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bishovapls · 15 days ago

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Our Little One - I think you both need Daddy, hm?

Relationships: Natasha Romanoff & Wanda Maximoff & Reader

Summary: When Carol asks you out in front of Wanda, she snaps. She takes you home, desperate to claim you, to mark you, to own you. But it’s not just her bed you belong in, and when Natasha comes home to find you both absolutely lost in the scene, she makes one thing very clear: if you’re going to be ruined, it’ll be by both of them. Together.

Warnings: 18+, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Age difference, Older WandaNat/Younger Reader, BDSM, Dom/Sub, Strap-on, fingering, Cunnilingus, Punishment (kind of), Safe word/gesture check-ins. Aftercare, but also idk if it counts because it happens, and then they start up again like the feral animals they are.

A/N: There was never meant to be a part two to this, but after a request from @tomy5girls, who am I to say no? I know this isn’t exactly what you asked for, I may have taken a few liberties and run with it a bit, but I hope you still enjoy it!

I think there’s enough context to catch you up on what’s going on, so you don't need to read part one. But if you want to, the first part is here.

As I mentioned last time, smut isn’t something I’ve written too much of before, but the reaction on here to the first part was crazy. Thank you, everyone, for being patient and supportive as I step a bit out of my comfort zone!

Word Count: 10,143

Anywaaays, sorry for the yapping. NSFW below the cut, you can also read on AO3.

The café was warm and quiet, with sunlight streaming through the windows and spilling across the wood-panelled floor. The clink of mugs and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine created a soft, rhythmic background hum, while indie music played quietly from the speakers overhead. You were tucked into your usual corner seat, your laptop open in front of you, a half-empty latte sitting forgotten beside it. Across from you, Carol was scrolling through the shared project document, her brow furrowed in concentration as she absorbed the final bits of the work.

It was your last study session with her. After two months of grafting, revisions, and back-and-forths, this was it. The project was finished. And you were proud of what you’d done together. The project was solid, clean, well-written, even a little brilliant. Maybe even an A.

Carol had been more than tolerable during the process. She was smart, dry in her humour, and easy to get along with. You’d laughed, found a rhythm, and she never made you feel stupid for missing something or needing more time. But that wasn’t what had your skin buzzing, you weren’t thinking about the project. Not really.

What had your attention was Wanda.

She moved around the café with quiet grace, her apron snug around her waist, hair clipped back but a few strands escaping to frame her face. She hadn’t looked directly at you for a while, but you could feel her eyes on you, her presence heavy in the air.

Every time Carol leaned in a little too close, every time she gestured to the screen or shifted in her seat, you felt Wanda’s gaze flicker over to the two of you. You could sense the tension in the room, even without looking up from your work.

Your girlfriends hadn’t approved of the arrangement from the very beginning. You’d tried to be reasonable, explaining how it was strictly academic, that Carol was nothing more than a project partner. You reassured them, over and over, but it never truly landed, not with either of them.

Wanda’s eyes would darken every time Carol’s name passed your lips, her jaw set just a little tighter. Her touch would change, no longer casual or gentle, but possessive. A hand curling firmly around your waist, or fingers digging into the softness of your thigh like a silent warning.

And Natasha? Natasha didn’t say much. She didn’t have to. The shift in her body was enough, the rigid line of her spine, the way her mouth pressed into a tight, unreadable line. You’d catch the flick of her gaze, sharp and calculating, as though she were already cataloguing the best way to make Carol disappear.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what it looked like when they were on edge. And with Carol, they weren’t just on edge, they were poised, barely leashed. Jealousy burned hot in both of them, but it manifested differently. Wanda clung to you like you might slip through her fingers. Natasha watched like a predator, calm and still, but lethal just beneath the surface.

They didn’t trust Carol, not because she had done anything wrong yet, but because they knew how easy you were to be taken. They knew how easy you were to corrupt. After all...they’d done it first. They knew the way you softened under attention, how you craved approval. They knew exactly what it looked like.

And they weren’t about to let anyone else try.

—--

The first night you’d gone to Carol’s to work on the project, they’d summoned you to their place the moment it ended; it didn't matter that it was late, or that you had an early class the next morning. There hadn’t been a choice, and you obeyed, of course, you always did. Because when they gave you an order, it wasn’t a suggestion.

You’d barely stepped through the door before Natasha had you pinned against it, the sharp click of the lock still echoing when her hand curled around your throat.

“Get undressed,” she had commanded, her voice low and steady, like it was taking everything in her not to snarl. “Mommy and Daddy need to see if anything’s been taken from us.”

And they’d checked everything. Every inch of your skin, your scent, your breath, your neck, your breasts…your thighs. Wanda had traced the inside of your legs with her fingers, like she could feel if anyone had dared to touch you. Natasha had knelt before you, her gaze laser-focused on your pussy. She stared as if trying to figure out whether you were still truly hers, before leaning in to taste, just to be certain.

Some might have called it toxic. Obsessive. Overbearing. But you’d discussed the boundaries long ago. This was part of it. You weren’t afraid of their jealousy.

You needed it.

Before them, you had been quiet. Ordinary. Invisible, almost. But now, with them, you were something worth claiming. Protected by two beautiful women who saw the world as full of thieves trying to steal what was theirs. And what was theirs was you.

Three sessions at Carol’s were all it took before they’d reached their limit. Every time you were at her apartment, they were climbing the walls back home, restless, pacing, barely keeping it together until you walked through the door and they could get their hands on you.

You remember that conversation clearly. You were lying in bed, your skin still flushed, marked, every inch of you thoroughly inspected, claimed all over again. Wanda had been the one to speak, her tone deceptively gentle as she tucked herself beside you, fingers dragging slowly over your hip.

You had two options: Natasha could pull strings, lean on her department contacts, and get you reassigned to a new group entirely. Or you could keep working with Carol. But only under Wanda’s roof, in her café, where her eyes could stay on you the entire time.

You’d chosen the café. And now, when you came home, there was no need for the checks. No demand to strip or let them inspect you. Wanda could see everything. Every shift of your body, every glance. She knew, without asking. She always knew.

—--

Your thighs pressed together under the table as you thought about them. About the possessiveness, the way they made you feel like you were something to be desired, something that belonged to them.

Carol was still talking, but you were still only half-listening, lost in the anticipation. Eventually, Carol’s voice broke through your thoughts, her tone softer than before. “Hey, I was wondering…if you wanted to keep seeing each other, even though the project is done?”

You stiffened, but you tried to remain casual. There was no way your girlfriends would allow this. You gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Carol, I don’t think I can. But I’ll see you in Professor Romanoff’s lectures.”

Carol’s expression faltered, the corners of her mouth dipping into a subtle frown before she masked it with a casual, almost cocky smirk. “Why not?” she said, her voice dipping slightly, trying to sound playful. “We have chemistry, don’t we? We click, we laugh…Let me take you out. Just once.”

“I’m taken, you know that, Carol,” you said, keeping your voice steady, even as that familiar flicker of nervous energy crawled up your spine. And she did know, because Natasha and Wanda had made damn sure you’d told her. Had made it clear that you weren’t available. That you weren’t free to be taken.

Carol chuckled, but there was something more confident about her now, a playful lilt in her voice. “Oh, come on, baby. I bet I could treat you better. You haven’t even told me your girlfriend’s name. Can’t be that serious, can it?”

You wished you could’ve told her the truth, that the woman behind the counter was your girlfriend. That Wanda, along with Natasha, loved you in ways you’d never even known to dream about.

That they touched you, ruined you, worshipped you, and made you feel things you didn’t think were possible. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell Carol that you belonged to Wanda, because everyone knew Wanda was Natasha’s wife. And if you were with Wanda…then you were with Natasha too. And that was a line you could not admit to crossing. Not without consequences.

The only time you were allowed to blur those lines was when the three of you escaped the city, trips to quiet towns or distant coasts where no one knew your names, where eyes didn’t linger and gossip didn’t follow.

Or on rare nights when they brought you into their private circle, introduced you to the few friends who didn’t flinch at blurred boundaries. Friends who didn’t care that you were sleeping with your professor, only that Natasha’s smile came easier with you beside her, and Wanda’s eyes softened whenever you curled up in her lap like you belonged there.

You’d gone quiet for too long, lost in the swirl of your thoughts, still reeling from Carol’s boldness and the weight of Wanda’s gaze. The sharp crack of glass hitting tile jolted you back to the present. Wanda had dropped the coffee pot, the sound slicing through the café like a warning bell.

You looked up, and the moment your eyes met hers, you knew it hadn’t been an accident. The tightness in her jaw, the deliberate stillness of her posture, this was a message. A command. You scrambled to your feet without thinking, moving to her side as quickly as you could, heart thudding, because you understood exactly what she wanted: your attention, your obedience.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll text you, Carol,” you said quickly, kneeling to help Wanda clean up, the tension in your chest growing tighter.

Carol, unsurprised by your quick retreat, nodded as she picked up her bag. “Think about my offer, darling,” she said, flashing you a small, almost knowing smile before she left.

—--

Wanda was eerily silent as the two of you cleaned up the broken coffee pot, but the sharpness of her breath was impossible to ignore. Her hands trembled ever so slightly, and it was clear she was fighting something. Some dark desire that had taken root inside her, a simmering need she was trying to control.

You glanced quickly around, relief washing over you when you saw the place was clear. No one to witness whatever was about to unfold. You moved to the door, flipping the sign to closed as if marking the boundary between the world outside and whatever was waiting for you inside.

When you returned to kneel beside Wanda, paper towels in hand, the glass was in the bin, but her eyes were still fixed on the spill of coffee. Every inch of her body was taut, coiled, like a tightly wound spring ready to snap.

You wiped up the mess, taking extra care to get every last drop, even though you knew she wasn’t paying attention to that. She was watching you, studying every movement, every shift in your posture. You hesitated for just a moment, then whispered, "Mommy?"

Your voice came out softer than you intended, trembling slightly, betraying the nervous excitement that rushed through your veins.

You knew exactly what kind of mood she was in. This wasn’t the woman who caressed you to sleep or soothed you with gentle words. This was the side of her that demanded everything and took what was hers with a force you could never deny.

She didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, but you could see it, the tightening of her fist, the tension in her jaw. Wanda was struggling to hold herself together, not to give in to whatever force was swirling inside her. It was both terrifying and...thrilling.

