motorbike was parked, and you blinked. “You rode here on a motorcycle?”

He shrugged his blue biker’s jacket off, and without warning, draped it over your shoulders. “Yeah. Surprised?”

“I… don’t know.” Your face was burning at the action. “Are you sure…” you fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

He waved his hand at it dismissively. “Take it. You look cold.”

You fell silent. Then: “I don’t have a helmet.”

He reached into a compartment, pulling one out. “Spare. For situations like this, I guess. Comes in handy.”

“Situations like this?” You echoed, as he stepped towards you, setting the helmet down over your head and fastening it tight. Your heart was going a million miles a minute.

“When I have to make sure a pretty girl like you gets home, obviously,” he said casually, but the look on his face betrayed his nonchalant tone. He clambered onto the bike. “Come on, then. Get on.”

You blinked, face burning even harder than before, but did as he told you to.

“Thanks. For taking me home, I mean.”

He looked up at you as you pulled the helmet off your head, imitating the action himself. A strand of hair fell in front of his forehead. “Don’t think about it,” he shrugged, and your grip on the helmet tightened as you clutched it to your chest.

“Oh, but I will.” You dropped your voice to a husky whisper, and watched his jaw clench. Oh thank you god, I remember how to flirt. Kind of.

Now it was his turn to become flustered, as he gave you another grin, shaky this time. “Really?” He asked, voice hoarse. You stepped back, towards your house.

“You should come inside,” you suggested. “It’s not that late.”

He raised his eyebrow. “It’s almost midnight,” he laughed, but didn’t object to your offering, licking his lips nervously. You paused your walk up towards your front door, turning and looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, fuck this,” he muttered, abandoning the bike and walking towards you. Your stomach exploded into a flurry of butterflies as you both hurried towards your front door.

You bit back a whimper as his lips crashed onto yours, kissing you with a hunger you hadn’t been met with before. The door hadn’t even shut before his hands were on your waist, dragging you close to him- and then it was, and he pinned you against it, your back pressing into the ridges of the wood.

He pulled away, both of your breathing ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours, eye contact unwavering. He cursed under his breath. “Sorry- I should have- I should have asked.”

You were barely able to move your mouth, shaking your head lightly. “It’s fine,” you breathed, and his eyes flicked back down to your lips, grip on your waist tightening. “You didn’t have to.”

“God, you’re-“ he choked on his own words. “You’re pretty.”

You didn’t have time to respond before his mouth was capturing yours again, heat burning all over as one of his hands wandered to grip your nape, holding you steady. His teeth grazed your lip and you gasped, but he pulled away, pressing kisses all the way down your jaw and collarbone, leaving a trail of blooming bruises in his wake. His other hand fell from your waist to hip, pressing you close up against him, and heat pooled in your core.

“Ken,” you managed to whisper weakly through the dizzying haze clouding your mind. He paused, teeth pressed against your skin, and he leaned back up to you, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear, humming. “Are you sure this is a g-good idea?” Your voice was shaking. He frowned, pulling away, and his fingers dug into your hips.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” His voice was husky with desire, eyes trained on your every movement. You could feel his breath on your skin. You opened your mouth, searching for a reason, but couldn’t find any. He trailed his fingers down your neck, brushing over the marks, to the collar of your top, tugging at it. “Come on.”

You stumbled after him, shedding the jacket, ignoring it as it fell to the floor, and he pulled you down onto the couch with him, hands on your waist. You fell into his lap, straddling him. He grinned. “Still can’t find a reason?”

“…No.”

“Then just relax,” he told you, lips still pressed against your jaw, fingers creeping beneath the hem of your top. “Because I’m about to make you feel really good.”

At his words you bit back a moan, sucking in a harsh breath as you bit your lip, involuntarily rolling your hips against him. He hissed, tipping his head back. You were certain his hands were going to leave marks everywhere they touched, feeling them dig into your hips as you dove onto his neck, suckling and biting, anything to repay the affection he’d shown you earlier.

His hand fisted your hair, gently but firmly tugging you back and away. “Stop it,” he hissed. “Just let me do my thing, okay?”

You looked at him, confused, and slightly hurt, until he quickly pressed a reassuring kiss to your lips. “I said I’d make you feel good, so just sit back and let me, got it?”

You didn’t argue with him, not when he flipped you around so that your back was pressed against the couch, or when he sank to his knees, pushing your legs open, letting out a shaky breath as your skirt hiked right up your thighs.

He let out a breathless laugh. “You’re wet,” he teased, his hot breath hitting your skin. He pressed a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, making you shiver, then another, each one lasting longer before the one before, leaving marks littering all over your inner thighs. You bit your lip- the mere sight of his face in between your legs was enough to get you dripping, even more than you were before, and he seemed to notice, because he let out an amused chuckle.

“Wh-what?” Your voice was broken, and hitched when he pressed his thumb to your clothed clit, sending a jolt of pleasure into your cunt. He smirked at your reaction.

“Nothing,” he murmured, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your soaked panties, tugging them slowly down your legs. Your teeth pressed down on your bottom lip harder. His eyes flicked up to meet your expression. “What? Nervous?”

You didn’t reply, just shaking, and he let out a slow breath, pressing his lips back against your inner thigh as his expression softened. “Don’t be, baby.” His lips curled back into his signature grin. “I told you you could relax, remember?”

You flushed, and nodded.

Without warning, he dove in, lips pressing down on your clit. You whimpered, not even enough time to react before his tongue licked a long strip up your entrance, making you twitch and spasm, throbbing pleasure aching. Your legs instinctively pulled together but he forced them back apart, tongue tracing slow patterns across your bundle of nerves, eyes hooded with lust as he watched your flinch and gasp.

You let out a broken whimper of his name, and felt him tense under you- but he didn’t stop his movements, slipping his tongue in between your folds, stretching you out with his fingers. You bucked your hips, but he grabbed your hip with his other hand, pinning you down to keep you from moving. “Shhh,” he whispered, his low voice sending vibrations into your core. You let out a desperate moan- it took everything in you to not desperately start grinding against his face. He chuckled slightly at your pitiful state, turning his attention back to your dripping cunt, slipping a finger inside. Your back arched, hand flying to your mouth to clamp over it. A finger slipped inside, curling to hit that sweet spot- you almost saw stars.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, screwing your eyes shut. “I think I’m gonna cum-“

He simply hummed at your words, the vibrations of his voice sending another shockwave through you, lapping at you like he was hungrier than before, fingers pumping in and out at a steady pace. You knew what he was saying.

Go on. Cum.

And you did, a broken cry of his name slipping past your lips as the orgasm crashed over you, legs shaking as he drew out your high for as long as possible. And when you finally came down he pushed himself up, towards you, capturing your lips in another feverish kiss.

You could see the shaky movements of his chest as he breathed heavily, feel his boner pressed up against you, his face flushed and burning to the touch. You pulled away.

“Are you… shoud I…” You reached for his zipper, despite the fact your voice was heavy with fatigue but he just shook his head, laughing breathlessly.

“No, no, I… don’t worry about me.” He cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I’ll just- where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the corridor, first door on the left,” you mumbled, slumping back. He stood up, adjusting your head on the couch.

“Okay, I’ll- I’ll be right back.”

You heard his footsteps hurry away and the door shut.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed, with you laying on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, when you heard his footsteps approach you again. You looked up at him drowsily.

“Hey.” Your voice was barely audible. “You should stay here for the night.”

He opened his mouth, but didn’t object, even when you waved him over to lay next to you. You settled on top of him, laying your head on his chest. His arm looped around your waist.

“[name],” he muttered. You lifted your head. “Is this just a… one time thing?”

You tilted your head. “Do you want it to be?”

He frowned, then shook his head. “No. No, I don’t.”

You smiled. “Me neither.”

☆ A/N: visit either the first tag or the pinned post to find the other chapters!

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mayasaurusss · 19 days ago

Note

Hello, I really liked the way you write about Jinx, can you please write about how femme! the reader and Isha fall into a trap and as a result, while protecting Isha, the reader is injured and Jinx goes into her killer mode (you don’t have to write if you don’t want to) you can just write aftercare if you want

A helping hand

A/N: and here it's finally done! I could have made this oneshot quicker and shorter but then I got chaught up in writing it... and I woke up eight days later with this in my drafts😂. I don't ususally like how I handle stories, but I think that this one turned out pretty good. As mentioned in another post, it's very heavily plot driven and it's a wopping eleven pages worth of writing. My grammar, as always, might not be the top gamma. I hope you guys will enjoy it! Also this was mixed with something someone suggested on ao3!

Contains: female reader, violence, murder, mentions of saliva and vomiting, hurt and comfort, very heavily plot driven, happy ending with a happy family. Lenght: 6k/ 11 pages.

The limited air inside the vent makes you choke on your breath, chemicals and smoke filling your lungs and hollowing your brain. A loud sound echoes inside the metal hull, alerting every one of your senses. "Isha! Be careful!" you whisper-yell at the kid, who's crouching in front of you, placing her hat back on.

She just huffs in response, rolling her eyes before continuing her tour inside Zaun's vents. Isha has not been too fond of you since you entered her life; one reason could be that she thought she had to compete with you for Jinx's attention. The other reason, maybe, is that you were from topside. Piltover, The City of Progress. The city who exploited and hurt the poor citizens of the Undercity. Avid hands commanding from atop marble skyscrapers, grinning smiles sucking away the air of the lanes.

It's no wonder you're not Isha's favorite; Sevika too seemed to have a disdain for you, either because of your privileged position or for the way Jinx was distracted and dreamy when you were near.

To ingratiate yourself into Isha's favours and to make it at least somewhat pleasant for both of you to be near each other, you agreed to follow her in a walk through the lanes.

Jinx had invited you into her own private lair, after much convincing on her part. One day, she just swept you up and brought you down with her, making you walk through fissures, alleys and neon lit streets.

"You should have a tour of The Lanes, y'know, to learn how life's like down here" a flicker of a spark reflecting in her goggles as she made some of her obscure machine-thingies. "So give me one" you said, prompting Jinx to hum in thought. "I am busy today, and Sev' is too. Besides, I don't think you'll enjoy each other's company" she glanced at Isha, who was drawing Stinkmaw on her notebook. "You'll just have to settle for Isha" the kid propped her head up at the mention of her name, already looking with stars in her eyes at Jinx, not aware of your previous conversation. "What do you say Isha? Want to have fun with your new friend? Give her a tour of the Undercity?", Isha sized you from head to toe with a snarl on her lips, eyes moving between you and Jinx while her face became more and more agitated. "Come on, she's not that boring" Jinx moved back to her work, sparks flying and lit up her face, "I should know". Your face grew hot with her words, remembering what happened between you two just weeks prior. Isha gave a disgusted 'ew', before Jinx turned her head to watch the kid, a shadow of anger in her eyes. "No excuses! Come on, just go around a bit, become friends!".

"Jinx I, I don't think this is a wise idea. I mean, Isha is just a kid: what if something happens? I-" Jinx interrupted you, her voice almost lost between the screeching sounds of metal scraps flickering sparks between each other. "You'll both be fine. Isha is a smart kid, she'll get out of any situation. As for you..." she turned to you, a teasing glint in her eyes, "...will you be able to keep up with her?".

'No, not at all' you answer to her mental image, struggling to keep your pace behind Isha. The kid is fast inside these tunnels, and your body is not accustomed to their narrow spaces and to the flow of smoke and waste. The metal feels light and shaky under your weight, giving you the impression that at the slightest of pressure, you will sink beneath and break your ribs into the concrete of just another of Zaun's alleys. You steady on, carefully applying your weight where each border of the metal tubes meet, following the shadow of Isha.

After what feels like ages, you finally spot the end of a tunnel, light shining on the dirty buildings giving it a green hue. Isha crawls towards it, leaving you behind in the dusty tunnels, prompting you to follow her quickly. The kid has already jumped in the street below, adjusting her hat on, turning her back to you while she begins to walk away. You take in a deep breath, calculating the height of your jump, before falling messily on the concrete.

"Ack, shit" Isha gives you a dirty look, "What?". She just rolls her eyes, before continuing on, not waiting for you. The Undercity is just what you expected: crowds of people fill it's street, smoking and squaring you up; sellers shout to lure in buyers, presenting their merch of metal husks, hundreds of different flavours of tobacco and pieces of meat that you'd rather not know from what they came from. At the far corners, gang groups threaten and push against each other, their blades glinting with a malicious look. The streets are lit by bright neon signs, filled with all possible smells and gasses, overcrowded to the point that you're short of breath. Distantly, you can hear the sound of machinery evermoving, of water and air and of shipments departing from shore. The city itself beats and pumps, like a living heart.

Everything is suffocating; too loud, too much. And what's worse is, everyone knows that you don't belong. Their eyes are envious, angry, a dangerous hate barely hidden beneath their scleras. Hell, Isha, the kid who is known to have a kind heart, can barely hide it. For a moment, too caught up in your mind and it's worries, you miss Isha turning around, entering a dark hallway. You follow her blue locks until you're far from people, now only surrounded by high walls and some couples making out in a corner. On one wall there are signs of damage: claws and dents and what looks to be a... strange green goop staining the bricks, along with scraps of metal of an exoskeleton.

You find Isha sitting at the corner where the street opens, back against the wall. You are not too sure what she is doing: after all, she has proved to be rather uninterested in you. What you don't realize, not at first anyway, is that she had run through the crowd into the alley to lure you away from that noisy hell so you'd have time to get used to it. Sliding down next to her, your clothes drag down the dirt and dust of years behind them. Silence feels heavy above your head, the distant sounds of the crowd the only thing keeping you at least a bit sane.

Isha has found a pastime in rolling the hem of her hat on the ground, trying to make a perfect spin with it. The sounds of metal against concrete screech inside the hallway, attracting more than just one pair of eyes. You can feel Isha's reluctance to begin so close to you, probably thinking to herself that it was a mistake waiting for you. When the silence feels too heavy, then you finally speak. "Isha...listen" the hat spinning stops abruptly, it's hem catched between Isha's thumb and index finger. "I know you don't like me" she's surprised that you decided to face the problem right away; it's not something your people are known for. "You've made it all too clear these past days. I know you are wary of me; I know the Undercity is wary of us". The kid's eyes are now on you, studying, squaring you up, detecting any lies that you may hide under your sweet words.

"But... I am not my city. I know what you have been through and I am..." you falter for a moment, thinking that you're starting to sound a little too guilty and invested in this, and that she may recognize this as insincere. "What I meant to say is... I would like to be your friend, if you want to".

Isha doesn't answer you right away, but you see a small smile spread on her lips. You breathe a sigh of relief at successfully bringing down her walls.

She jumps back up, extending her hand to yours, palm open and a curious smile on her face. You take it, careful to not push your weight down on her before you too stand up.

"Come on, let's go home. This is good enough of a tour for me today", you take Isha's hand, ready to walk back to Jinx's, before something clutters inside the hallways, spreading its dull, hollow metal sound everywhere. The sound gets closer and closer, the item of its origin stopping its course at your feet. It's a cylinder shaped, stubby looking object; drawn on its surface are what you recognize to be Jinx's drawings, imitating a grinning gaping mouth of some evil creature. The red light you are so familiar with, the one which with Jinx blows her enemies to bits, is off.

"Well, look what we have here. The runt of that crazed bitch and Piltover's finest trash". From under the fuming tubes, a tall, scruffy looking man shows up. His hair is in a buzz cut style, thin muscles tightly attached to his bones, making him look starved and unkept. Black tattooed run over his forehead and cheeks, giving his sulken eyes even more of a crazed look. His goons all show up after him, exiting from their hidden spots. "What do you want?" you try to sound though, but the wavering of your voice only gives away your fears. Isha hides behind you, clutching tightly at the fabric of your pants.

"Oh we don't want anything from you. But you see..." he reaches to fish something out of his pants. You see it before he shows it: the hem of a knife. He slides the blade out of its sheath, glimmering dangerously in the dark. "...that darling bitch of yours took something from us. Well, to be honest, someone. Someone very dear to our group" you look in between you and Isha, then at the distance between you and the goons, trying to think of an escape.

"What do you mean? How do you know Jin-" he laughs creepily, a little too high for your tastes, echoing between the walls. "How do I know Jinx? Everyone knows Jinx!" he gesticulates with the knife still in his hand, dangerously close to hitting himself in the eye with it. He inspects the blade with something dark inside his thoughts, dulling the colour out of his eyes. With a creepy and disturbing smile on his lips, he runs his finger along the line, blood trickling down its shape. He seems to take a sick kind of pleasure from seeing red staining the metal. "I gotta give it to her though, she really aimed high: fucking someone from Piltover is something none of us would dirty ourselves trying to".

A vein under your skin pumps blood into your brain faster, giving you the prospect of an annoying headache, "Watch that tone-". "Never thought that that small, smart runt would become what she is today. Powder really outdid herself", you don't miss the cruel smirk which paints his lips, enjoying infecting your relationship with Jinx. "Powder?" the name doesn't ring a bell, and you're left with the man's ominous eyes peering into your heart, telling you that 'you don't know anything'.

"Oh look, trust runs so deep between you two that you don't even know her real name! Did you really think a parent could ever name their child 'Jinx'?" the rest of his group laughs and mocks you like their leader is, like a hoard of sheep follows their shepard. "I don't need to know her name. If there is a reason why Po- Jinx is keeping her real name a secret from me, I am not gonna pry it open from her" you can feel your heart pump blood faster into your veins, that small headache becoming stronger and stronger as anger takes hold of your actions. "Mhm? Just like she kept her family's deaths a secret?" those words feel heavy when he speaks them, clearly holding some truth behind them. You try to remain calm but anger and fear are affecting your judgment. "W-What? What the fuck are you talking about?" their ugly laughs fill your ears, only aiding in alimenting the fire at your heart. "After our little...fight, he changed. He started to hang out with the wrong people, doing the wrong things..." slowly, ever so slowly, all of them start to circle around you. One, two, four, six of them, sporting grinning smiles, stalking you like hyenas.

"But he would have been the same has always, even if he had become dumber than he was. He would have been alive too, at this moment, if Vander hadn't intervened". None of what this man is saying makes sense to you. He's talking to you, but his words are meant for others: for his friends, for Isha, for Jinx. You, once again, are reminded that you're not welcome here. In their eyes, hate and hunger swirl, creating a whirlwind that sucks away at your courage, "Just...what do you want from me?!".

"Jinx and that sister of hers took our friend from us. Our boss. Now-" with mastered precision, he makes the blade jump from his hands, now it's tip pointing towards the ground. Something that you can only describe as burning hatred and killing intent paints his features, before he screams a rallying cry, "It's our turn taking everything from her!".

That is enough for the whole lot of them to pounce. One moment, and they are all on you; punching, kicking, twisting your hair in their grasp, snarling and mocking. In the confusion you lose Isha, not being able to distinguish her blue locks in between all that green and grey. For a split second, after they consume their gloves on you, no one is holding you down. You take the occasion to slip away from their grasps, falling backwards into the opening street. You take a second to choose what to do, and as you run towards the crowd once again, following where you assume Isha went, a feeling of anger rises in your stomach. The sound of the busy street echoes, a distant reminder that you have a life to return to, but something tugs at your heart to look at them in the eyes. Blood pumps fast in your veins, alerting every muscle, every bone, every fiber that danger is near, you need to go, but your heart, brain, the pride you take in begin still alive overtakes your judgment. You stop to look at them, the prospect of a challenge in your eyes, of saying 'Look at me!' and incite them to follow 'I am still alive!'.

They look like ravenous beasts, hunched backs and gleaming eyes, angry snarls on their faces, hate coursing through their veins. The leader of the group, the scruffy looking one, fishes something from his back and places it on the bottom of his face: it's a mask, made with grey metal and sprayed with fake golden accents to give it a more classy look. On the side there's a circular opening with a single point in the centre. He takes a syringe and inserts it in the hole, pushing the top down and filling the hollow cavities of the mask with purple gasses. He takes in a deep breath, eyes rolling backwards, before his body goes through a strange change, twitching and moving like he had been shocked. When he looks back at you his eyes are a deep, neon pink, the same shade of colour that paints Jinx's eyes. He moves towards you, pushing and snarling at his friends like a dog with rabies, breaking their bones on the walls, before, with all the air in his lungs, screams, "I'm going to enjoy skinning that piltie's clean skin away from your body!".

You don't make it far before, with an uncanny precision, he throws his blade towards you like a spear, metal sinking inside of your left side, dangerously close to your kidney. A gasp leaves your body before you fall on the floor, blood oozing from the wound. Hundred of needles pierce at your flesh, blood paints the concrete and your mind fuses with the flesh of your brain. Then it all stops; you're back in the alley, cold spreading from the wound throughout your body, followed by a unbearable heat. The blade is snatched from your side, an ear shattering scream erupting from your throat. He is on top of you, already inching the knife to the base of your neck, planning to stab you there, wanting to see the life leaving your body in the most gruesome way possible. "I can't wait to see the look on your girlfriend when I am going to bring her the eyes of her most loved!".

"Bye bye, piltie" you brace yourself for your end; you can almost already feel the knife lodged in your throat, but nothing happens. You hear the sound of a metal hulk resonating in the hallway, before he is knocked down by something thrown with force against his face. You recognize it to be the exoskeleton of the arm you saw before, lying around. The rod which was the building foundation for its making has been thrown on the man's ugly bat-like nose, making him bleed red.

Isha stands behind you, still in launching position, before she runs over to you and tries to help you up. When you do, white behind your eyelids blinds you, pain making your head spin. He gets up again, an animalistic wild look in his eyes. He moves again, muscles hardened with purple veins running along them, drool falling down the space between the mask and his skin. Before he can assault you again, Isha throws something at him: the bomb he himself kicked before, the one Jinx had made, moves through the air, soon to be the second object to hit his ugly face today. He recognizes the object and pales when he sees a red light zipping faster and faster, its grinning mouth inching closer to him.

A colorful light shines on the walls, paint of blue and pink shades falling down like rain; sparks of fire following the natural course of an explosion, fading out of existence a moment later. You run with Isha, hand in hand, away from this horrid place. This time, you don't look back.

A trickle of sweat falls down Jinx's temple while her eyes are focused on connecting two tubes of plastic together. Electricity flows through them, sending sparks flying dangerously close to her skin, before they are connected by the metal snaps on each of their ends. Jinx smiles as her creation takes its first movements, loudly clapping two copper coloured, round, small discs together, before stopping once again. Her fingers twist the key positioned on its back and the mechanic monkey comes to life once again. When her work is finally done, she puts it next to the other one she made hours prior.

The one meant for Isha is coloured with golden accents and decorated with graffitis all over. When turned on, it quickly smashes the plates against each other and plays an off-tune punk song if the button on its right leg is pushed; its eyes are golden, mimicking Isha's own. The one meant for you is far softer than the first: soft shades of pastel mix together with Jinx's characteristic pink, swirling your colours together. Instead of plates, it has a small, roughly knitted red heart in its hands. The left eye shines bright pink, while the other mirror's yours. There are no graffiti on it, except for a small heart on its chest, one near 'your' eye and a 'Jinx' on its left side.

She can't wait to see the look on your eyes when you will see it. She could never quite well express affection like other people do, so giving you gifts was what she did best. Just as she dreams of your face, she hears quick, loud steps coming closer and closer to her. "If you are Caitlyin, I appreciate your obsession with me, but I am in the middle of-" she recognizes Isha's laboured breaths and your pained groans before she can finish the phrase. And when she turns around, her face pales and her blood freezes. Isha has a panicked look to her face, one that she had never seen before; and you? Sweat falls with heavy tears down your face, the shade of your skin so much paler than it usually is, making you look almost dead. Your hand is tightly clutched on your side, where your hand is stained with...blood?

In a fraction of a second, Jinx is on you, hands checking at every curve of your body, focusing on places you might be hurt, while she asks question upon question, filling the air with a sense of urgency. You can only describe the look in her eyes as pure dread. If you didn't groan with pain every few seconds, you'd think Jinx was the one to have gotten hurt. The next few minutes are a whirlpool of movements and colours, making you spill your lunch on the floor. Soft fabric meets your back, suddenly naked with only your bra to cover your chest. Blood oozes faster out of you and you can feel your conscience leaving. Nothing else besides the red on your skin and the blurred shades of blue and brown exists for you.

"...ont worry, I al... got m... sis...er out of ...ble". When after wetting your wound with water, Jinx presses gauze on your body, you are suddenly brought back to life, violently. It feels like someone is crushing with all their might on you, despite Jinx applying the right pressure to the wound. If someone were to walk in right now hearing your screams, they'd think you were begin murdered. After what finally feels like an eternity, you are lying again on her bed, almost lifelessly. You don't have time to answer Jinx's questions, before you fall into a deep slumber.

Half an hour passes by, and the world seems sealed in a bubble of silence. Nothing moves. nothing makes noise, nothing happens. The only thing that does make noise are the voices in Jinx's head, screaming loudly at her for having let you go alone. 'You should have been there', 'See what happens when you let people into your life?', 'She is hurt. She might die. It's your fault'.

Their loud screams are enough to make one go crazy, but despite how confused she is, Jinx finds a will in herself to speak, to silence them. With her hand, she nudges Isha, getting her attention, and mouths "What happened?".

Isha doesn't answer. Her eyes burn holes into the metal of the helix, bottom lip tightly sealed under her teeth, before something in her breaks. She rushes in Jinx's arms, hiding herself into her chest, crying until the tears are gone and her throat is raw. They stay together, tangled into one another, for a while, until their bodies are cold. "Isha, what happened?" Jinx repeats.

Isha gets up, running over Jinx's desk and returns with two different coloured pencils. On the ground she draws a scene: you and her, hand in hand, with frowning faces; behind you six grinning figures, one taller than the rest. Green splattered on the ground and high walls. Jinx recognizes this place immediatley; she's been there just a couple of weeks prior.

Walking to her desk, she grabs her trusted gun and more than a dozen of bullets. A deep, hateful scowl paints her features, eyes shining brighter than usual.

Tonight, the undercity shines and roars with fervor. Its lights shine bright and the shouts of its inhabitants brings it to life, beating strong, like the heart of a dragon. The city seems to sway in tandem with Jinx's white cape, almost bending to her will but also shielding her, hiding her in its crowds. This is home. This is all Jinx has ever known and ever will. She knows it's streets like the palm of her hand: where to leave her mark, the highest places she can reach from which she can put a bullet in between her enemies eyes, which vents and tunnels will take her back home.

She knows exactly where you had been hurt, and if her predictions are correct, they're waiting for her there. And she's gonna give them what they want. The allway is far too serene to be one of the city's main ways out to the perimeter where steel factories and shipments are. It's uncharacteristically quiet, and by Zaun's rules, that means danger.

Jinx steps on the green gooey substance, observing the dripping of your blood leading to the city's main street, and anger boils inside her at that view. The square is empty, except for a series of tubes and a pitfall to its left. Just as she thought, she begins to hear steps coming into her direction. They had been expecting her.

"If you weren't trying, and failing, to ambush me, I'd say you have a crush" the man behind her simply scoffs, his breath coming out ragged and metallic from under his mask.

Jinx turns around to see a tall man, breathing through what she recognizes to be a mask that henchmens of shady organizations wore to enhance their physical abilities. After a moment, she recognizes blood staining the man's pale skin, half of his left hand blown off, rudimental replaced with a metal prosthesis at the last minute. She can ignore that just fine, but the exposed muscle of his left cheek makes her want to puke. "Wow, and you're even more grotesque than I thought" a cruel anger swirls inside her eyes, her lips curling up in a snarl. "What? Were you so anxious to try to kill me that you couldn't even let your wounds heal?" he laughs at her words, men closing in on her much like they did hours prior to you.

"We were waiting for you, Powder" the mention of that name pangs at her heart. Subtly, she touches the top of her gun, ready to draw it at the first sign of danger. "I figured. How do you know my name?" "A man can know much...if he is in the right place, at the right time" he falls silent when Jinx laughs at his words, anger making a vein in his head pop. "Damn. I thought you were pathetic already, but this whole 'supervillain' talk only makes you seem more of an ass than you already are" much like Jinx, he grabs the death of his knife. At the sign, his men form a half circle around the blue haired criminal, directly closing the only way out. "You won't talk all that shit after I sink my blade in your throat" she can't help but feel compassion for these poor bastards. Faintly, she can already feel their blood falling on her skin while putting bullets between their eyes. "I would like to see you try" she changes her body stance, right side facing them while she takes out her gun with her left hand, making a show of placing the bullets in. Unlike what she thought, they do not follow her; instead, the leader seems relaxed as ever. His dark eyes reflect hers and for a second Jinx can see a dangerous, maniacal glint in them and a cruel grin on his lips.

"Oh I did try, and succeeded, with your little piltie bitch-girlfriend" her breathing stops, heart missing a beat, and time seems to stop for a moment, before it all starts to spin again, faster and faster as she gets angrier and angrier. "You should have heard her screams. The sweetest I've ever heard" she imagines you, clutching at your side, tears in your eyes and spit falling off your mouth; begging for him to leave you alone, to let you go. His features are lost under a black veil and painted over with a red open mouthed smile and tight eyes, not unlike the monsters that she has to fight with every night, as he raises the crimson blade and-.

"Don't you fucking dare" her throath feels raw when she speaks, almost as if she's spewing pure black hatred with each word. "Or what? What are you going to do?" 'He thinks he's the shit, huh?', she thinks, loading the storage to the brim and finally raising the barrel of her gun to aim on his forehead. "I am going to enjoy blowing your brains out"

'No one hurts the people I love'.

The next few seconds are a blur of colours and movement. Her body moves before her mind can understand what is going on. She ducks under something coming at her, kicking at the figure and sending them flying a few feet away from her. Someone pulls at her braids and she yelps, momentarily confused; in a fraction of a second, she blows their hand off, crouching and punching in the face a second figure. The blood on the ground, spilling from the screaming man gives everything a shape again and she's back to the alley. Three men are down, two unconscious and one debilitated. The remaining ones look at her up and down, before the leader nudges them, kicking their shins.

One of them takes a metal rod from his side and swings wildly at Jinx, paying no attention to where he hits. She dodges him with no effort and when he stops momentarily to rest his arm, she knocks his weapon from his hands and hits him in the neck with it, white replacing the colour of his eyes. The other, after seeing the bodies of who used to be his companions, runs away, leaving his leader behind; but before he can make it far, a bullet runs fast through his chest and he falls to the floor, lifeless.

He is the last one standing. "Heh, you call yourself a leader, but you couldn't even save your men". His teeth grind harshly against each other, sending jolts of pain through his mouth, "Shut the fuck up".

But Jinx doesn't. No, she's going to enjoy torturing the life out of this fucker like he did to you. "You didn't even lift a finger. I didn't know Zaun could have such a coward walking through its streets".

He finally snaps, spit flowing out of his mouth as he screams, staining the mask inside "I said shut up!". He breathes in the chemical Jinx is so familiar with, huffing purple clouds out of the mask with a metallic sound. Once again, he feels the rush of the substance in his lungs, blood circling small purple bubbles throughout the body, strengthening his muscles and blanking his mind. But this time, his body starts to twitch and shake, slipping out of his control.

The heart beats faster, the lungs lose their air and move erratically, blood flows freely through his body and bones morph, stretching and breaking and strengthening. His muscles cannot be sustained by the bones anymore, and he falls to the floor. The space inside his ribcage feels tighter, his lungs can only provide so much until finally, his body stops changing and he can stand up, much taller than Jinx now.

The blue haired criminal looks incredibly unimpressed with her opponent's new shape, her eyes studying his moments and planning the next few seconds. That grotesque creature lunges, pushing his whole weight on the top of his body, falling messily when Jinx dodges him. She ducks under a clawed swing, rolling through the space between his legs; then, while he is confused and looking for her, aims at his neck.

The bullet lodges itself into the skin, remaining snugly fit between flesh. The scream that leaves him could have woken up the dead. His nails dig into his neck, trying desperately to yank the bullet out, but to no avail. He turns and turns, like a cat chasing its tail, before dizziness gets to him and he falls to the floor, spilling saliva all over the concrete. When he looks around once again, he is face to face with Jinx's gun, staring at the black hole of the barrel. "You made a mistake crossing me, today. Let this be a lesson" she tilts the gun until it's flat against his forehead. He is not capable of forming words anymore, they die at the base of his throath, leaving only emptiness behind. For a moment, she can see in his eyes something that resembled her, many years ago: a scared animal, one that does not understand what their fate will be. But when her mind reminds her of how viciously he attacked you, and how you are lying in her bed, with no assurance that you'll wake up, anger bubbles once again behind her eyes, clouding her thoughts.

"I'm sorry" is all that he hears, before his body falls to the floor, life leaving his eyes.

Her heart feels cold, as well as her body and mind. Jinx, in her own kind of weird way, is already trying to make peace with the fact that, once she comes back home, you might be gone. All too often in her life she had to come to terms with the death of her loved ones, and all too often, she was directly involved with their demise. She can already picture it: you on the bed, blood staining your clothes and the mattress, Isha on her knees, crying her heart out. She, coming home, seeing your dead body lying on what used to be your little shared creek, shielded by the world, falling to her knees and her heart finally giving out to pain, soon to follow you.

From the crack inside the wall, she can spot the helix of her home, the one she'll soon walk over to reach you. She tries to move, but to no avail: her body doesn't let her. Her muscles are reduced to mush, her legs feel like lead and her heart heaves on her rib cage so much that she had to bend down, clutching at her chest to try and ignore that pain. She could stay here forever, stalling time to this single minute, winding it back over and over and over again, all for the purpose of pretending she's still with you, back in your apartment in Piltover, laying naked on the bed with serene smiles on your faces.

But she can't. Even if she could stop time, right here and now, what could she do? Nothing would change. You'd still be dead, she'd still be heartbroken, the bed would still be cold on your side.

She slips inside the crevice, body molding to its shape, before she is face to face with the entrance to her home. She's so lost in her dread and fear that, for a moment, she doesn't hear the sound of laughter from the inside. When her mind recognized the sound, the pitch of the voice she so longed to hear, tears prickled at her eyes and hope filled her heart. She rushes towards the sound, almost tripping down the helix and falling to her death.

There you are. Laying on the bed, laughing weakly as Isha gesticulates and shouts loudly, imitating some sort of monster. Every little light inside her home has been placed near you, probably by Isha, and lifts your figure with a myriad of colorful shades. You look like a living painting to her.

You can't even process seeing her when she's already on you, touching you everywhere, checking your pulse, grabbing onto your legs to assure herself, to make sure that you...

"Are you... really alive?". You could crumble right here and now under those tearful eyes of hers, so soft and beautiful, looking almost powder blue. You stretch your arms to reach down to her, hugging her close to you; "I am, I am". Jinx takes a moment to process your hug and your words; and when she does, when she's certain that you are alive, that you are okay, her walls crumble away.

She pulls you down towards her, wanting to reciprocate the hug, but impatience gets the better of her and instead pulls herself on the bed, halfway reaching you. Her head rests on your belly, tears staining your clothes when she feels your hand on her back. "I thought-! I thought you-" her words die in her throath when she feels your fingers cupping at her cheek, pulling her to rest on her knees and look into your eyes. "I know, I know. I am okay".

Tears fall freely down her cheeks once again, her bottom lip wavering before she takes refuge in your body, hiding her tears on your lap. "I am so glad! I am so glad...".

Once her tears dry, she pushes herself to look at you, eyes puffy and red. "You are okay" she says, and you're about to assure her once again, but something tells you that she's really talking to herself. She climbs on the bed with you, quickly resting her head on your chest. You can't help but smile at her, ready to cuddle together when you realize you've let someone out of the picture. Isha looks at you both with those big eyes of her, pouting. She knows exactly how to push your buttons.

"Come on kid, get in" come Jinx's words, quickly followed by Isha tangling herself in between your bodies and closing her eyes, sleep already overtaking her. "Man, she sure takes a lot of space" you chuckle, placing your hand on Isha's head and stroking her locks between your fingers, hearing a small contented sigh from her. "Yeah, but she deserves it". A heavy silence fills the space, one that you usually pair up with tranquillity, but who you quickly realize is loud for your lover. "Jinx... I am okay" stopping them from screaming in her ears is hard, but when you are with her, they vanish off of existence. Your voice brings her back to reality, as well as reminding her that you have gotten hurt. Letting herself relax after the storm is something she's not used to. "I know" but she can try.

Starting this conversation will be a pain, you think to yourself, but you need to tell her.

"...He told me your real name, Jinx. And, what you did". Quick snapping sounds, mixed with hushed voices and distant screams fill her head in a second, getting louder by the second. She doesn't find in herself the strength to answer, too tired from the day's events; but nevertheless, listens. She leans on the bed, eyes dark and attentive. The scent of your skin fills her nose and she braces herself for your next words. "But...I don't care".

What?

"I don't know what you've been through, but... I don't need to know. You will tell me if you want to". It all stops. Every sound, every shout or whisper, every heartbeat or pulse of electricity. It seems, for a moment, that all becomes white and quiet, before the world starts to spin again. You feel her strong fingers push you more towards her, one cold hand under your clothes, right where your wound is. "Thank you toots, that means a lot".

Less than twenty seconds of silence later, she's already pestering you with her worries again, "Does it hurt? Do I need to give you som-" you interrupt her, taking her hand in yours. Normally, you would be a little annoyed by her continuous train of words, but she needs to be reassured. She needs to hear it from you, how many times it takes. "I am okay. I just need you here with me".

That seems enough to let her finally bear down her worries and she quickly rests on the bed, eyelids heavy and a yawn in her throath. "...I made you a monkey...gift" she slurrs over her words, already slipping in and out of conciousness. "Oh really?". "Yeah...". You too are about to follow her shortly, and before you let sleep overtake you, you reach behind and place a kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight Jinx" she smiles, catching your lips in a quick peck and pushing her nose in the crevice of your shoulders; "Goodnight toots".

Bonus ----------------

When Sevika came home that night, after her usual gambling and drinking out in Zaun's bar, she certainly did not expect to find the messily tangled body of limbs that were you, Jinx and Isha.

As quietly as she possibly can, she takes the chair Jinx sits on while doing her evil scientist machineries and sits next to your bed. Placing a cigar in between your lips and lights it, blowing the smoke away in the opposite direction. She looks back at the bed, multiple coloured lights shading your peacefully sleeping figures. She stays silent for a moment, before she crouches on her knees and shakes the tip of the cigar, firing crumbling pieces of tobacco down on the floor. "They do look pretty cute".

#jinx arcane x reader #arcane x reader #jinx x reader #arcane x you #arcane x female reader #jinx x fem!reader #no smut #violence tw #fluff

726 notes · View notes

kiwriteswords · 26 days ago

Note

Could I please get a fake dating or like Hotch jumps in to be Reader's date for a wedding or something story?

Everybody Loves Somebody

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I keep telling myself that I want to post something every day of December, so let's see if I can keep this up! This one I fought myself back and forth if I liked it, so I hope you guys do! I also need to update my masterlist...like bad.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 13.5k

Tags/Warnings: Female Reader, BAU Reader, Hotch and Reader are Best Friends, Reader is being breadcrumbed by another guy, insecure reader, reader does not know her worth, weddings, mentions of alcohol in a wedding setting, smut, smut with feelings, smut that you have to use your imagination for in some points, not specified, but unprotected sex, one-bed-trope, romance, fluff, angst, eluding to reader being in toxic relationships before, hurt/comfort.

Sypnosis: At a wedding filled with laughter, romance, and unexpected revelations, You and Hotch find yourselves navigating the fine line between friendship and something more. What starts as a favor soon becomes a night of quiet truths and unspoken emotions, as the two of you grapple with feelings that can no longer be ignored.

Aaron Hotchner had long considered himself an observant man. It was, after all, an essential trait in his line of work. But when it came to you, his closest friend and confidant, observation was more than professional—it was personal. He prided himself on knowing you better than anyone else, even if the knowledge sometimes brought him a frustrating ache he didn’t dare examine too closely.

That ache flared again today as he glanced across the bullpen to where you sat at your desk. To the untrained eye, you were simply busy—typing emails, jotting notes, occasionally furrowing your brow in concentration. But Hotch knew better. The tight set of your jaw, the way your leg bounced beneath your desk, and the fact that you hadn’t laughed at any of Morgan’s jokes all afternoon—those were your tells. Something was wrong.