"Mommy…I’m yours. All yours," you said, a little breathless, your words coming out almost like a plea. You needed her to hear you. To feel your devotion, your submission.

She finally looked up at you, and your breath caught in your throat. Her eyes were cold, unrecognisable. There was something in them that made your pulse spike, a jolt of fear curling low in your stomach. For the first time, you felt a rush of real fear, the kind that made your knees weak, and your breath shallow.

"Mommy, please…please," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a tremor in your words as your body reacted to the mix of fear and something else, the something inside you that wanted this, craved this. Loved this.

Wanda’s voice broke the silence, low, smooth, and terrifyingly calm. "Get your things, little girl. We’re going home."

—

The drive back was consumed by an uncomfortable silence. You didn’t try to make conversation. Wanda’s presence in the driver’s seat seemed almost too quiet, but the energy she radiated spoke volumes.

Her hand said everything. It was firmly planted on your thigh, fingers gripping tight, the pressure almost unbearable. You swore you could feel her nails through the fabric of your jeans, a constant reminder of the simmering tension.

The moment the car stopped and you stepped inside the house, the door barely clicking shut behind you, she was on you. Her body pressed into yours with a heat that knocked the breath from your lungs, pinning you against the door so firmly it rattled in its frame.

Her lips found your neck immediately, and there was nothing soft about it. The first press of her mouth was hungry, almost desperate. She didn’t leave room for you to react, her lips closing around the sensitive skin of your throat, sucking hard, leaving a bruise in its wake.

The sensation shot through your entire body, a mixture of heat and pleasure laced with a sharp twinge of pain that made you tremble.

Her hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, your waist, pulling you even closer. She was marking you, claiming you with each kiss, each bite. There was no hesitation, no gentleness, just raw possessiveness.

She moved to the other side of your neck, the pace never slowing, her teeth grazing your skin, her lips locking onto every inch, every vulnerable spot she could find. You couldn’t escape it. You couldn’t even try.

She was determined to cover you in her marks. And she was succeeding.

Her hands slid up, cupping your face as she angled you just the way she wanted. You felt the sharp pull of her mouth once more, and this time it was even harder. She sucked at your neck until you moaned, the sound strangled as she left another mark, darker than the last.

You couldn’t stop the shudder that wracked your body, couldn’t stop the way your knees threatened to buckle beneath you.

She pulled away for a breath, her eyes narrowing as she studied you, searching for something that only she could see. “You didn’t defend me,” she whispered, her voice low, almost a growl. The words felt like a physical blow, and they twisted your stomach into knots. “She said she could treat you better…and you didn’t tell her otherwise.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her words sink in. Before you could respond, Wanda’s hands were on your shirt, ripping it from your body with a kind of frantic desperation. You gasped, her actions both shocking and thrilling in their intensity, leaving you breathless in more ways than one. Her lips found your collarbone in an instant, her bites sharp and insistent.

Your heart raced, your thoughts scattered in a whirlwind. “I…I got lost in my thoughts,” you finally managed to stutter, your voice trembling.

She paused, just for a moment, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, and the tension between you crackled in the space that remained. “Oh yeah? What were you thinking about?” she asked, her voice rough and demanding, as though she needed you to confess something.

You swallowed, the fear and excitement mixing into something potent. “You, Mommy,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I was thinking about you.”

“Not her?” she growled, her lips brushing over your skin like she was tasting your response. “Your needy little pussy didn’t get wet at the thought of her taking you? Using you like the little whore you are?”

“No, Mommy,” you breathed, your voice shaky. “I was thinking about you and Daddy, how well you treat me, how good you make me feel.” You could feel the heat of her breath against your chest, her teeth scraping against your skin, each bite pulling you deeper into the tension that threatened to consume you both.

Her lips curled into a dark smile, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned in again, her mouth brushing against the raw, bruised skin.

"You’re mine," she murmured, the words sending a thrill through you. "And I’ll remind you of that every chance I get."

You nodded quickly, your throat dry, the weight of Wanda’s gaze still heavy on you. She stepped back just enough to give you space to pass her, but the moment you moved, she was on you again.

Her hand slid to the back of your neck, firm and unyielding, guiding you forward and up the stairs with a force that left no room for hesitation.

When you finally reached the bedroom, she released her hold on your neck. You felt the absence immediately, the air growing colder without the heat of her touch.

But before you could gather your thoughts, she spoke, her voice low, controlled, but still carrying that dark, possessive edge. “Strip."

The command was simple, but it sent a rush through you, a tight knot forming in your chest as you quickly obeyed.

You could feel her eyes on you, watching every movement as you undressed. And the second you were done, she spoke. "Get on the bed. Arms up, legs spread," she commanded, her voice dark and unwavering as she undressed too.

Once again, you complied, your body responding to her authority as if it had no choice.

She approached with measured steps, a quiet authority in every movement. Her hands were steady as they guided you into position on the bed. She took her time securing your limbs, each secured with practiced precision.

Her fingers brushed over your skin afterward, double-checking each restraint, making sure you were held but never harmed. The care in her touch was unmistakable, control, yes, but wrapped in a kind of reverence.

Even in the grip of her possessive rage, Wanda was measured, deliberate. She ensured your safety with every touch, her care never faltering.

Her eyes, which had burned with jealousy moments before, were now steady, focused, scanning you for any sign of discomfort.

“Colour?” she asked, her voice quieter now, gentler but still laced with the simmering remnants of her earlier fury.

The weight of the scene clung to you, every nerve alight, every sense overwhelmed. But beneath it all was something deeper, trust, safety, the grounding memory of how careful she’d been. How her anger never once translated into recklessness. You loved this. All of it. Especially the way she’d handled you like something precious, even as she claimed you.

“Green, Mommy,” you said, clear and steady, no hesitation in your tone, only devotion.

Her lips curled into a small smile, dark and approving. “Good girl,” she whispered, the praise both soothing and possessive, before her eyes darkened again, the storm of her desires never far from the surface.

When she finally climbed over you, it wasn’t lust that drove her, it was obsession, a force bigger than her body, bigger than her fury, something relentless and consuming that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with possession.

Her fingers skimmed your sides, reverent but firm, her touch dragging goosebumps in its wake, and her eyes locked on yours, dark and unblinking, daring you to look away.

Something about the way she held herself above you, barely restrained, seething with intent, made it impossible to breathe, and yet you didn’t want to move. You wanted this. You needed this.

And then she began again, just like downstairs, her mouth returning to your skin with a single-minded purpose. Her lips pressed against your collarbone, soft at first, almost deceiving, and then her teeth followed.

You gasped, your back arching slightly off the bed, your fingers twitching uselessly against the restraints. Her touch ignited something low in your belly and high in your chest all at once.

Another mark, lower now, then another just beneath it. Wanda was painting a story across your skin, one bruise at a time, and every single one echoed with the same word: Mine .

The heat of her mouth was matched only by the fire burning inside you. When her teeth grazed just beneath your ribs, sharper this time, a heavy moan escaped you before you could stop it.

It trembled out of your throat, like your body was pleading for more even as it trembled under the weight of what it had already been given.

Between every bite that still throbbed and the sting of the one currently being delivered, you could feel your cunt begin to ache. Soft whimpers slipped from your lips, your body aching to move, to beg, to chase more. But you didn’t.

This wasn’t about your pleasure, not right now. Wanda needed this. She needed to mark you, to own you, to feel you give yourself over without asking for anything in return. So you offered her your stillness, your obedience, your surrender.

You caught her gaze again, her pupils blown wide, her breathing uneven, and for a flickering second, something shifted in her. Not softness. Not even calm. But relief. A raw, aching flash of gratitude that you were still here, still hers, still letting her claim you like this.

She leaned in again, slower this time, her lips dragging beneath your navel, warm breath ghosting across your skin, shaky, uneven, trembling with the weight of what she was holding back. “Mine,” she whispered, hoarse and low, like the word itself was a vow and a warning wrapped in longing. “Only mine.”

It wasn’t just a claim, it was Wanda pleading with the universe, needing to believe it. Needing to feel that she hadn’t lost you, that even in the wild, blurred aftermath of everything, you were still hers. Her hands gripped tighter, possessive, grounding herself in the feel of your body beneath her.

But beneath the burn of her touch, the worship in her voice, a flicker of something deeper pulled at you. Natasha. You knew you belonged to her, too. And yet Wanda didn’t speak her name. She didn’t leave space for her. Her world had narrowed until you were the only thing in it, and Natasha had been pushed outside it entirely.

You wanted to say it. You wanted to remind her. But the weight of Wanda’s devotion crushed your resistance, the sheer need in her pulling the words out of you before you could stop them.

“Yes, Mommy,” you whispered, voice shaky but sure. “Only yours.” Even as guilt curled warm and quiet in your stomach.

When she finally pulled back just enough to take you in, her eyes swept over her work like a woman on the edge of something unspoken. There was nothing untouched now, your neck, your chest, your hips, your stomach, your thighs, even your arms. Every inch bore her claim. Every inch screamed hers .

“So fucking pretty like this, printsessa (princess), ” she said, her breath hot against your thigh, her lips barely brushing the freshest mark, her voice ragged, torn from somewhere deep inside her chest. “Mine. All mine.”

You nodded instantly, your eyes wide and glassy. You could feel the ache she’d left behind, all over you, and you needed her to know you welcomed it. “I’m yours.”

Her smile returned, that slow, dangerous curl of her mouth that promised she was far from finished. “Say it again,” she murmured, her voice low and breathless, barely even a command this time, it was breathless and hungry, like she needed it to live.

“I’m yours,” you repeated, stronger now, even as your breath hitched, even as you squirmed beneath her.

She tilted her head, assessing, and you knew it wasn’t enough. Not yet. “Louder,” she commanded.

You swallowed, your throat dry and tight, but you forced your voice through the tremble in your chest. “I’m yours, Mommy,” you said, louder now, loud enough to fill the room, to echo off the walls, to blot out everything else. “Only yours. Always.”

She must’ve been at least partially satisfied, because after one final glance at the marks she’d scattered across your body, she shifted, rising off you, and the loss of her weight made you whine, high and broken, a sound pulled from somewhere deep.

Your skin felt too bare without her, your chest too open. Everything in you was aching now, not just with need but with dependency, your senses lit up and stretched tight, every inch of you focused on her.

She had pulled you so far down into a space where nothing existed but her voice, her hands, her mouth, and now, without them, you felt unmoored, trembling. You needed her. You needed her.

Her eyes caught yours, and for a moment, just a flicker, her gaze softened, something quieter slipping through the crack in her control. “Just going to the closet, Little one,” she murmured, her voice dipping into that gentler tone she only used when you were already falling apart. And even though the warmth in her voice was slightly forced, it was enough.

She disappeared into the closet without another word, leaving you alone in the thick, buzzing quiet, your breath shaky, your body still thrumming with heat. When she returned, it was with her strap, a deep scarlet colour, the sight of it enough to make your breath hitch, and your mouth water, the anticipation knotting low and tight in your stomach.

Your thighs shifted instinctively, trying to press together, to find even the smallest flicker of relief, but the restraints didn’t allow it, and your frustration only made the ache worse. Wanda noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes dropped to the movement, her gaze catching the way you writhed and failed to hide it.

The smirk that curled across her lips was sharp and knowing, and in an instant, the softness was gone again. The Wanda who looked at you now was all shadow and fire again, dark and certain. The Wanda who would ruin you, just to put you back together again, mark by mark, breath by breath.

She crawled back onto the bed, her eyes locked on yours, hungry and unyielding. She moved between your legs and settled into place without hesitation. “Just stay still and let me use you,” she murmured, her voice low and controlled, but with that same simmering edge that had been there all night, that quiet storm of rage and want and need barely restrained.

And then she buried her strap inside you, hard. No warning, no warm-up with her fingers, not even any gentle licks against your folds to get you ready. Nothing, as if she couldn’t bear to wait another second. As if being inside you is what gave her air to breathe.

The sound that ripped from your throat was sharp, raw, somewhere between a cry and a scream. The stretch hit you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, pain blooming fast and bright.

For a heartbeat, it was too much. Your breath caught, your muscles tensed. But then, just as quickly as it came, the sharpness blurred, twisted into something hotter, something unbearable in an entirely different way.

Wanda’s thrusts started slow, deliberate, and deep, her movements laced with restraint, but it was a fragile kind.

But you could feel the tension winding tighter in her limbs, in the way her breath hitched, the way her jaw clenched. She was holding back, barely. She was trying to stay composed, to be gentle, or at least gentle enough, but it was written in every shaky inhale, every flicker of heat in her eyes that she was close to losing it, again.

With every thrust, her desperation climbed higher, simmering just beneath her skin until it bled into everything she did. There were no soft praises, playful degradations, or the coaxing, honey-sweet lilt you’d come to expect; just raw, consuming need.

Your body arched beneath her, straining hard against the restraints, every muscle taut, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping up. You were gasping now, breath hitching in sharp, uneven bursts that never seemed enough, stolen too quickly as she thrusted again, deeper, rougher, like she couldn’t help herself.

“Such a pretty little fuck toy for me. Mine, my pretty whore, Mine,” she whispered the words into the crook of your neck as she sank into you again, barely audible over the thundering of your heartbeat and the rush of sensation unravelling you from the inside out. It didn’t even feel like she was speaking to you, more like a reminder to herself.

You whimpered, your hips twitching helplessly, straining for more. You had heard the word ‘mine’ more today than ever, and it hit something raw inside you, something so deep it felt like your soul reached out for her in response. Yes. You were hers. You wanted to be hers.

And then suddenly her rhythm shifted, less controlled, more frantic, every thrust and motion sharpened by her unraveling restraint. Her mouth was everywhere again, biting, branding, her lips dragging across your neck, your chest, down your stomach, as if she couldn’t decide where to leave the next mark.

Her hands tightened at your hips, fingers digging in with a bruising kind of need, anchoring herself to you like she might fall apart without the contact. She was slipping, further, faster, into that frenzy of need, of fury, of desperate, aching possessiveness that she'd tried so hard to cage since attaching the stap to her hips.

But now with her cock slamming in and out of you, your moans and whines gracing her ears, it surged forward, unfiltered, dragging her under. You could feel it in the way she clung to you, in the way her breath hitched and her nails pressed harder. She wasn’t trying to hold back anymore.

And then she was chanting. “Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” Over and over again, like it was the only word she remembered, the only thing that mattered. She was barely even present now, barely aware of the room, of anything but you.

Your entire body shook beneath her, your lungs struggling to keep up with the broken sobs and gasps that kept clawing their way out of your throat. Her voice was low, hoarse, and relentless as it poured over you like a spell, dragging you deeper under with every breathless repetition.

And you didn’t fight it. You couldn’t. You just let go, let yourself be hers. Be claimed. Be ruined.

—-

You had no idea how long it had been, but you were both so far gone you didn’t hear the door open, didn’t register the familiar creak of the floorboards or the call of “I’m home” echoing down the hall. Nothing existed beyond the frantic rhythm of Wanda’s body against yours, the relentless chant spilling from her mouth, her teeth grazing your skin, her hands branding you with every touch.

It wasn’t until you heard a sharp, animalistic growl, low and guttural, torn from Wanda’s throat, that your hazy focus shifted. Your eyes blinked sluggishly through the haze, breath catching, and when you managed to look past her, you saw Natasha standing in the doorway.

Her arms hung at her sides, her expression unreadable. But her eyes dragged over you like a blade. Every bruise, every mark Wanda had left behind, every shiver and tremble of your overstimulated body catalogued in a single glance. Her jaw clenched, the muscle ticking once, like she was biting back something sharp.

Wanda didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. She kept chanting under her breath, a broken, breathless litany of “mine, mine, mine” spilling from her lips like it was the only word left. She was lost in it, lost in you. Her hips were steady, relentless, as though Natasha’s presence didn’t even register.

But you felt it. The air went taut, almost brittle. Natasha’s silence carried weight, thick with jealousy, with hunger, with a cold, simmering possessiveness that was entirely her own. She stepped forward, slow and measured, her gaze locked on yours, and something inside you fluttered and clenched all at once. You didn’t know what she was going to do. Punish? Claim? Interrupt? Join?

And yet, even with her rage coiled under her skin, even with her dominance thrumming off her in waves, her first move was exactly what you needed.

She shifted to your side with quiet purpose, her presence grounding as she reached for one of the wrists Wanda had bound. Her fingers ghosted over the edge of the restraint with precision, double-checking its snugness.

The tenderness of it made something flutter deep in your chest, a soft ache blooming in contrast to the intensity you’d been caught in. And then, without a word, she laced her fingers through yours, anchoring you with that simple, intimate gesture: A single squeeze.

Because no matter how tightly jealousy coiled in her gut, no matter how fiercely the hunger flickered in her eyes, Natasha’s instinct was always the same.

Just like Wanda earlier, she put everything else aside, possession, dominance, the sharp edge of being left out, and she checked on you first.

That was who they were. That was what it meant to belong to them. Your safety, your wellbeing, your headspace…All of it came before anything they might want for themselves.

The squeeze said everything she needed to ask: Are you okay? Are you still with us? Do you feel safe?

She didn’t bother to use words. She knew you couldn’t answer like that, not now. Not with your mind fogged and your breath stuttering and your body twitching with every slam of Wanda’s hips. She could read it all, your eyes, your moans, the pitch of your breath. So you squeezed once in return. Green .

She knew what that squeeze meant: Yes. I want this. I want her. I’m safe. And something else, less clear, buried beneath the rest. I want you too. I miss your hands. Your voice.

Her body eased, just barely, the tension rolling back a single inch. But the hunger in her never dimmed. It sharpened instead, focused and precise as she looked back down at you, at the mess Wanda had made of you.

After a beat, Natasha’s focus finally shifted, her eyes dragging away from you and locking onto Wanda, taking in the sheer, unhinged desperation driving every thrust of the strap into your battered pussy. She saw it immediately, the way Wanda had spiralled, and Natasha knew it couldn’t go on like this.

She moved without hesitation, stalking around the bed with quiet authority, climbing on behind Wanda, one hand fisting in her hair and yanking her back just enough to make her spine arch. “Yours, huh?” she bit out, voice low and edged with something dangerous. “Just yours?”

But Wanda didn’t falter. Didn’t even slow. She snarled the word like it was a war cry. “Mine.”

The scene throbbed with tension. Wanda was still pounding into you despite Natasha’s hold, her chant relentless. “What the hell happened?” Natasha asked, voice tight but controlled, like she was clinging to the last shred of calm.

You couldn’t speak, your mouth too slack, your body too gone, and Wanda didn’t answer either, not until Natasha gave another sharp tug, pulling harder, her tone slicing through the fog. “I said,” she growled, “what happened?”

Wanda whimpered, her breath catching like the question had torn through something raw. Her voice came in pieces, ragged and splintered, every word punctuated by a desperate thrust. “Carol. Tried. To. Take. What’s. Mine.”

Natasha’s gaze snapped back to you. It was cold and brimming with something territorial. You braced yourself, expecting her to descend with that same consuming intensity, to tear through Wanda’s marks and press her own into every inch of you until her claim was carved just as deep.

But she didn’t. The sharp edge dulled, tempered by understanding as her eyes swept over you and then her wife.

Wanda wasn’t just fucking you. She was holding on for dear life. Natasha saw it clearly now, recognised it for what it was. Wanda had lost too many people, too many pieces of herself over the years. The fear of losing you had cracked her wide open.

Natasha could’ve taken what she wanted. Could’ve made her own claim in kind. But for now, instead, she exhaled, letting her dominant instinct soften just enough. You needed grounding, and Wanda needed pulling back. And Natasha would be the one to do it. Even if every part of her still ached to take.

She reached around, her hand locking firm around Wanda’s waist, stilling her movement with ease. “What’s ours,” she said evenly, the correction deliberate as her grip tightened. Wanda whined at the restraint, hips twitching against Natasha’s hold, and you whimpered too, aching at the loss of friction.

Wanda’s control began to splinter the moment Natasha kissed her, slow, grounding kisses against her cheek, tender in a way that cut through the haze like a balm.