He waited until the team dispersed for lunch to approach. You didn’t notice him until he leaned against the edge of your desk, his arms crossed, and gave you one of his signature looks—the kind that said he was waiting for answers.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you glanced up at him.

Hotch raised a brow. “You’re upset.”

You scoffed lightly, turning your attention back to your computer. “I’m fine.”

The evasion only confirmed his suspicions. “You’re not fine,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

For a moment, you hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a sigh, you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms defensively. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just... plans fell through, and I’m annoyed. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t nothing. He knew exactly what—or rather who—was behind this.

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice hardening despite himself. “It’s him.”

Your silence was damning.

Hotch felt his stomach twist. He hated this—hated how that man, who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time, could still have this hold on you. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this—hopeful one minute, crushed the next. He clenched his jaw, reigning in the frustration that wasn’t entirely directed at the man.

Hotch remembered every instance in painful clarity.

The blown-off phone calls. The texts left unanswered for hours, sometimes days. The signs of interest one day, only for them to vanish into disinterest the next. It was a cycle so predictable it made Hotch’s blood boil, not just because it hurt you but because you still held out hope every time that this time would be different.

And then there were the worst moments—the ones that left marks even you couldn’t brush off.

There was the time you’d shown up to work after a rare weekend off, a hopeful sparkle in your eye as you mentioned that things finally seemed to be turning around with him. Hotch had wanted to believe it for your sake, but he’d barely had time to hope before you confided—over lunch in the BAU’s break room—that the man had stood you up for dinner, citing a “misunderstanding.” Hotch had gripped his coffee mug so tightly he thought it might crack.

Through it all, he’d stayed quiet. He’d been your friend, your colleague, your confidant. He’d listened when you needed to vent, offered advice when you asked, and let you lean on him when the weight of disappointment became too much. But inside, he’d been screaming.

Screaming at the man who couldn’t see the incredible person standing right in front of him. Screaming at himself for letting it go on for so long without saying more.

“What happened?” he asked, forcing his tone to remain gentle.

You sighed again, this time heavier. “My friend from college and grad school, Annie, is getting married this weekend. I had a plus-one, and—well, he was supposed to come with me.” Your voice wavered just slightly. “But he bailed last minute. Said he couldn’t make it because he’s ‘too busy.’”

Hotch’s jaw tightened further. Too busy? The excuse was laughable, infuriating, and so painfully predictable. He hated seeing the way you tried to downplay your disappointment as if his latest betrayal were somehow your fault.

“I don’t get it, Hotch,” you continued quietly, staring down at your desk. “I thought things were finally going somewhere this time. But he’s always—” You shook your head, blinking back tears. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just—”

He wanted to tell you why. Wanted to tell you that you hoped because you were good, because you believed in people even when they didn’t deserve it. He wanted to tell you that your hope was one of the things he admired most about you—and the thing that tore him apart when it was weaponized against you.

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted, his voice firmer than he intended.

You blinked up at him in surprise.

“This isn’t about you,” he said, holding your gaze. “It’s about him. He’s a coward who doesn’t see what’s right in front of him. You deserve better than this—better than him. You do this because you care. But he doesn’t deserve it.”

You smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thanks, Hotch. But it’s not like I have a backup plan. It’s just one weekend. I’ll survive.”

Hotch watched as you tried to bury your hurt under a mask of indifference, but it didn’t fool him. He wasn’t sure when he made the decision—it was instinctive, like every protective impulse he felt when it came to you.

“Then let me go with you,” he said, the words spilling out before he could overthink them.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“I’ll go with you to the wedding,” he repeated, his voice calm and steady. “If you’ll have me.”

The stunned look on your face made him wonder if he’d overstepped. But then your lips curved into a genuine smile—a rare one that he hadn’t seen all day.

“You’d really do that?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his own lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

You laughed—a light, incredulous sound that made something warm bloom in his chest. “Aaron Hotchner, my wedding date. Who would’ve thought?”

“It’s a first for me, too,” he admitted, his tone light but sincere. “But I promise, you won’t regret it.”

For the first time that day, Hotch saw a flicker of hope in your eyes, and he silently vowed to make good on his promise. Because whether you realized it or not, you deserved someone who saw your worth—someone who would never dream of leaving you hanging.

And if that someone couldn’t be him, he’d at least make sure you saw what it was like to be treated the way you deserved, even if just for one weekend.

Aaron Hotchner wasn’t sure how it had happened, but somehow, agreeing to accompany you to this wedding had become the most complicated logistical endeavor of his week. Which, considering he led a team of profilers tracking violent criminals, was saying something.

He sat across from you at the round table in the break room, a notepad in hand as you went over the details for the weekend. You were in full planning mode, leaning forward, your fingers tapping rhythmically against your coffee cup.

“So,” you began, grinning. “The wedding is in Stafford. I already booked a room because I wasn’t sure how late I’d stay, but now that you’re coming, I can probably cancel that and just—”

“You should keep it,” Hotch interjected.

You raised an eyebrow, your grin morphing into something sly. “Aaron, are you worried about your reputation? Afraid of being seen walking out of my hotel room in the morning?”

His lips quirked into the faintest smile. “I’m worried about getting enough sleep and having to share a room with someone who steals the covers.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned, pretending to clutch your chest. “Accusing me of being a cover thief without evidence. Profiling me already, Hotchner?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

Your laugh was light and easy, the sound wrapping around him in a way that momentarily made him forget you were planning this trip because someone else had let you down. He knew better than to dwell on that, though, especially now that you were in good spirits again.

“So,” you continued, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “you’re driving, right? You’ve got the serious FBI Dad car that won’t break down.”

Hotch raised a brow, unsure what quick-witted joke you were making at him. “FBI Dad car?”

“Yeah, you know,” you teased, gesturing vaguely. “Sturdy, reliable, no-nonsense. It practically screams, ‘I’m an authority figure, and I have juice boxes in the back seat for emergencies.’”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Yes, I’ll drive.”

Before you could respond, Morgan’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Sounds like we’re right after all,” he said, loud enough for both of you to hear.

Hotch turned to find Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi standing in the doorway, all wearing expressions ranging from smug to amused.

“Right about what?” Hotch asked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

“Oh, nothing,” Morgan replied, but the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth said otherwise.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at the trio. “Okay, spill it. What conspiracy theory are you cooking up now?”

Prentiss smirked. “Oh, it’s not a conspiracy. Just a little… friendly office speculation.”

Rossi, ever the instigator, folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Let’s just say there’s a reason the betting pool has been so active lately.”

Hotch blinked, confused. “Betting pool?”

“On what?” you asked, your tone equal parts curious and incredulous.

Morgan didn’t miss a beat. “On when you two were finally going to get together.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, simultaneously:

“What?” Hotch said, his voice clipped with disbelief.

“Excuse me?” you said, your tone higher and filled with mock outrage.

The trio in the doorway looked utterly unfazed.

“Oh, come on,” Prentiss said, rolling her eyes. “You finish each other’s sentences, you bicker like an old couple, and don’t even get me started on the way you look at each other.”

You snorted. “The way we look at each other? What is this, a rom-com?”

Hotch held up a hand, his expression stern but his tone baffled. “This is absurd. We’re colleagues and friends. That’s it.”

Morgan raised a skeptical brow. “Friends, huh? You’re going to a wedding together. And if I’m not mistaken, Hotch just volunteered to drive—sounds pretty couple-y to me.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table. “Oh, Derek, sweet, sweet Derek,” you said, your voice dripping with exaggerated condescension. “Are you trying to tell me that I can’t ask my best friend to be my date to a wedding without it being some grand romantic gesture?”

Morgan grinned. “Not saying it, just calling it like I see it.”

Hotch sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is ridiculous.”

Prentiss gave him a mock-serious look. “It’s not ridiculous if it’s true.”

“It’s not true,” you and Hotch said in unison, which only seemed to amuse the team further.

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said, exchanging a knowing look with Rossi.

Hotch turned to you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “They’re crazy.”

“Oh, 100%,” you agreed, giving him a quick, conspiratorial grin. “But let’s not correct them. Let’s just let them spiral into their own delusions. It’ll be fun to watch.”

Prentiss smirked. “You know we can still hear you, right?”

“Then you’re welcome for the entertainment,” you shot back, standing and grabbing your coffee cup.

As the team finally dispersed, still laughing and muttering amongst themselves, Hotch shook his head, bemused.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Hey, look at it this way,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly as you passed. “At least now you’ve got a reputation as a fun wedding date. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Despite himself, Hotch felt a small smile tug at his lips. “Right.”

Hotch arrived at your apartment a few minutes early, the morning sun casting long shadows across the quiet street. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket while waiting, catching himself fidgeting—a rare occurrence. He told himself it was because of the unfamiliarity of the situation, not because of you.

When you finally emerged, his breath hitched. You were dressed simply but elegantly, exuding a confidence that he found himself noticing more than usual. As you approached the car, you waved with a teasing smile.

“Wow, Aaron, I didn’t think punctuality extended to wedding duty,” you quipped, opening the passenger door.

He smirked as you slid into the seat. “You make it sound like this is an interrogation.”

“Depends. Will there be a polygraph at the reception?” you shot back, buckling your seatbelt.

Hotch chuckled softly, pulling away from the curb. “Let’s hope not.”

The silence between you was comfortable as the car rolled onto the highway. Hotch found himself glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were scrolling through your phone, your brow furrowing in that way it always did when you were deep in thought.

“So,” he began, breaking the quiet, “what’s the plan for the reception? Do I stand in the corner and look intimidating, or are you expecting me to charm your college friends?”

You turned to him with a mock-serious expression. “You’re under strict orders to charm, obviously. What’s the point of bringing you along if you’re just going to brood in a corner?”

“I don’t brood,” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you absolutely brood,” you said with a grin. “But don’t worry—I’ll coach you. Step one: smile occasionally. It won’t kill you.”

Hotch shot you a dry look. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Your laugh was light, but it held an edge of something deeper—something that lingered in the air between you like a static charge.

After a beat, you shifted in your seat, your voice softening. “You know, you really didn’t have to do this. I would’ve survived.”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was something in your gaze—a mix of gratitude and something unspoken, something he didn’t dare put a name to.

“Well,” you said, your voice tinged with a sly edge as you broke the comfortable silence. “If we’re doing this, we might as well make it fun. Tell me, Hotch—how’s your dancing?”

Hotch glanced at you, arching an eyebrow as his lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Impeccable.”

You blinked, your grin faltering in mock surprise. “Wait, really? You can’t just say that and not elaborate.”

“I don’t think there’s much to elaborate on,” he said, his tone light but confident. “Years of events, fundraisers, and... the occasional gala. I can hold my own.”

For a moment, you simply stared at him, then let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, this is going to be fun. The FBI’s most stoic agent is secretly a Fred Astaire in disguise? Who knew?”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t say I was flashy.”

“Flashy is overrated,” you replied, leaning back in your seat. “Grace, timing, presence—those are the real markers of a great dancer.”

“And you’d know this how?” he asked, shooting you a sidelong glance.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I took some lessons in college. Turns out I have two left feet, but I’m a great judge of talent.”

He smirked. “Two left feet? I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” you said, grinning. “So, looks like I’ll be depending on you to keep us from embarrassing ourselves on the dance floor.”

“I think we’ll manage,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with a quiet warmth.

There was something in the way you looked at him then, your teasing smile softening just enough to give away the unspoken tension humming beneath the surface. Hotch forced his attention back to the road, though his mind lingered on the way your presence seemed to fill the space around him so effortlessly.

“You know,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence with a playful tilt to your voice, “if you’re this good at dancing, I’m starting to think I’ve been seriously underestimating you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his tone carrying the faintest hint of a challenge.

“Yeah,” you replied, tapping a finger against your chin in mock thought. “What other hidden talents are you keeping from me?”

Hotch smirked, but instead of answering, he let the question hang in the air, his silence calculated.

“Oh, come on,” you pressed, laughing lightly. “You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and leave me hanging.”

He shrugged, his expression unreadable but his tone unmistakably amused. “Maybe I like keeping you guessing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Your laugh filled the car again, bright and unrestrained, and Hotch allowed himself a small smile. It was moments like this—when the walls between you seemed to lower without effort—that he felt the tug of something deeper. Something he’d long ignored, even as it grew impossible to deny.

As the miles stretched on, the banter gave way to quieter moments, but the tension never left. It simmered beneath the surface, in the way your knee brushed against the center console, in the way his name sounded when you said it, in the way his gaze lingered on you just a little too long at every red light.

By the time you reached the venue, Hotch found himself gripping the wheel a little tighter, his usual composure shaken just enough to make him wonder if this was really just about being a good friend.

And judging by the way you looked at him as you stepped out of the car, he suspected he wasn’t the only one wondering.

By the time Hotch pulled into the parking lot, the late morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the small boutique hotel nestled on the edge of town. He stepped out of the car, grabbing your overnight bag from the trunk and trying not to notice the way your dress caught the light as you smoothed it out.

The lobby was quaint, adorned with rustic charm, and the check-in process was quick. Hotch couldn’t help but notice the faint blush that crept up your cheeks when the receptionist handed him a single key card.

“Enjoy your stay,” the woman said with a knowing smile, though Hotch couldn’t decipher if it was genuine or merely part of her routine.

As you both stepped into the elevator, you glanced at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “So, any guesses on the room situation?”

Hotch gave you a sidelong glance, his voice steady. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

But the moment the door to the room swung open, he realized "fine" was a stretch.

There it was. The single bed. Large and neatly made, taking up most of the modestly sized room.

You stopped in the doorway, your bag slung over one shoulder as you surveyed the scene. “Well,” you said after a moment, turning back to him with a raised eyebrow, “this is cozy.”

Hotch cleared his throat, stepping inside and setting your bag on the chair in the corner. “It’s practical,” he said, though even he didn’t believe the words.

You smirked, closing the door behind you. “I didn’t realize practicality came with a built-in proximity test.”

He gave you a faint look, his lips twitching despite himself. “If it’s an issue, I can take the floor.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you said, brushing past him to set your phone on the bedside table. “We’re both adults. I think we can survive one night.” You looked back at him and had almost a nervous laugh, “Plus, I have to prove to you I’m not a sheet thief.”

The confidence in your voice didn’t quite match the flicker of something else in your eyes—nervousness, curiosity, or perhaps the same undercurrent of tension he’d felt since the drive.

“Well,” you continued, shaking off the moment as you dug through your bag, “we don’t have much time before the ceremony, so I’m claiming the bathroom first. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”

Hotch chuckled softly as you disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water quickly filling the room. He loosened his tie, sitting on the edge of the bed and glancing around. The space was neat, understated, with soft lighting that made everything feel strangely intimate.

He caught himself staring at the bathroom door longer than necessary, then stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair.

When you emerged a few minutes later, your face freshly washed and your lipstick reapplied, you looked radiant. Hotch found himself at a loss for words, though he masked it by stepping into the bathroom with a curt, “Your turn to wait.”

The cool water on his face did little to clear his mind. By the time he stepped back into the room, fully composed, you were seated on the edge of the bed, slipping your shoes on.

“All set?” he asked, his voice steadier than he felt.

You glanced up at him, your smile soft but teasing. “Ready when you are, Fred Astaire.”

He smirked, grabbing his jacket and gesturing toward the door. “After you.”

As you walked ahead, Hotch allowed himself a brief moment to exhale, the weight of the growing tension settling over him like a second skin. The day had barely begun, and already, he found himself wondering just how long he could keep his thoughts—and his feelings—in check.

The sun filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled light on the guests as they made their way toward the outdoor ceremony space. Hotch walked beside you, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot filling the brief silence. He couldn’t help but glance at you as you adjusted your dress, the soft fabric shifting gracefully as you moved.

“You look...” Hotch began, his voice quieter than usual. He cleared his throat, glancing ahead at the clusters of chairs. “You look incredible.”

You turned to him, surprised. “Hotch, was that a compliment? Are you feeling okay?”

He smirked, his lips twitching. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all day,” he admitted, his gaze steady now. “Just... took a bit of courage.”

Your playful grin faltered slightly, your eyes softening as they met his. There was a flicker of something in your expression—something unspoken, almost vulnerable. Before you could respond, a voice cut through the moment.

“Oh my God, is that you?”

You barely had time to turn before a woman approached, her enthusiasm unmistakable. She was around your age, with bright eyes and a warm smile that radiated familiarity.

“Wow, it’s been forever! How are you?” the woman gushed, pulling you into a quick hug.

Hotch stepped back slightly, his hands tucked neatly into his pockets as he watched the exchange.

“I’m good,” you replied, your voice friendly but a bit guarded. “Hotch, this is Taylor. We were in the same program in grad school. Taylor, this is Aaron Hotchner.”

Taylor’s eyes lit up as she turned to him, her smile widening. “Oh, Aaron. You must be her boyfriend!”

Hotch blinked, the words catching him off guard. He opened his mouth to respond but paused, glancing at you as you froze slightly, your lips parting as if to correct her. But something stopped you—curiosity, maybe, or hesitation.

Instead, Hotch smiled faintly, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, his tone calm and composed, deliberately sidestepping the assumption.

Taylor shook his hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard so much about this wedding. You’re both going to have such a great time! Anyway, I should grab my seat before I lose it. So good to see you again!”

She darted off, leaving the two of you standing there in her wake.

You turned to Hotch, your brow raised. “Boyfriend?” you asked quietly, your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch glanced at you as the crowd began to settle into their seats, his expression calm but with a glint of dry humor in his eyes. “Is ‘boss’ better?”

Your lips quirked into a smirk as you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “Touché.”

The ceremony began before either of you could say more, but the weight of the word lingered between you. Hotch tried to focus on the officiant’s words, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the quiet murmurs of the gathered crowd. But his mind kept drifting back to your reaction—and to the flicker of a thought he didn’t dare voice.

Maybe the assumption wasn’t as far-fetched as it seemed.

Hotch settled into his seat beside you as the ceremony began, the soft murmur of conversation fading into a respectful silence. The bride and groom stood at the altar under an archway adorned with delicate flowers, the golden light of the late afternoon casting everything in a warm, dreamlike glow.

He tried to focus on the ceremony, the gentle cadence of the officiant’s voice blending with the rustle of the trees. But your presence beside him made it difficult.

The chairs were close together, the space between you almost nonexistent. He could feel the warmth of your arm just brushing against his, a subtle contact that sent a current through him more powerful than it should have. You shifted slightly, your knee brushing his, and Hotch held his breath for a moment, willing himself to remain composed.

When the officiant spoke about love—about commitment, vulnerability, and the courage it took to give yourself fully to another person—Hotch found himself watching your profile instead of the couple at the altar.

Your expression was soft; your lips curved into a faint smile as you listened. There was a light in your eyes, one that made his chest tighten unexpectedly. You looked beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way you seemed so present, so genuine, so effortlessly yourself.

And for a moment, he let himself imagine.

He imagined reaching for your hand, letting his fingers curl around yours in the quiet simplicity of the moment. He imagined what it might be like to sit beside you at a ceremony like this as something more—more than friends, more than colleagues. The thought was fleeting but potent, leaving a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite shake.

When the bride and groom exchanged their vows, their voices filled with emotion, Hotch stole a glance at you. A soft smile played on your lips, and you leaned forward slightly, your focus entirely on the couple.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice so quiet he barely caught it.

He nodded, his throat tightening. “It is.”

Your gaze flicked to him briefly, your smile widening just a fraction before you returned your attention to the altar.

The ceremony continued, the romantic atmosphere growing thicker as the couple’s love story unfolded in front of the guests. When the bride’s voice cracked with emotion as she promised to love her partner for the rest of her life, Hotch’s gaze shifted back to you.

You were blinking quickly, your hands folded in your lap, and Hotch recognized the subtle effort to hold back tears. It was a side of you he rarely saw—vulnerable, unguarded—and it stirred something deep within him.

Without thinking, he let his knee press more firmly against yours, a quiet gesture of solidarity. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing his for just a moment.

By the time the ceremony ended, with cheers and applause filling the air as the bride and groom shared their first kiss, Hotch found himself acutely aware of every inch of space between you—of how close you were, yet still not close enough.

As you turned to him, your eyes bright with unshed tears and a soft smile lighting up your face, Hotch realized he’d never been less composed in his life.

The cocktail hour unfolded in the garden, a charming space strung with delicate fairy lights and buzzing with soft laughter and the clinking of glasses. Guests mingled near tables laden with hors d’oeuvres, the scent of fresh flowers mingling with the crisp evening air. Hotch stood by your side, his hands resting lightly in his pockets, watching as you stared out at the crowd, your expression thoughtful.

You hadn’t said much since the ceremony ended. It wasn’t like you to be quiet for so long, and he could see the internal battle playing out behind your eyes. Your shoulders were slightly tense, your gaze distant as you watched couples and old friends chatter happily around you.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Hotch didn’t press. He knew you well enough to know that if you wanted to share, you would. So, he waited, his presence steady and unintrusive as you worked through whatever was on your mind.

Finally, you let out a soft sigh, leaning slightly against the high-top table between you. “You ever watch something beautiful—like that ceremony—and feel… I don’t know, happy for them, but also kind of… sad?”

He tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Sad?”

You nodded, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your glass. “Not for them, of course. They were perfect. It’s just…” You hesitated, then let the words spill out, your voice quieter. “It makes you wonder if that kind of thing is in the cards for you, you know? If someone could ever love you like that—unconditionally, fully. If someone would show up for you, every single time.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words. He could see the vulnerability in your eyes, the doubt you were trying so hard to mask. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to say—not because he didn’t know the answer, but because the truth came so quickly and easily that it startled him.

He straightened slightly, his voice steady as he replied, “It’ll happen for you. And when it does, the guy will be the luckiest man in the world.”

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips, your eyes snapping to his. The disbelief on your face caught him off guard, and he realized too late how much he’d revealed.

He cleared his throat, quickly adding, “Not that I’d know, of course. Divorced, widowed, single father—not exactly a stellar track record.” He offered a small, self-deprecating smirk. “I’m hardly an expert on what works.”

You blinked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound was light, genuine, and for a brief moment, Hotch felt a flicker of relief that he’d managed to deflect.

“Wow, Hotchner,” you said, your laughter fading into a warm smile. “Way to lift me up and immediately knock yourself down.”

“Just keeping things balanced,” he replied, his tone dry but his eyes warm.

You shook your head, still smiling, but he could see the wheels turning in your mind. Your expression softened, and for a moment, he wondered if you were going to say something else—something that might push the conversation back into deeper waters.

Before you could, a cheerful voice interrupted.

“Oh my God, there you are!”

Both of you turned to see a small group of your college and grad school friends approaching, their smiles wide and their arms outstretched as they greeted you enthusiastically.

Hotch stepped back slightly, letting you take center stage as they enveloped you in hugs and started chattering all at once. You lit up in their presence, your wit and charm on full display as you bantered back and forth with them effortlessly.

And though he stood quietly on the periphery, Hotch couldn’t help but smile. Watching you like this—vibrant, confident, and so fully yourself—he couldn’t imagine a world where someone wouldn’t see what he saw.

But as he met your gaze briefly across the group, catching the subtle flicker of something lingering in your eyes, he knew the conversation wasn’t over. Not yet.

The introductions at the cocktail party unfolded with an ease that surprised even Hotch. One by one, your old college and grad school friends greeted him, their initial curiosity about the date you brought quickly melting into admiration. He’d never thought of himself as particularly charming—polished and professional, yes, but charming? That was usually Morgan’s department.

But as he exchanged handshakes and polite banter, he could feel their approval growing. They teased you relentlessly about him, their questions playful and occasionally pointed. And you, ever quick-witted, deflected with a grace and humor that kept the mood light, though your blush betrayed you more than once.

“He’s even more put-together than you let on,” one of your friends teased, nudging your arm.

“Don’t let it fool you,” you replied, smirking at Hotch. “He’s secretly a pain.”

Hotch raised a brow, his tone dry but warm. “Only when necessary.”

The group laughed, and you glanced at him, your smile softening in a way that made the noise around him fade for just a moment.

If your friends noticed the subtle looks passing between you and Hotch—the way your eyes lingered on him or how his posture seemed to relax in your presence—they didn’t say anything outright. But their knowing smiles spoke volumes.

By the time the cocktail hour wound down and everyone was ushered toward the reception hall, Hotch felt more comfortable than he had in weeks. He hadn’t expected to enjoy himself, but with you by his side, the evening felt lighter, more vivid.

The reception began with all the hallmarks of a joyous celebration: a lively band, glasses clinking in toasts, and the soft glow of candles casting a romantic haze over the room. Hotch and you were seated at a round table with some of your friends, their easy chatter filling the gaps between the speeches and the plated courses.

At first, the chemistry between you and Hotch was subtle—a shared glance during the bride and groom’s first dance, the way his arm brushed yours as he leaned closer to hear you over the music. But as the evening progressed, it became impossible to ignore.

“Are you going to dance?” you asked, your tone teasing as you sipped your wine.

“Eventually,” he replied, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t know. That depends. Are you going to make me dance alone?”

Hotch leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’d never let you dance alone.”

The words hung between you, the air charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked in a way that made the noise of the room fade into the background.

One of your friends called your name, breaking the spell, and you turned with a quick laugh, brushing off the moment as though it hadn’t happened. But Hotch noticed the way your hand lingered on your wine glass, the slight flush creeping up your neck.

As the reception continued, the moments between you grew bolder. A comment from you that lingered just long enough to feel intimate. A brush of his hand against yours as you both reached for something on the table. The way his gaze followed you when you stepped away to talk to someone else, his focus sharper, more intent than he realized.

By the time the band struck up a slower tune, Hotch found himself standing, offering you his hand before he could think twice.

“Care to dance?” he asked, his voice steady but softer than usual.

You blinked up at him, surprised for only a moment before your lips curved into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

As you took his hand and allowed him to guide you onto the dance floor, Hotch felt a quiet certainty settle over him. Whatever lines had existed between you—coworkers, friends, allies—were beginning to blur. And for once, he wasn’t in a hurry to redraw them.

Hotch turned to face you, his other hand resting lightly at your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was light at first, almost cautious, but as the music swelled, he felt you relax, your movements fluid as you let him guide you through the gentle rhythm.

“You weren’t kidding about being a good dancer,” you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Where’ve you been hiding this talent?”

Hotch smirked faintly, his lips twitching upward. “It’s a rare occasion that calls for it.”

“Well,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with mischief, “consider me impressed.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting briefly to the way your hand fit so perfectly in his, the way your eyes lit up even under the dim glow of the candles. Finally, he said, “You should be. I don’t make exceptions for just anyone.”

Your laugh was quiet, a warm ripple that he felt as much as heard. “Is that right? I should feel honored then.”

“You should,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile still playing at his lips.

The conversation lulled, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The silence felt full, weighted by the unspoken tension that had been simmering all day. You swayed together, your movements perfectly synchronized, and for a moment, Hotch allowed himself to forget everything else—the cases, the team, the boundaries he usually held so firmly in place.

As the music slowed further, you tilted your head, your eyes searching his. “What are you thinking?”

Hotch hesitated, his gaze holding yours for a beat too long. “That you shouldn’t doubt what’s in store for you,” he said quietly. “Not after today.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

He paused, considering his words carefully. “You deserve what you saw at that ceremony. Someone who shows up, who doesn’t hesitate. And when it happens, it’ll be because they know just how lucky they are.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, he thought you might pull away. Instead, you blinked up at him, your expression unreadable but undeniably softer. “Hotch—”

Before you could finish, the music swelled into its final notes, the moment broken as the song came to an end. Couples around you began to clap politely, the spell of the dance slowly lifting.

You stepped back slightly, your hand lingering in his for just a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet but sincere.

Hotch nodded, his throat tight. “Anytime.”

As you turned to head back to the table, Hotch stayed where he was for a moment, watching the way your shoulders seemed a little more relaxed, the way you glanced back at him briefly before rejoining your friends.

He exhaled slowly, his hands falling to his sides. Whatever line you’d both been toeing all evening had grown impossibly blurred, and he wasn’t sure if it was something to step back from—or cross entirely.

The soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses surrounded Hotch as he followed you back toward the table, the energy of the reception lively yet intimate. Before either of you could sit, the bride approached, her radiant smile lighting up the room. Her white gown swayed slightly as she moved, the sparkling embellishments catching the light.

“There you are!” the bride exclaimed, her voice warm and effusive as she wrapped you in a quick hug. “I’ve been looking for you all evening.”

“Hi, Annie,” you said, your tone fond as you pulled back. “You look stunning. Everything about today has been absolutely perfect.”

Annie beamed, her hands clasping yours. “Thank you. But ook at you! And you must be...” She turned to Hotch, her expression curious and eager.

“This is—” you began, but Annie cut you off before you could finish.

“Oh, I knew it!” Annie said, clapping her hands together and glancing between you and Hotch with unrestrained glee. “I always said you’d find someone who looks at you the way he does. You deserve it so much. After everything you’ve been through. Terrible guy after terrible guy. I’m so happy for you.”

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, her words catching him completely off guard. He glanced at you, noting the way your eyes widened slightly, a faint blush creeping up your neck.

Annie, oblivious to the tension she’d just created, kept going. “I mean, honestly, it’s about time. Look at you two—you’re such a beautiful couple. And the way he watches you? Like you’re the only person in the room? Come on.”

Hotch’s lips parted, his usual composure slipping as he scrambled for a response. Should he correct her? Deflect? Or...

Instead, he did neither.

“You’re right about one thing,” he said, his voice steady but quieter, as if weighing each word carefully. “She deserves everything. More than anyone I know.”

His gaze lingered on you as he spoke, watching the way your expression softened into something he couldn’t quite name. For a moment, Annie’s chatter faded into the background, the room seeming to grow smaller around the three of you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Annie’s delighted laughter filled the silence first. “See? I knew it,” she said, her tone triumphant. “I knew you’d get that fairytale ending you always talked about wanting.”

Hotch smiled faintly, his hands slipping into his pockets as Annie hugged you again. “Thank you for coming,” she said, her voice still warm as she pulled away. “It means so much to have you both here.”

You nodded, your voice unusually soft. “Of course, Annie. We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Annie turned back to the dance floor, leaving the two of you standing there, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You glanced at him, your brows knitting together slightly as if you wanted to ask something but weren’t sure where to start. He’s sure from the array of comments he’s thrown at you tonight or the charged energy building between you, you must have a few.

Hotch offered a small smile, his voice low. “She’s a good friend.”

“She’s... enthusiastic,” you said, a weak laugh escaping you.

“Enthusiastic,” he repeated, amusement flickering briefly across his face. “And observant, apparently.”

Your blush deepened, but before the conversation could go any further, another group of your friends waved you over from the bar, calling your name.

“I guess we’re popular tonight,” you said, your tone lighter as you gestured for him to follow.

Hotch nodded, trailing behind you, but his thoughts lingered on Annie’s words. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to agree with her so openly, but as he watched you laugh with your friends, something told him he wasn’t wrong.

You deserved everything. And perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t impossible to imagine being the one to give it to you. He was just glad he could try, even if it was just for tonight.

The energy in the room shifted as the bride announced the bouquet toss, her cheerful voice drawing a crowd of eager participants to the dance floor. Laughter and playful shouts filled the space as single women jostled for prime positions, their eyes gleaming with competitive determination.

You, however, stayed firmly rooted at the edge of the room, leaning casually against a table with your arms crossed. Hotch stood beside you, holding the glass he was nursing on the table.

“Not interested?” he asked, glancing at you, a teasing flint in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” you replied, your tone wry. “I’m perfectly fine over here, out of the line of fire.”

Hotch chuckled softly. “Strategic decision. I can respect that.”

You grinned, turning your attention back to the bride, who was hyping up the crowd with exaggerated gestures. The band struck up a playful tune, and the anticipation in the room reached its peak as Annie turned her back to the group, bouquet in hand.

The toss was dramatic, the bouquet soaring high into the air in a perfect arc. The crowd erupted into shouts and cheers as hands shot up, grasping for the bundle of flowers.

But no one caught it.

Instead, the bouquet ricocheted off a hand, sailed over the group entirely, and arced straight toward you.

You barely had time to react before it bonked you squarely on the head.

Hotch blinked, momentarily stunned as the bouquet bounced off you and landed unceremoniously on the table beside you. There was a beat of silence before laughter erupted around the room, the crowd clearly amused by the unexpected trajectory.

You stared at the bouquet, your mouth slightly agape, before looking up at him, your expression caught somewhere between mortification and disbelief.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice rising just enough to carry over the laughter. “I wasn’t even participating!”

Hotch’s lips twitched, his amusement barely contained as he raised an eyebrow. “Looks like fate had other plans.”

“Fate needs to work on its aim,” you muttered, grabbing the bouquet and holding it up like evidence in a court case.

Hotch allowed himself a full laugh, the sound rare but genuine. “Or maybe it’s trying to tell you something,” he teased, his voice lower as he leaned slightly closer. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Your eyes narrowed at him, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the start of a grin. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely,” he said, his tone deadpan but his eyes gleaming with humor.

You shook your head, muttering something about cosmic irony as you placed the bouquet back on the table. But Hotch could see the faint blush creeping up your neck, and the way your lips curved into a reluctant smile despite your feigned indignation.

As the laughter in the room began to settle and the bride called for the next event, Hotch leaned slightly closer to you, his voice quieter now.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, his tone softer but no less teasing, “I think the roses suit you.” He pulled a few petals from your hair.

You shot him a look, but your smile widened, and for a brief moment, the space between you felt smaller than ever. “I’m more of a sunflower girl,” You played along.

The band’s leader tapped the microphone, his cheerful voice cutting through the chatter of the reception. “All right, folks, this one’s for the happy couples out there! Join us on the dance floor for one last dance before we call it a night.”

Around the room, couples began to rise, hands intertwined as they made their way to the dance floor. The lights dimmed slightly, casting the space in a warm, golden glow. Hotch stayed in his seat, his gaze drifting to you as you sipped the last of your wine, clearly intent on remaining at the table.

He set his glass down with deliberate precision and stood, extending his hand toward you.

“Come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “What are you doing?”

“We’re dancing,” he replied simply, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Your lips parted in surprise. “Hotch, that’s for couples—”

“According to your friends,” he interrupted, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk, “we’re a couple tonight. Might as well play the part.”

For a moment, you stared at him, clearly torn between amusement and incredulity. But then you sighed, setting your glass down and placing your hand in his. “Fine,” you said, standing with exaggerated reluctance. “But if this ends up being another metaphor, I’m blaming you.”

Hotch chuckled softly, leading you to the dance floor. The band struck up a slow, tender melody, the kind that wrapped itself around you and seemed to quiet the world.

He turned to face you, his hand resting lightly on your waist as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. The contact was familiar now, but this time, the air between you felt heavier—charged. You moved together effortlessly, swaying in time with the music, your steps perfectly in sync.

“See?” he said quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. “Not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, your fingers tightening slightly on his shoulder. “You really are impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, his tone dry but his expression softer than usual.

The conversation lulled, and for a moment, there was nothing but the music and the quiet sound of your breaths mingling in the space between you.

Hotch’s eyes dropped to your face, taking in the way your lashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the faint flush that lingered from the evening’s laughter and wine. You looked up at him then, your gaze meeting his, and the intensity of the moment hit him like a wave.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, your voice tinged with nervous amusement.

He didn’t look away. “Maybe I am.”

Your breath hitched, and Hotch felt your hand shift slightly on his shoulder as though you were steadying yourself. The tension between you was palpable now, a tangible thing that neither of you seemed willing—or able—to break.

“You’re full of surprises tonight,” you said, your tone quieter now, almost tentative.

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “So are you.”

The song began to wind down, the final notes stretching into a soft, lingering cadence. The room seemed to grow smaller, quieter, as though it held only the two of you.

As the music ended, Hotch realized he hadn’t let go of your waist, and you hadn’t stepped back. For a brief, breathless moment, you both stayed where you were, the silence between you heavy with possibilities.

And though neither of you said it aloud, the line between what you were and what you could be had never felt thinner.

The walk back to the hotel room was quiet, the air between you and Hotch humming with the kind of unspoken tension that had lingered all night. The elevator ride was no better; you stood beside him, close enough that your arm brushed his, and though neither of you spoke, the weight of the evening seemed to settle in the confined space.

By the time the door to the room clicked shut behind you, the silence was thick. You slipped off your shoes with a sigh, placing them neatly by the door as you turned to him with a tired but genuine smile.

“Well,” you said, your voice soft, “that was... something.”

Hotch nodded, setting his jacket neatly over the back of a chair. “It was.”

You glanced at him, your smile tilting into something teasing. “That’s all you’ve got? Just ‘it was’?”

He smirked faintly, loosening his tie. “I think the bouquet toss and the dance floor antics speak for themselves.”

You laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and Hotch felt his shoulders relax slightly despite the tension coursing through him. He watched as you moved to your bag, pulling out a pair of comfortable clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of running water filled the room, and Hotch took the opportunity to change into a plain T-shirt and sweats, folding his dress shirt with precise care. When you returned, your makeup washed off, and your hair pulled back, you looked softer somehow—more yourself than you had all night, and it hit him with a quiet force he wasn’t prepared for. Sure, he’d seen you in casual clothes before, but something about the soft cotton clothes, the clean face, and the messy pulled-back hair…it was a sight that warmed him somehow.

“You’re up,” you said, gesturing toward the bathroom.

Hotch nodded, slipping past you and closing the door behind him. The cool water against his face did little to calm his thoughts, and when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he found his usual composure slightly fractured.

By the time he returned to the room, you were already under the covers, your head resting against the pillow as you scrolled absentmindedly through your phone. He hesitated for a moment, the sight of you there—so comfortable, so familiar—stirring something deep in his chest.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” you asked, glancing up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he moved to the other side of the bed. Sliding in beside you, he was acutely aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you. When was the last time he shared a bed with someone?

The room fell into a soft silence, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. You set your phone down, turning onto your side to face him, your expression unreadable but open.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said quietly. “For coming with me. For... everything.”

He met your gaze, his voice steady but softer than usual. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there.”

Your lips quirked into a faint smile, your eyes searching his as though you were trying to decipher something you weren’t quite ready to name.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence stretching but never feeling uncomfortable. Hotch could feel the warmth of your presence, the subtle weight of your gaze, and it was enough to make his throat tighten.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone light but tinged with something quieter, something unsure.

“Maybe I am,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath caught, and Hotch felt the space between you shrink—not physically, but emotionally, the air thick with everything unspoken.

“Why do you do that?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that.”

Hotch hesitated, his throat tightening as he searched for the right words. “Like what?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re trying to figure me out. Like you already know something I don’t.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, his voice soft but steady. “Maybe I do.”

You blinked, your breath catching just slightly, and Hotch felt the air between you grow impossibly still.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence crackling with tension that neither seemed willing to break. Then, as if pulling yourself out of the moment, you let out a small laugh, your tone turning lighter.

“You’re an enigma, Aaron Hotchner,” you said, your smile faint but genuine as you turned onto your back, breaking the spell.

He exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he reached over to turn off the lamp. “Goodnight,” he said, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

“Goodnight,” you replied softly, your words carrying a warmth that settled over the room like a blanket.

As the darkness enveloped them, Hotch lay still, the steady sound of your breathing filling the silence. The unspoken connection between you—the moments that had lingered and stretched throughout the evening—felt as tangible as the bed they shared.

And though he knew crossing the line between friendship and something more was fraught with uncertainty, Hotch couldn’t shake the quiet realization that maybe—just maybe—you were worth the risk.

Hotch stirred awake in the dark, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the curtains casting soft shadows across the room. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what had woken him—a sound, a shift—but then he became aware of the warmth pressed against him, the steady rise and fall of your breathing.

Somehow, in the night, the two of you had gravitated toward each other. His arm was draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, and your head was nestled against his chest. Your hand, delicate and warm, had found its way to his side, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring yourself to him.

He froze, his breath hitching as he registered the intimacy of the moment. Every instinct told him to pull away, to put space between you before you woke up, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

The soft scent of your hair drifted up to him, and without thinking, his thumb began to trace small, absent circles against your side. The simple act sent a rush of warmth through him, a tenderness he couldn’t quite contain.

You stirred slightly, your body shifting just enough for him to realize you were waking up. His breath caught again, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as he waited—half expecting you to pull away or panic.

But you didn’t. Instead, you tilted your head up, your eyes blinking sleepily in the dim light as they met his.

Neither of you spoke. The silence between you was thick, electric, the air charged with a tension that felt almost unbearable.

Hotch’s hand stilled on your side, his palm now resting against the curve of your hip. He watched you closely, his eyes searching yours for any sign that he should pull back. But you didn’t move away. If anything, you seemed to lean into him, your gaze softening as you stared at him in the quiet.

His chest tightened as he felt the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. The feelings he’d been trying to push aside for months—years, maybe—were suddenly impossible to ignore.

And then, you moved.

Your hand slid upward, hesitating briefly before coming to rest against his chest. Slowly, tentatively, you shifted closer, your lips brushing his in a kiss so soft it sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the kiss tender and delicate, as though you were both testing the boundaries of something fragile and new. But then he felt your hand tighten against his chest, and his restraint broke.

Hotch deepened the kiss, his free hand sliding up your back to cradle the base of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair. Your lips parted for him, and the kiss grew more heated, more insistent, as though all the tension that had built between you over the years was finally finding its release.

You shifted closer still, your body pressing against his, and Hotch couldn’t help the quiet sound that escaped him. He felt your hand slide up to his jaw, your fingers brushing against the stubble there as you tilted your head to deepen the kiss even further.

It was slow but consuming, a meeting of everything unspoken and everything undeniable. He couldn’t tell where he ended, and you began, the lines between friendship and something more completely and utterly erased.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the dark, your forehead rested against his as you looked up at him with wide, searching eyes.

“Aaron,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady, filled with something he couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his fingers still tangled in your hair, as he let out a shaky breath. “Say my name like that again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles.

You laughed softly, your hand brushing against his cheek as you leaned in again, this time with more certainty.

And as your lips met his once more, Hotch felt the last of his walls crumble, leaving only the quiet, undeniable truth: he didn’t want to hold back anymore. Not with you. Not ever.

Hotch’s pulse quickened as your lips met his again, this time with a heat that left no room for hesitation. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate but charged with the kind of intensity that came from years of unspoken longing. Your hand slid from his jaw to his chest, your fingers splaying against the fabric of his shirt as if grounding yourself in the moment.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The world outside this room ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you tangled together in the dim light of the night.

When your leg shifted, brushing against his, a low sound escaped his throat—a soft, guttural hum that he hadn’t meant to let slip. You froze for the briefest moment, your eyes flicking up to his, and the sight of you—so close, so vulnerable, so his in that instant—was almost too much.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice breathless and tinged with something fragile, like you were teetering on the edge of disbelief.

Hotch cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he nodded. “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled softly, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward, pressing another kiss to your lips. This one was slower but no less fervent, his hand sliding from your face to rest against the curve of your waist, pulling you closer.

Your body shifted against his, your hands wandering—tentative at first, but quickly growing bolder. One hand curled around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the short hairs there, while the other slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, your palm pressing against the warm skin of his chest.

Hotch’s breath hitched, his own hands growing less restrained as they skimmed your back, tracing the line of your spine. The soft, sleepy rhythm of your breathing was broken by quiet, barely audible gasps as his hands found the curve of your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Aaron,” you murmured against his lips, the sound of his name sending a shiver down his spine.

His lips left yours, trailing a path along your jawline to the soft curve of your neck. He felt the way your body arched into his touch, the subtle press of your hips against his igniting something deeper, something he could no longer hold back.

“You have no idea,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and uneven, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your fingers tightened against him, and when he pulled back to look at you, your eyes were glassy, your lips slightly parted. “Me too,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His restraint was unraveling with every second, every touch, every soft sound that escaped your lips. But he forced himself to pause, his forehead resting against yours as he took a steadying breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly, his hands stilling against your waist even as every fiber of his being begged him to keep going. “If you need me to, I will.”

You shook your head slightly, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned up to kiss him again, slow but filled with unmistakable intent. “I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, the words a quiet promise.

Hotch exhaled shakily, his lips capturing yours again as he shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him. The weight of you pressed against him, the warmth of your skin beneath his hands—it was everything he hadn’t let himself dream of, and now that it was happening, he couldn’t imagine ever letting it go.

The kisses grew more urgent, more consuming, the sleepy haze between you dissolving into something sharper, hungrier. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that bordered on worship, memorizing every curve, every tremble, every quiet sigh that spilled from your lips.

Hotch’s breath hitched as you shifted over him, your hands braced on his chest for balance. The delicate weight of you, your thighs straddling his hips, was intoxicating in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Pressing your center against him, a breathy groan left his lips. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers splaying across the soft fabric of your shirt as though memorizing every detail of this moment.

Your hair fell slightly into your face, and you looked down at him with a mixture of nervousness and desire that sent his pulse hammering in his chest. He met your gaze, his eyes dark and searching, trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t say aloud.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, the words a quiet plea for confirmation. He knew after this there was no going back.

You nodded, your smile soft but steady as you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was equal parts tender and heated. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered against his mouth.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate at first, but quickly growing more fervent. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him as though anchoring yourself to him, while his hands slid upward, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it to the side.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze tracing the lines of your body, the soft glow of the moonlight making your skin seem almost ethereal. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

You flushed under his gaze, but instead of shying away, you leaned down, kissing him again with a new intensity. Your hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward until he helped you remove it entirely. The cool air brushed against his skin, but all he could focus on was the warmth of you, the way your touch left a trail of fire in its wake.

As the last remnants of clothing were shed, the barrier between you dissolved entirely. You settled back over him, your bare skin pressing against his, and he let out a low, shaky exhale as his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“God, you have no idea what you do to me,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion as he looked up at you.

You smiled softly, your hands resting on his chest as you leaned down to kiss him again, slow and deliberate, as though savoring every moment. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you murmured against his lips, your voice filled with a quiet confidence that made his chest tighten.

Hotch’s hands guided your movements, his touch firm but reverent, as though you were something precious—something he didn’t want to break. The connection between you was electric, every touch, every kiss deepening the bond that had been building for years.

As your bodies moved together, the world around you faded completely, leaving only the quiet hum of your shared breaths and the unspoken promise that whatever had changed between you tonight was something neither of you could—or would—ever take back.

As you rocked against him, his breath hitched, and he couldn’t stop the quiet groan that escaped him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you down into a kiss that was as tender as it was consuming.

When you pulled back, your gaze locked with his, your expression soft but filled with intensity. “I never knew it could feel like this,” you admitted, your voice quiet but raw with emotion.

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “Neither did I.”

The words hung between you for a moment, the weight of them adding a new depth to the passion that had overtaken you. And as you moved together, Hotch felt a sense of completeness that he hadn’t known he was missing—something he realized, in this moment, he could never let go of.

Hotch’s breath came in uneven gasps, his body attuned to every shift of yours, every quiet sound that spilled from your lips. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to guide you, to hold you steady as you moved together.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured again, his voice thick and low. His eyes traced the line of your jaw, the way your lips parted as you moved, your body responding to his in a way that made his pulse race.

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling lightly around the base of his neck as you leaned closer. “I don’t think you realize,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion, “what you’re doing to me.”

His lips curved into a faint, breathless smirk as he leaned up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was deep and consuming. “I think I have an idea,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

You laughed quietly, the sound trailing off into a soft sigh as his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. “You make it hard to think,” you admitted, your tone teasing but edged with something deeper, more vulnerable.

“Good,” he replied, his hands shifting to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “Because right now, all I can think about is you.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of your gaze made his chest tighten. “I want this,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I want you.”

Hotch exhaled shakily, his forehead resting against yours as he slowed your movements, savoring the connection between you. “You have me,” he said quietly, his voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. “You’ve always had me.”

Your lips parted as if to respond, but instead, you kissed him again, your fingers threading through his hair as you pressed closer, deeper, until there was no space left between you.

The rhythm between you was slow but deliberate, each movement, each touch, carrying a weight that neither of you could ignore. It wasn’t just passion—it was everything you hadn’t said, every unspoken feeling finally given form.

When you pulled back slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, Hotch found himself gripping your hips just a little tighter, grounding himself in the reality of you above him. Your skin glowed in the faint moonlight, and the look in your eyes—dark, heavy with desire—took what little restraint he had left and shattered it.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you whispered, your voice breathless, a mix of teasing and reverence. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

He let out a low, quiet laugh, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines. “I could say the same about you,” he murmured, his voice rough as his lips brushed the curve of your jaw.

You shivered under his touch, your lips curling into a small, wicked smile. “Are you saying I’m full of surprises?” you asked, your tone playful, your hips rolling against his in a way that made his breath catch.

Hotch let out a soft groan, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands found their way to your thighs. “I’m saying,” he said, his voice low and filled with heat, “that you might just be the death of me.”

You leaned down, your lips hovering just above his, teasing him with the barest of touches. “I guess that makes us even,” you whispered, your words trailing off into a kiss that was anything but tentative.

The kiss deepened, your movements growing slower, more deliberate as your hands roamed over him, pulling him impossibly closer. Hotch’s fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, his other hand tracing the curve of your back in a way that made you arch into him.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed against your lips, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Like you were made for me.”

As the room filled with nothing but the quiet sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of sheets, Hotch couldn’t help but marvel at how natural this felt—how right it was to have you like this, in his arms, every unspoken word replaced by the undeniable connection between you.

And as the tension between you reached its peak, he realized with startling clarity that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment—this was something neither of you could ever undo. And he didn’t want to.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Your face was still buried against his neck, and he could feel the rapid thrum of your heartbeat gradually slowing against his chest. Hotch tilted his head slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling.

It wasn’t fleeting. It wasn’t casual. It was something far deeper, something he hadn’t allowed himself to believe he could feel again.

You stirred slightly, shifting so you could meet his gaze, your hair falling messily around your face. Your eyes searched his, and the vulnerability there—soft and unguarded—made his throat tighten.

“Well,” you murmured, your voice quiet but tinged with a nervous laugh, “that just happened.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his thumb brushing lazily against your back. “It did,” he replied softly, his voice steady despite the emotions threatening to bubble to the surface.

You blinked down at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice carrying a hesitance that tugged at his heart.

He shifted beneath you, his hands settling on your hips as he met your gaze. “I’m more than okay,” he said, his tone quiet but firm. “Are you?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering between his eyes as though trying to read him. Slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah,” you said softly, nodding. “I think I am.”

The tension in his chest eased slightly, but his thumb continued its soothing motion against your hip. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t—” He paused, exhaling quietly. “I don’t want this to be something you regret.”

“Regret?” you echoed, your smile widening faintly. “Hotch, do I look like someone who regrets this?”

He let out a quiet huff of laughter, his fingers tightening slightly against your skin. “No,” he admitted, his voice lighter now. “But I had to make sure.”

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a kiss so soft it made his chest tighten all over again. “You’re impossible,” you whispered against his mouth, your tone teasing but filled with affection.

“And yet, here we are,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk as he kissed you again.

You laughed softly, resting your forehead against his as your hands slid to his shoulders, your touch light and lingering. “Here we are,” you repeated, your voice quieter now, almost reflective.

Hotch let the silence stretch for a moment, his hands tracing gentle patterns along your sides as he memorized the feel of you against him. Whatever this was—whatever it had turned into—he wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“You should probably get some sleep,” he murmured, his voice tinged with humor as he glanced toward the faint glow of the bedside clock.

“Sleep?” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted slightly, your lips brushing against his jaw. “After all that? I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Hotch chuckled softly, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You grinned, leaning into his touch as your eyes softened. “Good. You should.”

As the quiet settled over the room once more, Hotch let his eyes drift closed, your body still pressed against his, your warmth anchoring him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in what felt like forever, the world outside could wait. All that mattered was here and now, with you.

Hotch wasn’t sure how much time had passed, the quiet rhythm of your breathing against his chest blurring the line between minutes and hours. His hand rested against your back, his fingers tracing slow, idle patterns along your skin, grounding himself in the reality of your presence.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured after a while, your voice soft and drowsy, the words more of a thought spoken aloud than a question.

He glanced down at you, your head still resting on his chest, your hand lazily draped over his ribs. “I’m just... thinking,” he admitted, his voice low, the weight of the night settling over him in a way that felt both overwhelming and comforting.

You tilted your head up to look at him, your expression sleepy but curious. “About what?”

His fingers paused for a moment, resting lightly against your side. “About how different this feels,” he said honestly, his eyes meeting yours. “How right it feels.”

Your lips parted slightly, your expression softening into something vulnerable, open. “It does,” you agreed quietly, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest. “It scares me a little.”

Hotch’s chest tightened at your words, but he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It scares me too,” he admitted, his voice steady but filled with quiet emotion. “But not enough to make me stop.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing small circles against his skin. “What does this mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “For us?”

Hotch exhaled, his hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It means I don’t want to go back to what we had before,” he said softly. “Not after this.”

You blinked up at him, the weight of his words settling between you. “Me neither,” you said after a moment, your voice carrying a quiet strength.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the unspoken understanding between you growing stronger with each passing second. Hotch shifted slightly, pulling you closer against him, his arm wrapping around your waist as if to keep you there, to keep this moment from slipping away.

Your fingers curled against his chest, and you tilted your head up, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was softer now, slower, as though sealing the unspoken promise you’d just made.

When you pulled back, your eyes searched his, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I guess we’ll figure it out,” you said softly, the words carrying a quiet certainty that made his chest tighten.

“We will,” he replied, his voice low but firm.

Hotch lay awake long after you’d drifted off, your body warm and relaxed against his. The weight of what had happened between you lingered in the air, a heady mix of tenderness and an undeniable shift in the foundation of your relationship.

He let his fingers trace idle patterns along your back, his touch feather-light as he memorized the curve of your spine, the subtle rise and fall of your breathing. For years, he’d been disciplined in keeping the boundaries of your friendship intact, maintaining the line that separated what was and what could never be. But tonight, that line had dissolved completely, leaving in its wake something deeper, something that felt achingly right.

You stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh as you nestled closer to him, your hand sliding across his chest as though instinctively seeking him even in sleep. His chest tightened, a quiet warmth spreading through him as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

He’d spent so much of his life thinking he wasn’t allowed to have this—not after everything he’d been through, not after the sacrifices he’d made. But with you, it didn’t feel like he was taking something he wasn’t entitled to. It felt like finding something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for all along.

Tomorrow would bring its own questions, its own complications. The team would notice the shift between you, and the world wouldn’t wait for you both to navigate whatever this had become. But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of the room, with you tucked safely against him, Hotch allowed himself to just be.

And as the first light of dawn began to creep through the curtains, he held you a little closer, silently vowing that whatever came next, he would be ready. Because for the first time in a long time, he felt whole. And he wasn’t about to let that go

Hotch’s gaze lingered on your sleeping face, soft and unguarded in the early light. A quiet determination settled in his chest, stronger than anything he’d felt in years. You deserved to know—without question or hesitation—that you were worth everything. Worth the quiet moments and the stormy ones, the laughter and the tears, the time and the effort. Any man too blind or foolish to see that had only done him a favor, because now, you were here with him. And he would never take that for granted. He would make sure, every single day, that you never doubted your worth again. Because with you, Hotch finally understood what it meant to have something—and someone—he could never let go. And he wouldn’t let you forget it.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

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13lov · 1 year ago

Text

tethered pt. 2 | jjk

✰ pairing. — emo!jk x reader

✰ genre. — early 2000s au, best friend's older brother, childhood friends to lovers, smut, light angst.

✰ word count. — 10k+

✰ warnings. — swearing, family issues, friendship betrayal, mention of drugs/alcohol, smut [ cunnilingus, rough sex, ...idk how else to describe it ] reader and jk are both 18+, minors dni.

✰ a/n. long awaited part 2! the amount of love i received from part one was overwhelming and it means to world to meet that so many people instantly fell in love with this couple. another part is already in the works!

✰ taglist. @ahgasegotarmy116 @hellbornsworld @kissyfacekoo @littlestarstinyseven @skzthinker @cuntessaiii @nikkiordonez12 @ilikekpop-c @busanbby-jjk @xjjk187 @aloverga @kookcobain @mzeji @bxcndd @hoseokteardrop @canyon-lwt @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @jksteponme @parkinglot-nights @chromekingkong @jk97bam [ if i didn't tag u it's because tumblr didn't allow me to! ]

part one | masterlist | ao3 | buy me a coffee?

“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t find out?” Somi is glaring daggers at you upon opening the front door, arms crossed across her chest as she eyes you. Her lips are twisted into a disgusted snarl, you’ve never seen her this upset before.

You swallow the lump in your throat, “Find out about what?”

She cocks her head to the side, squinting her eyes at you. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Fuck, you’re screwed. If there were a list of all the reasons why you shouldn’t have had sex with Jeon Jungkook, the simple fact of him being your best friend’s brother would be number one.

With closed eyes, you let out a relieved sigh. As much as you wanted to wait to tell Somi about hooking up with Jungkook, it’d be an enormous weight off your shoulders not having to hide it any longer. It’d only been a few days since it happened, but you really hate keeping secrets from her.

“How’d you find out?” You question, chewing on your bottom lip.

“My parents told me, duh.”

Holy crap, Jungkook told his parents the two of you had sex? Why the fuck would he do that?

“They did?” You ask, completely bewildered.

“Well, yeah!” Somi finally uncrosses her arms, demeanor completely changing as her gaze softens, “Why didn’t you tell me your sister got engaged?”

Thank God you didn’t elaborate any further.

“Oh! Because they probably aren’t gonna last.” You respond, stepping into the Jeon household once Somi allows you to enter. It’s been a few days since you’ve been here, mostly due to the fact that you were completely avoiding Jungkook.

The empty condom in his trash bin had been plaguing your mind nonstop, you could barely even sleep from how embarrassed you were. Why did he fake his orgasm? What if he didn't fake an orgasm and just shot a blank? Did you do something wrong? Was he not attracted to you? Why was the condom empty?

Seeing him in person would’ve only intensified the thoughts roaming in your head, so you avoided him at all costs up until now. You’d promised the Jeon siblings that you’d finally see Twilight with them and their friends despite not being able to function correctly around either of them.

Somi snickers, following you into the living room. “Ooh, that’s not nice.”

“It’s true, though,” you explain, “she’s still so young, only a few years older than your brother. I mean, can you picture Jungkook getting married in a few years?”

The regret from that question fills you almost immediately.

“Sure,” Somi responds, pausing to greet the eager doberman charging at her. “As long as he finds the right person. He’d get married in a heartbeat.”

You want to ask what Somi’s definition of “the perfect person” would be for Jungkook or the type of girl she’d be willing to set him up with. It’d probably be the unnamed, mysterious redhead you recently dreamed about curb stomping (yikes!).

You don’t respond to this, taking a seat on the sofa when the sudden shout of your name has you flinching. It’s Somi’s parents, excitedly greeting you with open arms as you politely stand to properly hug them. “I feel like it’s been so long since we’ve seen you! How’s your family? We just heard the news about your sister!” Mrs. Jeon ambushes you with questions, all while cradling your face.

“About how she’s making the biggest mistake of her life?” You half-joke.

Mrs. Jeon playfully waves a hand in your direction as she steps into the kitchen, her husband only a few feet behind. “Oh, don’t say that. I’m sure the two of them will be very happy together.” She turns to her husband, grabbing his hand, “I just can’t believe Imogen is getting married. I still remember when she first started high school.”

Mr. Jeon sighs in disbelief. “I know,” he mumbles, nodding at you. “You’re up next soon, huh?”

“Maybe she can marry Jungkook,” Mrs. Jeon comments, opening her fridge, “set him straight.”

“Gross, Mom. Don’t wish that on her.” Somi groans in disgust as she plops down next to you.

Well, that answers your previous question.

“We should probably get going, right? To make it in time for the trailers?” You ask.

“Yeah, we should.” Somi responds, tilting her head up towards the staircase, “Jungkook! Hurry up and come downstairs! We’re ready to go!”

“Gimmie a minute!” He shouts back, and a chill runs down your spine. It’s been too long since you’ve heard his voice. The last time you saw him, he was lying naked in his bed; you’re not sure how you’ll survive being around him all night knowing what your last encounter was like.

As promised, Jungkook is sliding down the staircase a minute later and nails the landing. He’s wearing a black Twilight shirt featuring the leading couple, black cargo pants, and, of course, black sneakers. He looks like his usual self until you take a closer look and notice the reddish-black eyeshadow that decorated his eyes. It wasn’t much, just enough to make his eyes pop, and it complimented him perfectly. A second later, you see the black nail polish neatly coated on his nails. You have to blink a few times to ensure this is real life and you’re not trapped in a wet dream.

He strolls into the kitchen, ignoring the stares from his parents before digging through the fridge. His mom clears her throat, crossing her arms at him.

“What?” He asks, retrieving a two-liter Mountain Dew bottle.

“Seriously, Jungkook? The makeup? The nail polish?” She questions, clearly frustrated.

Jungkook cocks his head, unscrewing the soda bottle’s lid. “What’s wrong with it? Somi’s wearing the same thing.”

“Son, you know that’s different.” His father interjects.

Jungkook takes a swig of the soda before responding. “Why? Because she’s a girl?”

“It’s not like that, hon. It’s just…we didn’t make a big deal of it when you first started the piercings, and the tattoos, and the hair dye, but this…it’s a little much. Don’t you think?” His mother asks.

You want to step in and remind his parents that Jungkook is old enough to make his own decisions and express himself as he pleases, but it’s not your place. Instead, you cheer silently when Somi surprisingly interrupts the discussion. “Did you guys seriously force him to come back home just to criticize how he presents himself, or would you rather have a peaceful summer?”

“We aren’t trying to criticize him, Somi. We’re just looking out for our child.” Mr. Jeon responds.

“It’s a special occasion, Dad. Is it bad that I wanted to look nice for—” Jungkook abruptly cuts himself short, quickly glancing in your direction before returning his attention to his parents. “...to go see Twilight with my friends?”

What was that about?

Silence passes, and the three stare at each other until Mrs. Jeon sighs defeatedly and says, “No, there’s nothing wrong with that, sweetheart. I hope you guys enjoy the movie.”

“We will,” Jungkook responds, closing the soda bottle lid and placing it back in the fridge. He heads for the front door, beckoning you and Somi to follow behind. He’s eager to leave the house, quickly swinging the front door open and jogging towards his car.

You and Somi say goodbye to her parents with a promise to be home by eleven before following in Jungkook’s footsteps, who already has the car running. As you wait for Somi to finish locking the front door, Jungkook rolls down his window and shouts, “Hurry up! Let’s go!”

“Will you calm down?!” Somi throws back, rolling her eyes as she finally removes the house key from the lock.

You follow her towards Jungkook’s car, sliding into the backseat as you pretend not to notice Jungkook watching you through the rearview mirror. He wants you to look at him, but you refuse, busying yourself by buckling your seatbelt and convincing Somi to do the same. Once Jungkook is convinced you’re not going to do so much as glance at him, he puts the car in drive and pulls into the road.

Somi talks your ear off in the backseat about whatever comes to mind while you keep your eyes on the window. It’s hard to not notice Jungkook glancing back at you through the mirror at every red light or stop sign, but you don’t dare meet his gaze.

The movie theater’s parking lot is crowded when you arrive; it takes Jungkook a few minutes to eventually locate a spot. A smile is plastered on his face as he parks the car, eager to see some of his closest friends after being separated for months. He informs you and Somi to disregard anything foolish he friends may say, claiming they arrived early to smoke behind the movie theater, so they’re more than likely too high to function properly.

Jungkook shrugs when Somi asks why people do that, shoving his hands into his pockets as the three of you approach the theater entrance. "Some people say it makes the movie experience better."

You want to ask Jungkook if he's ever been high, but you can barely even bring yourself to look in his direction, let alone ask him a question. So you're silent as the three of you enter the movie theater, instantly spotting Jungkook's bandmates in the far corner.

Well… Jungkook's bandmates and one other guest.

The bubbly redhead greets you guys first, running up to Jungkook with open arms as if they haven't seen each other in a million years. It makes you want to vomit.

You look away as they hug, directing your attention to the concession stand employee who had already been watching you. His name tag reads 'Beomgyu,' and he resembles a younger version of Jungkook, with the same dark hair and similar lip piercings. His eyes stay on you until a customer blocks your path, and you're back to watching Jungkook reunite with his friends.

"Hey, you were the one at that party, right? With Somi?" The redhead asks, squinting her eyes at you.

"Yeah." Is all you respond with, because why in God's name is this girl talking to you right now?

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Scar," she introduces herself, extending a hand for you to shake.

Somi interjects, grabbing ahold of your wrist while glaring at Scar. "Your name is Scarlett."

She drags you along to the ticket booth, mumbling about how she doesn't like nor trust Scar. When you ask for her reasoning, she responds with, "I don't need one. I just don't like her."

At least you're on the same page about that.

Still, you can't help but wonder why Somi has a distaste for Scar. You have your petty reasoning for disliking her, but Somi (more than likely) has better knowledge of Scar's personality, so whatever reasons she dislikes her could be legitimate.

You're thinking of this as Jungkook orders the tickets for everyone, asking the employee to give him a minute when the friend you recognize as Yugyeom starts tapping his shoulder. "We should go see Saw instead; it just came out."

Jungkook looks genuinely confused at the suggestion. "What? No, we came here to see Twilight."

"So?!" Jaebeom chimes in, eyes red as the devil, "Come on, dude, you've already seen Twilight. Don't you wanna see something new?"

"Fuck no, we're literally in the middle of buying the tickets." Jungkook reminds everyone.

"I kinda wanna see Saw, too."

"Same."

"Yeah, me too."

"I do, too."

Jungkook whips his head around at his sister, "What? Even you?"

Somi scoffs, "Well, yeah! Twilight just seems boring in comparison."

"Come on, guys," the employee interrupts, "you're holding up the line."

Jungkook turns towards you. "Do you still wanna see Twilight?"

Truthfully, you want to go home; but seeing how excited Jungkook was for the movie made you feel something, so you nod. He lets out a relieved sigh.

He moves out of the way to allow his friends to buy their tickets first, slipping his sister cash to pay for hers, which she initially rejects. "I don't need your money," she claims.

"Just take it, Somi. I brought it for you."

From what you can make out, it's enough to cover her ticket and grab something from the concession stand. The pair of siblings may bicker a lot, but it's nice to know Jungkook still looks out for his younger sister whenever he can.

Somi reluctantly accepts the money and purchases her ticket; you watch as Jungkook follows suit, ordering two tickets for Twilight and stopping you from opening your purse. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, it's fine. I have enough." You reassure him.

Jungkook laughs to himself, "Why are the two of you like this?" He questions, fishing out crumpled dollar bills from his pocket and handing them to the cashier, who sighs in annoyance, straightening and inspecting each bill before placing it in his register.

You don't know why Jungkook insists on being so nice to you despite your persistence in not speaking to him. A part of you wonders if he thinks this is some kind of date now that the two of you will be separated from the group. It doesn't matter. You don't know why you're overthinking it.

Once all the tickets have been purchased, the seven of you head towards the concession stand. Somi debates pushing herself to the front of the long line, claiming that the theater should make accommodations for those whose movie is starting sooner. Or something like that, you can't really focus with the way Beomgyu is staring at you. You're used to guys always staring, but they tend to shyly look away upon making eye contact.

Beomgyu is quite the opposite, staring you down every chance he gets. Your skin feels hot, and you're suddenly anxious under his gaze.

When the group ahead of you has finished ordering and is heading off into their theater, you're sure to stick close to Jungkook as you approach the counter. Beomgyu eyes him over once before returning his gaze to you. "What can I get for you guys?"

Jungkook takes the liberty of ordering a large popcorn for the two of you to share and doesn't even get mad when you request a slushie instead of a fountain drink. He doesn't let you pay, swatting your hand away when you absentmindedly reach for your purse. "You seriously have to stop doing that." He mumbles, handing Beomgyu the cash.

Beomgyu quickly prepares the popcorn and Jungkook's drink but takes his time making your slushie. He's sure to fill it to the brim, and you're worried it may accidentally overflow and leave a sticky mess. "You didn't want candy or anything?" He questions, handing you your drink.

You shrug, "Maybe Twizzlers, but—"

Before you can finish, Beomgyu is reaching under the counter and sliding you a pack of Twizzlers. "On me."

"Oh, are you sure?" You ask, hesitant to accept the free candy.

Beomgyu sends Jungkook a cocky smirk before he responds, "Yeah, enjoy the movie."

You thank Beomgyu and pretend to not notice the death glares the two boys are sending one another before walking with Jungkook to your theater. "That guy was weird." He comments.

"Yeah." You agree, but it's definitely not true. Beomgyu was friendly and clearly interested in you, unlike Jungkook, who sent you nonstop, draining mixed signals. If his definition of weird is someone straightforward, then you should start going after weirdos.

Once you're settled in your seats in the back of the theater — per Jungkook's request — he clears his throat and says, "So, I tried messaging you on Facebook. Didn't get anything back."

"Oh, sorry. I haven't been using Facebook that much." You reply, hoping your lame excuse is believable enough.

He nods, eyes bouncing between you and the movie trailers playing in the background. "Yeah, I figured." He says. When you don't respond, he continues, "I would've asked Somi for your number, but I didn't want her to get suspicious or anything."

"That's smart." You admit, nodding in agreement.

"Are you okay?" Jungkook asks suddenly, his full attention to you.

You finally make eye contact, and the expression on his face makes your heart sink. He looks genuinely concerned and confused by your sudden coldness. You hate being so mean to him, but you're too embarrassed to explain the real reason why you've been avoiding him. So you nod and say, "Just a little tired."

It's clear he doesn't believe this; the same expression is still on his face as he refocuses on the movie trailers.

You hate how awkward it feels to be around him now. Never in a million years would you have guessed the two of you would end up like this. A week ago, you would've been overjoyed at the idea of being on a movie date with Jungkook, and now you're considering leaving early and catching a taxi home.

The two of you remain silent as the rest of the trailers play on, and Jungkook immediately sits up in his seat when the lights finally dim and the curtains are pulled back further. He's reticent throughout the movie, aside from a muffled chuckle occasionally; he even side-eyes anyone making too much noise.

You enjoy Twilight nonetheless, agreeing with Jungkook that you do, in fact, dress like Bella Swan from time to time. When he asks if you liked it as you're exiting the theater, you tell him it was very nice and that you hope there'll be another movie.

Jungkook smiles at this, tossing his empty cup in a nearby trash bin. "I'm sure there will be. Maybe they'll even cast you as Bella's stunt double since you already have the clothes."

"Shut up." You tease, and it feels nice to joke with him as usual. You may finally have the courage to tell Jungkook why you've been so distant these past few days.

Saw doesn't get out for another few minutes, so you're stuck waiting in the lobby for Somi and everyone else. Jungkook gestures towards the nearly empty slushie cup clutched in your hands, "You get free refills on that, I think."

You take his word, strolling over to the concession stand. Beomgyu spots you immediately and gestures for you to skip around the line. You shake your head, but he still beckons for you to come over. You feel bad, but the line has gotten longer since you were first here, and you really don't want to wait in a long line just for a refill.

"What flavor?" He asks once you've slid him your cup.

You tell him anything is fine and he gets to work, combining the cherry and blue raspberry flavors. "How was the movie?"

"It was good. The vampire stuff was cool."

"Have you seen Saw yet? It just came out."

"No, I haven't."

"It's so good; if you wanna give me your number, maybe we can see it together sometime."

What is it with guys offering to take you out to a movie they've already seen? You're not complaining; it's just odd.

Beomgyu is clearly interested in you and has offered to take you out. You'd be silly to pass up on this guy just because your current relationship with your longtime crush is at a standstill. So you accept, scribbling your phone number down on a napkin with your name underneath. He promises to call you once his shift ends and that he looks forward to seeing you.

When you turn to meet up with Jungkook, he's gone. You catch him storming out of the theater, hauling ass to his car.

You run to catch up to him, calling out his name and begging him to slow down.

When he finally does stop, there's a look on his face that you've never seen before. He gets angry all the time, but this was something completely different. "So you were just using me, huh?"

What? What is he talking about?

"Using you for what?"

"To lose your virginity. You just wanted to get it over with, right?" His voice is slightly hushed now but still loud enough for you to feel embarrassed about anyone passing through the parking lot.

"Jungkook, what are you talking about?"

"You used me to lose your virginity, so when you date other guys you can tell them you've had sex before. Is that what this is?"

This accusation hurts, considering that Jungkook was the only guy you've ever been interested in romantically and sexually. You don't know where this theory originated, but you don't like it.

Jungkook continues before you respond, "I tried reaching out and talking to you, and you just blew me off! And yet, here you are, giving your number to random guys! Am I not good enough for you?!"

"It's not like that, Jungkook!" You don't mean to raise your voice at him, but you can't help it. Both of your emotions were at an all-time high.

"Then what is it like?!"

Here goes nothing.

There are already tears forming as you go to explain yourself. "I didn't reach out to you because…because I was embarrassed."

"You were embarrassed to have sex with me?"

"No!" You yell in reassurance, "No, no, no. Of course not. I was embarrassed because I know you didn't finish. I just thought maybe I did something wrong or didn't do enough."

Jungkook quirks a brow at you, "What makes you think I didn't finish?"

You really hate that he's making you explain this. "I saw the condom afterwards; it was empty."

"You went digging in my trash can to find the condom?" Now he looks more disgusted than confused; this is going so horribly.

"No! I saw it when I went to get my phone off the charger."

Jungkook takes a minute to process everything, scratching his chin in deep thought. You can't tell what he's feeling, but he does look hurt. It makes you regret avoiding him in the first place.

"So, you were prepared to never talk to me again over an empty condom?" Despite his stern demeanor, he's clearly shaking as he questions you.

You want to say no, that it wasn't a case, but you can't bring yourself to lie to him again. So you say nothing. Jungkook nods at your lack of response before turning around and walking towards his car. You remain still, frozen in place, watching as he sits on the hood of his car and smokes a cigarette.

If it weren't for Somi finishing her movie within the next few minutes, you would've walked the entire way home.

This bitch is driving you crazy.

Your older sister, Imogen, is home for a few days to start her wedding preparations. The fake bridezilla persona she's putting on bothers you the most, bursting out in tears at the most inconvenient times or having a breakdown about selecting a theme. Deep down, she doesn't care about any of this bullshit; she's like you about parties or big events.

"This is literally the biggest day of my life, and you're being so fucking difficult." Imogen snarls at you, pouring herself a cup of coffee. You're sitting a few feet away on the kitchen counter, staring out the kitchen window. Despite Imogen's occasional yelling and snarky comments, all you can think of is Jungkook.

It's been an entire week since the movie theater incident. You haven't stopped by the Jeon household not once, telling Somi you fell ill and don't want to get her sick. It's another lame excuse, but she buys it, opting to talk to you on the phone daily until you recover.

You have yet to speak to Jungkook; it's not like you've tried. The idea of messaging him on Facebook and not receiving a response makes you anxious. It's hard to believe you subjected him to the same torture not long ago. It doesn't help that Scarlett is suddenly all over his page, commenting on nearly every one of his posts, writing on his wall, or tagging him in pictures. Your recurring dream of curb-stomping her is back in full force.

You sigh at your sister, "Whatever you say, Imogen."

She waves dismissively at you, "Please, don't even talk to me right now."

You hop off the counter in annoyance and stomp off towards the staircase, mumbling, "Fucking drama queen."

"Language." Your mom warns you, flipping through one of the several bridal magazines your sister has stacked on the coffee table.

Imogen scoffs, setting her mug on the counter. "I'm the drama queen? Whenever I talk about my wedding, you throw a fucking fit!"

"Why are you pretending to care about this stupid wedding and that stupid boy you barely even know?!" You shout back from the staircase.

"If my wedding is so stupid, then don't come!"

"I don't even want to go to your stupid wedding, with your stupid fiancé and your stupid red velvet cake that no one's going to fucking eat!"

This is probably the dumbest fight you've ever had.

Imogen doesn't respond to this, advised by your mother not to and to let you stomp up the stairs in a furious rage. You make a beeline straight to your desktop, waking up the computer with a mouse shake and entering your password.

Facebook is already open once you've signed in, Jungkook's page staring right back at you. You're ashamed to admit you'd been cyberstalking him, but you had no choice. Seeing him in person would've been too much, but you still want to ensure he's doing okay.

There's a new post up when you refresh the page; you chew on your bottom lip as you anxiously wait for it to finish loading.

It's a picture of his dirty Chuck Taylor's perched upon a wooden stool. You recognize the background immediately; he's in the treehouse in his backyard. You and Somi would spend hours up there as kids, giving each other manicures and exchanging secrets; now, you can barely look her in the eye without bursting out in tears. You hate how complicated things have become.

A light tap against your door has you swiveling around in your chair. It's Imogen, leaning against your doorframe with her arms crossed. "Who's that?"

"Somi's brother." You respond, scrolling to a photo that actually shows his face.

Imogen steps further into your bedroom, squinting her eyes at the computer screen. "Oh, yeah. Hasn't changed much, has he?" When you remain silent, she asks, "Would it be wrong of me to assume he's the real reason why you're so upset?"

You sigh, letting your shoulders drop. "You'd be very correct, actually."

She nods in understanding, sitting on the edge of your bed. "So, what's going on? You like him?"

"We kind of like each other, I guess." You mumble. Honestly, you're not quite sure how Jungkook feels about you at the moment.

"And Somi doesn't approve of it?"

You snort, "Somi doesn't know. There was nothing to tell her at first, but things have changed."

"Are you guys dating?"

"No. We actually haven't talked in a week. I may have hurt his feelings."

Imogen nods towards your desktop, “Where is he now?”

You shrug, “Home, I guess.”

She stands, stretching out her limbs. She glances around your room, locates a jacket dangling lifelessly from your doorknob, and tosses it to you. “Let’s go.”

Taking an impromptu trip to the Jeon household had you sweating. What if Jungkook doesn’t even want to see you? What if Somi catches you talking and asks what’s going on?

Each concern you raise is instantly shot down by Imogen, claiming you’re creating excuses to avoid seeing him, how you’re only imagining the worst possible scenarios. You appreciate her overwhelming support but can’t help the nervousness creeping through your body as her car approaches the Jeon household.

“Remember, be apologetic but not desperate,” Imogen informs you, putting her car in park in front of the house.

“I am desperate.” You remind her.

“Well, don’t let him see it. You got this.”

You thank your sister one last time for the advice before stepping out of her car. You’re careful to avoid being seen from windows as you make your way into the backyard; not entirely sure what you’d say if Somi were to catch you.

You scale the tree quickly, silently praying the old wooden steps are stable enough to hold your weight.

You sigh in relief once you’ve reached the top, only to groan at the sight of Scarlett sitting across from you. She looks up from her iPod with a bright smile, quickly pulling out her earbuds as you enter the treehouse. “Hey, stranger! Watcha doing here?”

Her enthusiasm really makes you sick. “Came to see Jungkook,” you pause to glance around the tiny, wooden deathtrap, “but he’s nowhere to be found.”

“He’ll be back soon; went to use the bathroom,” Scarlett informs you, running her hands through her hair. “So, you guys really like each other, huh?”

What? She knows about that?

“Jungkook told you?” You question, trying your best to appear unbothered. You’re unsure where she’s going with this, but you have no reason to trust her.

Scarlett nods, “We tell each other everything. So when he told me you guys weren’t talking, I may have devised a plan to help you come around. You do use Facebook, right?” She smirks

Holy shit, all the posts of them together were to make you feel jealous enough to have a conversation with him; and your sworn enemy was the mastermind behind it. It was all a ploy to get under your skin, and you fell right into the trap.

“You’re a stubborn little thing, though. Didn’t think it’d take you so long.” She comments, slipping her jacket on.

You shrug, “I didn’t think he’d want to talk to me.”

“Jungkook always wants to talk to you. I don’t mind it, though. You seem good for him.”

Aside from Somi, Scarlett is probably the last person you would’ve expected to be supportive of your relationship with Jungkook. So, to hear she’d been secretly rooting for you behind the scenes nearly gives you whiplash. You almost feel wrong about your dreams of shoving her face into the pavement.

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “So, nothing is going on between you guys?”

Scarlett grimaces as if you deeply offended her, “Of course not! Don’t get me wrong, he’s cute, but not my type. His sister is cute, though.”

Woah.

“Somi? Jeon Somi? You’re into her?” You ask, completely stunned.

“Hell, yes. Hey, do you think you could set us up? Jungkook would never.”

“You do know that Somi can’t stand you, right?”

Scarlett excitedly nods, “I know, it’s kind of a turn-on.”