Her head lolled back against Natasha’s shoulder, her body still tense, but wavering now. “Do you need to safeword, Wands?” Natasha murmured against her skin, the calm, coaxing cadence unmistakable. “You seem... out of control, lyubov' (love). ”

Wanda shook her head, a near-frantic movement, “No! Need to cum, wanna cum!” Neither of you had cum yet despite how long it had gone on, despite the desperate grind and the bruising rhythm.

Hearing that desperate plea fall from Wanda’s lips while she held so much power over you felt dissonant, but it lit a fire in you all the same. She usually took what she wanted, came when she wanted, without a second thought, but now it was clear she was floundering.

The scene had shaken her, and no matter how hard she had been trying, she couldn’t do it alone. That crack in her composure did something to you. It slipped under your skin, tangled in your chest, and before you could stop it, a moan fell from your lips, needy, involuntary, betraying just how much it affected you.

Natasha turned to you at the sound. “If she hasn’t,” she murmured, voice gentle now as her eyes found yours again, “then I’d wager you haven’t either, have you?” You shook your head, breath still coming in shallow bursts.

Something in her expression changed again the moment she realised you’d been holding back this entire time. The flicker of pride came first, swift and searing, lighting her eyes with approval. “Good girl,” she murmured, and the praise landed like a reward you didn’t know you’d been waiting for.

But then her gaze gentled, the pride ebbing into something softer, sadder, closer to regret than triumph. Like she could see how much you’d given, how much you’d endured, and how long you’d waited. “I think you both need Daddy, hm?”

It wasn’t often that Wanda submitted to Natasha, twice, maybe three times since you’d all been together, and only ever when she wasn’t fully in control of her headspace, when she needed grounding but needed to continue. But Wanda nodded slowly, the fight draining out of her body as she leaned back into Natasha’s hold, surrendering.

Natasha’s hands moved, settling on Wanda’s hips, allowing her to move again but slowing her movements with firm, steady pressure. “That’s it,” she murmured low against Wanda’s ear, her voice soft but commanding. “She’s been so good for you, Detka (babe). Took everything you gave her, didn’t she?”

Wanda shuddered, still panting, still half-lost, but she nodded, her body giving into Natasha’s lead without resistance.

Natasha kept her tone gentle, coaxing, like she was taming something raw and shaking. “How about you let her finish now, hm? Let her cum for us.”

Wanda didn’t speak, she didn’t need to. She just followed, pliant under Natasha’s hands, her breath catching as she thrust her hips in rhythm with the guidance she was given. And Natasha, her mouth brushing Wanda’s temple, praised her low and warm, “Good girl.”

Wanda whimpered at the praise, her body trembling and her mind still fogged with the frenzy that had consumed her, but Natasha’s presence gave her something to hold on to, something solid to ground herself against.

You could feel the shift, the difference in how Wanda moved now. Her thrusts lost their wildness and turned into something more intimate, more focused, like she was being taught how to feel again.

And god, you felt it too. Every inch of it. Your breath stuttered, hips jerking involuntarily with each movement, your body already so close to the edge it ached. The pressure coiled tight in your core, a simmering burn that had been denied too long. Natasha’s eyes were on you, catching every flinch, every gasp, every tremble.

“She’s close,” Natasha murmured into Wanda’s hair, her voice rich with heat and reverence. “Can you feel that? I bet her cunt is so tight around your cock.” Wanda let out a broken moan and nodded, her pace faltering for a moment under the weight of Natasha’s words.

Natasha’s hand left Wanda’s and slid up to her throat, not choking, just holding, grounding, a firm reminder of presence, of who was in control.

Her other guided Wanda’s towards your clit, silently reminding her to provide the stimulation you needed, and it shattered you, the added touch stealing your breath as you cried out.

“That’s it,” she purred, low and commanding.. “Let us have it, Little one. Let go.”

And you did. It crashed into you like a wave, hard and fast and all-consuming. Your back arched, the restraints biting into your wrists as your body bowed under the force of your release.

You screamed and whimpered, and they were both there, holding you through it, Wanda clinging to you like she could anchor herself to your pleasure, Natasha murmuring praise that bled into your skin like balm.

With Natasha’s guidance, Wanda stopped thrusting and began to grind, the base of the strap finally giving her the stimulation she needed. She came not long after you with a desperate sob, body trembling violently. Natasha’s voice, a blend of filthy praise and affection, slid into her ear, coaxing her through it. As Wanda’s body went limp, attempting to collapse against you, Natasha caught her effortlessly, aware of the soreness you’d likely feel.

Wanda whimpered at not being able to snuggle into you, and Natasha pressed a kiss to her temple. “She’s right here,” she murmured softly, before gently laying her down beside you. Wanda instinctively curled into you with a sigh, seeking the comfort of your warmth.

Natasha pressed another gentle kiss to the top of Wanda’s head before shifting her attention to you. Her movements were practiced, instinctive, and soft as she moved to unbuckle the restraint on your wrist.

The second the leather came loose, your arm dropped like dead weight, boneless and sore. Natasha caught it gently, guiding it to rest over Wanda’s back. You curled your fingers into her skin instinctively, craving the contact, the reassurance.

The other restraint came next, then your legs, Natasha working with slow, deliberate tenderness, her hands steady and reverent. Every time you winced, she soothed it with a murmur, a stroke over the inflamed area or a kiss.

Wanda wasn’t moving much now. She was pliant, completely surrendered, clinging to you with the last threads of adrenaline. Natasha knew that look, knew Wanda had dropped deep, and you weren’t far behind.

Her voice softened even further as she pulled the blanket up over both of you, tucking it around your bare limbs like armour. She leaned down, her hand brushing tenderly over your cheek, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “There’s our girl,” she whispered, her voice low and thick with pride. “You did so fucking well. Mommy really used you, huh?”

Your throat was too raw for words, your mind still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and exhaustion, but you nodded.

Natasha kissed you once more before slipping away from the bed. You assumed she was going to get water, and you were right; she was back within seconds, moving with her usual calm efficiency.

She guided your head gently, coaxing the glass to your lips until you took a few slow sips, then shifted to pry Wanda up just enough to do the same for her. Neither of you drank much, but it was enough to get you at least a bit hydrated.

Wanda exhaled, her breath hitching before she whispered, “Didn’t mean to lose it like that.” A pause, a stillness between you, broken only by her unsteady breathing. “Carol wanted you...said that...that she could...treat you better.”

Her voice cracked slightly, the words filled with vulnerability, and your chest tightened at the pain in them.

Then her tone shifted, rising into a whine, hurt lacing her every syllable as she clung to you tighter. “She tried to take her from us, Nat,” Wanda whimpered, her eyes flicking to Natasha even as she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her anchored.

Natasha’s jaw tensed, her eyes flicking up for a moment, but she said nothing. Instead, she settled in behind Wanda, wrapping herself around her wife like a shield. Usually, you were in the middle, the one cocooned in their arms, but it was clear Wanda needed that security now.

Natasha began to stroke her hand gently over Wanda’s spine, her touch slow and comforting. She didn’t forget you either, though. Her other hand reached across the space to where your wrist was still faintly marked, fingers brushing the bruised skin in slow, soothing circles.

Time passed in a slow, syrupy kind of stillness, thick with warmth and the quiet hum of three heartbeats finding their way back into sync. Wanda lay curled against your side, her face pressed into your collarbone like she could disappear into you, her breath evening out in slow pulls that softened with each minute.

You felt the shift in her, how the tension bled out of her muscles with every exhale, how her fingers that had clutched you with bruising desperation earlier now merely rested, featherlight and unmoving.

Natasha’s hand never stopped. She trailed her fingers lazily up and down your arm, over Wanda’s spine, keeping you both tethered to the present.

Eventually, Wanda stirred. Not much, just a shift in how her legs tangled with yours, a blink that stretched long enough to signal she’d returned to herself. She looked up at you, her cheeks still pink, her hair tousled from earlier. But her eyes, they were clearer. Worry creeping back in.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice hushed. Her gaze scanned your face like she expected to find something broken.

You gave her a tired, lopsided smile. “Course I am. I don’t break that easily,” you said with a wink, even if your voice was still a bit scratchy from earlier.

She looked relieved. Kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, a soft, fluttering press that made you giggle as her breath brushed against your skin. “Good,” she whispered against your mouth, and you could feel the last of her tension ebb as she rested her head against your shoulder again.

“Alright,” Natasha said eventually, propping herself up on one elbow and glancing down at you both, her voice light but edged with unmistakable command. “Time to soothe those marks, you must be sore, hm?”

You groaned immediately, flopping back onto the pillow. “Do we have to?” you whined, dragging out the syllables like a sulking child. “Can’t we just stay here? Forever?”

Wanda let out a sympathetic sound and buried her face back in your chest for a second. “She has a point…”

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You two are impossible. Yes, we have to. Wands, you went feral. She's covered in bruises and bites.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you rolled your eyes. “You make it sound like she mauled me.”

Natasha sat up straighter, grabbing the lotion bottle off the nightstand. “She did maul you. Look at this—” She tugged the sheet down just enough to expose your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. The marks were everywhere, hickeys darkening by the minute, deep, vivid bursts of colour in the shape of Wanda’s mouth. “You’re a goddamn work of art. Or a crime scene.”

Wanda peeked down at your skin and let out a low, sheepish laugh. “Oops.”

“‘Oops,’” Natasha repeated dryly, her tone somewhere between fond and chastising. She gave Wanda a light nudge with her shoulder. “You’re lucky she likes being ruined.”

“I love being ruined,” you chimed in helpfully, grinning as both their eyes snapped to you with matching looks of exasperated affection.

Wanda leaned down and nuzzled your jaw, her voice a little lower now, velvet-soft and sincere. “I do still feel bad. I got...swept up. Possessive. Jealous. Like I had to prove something. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said gently. “And you didn’t. I promise.”

Still, she dipped her fingers into the lotion and rubbed them together slowly to warm it, her movements suddenly careful. She started at your wrists, your poor, bruised wrists where the restraints had bitten deep, and touched you like she was handling something sacred. Her fingers glided over your skin in slow circles, whispering apologies into every motion.

Natasha joined in a moment later, taking your other side. She pushed the sheets down further, exposing more of your bruised body to the soft lighting, and began to work the balm into your sore muscles. Their hands moved over you in tandem, smoothing across the worst of the bruises, ghosting over the places that still burned faintly from overstimulation.