You hold your hands out to stop her from elaborating any further. Scarlett has surprised you in more ways than one in less than five minutes. You’re sure any new information would’ve made your head explode.

“I’ll…try my best.” You promise; not quite sure how Somi would feel about the idea of Scarlett liking her.

“For what?” A voice interrupts, causing you and Scarlett to direct your attention to the treehouse’s entrance. And there he is, in all his gothic glory.

“Girl talk, none of your business,” Scarlett responds, making room for Jungkook to crawl in.

“Fine. You keep your secrets; I’ll keep mine.” Jungkook groans, sitting between the two of you.

“Will do. I’m outta here. Got a hot date with a box of hair dye. See you suckers later.” Scarlett waves goodbye as she exits the treehouse, reminding you of your promise before disappearing down the steps.

Jungkook clears his throat, sweeping his hair away from his eyes. "So—"

"I'm sorry," you cut him off, "I should've reached out and talked to you, but I was just too embarrassed and didn't know how to approach you about it. I really like you, and I wasn't using you to lose my virginity. I mean, you're the only person I've ever been interested in. So, again, I'm sorry."

He sighs, "I understand why you were embarrassed, but I promise it had nothing to do with you."

"Then what was it?"

Jungkook anxiously scratches the back of his head before he responds. "It's just that…sometimes…it takes me a little bit longer to, uh…to finish."

Oh.

"Is it because of your…size?" You can't help but wonder.

Jungkook snorts, "What, you think I'm big?"

"I'm out of here." You joke, faking as if you're about to leave.

"Wait, wait, wait." He stops you, "I was only kidding. I never really thought size played a factor in it, but every guy is different. But, still, that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy us having sex. I mean, you had already finished, and I didn't want to tire you out just for my sake."

Knowing he had a perfectly reasonable explanation makes you feel even worse about spending all that time avoiding him. You want to tell him you wouldn't mind him tiring you out, that the idea excites you, but you refrain.

A beat of silence passes, and you ask, "But, I'm sure if there's something that you're really into, then it wouldn't take as long for you to finish. Right?"

Jungkook nods, "I guess."

"Then, what is it? What are you into?"

He coughs, tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink. "Um…I guess I'm into…roughness?"

Ah.

"That's not a big deal. A lot of people are probably into that."

"I mean, it's fine either way, but I mostly prefer when girls are kinda rough with me. Fuck, this is embarrassing."

"It's not!" You reassure him, placing a gentle hand on his knee, "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. I appreciate you trusting me enough to tell me."

Jungkook stares at your hand on his knee before placing his own on top. You twist yours upwards and interlock your fingers, not missing the smile that forms on his face. His bangs have swept into his eyes again, and you use your free hand to move them out of the way. "It was my first time, too, by the way."

You snort, "You don't need to say that just to make me feel better."

"I'm serious," he continues, "I mean, I've gotten pretty handsy in the past, but nothing like what we did."

You shake your head, "I don't buy it. You seemed so experienced like you knew what you were doing."

Jungkook shrugs, "I mean, I'm not completely innocent. I may occasionally watch certain videos and read certain stories from time to time."

Porn and smut. Beautiful combination.

He shakes his head, "You still don't believe me; how come?"

You sigh, memories of the night before he left for college flashing in your mind. How you ran home in tears, how he only responded to Scar's comment on Somi's Facebook post. It almost hurts to think about. "The night before you left for school, there was an opened condom wrapper on your floor. I just figured…you know."

Jungkook nods at the memory. "I wasn't gonna go to the dorms the next day. I was planning on running away, that's why I gave you that bandana. After my parents helped bring my stuff to the dorms, I was gonna put everything in my car then take off."

You're having a hard time processing this information. Why would Jungkook plan on running away? What does this story have to do with the empty condom?

He continues, clutching your hand even tighter. "I only told a few people I was leaving, and there was this one girl who came over to say goodbye. She'd been really into me for a while and was heartbroken that I was leaving. We were about to hook up, hence the condom wrapper, but I couldn't do it."

"Why?" You question.

"Didn't feel right. I wasn't into her the same way she was into me. Just couldn't do it." He explains, eyes staring deep into yours. You believe him; you know he's being truthful.

"What made you decide to stay?" You ask.

"For Somi," he answers, "I couldn't just leave her like that. And for you, too."

Though you've felt it for many years, telling Jungkook you love him is too soon. But you want to, so very badly.

"I'm glad you decided to stay." Your voice is barely a whisper now as you try to stop yourself from tearing up.

He nods, "Me too."

You sit in comfortable silence for a minute, clutching each other's hands. You wish you could stay like this forever.

"I just realized you never told me if there's anything you're into." He points out.

You shrug, "Just you." And it's true: Jungkook is the only person you've ever been interested in. Everything he says and does is genuinely attractive to you.

He drops your hand gently, using it to tilt your head towards him, and he kisses you.

You're quick to cradle the back of his head as his hands snake around your waist, deepening the kiss. You move to straddle his lap, slowly pushing him onto his back. He grunts in surprise, breaking away from the kiss. "You—"

"Stop talking." You demand before your lips intertwine with his once again. With one hand on his chest, you reach to grab a fistful of his hair and tug lightly, earning a satisfied moan from him. You're not used to being rough with guys, but you're sure Jungkook enjoys it with the way his erection is already pressing up against your thigh.

Reluctantly, you pull away from him and sit up, staring at him sprawled underneath you in complete awe. "Alright, I'll message you my number so we can text. See you later."

"No! No, no, no. Please don't go." He pleads, holding you in place when you go to stand, "Just stay a little longer, please."

You smile down at him, fighting the urge to stay in the treehouse. "I can't. Imogen is waiting out front. We'll see each other soon, okay?" You promise, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Jungkook nods, fingers drumming against the floor as he watches you crawl out of the treehouse. "Don't be too surprised if I seem extra excited to see you next time." He calls after you.

"Trust me, I won't."

Jungkook is the first boy to ever sneak in through your bedroom window.

He carelessly tosses his backpack in first, cringing when it lands on your carpeted floor with a loud thud. Though you’ve assured him your parents are heavy sleepers, he’s still worried you’ll get in trouble if he makes too much noise and accidentally reveals himself. “Sorry,” he apologizes, wrist gripping your forearm as you help pull him in.

“It’s fine,” you whisper back, “they’re not gonna wake up.”

“Still,” he grunts, using his upper body strength to pull him further into your room. “Don’t want you getting in trouble.”

It’s a day after the treehouse incident; as promised, you sent Jungkook your number and spent all day texting back and forth. Despite not being big on texting, you admire how Jungkook likes to keep you updated on what he’s doing and how he checks up on you to ensure you’re okay.

“We’ll be fine, but just in case, I did make room for you in my closet in case you have to hide.” You inform him.

Jungkook stifles a laugh, “Good to know.” He settles himself on the edge of your bed, moving over once he realizes he’d sat on a pile of clothing. “Oh, were you about to shower?”

“I was,” you answer, moving the clothing over to your nightstand, “but I’ll wait until after you leave.”

He has to stop himself from making a joke about joining you in the shower. He nods, leaning down to drag his backpack towards him, “Guess what I got today.”

“What?” You question, legs folded underneath you as you sit beside him.

Jungkook slowly unzips his backpack, careful not to make too much noise before rummaging through it and clutching something in his hand. He momentarily turns his back towards you, clips something to his shirt, then turns back around.

There’s a name tag on his chest now with his name scribbled in black ink and a little star next to it. “A job?”

He nods, “At that music store, Spin City. Need to start saving up before classes start. Plus, I wanna take you out somewhere nice before summer’s over.”

You gulp, “Like, a date?”

“Yeah. I mean, unless… I don’t know. I just kinda figured…” He trails off, suddenly worried he may be scaring you off.

You grab ahold of his hand, “I know, and trust me, you’re perfect, and I want us to be together. But, the night we saw you at that party, I did ask Somi if she would be upset if I was into you. Surprisingly, she said she wouldn’t mind as long as I talked to her before making a move on you. And, well…”

“We made a move on each other without telling her,” Jungkook finishes for you.

You nod, “Exactly.”

He sighs, “So, I’m guessing that means you wanna wait before we make things official.”

“Yeah. No matter what, I still want to be with you. But it’d be best for all of us to get her on board with this first. Show her how much we truly care for each other, and make sure she’s okay with it. So she knows my relationship with you won’t affect our friendship, and vice versa.” You explain. Jungkook’s eyes never stray from yours, listening intently and nodding at everything you say.

“That’s fair,” he agrees, “It’s a good idea. Do you want me to talk to her? Or for us to talk to her together?”

You shake your head, “She’ll definitely freak out on you; it’s best if I do it alone first, then you talk to her afterward.”

Jungkook leans back against your bed, resting his head on your pillow. It’s funny how different your aesthetics are; he looks perfectly out of place, sprawled on your baby pink pillow surrounded by teddy bears. “When?”

“I dunno,” you respond, lowering yourself until your head rests comfortably on his bicep. “Doesn’t have to be right away. As long as it’s before we move into the dorms.”

“We shouldn’t wait too long, though. It’ll only make things worse.” Jungkook mumbles, pulling you closer to him.

“I know. I’ll have a talk with her soon, I promise.”

You interlock pinkies to solidify your promise and ease his nerves. You hadn’t realized how anxiety-inducing this was for Jungkook as well. The idea of Somi not approving of your relationship had him genuinely worried.

“But, you should know that no matter what—” he starts.

You cut him off, “I know.”

The hands that once purposely dumped slime in your hair are now tugging your panties down your legs.

“Can we try something?” Jungkook asks with a mumble against your lips, your soft blue underwear now clutched in the palm of his hand.

“Like what? I actually make you come for once?” You joke, earning a laugh from Jungkook.

“Don’t worry about me.” He presses another kiss against your lips, “You trust me?”

“Of course.” You respond, sitting up in Jungkook’s bed as he moves backward, never breaking eye contact with you. He pushes your skirt up slightly but pats your hand away when you go to remove it altogether.

“Leave it on.” He commands, bringing himself at face level with your cunt.

You’ve never felt this shy in your life, grateful your bunched-up skirt created the tiniest barrier between having Jungkook see you all flustered. Never had you been this intimate with a guy, especially not a guy you technically weren’t even dating.

His thumb is circling your clit before you have the time to protest, to tell him he doesn’t have to do this just for your sake, but the feeling of his fingers pressed against you has you at a loss for words.

“This okay?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You respond, tilting your head upwards to stare at the ceiling.

Before you know it, his middle and index fingers are pressed against your opening, eliciting a gasp from your lips. At your reaction, Jungkook slips his finger into your entrance, thumb still playing with your clit. He insists on being teasingly slow today, wanting to draw out every moment and observe your reaction.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you in a slow, consistent motion, an amused smirk on his lips when he hears your breathing become ragged. Abruptly, he slips his fingers out of you, moving your thighs to rest them atop his shoulders.

“Wait, you don’t have to—oh fuck.” You’re cut off by Jungkook pushing himself forward, placing a sudden kiss on your clit that has your hips jolting in the air. His hand grabs your waist and licks at your slit, keeping you in place as he gently returns your body to his mattress.

His growing erection is the last of his worries, all too focused on dragging his tongue across your cunt. He flattens his tongue, pulling the wetness upward until he’s circling your clit again. In search of something to grab onto, your hands grip the bed sheets until Jungkook reaches forward, moving your hand over to grip his hair.

His eyes are closed when you look down at him, and you swear you can hear him moan as he eats you out. You try your best to keep the noise down out of fear someone will hear, but you can’t help but yell out when he’s back to fingering you, all while circling your clit with his tongue.

Your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face further into your pussy, and he lets out a satisfied groan. It’s embarrassing how quickly your orgasm approaches; everything with Jungkook is so intense. He knows this, eyes fluttering open to watch your expressions. Black eyeshadow is smeared across his eyelids as his eyes focus on your own, hands gripping your thighs as he tongue circles your clit.

His fingers are relentlessly pumping into your cunt now, contrasting against how teasingly slow his tongue is moving. He pulls his mouth away, lips glistening with your arousal, and asks, “You close?”

You don’t respond directly, but the grip you have on his hair gives him all the answers he needs before he’s diving back in. It doesn’t take much for you to come after that, a final kiss pressed on your clit, sending you over the edge and coating Jungkook’s fingers.

Jungkook doesn’t stop there, still continuing to lick and suck your clit until you’re begging him to stop from the overstimulation.

“Sorry.” He apologizes, planting a kiss on your inner thigh, “Was that good?”

“That was literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You respond. Jungkook lets out a laugh as he crawls up next to you. “I should be upset with you, though.”

“What?” He questions, peppering your face with kisses, “Why’s that?”

“I came over to talk to your sister about us, and you distracted me.”

“How’d I do that?”

“Because! You came downstairs in your eyeshadow. Then you were all like, ‘Oh, hey. I cleaned my room; wanna check it out?’” You mimic a deep voice that sounds nothing like his.

“I apologize for putting on eyeshadow, bringing you to my room, and eating you out. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“I guess.”

You both laugh at this as you move to pull your skirt down. “Hey, how’d you realize you like it when girls are rough with you?”

Jungkook shakes his head as the memory returns to him, a shy smile on his face as he glances over at you. “A couple years ago, I was picking on Somi for something. I don’t even remember why, but it got to the point where my parents were telling me to stop, and I wouldn’t. Then, you just started yelling at me out of nowhere, and I don’t know why, but it was the hottest thing ever. I was in awe. I really thought you were gonna slap me. Since then, it’s just been a turn-on of mine.”

“Wow. That’s actually kind of pathetic.” You tease.

He groans, “Please don’t say that. You’re gonna make me hard again.”

Laughter is shared between you once again before you lean your head down to rest on his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat making you feel calm. A comfortable minute of silence passes before you have to address the unfortunate inevitable, “Somi should be here soon, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook mumbles, “within the next ten minutes.”

You sigh, “Next time I come over, I’ll have to tell her about us.”

The next time you stop by the Jeon household, Jungkook has you bent over in the backseat of his car.

His finger digs into your waist as his cock is plunging into you at full force, emptying all the thoughts from your brain. You still haven’t fully adjusted to his size, but you don’t care; the pain of being split open makes you come faster. It feels better.

Jungkook insisted on taking things slow, telling you that you’d need to adjust to his size, but the moment you sunk your dripping cunt onto him, he was under your spell.

Your body lunges forward with every rough stroke Jungkook gives you, hands buried in your hair as he pulls you up against his chest. His hand moves from your hair down to your neck, tilting your head back while applying the slightest bit of pressure against your throat. Your eyes close out of instinct as tears form in the corner of your eyes before trickling down your cheeks. He kisses them away one by one before settling his lips on your neck. You make a mental note to check yourself for hickeys afterward.

You’re coming around him before you realize it, body spasming as you grip the driver’s seat headrest. Jungkook shows no signs of stopping or slowing down; in fact, he’s sped up even faster since fucking you through your orgasm. He lets go of your neck to push down on your back, left hand gripping your waist while the right intertwines your fingers with his.

A few strokes later, he’s finally coming and jokes about showing you the used condom as confirmation.

You shake your head, gesturing for him to pass you the shorts he’d tossed in the front seat. “I can’t believe I let you trick me again.”

“What?!” He exclaims in utter shock, reaching in the front seat to grab your discarded clothing, “How exactly did I trick you?”

“I came over to talk to Somi, but then you were all like, ‘Hey, come look at my car; I just got it washed.’” You playfully roll your eyes, searching around the backseat for your underwear.

“Can I keep these?” He asks suddenly, the most nonchalant expression on his face as your panties dangle from his middle finger.

You scoff, reaching to snatch them from him, confused when he retracts his hand. “I think I will keep them until you talk to Somi. Since it was you who wanted to talk to her first.”

“Then, I guess I’ll get them back tomorrow because I’m definitely talking to her today.”

Except you don’t.

You spent the entire summer sneaking around with Jungkook and procrastinating about having that talk with Somi. It was anxiety-inducing, to say the least, and you had no idea how she’d react. You tell yourself she won’t be upset as long as you assure her your friendship won’t be affected by you dating her brother.

You’re scheduled to move into the dorms within a few weeks, so it’s best to sort things out now before you all live under the same roof, unable to avoid one another. Jungkook doesn’t seem nervous at all. In fact, he’d given you a pep-talk the day before you showed up at their home.

“She can’t stay mad forever.” He pointed out, eyes sealed shut as you do his eyeliner.

“I know,” you mumbled, adjusting yourself on his lap, “but that girl can hold a grudge.”

“Right, but this is you we’re talking about. You mean a lot to her, to both of us, actually.”

His words play in your mind as you enter the Jeon household, following Somi into the kitchen. “Baking something?” You ask, a sweet, decadent scent hitting your nose.

“Brownies for some stupid bake sale my parents are having. Help me clean up?” She asks, pouting her lips at you.

“Sure.” You agree, under the assumption that there wouldn’t be much to even clean up.

Boy, you were wrong. It’s like Somi used every dish in the house to make one sheet of brownies. There’s no backing out now; you already agreed to help, and it’d be best to stay on her good side for now.

She gets to work rinsing each dish before handing them to you to load the dishwasher, moving quickly to get everything done faster.

“What a beautiful friendship.” A familiar voice comments; you fight back a smile as Somi groans at her brother.

“You wouldn’t know; you don’t have any friends,” Somi responds, laughing at her words.

“Neither will you, soon,” Jungkook whispers back, groaning when you swat him in the chest. “Any brownie batter left?”

“None for you. Shouldn’t you be at work?” Somi asks, handing you another dish.

Somi takes a break from rinsing off the dishes to bicker with Jungkook for a minute. You tune out from the conversation, dipping your fingers into the leftover batter bowl and gathering the chocolate on your fingers.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” Jungkook says. When Somi finally directs her attention elsewhere, Jungkook takes the opportunity to grab your wrist, bringing your fingers up to his lips before sucking the chocolate off them.

Your eyes practically bulged out of your head, nervously glancing behind you to ensure Somi hadn’t seen anything. You swat at Jungkook’s chest for the second time, and he laughs as if you’re being overly dramatic. It’s odd how surprisingly calm he is about everything. His demeanor would have worried you if you didn’t trust him so much.

Jungkook wipes the renaming bit of chocolate around his lips before mouthing ‘Good luck.’ You give him a nervous smile, watching as he slips past Somi and leaves out the front door. You get back to work, making small talk with Somi as you help her load the dishwasher.

It’s now or never.

“So,” you start, “we’re gonna be living together soon.”

Somi smiles, “Finally! God, I can’t wait to have some freedom. My stupid curfew is a major cock-block. Right when things are finally getting good on a date, I have to go back home. So fucking frustrating. There’s literally cobwebs in my vagina.”

You snort, loading the final dish into the washer. “Well, you won’t have that problem anymore.”

“I know. And maybe you’ll even find someone worthy even to date you.” Somi jokes, hopping on the kitchen counter.

“Uh, what if I already have found someone…worthy enough?” You question, pressing a few buttons to get the dishwasher going.

“As if.”

“Somi, I’m serious.”

She sighs, still not buying your confession. “Alright then, who is it?”

“...Your brother.”

A beat of silence passes, and then Somi doubles over in laughter, nearly slipping off the counter several times in seconds. It takes her a minute to catch her breath, clutching her collar for support as she regulates her breathing; even tears are forming in her eyes. “Holy fuck, can you imagine? You and my brother? Jesus Christ.”

“Look, there really isn’t an easy way to say this, but we really do like each other. We’ve been…together this whole summer. Well, not officially; I didn’t want to put a label on anything without talking to you about it first.” You finally confess. The weight on your shoulders doesn’t immediately drop as you expected; it’s like the load has gotten heavier.

Somi has a blank expression as she stares at you, eyes darting around the kitchen as she processes the information. “You’re serious?”

You nod.

She shakes her head, “What kind of friend are you?”

Fuck.

“Somi, please, let me—”

She cuts you off, hopping off the counter and inching towards you. “So, what? All this time, you were using me to get close to Jungkook? Out of every fucking guy on the planet?!”

“No! Of course not! Somi, I never even imagined myself in a relationship with him until this summer, I swear!” Your voice trembles as Somi approaches you. The two of you have never been in a physical fight before, but the expression on her face tells you there’s a first time for everything.

“Oh, really? You expect me to believe that, huh? So it’s just a coincidence that you guys suddenly got together right before we’re all gonna be living in the same building?”

“I know it doesn’t sound great, but—”

“I think you should go.” Somi cuts you off calmly, her sudden change in demeanor shocking you. A moment ago, she looked angry enough to hit you, but now, she seems a few seconds away from breaking down in tears.

You nod understandably, telling Somi to take all the time she needs and to call you when she’s ready to talk.

She doesn’t say a word as you exit her house, and you wonder if you’ve just lost the best friend you’ve ever had.

“I’ve never seen her this angry, Jungkook. I thought she was gonna hit me or something.” You groan, ear pressed up against your phone as you rant to Jungkook.

It’d been a few hours since you left Somi’s house; Jungkook had promised to call you during his break to hear how the conversation went. You’re still shaking as the memories flood you, how your best friend in the world accused you of using her. What a fucking joke.

“She’ll get over it, trust me. Y’know, before I called you, she spent five minutes yelling at me over the phone. Five fucking minutes, and I just took it. She’ll be fine.” He says, following up with a loud slurping noise that suggests Jungkook has chosen to have ramen for lunch.

It’s astonishing how calm he’s managed to stay this entire time.

You flip over on the couch, head resting on the armrest as you stare at the ceiling. “I just don’t wanna lose her. She’s a fireball, for sure, but she’s my fireball. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“I just told you you’re not gonna be without her, okay?”

“...Okay.”

There’s a knock at your front door, most likely from the pizza delivery Jungkook had sent to your house.

“I gotta go. The food is here. Are you still stopping by after your shift?”

“Of course. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” you stand, making your way to the front door. “I’ll save you some pizza.”

He chuckles at that, “You better. I’ll see you later, okay? I love you.”

He what?

“You what?” You pause, hand on the doorknob.

“I love you, and I’ll see you later.” He hangs up.

You don’t have time to process his words; the knocking at your front door happens again.

Twisting the knob, you’re met with Somi staring back at you. “Somi? What’re you—”

“I don’t care if you date Jungkook.” She claims, storming through your front door, “If you guys want to be together, then I’m not standing in the way. But I will not be your friend if you date him, so it’s either him or me.”

You follow Somi into your living room, your pulse quickening upon hearing her ultimatum. “Somi, that’s not—”

“Before you choose…as a girl, and as your friend, I have to be completely honest with you.” She sighs, fingers nervously raking through her hair as she sits on your couch. “I called Jungkook after you left, and he talked to me about you guys.”

You nod, taking a seat next to her. “Okay, and…?”

She sighs again, taking your hand in her own. “Everything he’s ever told you was a lie.”

#bts imagine #bts smut #bts scenario #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #kpop imagine #kpop smut #kpop scenario #agust d #kim taehyung #13lov

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leighsartworks216 · 3 months ago

Text

Ominiscience

Sylus x gn!Reader

I just love when Sylus gets to protect MC from others

Warnings: unwanted advances, alcohol mention, protective Sylus, Mephisto keeping an eye on you, pet names, swearing, established relationship

Word Count: 1,009

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Wish you could’ve come with me. It’s boring here without you :(

You sigh as you send the text, leg bouncing as you thank the bartender for your drink. There’s no alcoholic sting when you take a sip, but you don’t expect there to be. You do have to drive back home, after all. Or maybe you’d risk the drive to the N109 Zone, just to see Sylus.

Tara invited you out to a bar to celebrate a mission success. And despite helping you in that success, you didn’t want to risk the leader of Onychinus being in Linkon around other Hunters. But you also didn’t want to disappoint Tara, especially when you’d been spending so much time in the N109 Zone when you aren’t working. You didn’t want her to think you didn’t enjoy her company or value her friendship.

Except, she got swept up by a cute guy five minutes after sitting down. They smiled together and laughed as they danced to the music, holding hands and swaying close like they’d known each other for years. And you were left at the bar to nurse virgin mocktails and cling to every message he sends you.

Awe, poor kitten. Shall I send Mephisto to keep you company?

You can’t help grinning.

For company, or for target practice?

“Hey, gorgeous.” You startle and turn toward the voice. A man gestures to the stool beside you with a smirk that makes your skin crawl. He looked completely normal, even a little handsome, but something about the way his eyes looked at you had your senses on high alert. “This seat taken?”

You glance down the row of seats. There are quite a few open, further away and a safe distance from you. “No, but neither are any of those.”

He laughs at your comment and sits down, leaning his elbow on the counter and barely glancing at the bartender when he orders. You shift your drink closer.

“I like a seat with a view.”

Your phone buzzes again. You start to pick it up so you can answer the new message, hoping your clear lack of interest will get this stranger to leave you alone, but another hand grabs it and slams it back onto the bar, trapping your hand with it. His grip is relentless, squeezing your fingers together uncomfortably as he leans closer. You smell the alcohol from his drink on his breath.

“It’s rude to ignore someone, sweetheart,” he chastises. “What’s the matter, you got a boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles. “I don’t believe you.”

Your phone begins ringing, vibrating against your crushed hand while it plays a silly tune, one you��d picked out just to annoy Sylus. The man snickers. “What kind of ringtone is that? Is your friend calling? She must be cute, too, huh?”

“You can answer it if you want,” you say, taking on an air of confidence. “Maybe she’ll think you sound pretty cute, too.”

He grins, eyes studying your hand beneath his as he considers the offer. Your heart is leaden in your chest. If he doesn’t answer and Sylus doesn’t threaten him into the next lifetime, you don’t know what else to do. The bartender’s back is to you as he talks with another customer, and Tara is probably too engrossed in her new admirer to notice your struggle.

“Alright,” he finally agrees. You try not to breathe a sigh of relief just yet as he releases you and you hand over the device. The idiot doesn’t even bother checking the call photo background, a stolen snapshot of Sylus with snow in his hair and fireworks lighting up his face. He just accepts and brings it right up to his ear, smiling at you confidently. “Hey, cutie.”

You bite your lip to fight a growing laugh from bubbling up as you watch in real time as his face changes through several different emotions.

At first, he’s just confused when a man’s voice answers the call. Then pissed. He’s glaring at you when he starts to hang up, but stops and listens again. The anger flickers into worry for a second. A split second. Enough time for his mind to try to rationalize that the words, the threats, coming in from the receiver aren’t real and can’t possibly happen to him. And then it settles. Color drains from his face. His eyes are wide, glancing from you to the people around him helplessly, clutching the phone with both hands. You can’t hear Sylus’s voice, but you wonder if he’s using Mephisto to relay the man’s movements.

It’s only been a couple minutes when the man slowly pulls the phone from his ear and holds it out to you, cradling it in both hands like a highly reactive bomb. He stammers until he finally whimpers out, “It’s- It’s for you. S-Sorry.”

You take the phone and he trips over himself trying to get away, frantically searching the crowd for the mysterious stranger that threatened his life seconds ago.

You hold it up to your ear. “Thank you for that.” You take a relaxed sip of your drink.

Sylus chuckles. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Mhm.” You glance over your shoulder. “Where’s Mephisto hiding?”

“Outside. Up a little, look to your right… There you are, sweetie,” he purrs. Mephisto’s red eyes shine like rubies through the glass of a high-set window. You can’t see his body, only the movement of his eyes as he jerks his head around. “As I was saying, have you had dinner yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. Name anything you want. The chef will have it ready by the time you get here.”

You turn away and smile, trying to hide just how dopey it looks from him. “Do you have any work to do tonight?”

From the smile in his own voice, you’re sure he saw it anyway. “Just say the word and my schedule is cleared.”

“Which word?”

There’s an anticipatory pause. You can imagine the feel of his breath on your ear as he whispers into the microphone. “Please.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

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milla-frenchy · 7 days ago

Text

Dance with me, darlin'

3k6 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: You go to a club and want to fuck. So does Joel Warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his early 40s), Joel is a menace, Tommy’s in the club too, no mention of Sarah. Pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby), pussy and dick pronouns, masturbation (f), oral (m/f), dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, soft dom!Joel, piv, creampie. Pic for mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions

a/n: this is written for @sp00kymulderr 's dick pronoun fic challenge | masterlist thank you for the challenge, Gideon 🙏❤️ (I'm so late I'm sorry 😳) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 😘💕 @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

Saturday night, finally. You had a tough week at work, and you were looking forward to this night, wishing to forget your worries. You had planned to go to a club with your two friends, Maddie and Anna, drink a few shots and let loose on the dance floor.

The place was already packed when the three of you arrived, and you headed to the bar and ordered a shot of tequila that you downed immediately.

“Just what I needed,” you told your friends, sighing in relief, as you felt some of your troubles disappear- at least temporarily, when the strong alcohol flowed down your throat.

You set the glass down, before turning toward the dance floor and placing your elbows on the counter. “Come on, let’s dance,” Anna said, motioning for Maddie and you to follow her.

You danced and sang, your awful week finally behind you, and then headed back to the bar.

“Good evening, ladies.” All three of you turned around when you heard a masculine voice.

“Good evening yourself,” Maddie replied, smiling at the man. He was handsome, seemed to be in his late 30s, with dark hair and brown eyes, a moustache and a short beard. He was tall, his broad shoulders stretching his white t-shirt, its already short sleeves were rolled up around his biceps. His hair was tied back with a rubber band.

“I’m Tommy. Can I offer you drinks?”

The three of you looked at each other and agreed.

“Wanna join me and my brother? Over there,” he added, nodding toward a booth. Shamelessly manspreading, the man sitting there gave you and your friends a vague nod with his chin. He was wearing sunglasses, which you found strange in this place, but his attitude was hot and you didn’t want to turn down a drink. Neither did your friends.

“Hi, Tommy’s brother,” you said loudly over the music as you sat down.

“Hey darlin’, I’m Joel. What did you order?”

“Tequila,” you replied, trying not to react to the pet name he already gave you, despite the giggles of your friends.

“Nice,” he said, scratching his beard with his thumb, as the corner of his lip lifted slightly. This man was exactly what you needed tonight: a hot menace.

Tommy came back with the shots, all emptied as quickly as the first ones you’d had after your arrival. He started to chat with your friends and you looked at Joel more closely. He was wearing a gray t-shirt, so tight that his biceps seemed to be begging for release.

He probably noticed you were checking him out and not paying attention to the conversation at all, considering the smirk he gave you.

“Dance with me, darlin’,” he said, standing up right away, as if he already knew you wouldn't say no. He held out his hand to you, while pushing his glasses up on his head. You stood up and met a pair of beautiful brown eyes. His flirty smirk didn’t go unnoticed either- he was full of confidence, and you liked it.

He took your hand in his and you tried to stay focused on the music, the noises around, even though you felt like you were in a velvet box that muffled everything around you, since the moment his fingers touched you.

You started to dance and he was good at it, hips moving sensually. He rested his hands on your hips once or twice, and checked if you were ok with the way he was touching you. Feeling confident, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders while you were dancing, and resisted the urge to press your body closer to his.

When a second song started, you started to spin around to the rhythm of the music, swaying your hips lascively, and stopped when two hands settled on your hips.

“Already showing me your ass, baby? Lookin’ for trouble?” he said in a low voice, his mouth so close to your ear that his beard brushed your skin. His lips slid towards your pulse point and he kissed it, making you shiver.

You turned your face to look at him and held your breath. His stare, like yours probably, exuded sex. “Maybe I am, yeah. The good kind,” you replied finally, trying to keep a confident voice.

“Always the good kind with me, sweetheart,” he replied, leaning against you slightly, but enough for you to feel the bulge in his jeans. Another shiver ran through your body filled with arousal.

You turned around, and Joel kept his hands on your hips, pulling you gently towards him, determinedly, and you faced him. Two motionless bodies in the middle of the dance floor, while everybody was dancing around you. It was like time stopped for a moment.

He took your chin between his fingers, slowly tilting it left and then right. As if he was scrutinizing you.

“What? You’re gonna ask my age?”

“No. You’re over 21, that’s enough for me,” he said, and you started to dance again.

“Looks like you’re a damn menace, Joel…” you smirked.

He chuckled but didn’t answer.

A couple songs later, you excused yourself to go freshen up in the bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to slow down your heartbeat, to take your time before going back. Trying to stop yourself from asking him to join you in the bathroom so you could fuck him there.

When you came back, Joel was no longer dancing, or at the booth. You stopped dead in your tracks, disappointed. You obviously had been mistaken, thinking he was interested in you. You told your friends that you would call an Uber and go home.

When you walked out of the club, Joel was facing the exit, leaning against a truck.

“I was waiting for you,” he said, ogling your body from head to toe, with your dress not covering much, his lips curved in a confident smile.

“And you just left? I could have met another man and completely forgotten about you," you said, half teasing half provoking him, as you were walking towards him.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he replied, the confidence in his voice making your knees weaken. He pulled you towards him, his scent invading your nostrils again. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Could almost hear that little pussy clench on nothin’, while we were dancin’,” he murmured against your ear while his hands grabbed your ass, pressing you against his bulge. You bit your lip, trying not to moan.

“Am I right? Coulda fucked you in the bathroom, but I wanna take my time with you.”

“So you want to fuck me in your car?”

“No. Not with my dick, at least,” he smirked.

“Shit,” you breathed. No one had ever spoken to you like that before, and heat rushed over your whole body.

“Wanna come to my place, darlin’?”

“For ‘good kind of trouble’, like you offered? Yes… yeah.”

“‘Course you do,” he added, cockily.

He grabbed your arms and spun you around, caging you with his broad body, your back against the truck door, his wide thigh between yours. Pressing against your throbbing pussy.

“Is she purin’, baby? This little cunt? She wants to be mine all night, doesn't she?”

“Fuck… yeah.”

He brushed his nose against your cheeks and ear, then kissed your neck, his hands sliding from your ass to your waist.

You wanted to kiss him, but he seemed to enjoy playing with you. Tease you.

“That’s my girl. Get in the truck, sweetheart,” he said, moving away just enough to open the door.

“Oh, you’re a gentleman?”

He tilted his head to the side and gave you a look that seemed to mean “for now”, then he closed the door.

“Fuck,” you mumbled. He was so hot and confident that you felt yourself drooling like never before.

“So you’re a contractor?” you said as he sat down, trying to cool off the atmosphere a bit. “Miller bros,” written on your truck? It explains the arms.”

“You checked out my arms, darlin’?”

“Yeah, like you checked out my ass,” you teased. So much for the cool off.

“I sure did,” he chuckled. “Yeah, Tommy and I are contractors.”

He put his hand on your bare thigh while he was driving. As if you were his. His possessiveness made your core throb and you squeezed your thighs together, trying in vain to ease the tension you were feeling.

“Oh, baby… need it bad, uh? Don't worry, my place ain’t far. Now, be a good girl, and put your hand between your legs.”

You looked at him, surprised and even more aroused.

“You need some release, don’t you?”

You nodded and did as he said, you were here for it after all, and his soft dominant tone was exactly what you craved. You slid your hand between your thighs, down to your soaked panties.

“Two fingers. You can take them easily, I know you're droolin’.”

You bit your lip when you heard him, and slid your hand under the fabric.

That’s a good girl,” he praised. “Now lemme hear her.”

He watched you each time he could- at every red light, every stop, when it was safe.

You were turned on by the fact that he was there, next to you, this man you had just met. Imagining how he would fuck you, aware that you were already under his control in some way. Under his spell, or whatever you called it. You brushed your folds then pushed two fingers in to let him hear how wet you were.

“Christ, that’s it, darlin’. Ruin my seat.”

You whined, keeping two fingers buried in your cunt, and brought your other hand in your panties to play with your clit and release the tension that was clenching your stomach.

“Oh shit, that’s it baby, two hands,” he said again. “Keep goin’, come in my damn car.”

“Yeah, I’m… I’m gonna come, fuck,” you whimpered, when your climax rushed over you, back arched, pussy clenching on your fingers, clit pulsing under your digit. You felt your wetness flow down to his seat.

“Shit,” he said, grabbing his bulge in his big hand, trying to ease his own tension now, before putting his hand on your thigh again. He didn’t release you until he pulled into his driveway. Then he got out of his truck and walked around to open the door, took your hand in his and led you to his house.

He slammed the door behind you and you finally kissed, your lips crashing against each other. There was no restraint, no reserve, just hunger for more. You moaned in his mouth, while growls were roaring from his throat. Bodies pressed in an impatient and greedy embrace, four hands roaming two bodies.

You pulled back to catch your breath, his hands not letting go of your waist, his eyes fixed on yours, full of desire. His lips found yours again, as he led you backwards to the table against which he leaned you. One hand still on your waist, the other on the back of your neck, he kissed you, holding you tight against him, his tongue brushing yours.

Unable to hold back any longer, you slid your hand down to his crotch, just to touch him there, to feel its weight. Your breath stopped for a second and he wrapped his hand around yours, pressing it harder against his manhood, licking your tongue and lips.

“Take off your clothes, and show me that pussy, darlin’. Been teasin’ me for too damn long.”

He stepped aside, leaving you in charge of giving him a show that you gladly offered. You removed your dress, revealing your lingerie. The way he was looking at you took away any shyness or nervousness. You paused for a moment and he didn't hurry you, clearly enjoying it. You lost patience first and unhooked your bra then let it fall. You didn’t give yourself time to think about it and pushed your panties to the side, running your finger along your wet folds. Eyes still fixed on him, you brought your digit to your mouth and sucked it slowly.

“You're a naughty little thing,” he said in a husky voice, and you tried not to moan at this word, and kept teasing him. “You like it?” you asked playfully, feeling your wetness flowing down your folds.

He smirked, before adding “lie down on the table, sweetheart.”

You obliged happily as he walked towards you, and grabbed the hem of your panties, sliding them down your trembling legs then off the ankles. He spread your thighs as he stood between them, and brushed your folds with his thumbs, touching you there for the first time, eyes fixed on your glistening pussy.

“A naughty thing, with a really pretty cunt… looks like you’re gonna ruin more than my truck seat.”

“Fuck,” you murmured, and he leant down, hands clamped on your thighs, once again he didn’t wait and lapped at your cunt with one long stripe. His eyes fixed on you.

“Fuck me… you taste so good,” he growled before going back to eating you out, making you moan against the back of your hand. The emotion and the pleasure felt were so strong that your thighs tried to close instinctively. Growling, he spread them with his warm and firm hands, holding you open on the table.

“Joel,” you whined, feeling another climax already rising. His tongue left your folds, quickly replaced by two thick fingers, an she began fucking you with them as his lips surrounded your swollen and sensitive clit. The tip of his tongue played with it, teased it, before sucking on it, making you groan until you came on his tongue and squeezed his face between your thighs, whining his name.

He straightened up when you stopped shaking, pressed his crotch against your cunt, and wiped his glistening beard and moustache with the back of his hand.

You sat on the edge of the table, thighs spread around Joel’s thighs. His large, strong body took its place almost with authority as if it needed it, but every pore of your skin was more than ready to welcome him.

Eager to return the favor, you unzipped his jeans and knelt down.

“Needy girl,” he said, as if he wasn’t greedy too, his voice almost a growl of impatience.

You grabbed his jeans and boxers, struggling to free his cock that you felt hammering against the rough fabric of his clothes. You pulled them just below his balls and his cock sprang free, hard, and slapped against his lower belly.

He took your chin between his fingers, eyes full of confidence and how could he not be, given your inability to tear your eyes away from his fat tip, his thick shaft, and his heavy balls?

“I really love the way you look at my cock, but I’d like to see these lips around it, darlin’, if you want too. Before I fuck her.”

Your pussy was drooling again, calling for you to let him fuck her already, but you were craving of having your mouth and throat full of his cock.

“Needy boy,” you said, teasing him, and making him smile. “Yeah, I’m gonna suck him.”

“Him?” he asked, surprised.

“You called my pussy “her”, right?”

“Right”, he chuckled. “So, you’re gonna blow this big boy, baby?”

“You’re still talking about your dick? Or about you?” you asked mischievously, licking his shaft just to hear him growl.

“Darlin’, shit... Both I guess,” he replied, caressing your cheek with his thick thumb.

You grabbed his jeans and boxers, still mid-thigh, and with a sharp tug you pulled them down. Your thumb spread the precum over his tip then tasted it on your tongue, sucking your digit, head raised towards him. He growled, hand tightening on your cheek.

You placed your lips around his tip and started to suck it. His taste, his size, all of him made you moan, and he throbbed even bigger.

“Damn, baby…”, he said in a low voice, before you began jerking him off, your tongue sliding down his shaft towards his balls that you licked too and took in your mouth to feel their weight on your tongue. You sucked them and licked the thin skin behind them. Just to make him shiver, grunt. Just to make him think that you were a menace too.

“Shit, shit… darlin’...”

You took him back in your mouth, deeper and deeper, until his tip brushed the back of your throat. His grunts turned into the most greedy moans you had ever heard.

“Alright, alright, shit, baby… You’re way too good at this, c’mere,” he added, grabbing your elbow to help you up.

Then he spun you around, making you face the table. One hand on your shoulder, he growled “bend down for me, sweetheart.”

His voice was needy, much less in control than earlier in the evening, and you liked feeling him lose his chill.

“You're gonna let me fuck this little cunt, darlin’? Yeah? You’re gonna let me ruin you?”

“Or maybe I’ll ruin you, who knows?” you answered, head towards him. Hoping that he would only hear confidence in your voice, and not the need to welcome him inside you, mixed with the apprehension of wondering if you could welcome him.

“You’re a little menace, you know that?” he chuckled, nestling his cock between your thighs, and you leaned down, placing your cheek and hands on the table.

“Spread wide for me, baby,” he said in a low voice, “and let me in.”

He pushed in and then stopped, just the tip in, grabbed the back of your knee and propped it over the table to open your core. It was the hottest thing you had ever experienced, and your juices flooded his tip.

“We gotta get her used to him, right?” he said, his hand tightening on your shoulder. You could barely hear his words, waiting for him to sink in, to feel him completely.

“Fuck me, Joel. Please, fuck me,” you whined.

Slowly, he thrust in, leaving you breathless for a moment.

“Oh my god…” you whimpered finally, as his tip, his shaft, were spreading your folds in a mix of delight and light pain.

“Shit, you got such a tight cunt. Tryin’ to swallow me whole.”

He didn't stop, pushing in until he bottomed out and you whimpered. His hand still on your shoulder, he pulled back leaving only his tip in your cunt, before pushing in again. He did this two or three times, to let you get used to him.

“You’re ready, baby? Because he… wants to fuck, now,” he said, voice low, needy.

“Yes, Joel,” you replied, and he began pounding into you, his hands clinging to your hips. Fucking you faster, harder, now that your folds had given way under his thickness, helped by your wetness that didn’t stop flowing from his shaft to his balls.

“Damn you’re so fuckin’ tight…”

“Told you…” you panted, “that I’d ruin you.”

He tried to chuckle, but it got cut in his throat. So he tried to calm his breathing, slowing down the pace, fucking you slower but deeper.

“You’re doing so good, darlin’,” he said between two hip thrusts. “Takin’ me so well.”

You moaned, hands gripping the edge of the table, trying to keep yourself in position, your moans filling the room.

“You’re gonna come again, darlin’?” he growled, one of his hands running down your back from your shoulder to your waist, making you shiver. “Wanna come on my dick?”

“Yes,” you whined. You wanted to soak him, to make him lose his mind just like you knew you would lose yours.

He slid his hand up to your mouth for you to suck on his finger before sliding it over your clit. Stroking it perfectly, he pulled away slightly to watch his cock sink into you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect baby. Keep takin’ it, just like that.”

All you wanted was to keep taking it. Keep feeling him inside you. But soon your climax hit your core and you shook, clit pulsing.

“Oh shit,” he said, when your cunt clenched on him, and squeezed his shaft.

Teeth gritted, he tried to hold on as much as possible, letting the heat of your pussy drive him crazy. You squeezed his hand in yours, saying “come inside Joel. Inside, please. I’m clean, and I’m on the pill.”

“Can’t do that sweetheart,” he panted.

“Please, Joel, wanna feel you… need you to fill me up,” you insisted, hand tight on his.

“Damn sweetheart,” he growled, still pounding you, as if he didn’t want it to end, just before he filled your cunt with his warmth, breaking the promise he had made to himself years ago for the first time. Unable to resist your hot, tight pussy, your moans, your pleas. He came inside, sending spurt after spurt of cum deep inside you, until he covered your back with his chest, and kissed your shoulder.

“Darlin’,” he breathed finally, “you’re dangerous, you know that?” he almost laughed against your skin.

A few minutes later, you were watching him zip up his jeans, leaving them unbuttoned, while you were putting on your dress.

“Can I have your phone, darlin’?”

You handed it to him, watched his thumb dance on it before handing it back to you.

“Now you have my number. I’d be glad if you called me.”

You looked at your phone and smiled, when you saw that he saved his number as Joel (menace).

“It reminds me that you didn’t ask my name once tonight,” you told him.

“Darlin’ suits you well,” he smiled. “But you’re right. What’s your name, darlin’?”

You asked for his phone, and added your contact before giving it back to him.

After your first name, there was “darlin’” in parentheses.

You smiled at each other, his cheek dimpled and your heart stopped for a moment.

Thank you for reading 🙏

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

Text

More Than Words

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female BAU!Reader

Requested: yes

Summary: After telling a white lie to your family about your relationship status, your forced to beg your coworker Spencer to pretend to be your boyfriend for a weekend wedding.

Warnings: Light smut at the end, penetrative sex, creampie, mentions of Spencer's childhood.

A/N: Thank you for the request on this one! Ever since I rewatched Season 7 and saw Spencer dancing with everyone at JJ's wedding I've been thinking non-stop about him just holding you close like that and I'm going to shut up now because 8k words of that is more than enough lmao.

You can find my masterlist here, and I just started posting all my stuff on AO3 as well, so if you prefer to read there, check it out!

Despite knowing about your brother’s impending nuptials for the last 18 months, it was in the final two-week stretch that you actually started panicking about getting the date that you’d promised them. It was one sweet little white lie that you had made that had just spiraled out of control, but you’d yet to actually manifest the secretive boyfriend who was “very real actually, mom, he’s coming to the wedding actually.”

It was that statement that had sealed your fate, and always one to wear your emotions on your face when you weren’t on a case, it wasn’t long before someone noticed your building anxiety and guilt.

“Okay, spill Y/N. You look like you just witnessed your favorite author kick a puppy or a kitten or something,” Penelope said when you dropped some files off in her room that morning, spinning around on her chair to face you as soon as she caught your reflection in her monitor.

“It’s this wedding I have to go to,” you sighed dramatically, falling into one of the other chairs in the room kept for visitors.

“Want me to help you get out of it?” Penelope offered, patting your hand comfortingly.

“I’m not sure my brother would be too pleased about that, since it’s his wedding and all. My mother would drag me down all the way from here herself if she had to.”

“Okay, so a no-show is a no-go. Then what gives, my sweet avenging angel? There has to be something serious to get you looking all glum.”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair before straightening up and leaning into Penelope more, creating an air of secrecy.

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“Oh sweetie, if only you knew the secrets these four walls held,” she replied dramatically, pulling a laugh from you.

“Last year, I was so, I don’t know, jealous I guess, of all the attention my brother and his fiancee were getting because of the wedding, and it just felt like every time my mom called me, she would only want to talk about them because of the wedding. I felt left out, and I already live so far away anyway, so it’s hard to have that connection with people back home, so I might have told a small, tiny, inconsequential lie that now actually has consequences?” Your face flushes at the confession, and you can see Penelope trying her best not to blurt out her thoughts, intent on letting you continue.

“I told her I was seeing this guy. He’s amazing, he works in the FBI just like me, and he’s smart, and he takes me on dates to these amazing places, like museums and interesting restaurants and to book fairs. I told her he was handsome and that he looked at me like I put the stars in the night sky, and he just doesn't exist, Penelope. And now I have to disappoint my mother again by turning up to my brother's wedding without a date.”

“Oh sweetheart,” was all she said for a minute, and the sympathetic look on her face made you want to run out of there immediately.

“I know, I know, I need to tell her the truth, but I don’t want to do it at the wedding and spoil her happiness. She loves weddings.”

“And this fake boyfriend is supposed to be your plus-one?” she asked.

“My invitation read ‘To our darling sister and her mystery man,’” you groaned, wondering how you could have been so childish in the first place. You’d acted like any child on a playground would, inventing lies to make yourself seem more important and cooler.

“I think I have the perfect solution for you, angel, but you might not like it,” Penelope grinned from her chair, leaning back and playing with the pen in her hands nefariously as if she’d been waiting for this chance her whole life. You didn’t trust that look, but you had no other option, so you took a deep breath and listened to her plan.

–X–

Three days later, and you were suddenly pacing the hallways with a coffee and a croissant, poised and ready to kidnap an FBI Agent the second he passed you.

At first, you’d laughed at the suggestion she’d made, outlandish as it was. But 72 hours of reflection, and a timely phone call from your mother, and suddenly you were on board and ready to lock on to your target. You stopped pacing when you heard the elevator ding, signaling the arrival of Spencer Reid. You were thankful that his schedule was so regular and timed down to the minute that you had just enough time to ambush him in the hallway before any other member of your team noticed.

“Spencer! Here I bought you coffee and a croissant from that cafe I mentioned a while back,” you panicked, unloading the gifts into his arms quickly, taking him off guard, before checking left and right before pushing him into the nearest empty room and shutting it behind you.

“Good morning to you, too, Y/N. Is there a reason we’re in a closet right now?” he asked, looking down at you with knitted eyebrows.

“Yes,” you gumped, afraid to say anymore.

“Are you going to tell me what the reason is?”

“I need you to be my boyfriend for a weekend,” you finally blurted out.

“You need me to… Just for a weekend?” He looked confused, and you felt your cheeks flame up, as you tried your best to explain the situation for him.

“My brother is getting married in LA this weekend, and I need a date. I told my mom last year that I was in a relationship with a really great guy who also works for the FBI.”

“Oh. So, you broke up with him and don’t want to tell your mom?”

“No, he never existed. Long story, I can explain on the plane, but I really need you to come with me! I’ll pay for everything, and I’ll even get you this coffee and any pastry of your choice every day for a month, please, please, please!” You begged him, so desperate that you were moments away from dropping to your knees and grabbing his leg, refusing to move until he acquiesced. You didn’t have to in the end.

“Oh, sure, I’ll go. When did you say it was?” Your jaw fell open in shock, and it took a few seconds to pull yourself back together as you reacted to his words.

“This weekend? The flight is tomorrow at 6 a.m.” You smiled sheepishly as his eyes bugged out of his head.

“This weekend? What were you going to do if I said no?” He laughed at you a little, taking a sip of the coffee you bought him.

“Honestly? Plan B was to cry, and plan C was to kill off my mystery man in a freak accident.”

“Wow, we just started fake dating and you’re already trying to bump me off.” His smile made you burn hotter than before, as you playfully hit his arm in response.

“Stop saying we’re dating. I pulled you in here to ask you privately because I didn’t want weird rumors circulating in the office,” you pouted.

“Then you better let me out of the closet, Y/N, before people think we’re doing something we shouldn’t be. At least three people saw you drag me in here, you know.”

With that, you rush to open the door and run out, shouting a reminder back at him.

“Just be ready, okay. I’ll see you at the airport at 6 a.m.”

–X–

The flight, despite being ridiculously long, was altogether quite pleasant, and you made it back to California in one piece, Spencer trailing behind you like a lost puppy for a while, letting you take up the role of “airport dad” as you guided him through the airport and to the hotel where the wedding was being held.

“So what’s our cover story?” He asked in the taxi on the way there, breaking the comfortable silence.

“What cover story?” you asked, looking up at him from your phone, still focused on just getting to the destination.

“Where did we meet, how long have we been dating, how much do they know about me?” He listed off the possible questions that his parents were absolutely going to interrogate him with soon. “I need to prepare so we don’t get caught out, right?”

“Oh, right. Based on what I told them, we met at work and we’ve been seeing each other casually for about a year now. I didn’t give them a name yet, which annoys my mom to no end, but I was always pretty private as a child so she didn’t find it all that suspicious. Other than that, they don’t know that much about my mystery boyfriend apart from the things we’ve done together.” He listened attentively as you spoke, taking each of your words in and committing them to memory.

“What was our first date?” He asked.

“Coffee shop. That place I got you the coffee from earlier, it’s called Flondon. I’m a regular there, so it made sense to use it in my story.”

“What else have we done together?”

“There was a book fair in New York a few months back that we, uh, spent the weekend at. You surprised me for my birthday with the tickets.”

“Wow, so I’m a really great boyfriend then.” He joked a little, and you let out another groan of annoyance at his teasing. You didn’t get the chance to finish your conversation though, as the taxi finally pulled up to the hotel.

You climbed out of the taxi after paying the driver, Spencer having already left to grab your bags, before walking into the foyer of the hotel.

“Y/N, just one last thing before we go in,” he stopped you at the door, grabbing you by the arm gently. “Are we… the, um. Hotels tend to get booked up pretty early for weddings, and I’m sure your family will be suspicious if we don’t share a room so…”

He didn’t have to finish voicing his thoughts before you were cursing, not having made the connection before.

“Shit, you’re right. My brother made the booking for me months ago. We just have to go in and get the room key but I totally forgot… It’s fine, right? We’ve roomed together on cases, haven’t we?” You asked, looking up at him.

“No, we haven’t. 67% of our motel bookings allow for single occupation rooms for Agents, I end up sharing a room with Morgan for 15% of overnight stays where double occupation is necessary, Hotch for another 17%, and the remaining 1% is made up of outliers where I had to share with Rossi or Prentiss, but we…we haven’t shared before.” He gestured between the two of you for a moment there, letting the facts sit with you.

“Spencer, it’s okay with me, is it okay with you? I understand if you’re not comfortable with it. We can just turn around now if you want.”

“No, no it’s totally fine. I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable with it. Morgan says I snore, so I guess I’m not the best roommate in the world.” He smiled at you then, reassuringly, and moved his hand down your arm until it reached your hand.

You looked down at where his hand had entwined with yours and your heart gave a little jolt. Spencer didn’t like physical touch, and you knew that. You tried not to initiate any contact with him, despite being a touchy person, but there had been times after particularly tough cases and with close calls where you’d thrown yourself into the nearest person's arms, and he always happened to be near.

But those hugs had been thoughtless, natural reactions to stressful situations and this was intentional, and more importantly, he’d started it.

“Sorry, I just assumed we should get used to, uh, touching each other, I guess? We’re going to be doing it all weekend, you know, might as well start now.” He gave you an awkward closed-lip smile, and you giggled at his awkward explanatory tone. Squeezing his hand a bit, you grabbed your suitcase again in your free hand, and pushed open the door with your shoulder, pulling Spencer in behind you.

The lobby was filled with people arriving for the wedding, and you instantly spotted three cousins and two aunts from across the room, giving them a little smile as you made your way to the reception desk, Spencer right at your side.

“Hi, reservation for Y/N L/N, please.”

“Sister of the groom, right? Your mother asked me to give her a call when you arrived. Please wait one minute.” She handed you your key, and you felt yourself go pale, turning around to Spencer for reassurance.

“Oh god, she’s coming now, what do we do?”

“Y/N, calm down, it’s okay, we knew we were going to have to see your mom tonight at the reception anyways.”

“You’re right. Okay, right. Okay.” You breathed out, as Spencer wrapped his other arm around you, holding you in a closer embrace while keeping your hands locked together.

“One of my aunts is looking at us. She looks like she wants to say something. Oh god, she’s coming over, Spencer act natural,”

“Saying act naturally is actually counter-active-” but he didn’t have time to finish before you had turned to greet the older woman, disentangling yourself from Spencer’s arms as you hugged the woman warmly.

“It’s so good to see you, Y/N, you know how we all worry about you doing that job of yours. The other week we saw you on the news about that tragedy with the young girl…” she trailed off, giving you a worrying look before quickly shifting her gaze to her actual target, Spencer.

“I think I saw you too, young man. You must be Y/N’s boyfriend,” she smiled at him, waiting to hear a response so she could return to the other matrons with the gossip.

“Yeah, nice to meet you, I’m Spencer.” You could tell he was thankful that the woman hadn’t stuck her hand out to shake his, as he positioned himself mostly behind you, keeping his hands occupied by letting one settle on your hip and the other keeping a hold of your suitcase.

“Spencer? Spencer Reid?” You heard your mother before you saw her, turning around in your place to finally see her, as Spencer whipped his head around as well. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you.”

Your mother had none of the restraint of your aunt, and unfortunately, you’d inherited your clingy side from her, which is why she immediately swooped in to give Spencer a hug. To his credit, he greeted her warmly as well and didn’t avoid the touch, but he kept it short and polite nonetheless.

“Mom, how did you know…”

“You tell me about your coworkers all the time, I’m just surprised I didn’t work it out sooner. I always said that you talked about that Spencer with a fond tone, you should ask your father, he’ll tell you that I did.” You rolled your eyes at your mother’s words, doing your best to avoid Spencer’s gaze. He’d fallen back into place by your side as you greeted your mother.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, You know, Y/N has been keeping you as this big secret for the last year, and it’s so nice to see that you’re actually real. You’re here!” She sounded so excited for you that your heart almost broke under the weight of your guilt, knowing that you’d have to come clean at some point after the wedding. As it was, you were already going to have to try really hard to avoid the photographer and videographer throughout the night so you didn’t have to be constantly reminded of your idiocy whenever your mother got the photo albums out,

“Sorry, the two of you are probably exhausted after that flight, right? Go and get yourself unpacked. The rehearsal dinner is at 8 p.m. so we’ll catch up then, sweetheart.” She left in a whirlwind, having deposited you next to the elevators, and left you with no other option but to do exactly as she said, making your way to your space for the weekend.

–X–

The following few hours had been a little awkward, to say the least. You’d awkwardly pulled away from one another in the elevator up to the room, apologizing for invading each other's personal space. The room was a decent size, but still small enough that you’d be constantly tripping up over one another the entire weekend if you weren’t careful.

Reid carefully unpacked his tuxedo when you got into the room, and then quietly informed you that he’d need a shower. You’d unpacked your own things while he did, trying not to listen to the water flowing over his body in the next room. His earlier touch had ignited something in you, and your heart was beating at his every gesture now, something that you were sure it hadn’t done before.

What was it about weddings that made you so open to even the possibility of romance that even someone so off-limits could become the object of your affection?

So you tried not to listen, not to wonder why it was taking the man so long to just take a shower, not to let your mind wander to a place where it was perfectly acceptable to wonder what he looked like in that shower, and you unpacked and organized your things.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m really sorry but I forgot to bring my clothes with me,” he called awkwardly through the door a few minutes after you heard the water turn off, and you turned to the bathroom, not expecting the sight before you.

You’d assumed from the quiet volume of his voice that he was calling from within the bathroom itself, but instead, he stood awkwardly in front of you, a towel wrapped around his waist and torso, held together desperately in one hand.

“Oh shit, sorry, I’ll just turn around, I guess,” you stumbled over the words, dragging your eyes back up to his face as you did so, whipping yourself around to stare ahead of you.

“No, no, it’s my fault. I was so hasty I forgot my outfit for tonight. It’s okay.” You heard him fumble for his clothes and return to the bathroom quickly with another mumbled apology, finally allowing you to let out a deep, almost dreamy sigh, startling yourself. Mentally chastising yourself once again, you finished your organizing and let yourself fall onto the bed in the middle of the room sleepily while you waited for him to come out again.

You must have dozed off a little because you woke with a jolt when you felt a soft touch on your arm. There he was above you, a soft and concerned look on his face as he woke you up as kindly as he could.

“Y/N, it’s 7 p.m. We need to get ready for the rehearsal.” He whispered as if he weren’t too bothered if you didn’t want to go down at all, content to let you sleep. But you forced yourself upright anyways, and nodded at his words, swiftly moving yourself towards the bathroom he had since departed.

“Thanks for waking me, Spence,” You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, gathering your towels and change of clothes before turning back to him. In the four hours you’d apparently been dead to the world, he’d managed to dry his hair, change his clothes, and, from the looks of the book on the bedside table, read through an entire book twice.

He noticed you looking and cleared his throat. “Sorry, you looked so tired I didn’t want to wake you, so I just sat here and read while you got some sleep.”

“It’s okay, Spence. I guess I was pretty tired. I’m gonna go…” you gestured towards the shower and stepped towards it with an awkward smile, not letting him answer before you had closed the door between you and taken a deep breath, setting thoughts of him aside for the night before you focused on getting yourself ready to face your lies.

An hour later, you were making your way back down to the lobby, having received a text from your brother that that was where everyone was gathering before making their way to the dining room. Spencer offered you his arm in the elevator on the way down.

“Here, grab my arm.” He said softly down to you, a sweet smile playing on his lips.

“Oh yeah that makes sense,” you said distractedly, looping your own through his and leaning into him.

“It’ll also stop you from picking your nails,” he joked.

“I don’t pick my nails!”

“You so do. You do it when you’re nervous and when you lie about something. Last month on that case in Chicago when that officer asked for your number, you told him you had a boyfriend and started picking your nails,” he laughed down at you, enjoying your pouting face a bit too much as he profiled you.

“You’re one to talk. The last time a woman asked you out, you started rambling about the linguistic history of the phrase “go out,” in the romantic sense. She stood there for five minutes before she gave up.”

“Wait, when did that happen? I don’t remember any woman trying to ask me out.”

“Then you’re even denser than I realized, Doctor Reid, because they do it constantly.” Your back and forth ended there, though, as the elevator doors finally opened into the lobby. You smoothed out your dress and tried your best to act natural as the two of you made your entrance.

“Y/N! Over here,” you heard your brother and saw him wave at you from the other side of the room, his fiancee next to him receiving guests.

“It’s been so long since I saw my kid sister. Get over here,” he smiled at you, beckoning you over, and you released your hold on Reid to give your brother a warm hug.

“Now who is this kid sister you’re talking about because last I checked you’re only 18 months older than me.”

“18 months, 18 years, all that matters is that I am, in fact, the older one,” he released you from the bear hug and glanced up to Reid, standing awkwardly watching the scene waiting for an invitation to the conversation. “Holy shit, you’re real.”

“Hey! Be nice. This is Spencer, he’s my… he’s my boyfriend, we work together.” You felt your cheeks flame as you introduced the two of them, your brother looking at Spencer through knitted eyebrows, taking on a faux protective stance.

“Spencer, hey. Mom mentioned you were here earlier, but I didn’t think you’d be so gangly… It’s my wedding, and I’ve been told I have to keep all threats to a minimum, but if I see you getting all handsy with my sister, just know that I have a blackbelt in jiu-jitsu.”

“No, you don’t. You have a yellow belt in karate at most, and you got that at age 10.” You laughed at the man.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Oh my god, it’s been almost 20 years, I already apologized!”

“Apologised for what?” Spencer finally managed to butt in, watching your sibling bickering as if it were a tennis match.

“This little rodent,” your brother said, scruffing up your hair as he spoke, “broke my wrist when she was 8 and I was 10.”

“It was self-defense! You were trying to use your karate moves on me and I panicked!”

“And now, you’re a hot-shot FBI Agent and you get to break bad guys wrists all the time.” He finished for you and you laughed, suddenly glad to be back around family.

“So, Spencer, you’re an FBI Agent, too? I thought my mom mentioned something about you being a Doctor earlier.”

“I am. A Doctor. And an FBI Agent, uh, they’re PhD’s not medical degrees, though. Three of them, Math, Chemistry and Engineering. I also have Bachelor's Degrees in Psychology, Philosophy, and Sociology.” He answered, and you looked up at him proudly, taking his hand as you noticed him growing slightly uncomfortable with the attention from your brother.

“Wow,” was all your brother said, until he finished the statement with “All those degrees and my sister was the best you could do, huh?” You punched him in the arm after that, and you felt Spencer physically relax a bit, twinning your fingers with his as you chastised your brother.

“Anyway, thanks for taking the time to come to our, hopefully, lovely wedding, the reception will be starting soon. The dining hall is just through there.” You hugged your brother again, and, with a breath of relief, led Spencer down the hall to the dining hall.

“That went well, I think?” you whispered to him, conspiratorially.

“Your family is nice,” he replied. “Does he always act like that, or is it the wedding spirit possessing him somehow?”

“If you’re referring to my brother, I think he’s probably partaken in a few flutes of champagne already this evening. But yes, he’s always like that. They all like to treat me like a baby when they see me.”

“I think it’s nice. They care about you a lot,” his words were warm, but his eyes were sad, and you remembered what you’d been told of Spencer’s own childhood and felt your heart ache for him. His mom loved him a lot, but Spencer had needed to grow up much too fast. You squeezed his hand, still clasped in yours and before you knew it you were pushing onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you, Spencer. For being here,” you said as his now flushed face met yours. You didn’t let him respond though, simply pushing forward into the dining hall, ready to live in the fantasy of your own making for the evening.

–X–

“Spencer, you were amazing!” You giggled, walking down the hall to your room, stumbling slightly in your excitement and haste.

“Those magic tricks? The little babies couldn’t get enough of you,” you spun around, wrapping your arms around the man’s neck and pulling him in close to you, letting him hold you against the door to your room. He laughed a little at your antics as he pulled out the key card.

“Y/N, are you drunk?” he asked, one hand firmly planted on your waist to steady you now.

“No! I’m just happy. And if that happiness was caused by an array of cocktails forced into my hands by distant aunts and cousins who all wanted to know about my absolute catch of a boyfriend, then that is simply secondary to the feeling itself. And furthermore-” He pushed the door behind you in on itself, and your words were cut off by your legs giving out beneath you.

You were so sure you were about to take a tumble to the floor that you shut your eyes tight and braced for an impact that didn’t come. Opening them again slowly, you saw Spencer closer than before, his face mere inches from your own as he held you in an improvised dip, having caught you just before you’d hit the ground.

“Sorry. I… Shit, maybe I am drunk,” you breathed out, not letting your eyes drift from his own, knowing that if you ever considered a glance down at his lips at that moment, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from closing the measly distance separating you.

“You should use the bathroom first,” he told you, but without making any move of his own, stuck in that pose with you as if he was content to stay there for as long as he could hold you. “You should take your make-up off. We have a long day tomorrow, right?”

You were the first one to move, letting your feet find a more solid footing beneath you and twisting up from his grip. His hands didn’t leave your body as you became more upright though, still keeping you in that close embrace.

“Yeah, I should… I should go wash up.” You said, and he nodded, still looking at you with the same intensity as before.

“Spencer, that means you need to move,” you whispered quietly, and he jumped back as soon as the words were out of your mouth.

“Sorry. I’ll just… I’ll just be over there,” he held his hands up in surrender before moving further into the room, leaving you next to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom and were ready to sleep once again. Thankfully, you of earlier that day had managed to store your pajamas in the bathroom ready for their use. Upon exiting the bathroom, you saw that Spencer was getting ready to sleep too, slacks and a shirt having been replaced by a pair of flannel pants and a very old and beaten-up CalTech sweater, looking perplexedly down at the bed.

“Spence, what’s wrong?”

“We didn’t speak any further about the sleeping arrangements…” he mumbled and you looked at the bed in front of you, still confused at his meaning. “Y/N, we have to share the bed.”

“Oh.” You knew you probably sounded dumb, but after the amount of alcohol thrust upon you that night, that was all you could muster at this point.

“I can sleep on the floor if that makes you feel more comfortable. It’s probably no worse than some of the motel beds we’ve stayed on before,” he offered, but you instantly shook your head.

“No, I dragged you out here, I’m not making you sleep on the floor as well,” you sighed and made your way to the side of the bed you’d slept on earlier, beginning to pull the covers down so you could get in.

“What are you doing?” Spencer asked, perplexed by your somehow contrasting words and actions.

“I’m getting ready for bed. It’s late.” You replied, not looking up at him again, for fear that he’d spot the blush on your face. “You should too,” you continued, patting the other side of the bed, gesturing for him to get in, too.

“Oh.” It was his turn to stand there shell-shocked in the moment, and you almost let out a giggle but held back thinking that would be too much for him to take in at that moment.

“Come on, Spence, I’m tired, I’m sure you’re tired. We’re just sharing a bed, it’s not like you have to marry me after this.” You climbed fully into the bed, making sure that your nightgown covered you decently before pulling the covers up around you. Spencer mumbled something that you didn’t catch, but he acquiesced and climbed in after you. You turned your head over on the pillow to face him, turning onto your side as you watched him turn his head to you as well.

“What?” he smiled, noticing your stare.

“Nothing. Good night, Spence,” you smiled, finally letting your eyes drop closed.

“Good night, Y/N.” He whispered, and the sound of his voice carried you off to sleep.

–X–

You weren’t sure if it was the light streaming in through the window or the rise and fall of a chest that wasn’t your own was the first thing to wake you in the morning, but nonetheless, you woke from the comfortable warmth of sleep and found yourself wrapped around your fake boyfriend.

To be fair to yourself, he was also wrapped around you. Your head had gravitated from your pillow to his chest, his left arm wrapped up and around your back. Your leg had also risen in the night, pulled up over his waist, held in place by his other arm, which was, almost embarrassingly, cradling your ass, pulling you in closer to his core. Unsure about how to go about disentangling yourself, you resigned yourself to just waking the man up.

“Spencer… Spencer,” you whispered, letting the hand that had fallen onto his chest tap him slightly. He stirred a little and then cracked an eye open, looking confused with the situation.

“Y/N, is it time for the wedding?” He asked through half-lidded eyes, evidently wanting nothing more than to fall back into whatever dreams he was having. You shifted uncomfortably in his arms then, suddenly growing stiff in the position you’d probably held for hours, and found your nightgown had risen dangerously high on your body, his hand on your near bare ass.

“No, no, it’s just…” You rolled your hips against his in discomfort, and the movement had his eyes breaking open as he finally took in your positions.

“Shit, I’m….Sorry, I don’t know what happened, I must’ve grabbed you when we were sleeping,” he said, reluctantly slipping his hands away from your body, trailing his hand around your leg, and letting it fall onto his stomach. The movement sent a shiver up your spine, as you finally had enough room to lift your torso up, not quite ready to relinquish the proximity of your entire body yet.

“It’s okay, I think it was probably me who started it in the first place. Those pillows weren’t that comfortable…” you tried to explain, the hand on his chest rubbing slow circles into his skin before you could realize what you were doing.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position then as well, clumsily. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, you had no choice but to move with him, suddenly finding yourself straddling him, the bedsheets suddenly pressed away from your body. If he looked down, he’d see a lot more than you planned for him to see, your panties on clear display as your nightgown twisted itself up into the sheets.

“Shit sorry,” he moaned out again, as you steadied yourself with hands on his shoulders.

“No, it’s okay, I didn’t move quick enough.” You quickly pulled your dress down again, and extracted yourself from the bed, lifting your leg up and off of him and finally pushing off the bed, leaving him sat there.

His hands fell into his lap and you started gathering things around the room, readying yourself for the busy day ahead.

“I have to be in the bridal suite at 11, so we have about… two hours to kill before then. Do you want to grab a shower first, or should I?”

“You first,” he mumbled quickly, before clearing his throat and trying again. “You should go first. You probably have more to do today, right?” You nodded at his words and made your way to the bathroom again. Out of the corner of your eye though, as you let the door close behind you, you watched his hands come up to cradle his flushed face, as he let his head fall back again into the pillow.

–X–

The morning was so busy after that, you barely had any chance to talk to Spencer again. You spent the early afternoon in the bridal suite with the wedding party, welcoming your new sister to the family, then made your way to the aisle space set up outside, checking up on last-minute details and helping to flower girls into position. You weren’t walking down the aisle yourself, but you could see that the extra help was letting the very stressed-out Maid of Honour get some well-needed respite. And more importantly, it stopped your wandering thoughts from letting you fantasize about Spencer.

You’d woken up in bed next to people before, of course, but it had never felt so comfortable. In fact, other people you’d slept with said you were pretty distant in your sleep, choosing to move as far away from physical touch as you could get, but you knew with no doubt that you had been the one to move in first, to touch him first. That he’d pulled you even closer had your heart singing, and you wanted to be wrapped up in him all over again, suddenly desperate to seek him out. So you distracted yourself, not wanting to make any mistakes you would regret when you were no longer wrapped up in your own fantasy.

So you kept your distance as the ceremony started. Then the wedding march was playing, and you were holding back tears as his hand slipped into yours, your head falling onto his shoulder as you watched your brother marry the love of his life.

You kept your distance as you reached the reception hall, watching all the old ladies on both sides fawn over him, asking him questions, and watching from his side as he blushed at the attention. You swept the hair out of his eyes as the couple was announced, and you took your seat for the wedding meal and the speeches, his hand falling to your back to guide you to your chair, pulling it out for you like a true gentleman.

You kept your distance as your new sister tossed the bouquet, and despite your low effort and the ravenous looks of the bridesmaids, it fell neatly into your hands as if it belonged there. You ran excitedly over to him to show him and he lifted you into a hug, caught up in your own excitement.

You kept your distance until you realized you’d not kept your distance at all, physically unable to keep yourself away from the man who had somehow stolen your heart in the middle of the night.

“I know that look,” your brother said, somehow sneaking up on you later into the night as you watched Spencer perform even more of his magic tricks for the smaller guests.

“What look?” you asked, not for one second letting your eyes drift from Spencer.

“You’re in love with him,” he said, taking a swig of the drink in his hand.

“He’s my boyfriend,” you said reflexively, turning to the drinks table behind you and picking up one for yourself.

“No, he isn’t. Or at least he wasn’t before this weekend,” your brother said, as your eyes finally snapped up to him.

“Oh, don’t act all surprised, Miss FBI Profiler. You may be good, but I’ll always be your older brother, and contrary to popular opinion, I do in fact pay attention to things.” You sighed and leaned back against the table.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“You were picking your nails the entire way through the reception dinner when the aunties were asking you about your relationship. You did that when we were younger too, when you tried lying to Mom and Dad about how I broke my wrist. Doesn’t take two PhD’s to figure that out.”

“Three.”

“Three what?”

“Three PhDs. He has three of them.” You sighed dreamily and ran a stressed hand through your head.

“He’s just my coworker. I didn’t want to disappoint Mom by coming alone after telling her all those stories, but now…” You tried to explain yourself but words were escaping you in that moment.

“You should tell him, trust me. He definitely feels the same.”

“How are you so confident about that? How did you manage to end up with all of the confidence between the two of us, when I can barely work up the courage to tell my own mother I’m still single?”

“Y/N, look at me. You got the brains, I had to have something. And no man flies to the opposite side of the country on a few day's notice for a girl who is just a friend, okay? That’s more logic than confidence, and that’s supposed to be your strong suit.”

You considered his words for a second, turning back to look at Spencer. Evidently, he’d finished his magic show and was beginning to say goodbye to the children, but he felt your eyes on him somehow and met your gaze. He brought his hand up into a shy wave before a little girl grabbed his attention again, and he looked at her seriously, nodding along to each word she was saying.

“Fuck, what do I do, I’m not good with… any of this.” You turned back to your brother, but he’d left you there, stranded in your own thoughts as you let yourself hope, let your brain dream that one day this would be your wedding and the man by your side would be Spencer Reid.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom request the presence of all the couples on the dancefloor for this next song.” You saw your brother again, next to his wife, whispering his explanations in his ear as she turned to look at you and winked as well. God, they were going to be a force to be reckoned with together now, you thought, as people started pushing past you to make their way to the dancefloor.

You recognized the song of course, and it was almost so on the nose you almost rolled your eyes. More Than Words by Extreme. Perfect.

“Y/N, may I have this dance?” He had somehow snuck up on you from behind as you watched your brother, and held his hand out to you. You put your drink down and took it, letting him lead you to the dance floor.

“I didn’t think you danced, Dr. Reid,” you teased him as he pulled you in, letting his hands rest on your waist, as yours came up around his neck, gently letting him sway you side to side in time with the music.

“I don’t really, but it seemed wrong not to,” he smiled. “I’m at a wedding, with the most beautiful girl on my arm, and the couple made it very clear that we should be dancing, so here I am.” You blushed at his words as he spoke. He removed his hands from your waist, instead grasping one of yours in his own as he pulled you closer.

You stared up at him with a soft smile for a few more seconds before letting your head fall back to his chest.

“I know I’ve said it a lot this weekend, but thank you, Spencer.” You said into his shirt, letting him hold you close as the song went on.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N.” He insisted, and you looked up at him again. “Actually… I didn’t exactly agree to this with the best of intentions.”

Your heart lept to your throat as you stared up at him, hoping that he would take your silence as a means to continue.

“I’ve been… I thought that maybe…” he struggled to get the words out, his face aflame with the effort.

“You promised me those coffees right?” He finally stuttered out, and you were left confused and a little disappointed.

“Yeah, Spence, it’s okay, I’ll get you those coffees for the month, just like we promised.” You couldn’t help the sad smile that played on your lips as you answered him, so sure that he was about to say something else.

“No, I mean… Y/N I don’t want the coffee. I want this. I want us to go home, and make everything that you made up come true. I want to take you on a date to that coffee shop. I want to be a boyfriend you can call and tell your mom about because it’s serious and it’s going to work out between us. I even… God, I even spent the morning looking up book fairs in New York City so I could make that come true as well,” he rambled the words out and you could feel the tears forming in your eyes.

“Spencer,” you said softly, trying to get him to focus on you, but he’d started speaking and he wasn’t going to be stopped so easily.

“And if any of that creeps you out, just say the word and I’ll never mention it again. Because I know I’m not good with this, and when I feel something, I tend to feel it overwhelmingly, and Derek tells me I can be really oblivious sometimes, which I don’t really get, but-”

“Spencer,” you put a bit more force into your words this time, punctuating them with a hand on his face.

“Spencer, kiss me.” And he does. He takes your head in both of his hands, and he draws you up to him perfectly, letting your hands fall to the lapels of his suit jacket as he steals your breath away one more time. The kiss is lingering, but short, and he hesitantly backs away, looking around to spot witnesses. But you don’t care and you pull him back down for another, and another, until you’re just two lovers on the dance floor that cannot get enough of each other, gasping for breath between chaste kisses as you let him hold you there, gently swaying.

“Spencer,” you whisper finally, forehead resting on his, as the song finally draws to a close.

“Yes?”

“Spencer, take me to bed.” You tell him, and he nods. He leads you over to the bride and groom where you offer each of them a hug and a happy future before making your excuses and running away with Spencer back into the hotel like two love-drunk teenagers, a mess of giggles and stolen kisses as you stumble up to your room for the second time that weekend.

But this time, you don’t hesitate, don’t pull away. He backs you into the door and you let him hold you there, his mouth on yours, your tongues entwined as he fumbles for his key card. You fall together into the room, laughing and smiling the entire way, not letting him escape your touch.

“May I?” He asks, playing with the zipper of your dress as you kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck, anywhere you can reach, nodding and moaning your consent. The moment the zip is pulled down, he lets you go for a second, and the dress falls straight to the floor. You're practically bare in front of him, chest exposed, neck littered with the beginning of love bites that he’s about to absolutely build upon.

“You’re beautiful.” He says, softly, wrapping his arms around you again, lifting you up so your legs can wrap around him as he delivers one more soul-crushing kiss to your lips. Your brain is a mess of emotions, your only solid thought is that you will never let him go again. You both eagerly worked on unbuttoning his shirt together, a desperate mess of breaths as he finally laid you on the bed. His hand fell to your core, tracing a finger over your sensitive nub as you begged him for more, needing to feel all of him, to devour his very existence.

He pulled himself out of his remaining clothes, lips still attached to yours, climbing over you and holding you tenderly, his arms wrapping around your body as his legs came to settle between your own. Dropping his forehead to yours, he finally spoke again, his hand dropping between the two of you to line himself up.

“Is this… are you sure?” You heard the restraint in his voice, the desperation, the love, the overwhelming lust as he held himself back, needing to hear your consent.

“Spencer, I love you,” you whispered, and he finally pushed himself into you, joining the two of you together in a moment of bliss. You shared another sweet kiss, letting him swallow each and every one of your moans as he began thrusting into you, your hips rising to meet him in your delirious pleasure.

He whispered sweet nothings in your ears, brushing the hair off your face every now and again to tell you how beautiful you looked, and how well you were doing.

“You’re so perfect, Y/N, you’re doing so good for me,” he pressed kisses against your neck with each word, keeping his pace steady as you chased your inevitable high, already clenching around his thick cock.

“Spencer, I love you,” you let the words drop from your tongue like a prayer, repeating them over and over with each thrust as small tears welled up out of your eyes. He kissed them away from your cheeks, listening to each confession as your stomach tightened and your climax spilled over you. He grabbed your waist then, leaving one hand cupping and stroking your cheek as his own thrusts grew sloppy, finally spending himself fully inside you.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into you then, unwilling to let you go for even one second. You spent the rest of the night whispering the words back and forth to one another, waiting with bated breath for the fantasy to break, for the magic of the wedding to wear off.