And for a while, no one spoke. The only sounds were your soft sighs, the quiet slick of lotion on skin, the muted creak of the bed as they shifted around you.

Once they were done, Natasha glanced down at your neck and snorted. “There is no way you’re going to college looking like this,” she said with a laugh, dragging a fingertip lightly over a particularly brutal hickey under your jaw. “You look like you tried to join a vampire cult.”

You snorted softly, still squirming beneath their slow, soothing touches. “If Wanda were a vampire, I’d definitely let her bite me.”

You thought it was harmless. Wanda certainly looked pleased. Her eyes glinted, teeth flashing as she leaned close again, brushing her lips along your throat. "Careful," she breathed, her voice low and smooth, “I might take you up on that.”

A shiver ran through you at the sound, your breath hitching as her words sank in, stirring something deep inside. Your body responded without hesitation, already aching, already yearning for more despite the evening you’d already had.

And just like that, Natasha froze, her eyes locking onto Wanda, as she once again threatened to claim. But now, as she saw the way you were reacting, the way you were craving more, Natasha’s restraint faltered. It was different from before. You were ready, and that knowledge twisted something deep inside her, making it harder to hold herself back.

“I better be allowed to bite too,” Natasha murmured, her voice low and simmering with tension. It wasn’t loud, but it had a sharp edge to it, a warning wrapped in something darker. “You’re lucky I’m not already. Wanda stole you, made you hers, and hers alone.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to deny it, but she was already moving. Her fingers left your skin only long enough to catch Wanda’s chin in a firm grip, tilting her face up, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“You ever forget that she is ours again,” Natasha said, quiet and razor-sharp, “you will regret it.”

Wanda swallowed hard, the flush on her cheeks deepening, her pupils dilating wide as she whimpered under Natasha’s hold. Her legs squeezed together as if that could do anything to stop the ache building between them. Her body instinctively allowed Natasha to take the lead again, as if it knew that was what Natasha needed. She nodded once, quickly. “Yes, Nat.”

“Good girl,” Natasha praised, brushing her thumb across Wanda’s cheek with maddening softness. But she didn’t let go. “You don’t get to take her like that without me, ever.”

She finally released her chin and turned back to you, eyes darker now, warmer, but hungrier.

“And you,” she murmured, smoothing both palms down your sides, fingers slipping over your hips and between your legs, “you were very good letting Wanda use you, weren’t you? Letting her get drunk on jealousy and ruin your pretty little pussy without even thinking to let me join.”

You gasped as her fingers brushed over your slick again, slow and unhurried. You were soaked already. Every part of you felt raw and needy, but Natasha was in no rush.

“But you are ours,” she said, sliding two fingers through your folds, not yet pressing in, just letting you feel the threat of it, “Ours .”

Wanda let out a soft, broken noise, eyes fixed on where Natasha’s hand was between your legs. Her hand moved as she was about to reach for you, but Natasha caught the movement without even looking.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” she said, like it wasn’t up for debate. “You don’t get to help until I say so. You had your fun.”

Wanda whimpered, chest rising and falling fast, her cheeks glowing with shame and lust.

Natasha finally slipped a finger inside you, slow and shallow, barely enough to satisfy, but your back still arched up from the mattress. Her other hand splayed across your hip, holding you still.

“You’re so fucking wet,” she murmured with a smirk, leaning down to kiss your inner thigh. “You like this, don’t you? Being good for us. Letting her make a mess of you, and then letting me put you back together.”

Wanda’s breath caught as she watched, her hands fisting in the sheets beside her thighs. “Natasha—”

“Shh,” Natasha interrupted. “You don’t get to speak unless I tell you to either.”

You whimpered at the sound of Wanda’s submission, it added fuel to the fire burning through you. Natasha added a second finger, pressing deep this time, and you cried out, your whole body tensing around her.

“That’s it,” she cooed. “Such a good girl. Ours. Not hers. Never just hers.”

You nodded frantically, brain already fogging under the slow, relentless pace. “Yours, yours, yours. Daddy, please!”

Natasha smiled, pleased, eyes gleaming as she leaned in to kiss your jaw, your ear, her tongue darting out to taste the sweat there.

Wanda’s hands were trembling as she watched, the heat between her thighs unbearable. She couldn’t stand the fact that she had to watch.

Each sob, wail, moan, and sigh that left your lips only deepened the ache in her chest, reminding her of what she had done, of how she had left Natasha out when she should have known better.

It was the perfect punishment, but Wanda couldn’t help but try her luck again. “Please, Nat,” Wanda whispered, her voice thick with need and desperation. “Please let me—”

Natasha turned her head, eyes flashing. “No,” she said simply. “Not yet. You want her? You earn it. You wait.”

And then she curled her fingers just right, again and again, dragging you higher with each pass, her thumb barely brushing your clit until you were trembling, too far gone to do anything but moan.

The room pulsed with the sound of your breathing, with your soft cries and the wet sound of her hand moving in and out of your cunt. Every stroke, every whispered word sent a rush of heat through you, the world narrowing to nothing but the feeling of her fingers inside you.

Even as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, Natasha never let up. Her movements were unrelenting, rhythmic, a steady push and pull that kept you coming without giving you so much as a chance to truly catch your breath.

You didn’t know how many times you’d screamed in release, each one blurred into the next, an unending rhythm that left you gasping, skin slick with sweat, your body trembling under her control.

Eventually her pace slowed, and your eyes fluttered open, the world around you a haze of soft light and warmth. You turned your head slightly, and your gaze found Wanda. Her eyes were wide, her breath equally as erratic. She was flushed and panting like she’d been the one writhing beneath Natasha’s hand.

“God, look at you,” Natasha murmured, eyes still on you, even as she addressed Wanda. “So fucking needy, you only had her an hour ago. Pathetic.”

Wanda whimpered as her hands twitched again, and this time, she couldn’t resist; she reached out, just enough to brush her fingertips against Natasha’s arm. “Please,” she begged again, her voice barely a whisper, but it was a plea nonetheless.

“Fine, but only because I’m generous,” Natasha murmured as she kissed your temple, and then your cheek, her fingers never stopping. “I’m not cruel. I share.”

She tilted her head, her gaze soft yet commanding as she finally looked over at Wanda. “You want to taste her?” Natasha’s voice was low, deliberate, as if she already knew the answer.

Wanda's breath hitched at the words, her entire body tense with yearning. Her eyes flicked to Natasha, wide and pleading, before they dropped to you.

Your skin was glistening with sweat, your chest rising and falling in the haze of pleasure still swirling through you. She nodded, the movement almost frantic, her voice trembling with need. “Yes, yes, please, Nat! I want to please!”

Natasha’s lips quirked into a small, wicked smile, a brief flicker of satisfaction passing across her face before she leaned down, her kiss slow and deep. It was a kiss that said she was still in control, even if she was letting Wanda in. She pulled away just enough to speak, “Then come here.”

Unlike her usual poised self, Wanda wasn’t graceful as she moved, urgency in her every motion. The moment she reached your legs, her gaze lifted, her eyes locking with Natasha's.

Natasha moved her hand, slowly, so slowly from between your folds, her fingers glistening with your cum. “Open your mouth.”

Wanda obeyed. Natasha pressed two fingers past her lips, watching her take them in eagerly, greedily.

“Good girl,” Natasha praised, eyes softening just a little. “Now you can touch her. You can thank her. And you can show her just how sorry you are.”

She shifted to one side, but not far, not giving up control, just…allowing space. Letting Wanda kneel between your legs, hands shaking as she lowered her head.

Wanda’s tongue slid over your folds and your clit gently before diving in fully, like a woman starved. It was as if the act of watching had only intensified her need, making it raw and undeniable despite the fact that she had already claimed you so thoroughly.

“That’s it,” Natasha murmured, stroking your stomach, watching Wanda devour you. “She’s ours. Not yours. Not mine. Ours.”

Her hand slid up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, her thumb brushing over your nipple, squeezing and teasing in perfect time with Wanda’s mouth.

Every touch sent waves through you, every whisper tangled around your spine. Natasha’s voice wrapped around you, her praise both tender and unrelenting, while Wanda’s lips and hands moved like a vow, her remorse bleeding into every lick and every suck as she drank you dry, bringing you closer and closer.

You couldn’t hold yourself together. The intimacy, the intensity, it was too much. You splintered under it, unravelled into the space between their bodies, between their worship and their claim. And this time, when you broke, it wasn’t just your body giving in. It was your heart, your trust, your submission.

And through it all, Natasha's voice, low and reverent at your ear, became the centre of everything, grounding you even as you soared.

“That’s it, Little one,” she murmured, almost like a prayer. “That’s what you needed. That’s what we give you, together.”

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #wanda maximoff smut #mommy wanda #daddy natasha #wlw smut #marvel fanfic #marvel smut #switch wanda #Bishovapls Fics

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heartthrobin · 9 months ago

Text

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them.

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

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bejeweledinterludes · 2 months ago

Text

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly?

it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

and dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was.

jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

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jupiterpilgrim · 6 months ago

Text

The Secret Folders - Or Surprisingly Exposed

Seulgi x Male Reader

word count: 4.5K

The horror movie flickers across the TV screen, casting dancing shadows around Seulgi's dimly lit living room. But you can barely focus on the generic slasher plot - not with her sitting so close beside you on the plush leather couch. Your best friend since college is wearing those damn gray pajama pants again, the ones that hug every curve of her toned legs and petite frame. Combined with a loose t-shirt that's always sliding off her shoulder, giving a glimpse of her collarbone; she's the perfect mix of casual comfort and unintentional sexiness that's been driving you insane lately.

"Earth to spacehead," Seulgi says with a playful nudge, breaking you from your wandering thoughts. "That's like the third time you've jumped at absolutely nothing. The movie's not even at a scary part yet."

You force what you hope is a casual laugh, hyper-aware of how her half-bare shoulder brushes against yours as she shifts position. "Just tired I guess. Long week at work and all that."

"Bullshit," she counters with that knowing half-smirk that makes your stomach do backflips. "I've seen you marathon horror movies until 4 AM after double shifts. Try again."

"Maybe I'm just getting old and jumpy?" You attempt deflection, but your voice comes out higher than intended.

Seulgi pauses the movie mid-scene, turning to face you fully with her legs tucked under her.