It never did.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds smut #So much plot #maturereiding

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singukieee · 6 months ago

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—my all time favourite bts fics (pt. 1) ᯓᡣ𐭩

consists of my personal favourite bts fics that I've read countless of times. including those from other platforms, such as Wattpad, AO3, and Patreon.

For some works that are cross-posted between tumblr and wp/ao3, I'd only link them to the latters bcs I find it easier to read and navigate the stories on those. but I also tagged all the authors I know are here and linked the rest so you can check their blogs out yourself!

I'll also separate this list into several parts simply because there's too many... So it'd be easier for you guys to navigate!

red means unfinished

blue means finished

🗯️ editor's note

(sorted by alphabetical order)

A Place Called Home by @agustdakasuga

Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

Accidental Friends by Erakun06

Meet Bangtan, international superstars, the pride of South Korea, the love and hope in the dark of many lives, the role model and celebrity crush of so many people, and a group of people you often stumble across in your day to day life. You become acquaintances, slowly become friends, and- that's it. You are in a platonic friendship with Bangtan. Let me say it again. clears throat PLATONIC. Or One day, you meet a member of Bangtan, the next day, another, and another, and another, and one day, they become a group of people you often stumble across in your life. They become your acquaintances. Then your friends. Then your source of comfort, just like they are the source of comfort of millions of people in the world. What you didn't expect is that you become the same to them. It's inevitable. You are friends.

🗯️ a theme that I don't find much of, and this one was excecuted quite neatly I'd say

Ace For Hire by tokki-maknae

Who is Ace? Besides being the deadliest hitman on the market in the underground, whose really under the hood? The answers simple, well for you at least, because you are Ace. When you're not busy blurring yourself into the background noises of school, you were making a killing in the underground, both literally and figuratively. For years now Ace has become an infamous name among the other gangs and holds the reputation of being lethal and untouchable. But that all changes after a slip up that causes you to attract the unwanted attention of one persistent seven member gang. A gang that's been dying to know, who is Ace?

🗯️ badassss

At Your Service by @untaemedqueen

In which Yn is looking for an escort to accompany her to her nightmare ex and ex best friend's wedding, only to ended up falling in love with him.

Baby (you complete us) by @purpleyoonn

Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches. Or where you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing.

Back Home by AlexLorchan / @alexlwrites

Secretly, he was selfishly hoping that you didn’t age well. Dealing with a small crush was easy enough when he was young and knew next to nothing about girls, when you were just a cute albeit slightly weird girl he had a soft spot for. But he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if his feelings came back with a vengeance while you were living together. God, he would probably lock himself with Jungkook until you went away. OR The one where, after living abroad for years, you move back to Korea and your old high school friend Namjoon offers you his place to stay while you get settled, casually forgetting to mention that: a) he still had a massive crush on you. b) he lived with six other guys.

🗯️ crack fic! my fave category and this one makes me giggle in both funny way and butterfly-in-my-stomach kinda way

Beauty of Love by @imnotlauriane

When you cross eyes with your soulmate, you get flashes of memories that have yet to happen. You can't see the same memory as the other and it can be either good or bad. It's not always terrible, but a thing is for sure. No matter what you do, it will happen. But are things always what they seem to be?

Between The Bloodshed series by @agustdakasuga

🗯️ this series... I just love. plot is super neat, relationship doesn't feel forced, etc etc

❶ Between The Bloodshed

Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of him through his recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that you would have to leave your life behind and build a new one.

❷ Everything Between Us

They left you hanging, they broke your heart. You didn’t get your happily ever after. But now they’re back and they’re searching for you to make things right. Could you look past the betrayal to take them back into your life and back into your heart?

Beyond The Stage by Alysheart

Alexis was going through the days simply. She was a college student in Florida, working towards her degree. When she scored tickets to the BTS concert in Korea, she didn't hesitate. She never expected to be soulmates with the seven idols.

Bound by Blood by PurpleQueenie

In a world where vampires and humans have to co-exist, where the line between tolerance and animosity blurs, how can you ever expect to get your happily ever after when your soulmates hate your very existence?

🗯️ love all the details, the slow burn, gosh just so good

Boyfriend For Hire by @remedyx

Unsatisfied with your life was an understatement. Being under the thumb of your father can have that effect. He wanted someone capable of running the company, but you wanted to pursue your passion. Countless unwanted blind dates and the threat of losing your freedom drives you to seek help from a group of individuals you'd least expected.

Breakthrough by Alphathyx

"My dreams haunt me like past memories that never existed" The Memory Dive, an invention that allows the user to dive into anyone's memories just from the collection of their DNA. Made by Professor Kim Seokjin, he created this device for the worlds secret service to solve mysteries that the ordinary field agents are unable to. With seven agents, ranging from ex military, to a university professor, college student and even a criminal, only these seven are able to use this machine to extract memories of others. They are also the only people that know how to escape it. Discover through their eyes of uncovering the darkest truths of the world, through the minds of victims.

🗯️ this one's super neat plot with complicated and technical world, just so good

Bright Colors and Loud Soulmates by Mostmouse

You resented soulmates, the whole damn concept. It just wasn't your thing, and you couldn't help but feel jealous of those who were born without soulmates, who could see the world as it was intended to be from birth. When you run into your soulmate, you're determined to stay in your own sphere of the world. Focusing on you. But, because nothing is simple in your life, it turns out he's one of seven - better yet, your seven soulmates are the globally famous band BTS. Because why wouldn't they be? OR you learn how to let your soulmates past your carefully crafted walls, and they’re more than happy to show you what a loving and supportive relationship should look like.

🗯️ a funny and cute one! (with extra h0rny characters lol)

BTS Office CEO AU by @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue

You work for seven CEOs who have called you into their office due to a complaint

Can't Wait To See You Again by AlexLorchan / @alexlwrites

The one where Jungkook develops a huge crush on a Youtuber he found after falling into the rabbit hole of his recommended videos. Unbeknownst to him, you were also recommended to his hyungs. Unbeknownst to you, all across the world seven idols were slowly falling in love with you.

🗯️ I just love the concept of the boys being fanboys :3

Choco Bun by @nunchiimagines

When you moved to Korea after finishing college to continue pursuing latte art and baking, the last thing you were expecting was to open up your very own coffee shop under BTS Corp, Korea’s biggest entertainment service company for idols, models, singers, and more. Thanks to your hard work, creativity, and approachable personality you managed to become friendly with some pretty big named individuals as well as up and coming talent. As exciting and fun as it was for you, you slowly began to realize how much your 7 bosses weren’t particularly fond of this, acts of jealousy, pettiness, and aggression poking through in the most unsuspecting of ways. But what could 7 big named dragons want with a little foreign bunny?

Combined Beings by @numinousher

You are bullied on a constant because korea’s beauty standards do not fit girls on the heavier side. the bullying gets worse once a ceo is attracted to you and he mentioned you to the other 6.

🗯️ minus the bullying elements, this story is like a comforting sweet cloud

Comfort by http-lostforever

Hybrids have been introduced into society for a handful of years now, the fighting for their rights is still happening but doesn't look promising. But when one girl finds a hybrid in danger she jumps at the chance to help, yet what she didn't know was how upside down her life was about to become. But a word of advice, not everything is as it seems.

Could We Be Together Someday? series by BTS_Mommy / @babyboy-bangtan

🗯️ mann Idk what to write lol. this is another one that I've re-read thousand times, bcs some of the boys started as fanboys then became clingy friends. also yn's so supportive I just lovee.

❶ By Chance

A misunderstanding gone viral puts you on BTS's radar, which leads to a series of events that finally culminate with you meeting them for the first time.

❷ The Moments in Between

As you become close friends with BTS, you begin to realize that the feelings you have for them are slowly turning into something you're not ready to deal with. Unbeknownst to you, the same is happening to them.

Crave by sweetinsanityy

The boys don't do well with being controlled, but for their group, they'll bite their tongue and put on a smile for management. Yet when you, a new little rookie, stumble upon them, they're like a pack of hungry wolves. Or, the boys are all Doms and they want you to be their perfect little sub.

Cursed Fate by PurpleQueenie

The universe has designed soulmates- someone that completes you. But what happens when you don't have one but seven? And all you want to do is run in the opposite direction when you see them...

🗯️ queenie's stories are just so good, you should check them all out! this one also has such great details and writing.

Deep Down by sleepingbearandbunny

Jae, unlike everyone else, has nothing against the hybrid species. She likes being alone, where she is safe from ridicule and her controlling father. When a group of hybrids save her from some trouble, fate brings them together once more.

🗯️ a harsh and complecated world this one, so they went through a lot together and I love that!

PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | NAVI

#san recs #hybrid bts #bts poly #bts x reader #fics recs #bts fic #bts fic rec #bts ot7 #bts ot7 x reader

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kingofbodyrolls · 26 days ago

Text

Doughn’t Go Baking My Heart (m) | ksj

This Christmas season, you’re back in the kitchen, whisk in hand and determination in your heart, entering the annual holiday baking competition once again. The goal? Finally beat your long-time rival, the infuriatingly talented Kim Seokjin. But as the ovens warm and the ingredients come together, you realize it might not be just the doughs rising this year… Will the holiday spirit bring you closer, or will the heat of competition drive you further apart? 😜

→ Pairing: seokjin x reader (female) → AUs: baking!au, competition!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: enemies to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romcom / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 16.5k → Warnings + triggers: an insane amount of stupid and bad jokes with sexual undertones (like it borders on cringey), tension and a lot of it, sexual frustration, pettiness (briefly), jealousy (briefly), baking jokes turned sexual (I’m sorry, not sorry), unprotected sex in the form of oral (female and male receiving), missionary and very vanilla sex, kissing, tender but also a tiny bit rough (not really, lol), big dick Seokjin, nipple play, nipple sucking, breast play, creampie, multiple orgasms, mention of aftercare (but not described), other sexual encounters that aren’t described in detail, pet names (he calls her princess). → Author’s note: hiiiii!! Hello! Long time no see! I was in a Christmasy mood (written in the end of October lol), and I’ve written this cute and tension filled Christmas love story for my dear friend @allie-in-the-moon 💜 Thank you so much for always reading, commenting and loving my work so much; it means the world to me!!! 😭 So I hope that this story shows my deep gratitude for you—I hope you, and everyone else enjoys it ✨ Please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think with a comment, reblog and even an ask. I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just you spamming the keyboard or lots of emojis. There’s a lot of bad jokes and puns in this and you get bonus points if you know what song inspired this pun of a title! 😂 (also, I did not proofread this, I know there’s some mistakes, but I’m too lazy to fix them lol). → Read the spoiler? [JINtastic subreddit] → Read on AO3? [link]

With your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you tread the frosted path from the bus stop to the towering silhouette of the grand castle—the heart of the annual Great Christmas Bake-Off. The castle looms before you, its turrets crowned with glistening snow, twinkling lights casting a soft glow in the winter twilight. For three years now, you’ve returned to this place, yet this time, the air feels different, charged with a deeper longing. You clench your hands inside your pockets, the icy wind biting through the fabric of your jacket, as if the cold itself is testing your resolve. If only this could be the year—if only you could finally claim victory, or at least break into the top three.

But as your thoughts drift toward victory, a familiar dread settles in your chest. Kim Seokjin. Your long-time rival, the thorn in your side, always there to ruin your focus with his relentless, groan-worthy jokes. Of course, he’ll be attending again, as smug as ever. A sigh escapes your lips. Can you endure four more weeks of his puns? The mere thought grates at your nerves like a dull knife. Still, you take solace in the fact that there are other contestants—ten, to be exact. Perhaps you can avoid him altogether this year, lose yourself in the company of kinder souls. The thought lifts your spirits, and before you know it, you’re humming a soft tune to the melody of a Christmas song that drifts on the edge of memory—its name lost to the blur of countless holiday seasons, but its warmth still familiar.

Footsteps crunch behind you, but you pay them no mind, your gaze fixed on the castle doors. You can only hope that this time, luck will favor you with a decent room—not like the first year, where you were stuck in a damp, windowless chamber that smelled of mold. This year, everything must be better. Especially now that the world will be watching, with the competition broadcast live on national television. You can’t help but smile, a flicker of excitement mixing with your breath in the cold air, as the castle draws closer.

This time, you tell yourself, things will be different.

The castle stands as a relic of a bygone era, its weathered stones whispering tales of the past, likely from the 1800s or older—though you’re not quite sure. Normally, this place serves as a museum, preserving its history, but every December, it transforms into something magical. As the first of the month dawns, the grand structure becomes home to the Great Christmas Bake-Off, and its ancient walls are filled with the warmth of ovens and the thrill of competition. Surrounding the castle is a scene straight out of a holiday dream: towering evergreens, their branches heavy with snow, stretch towards the sky; a silver stream winds through the rolling hills, and the fields spread wide, blanketed in pristine white. It’s a vision of Christmas perfection, and you can’t help but love it, the landscape glowing with the enchantment of winter.

At last, you make your way up the gravel-strewn path, each step crunching beneath your boots, until you reach the enormous wooden doors of the castle. They are old and heavy, carved with intricate designs, and it takes all your strength to push them open. Inside, a familiar warmth greets you. The space is draped in festive splendor—rich red and gold hues, a plush crimson carpet underfoot, and ancient paintings adorning the white walls, their gilded frames thick with history. You step up to the reception desk, where a handsome blond man stands, his name tag reading ‘Park’. His eyes, a warm hazelnut brown, twinkle with mischief as he catches your smile. “Hi, I’m here for my room key. I’m part of the competition,” you say, offering him a smile that becomes even brighter when you sense the shadow looming behind you. You know exactly who it is without turning around. Determined not to give him any attention, you focus on Park, your smile sweetening as you push aside thoughts of the man behind you.

Park’s lips curl into a grin as he hands you a key. For a brief second, your fingers brush his, and the warmth of his touch is a small comfort against the cold that lingers in your hands. “I’ve given you the best room,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes, “the perfect room for someone as lovely as you.”

Your cheeks flush despite yourself, and you chuckle softly. Oh, he’s sweet, and trouble, you think. But you feel a surge of relief—finally, you won’t be stuck in the dreaded moldy room. Behind you, a familiar scoff cuts through the air, and you roll your eyes. You don’t need to look to know who it is, and you breeze past him, a skip in your step as you make your way to your room.

Finding it easily, you unlock the door and step inside. It’s small, yes, but far more comfortable than your first year here. A single bed sits in the center of the room, draped in dark green linens that match the heavy curtains cascading down from the tall window. The pillows, a deep crimson, add a touch of festive warmth to the space. Exhausted, you drop your duffel bag to the floor and fall onto the bed with a contented sigh, your eyes slipping shut. Tomorrow, the competition begins, and you know you’ll need every ounce of rest you can get.

When you wake, your muscles ache from the journey, and your face feels puffy from sleep. Groaning softly, you gather your things and shuffle down the hallway toward the showers, your fluffy slippers barely making a sound against the cold stone floor. The warm spray of the shower jolts you awake, and by the time you’re dressed, with fresh makeup and a clear mind, you feel ready for the day ahead. With a steady heart and your baking utensils in hand, you descend the grand staircase toward the great hall, where the scent of cinnamon and sugar will soon fill the air. The competition calls, and this time, you’re determined to make your mark.

The main hall is vast, its high ceilings echoing with the murmur of anticipation. Twelve baking stations stand neatly in two rows, six on each side, gleaming under the soft glow of hidden lights. The air hums with energy as cameras are discreetly tucked in the corners, their lenses poised to capture every moment, while the judges’ table—grand and imposing—commands attention at the front. A producer, dressed in black with a headset and microphone, guides you to your station, and you carefully set your supplies on the smooth surface. The shelves beneath the counter provide just enough space to stow away your ingredients and tools, your hands moving methodically as you prepare for what’s to come.

But then, your heart sinks as you catch sight of him—Kim Seokjin. To your horror, the producers direct him to the station right next to yours. You feel a knot tighten in your stomach as he flashes you that signature smile, all too sweet and saccharine, with the familiar mischief sparkling in his crinkling brown eyes. “Fancy seeing you here,” he quips, as he ties his apron around his slender waist, his movements annoyingly graceful. “Back to get your ass kicked again?” His chuckle is low, smug, a sound that makes your blood boil beneath your skin. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to inhale slowly. Calm. You need to stay calm to bake well, you remind yourself, even as the heat of irritation rises within you. “Yeah,” you grunt back, your voice low with restrained anger. “I plan on wiping the floor with your face.” Why, of all people, do you two have the front row benches?

Around you, the hall grows busier. Cameramen move quietly through the room, adjusting angles, capturing every nervous glance and confident grin. The judges have arrived—Yun Christina, a legend in the baking world, with her sharp eyes and warm smile, and Kim Taehyung, whose playful charm hides a discerning palate. At the side stands the commentator, Jeon Jungkook. His tall frame is hard to ignore, built like an athlete with a face so soft it seems to contradict the sleeve of tattoos he wears with pride. There’s something effortlessly captivating about him, and his smile draws as much attention as his ink.

“We’re live in 10 minutes!” a producer announces, and the familiar flutter of anxiety churns in your stomach. No matter how many times you’ve done this competition, the nerves never quite fade—especially with the weight of live television hanging over you. The thought of making a mistake, of becoming a viral meme or the subject of a Reddit thread, haunts the edges of your mind. Seokjin knows this pressure all too well—he’s practically an online legend. His Instagram is filled with stunning images of his creations, each post a curated masterpiece, and he even has a subreddit dedicated to his handsome face and corny jokes. ‘Don’t get Jinxed,’ they call it. You’ve definitely never visited the site, but the stories of his fandom are everywhere, impossible to ignore.

The judges step forward, their presence commanding immediate attention. Christina beams at the group, her hands clasped in excitement, while Taehyung grins with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Welcome, everyone,” he begins, his deep voice resonating through the hall. “Today, we’ll start off easy. Your challenge is to create regular buns, but with the sweet taste of Christmas in them.” His smile broadens, and he pauses dramatically. “You’ll have one and a half hours to present Christina and me with six perfect buns. Let the magic of Christmas guide you.”

Christina claps her hands together, her joy infectious. “We can’t wait to taste what you create! Ready. Set,” she says, her voice lifting the room, and then— “Bake!”

The word slices through the air, and the competition springs to life. Your heart pounds as your hands move instinctively, the ingredients becoming your allies in this battle of skill and precision. Seokjin hums beside you, the sound grating against your nerves, but you push him from your mind. There’s no time for distractions—not today. Today, you’re here to prove yourself, to create something more than just buns. You’re here to craft a masterpiece, with the essence of Christmas baked into every bite.

In a flurry of motion, you gather everything you might need at your station—the gleaming kitchen machine ready to knead the dough, bowls stacked high, the flour, sugar, and baking powder measured with care. Your mind races as you dash to the refrigerators at the back, the cool air biting your cheeks as you grab fresh yeast. Spices linger nearby, their rich aromas filling the air, and you make a swift decision—cinnamon and apples. The sweet warmth of cinnamon paired with the crisp, tart apples is a classic, a comforting blend that whispers of holiday mornings by the fire. With practiced hands, you quickly dissolve the yeast in lukewarm water, watching the delicate bubbles rise before adding it to the flour and oil. The kitchen machine hums to life, its rhythmic kneading a soothing counterpoint to the buzz of the room. Time is your greatest adversary—dough needs to rest before it can rise into perfection, and every second counts. While the machine works, you gather crisp apples, their skins glistening under the lights, and grate them roughly, the scent of fresh fruit mingling with the warm spices around you.

As you’re focused on the task at hand, Jungkook appears beside you, his presence radiating calm curiosity. “What are you making?” he asks, his voice smooth, as the camera zooms in on your hands, catching every careful movement. You glance up, giving him a soft smile, though your mind is racing. “Apple cinnamon buns,” you reply, juggling ingredients with a steady hand. His smile broadens. “A classic combo,” he says approvingly before moving to Seokjin’s station.

Your heart sinks as you hear Seokjin’s voice, his tone confident and infuriatingly charming. “I’m making pumpkin buns with cinnamon sugar on top,” he announces, and you can almost hear the smug grin in his words as he adds that he’ll be shaping them like pumpkins. Like pumpkins are even a Christmas thing? You roll your eyes, irritation bubbling as the camera lingers on him far longer than it did on you. It’s not that you’re jealous—not exactly—but it’s hard not to notice how much more attention he gets, how the spotlight seems to favor him, casting everyone else into the shadows.

Returning to your dough, you add the shredded apples to the mix, the machine whirring gently as it blends them in. When the dough is ready, you pull it from the machine, feeling the weight of it in your hands. There’s something grounding about working the dough with your fingers, shaping it, molding it—your hands know the rhythm of this dance well. You sprinkle flour across the table, working the dough slowly, savoring the texture, your hands moving in steady, practiced motions.

“Careful with that dough,” Seokjin pipes up from beside you, a playful glint in his eye. “I wouldn’t want you to get too kneady.” His pun hangs in the air, and you cringe, resisting the urge to groan as the cameraman swoops in, once again capturing his every move.

“That was so bad,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes as you divide the dough into six even portions. Each piece is dusted with flour, your hands working quickly, forming the dough into perfect rounds. A glance over at Seokjin reveals that he’s somehow ahead of you—some of his buns already resting, a smirk playing on his lips as if he knows exactly how much this irks you.

He chuckles, his voice low as he works his dough with casual ease. “You should watch yourself,” he teases, “or you’ll end up spread out like this dough.”

You stifle a groan, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you grab a baking tray, your movements quick and efficient as you line it with parchment paper. Carefully, you place your apple cinnamon buns down, spacing them out before covering them with a cloth, allowing the yeast to work its magic as they rise and puff up. Your eyes dart back to Seokjin’s station, and you can’t help but notice how far ahead he still is—his bench already wiped clean, his buns resting, as if he’s been playing this game for far too long.

But you remind yourself—it’s not about speed. It’s about the buns. And yours will be nothing short of perfect.

You glance at Seokjin again, feeling the weight of his presence beside you, and rush to clean your bench with hurried hands. His voice cuts through the noise, playful and sharp, “You keep staring at me like that, and I might think you’ve forgotten what we’re actually baking here,” he says, his laugh spilling out in waves—full-bodied and obnoxious, like a windshield wiper squeaking through a storm. God, how you hate it. That laugh grates on your nerves, scraping at the last of your patience.

With your bench spotless, there’s nothing left to do but wait. You cross your arms, eyes wandering, trying to ignore the anticipation that hums in the air. Jungkook is moving through the room, his voice soft but firm as he interviews the other contestants. You tune out Seokjin’s interview, determined not to let him rattle you, focusing instead on calming your breath. When it’s your turn, you speak with a quiet passion about your love for baking—how each year you come back, driven by the dream to win, just once, to finally claim the prize that has always been just out of reach.

The minutes trickle by, and after what feels like forever, you lift the cloth to reveal your buns, risen and perfect, their golden promise waiting to be fulfilled. Seokjin pulls the cloth off his buns at the same time, his voice dripping with mischief as he grins your way. “You really know how to get a rise out of me... or is that just the yeast talking?” His laughter fills the room again, and this time, it spreads like wildfire. You hear the other contestants chuckling behind you, and your stomach tightens with frustration. So lame. The joke was painfully lame, and yet they laugh as if he’s a comedy genius. You push forward, determined not to let him get under your skin. Brushing your buns with a delicate layer of egg wash, you sprinkle chunky sugar over the tops, watching it glisten in the light. The oven waits, hot and ready, and with practiced ease, you slide your tray inside. For a moment, you linger there, sitting in front of the oven like a camper before a flickering fire, watching as the buns slowly turn golden. You know this process well, the way the dough will puff and brown in exactly eleven minutes, and you double-check the timer, feeling a quiet confidence bloom in your chest.

When the timer beeps, you pull the buns from the oven, their perfect golden sheen filling you with a rush of pride. They look beautiful, warm and inviting, just as you’d imagined. To your right, Seokjin is already plating his buns with a flourish, his hands moving with an ease that makes you grit your teeth. You rush to do the same, arranging your apple and cinnamon creations with care, each one a testament to your skill.

The competition timer rings, and the tension in the room snaps like a wire pulled too tight. One by one, the contestants are called to present their work. When Seokjin’s turn comes, you can barely contain the roll of your eyes as the judges swoon over his pumpkin-shaped buns, praising his technique, his creativity. He stands there, soaking in their compliments with a smile so smug you can almost feel it radiating across the room. He eats it all up, every word, while you silently seethe, waiting for your moment.

And then, it’s your turn. You walk to the front, presenting your apple cinnamon buns with steady hands, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Christina and Taehyung inspect your work, and you hold your breath, but to your relief, their expressions soften into smiles. Compliments flow your way—no critique, no hesitation. They love the warmth, the balance of flavors. Satisfaction warms your chest, but you keep it inside, holding your victory close, knowing there’s still a long road ahead.

At the end of the round, a contestant is eliminated—a guy named Kwon, whose face you barely remember. Only eleven remain now. Ten more to beat.

The cameras finally stop rolling, the tension in the room easing as everyone begins to disperse. You head toward your room, eager to review your baking books, one of them authored by none other than Kim Taehyung himself. But just as you’re about to retreat into the quiet of your thoughts, you feel a hand on your arm. You turn, and there’s Seokjin, his smile sharper than before, his eyes glinting with something like challenge.

“Good luck tomorrow,” he says, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “Just remember, there’s only room for one winner here. But...” he pauses, his tone growing sweeter than honey, “I might let you take a bite of my victory… if you ask nicely.”

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to respond with the fire burning behind your eyes. Instead, you offer him a tight-lipped smile, letting your silence speak for you. You won’t let him win—not this time. Tomorrow, the real competition begins.

A good night’s sleep can cure almost anything—but not, it seems, the stubborn ache in your back. The new room may be a small upgrade from the first year, but the bed springs creak like old bones, refusing to offer even a whisper of comfort. You sigh, stretching your stiff limbs, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue.

Yesterday’s competition left a flurry of emotions behind, but instead of retreating to your room, you spent time mingling with the other contestants, laughing, chatting, doing your best to dodge the dark-haired Seokjin whose presence you’ve come to despise. There are so many fresh faces this year, and a few familiar ones from the past—some that carry the weight of past victories. You’ve even found yourself thinking, more than once, that there should be a rule: once you win first place, you shouldn’t be allowed to enter again. Let someone else have a shot. Let you have a shot. It’s a wish that flickered through your conversations with the other women, murmured over cups of tea and shared frustrations. But rules are rules, and here you are—still in the shadow of Kim Seokjin.

But not for long.

With newfound determination swelling in your chest, you stride down the grand staircase, each step echoing your resolve. The camera crew is already in place, their lenses trained and waiting for the drama to unfold. Not today. Today you won’t be sent home. You can feel it in your bones. You glide to your station, pointedly ignoring Seokjin’s casual wave and sugary smile—he won’t distract you, not this time. You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep your focus sharp. Today, you’re here for one thing, and it’s not his attention.

The judges enter with a quiet authority that pulls everyone’s gaze. Taehyung, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, claps his hands together and greets the room in that deep, melodic voice of his. “Good morning, everyone! Today’s challenge is another easy one, yeah. We’re keeping it simple—cookies.”

Cheers ripple through the room from contestants behind you, their excitement palpable. But you know better. Cookies aren’t just cookies. There’s an art to simplicity, and you can’t afford to underestimate it. As Taehyung speaks, Christina steps forward, her voice soft but full of warmth. “You’ll be making two varieties of cookies. Six of each, so twelve in total. The flavors are up to you, but they need to complement each other,” she says with a gentle smile, her eyes scanning the room, lingering on the possibilities.

Off to the side, you catch a glimpse of Jungkook—tall, tattooed, and sharp-eyed—ready to start the competition with his usual flair. Before he even has a chance to utter the word “bake,” your mind is already alive with ideas. Chocolate, orange zest, cinnamon, almonds—flavors begin to swirl together in your thoughts like sugar in a mixing bowl. Your hands itch to begin, your mind races, and your heart pounds with the thrill of creation.

This is your moment. You’ll make it count.

Before your mind has fully settled on a plan, your hands are already in motion—grabbing bowls, spoons, and flour the moment Jungkook’s voice announces the start. The familiar rhythm takes over, and you quickly turn the oven’s dial, ensuring it will be heated just in time for your dough’s transformation. Under the bench, you find a block of chocolate, its dark richness calling to you. With swift, practiced motions, you chop it into large, satisfying chunks, the knife’s steady rhythm keeping pace with your heartbeat. Chocolate chip cookies—simple, but timeless. Your grandmother’s recipe is legendary, the kind that lingers in memory, and you know it will speak for itself on the judges’ tongues.

Adding chopped almonds for texture, you blend the sticky dough, your hands moving as though by instinct. Soon, the dough is portioned out in neat mounds on parchment, each one promising gooey perfection. Into the oven they go, disappearing behind the hot glass, and already your mind is leaping ahead to the next batch. Orange zest, you decide—a bright, citrusy contrast to the chocolate, something both bold and nostalgic.

As you stir the second dough, the spoon moving lazily through the thickening batter, you catch sight of Jungkook and two cameramen gliding over to Jin’s station. You roll your eyes, already anticipating the onslaught of Reddit posts, memes, and fangirls swooning over whatever nonsense Jin is about to spout. No doubt, he’s ready to charm the cameras.

“So, Seokjin, what kind of cookies are you making? Just from the batter, they look really delicious,” Jungkook says, trying to sneak a taste from Jin’s mixing bowl like a kid caught in a cookie jar.

“I’m making candy cane cookies with vanilla, and a batch of chocolate peppermint crunch,” Seokjin replies smoothly, his voice practically dripping with the satisfaction of knowing all eyes are on him.

“Amazing! Can’t wait to taste,” Jungkook beams, while Seokjin slides his tray into the oven with a showman’s flourish. A burst of steam escapes as he shuts the door, and he turns to the cameras with that signature smirk of his. “Is it hot in here, or is it just the oven? Or maybe…” He pauses, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Maybe it’s just you?”

You scoff, even though your gaze lingers on the scene longer than it should. That was painfully predictable, but no doubt, the fangirls will swoon. You shake your head, refusing to admit you’ve ever spent a moment browsing through Jin’s subreddit—no, not you.

Jungkook, ever the charmer, saunters over to your station just as you pull the first tray of cookies from the oven. The golden-brown chocolate chip beauties rest on the tray, and the smell of warm, melted chocolate fills the air. His eyes widen in anticipation, practically salivating. He reaches for one, but you gently swat his hand away, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. “Careful,” you warn, “they’re hot—and there’s only six.”

Jungkook pouts, his lips forming a playful smile. “They look incredible,” he admits, his gaze still fixed on the cookies as though they were treasures freshly unearthed.

Before you can respond, Seokjin’s voice cuts through the moment from your right. “Looks like your cookies aren’t the only thing heating up in here,” he quips, his deep laugh filling the room—rich, unrestrained, and annoyingly confident.

You grit your teeth, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, unsure whether it’s from the oven’s warmth or Seokjin’s infuriating presence. His words swirl around in your mind, making your blood simmer, but you refuse to look his way. Not today. You won’t let him distract you. Not now.

Christina and Taehyung appear beside your bench like a pair of deities, their presence as magnetic as it is intimidating. Up close, Taehyung’s beauty is striking—flawless skin, eyes that seem to hold secrets, and a calm that makes your pulse race. You can feel beads of sweat gathering at your temples, heat rising not just from the oven, but from the thrill of standing before this legend. “What kind of texture are you aiming for in your cookies?” he asks, his voice rich and velvety as he watches you deftly portion the orange zest dough before sliding it into the oven.

You swallow, trying to steady your voice. “I’m going for crisp on the outside, soft and sweet in the center,” you say, cheeks warming under his intense gaze. Damn it. Get it together. You silently pray the blush on your face isn’t betraying you on national TV, even with the camera zoomed in on your every move.

A sudden, familiar laugh breaks your concentration—Seokjin. You glance over, and there he is, obnoxiously close, standing at your bench as though he owns the space. His broad shoulder nudges yours, his smirk devilish. And of course, he can’t resist. With a wink at the camera, he adds, “That’s just how I like my women.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his audacity. Is he really doing this right now? In front of the judges, in front of Taehyung? He’s hijacking your moment, stealing the spotlight you’ve worked so hard for—and making a joke at your expense. Your blood simmers.

“Go away, you jerk,” you mutter, shoving him back towards his own station, but the damage is done. You catch Taehyung and Christina exchanging glances—subtle, but there. You let out a sigh, feeling your frustration simmer just beneath the surface. Tackling Seokjin to the floor and giving him a piece of your mind sounds so tempting, but no. You rein yourself in, forcing a smile instead.

Seokjin, ever the provocateur, throws a wink at the camera and grins. “Impressed, Y/N. Not everyone can handle this much heat. Guess I’ll have to turn it up,” he says, his voice light but layered with something more. And as if to punctuate his words, you watch him out of the corner of your eye—he’s actually turning the heat on his oven higher. What on earth is he playing at? The hall feels warmer, sweat prickling your skin as the competition wears on. Is he talking about the ovens? The tension between you? Or the way he’s managed to catch up to you despite the chaos?

The cookies are nearly done, and you wipe your brow, wishing you’d made both batches at once instead of one after the other. Jin’s smugness only deepens when you realize he’s managed to bake both varieties simultaneously, and now, somehow, he’s neck-and-neck with you. Damn him.

With the final timer ringing out, you pull your cookies from the oven—golden, perfect. You carefully plate them, arranging them with precision. The judges make their way through the line of bakers, and soon it’s your turn. Walking up to the front, your heart pounds, but the praise that follows is worth every ounce of effort. Even if they’re ‘simple’ as Christina put it, the execution is flawless. You let out a quiet breath of relief, but before you can celebrate, Jungkook swoops in and steals a cookie right from Taehyung’s hand. The whole room erupts in laughter, and for a moment, the tension breaks.

Seokjin, of course, gets his perfect feedback too. Not that you’re surprised. The two of you are safe for another day, though as the announcement rings out, your heart sinks a little—Eun, one of the kind women you chatted with yesterday, is the one sent home. As she leaves, the weight of the competition presses down on you. Eight more people stand between you and victory, and among them, the one person you refuse to lose to—Seokjin.

The next two days blur together, a whirlwind of meringues and bread dough, flour dusting every surface like snow, batter splattered across your bench. Somehow, by grace or sheer luck, you’ve managed to hold your place in the competition. Now it’s the second week, day five, and the pressure is palpable—only seven of you remain, each step closer to the edge, and everyone is fighting harder, knowing the next misstep could mean elimination.

As you descend the grand staircase, the tension in the air feels heavier than before. You’re the last to arrive, the others already poised at their stations, judges watching with eagle-eyed precision. When you reach your bench, something catches your eye—a sprig of mistletoe hangs conspicuously in the center aisle, like a trap waiting to spring. You make a mental note to steer clear of that festive lure, no time for distractions, no matter how innocent.

Christina’s voice rings out, warm and inviting. “Today, you’ll be baking pies! Crisp edges, soft centers, and a filling that sings of the season.” Her smile is comforting, but Taehyung’s nod is all business, his eyes gleaming with expectation. “The filling is your choice, sweet or savory, but it must be in line with the spirit of Christmas,” he adds, his deep voice resonating in the hall like the toll of a bell.

You nod, the vision of your pie already clear in your mind—a memory-laden apple-pear lattice pie, passed down from your grandmother. The tart bite of apples softened by the sweetness of ripe pears, all tucked beneath a delicate lattice crust dusted with sugar. Nostalgia and tradition baked into every bite. You know this pie by heart—it’s your connection to the holidays, the warmth of home wrapped in pastry.

As soon as Jungkook announces the start, your hands move with purpose. You reach for the flour, the butter, the cold water—crafting the crust that will hold your memories together. Focused, you’re already mixing the dough when Jungkook’s voice cuts through the air. “Notice anything new?” he chuckles, pointing to the mistletoe overhead, “A little extra something to trip you up—or maybe bring you some luck!”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his playful tease. You didn’t come here for kisses or games. Your eyes flick to Seokjin, who’s snickering under his breath, ever the one to play along. But you push the sound of his laughter away, focus sharpening like a knife’s edge. He won’t trip you up this time—not with jokes, not with smiles. Your hands work swiftly, shaping the dough into something beautiful, knowing that every moment counts in this relentless competition.

No matter what mischief brews beneath the mistletoe, your eyes are on the prize.

As Jungkook drifts behind you, interviewing the contestants in low, animated tones, you’re relieved for the momentary quiet, allowing you to pour your full attention into the pie crust. This is where it all begins—the delicate balance between flour, butter, and water must be perfect. The crust is the foundation, the soul of the pie. You flick on the oven, feeling the heat radiate in waves, and start toward the supply table to grab a mold. But before you make it halfway down the aisle, you slam right into a solid wall of warmth. Seokjin.

“Sorry,” you mutter, trying to collect your scattered thoughts. You sidestep to go around him, but Seokjin clears his throat, and you feel the annoyance bubble up inside you. You glance up at him, your lips tight. “What?” The word slips out sharper than you intended, but your patience is wearing thin.

He doesn’t respond at first, just raises a finger to point above your heads. You follow his gaze—mistletoe. Of course. The sight drains the color from your face. The mistletoe hangs above you like a mischievous sprite, and your heart drops into your stomach. No. Not with Seokjin.

“I’m not kissing you,” you hiss, crossing your arms defensively, feeling a wave of heat rise in your cheeks. The growing number of cameramen hovering around doesn’t help. You can practically feel their lenses zooming in, capturing every moment of your horror.

Seokjin’s smirk grows, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s tradition,” he says, his tone infuriatingly playful. “Don’t you believe in tradition?” His eyebrow quirks, daring you.

Damn Seokjin and his ridiculous smirk. You grit your teeth, a storm brewing in your chest. “Fine!” you snap, voice tight with frustration. With a huff, you step up onto your tiptoes, grab his annoyingly perfect face with flour-dusted hands, and plant a quick, perfunctory kiss on his lips. A fleeting touch—just enough to meet the demands of tradition, nothing more, nothing less. But the moment your lips brush against his, something stirs inside you, unbidden and unexpected. You pull away like you’ve been burned, cheeks blazing scarlet, heart racing as if you’d sprinted a mile. The cameras catch it all, zooming in on the moment—your moment with Seokjin, under the damn mistletoe. Your mother is probably watching this unfold, and you already dread the mountain of messages awaiting you back in your room. And Seokjin’s subreddit? You can only imagine the wildfire of jealousy that’ll sweep through it.

Mortified, you dart past him, heading for the pie mold like it’s the only lifeline left. Behind you, Seokjin chuckles, completely unaffected, while you feel like the floor might as well swallow you whole.

You slam the mold down on your bench, your body still buzzing with the embarrassment of it all. In a haze of frustration, you glance over at Seokjin’s bench. The idea forms before you even register what you’re doing. With a swift motion, you turn the dial on his oven a notch higher, a small, petty act of vengeance. Maybe that’ll teach him to stop messing with you.

“If you wanted me under the mistletoe, you didn’t have to bump into me, you know,” Seokjin’s voice floats over, teasing, unbothered. Before he gets back to his station, you’re already back to yours as if nothing happened.

Your fingers move automatically, rolling out the dough with steady precision despite the flutter of irritation still coursing through you. You lay the crust in the pie tin, pressing it gently into place, trying to focus on the task at hand. As you slide it into the oven for a quick pre-bake, your gaze drifts to Seokjin. He’s melting chocolate at his bench, completely at ease, while you’re still trying to get your heart to stop racing.

What the hell is he baking? You wonder, shaking your head. But whatever it is, it better not be good enough to outshine your pie.

Taehyung and Christina make their way around the room, their presence like an elegant breeze passing through the charged atmosphere. When they reach Seokjin’s station, Taehyung flashes his signature boxy smile, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “So, what are you baking today, Seokjin?” he asks, voice smooth as velvet.

Seokjin grins, the kind of smile that holds a touch of mischief. “I’m making a Mississippi Mud Pie,” he declares proudly, his tone thick with confidence, as if he’s already envisioning the applause.

“Interesting choice,” Taehyung remarks, his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. “I hope you manage to keep that pudding silky smooth.” His words hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in playful encouragement.

Seokjin nods with a flash of determination before turning back to his task, while you continue preparing the glaze for your apples and pears, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he’s making something as bold and obnoxious as a Mississippi Mud Pie. Always grandiose, always showy. You stifle a smirk and push forward, focused on your own pie.

With nimble fingers, you weave the lattice atop your tart, dusting it generously with chunky sugar crystals before sliding it into the oven. The warmth of baking apples and pears is already beginning to dance in the air, a comforting scent that feels like Christmas itself. You glance over just as Seokjin slides his pie into his oven, and the question tickles the back of your mind—did he even notice the temperature?

“I thought Christmas was all about giving,” Seokjin’s voice floats over, snapping you from your thoughts. “How about giving me a break and stop staring like that?” There’s a teasing edge in his tone, and for a moment, you falter. Had you been staring? Damn it. You avert your eyes quickly, but the truth is, you’re curious to see what havoc that tampered oven might wreak on his precious pie.

Time slips by, and as you clean your station, a faint smell begins to curl through the air—something acrid, something burnt. You can’t help the small, wicked smile tugging at your lips. It’s coming from his bench.

Before you can enjoy the moment, Jungkook materializes in front of Seokjin, all wide-eyed and concerned. “Uh, Seokjin... I think your oven might be burning something.”

Seokjin waves him off with the casual arrogance of someone who never second-guesses his skills. “No, no, it’s fine,” he says confidently, but Jungkook pushes further.

“Just check it, mate.”

Finally, Seokjin opens the oven door, and a thick cloud of scorching hot air bursts forth, like an accusation made of smoke. His expression falters. “Shit!” he exclaims as he rushes to pull out the pie, his face darkening with frustration. It’s burnt—not ruined entirely, but the edges are crisped more than they should be. You bite back a laugh, wishing it had turned to charcoal.

His gaze snaps toward you, sharp and piercing, like he knows exactly who’s behind this little mishap. “Well, well,” he smirks, eyes glinting. “Looks like someone’s been naughty instead of nice, messing with my oven temperature just to throw me off.”

You blink innocently, batting your eyelashes as you offer him your best impression of sincerity. “I’m so sorry,” you say, voice dripping with faux sweetness. Both of you know the truth—it’s anything but an apology—but you can’t help but find this moment deliciously funny.

Seokjin chuckles, the sound rich and unbothered as he begins to assemble the other components of his pie. “Oh, I get it now. Sabotage me, burn my pie, and then you try to sweet-talk your way out of it?” His words are playful, but there’s an undercurrent of challenge beneath his voice.

You turn back to your own creation just in time to pull your pie from the oven, golden and perfect. The scent of apples and pears wafts toward you, warm and inviting, and you feel a surge of pride. Perfect.

Seokjin isn’t done yet. “Nice try, though,” he says, not missing a beat. “Your little ‘sabotage’ just makes me want to beat you even more.” Then, with a glint in his eye and a smirk playing on his lips, he leans in slightly. “Maybe even taste what you’ve got cooking.”

Your breath catches for just a second, heart skipping a beat at the unexpected flirtation. Did he just say what you think he did?

You quickly shake it off, focusing back on your flawless pie, hoping that his burnt crust might just seal his fate. But fate isn’t that kind, and as the day’s competition ends, Seokjin survives. Someone else, with a pie more disastrous than his, is sent home. You’re both safe for another day, and as you walk back to your bench, you can’t help but feel both triumphant and a little unnerved.

This isn’t over.

It’s the third week, the seventh day, and you’re already halfway through the competition. You stand at your bench, hands clasped gently in front of you, fingertips brushing and fidgeting, a small effort to calm your jittering nerves. Why you’re nervous is beyond you—yet there it is, that flutter, pressing into your chest.

Across the room, Taehyung, Christina, and Jungkook step up to the judges’ bench, their faces alight with matching mischievous grins. An ominous spark flickers in their eyes, and you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. Whatever’s coming won’t be easy. Jungkook claps his hands together, a low, resonant sound that carries across the hall, his eyes sweeping over each of you.

“Good morning, everyone!” he greets, his voice cheerful and commanding. “I hope you’ve all rested well, because today, you’ll be making—sourdough bread!”

The words hit you like a chill down your spine. Sourdough, of all things! Your breath catches in a gasp; you’ve made sourdough before, but never with a timer breathing down your neck. The very essence of sourdough is its patience, its slow, careful fermentation.

Before the panic can take hold, Jungkook flashes a grin, his bunny teeth peeking out as he adds, “Luckily for you all, Taehyung has prepared a batch of sourdough starter so you can skip the fermentation process.”

Relief trickles through you, the tension easing in your shoulders. A starter made by the Kim Taehyung himself—a legendary boost if ever there was one.

“All you need to do is turn it into a flavorful bread of your own design,” Christina chimes in with her warm, encouraging smile.

Taehyung nods, his voice soft yet firm. “But don’t forget—this is a Christmas competition. Bring those holiday flavors to life.”

With the judges’ call to begin, you spring into action, finding the precious sourdough starter tucked neatly under your bench. As you run through flavor ideas, one combination settles in your mind—walnuts and cinnamon. Yes, you think, a spiced walnut bread sounds just right. Your hands move almost of their own accord, gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, oil, walnuts. You fire up the mixer, combining everything with precision, your gaze flickering momentarily to your right. Seokjin, just as focused, seems to be neck-and-neck with you. You quickly turn away, determined to keep your attention on your dough. Yet as you slide the mix out of the bowl and start kneading, a creeping dread begins to gnaw at you. The dough doesn’t feel right; instead of that soft, slightly sticky texture, it’s dense and tough, refusing to yield beneath your palms.

Your heart skips a beat. Damn. Something’s off. You must have slipped up somewhere with the ratios. You press on, kneading harder, trying to bring life to this obstinate mass, hoping a little coaxing will do the trick.

But then you hear a soft chuckle from beside you. Seokjin, watching with a gleam in his eye, can’t resist the jab. “I hope you’re better at making out than you are at making dough,” he quips, his tone light yet cutting. “Because, judging by that disaster, you’ll need something to make up for it.”

Your blood boils, cheeks flushed with irritation. He has no idea what kind of kiss he missed under that mistletoe, when he only got a peak. His smirk grows as he turns back to his own bread, perfectly unbothered, and you clench your teeth. If he thinks he’s seen the last of your kitchen skills, he’s in for a surprise.

Focus, you tell yourself, hands pressing into the dough with renewed intensity. If anything, his teasing will only push you to rise—just like this stubborn dough is about to.

You knead the dough with an intensity that borders on frustration, each push and twist a quiet vent for the anger bubbling beneath the surface. The dough yields under your hands as you work it harder, almost punching it into shape. Suddenly, Jungkook appears by your bench, his brows furrowed as he takes in your struggle.

“Trouble?” he asks softly, voice edged with concern. You’re too caught up, too irritated to even answer, so you only grunt in response, lifting the stubborn dough and shoving it back into the mixer. A splash of water might save it, you hope, and you watch the machine turn, willing it to obey.

Jungkook and the camera crew linger a moment longer, their lenses capturing every sigh and furrowed brow, then slowly drift down the line toward Seokjin. The camera’s absence leaves a little more space to breathe, but as you finally check the dough, your heart sinks. It’s too sticky now, clinging uncomfortably to your fingers, almost mocking your efforts. Damn it.

With no time to start over, you grab the flour, dusting it like a lifeline as you fold and press, trying to bring it back from the brink. Gradually, with each turn of the dough, it begins to take on the consistency you need. Relief washes over you as you shape it, finally, into the pan and slip it into the oven. You bend and arch your back to set it carefully on the rack, breathing out a sigh, satisfied at last.

“Damn, Y/N—if you’re trying to turn me on, you’re doing a better job than the oven right now.” Seokjin’s voice floats from your right, low and casual, but with a playful glint.

Your mouth drops open before you can stop it, caught off guard as his words settle over you. Did he really just make a sexual comment about my body—right here, on national TV? Anger mixes with embarrassment, but with the cameras still lurking, you only manage a scowl and a sharp roll of your eyes. He grins in response, clearly enjoying your reaction.

When the oven timer finally dings, you take a steadying breath and pull the bread from the heat. It’s risen beautifully, with a golden crust that promises all the flavor and fluff you’d hoped for. But the moment you start to slice into it, dread tugs at you. The knife cuts clean through with too much resistance—too easily. You pull the loaf apart, and your stomach drops. No airy holes, no soft webbing—just a dense, compact mass.

Damn it all.

Your heart sinks as you stare at the thick slice, the reality settling in.

Fuck.

You let the knife slip from your fingers, a dull clatter as it meets the tabletop, and you sink to the floor, unable to hold back the weight that’s been pressing on you all day. Tears blur your vision, slipping down your cheeks as silent sobs shake you, and you curse the cameras that have flocked to capture every moment of your breaking. You hate that they’re filming this—that you’ve sacrificed an entire December, each day on display, competing beside someone you’d rather avoid.

Just then, a gentle hand rests on your back, tracing soft, steady circles that ease the storm a little. Surprised, you look up to see Seokjin crouched beside you, his face soft with a kindness you didn’t expect.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his gaze moving from your dismal bread to meet your tear-streaked face. “I’m sure it still tastes good. And remember—that’s what matters most.”

You blink up at him, catching his eyes for what feels like the first time. Have they always been this warm, this deep? Rich shades of caramel that seem to melt right through you, gentle but somehow grounding. Your chest tightens as something new stirs, fragile and unfamiliar, even as you brush the tears from your cheeks. He doesn’t crack a joke, doesn’t tease, just holds you there in the quiet of his presence.

Your heart hitches, and you take a deep, unsteady breath. He’s right. Taste is what matters most, you tell yourself, though you know the truth—that texture, that mouthfeel, plays an equal role. But he seems so sure, and you let that comfort settle in for a moment before he gives you a last reassuring nod and returns to his station. You rise, still shaken, hoping someone else fumbled more than you did. In the end, it’s Leah who leaves, but that close call leaves a tremor in your chest that keeps you restless long after the day ends.

Sleep evades you that night, leaving you tossing beneath the weight of everything that happened. You can’t stop replaying that disaster on national TV, the sourdough fiasco, your tears on display. Dread tightens your stomach, the idea of what Instagram or Reddit might be saying about your meltdown twisting your mind in knots. You don’t want to know what people think, how foolish you looked. And then there’s Seokjin, adding to the confusion.

You’ve been avoiding him ever since that kiss under the mistletoe, as fleeting as it was. His lips were warm, soft as clouds, and that one moment had left you breathless. And yesterday, instead of pushing you with his usual banter, he was gentle, almost... tender. It’s left your heart skipping, the memory of his face, his touch, stirring something unnamed and unsettling.

Is he just being nice, or is there something more? Don’t be ridiculous, you tell yourself. Maybe this is just his tactic, trying to throw you off your game, to make you lose your focus so he can swoop in and claim victory. But as you lie there in the dark, his kindness replays over and over, leaving you uncertain. Something’s shifting inside you, something you can’t quite grasp yet—and whatever it is, you can’t afford to acknowledge it now. Not when you still have a competition to win.

Exhausted but determined, you stand at your bench on this eighth day of the competition, avoiding even a glance in Seokjin’s direction. Just the thought of him, of how good he must look, sends your stomach into a whirl.

“Boy, have we got something special for you today!” Jungkook announces, his grin wide and electric. Taehyung chuckles, adding, “It’s team challenge day!”

Your heart sinks. You’ve dreaded this day since the start, hoping for the luck of a decent partner, as you had in past seasons. But as the names are read off, fate delivers the unexpected.

“You and Seokjin,” Christina calls, her voice carrying a mischievous note as your eyes meet Seokjin’s. There he stands, dark hair framing a face that’s far too perfect. He smiles, and your heartbeat quickens, rebelling against every ounce of sense you’re trying to hold on to.

“Do you want to know what you’ll be making today?” Christina beams.

The room’s voices echo in eager agreement—all except yours. You’re rooted to the spot, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Seokjin’s shoulder, aware of every traitorous thump of your heart.

“You’ll be making gingerbread houses!” Taehyung laughs, a spark of holiday pride lighting up his face. “We can’t wait to see your creativity—and bring that warm, familiar taste of home to life.”

The start bell chimes, and you and Seokjin exchange a nod before quickly settling on your plan: simple but elegant. As he dives into mixing the dough, you turn your focus to the sugar glaze and icings, choosing Christmas colors—red, green, and white. You work side by side, silent but close, the unspoken tension filling every touch and glance. Whenever your shoulders brush, heat flares up your neck, and you can only hope the cameras don’t catch it.

Then, in a moment of calculated ease, he leans in close, his shoulder pressing against yours. “See, I don’t need mistletoe to get you right where I want you,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.

You’re not sure if he’s talking about the gingerbread or something else entirely, but your cheeks flush, and the world narrows down to the steady beat of your pulse. Words escape you, leaving you flustered, almost dizzy, as you help him press the dough into shape, trying desperately to calm the storm he’s stirring within you.

He turns his head just enough to lean closer, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending an electric shiver down your spine. His voice, low and edged with something you can’t quite decipher, murmurs, “I can’t tell if this tension is from the competition… or just from you being this close.”

A hard swallow catches in your throat, and suddenly the room feels far too warm. Damn him for making you lose focus like this.

You manage to cut the dough into its final shapes, sliding them into the oven to bake. As they brown, you check on the icing, spooning through the white, glossy peaks to make sure it’s the right consistency.

“What do you think of this texture?” you ask, holding the spoon high as the icing drips, thick and slow.

His gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long. “Thick and creamy, just how we like it,” he replies, a smirk pulling at his lips. A wink flashes your way, and your face flushes hot. Thick and creamy. You banish the unbidden images forming in your mind, inwardly scolding yourself to get back on track.

When the cookies finish baking, you and Seokjin move in tandem, retrieving the trays and setting the cookies on racks to cool. Golden brown and perfectly crisp, they gleam in the warm light. “They look perfect,” you say, smiling, and Seokjin nods in agreement, arranging the pieces with careful precision.

With the cooling underway, he whips up a fresh batch of icing, the new bowl of white peaks tempting you. “Mind if I taste it?” you ask, reaching toward the bowl. “Just to make sure the sugar’s balanced?”

He raises an eyebrow, offering the spoon. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, tone laced with mischief. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you find yourself craving more.”

The suggestion hangs heavy in the air, and your pulse races, a current of anticipation tightening your chest. You take a taste, licking the spoon, but a little too quickly; icing slips over your lip and trails down your chin.

His eyes darken as he watches. “I must say,” he says softly, his smile curling with intrigue, “you look pretty with liquid dripping down your chin.”

Your cheeks burn, and something inside you clenches unexpectedly. The heat rising within you is almost too much to bear, and for a second, all you want to do is escape his gaze, escape this overwhelming feeling—run, hide, anything. But no, you won’t back down now. Not today.

Why the fuck are you getting turned on right now?

You shove your dirty thoughts aside, convincing yourself he couldn’t have meant anything suggestive. This is the competition, after all—focus. You set to icing the cookies, carefully piping along the edges as Seokjin holds each piece of the gingerbread house steady.

“You’ve got a real talent with that icing…” he murmurs, voice thick with suggestion. He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Want to see how good I am at licking it off?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your voice escapes in a half-choked laugh, “No!” Yet you’re left wondering—did he really mean just the cookies? Your heart races, and by now, you must be as red as a ripe apple.

Seokjin leans in, his shoulder brushing yours, eyes glinting playfully. “Better let me handle this,” he whispers, “unless… you’d rather things get a bit messy.”

The closeness is dizzying, and a startled cough escapes you just as Jungkook wanders over, asking if you’re alright. You manage a nod, praying for the day to end so you can escape this charged atmosphere, your flustered nerves, and his honey-laced teasing.

You glance up to find Seokjin’s gaze locked on you, his eyes dark and glinting. “Keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs low, “and I might just let you have a taste of my frosting.”

A jolt shivers down your spine, heat pooling in your cheeks—and elsewhere, much to your horror. You exhale shakily, fingers trembling as you finish icing the final wall of the gingerbread house, praying for the cameras to cut so you can flee.

Finally, the house stands complete, a festive masterpiece that brings a surge of pride and relief. With a quiet thank-you to the heavens that you’ve made it through the day, you’re spared elimination. The moment filming ends, you bolt from the hall, the steady beat of your heart pounding like a drum in your ears.

Reaching your room, you swing the door open, craving solitude. But just as you go to close it, a hand stops the door, and a familiar foot wedges into the gap, preventing your escape. Seokjin appears in the doorway, his presence filling the room as he nudges the door open. You turn, surprised, meeting his gaze as he scans your face, concern softening his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low and gentle, and you catch a hint of genuine worry.

“Y-yeah,” you manage, feeling your pulse skip. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in this moment. He steps forward, his gaze drifting around your room, but you instinctively retreat until the edge of the bed presses against the backs of your legs. Caught between him and your own mounting desire, you feel strangely exhilarated, breaths uneven as anticipation rushes through you.

“You just seem…” His voice trails off as he draws nearer, his eyes tracing your features, “a bit… out of sorts.”

You swallow, trying to steady yourself, but his intuition sees right through you. “I’m… I—” You start to speak, but words falter. Say the truth, or shield it?

His eyes narrow slightly, his voice dipping into a whisper. “You’re a little… wet, aren’t you?” The question drips with suggestion, and heat floods your cheeks. Your breath catches, and he smiles knowingly—Seokjin has never been one to miss a tell.

He’s so close now, his scent, warm and intoxicating, fills your senses. His lashes flutter as he leans in, and for a breathless second, your eyes lock. Without thought, driven by the longing pounding in your chest, you reach for his face, pulling him down to meet you in a kiss that’s anything but tentative. It’s intense, melting away whatever barriers you held, a wordless confession pressed from your lips to his. You lean into him, drawn, tethered by an undeniable need.

When you finally part, his dark eyes are fixed on you, filled with astonished heat. “Princess,” he murmurs, voice husky, “do you really want this?” He searches your face, looking for any hint of hesitation.

“I do,” you whisper, your voice raw with desire, “I don’t know why… but I need you, right now.” Your own need sounds urgent in the quiet of the room, and his gaze flickers, a grin tugging at his lips as he pulls you close once more.

You pull him close, kissing him deeply, wanting nothing more than to feel him everywhere, his warmth mingling with yours. Your hands trace the lines of his body, and he lets out a soft, knowing chuckle. “Well, princess is in a rush,” he murmurs, a teasing smile playing on his lips. You can’t help but giggle—he’s always had that look, one that riles and draws you in. His beauty, so effortless, had once made him feel like a thorn in your side. His charms seemed unfair, his confidence so maddening. But now, in his arms, all of that melts away; there’s no room for anything but this want, this anticipation.

“Call me that again,” you say, breathless. “I like it.”

“Princess,” he breathes, voice low and laced with desire. Your hands glide lower, feeling him pressed against you, hard and wanting. You bite your lip as you savor his reaction, and he smirks, lifting a hand to brush your cheek, before leaning close to press a kiss on your forehead, soft and unexpectedly tender.

“Let me taste your cream,” he whispers, eyes dark with mischief and longing.

A laugh bubbles up from you. “Really, Seokjin? Is that your best line?”

He chuckles, his gaze unwavering. “I’m serious. I’ve wanted you since we set foot in this castle.”

The admission catches you off-guard, your heart skipping as you meet his gaze, feeling that familiar, disarming warmth. “Wait… Since the start of the competition?”

He shakes his head, voice dipping to a whisper. “No. Since the moment I first saw you.”

His eyes, rich with longing, hold you captive. Corny as it is, it’s so him, and there’s something so undeniably real in the way he looks at you that you’re left breathless.

“You mean it?” you murmur, still stunned, but unable to resist his pull.

He answers only by lowering you back onto the bed, his touch gentle, yet urgent, and you sink into the softness beneath, wondering if somehow, in his presence, everything feels warmer, softer, more alive.

Seokjin gazes down at you, his eyes twinkling with that familiar, infuriating smirk. “Oh, I know you’ve felt this too. The way you look at me says it all.”

Your lips curl in defiance, though your pulse betrays you, hammering under his gaze. “I looked because I thought you were ridiculous—and infuriating,” you murmur, heart skipping as he leans closer, closing the last sliver of space.

“Yet here we are, and still… you want me,” he breathes, his words brushing your lips just before they meet. His kiss is deep, a slow surrender, and you moan softly, hands curling over his broad shoulders as though anchoring him there. Your kiss is hungry, desperate, as though he might vanish, and when he pulls back, you laugh breathlessly, “Yes, alright, I want you—even if you’ve been an ass.”

He grins, all smug satisfaction. “I do have a good ass, and so do you might I add.” His gaze glints mischievously as he traces a line down your body, catching the edge of your pants and slipping them down your legs. “Let’s take a proper look, shall we?”

The fabric slides away, leaving you in a sliver of lace. He inhales sharply, admiring the delicate pink, and you can feel his gaze linger as he teases, “Pretty soaked for someone who’s supposedly annoyed with me.” His hand hovers, like he’s savoring the moment, his voice low. “What would I find, I wonder?”

Breathless, you lift your hips, letting him pull the last barrier away. His smile softens as he takes you in. “Oh, princess,” he murmurs, voice thick with appreciation, “you’re glistening. Like a rare gem.”

Heat pools in your cheeks, heart pounding at his words. No one’s ever looked at you like this, and he senses your shy retreat, gently catching your arm before you can shield your face. “Don’t hide from me now,” he whispers, pressing a warm kiss to your wrist. “It’s just you being beautiful. Let me see you.”

Then he’s there, lips trailing down the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving a fire in their wake. You feel your body hum in anticipation, every nerve aware, waiting.

“Don’t tease me,” you murmur, fingers threading into his soft hair, tugging gently.

He looks up, a satisfied glint in his eye, the corner of his lips lifting. “Oh, but I’m going to. Because this moment, with you… I want to savor it.”

Slowly, he draws closer, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin, his gaze heavy with intention. The first ghost of his lips on your pussy sends a shiver through you, drawing out a helpless moan. Instinctively, you arch toward him, craving more, but his hands are there, steadying your hips, holding you in place with gentle strength.

Then, his mouth descends, and the first touch of his tongue on your clit sends you spiraling. He moves with a softness and rhythm that leaves you breathless, and when he begins to press his tongue in slow, unyielding circles, a molten heat spreads through you, curling your toes. Each movement feels like a practiced art, his mouth relentless as he savors you, tasting every bit of your arousal with unhurried devotion. The pressure builds inside you, your breaths quickening, pulse pounding.

Your fingers clench in his hair as you gasp, “God, I’m already so close… How are you this good?”

He says nothing, only hums in response, and the low vibration nearly sends you over the edge. He keeps working, drinking you in, savoring every quiver and moan that slips from your lips. You can feel yourself cresting, a torrent of sensation washing over you as you tighten your grip, and he knows—you’re almost there, and he’s right there with you, groaning in satisfaction as he tastes every pulse of pleasure.

The release is all-consuming, a rush that lifts you, dizzies you, blurs the edges of the world. You’re floating, flying, a haze of pure sensation that fades only when you’re utterly spent.

You meet his gaze, dazed, and whisper, “Let me taste you too.” He smiles, standing to pull down his pants and underwear, and you sit up, eyes widening as he’s revealed, long and thick, every inch of him somehow as beautiful as the rest. You slide to your knees, your palms pressing into his hips as you look up at him, your lips parting. With one hand, you wrap around him, earning a sharp hiss as you bring your mouth to him. You start with the barest of kisses at his tip, savoring the salt and warmth of him, a hum of pleasure escaping your lips. His moan deepens, and you smile, swirling your tongue over him with languid strokes, focusing on every place that draws out his breaths and soft curses.

His eyes darken, his breathing growing ragged, and you feel the tension between you deepen, pulsing in rhythm with every touch. You want to make him feel everything he just gave you, and as you lose yourself in the rhythm, you know that the night is only beginning.

He’s breathless now, each exhale a shiver against your skin as you take him deeper, letting his pleasure guide your every move. His fingers rest in your hair, gentle but firm, grounding him as he struggles to hold back a moan. His voice is rough, ragged as he stutters, “Engh—princess…so good with that tongue.”

You glance up, catching his gaze, and hold it with a mischievous spark. In that moment, you give him a slow, deep pull that has his eyes fluttering shut, a strangled groan slipping free. Encouraged, your hand finds its way to his balls, caressing, and you revel in every new sound he makes—each one sending warmth surging through you, building your own need.

But just as he seems ready to let go, he stills your movements, framing your cheeks with both hands as he catches his breath. His thumb traces your skin, his eyes darkened with desire, and he breathes, “You’re incredible, princess, but…I need to be inside you.”

He hesitates, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “I don’t have a condom—do you?”

You pull back, a glistening thread connecting you for a moment before you smile, whispering, “It’s okay. I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.” A small laugh escapes you as you add, “Besides, this wasn’t exactly on my itinerary for tonight.”

Relief softens his features, and he runs a hand through his hair, tousling it further as he laughs with you. “Same here. And I’m clean too.” Then, without another word, he gently lifts the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until it catches briefly in your hair, pulling you both into a shared, breathless laugh as it’s tossed to the floor.

For a moment, he just gazes at you, taking in every curve, every rise and fall of your breath. His hands slide behind you, unhooking your bra, and as it slips away, his gaze drinks you in. “You’re…beautiful,” he murmurs, voice soft with reverence, as though seeing you like this has stripped him of words.

You arch into him, and he cups you, his hands warm and reverent, kneading your skin with a tenderness that has your heart thudding. His fingers trace slow, teasing lines down to the soft, sensitive peaks, barely grazing them, sending delicious shivers racing through you. A moan slips past your lips, urging him on, and you feel his lips close over one, hot and soft, his tongue swirling in ways that leave you trembling. He alternates, his other hand grazing, then gently pinching, teasing out sparks of pleasure that arch through your body.

“Jin—oh god, it’s…” you gasp, but words fail as his mouth closes over your other peak, his hand tenderly attending to the first, each touch adding fuel to the fire raging between you.

He lifts his head, lips parting with a quiet sound as he whispers, “Good?”

“More than good,” you breathe, feeling yourself melt under his touch.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, so close it’s dizzying—but just as you reach for it, he pulls away. A fleeting pout crosses your face, only to be replaced by awe as he sheds his shirt, and god, he looks like a masterpiece. The warm glow of his skin, rich and golden, calls to you; the strong line of his shoulders tapering down to his narrow waist, and below that, his cock—full, hard, and yours to claim. The thought alone makes your pulse race. Every bit of him leaves you breathless, and suddenly, there’s nothing you want more than to feel all of him.

He leans over, guiding you down, covering you in gentle, feverish kisses that send giggles tumbling out between your sighs. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, his dick grazing against your thigh, and your pussy throbs in answer, sending shivers radiating out from your core.

“I want you, Jin,” you whisper, offering yourself to him, fully and freely.

“Oh, I want you too, princess,” he murmurs back, the words a caress against your collarbone as he trails his lips up to your cheek. Slowly, he guides himself to your entrance, positioning himself carefully. His voice softens, “Ready?”

You bite your lip and nod, heart pounding, as he begins to ease into you. You feel every inch as he stretches you, filling you so deeply that it borders on overwhelming. You hadn’t prepared yourself, a detail you remember only now, and for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut. He pauses, his brow furrowing in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently, searching your face.

You chuckle, half-apologetic, “I forgot to prep. It’s…been a while, but keep going.” Despite his hesitation, you nod reassuringly, opening yourself to him fully. He holds your gaze for a heartbeat, and with a final glance for confirmation, he presses deeper, sliding into you with a controlled tenderness. The ache as he stretches you only heightens the pleasure, a sensation that grounds you in the here and now, and you find yourself craving even more, wanting him to lose himself with you.

“You’re so tight,” he rasps, still pressing in, his breathing labored.

A shaky laugh escapes you. “I did say it’s been a while. You’re so big—I think you’re almost splitting me in two.”

A chuckle slips from his lips as he strains to control himself, stilling inside you. “Oh? Now you’re joking?” he asks, amusement lighting his eyes.

“Maybe a little,” you whisper, breathless, “but it does feel incredible.”

Finally, he’s fully seated within you, filling you completely. He takes a moment, his breathing uneven as he absorbs the sensation, and then he begins to move, a slow, intoxicating rhythm that has you clutching at his shoulders. Each glide ignites sparks that streak down your spine, stars already dancing before your eyes. Your toes curl, and that familiar knot tightens low in your stomach, winding tighter with every thrust, unraveling your senses until you’re completely, blissfully lost in him.

His whispered, “Fuck,” is thick with pleasure, a low groan as beads of sweat glisten on his forehead, catching the dim light. He hovers over you, breath warm against your skin, hands planted firmly on either side of your head, grounding you in his intensity. He moves slowly at first, each thrust deliberate, unhurried, yet powerful, the rhythm coaxing cries of pleasure from deep within you as his body presses into yours.

“Seokjin,” you pant, voice trembling, each syllable tangled with need.

“Princess,” he echoes, a rough murmur that makes your body pulse in response, clenching around him. He falters, groaning at the sensation, and his eyes darken as he slides his hand beneath your thigh, lifting it to rest over his shoulder. The change is immediate; he fills you even deeper, his movements reaching an intensity that makes every nerve sing. The new angle has you gasping, clinging to him as he strikes that perfect spot, driving you toward the edge with relentless precision.

“Right there!” you cry, vision spotting, as he picks up the pace, his breaths sharp and stuttering. Your whole body is alight, toes curling, heart pounding, the pleasure mounting too quickly to contain. He grins as he watches your desperation, his hand dipping between you to find your swollen clit, fingers circling and pressing, amplifying every sensation. You’re drenched, his fingers slipping over you easily, driving you higher as your breath hitches, your body shuddering, head thrown back as the climax crashes over you. His name escapes your lips, a cry filled with release, as you feel yourself clench tight around him.

You open your eyes to his face, gorgeous and utterly captivated, his gaze locked onto you, stunned and transfixed. “You…damn, that was beautiful,” he rasps, still circling your sensitive flesh as your body trembles in the aftermath. His own body tightens, breaths quickening, and he leans closer, groaning your name as he thrusts deep, finding his own release. A final shudder ripples through him, and he lets out a sound of your name you’ll remember, deep and raw, filling you with warmth.

As he pulls back, breath heavy, he reaches to sweep a damp hand through his hair. “That…that was amazing,” he murmurs, grinning, his face flushed and bright.

You can’t help but smile back, a quiet chuckle escaping, “I agree.”

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he whispers, tenderly withdrawing as he reaches for a cloth, gentle as his hands linger. You lie there, chest heaving, slowly returning from the edge, the two of you savoring the haze of satisfaction between you. You’d just shared something unforgettable with Seokjin, the man you once called an enemy—but now, that feels like another lifetime away.

Morning’s first light glows softly against the frost-covered castle walls as you step outside with a steaming cup of tea, hoping the chill might clear your mind. The steam from your cup swirls like a small, fleeting cloud in the crisp winter air, mingling with your breath as you stroll along the snow-dusted path. Massive evergreens stand cloaked in fresh powder, their branches heavy with snow, while the castle behind you sparkles with delicate strands of Christmas lights that flicker with a nostalgic warmth. The decor, the quiet beauty—it all fills the air with a festive, dreamy charm.

You wrap your hands tighter around the cup, its warmth spreading into your palms as your thoughts drift back to last night. Seokjin had come to your room, and the memories of the intensity between you still linger, bringing a flush to your cheeks. You can’t help the way your stomach flutters when you remember his touch, the way he melted through every wall you’d built around yourself. There’s no denying it anymore—you like him. Maybe you always have. Maybe all that tension you held against him was just your heart speaking the only way it knew how, because acknowledging these feelings felt too risky. But now it feels even messier. What are you supposed to do with this, with him, here, in the midst of a competition where every moment counts?

Lost in thought, you don’t even hear footsteps approaching until a familiar voice murmurs behind you, “Having regrets?”

You turn, surprised, and meet Seokjin’s steady gaze. He’s watching you intently, something unreadable in his expression, but the glint in his eyes makes your heart skip. Regrets? Not a chance. “No… Never,” you say honestly, the answer flowing out of you without a second thought. The surprise in his face softens, and he steps closer, his brow furrowing as he studies you.

“Then what’s on your mind?” he asks, voice low as if he’s afraid to break the quiet between you.

You hesitate, blowing gently on your tea as you gather your words. “I… like you. I like you a lot. But I don’t know what that means here, now, while we’re both still in this competition. I just don’t want to mess things up.”

Seokjin nods, a small, understanding smile spreading across his lips. “Well, I like you too,” he says simply, and his sincerity warms you even more than the tea in your hands. “We don’t have to make it complicated. Why don’t we just take things as they come? Let’s be in this moment, here together, and not let it get in the way of anything.”

You consider his words and feel a sense of ease settle over you. His simplicity, his kindness—they’re exactly what you need. “That sounds perfect,” you whisper, heart lightening.

He grins, reaching forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, and the moment feels as close to magical as the glittering snow around you.

For a while, you simply stand there together, absorbing the quiet. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but determined. “I’d better go in and get ready for the semi-finals. Coming?”

You nod, catching one last look at the snowy landscape before following him, feeling strangely certain that whatever happens, this memory, this moment with him, is yours to keep.

Inside the grand, echoing hall, the atmosphere thrums with anticipation—third week and it’s the semi-finals, and only four contestants remain. It’s another sourdough challenge, and the thought knots your stomach; but this time, you feel armed with everything you’ve learned, determined to redeem yourself from the last round’s missteps. You’ve reviewed every ratio, every technique, certain you won’t make the same mistakes twice.

Across the room, Seokjin catches your eye, flashing a small wink your way that sends warmth rushing to your cheeks. You look down quickly, hoping the cameras miss your blush. You can already imagine the uproar if anyone notices the subtle shifts between you and Seokjin. His fans would be livid, and part of you shivers at the thought. But another part is thrilled—glowing, even—that his glance lingers on you alone.

Taehyung’s voice cuts through the quiet as he announces the start. You reach for your premade starter, blending it with flour, water, salt, and crushed walnuts. A familiar recipe—but this time, perfected. As the machine kneads, you steal a glance at Seokjin, working at his own station. He looks over and smirks, nodding to the dough in your hands. “If you keep kneading it like that,” he murmurs with a glint of amusement, “I might have to admit I’m a little jealous of it.”

Your cheeks flush deeper, and you stifle a laugh, hoping the cameraman didn’t catch the exchange. You’ll knead him later, if he’s lucky. The thought amuses you, and you bury your smile, adjusting your focus as you work the dough in your hands until it reaches that perfect, silken elasticity.

Moving through the contestants, Jungkook stops by Seokjin. “That’s a beautiful dough,” he says, nodding approvingly.

Seokjin grins, a mischievous spark in his eye. “Thanks. I know this is a baking competition, but you can stop flouring me with compliments every time.”

Jungkook’s laugh echoes through the hall, and the room feels warmer somehow, each exchange brimming with camaraderie and friendly rivalry. You cover your dough to let it rest, feeling a swell of satisfaction as the texture is just right. Wiping down your station, you shift your focus to the next challenge—cupcakes, of course, because the semi-finals wouldn’t be complete without multiple recipes in one day.

You dive into the batter, drawing on the festive mood with a blend of cinnamon and shredded carrot for a Christmas touch, and creamy frosting chilled in the fridge, each detail meticulously planned. Into the oven go the cupcake molds, filling the hall with a warm, spiced aroma, blending with the yeasty scent of sourdough proofing.

Across the bench, Seokjin is working with a similar quickness, his gaze drifting to you with a gentle intensity that you can’t help but return. As you work side by side, sharing the small glances that carry more meaning than words, you feel a strange harmony, both within yourself and with him. You’re in the competition—but in these moments, everything feels like a rhythm, an unspoken bond both fierce and gentle, pushing you toward something extraordinary.

In goes the frosting to chill, waiting patiently in its piping bag, and now it’s back to the sourdough. You uncover the dough, marveling at its perfect rise, feeling a surge of confidence and—well, maybe a touch of mischief. Glancing over at Seokjin, you call out, voice low and playful, “You know, the only thing that should be rising faster than this dough is the tension between us.”

He lets out a deep, warm laugh, a sound that wraps around you and settles deep in your stomach, stirring something close to admiration—maybe even more. “Touché, Y/N!” he grins, pulling the cloth from his own dough with a wink. “Though, this dough isn’t the only thing that’s rising around here…” His words hang in the air as your mouth falls open. You give him a quick look, half-worried he’s serious, but you don’t find him popping a boner and instead find him grinning, reveling in his joke. The mischievous glint in his eye is impossible to resist, and you can’t help but laugh, enjoying the banter you two have woven between the flour and dough.

Focused, you place your dough on a baking tray, score a precise line along the length with a sharp knife, dust it lightly with flour, and slide it into the oven alongside your baking cupcakes. You’re quick to pull them out once they’re golden and perfect, setting them on a rack to cool as time dwindles. The kitchen hums with activity, everyone moving at a near-frantic pace, yet somehow you feel steady with Seokjin beside you. You glance at the clock—just fifteen minutes remain. The bread has to finish, and the cupcakes still need their frosting. Seokjin catches your anxious glance and gives you a reassuring smile, dashing to the fridge for his frosting. His calm steadiness eases the pulse of worry in your chest, and you follow suit, gathering your frosting bag and applying smooth, swirled peaks to each cupcake, finishing them with a sprinkle of walnuts.

As you pull your sourdough from the oven, the loaf is everything you hoped for—golden, hearty, the cut expanding beautifully along its edge. With a sense of quiet pride, you plate everything just in time, arranging the warm, rustic loaf and delicately frosted cupcakes into a small but satisfying spread. Relief washes over you when the round ends without either you or Seokjin being eliminated—though the victory feels bittersweet as Kevin packs up his station.

Exhausted but exhilarated, you and Seokjin retreat to your room to unwind, sharing stories and laughter until words give way to the kind of silence only the two of you can understand. And as the evening stretches on, he leaves you breathless in new ways, your bond deepening with every heartbeat shared between laughter and tantalizing touch.

With each passing day since the competition began winding down, you and Seokjin have become tangled in each other’s warmth, his presence as comforting as the scent of baked bread. But today—today is the final. Just the two of you remain, locked in a dance of rivalry and something deeper, unspoken. It’s week four, and the pressure sits heavy in your chest. You’re here to win, driven as ever—but some part of you almost wants him to take the victory, too. How strange, this tug of ambition and affection, both pushing you forward and grounding you at once.

The vast hall feels somehow larger with only two stations now, each of you taking your place under the blinding lights. Cameras linger, catching every nervous inhale, every flicker of emotion, and you steel yourself as Christina addresses you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Today is the finale, and we can’t wait to see what you’ll make. We’re asking you to prepare three distinct Christmas desserts.”

Your heart skips a beat. This isn’t just any bake—it’s a final act, a moment to define the entire journey. Taehyung steps forward with his trademark grin, “You’ll be baking the same desserts, so we can judge them side by side. They are: a chocolate raspberry roulade, a traditional Christmas pudding trifle, and finally, profiteroles.”

Profiteroles. You feel a pang of dread—choux pastry, your nemesis. But there’s no time to overthink it. You exhale deeply, eyes darting to Seokjin, who meets your gaze with a soft, reassuring smile, and you offer one back, letting that silent exchange ground you. Whoever wins, it won’t be for lack of trying.

“Bake!” Taehyung shouts, clapping his hands, and the clock starts ticking. You dive in, gathering ingredients, organizing every move in your mind like a well-choreographed routine. Pudding layers, roulade filling—everything goes into the fridge and blast chiller to set, and you work swiftly, feeling beads of sweat prickling on your brow. Seokjin keeps pace beside you, and you can’t help but catch the gentle gleam of his focus. As you fumble with a pat of stubborn butter, Seokjin’s voice lilts beside you, “You think you’re so tough, but I bet you’d melt faster than butter in my kitchen.” His teasing catches you off guard, and you laugh, cheeks flushed, just as a cameraman swoops in to capture the moment.

Then, a murmur fills the hall—a door opens, and suddenly a chorus of voices drifts through. You pause, glancing up, and your heart stumbles as you see them: your mother, sister, nieces, and nephews, all holding balloons, flags and waving, their faces beaming. Behind them, an older couple you recognize from photos as Seokjin’s parents stand with pride lighting up their faces. More familiar faces follow—the eliminated contestants, cheering, their hands clapping, adding an electric energy to the air.