"Or maybe," she draws out the words slowly, dark eyes studying your expression, "you're distracted by something else entirely. Or should I say... someone?"

Your heart rate kicks up several notches. There's a glint in her eye that you've never seen before - something predatory and knowing that makes your mouth go dry. "W-what do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean." She leans in slightly, her vanilla-scented shampoo filling your senses. "See, the other day when I borrowed your laptop to print those work documents? I may have accidentally stumbled across some... interesting folders."

The blood drains from your face as realization hits.

Fuck.

Those folders.

The ones you thought were safely buried in obscure subfolders with innocuous names. The ones filled with carefully edited split-screen videos - porn on one side, usually featuring petite Asian women who looked just like...

"Your face is doing that thing it does when you're panicking," Seulgi observes, seeming almost amused by your deer-in-headlights expression. "The same look you had that time we almost got caught sneaking into the campus pool senior year."

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out. How do you explain away folders full of porn videos meticulously edited to display alongside photos of your best friend? There's no platonic explanation for that level of obsession.

"I have to say," she continues casually, as if discussing the movie rather than your darkest secret, "I'm a little hurt you didn't just tell me you were into me. We've been friends for what, six years now? That's a long time to keep those kinds of feelings bottled up."

"Seulgi, I..." you start, then falter. "I never wanted to mess up our friendship. You mean too much to me to risk that. And I know those folders were fucked up. I promise I'll delete everything! I'm so sorry you had to see that-"

"Shh." She presses a finger to your lips, effectively silencing your rambling apology. "I'm not finished. Because while I was surprised to find those folders... What surprised me more was realizing how much they turned me on. Damn, I didn't know you were such a dirty boy."

Your brain short-circuits at her words, unable to process this turn of events. Seulgi takes advantage of your stunned silence to slide closer.

"Want to know a secret?" she whispers, her lips barely an inch from your ear. "I've thought about you too. All those times we've had sleepovers, sharing my bed... I'd lie awake wondering what would happen if I just rolled over and kissed you. If I told you how wet I get when you look at me with those hungry eyes you think I don't notice."

"Fuck," you breathe out shakily as her hand lands on your thigh, fingertips tracing idle patterns through your sweatpants. "Is this really happening?"

"That depends," she replies with mock thoughtfulness. "Do you want it to be happening? Because I saw those videos you like... all those pretty Asian girls taking it up the ass... is that what you want to do to me? Do you want me to be your anal princess?"

Your grip on the couch cushion tightens as arousal shoots through you at her blunt words. Hearing your best friend talk like this is driving you crazy.

"Don't worry, I always wanted this too," she continues, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Do you remember all those times I'd sit in your lap for no reason? When I'd 'accidentally' grind against you while reaching for something?" She grins wickedly. "That wasn't accidental at all. I've been trying to make you hard for months."

Your mind races back through countless moments - Seulgi plopping down on your lap during movie nights, wiggling her tight little ass against your crotch as she "got comfortable." How many times had you gone home afterward to jerk off thinking about it?

"I could feel it, you know," she continues, her voice dropping lower. "How hard you'd get. Sometimes I could even feel your cock twitch through your pants. It made me so wet knowing I was affecting you like that."

You groan, unable to help yourself. "Fuck, Seulgi..."

"And you know what really got me hot?" She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear. "Sometimes I could feel your cock right against my asshole through our clothes. The way it would press right there... god, it made me want to just pull my pants down and let you fuck my ass right then and there."

Your cock is straining painfully against your jeans now as Seulgi's dirty confession pours out. She notices, of course, and presses her palm firmly against your bulge.

"You still haven't answered me: all those videos you picked - they were all anal scenes. Is that what you think about? Fucking my tight little ass?"

Unable to form words, you just nod. Seulgi's hand squeezes your cock through your pants.

"Tell me," she demands. "I want to hear you say it."

Swallowing hard, you force yourself to meet her intense gaze. "Yes. Fuck yes! I think about your ass all the time. Every time you wear that fucking leggings, I can see every curve, how tight and perfect it is. I go home and jerk off thinking about spreading those cheeks and burying my cock in your ass."

Seulgi moans, grinding the heel of her hand against your erection. "Keep going. Tell me more."

The dam breaks and all your pent-up fantasies come pouring out. "I think about eating your ass first, getting it nice and wet with my tongue. Spreading you open and licking you until you're begging for my cock. Then sliding into that tight hole inch by inch while you take it all..."

"Fuck," Seulgi gasps, her free hand sliding between her own legs. "I knew we had a connection. Want to know a secret?"

You nod eagerly, hypnotized by the way she's rubbing herself through her pants.

"I have toys," she confesses. "Butt plugs, dildos... I use them in my ass almost every night thinking about you. Imagining it's your thick cock stretching me open instead."

That confession breaks the last of your restraint. With a growl, you grab Seulgi and pull her into your lap, crushing your lips together in a desperate kiss. She responds immediately, grinding her ass against your cock as her tongue invades your mouth.

You grab her firm ass with both hands, squeezing and spreading the cheeks through the fabric. Seulgi moans into your mouth, rolling her hips to create more friction.

"Bedroom," she pants, breaking the kiss. "Now. I need you to fuck my ass properly."

You don't need to be told twice. Standing up with Seulgi still wrapped around you, you carry her down the hall to her room, hands firmly gripping her ass the whole way. She attacks your neck with kisses and little bites that make your cock throb.

Once in her bedroom, you toss her onto the bed and she bounces with a giggle that quickly turns into a moan as you grab the waistband of her pajama pants and yank them down. Her tiny black thong comes with them, leaving her lower half completely exposed.

"Fuck, look at that ass," you breathe, taking in the sight of her small, perfectly round cheeks. You've imagined this view countless times, but reality is so much better.

Seulgi wiggles her hips teasingly. "Touch it. I've been waiting so long to feel your hands on me."

You don't hesitate, climbing onto the bed and running your palms over the smooth globes of her ass. Her skin is incredibly soft and warm under your touch. You squeeze and knead the firm flesh, spreading her cheeks to reveal her tight pink hole.

"God, it's perfect," you groan, rubbing your thumb over her puckered entrance. Seulgi pushes back against the touch with a whimper.

"Taste it," she demands, arching her back to present herself better. "I want to feel your tongue in my ass."

You dive in eagerly, spreading her cheeks wide and dragging your tongue from her dripping pussy up to her asshole. Seulgi cries out, pushing back against your face as you circle her rim with firm licks.

"Yes, fuck, just like that," she moans. "Get my ass nice and wet for your cock."

You alternate between broad licks and pointed jabs with your tongue, gradually working the tip past her tight ring of muscle. Seulgi's whole body shudders as you tongue-fuck her ass, her pussy dripping onto the sheets below.

"More," she begs. "Stick your tongue in deeper. Get me ready for that thick cock."

You redouble your efforts, gripping her ass cheeks hard enough to leave marks as you bury your face between them. Your tongue pushes deeper into her hot channel while your nose presses against her taint. The musky, intimate taste of her ass only makes you harder.

Seulgi reaches back and spreads herself even wider for you. "That's it, eat my fucking ass. God, I've dreamed about this so many times."

You pull back just enough to spit directly onto her hole, watching it clench and relax. "Me too. Every time you sat on my lap, I wanted to bend you over and tongue-fuck this perfect little ass."

"I knew it," she pants. "I could feel how hard you'd get. Sometimes I'd grind back extra hard just to feel your cock pressing against my asshole through our clothes."

You press your thumb against her spit-slicked entrance, watching it slowly sink in to the first knuckle. Seulgi moans and pushes back, taking it deeper.

"Look how eager your ass is," you tease, working your thumb in and out. "Such a greedy little hole."

"Only for you," she gasps. "I've been saving my ass for your cock. Now stop teasing and fuck me already."

But you're not done exploring yet. You've fantasized about this too long to rush it. Pulling your thumb out, you replace it with two fingers, slowly working them into her tight channel.

"Fuck yes," Seulgi hisses. "Stretch me open. Get me ready for that big dick."

You pump your fingers steadily in and out of her ass, watching in fascination as her hole grips and releases them. Your other hand slides around to find her clit, rubbing the swollen nub in time with your thrusts.

"Oh god," she moans, rocking between your fingers. "That feels so fucking good. Add another finger, please. I want to be nice and loose for you."

You comply, working a third digit into her stretched hole. Seulgi's back arches beautifully as she takes it, a long moan escaping her lips.

"Such a good girl, taking it so well," you praise, scissoring your fingers to open her up more. "I can't wait to feel this tight ass wrapped around my cock."

"Please," she whimpers. "I need it. Need your cock in my ass so bad."

You continue finger-fucking her ass while your other hand works her clit, building her up slowly. Seulgi's moans get higher and more desperate as she approaches orgasm.

"That's it," you encourage. "Cum for me. Cum with my fingers in your ass."

Seulgi's whole body tenses as she crashes over the edge, her ass clenching rhythmically around your fingers as she cums. You work her through it, only stopping when she collapses bonelessly onto the bed.

"Holy fuck," she pants, looking back at you with glazed eyes. "That was so good."

You slowly withdraw your fingers, admiring how her hole stays slightly open. "Just wait until you feel my cock in there."

"Yes please," she purrs, rolling onto her back. "But first, get naked. I want to see what I've been missing."

You quickly strip off your clothes, your cock springing free rock hard and leaking. Seulgi's eyes go wide as she takes in your size.

"Fuck, you're bigger than my toys," she says appreciatively. "No wonder I could feel you so well through your pants."

She sits up and pulls her t-shirt off, revealing small, perky breasts with hard nipples. Your mouth waters at the sight of her toned body, tight abs leading down to her bare pussy.

"Come here," she beckons, reaching for your cock. "Let me get you nice and wet first."

You move closer and Seulgi wraps her small hand around your shaft, stroking slowly. Pre-cum leaks from the tip and she uses it to lubricate her movements.

"I've wanted to touch your cock for so long," she admits, leaning in to lick a stripe up the underside. "Every time I felt it getting hard under me, I wanted to pull it out and suck it."

Her tongue swirls around the head before she takes you into her mouth. You groan as she sucks you deeper, her hand working what doesn't fit.

"Fuck, your mouth feels amazing," you pant, threading your fingers through her hair.