The crowd reminds you of what brought you here and what’s at stake, and it fills you with a quiet determination. It’s down to the two of you, and you intend to give it everything, heart and soul, even if it’s the final push in more ways than one.

“Welcome, everyone!” Jungkook calls out, his voice brimming with excitement. “We’ve prepared seating just over here, so you can sit, relax, and enjoy watching the grand finale.”

Your heart pounds as the realization settles in—you’d forgotten about this moment, the pressure of having every pair of eyes on you in the throes of your work. You’ve never reached the finale before, and the weight of the audience—family, friends, past contestants—is suddenly heavy, a slight quiver of doubt creeping into your hands. But before you can spiral, Seokjin darts over to your bench, leaning close enough for his warmth to steady you. “Take it easy,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your nerves. “You’re doing great. But who would’ve thought baking with you could feel this... intense? Not that I’m complaining—I’ve always liked a challenge.” He throws you a wink before returning to his station, leaving you with a small, fluttering smile. Seokjin’s usual banter never fails to ground you, even if he’s technically still the competition, both of you eyeing that coveted trophy and the hundred-thousand-dollar prize. A part of you can’t help but think, though, that he’s won enough already—why should he get this one too?

Returning to your tasks, you finish mixing the batter and pour it onto a tray, sliding it into the oven just as the judges approach, their expressions curious and bright. “How’s it going, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, his familiar warmth and calm demeanor making you smile despite your nerves. “Pretty good,” you answer, focusing on the profiteroles. “I just need to pipe the choux and bake it, and then it’s on to assembly. Just hoping to finally beat Seokjin for once,” you add with a sheepish laugh. It’s no secret—he’s always been the one to catch, and your admiration, even begrudging, is genuine.

“Think I’m playing hard to get, do you?” Seokjin’s voice calls out from his station, his tone teasing, playful, earning a burst of laughter from the audience. “Princess, I’m just giving you a taste of what’s coming.” At the word ‘princess,’ your breath hitches, a warm flush creeping over your cheeks. You chance a look toward him, and his eyes meet yours, a mischievous glint dancing in them. Thankfully, no one else seems to catch the slip, and you focus back on your profiteroles, steadying your hands and your thoughts.

As you start piping the choux, you toss a look back his way. “Well, Seokjin, I’ll have you know I’ve got a secret ingredient in my roulade this time—I’m feeling pretty good about taking first place.”

He chuckles, your exchange laced with that familiar, easy banter you’ve shared a thousand times, though now it simmers with something deeper, something unspoken. “Oh, a secret ingredient, huh? Cute,” he replies, amusement thick in his voice. “But I already know your weakness, princess…,” he pauses for effect, the words rich with mischief as he slides his profiteroles into the oven. “Me.”

The words strike a chord you weren’t prepared for, and your hands still, feeling exposed as his eyes flicker with a knowing gleam. He’s right—damn it, he’s right. He is your weakness, more than you’re ready to admit.

“For someone who talks a big game, you sure seem distracted by me,” he laughs, returning to his work. The sound pulls you back to reality, and you move to your next step, hoping the blush has faded enough to go unnoticed. Glancing toward the crowd, you catch sight of your mom’s watchful eyes, and you can only pray that neither she nor the cameras caught the moment.

You slide the roulade from the oven, transferring it to cool on a fresh tray, each step a carefully orchestrated dance of urgency and precision. Raspberries glisten in their bowl, their color vivid against the creamy filling you grab from the fridge, and you can’t help but smile—chocolate and raspberry, a classic match. I hope it’s perfect, you think as you roll the delicate sponge, sealing it with care before tucking it away in the fridge.

The hours slip by in fragments, your family’s cheers a soft echo at the edges of your concentration. Nearly everything is done: the roulade chilled, the profiteroles cooling on the tray, the trifle assembly is next with a bit of hope and a dash of doubt. You’re so close. You portion the trifle into gleaming glasses, slipping them into the fridge, then temper the final swirl of chocolate for your profiteroles, adding a whisper of orange zest for flair. Each element comes together like pieces in a puzzle, one you hope will capture the hearts of the judges.

Finally, you and Seokjin finish almost in sync, both of your creations plated to perfection. The judges, standing at their table with anticipation, gesture for you to present your roulade first, then Seokjin’s. Side by side, your roulades look like echoes of each other—his, perhaps a bit more precise, but the judges praise the flavors of yours, and you breathe a little easier. When it comes time to present the trifles, nerves flutter in your chest. Pudding has always been your challenge, and it shows. Taehyung’s gentle apology about its grainy texture confirms what you feared, and you nod, feeling the sting despite the kindness in his voice. It’s not over yet, though. The final moment comes down to the profiteroles. Watching the judges savor each bite, their expressions inscrutable, feels like holding your breath underwater. Did you get the texture just right? Are the flavors enough? You can’t tell if they favor yours or Seokjin’s, but the judges step back to confer, and the wait stretches on. Seokjin catches your eye, and the slight squeeze of his hand around yours is like a wordless reminder: Whatever happens, you made it this far. The audience hushes as the judges return, smiles lighting their faces.

“Seokjin is the winner,” they announce, and the room erupts in cheers, the joy swelling around you even as your heart sinks. You give a soft smile, watching as his family rushes to his side, while yours gathers around you, their hugs and warmth softening the ache of coming so close.

Taehyung clears his throat, addressing the crowd. “Honestly, Y/N, it was such small details that set you apart—mostly the pudding texture and the choux consistency.” You nod, grateful for the explanation even as disappointment lingers, a reminder of how hard you tried to make this win your own.

As your mom wraps you in a warm embrace, she whispers, “It’s alright—second place is still something to be proud of,” her voice gentle but consoling. You can’t help the small eye roll, even as you know her heart’s in the right place.

Suddenly, there’s a familiar arm around your waist, steady and reassuring. Seokjin pulls you close, leaning his head onto your shoulder before pressing a tender kiss to your neck. “How are you feeling, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and meant just for you.

But the entire room seems to freeze. Conversations fade, and a hush spreads as everyone looks on, your mom’s jaw slack in surprise, cameras hovering so close they might capture the racing pulse at your throat.

You let out a breath, half-laughing as you shrug. “Honestly… a bit deflated,” you admit, feeling his warmth steadying you, “but I’ll survive.” You lean into his embrace, letting it soften the lingering ache of the moment.

Then he turns you toward him, his gaze intent, before he kisses you—fully, deeply, with a confidence that leaves you breathless. A soft sigh escapes, and you can hear whispers ripple through the room, a wave of disbelief from everyone watching. They had no idea that this quiet affection had been growing in secret all this time.

Seokjin pulls back, his eyes shining as he holds your gaze. “It’s okay. You can beat me next year,” he teases, a hint of laughter in his voice.

You pout, rolling your eyes with playful sass. “Oh, I plan on beating your ass next year,” you reply, certain and unflinching.

He chuckles, leaning down to kiss you again. “I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmurs, his words a soft thrill against your lips. Then he pulls back, a sudden tenderness in his expression. “But… there’s something I want to ask you first.”

Curious, you tilt your head, waiting. “How would you feel about going on a date with me and spending Christmas together? Maybe somewhere special—a resort in the mountains, all-inclusive?” His words tumble out, eager, a little nervous.

“Trying to buy my love, are you?” you tease, grinning as you hear your sister muttering behind you, “Go! It’s all-inclusive!”

Seokjin stammers, his eyes widening in flustered surprise. “What? No, princess, I just—”

You press your hands against his chest, silencing him with a soft smile. “I’m joking. Yes, I’d love to. To date you, officially. And spend Christmas with you. I like you. Might even love you a little,” you add, pinching your fingers close to show just a little, even though you know it’s more than that.

The smile that lights up his face is nothing short of radiant. His arms tighten around your waist, and he lifts you, spinning you in an impromptu waltz that has you laughing breathlessly as he plants a quick kiss on your forehead. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever,” he says, his voice low and thrilled against your ear, his warmth filling you from head to toe. You hum in agreement, already lost in the certainty of it.

Seokjin may have claimed the trophy, but with him by your side, you know you’ve won something even better. And as the room erupts in applause, you realize this Christmas will be the start of something unforgettable.

→ Taglist: @back2bluesidex @yoontaethings @ktownshizzle @closer-to-jungkook @tea4sykes @myspi2010 @luaxjin @dazzlingjade @lachimolalajeon @agustverse @mrs-ksj @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @ajoonniice

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice

→ Author’s endnote: what did you think??? Please let me know. This one was so fun to write and I laughed multiple times. I hope you had fun reading too 🥰

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fireya-x · 2 months ago

Text

caught in the undertow

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x Reader ✦ John made the right call that day. It could have cost you your life, but it saved a dozen others - innocent men, women and children. He made the right decision. …did he? ✦ 7k words ✦ tags/cw: injury, angst, feels, medical and military inaccuracies, guilt, trauma/ptsd, piv sex, …did i mention angst?

“Captain Price,” Kate Laswell stated in her usual cool, precise and professional manner. She was called forward to speak last, and the room seemed to hold its breath as she spoke. “Undoubtedly saved multiple lives. I was in communication with him the entire time, and the situation was dire. The moment the Sergeant moved to shield the mother and her child, the hostile shifted, presenting immediate danger and forced Captain Price to take the shot. His team's confirmations came almost immediately. Threat neutralized, Sergeant down, requesting immediate medevac. The sequence of events is clear. The timings, irrefutable. It was the only choice to prevent a larger loss of life.”

She paused, allowing her words to settle, her gaze sweeping across the jury, then to John. And finally, her eyes met yours, a flicker of empathy, a shared understanding of the burden of impossible choices, passing between you.

When you took your seat in the witness stand what felt like hours before, the air in the courtroom was thick, feeling more suffocating than the humid summer air outside. You felt the seams of your dress digging into your skin like a thousand tiny needles, the fabric clinging to your body like a second skin. The injury hidden beneath that fabric pulsed with a dull ache, a rhythm that echoed the beat of your heart, a constant reminder of why you were there in the first place.

Across from you, John shifted in his seat. Captain John Price. Your Captain. Your leader. The love of your life. Accused and tried for the choice he made that day. He held his composure with the effortless grace of a man who’d stared down far worse fates than a panel of judges, his gaze fixed on some point beyond the courtroom walls, as if searching for an escape. But you, who knew him better than anyone, saw the subtle signs of the storm raging beneath – the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the table.

It had been weeks since the operation, since the bullet meant for a terrorist found its path through your shoulder, but the memory was still vivid, a cruel film reel playing on a loop in his mind.

The mission had been textbook, up until the point it wasn’t. The intel, as so often happened in this line of work, had unraveled, leaving you and Gaz staring down the barrel of a hostage situation gone sideways. A dozen innocent lives held captive by a man desperate for freedom, his finger itching on the trigger of his AK. A man whose eyes held the cold glint of a cornered animal, ready to unleash a violence that could silence a room within seconds.

You aimed at him, your finger tightening on the trigger of your own weapon, but you couldn't fire.

A mother and her child were singled out from the rest of the group of hostages. He used them as leverage, as a shield, their bodies a barrier that prevented both you and Gaz from taking the shot. And then, without thinking, without hesitation, you moved. Instinct and years of training taking over, your body reacting before your mind could even process the risk, you stepped forward, ushering the mother and child behind you, shielding them with your own flesh and bone.

You’d made a choice.

And just as you made that conscious choice that second, so had John. It all happened in a blink of an eye. The radio comms were a mess, you heard your name, a strangled cry from John booming in your ear as he yelled for you to stand down, a mixture of desperate shouts that nobody had a clear shot – and then the unmistakable twitch of the finger on the enemy's AK –

The prosecutor, a man whose weapon was his voice, spoke up, his words cutting through the tense silence, slicing through your thoughts. “Captain Jonathan Price,” he began, walking slowly towards where John was sitting, “Let’s revisit the moments that led up to the point where you decided to fire upon the hostile. Was there any point during the hostage negotiation that didn’t involve engaging an armed man directly?”

John’s gaze shifted to the man standing before him, the predator circling its prey, seeking a weakness, an admission of guilt, that would seal his fate. “The situation was volatile,” he stated, his voice low, controlled. “The suspect had already demonstrated he was willing to use lethal force.”

“Yes, indeed,” the prosecutor agreed, his tone laced with a false sympathy that made your stomach churn. “One civilian had been shot, tragically. But tell me, Captain, were the remaining hostages in imminent danger at the precise moment you fired your – ” He paused, his gaze dropping to his notes, then snapping back to John. “...sniper rifle, an MCPR-300, I believe? With a compromised line of sight? Don’t you think that was reckless? Negligent, even?”

John didn’t answer at first, his eyes focused back onto a distant horizon beyond the room. He was taken back to that warehouse, the scene he had witnessed through his scope, the twitch of the finger of the man who was about to decide about the fate of innocent people, who was about to punish you for stepping in front of his only leverage, who —

“Captain,” the prosecutor repeated, “perhaps you haven’t been paying attention. I asked you a question.”

John took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to surface. “I heard the question," he said finally, his voice low and dangerous, almost sounding like a threat. “There wasn’t a second to spare. I had to take the shot. The second those hostages were moved, the hostile was enraged. He was about to shoot them all, and the Sergeant stepped into my line of fire. I knew that the shot wasn’t impossible. It was flesh and bone, no vital organ. I had to… I had to risk it.”

“So you risked the life of one of your own?” The prosecutor's voice dripped with disdain, a subtle emphasis on the word risked that twisted like a knife in John's gut.

“It was that,” John stated, his tone flat, devoid of emotion, a soldier reciting a mission report, the only way he knew how to survive this interrogation. “Or a far worse outcome. I made the choice that saved the most lives. It was the only choice.”

He refused to look at you, couldn't bear the sight of your bandaged shoulder, the visible reminder of his decision, his guilt. His gaze remained fixed on the far wall, as if he could will away the memories that haunted him.

The prosecutor, frustrated by John's stoicism, turned his attention to you.

“Sergeant,” he said, his voice taking on a deceptive gentleness designed to lull you into a false sense of security, to draw out the accusation he so desperately sought. “Perhaps you can help us understand what happened that day. Can you walk us through the events leading up to… the incident? In your own words.”

“Of course.” You stood, your back straight, your gaze meeting the prosecutor’s, your injured arm held slightly stiffly at your side – a consistent, throbbing reminder of the choice, the bullet, your pain.

You described how you and Gaz had entered the warehouse in hopes to clear the situation, how Price was in communication with Laswell about this unexpected turn of events, watching every movement through his scope; how Soap and Ghost were circling the perimeter outside to find any possible way to secure the situation from a different angle. You described the hostages huddled to the side of the room, their faces full of terror. You told them about the mother and her child, no more than five years old, singled out, terrorized by a man with nothing left to lose.

“Tell us,” the prosecutor interrupted, sharp and accusing, “why didn’t you fire on the man? You were closer. Why did you rely on someone outside to have a clear shot? Were you not confident in your own abilities, Sergeant?"

“Because, like I said, there was a mother and her child right in front of him,” you repeated, “and I knew he was going to shoot at them if one of us just lifted a finger.”

“But surely, a trained soldier -” The prosecutor began, his voice dripping with disdain, but you cut him off.

“There wasn't time, sir,” you shot back, “I didn't have time to think, to calculate, to consider my options. I acted on instinct. I reacted. And I did what I had to do to protect those innocent lives. Captain Price knew that, and he acted accordingly.”

“And by doing so,” the prosecutor pressed, “you put yourself directly in the path of Captain Price’s bullet. A bullet fired from a high-powered sniper rifle. A weapon designed to kill.”

You met his gaze, your jaw tightening. “Yes, sir,” you stated. “But if I hadn’t moved, that mother and child would be dead.”

You described the way you’d ushered the hostages behind you, ignoring John's desperate pleas for you to get down, knowing you had only seconds, maybe less, to act. “His finger was already on the trigger,” you continued. “He was unhinged. He wouldn't have hesitated. I did what I had to do.”

You looked at John, your heart twisting as you saw the agony in his eyes, the guilt he carried, the self-loathing that radiated off him in waves.

“And then?” the prosecutor pressed, his voice sharp, intent on dissecting this moment, this choice, until he’d found the weakness, the fault, that would bring John Price down.

“And then, everything happened very quickly. I saw the gunman fall, his weapon clattering to the floor.” You swallowed hard, forcing the memory down, the sight of the blood, his blood and yours, mingling on the concrete floor. “Then the pain hit. I fell… and then… everything went black.”

John’s shot, impossibly precise, impossibly fast, had found its mark, silencing a threat before it could unleash hell.

“Captain Price’s shot,” you continued, “saved lives that day. He stopped a terrorist before he could execute any of those innocent men, women, and children. Before he could shoot Sergeant Garrick or me. It was the only shot, and it was the right choice.”

One by one, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were questioned, their testimonies echoing your account – a chaotic situation, a volatile enemy, a split-second judgment call that had saved lives.

Laswell’s testimony was calm, factual, and her words were carefully chosen. She offered no justification, no defense, only the cold, hard facts that painted a clear picture – there had been no other option, no other choice.

But his team’s words, their support, did nothing to soothe the guilt that burned in John’s gut.

He’d fired the shot. He’d made the choice. And you, the woman he loved, the soldier who’d placed her life in his hands, carried the scar, the physical reminder, of that impossible decision.

Not guilty on all charges.

John shook his lawyer’s hand, accepting congratulations with a curt nod, his gaze distant, his thoughts a million miles away. And as you watched him walk out of the courtroom, his shoulders hunched, his steps heavy, you knew, that the real battle had just begun.

The weeks that followed were punctuated by doctor’s visits, physical therapy, and the slow, agonizing process of reclaiming the strength and mobility you’d temporarily lost. Soap, Gaz, and even Ghost, took turns checking in, bringing you takeout, offering their clumsy attempts at comfort and companionship. It felt like you saw more of them during those weeks of recovery than you did John.

But he was meticulous about your care, driven by a desperate need to somehow atone, to mend the damage he’d caused. He drove you to every doctor’s appointment, sat silently beside you in the waiting rooms. He made sure you had the best doctors, the best physical therapy. You’d find fresh ice packs in the freezer, pain medication neatly arranged on the kitchen counter, a schedule for your meds taped to the fridge with military precision.

He brought home flowers, he found that rare book you’d mentioned, the one you thought was lost forever, and placed it on your bedside table. A desperate attempt to bring back a sliver of the normalcy you’d lost.

He'd do it all to soothe his mind, to right the wrongs just a little bit. But it didn't help.

Just like that verdict hadn’t brought him any solace. He was a prisoner of his own self, the bars constructed from the barbed wire of guilt and self-accusation. He’d fired the bullet. With the knowledge that it would tear through your flesh, hurt you, make you bleed –

Not guilty.

The words churned in his mind like a dark undercurrent, dragging him down, down, down into the depths of his self-inflicted torment. They echoed through the empty spaces of his days, a mocking chorus that followed him everywhere, laughing at him from the shadows.

Not guilty.

As the image of you being rushed into surgery repeated in his mind. His heart beating a million times a minute, replaying how your eyes rolled back into your head from the pain as soon as the adrenaline faded, how he had begged Laswell to send medical faster, how he watched his team tend to you because he was frozen in place, letting realization hit him of what he had just done with the force of a tidal wave.

Not guilty.

As he remembered pacing the waiting room like a caged animal, every thought about you a self-inflicting wound to his soul, every passing second an eternity. He saw your face everywhere, in the worried expressions of his team, on Laswell, as she relayed the surgeon’s updates on your condition. “It was a clean shot, John. Just like you knew it was. She will be okay.” But even those words – words of reassurance, of hope – couldn’t calm the storm raging within him, couldn’t drown out the relentless echo of that damning verdict.

Not guilty.

One centimeter. The surgeon talked to John personally, and it felt like a cruel joke when he praised the precision of the shot – painting him as the incredible soldier who’d done the unthinkable, the hero who saved the day – one fucking centimeter. A haunting reminder of your fragility, just how close he’d missed the subclavian artery, walking a thin line between duty and devastation, between love and loss.

Not guilty.

As he threw himself into his work, disappearing to the base for days, trying to outrun his own mind by getting lost in familiar routines – trainings, missions, briefings – a desperate attempt to swim against the current of guilt, but it was relentless, pulling him back into the depths of despair over and over again.

He’d stand in the training room, the heavy bag swaying before him, a silent opponent that couldn't judge him, couldn't accuse him. He’d pummel it, again and again, the satisfying thud of leather against his knuckles a fleeting release.

Not guilty.

As he felt the sting of his knuckles split open, the blood a welcome distraction, a pain that grounded him in the present, momentarily pushing back the memories. He didn't stop, didn't flinch. He just kept hitting the bag, the rhythm of his blows a mantra, a futile attempt to atone for a sin he couldn’t wash away.

Not guilty.

As even his sleep was haunted by the echoes of that day. It was always the same - the screams of the hostages, the metallic clang of the terrorist's weapon hitting the concrete floor, your muffled gasps as the bullet ripped through you. He’d wake in a cold sweat, his sheets tangled, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He had to relive the moment over and over - his love for you against the lives of those hostages - the terror that seized him as his finger squeezed the trigger, the sickening thud of the bullet finding its mark, the knowledge that it was his skill, his precision, that had brought you so close to death.

Not guilty.

Could he have waited another second for a clear shot?

No. He remembered it all too vividly; the frantic whispers in his earpiece -

No clear shot, Captain.

Civilians blocking the path.

He’s moving. He’s gonna shoot.

The terrorist’s finger tightening on the trigger, the manic gleam in his eye. He was a cornered animal, desperate, ready to take everyone down with him.

The way you had moved, instinctively, selflessly, pushing the woman and child behind you, placing yourself in the path of the bullet he was about to unleash.

He’d made the only call he could, he knew that. But logic didn’t seem to matter against the gnawing guilt that had become his constant companion. The weight of it, the burden of that impossible choice, had him retreating further into himself, desperately seeking refuge from the truth he couldn't escape – he’d chosen to save those lives, and in doing so, had almost sacrificed yours.

Not guilty.

As he’d scrub his hands raw, the water running red in his mind, as if trying to wash away the phantom stain of your blood. He couldn’t bear to look at himself in the mirror, his reflection - the hard lines of his face, the haunted eyes - a constant accusation.

Not guilty.

As he’d walk through the door, late and weary, the aroma of his favorite meal would hit him, the familiar scent a painful reminder of the normalcy he craved, the domesticity he felt he no longer deserved. He’d find a bottle of his favorite whiskey already poured, two glasses waiting on the table, and you, in that soft, worn sweater he loved, would greet him with a smile that made his heart ache with a love he felt was both undeserved and unbearable.

Not guilty.

As he watched the aftermath of his choice everywhere. The way you winced when you tried to do mundane everyday tasks, reaching for the coffee on the cupboard, brushing your hair, finding a comfortable position to sleep. A reminder, constant and always present, of his choice, his bullet.

And yet, when you caught him looking at you, you’d still offer him the brightest and reassuring smile. You smiled at him. You seemed to be so full of life, so full of love – something he felt he could no longer accept after what he had done.

Not guilty.

It kept mocking him, over and over and over again – and the amber liquid in his glass did nothing to drown the demons that were laughing at him, their voices echoing the verdict, the words that condemned him more surely than any court of law ever could.

“Can’t sleep?” You’d ask, your voice soft and sleepy, as you approached him standing by the moonlit window, your hand reaching out to rest on his arm.

He’d flinch away from your touch, the reaction so instinctive, so painful, that it felt like a knife stabbed right through your heart.

“No.” His answer was short, clipped, and was followed by a silence that felt deafening, pushing the chasm that had been broken open between you even further.

“Talk to me, John.” Your voice trembled, a mixture of frustration and sadness, a desperate plea for the man you loved to emerge from the shadows of his own making. You’d let him have his space, but you felt like you were losing him. You respected he would need time, but it was increasingly frightening to see him retreat further and further into this self-imposed exile.

“There’s nothing to say.” He set the glass down, the crystal clinking against the wood, a sharp sound in the stillness of the room. He turned to walk away, as if your presence was a physical burden.

You knew what he did wasn’t a rejection, but a shield, a desperate attempt to protect you from the shattered pieces of himself. He thought he was sparing you, keeping you from the darkness that threatened to drown him.

You longed for his touch, for the familiar comfort of his embrace, for the warmth of his laughter, the way he’d make you forget the world with a single glance. You longed for the man who laughed with his men, who stole kisses in the dead of night, whose touch had once been your sanctuary.

One evening, you stood in the bathroom to take a shower, as you desperately tried to reach for the clasp of your strapless bra. You hated that thing already, but you didn't have a choice, as straps would hurt your shoulder.

You couldn’t reach around, your shoulder throbbing with each awkward movement. The frustration of this simple task, the feeling of helplessness, amplified the deeper ache in your heart, the loneliness that had become your constant companion. You had enough.

“John!” It was both a cry for help as it was a plea for reconnection.

He was by your side in an instant, crossing your shared space to the bathroom in three quick strides, alert by the sound of your voice. “What is it? What’s wrong?” The urgency in his voice, the raw concern he couldn’t mask, a contrast to the coldness that had settled between you in the weeks since the trial, and it had tears flowing freely down your cheeks now.

The sight of you, usually so strong, so capable, brought low by something as simple as a stubborn clasp, tore through his gut like a burning blade.

He'd put that look on your face.

He did.

“This damned thing…” you gestured to the bra clasp, your throat constricting as the emotions that had been suppressed for so long threatened to finally spill over.

He didn’t hesitate. “Let me.” He said, moving behind you, his touch gentle as he brushed your hair aside and his fingers undid the clasp. Something he had done a million times before, but not with a touch that felt like you were made out of porcelain, about to shatter under the weight of his guilt.

“The doctor said I can change the bandages myself now,” you said, your voice soft, hesitant, “Can you… can you help me?”

He turned away, retrieving the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet, his movements stiff, controlled, a familiar mask slipping back into place. But as you watched him lay out the gauze, the antiseptic, the scissors, you saw the slight tremor in his hands, the way his jaw clenched.

You knew, he was afraid of you. Or rather, he was afraid of himself, afraid of the damage he’d inflicted, the hurt he’d caused. He was afraid of hurting you again.

“Turn around, love,” he murmured, his voice husky, a rough caress against your ear. “May I?”

“You know you may.”

You turned, and you could feel the heat of his gaze, which burned into your back as if he could see right through you. You could feel the tension in him, the way he held his breath, as his fingers brushed against your skin, gently peeling away the old bandage.

Then you heard him inhale sharply, a sound that spoke volumes. He'd seen the bruise.

“It’s…” His voice hitched, the word catching in his throat, the sight of that bruise, a grotesque masterpiece of purple and yellow blooming across your shoulder blade, a brutal reminder of the force of his impact, his choice, his guilt.

You didn't need to see his face to know the expression that twisted his features. You felt it, the self-loathing, the way it had poisoned him and had turned his love into a weapon turned against himself.

You tried to meet his gaze. “It's just a bruise, John,” you said, your voice softer now, a plea for him to see you, the woman who loved him, not the casualty he'd created in his own mind.

He worked silently to fixate the new bandage, the silence stretching between you, thick with unspoken emotions. Then he turned to leave, his hand reaching for the doorknob, but you stopped him, your hand reaching out, your fingers closing around his wrist.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your touch a desperate attempt to anchor him to the present, to remind him that he hadn't destroyed you, that you were still here, still his.

He looked at you, his eyes clouded with a mix of emotions you couldn’t decipher - guilt, fear, longing, and a deep, abiding love that he'd tried so hard to bury. He wanted to pull away, to tell you that you deserved better, that he was no good for you, a danger, a threat.

“I should…” he began, his voice rough with the effort of holding himself together. “I have reports…”

But you weren't letting him escape. Not this time. You stepped closer, pressing your naked body against his, ignoring the ache in your shoulder, the protest of your wounded flesh, because the ache in your heart, the yearning for his touch, was a far more powerful force.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your breath warm on his skin, igniting a fire that threatened to burn away the carefully constructed walls he'd built around himself. “Don't push me away, John. Please.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, your scent filling his senses, something he’d craved, longed for, but felt he no longer had the right to claim.

“I don’t –” he started to protest, the denial on his lips, but you silenced him with a kiss, standing on your tiptoes to press your lips against his. He hesitated, a battle raging within him, then, with a groan that sounded more like surrender than anything else, he gave in. His hands, as if with a will of their own, found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, molding your curves against the hard lines of his body, seeking solace in the familiar feel of you, the warmth, the softness.

You moaned against his lips, a sound of pure need that seemed to break the last vestiges of his control. The weight of his guilt, the burden he’d carried for weeks, seemed to dissipate under the heat of your kiss, replaced by a more primal need; a raw, desperate hunger.

You pulled back just enough to catch your breath, to look into his eyes, the stormy blue depths you’d thought you’d lost forever, now blazing with a rekindled fire that sent a jolt of pure desire straight through you.

He kissed you again with a ferocity that had your knees going weak, his tongue a weapon claiming every inch of your mouth, his hands a possessive force on your hips, as if he could physically merge your bodies, your souls, erasing the distance, the doubt, that had haunted you for far too long.

He lifted you then, without breaking the kiss, carrying you towards the bedroom, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He laid you down on the bed, his weight settling over you, his gaze never leaving yours as he reached behind you, tucking a pillow beneath your injured shoulder.

He loomed over you, his body a welcome weight against your own. “This okay?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, your body arching towards his, needing more, needing everything he’d held back for far too long. “God, yes, John… Just… touch me.”

His touch was no longer hesitant, no longer laced with guilt or apprehension. This was the John you knew. His hands, large and calloused, yet infinitely gentle, roamed your body with a familiarity like it was a map he had studied for years.

“Like this?” he rasped, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin beneath your ear, a spot he knew made you shiver with anticipation.

“Yes!” You moaned, arching into his touch, needing more, needing all of him.

“Tell me when it’s too much, yeah?”

You wanted to tell him that nothing he could ever do would be too much, that the thought of him hesitating, of holding back any part of himself from you, was more unbearable than any pain he could inflict. But the words wouldn’t come, caught in the swell of need that tightened your throat, that turned your insides to molten gold under his hungry gaze.

He’d shed his clothes in a heartbeat, and then he was pushing your thighs apart. His knee settled between your legs, and the heat of him, the solid evidence of his desire, his erection standing full and proud, made you ache with a need you hadn't thought possible.

This was him, offering up his vulnerability alongside his desire, reminding himself, reminding you, that he was still the man you’d fallen in love with somewhere between the training ground and the front lines.

“John,” you breathed, his name escaping your lips as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock, slick and hot against your aching core, a sensation both familiar and intensely, unbearably, arousing.

He entered you with a force that stole your breath, the feeling both familiar and overwhelming after weeks of forced abstinence.

He was fucking you. Hard, fast, with a ferocity he hadn't unleashed in weeks. Every thrust a desperate attempt to exorcise the demons that haunted him, to rewrite the narrative of his actions, to find solace, oblivion, in the heat of your body and the taste of your skin.

For a stolen moment, it almost worked. He lost himself in the feel of you, tight and hot around him; the scent of you, the taste of you on his lips, a drug that dulled the edges of his pain, offering a fleeting escape from the torment.

But the past had a way of catching up, even in this vulnerable, shared haven of yours.

You arched into him, your head thrown back against the pillows, a moan escaping your lips as he pushed deeper. Your face distorted, your features twisted in the throes of passion, and something within him snapped.

His vision blurred, the lines of your face dissolving –

Your eyes, rolled back, your brows furrowed –

From pleasure. Not pain.

Your breath hitched as he moved – as the bullet hit your shoulder.

Pleasure. Not pain.

He repeated those words over and over like a frantic litany in his mind, trying to erase the image that superimposed itself onto you —

He saw it again, your face, contorted in agony, not ecstasy, as he ran towards you in the warehouse, your body a broken doll sprawled on the blood-soaked concrete, a testament to his choice, his aim, his failure.

Pain.

The warehouse lights glared in his memory, harsh and unforgiving, reflecting off the pool of blood that seemed to expand, to swallow him whole. The metallic tang of it filled his nostrils, choking him. He felt the phantom weight of the rifle against his shoulder, heard the echo of the gunshot, the sickening thud as his bullet found its mark.

His stomach churned, the pleasure, so intense moments before, turning bitter in his mouth, a sour, acidic taste that had bile rising in his throat.

He couldn’t breathe. The room seemed to spin, your body suddenly a stranger, a fragile thing he needed to put at a distance before he destroyed you all over again.

“No…” The denial escaped his lips, a strangled whisper. His body shuddered, a wave of nausea rolling over him, forcing him to pull back, breaking the contact, leaving him stranded on a shore of his own making again, the waves of his guilt crashing over him again, threatening to drag him under again.

“John?” You sat up, the sheet pooling around your waist, concern furrowing your brow as you watched him recoil from you, his face distorted with an anguish you couldn’t decipher. You reached for him, your hand hovering hesitantly above his arm, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, this retreat back into the darkness he'd been fighting for weeks.

He shook his head, unable to speak, unable to face you. The shame, the self-loathing, was a physical weight that had him collapsing back onto the bed, his back to you, his body curled in on itself, seeking a refuge he knew didn't exist. It was as if he were trying to fold himself into the smallest possible space, disappear into the shadows, become as invisible as the ghosts that haunted him.

“John, what's wrong?” You whispered, your hand still hovering above him, wanting to touch him, to offer comfort, but afraid of intruding, of shattering the fragile shell he seemed to have retreated into.

He shook his head again, the gesture frantic, a silent denial of your offer. He couldn't look at you, couldn't bear the judgment, the accusation, he knew he deserved. The guilt, the remorse, the images that replayed in his mind – they were a relentless tide, an undertow dragging him down into a darkness he wasn’t sure he could escape.

“God, I don’t…” His voice cracked, the weight of his guilt crushing him, squeezing the air from his lungs, stealing his breath. “I don't deserve you… I don’t deserve… any of this.”

He finally turned to you then, and you flinched involuntarily. The pain in your shoulder was nothing compared to the agony etched on his face, the raw, unfiltered torment in his eyes, a reflection of the hell he was living in.

“I look at you…” He choked out, the confession a jagged piece of shrapnel piercing his heart. “And all I see is... the blood. Your blood. Everywhere…” He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as a sob ripped through him, the sound raw and guttural, a stark contrast to the strong soldier you'd always known, the man who had built his life on control, on burying his emotions beneath layers of duty and discipline.

This wasn't the John you knew, the man who faced every challenge head-on, who commanded a room with his presence. This was a man undone, a warrior stripped of his armor, reduced to tears by the torment of his guilt, the terror of his own actions and his love for you. Vulnerable and exposed.

And as he sat there, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the dam finally broke completely. He was a ship caught in a hurricane, the waves of his guilt crashing over him, the mast of his resolve snapping, the sails of his self-control ripped to shreds. His sobs, raw and guttural, filled the room, a lament that echoed the turmoil in his soul, a sound that had your heart shattering into a million pieces.

“It’s… it’s everywhere. On my hands... On the walls… In my dreams… God, I can't… I can't escape it.”

You reached out, your hand settling gently on his arm, but you didn't speak. You could offer no words, no reassurances, that could alleviate this pain. You could only offer him your presence, your touch; show him that he did still deserved you and your love.

“Those nights… Every time I close my eyes, it's there. The warehouse, the hostages, the look on your face, the blood…” He shuddered, his voice breaking as he continued, “It's like… I’m back there, in that moment, but this time… this time you don’t get up.”

His gaze, filled with a desolate pain you'd never witnessed before, settled on the bandage on your shoulder.

“One centimeter,” he whispered then, “one fucking centimeter... and it was my choice, my bullet… ” He trailed off, the realization of it all, the weight of his actions, crashing over him all over again. “God, I’ve seen men die… good men, the best… I've held them as they bled out, watched the light fade from their eyes… But this…” He shook his head, the words choking him. “This is different. I… I can't…”

He shifted slightly, his gaze still settled on your shoulder. “You’ve been injured before,” he choked out, “hell, I've been shot, stabbed, blown up…” He laughed, a harsh, brittle sound – he’d survived a hundred battles, a thousand close calls, only to be brought down by his own hand, his own love. “But this… this time, it was me. I was the one who…”

He couldn't finish the sentence, the words dissolving into another sob that racked his body. He pressed his palms against his eyes, as if he could physically erase the images that haunted him, but the memories were too vivid, too deeply ingrained - your startled gasp, the sickening thud of the bullet, the blood, your blood, blossoming against your skin. He saw it everywhere: on his hands, on his uniform, on the sheets of your shared bed. A stain he couldn't wash away, a mark of Cain branded onto his soul.

“I’m a monster,” he choked out, the words a strangled cry, a confession ripped from the very core of his being, a truth he'd been running from since the moment he'd pulled the trigger. “Don’t you see? I could have killed you... I almost killed you…”

You could see that he was losing the battle against himself, the fight for control he’d waged for weeks finally slipping through his fingers.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice cracking again, the words an admission of his vulnerability, his need for you, the one person he felt he'd failed. “Please… forgive me.”

“John, stop.” You finally whispered as he seemed to have paused his emotional confession. You shifted closer to him, gently placing your hands on his ribs, his warmth seeping into your skin. “You’re not a monster. The hostages, they’re alive because of you. You saved Gaz. You saved my life. And you were the only one who could make that shot. You know that.”

Your hands found their way around him, to lift his head, so that he would look at you, so you could see him, the man you loved, lost in the depths of his own despair. You gently cupped his cheeks, your fingers wiping away the trails of tears that were rolling down, a gesture of comfort, of reassurance, and a silent plea for him to believe in your love, in the truth that transcended his self-inflicted judgment. “Listen to me.” You said, louder now, your voice a lifeline thrown out to pull a man drowning back to the surface. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“But I –” He started to argue, to protest, but the words caught in his throat, his breath hitched as he surrendered to the grief, the remorse, that had been bottled up inside him for so long.

"Shh," you soothed, leaning in, your forehead resting against his.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. “I don’t blame you for this, John. Not one bit. Not a single, tiny bit."

His eyes, shadowed with doubt, searched yours, as if looking for the lie, the accusation he was convinced he deserved instead.

“Yes, it sucks. Yes, it hurts.” You continued, your voice soft but firm, “but you know what would have hurt more? Dead parents and their children, and me… maybe not even here to hurt at all. He was about to fire, John. You know it. I know it.”

You held his gaze, your thumbs stroking the lines of pain etched around his eyes, lines that spoke of sleepless nights. “You may not want to be called a hero, John,” you whispered, leaning forward, resting your forehead against his again, offering him the comfort, the understanding, the love he so desperately needed. “But you are my hero. You did the right thing. If there's anyone on this earth who could make that shot, that impossible shot, who could put a bullet through my shoulder and stop a terrorist’s heart in the same breath… it’s you. It’s always been you.”

He stared at you, the intensity of his gaze softening as he listened to your words, the frantic beating of his heart gradually slowing, the storm within him beginning to calm.

“I just…” The confession escaped his lips on a shuddering breath. “I almost lost you. The thought of it…” He trailed off, unable to voice the terror that haunted him, the vision of your lifeless body, his bullet the cause, a constant nightmare from which there seemed no escape.

“I’m here,” you whispered, cutting him off before he could descend back into the abyss of his own making. “I’m alive.”

He closed his eyes, surrendering to the pressure of your touch, your warmth seeping into his skin. He let himself get pulled against your chest, his head resting so he could hear your heartbeat steadily in his ear. A reassuring lullaby to soothe him, a reminder that you were still here, with him.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words broken, a confession wrenched from his soul. “God, I love you so much… I almost… I’m so sorry…”

“I know, John.”

His breathing slowed as the tension ebbed from his body. He realized then, in the quiet aftermath, that pulling away, retreating into the silence of his own guilt, had only deepened the cut, amplified his pain. The distance had been a lie, a shield he'd put up to protect you from him, but now he knew: you didn’t need protection. You needed him, just as he needed you. The only force strong enough to pull him back from the abyss, the only remedy to heal those self-inflicted wounds, was you.

“I know.”

His tears continued to fall, but they were different now – not the hot, frantic tears of a man drowning in guilt, but softer, almost silent tears, born of exhaustion and a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to forgive himself.

You watched him as he drifted off to sleep, his face finally peaceful. For the first time in weeks, he slept without nightmares and tremors. He was exhausted – emotionally, physically drained – the weight of his guilt temporarily lifted by the power of your presence, your touch, your love.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his hair, your lips lingering, as you rested your head above his.

“I love you, too, John. It’s alright. We’re alright.”

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