Seulgi hums around your cock, the vibrations making your legs shake. She works you expertly, alternating between deep throat attempts and focusing on the sensitive head.

After a few minutes of this heavenly torture, you have to stop her. "Wait, I don't want to cum yet. I want to save it for your ass."

She releases you after a long suck on the tip. "Mmm, yes please. I want you to cum deep in my ass."

Seulgi rolls over onto her hands and knees, presenting her ass to you once again. "I need your cock in my ass so bad, babe. The lube is on the nightstand."

You grab the bottle and drizzle it generously over her hole and your cock. Using your fingers, you work it into her ass, making sure she's well-prepared.

"Ready?" you ask, lining yourself up with her entrance.

"God yes," she moans. "Fill my ass with that big cock."

You press forward slowly, watching the head of your cock stretch her tight ring of muscle. Seulgi whimpers as you breach her, her hands fisting in the sheets.

"You okay?" you check, pausing to let her adjust.

"Yes, don't stop," she pants. "Keep going. I want all of it."

You continue pushing forward inch by inch, groaning at the incredible tightness of her ass. Seulgi rocks back slightly, helping to work you deeper.

"Fuck, you're so big," she gasps. "My ass feels so full."

Finally, you bottom out, your hips pressed flush against her ass cheeks. You both moan at the sensation of being completely joined.

"How does it feel?" you ask, running your hands over her back.

"Amazing," she breathes. "Better than I ever imagined. Start moving, please. I need you to fuck my ass."

You pull back slowly until just the head remains inside, then push back in at the same pace. Seulgi's ass grips you like a vice, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"God, your ass is perfect," you groan, establishing a steady rhythm. "So fucking tight around my cock."

"Yes, fuck my ass," she moans. "Use my tight little hole. I've been saving it just for you."

You gradually increase your pace, watching in fascination as her ass swallows your cock over and over. The sight of your shaft disappearing into her stretched hole is hypnotic.

Seulgi reaches between her legs to play with her clit as you fuck her ass. "Harder," she demands. "I can take it. I want you to really fuck me."

You grip her hips tighter and start pounding into her ass with more force. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixed with both of your moans and gasps.

"Yes, just like that," she cries. "Fuck my ass hard. Make me your anal whore."

Her dirty talk spurs you on and you slam into her even harder, watching her small body jolt with each thrust. Your balls slap against her pussy, adding to the obscene symphony of sounds.

"You like that?" you growl, spanking her ass cheek. "Like having your tight little ass stretched around my cock?"

"God yes," she pants. "I love it. Love feeling you so deep in my ass. Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You can feel her getting close again, her ass clenching rhythmically around your cock as she works her clit faster. The extra tightness is bringing you closer to the edge too.

"Gonna cum soon," you warn, your thrusts becoming more erratic.

"Inside," she begs. "Cum in my ass! Fill me up with your hot load."

The combination of her words and her tight ass proves too much. With a final deep thrust, you explode inside her, painting her walls with rope after rope of cum. The feeling of being filled triggers Seulgi's own orgasm and she screams your name as she cums hard around your cock.

You continue pumping slowly, working both of you through your climaxes until you're completely spent. It's when you collapse forward, careful not to crush her smaller frame. Both of you pant heavily as you come down from your respective highs.

"Stay inside me," she murmurs when you start to pull out. "I want to feel your cum in my ass as long as possible."

You comply, remaining buried in her stretched hole as it continues to pulse around your softening cock.

"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, bringing your face closer to kiss her neck. Her tight hole squeezes you and you can feel your cum starting to leak out around your shaft.

"I can't believe we finally did this," Seulgi says softly, turning her head to look at you with those beautiful eyes that always drive you crazy. "I've wanted you for so long..."

"Really?" you ask, genuinely surprised. "I had no idea. I mean, I've always been attracted to you too but I figured I wasn't your type."

She lets out a little laugh. "Are you kidding? You're exactly my type. I've been fantasizing about you fucking me like this for years." She rolls her hips slightly, making you both moan as your semi-hard cock shifts inside her cum-filled ass.

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" you ask, running your hands up and down her smooth back.

"Same reason as you probably - didn't want to risk ruining our friendship," she admits. "Plus I wasn't sure if you saw me that way. I mean, you were always so shy, never showing any obvious interest, despite your glances at me... It was hard to decipher what you really wanted."

"Well, now you know what I really want. Do you know how many times I've jerked off thinking about that perfect little ass of yours?" You give her ass cheeks a squeeze for emphasis. "Or those cute little tits? Or those fucking gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock?"

Seulgi moans softly at your words, her ass clenching around you again. "Mmm tell me more... What else did you think about doing to me?"

You can feel your dick starting to harden again inside her as you continue: "Fuck, everything. Bending you over every surface in my apartment. Watching you bounce on my cock. Filling all your tight little holes with cum. The way you'd look with my dick stretching out that pretty mouth..."

"God yes," she whimpers, beginning to slowly grind against you. Your cock is definitely getting hard again now, making her gasp as it swells inside her ass. "I used to imagine you just grabbing me one day and taking what you wanted. Pushing me up against a wall and shoving your big cock inside me..."

"Yeah? You wanted me to just use you like a little fucktoy?"

"Yes! Fuck yes," she confesses. "I wanted you to treat me like your personal cumslut. Make me take that fat cock however you wanted..."

Your dick is fully hard again now, throbbing inside her cum-filled ass. You can feel your previous load still leaking out around your shaft as she continues grinding against you.

"Well now we can make up for lost time," you tell Seulgi as you pull out of her slowly, laying on your back on the bed as you pull her on top of you. "I'm going to fuck this tight little ass whenever I want now. Fill you up with load after load of cum..."

"Promise?" she asks breathlessly, grabbing your cock in her hand as she slowly reinserts it into her ass, sitting on top of you. The new angle lets you fully appreciate her perfect petite body - those perky tits, flat stomach, and that incredible ass currently impaled on your shaft.

"Fuck yes I promise. But now I want to see your perfect little body riding my cock..." You grab her hips and thrust up into her, making her cry out in pleasure.

"Oh god! Yes! Let me ride you," Seulgi purrs. She starts rolling her hips experimentally, getting used to the feeling of controlling the penetration. Your previous load of cum makes obscene wet sounds as she moves, some of it leaking out around your cock and dripping onto your balls. The sight of your thick shaft disappearing into her tight little hole is fucking mesmerizing.

"Fuck, you look so hot like this," you groan, gripping her slim hips. Her ass clenches around you at the compliment, making you both moan.

"Yeah? You like watching me bounce on your big cock?" she asks breathlessly, starting to lift herself up and down properly now. The way she moves is absolutely perfect - she clearly knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.

"God yes, love watching this tight little ass take my cock," you tell her, giving her ass cheeks a squeeze. "Such a perfect little slut, riding me like you were made for it..."

Seulgi throws her head back and really starts going for it, bouncing enthusiastically on your dick. Her small tits bounce with the movement and you reach up to pinch her hard nipples, making her cry out in pleasure. The wet sounds of your cum squelching around your shaft get even louder as she picks up speed.

"Fuck! Your cock feels so good in my ass," she pants, grinding down hard against you. "Love feeling it stretch me open... Love having your cum inside me..."

You thrust up to meet her movements, driving your cock deeper into her tight hole. The way she's riding you is absolutely incredible - her ass is still gripping your shaft like a vice even after taking your first load. Every time she drops down, taking you balls deep, she lets out these perfect little whimpers that drive you crazy.

"That's it baby, ride that cock," you encourage her, running your hands up her sides to cup her tits. "Show me how badly you've wanted this..."

"Wanted it so bad," she moans, bouncing faster. "Dreamed about riding your big cock like this... Feeling you stretch my tight little ass..."

Her dirty talk spurs you on and you start thrusting up harder, making her cry out with each deep stroke. The sight of your shaft disappearing into her perfect ass over and over, still slick with your previous load, is absolutely incredible. Some of your cum is leaking out around your cock, running down onto your balls in thick white streams.

"Such a perfect little anal slut," you growl, squeezing her tits roughly. "Taking my cock so well, begging for more... Were you always this much of a cumslut or is it just for me?"

"Just for you," she gasps, grinding down hard. "Never wanted anyone else like this... Never begged for anyone else's cum..."

Her words make your cock throb inside her and you start really pounding up into her tight hole. The way she's moving her hips is absolutely perfect, grinding down to take you as deep as possible before lifting up until just the tip remains inside her. Her ass clenches around you each time she rises up, like she doesn't want to let your cock go.

"Fuck yes, ride that dick," you encourage her, gripping her hips tightly. "Show me how badly you want another load in this tight little ass..."

"Want it so bad," she moans, bouncing frantically now. "Want you to fill me up again... Want even more of your hot cum deep inside me..."

The sight of her riding you like this is absolutely incredible. Her perfect little body bouncing on your cock, her tight ass gripping and milking your shaft, the way your previous load is leaking out around your cock - it's all driving you crazy with lust.

"Gonna fill this tight hole up again," you grunt, squeezing her ass roughly. "Paint your insides white with another huge load..."

"Yes! Please cum in my ass again," she begs, grinding down hard. "Want to feel you pump me full... Want your hot cum deep inside me..."

You can feel your orgasm building as she continues riding you frantically, her tight hole milking your cock perfectly.

"Fuck, I'm close," you warn her, gripping her hips tightly. "Gonna fill this perfect little ass up again..."

"Do it! Cum inside me," she moans, grinding down hard. "Fill me up, mark me as yours..."

A few more bounces and you're there, groaning loudly as you start pumping another huge load deep in her ass. Seulgi cries out and clenches around you, her own orgasm hitting as she feels your hot cum flooding her insides.

"Oh god, yes! I can feel it," she gasps, grinding against you as you continue spurting inside her. "So much cum... Filling me up so good..."

You thrust up a few more times, making sure to deposit every drop of cum as deep as possible in her tight hole. When you're finally spent, she collapses forward onto your chest, her sweat-slick skin sliding against yours, both of you breathing heavily as your softening cock remains buried in her thoroughly fucked and cum-filled ass.

"That was fucking incredible," you pant, running your hands up and down her back.

"Mmm it really was," she agrees, nuzzling against your neck. "Best night ever. We definitely need to do this again. Like, a lot."

"Oh we will," you assure her with a grin. "I meant what I said - I'm going to use this perfect little ass whenever I want now. You’re mine. Officially. No take-backs.”

Her grin softens into something more genuine, and she cups your face, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “So we’re doing this? Like, actually doing this?”

“Hell yes, we are,” you reply without hesitation. “We’ve wasted enough time pretending we didn’t want this. And now that I know how good we are together, you really think I’m letting you go?”

She pulls you into a kiss, slow and deep. “Good. Because I don’t want to go anywhere. I'm stuck with you now.”

“Stuck with me?” you repeat, smirking. “Babe, I'm the one who'll have to deal with your insane ass from now on. If anyone’s ‘stuck,’ it’s me.”

“Oh, please,” she fires back, rolling her eyes. “You love my insane ass.”

“Damn right, I do,” you say, sliding a hand down to squeeze it for emphasis. “And I plan on showing you just how much, every chance I get.”

She laughs, wrapping her arms around your neck. “God, we’re so screwed up. Who the hell starts a relationship like this?”

You shrug, leaning down to kiss her again. “Us, apparently. And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two of you stay tangled up in each other, talking and teasing until the conversation drifts back to the years of near-misses and unspoken feelings. It’s all out in the open now, and for the first time, it feels like everything’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.

—

You slowly open your eyes, still groggy from last night's intense activities. The morning sunlight filters through the curtains of Seulgi's bedroom, casting a warm glow across the messy sheets. Your naked body feels pleasantly sore as memories from yesterday flood back - how your petite best friend discovered those edited porn videos you made of her, and instead of getting pissed off, she got turned on. Who would've thought sweet little Seulgi was such a dirty girl?

The bed beside you is empty but still warm. You stretch lazily, enjoying the lingering scent of sex in the air mixed with her perfume. Your morning wood is already throbbing as you replay highlights from last night - Seulgi's tight little ass bouncing on your cock, her moans when you ate her holes, the way she begged for more...

The bedroom door opens and there she is - your best friend in all her sweaty glory. She's wearing a sports bra that shows off her perky tits and skin-tight leggings that hug every curve. Her skin glistens with perspiration, loose strands of hair sticking to her flushed face. Your cock instantly gets even harder.

"Good morning, sleepyhead!" Seulgi chirps, grabbing a towel to wipe her face. "Hope you don't mind, I always do my morning workout. Gotta keep this body tight, you know?" She strikes a playful pose.

"Fuck, you look incredible all sweaty like that," you growl, drinking in her athletic form. The way those leggings cling to her ass should be illegal. "Your body is fucking perfect."

She bites her lip, clearly pleased by the compliment. "Mmm, someone slept well I see," she says, eyeing your obvious erection beneath the sheets. "Still naked under there?"

"Want to come find out for yourself?"

"Actually..." Seulgi's eyes gleam with mischief. "I could use some extra cardio. Work up even more of a sweat..."

You throw back the sheets, exposing your rock-hard cock. "Get that sexy ass over here then."

Seulgi saunters toward the bed, her hips swaying. The musky scent of her post-workout sweat hits your nostrils and makes your mouth water. When she gets close enough, you grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you.

"Mmm, someone's eager," she giggles, grinding against your erection through her leggings.

You bury your face in her neck, inhaling deeply. The salty tang of her sweat mixed with her natural scent is intoxicating. Your tongue darts out to taste her glistening skin, trailing up to her ear.

"Fuck, you taste so good all sweaty," you growl. "I want to lick every inch of you."

Seulgi moans as you suck and nibble at her neck, leaving marks. Your hands roam over her toned body, squeezing her ass through those sinfully tight leggings. You've fantasized about her in workout clothes so many times, and now you finally get to live it out.

Your mouths crash together in a heated kiss. She tastes like mint - must have brushed her teeth before working out. Your tongues battle for dominance as you grind against each other. One hand slides up under her sports bra to pinch a hard nipple.

"These fucking leggings," you groan between kisses. "Do you know how many times I've jerked off thinking about ripping them open and fucking you in them?"

"Show me," she purrs. "Make those dirty fantasies real."

You don't need to be told twice. Gripping the fabric between her legs, you tear a hole right over her pussy and ass. The sound of ripping material fills the room as Seulgi gasps.

"Fuck yes, ruin them," she moans. "I love how fucking nasty you are."

You run your fingers over her exposed holes. Her pussy is already dripping wet, her asshole still slightly gaped from last night's pounding.

"I gotta admit, I'm gonna miss these leggings," Seulgi whines, but her pussy visibly clenches at the dominant display.

"I'll buy you new ones," you reply, tearing the hole wider until it extends from her lower back to her upper thighs. The torn edges frame her holes perfectly. "Now get to work on my cock while I eat this pretty pussy.”

She straddles your face in reverse, giving you a perfect view of her holes as she wraps her lips around your throbbing shaft. You groan at the wet heat enveloping your cock, the vibrations making her moan around you.

You spread her ass cheeks wide, admiring how her holes glisten with arousal. Her pussy is swollen and pink, cream already gathering at her entrance. Her tight asshole clenches invitingly.

"Such a pretty view," you murmur before diving in, dragging your tongue from her clit all the way up to her asshole. She shudders and moans around your cock, taking you deeper.

You alternate between broad licks through her folds and targeted flicks against her clit, gathering her tangy juices on your tongue. Her thighs start trembling as you suck her sensitive nub, her own oral efforts becoming sloppier as pleasure overtakes her.

"Mmmph!" she gags slightly as you thrust up into her throat, your hands gripping her ass to hold her in place. Tears gather in her eyes but she doesn't pull away, relaxing her throat to take you deeper.

You release her clit with a wet pop. "Good girl, taking my cock so deep while I eat this pussy." You punctuate your words by spearing your tongue into her dripping hole, tasting her deepest parts.

Her hips start grinding against your face as you tongue-fuck her, smearing her juices all over your chin. The torn leggings frame the erotic sight perfectly, the ripped edges emphasizing how thoroughly you're debauching her.

You pull back slightly to admire your work - her pussy is even more swollen now, her inner lips puffy and glistening. Her clit stands out prominently, begging for more attention. Above, her asshole clenches rhythmically, practically begging to be played with.

You drag your tongue up to circle her puckered entrance. Seulgi's whole body jerks at the contact, a muffled moan vibrating around your cock.

"Your ass is perfect," you murmur against her skin before diving back in, circling her rim with firm pressure. Her resistance melts away as you continue the rimming, replaced by breathy moans and hip rolls against your face.

You alternate between her holes - tongue-fucking her pussy until she's dripping, then moving up to tease her ass until it's quivering. Her own oral efforts match your intensity, her throat muscles massaging your cock as she deep throats you.

"Such a dirty girl," you growl between licks. "Getting your ass eaten while deepthroating cock... I bet you were planning this when you invited me to watch a fucking horror movie yesterday.”

She pulls off your cock with a gasp. "And it worked so we- Oh fuck, don't stop... feels so good..." She immediately swallows you back down, sucking with renewed vigor.

You focus your attention on her asshole, pointing your tongue to breach the tight ring of muscle. She practically squeals around your cock as you tongue-fuck her ass, her thighs shaking uncontrollably.

Her pussy is dripping steadily now, cream coating your chin and neck. You reach up to gather some on your fingers, using it to lubricate her asshole as you continue eating it. One finger slides in easily alongside your tongue, making her whole body jerk.

"Gonna make you cum just from eating your ass," you promise, working a second finger into her tight hole while your tongue continues circling the rim. Your other hand moves to her clit, rubbing quick circles on the swollen nub.

She's barely sucking your cock anymore, just holding it in her mouth as she pants and moans. Her hips rock desperately between your fingers and tongue, chasing her release.

"That's it baby, ride my face," you encourage, curling your fingers inside her ass while flicking her clit rapidly. "Want to feel you cum all over my chin..."

Her inner muscles start fluttering around your fingers as her orgasm approaches. You double down on your efforts, tongue and fingers working in harmony to push her over the edge.

She pulls off your cock with a cry as she starts cumming, her whole body convulsing. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuuck!" Her pussy gushes, coating your chin and neck with cream as her ass clenches rhythmically around your fingers.

You work her through it until she's whimpering from oversensitivity, then slowly withdraw your fingers. Her holes clench around empty air, still quivering from the intense orgasm.

"I-I n-need your cock in my pussy," she pants. "You didn't even fuck it last night because you were so focused on my ass. Time to make up for that."

You give her holes one last long lick before letting her climb off your face. Seulgi turns around and straddles your hips, rubbing her dripping pussy along your shaft.

"Watch how easily your big cock stretches my little hole," she purrs, positioning you at her entrance.

You groan as she sinks down, taking you balls deep in one smooth motion. Her pussy grips you like a vice, so hot and wet around your throbbing member.

"Fuck, you're so tight," you growl, gripping her hips. "Ride that cock, baby. Show me how bad you want it."

Seulgi starts bouncing on your shaft, her perky tits bouncing in the sports bra. Sweat drips down her toned stomach as she works herself on your cock. You reach up to pinch her nipples through the fabric, making her clench around you.

"Your pussy feels amazing," you moan. "So fucking wet for me."

She speeds up her movements, slamming down to take you as deep as possible. Her pussy makes obscene squelching sounds as your cock pistons in and out of her soaking hole.

You thrust up to meet her bounces, making her cry out each time you bottom out. Her pussy cream coats your shaft and balls, making everything deliciously slick. You can feel her inner walls fluttering as she gets close to cumming again.

"Play with your clit," you command. "I want to feel you cum all over my cock."

Seulgi reaches down to rub her swollen nub while continuing to ride you. Her movements become more erratic as pleasure builds. You grab her ass cheeks, spreading them wide and teasing her rim with your thumb.

"Fuck! I'm gonna cum on your cock!" she screams. Her pussy clamps down on your shaft as her orgasm hits. You keep thrusting through her climax, prolonging the waves of pleasure.

When her spasms subside, you pull out of her drenched hole. Your cock is coated in her cream, making it perfect for what comes next.

"Get on your hands and knees," you growl. "Time to stuff that tight little ass again."

Seulgi quickly assumes the position, arching her back to present her ass, the torn leggings frame her still-twitching holes perfectly. Her pussy is still pulsing from her orgasm, cream dripping down her thighs. Her asshole winks invitingly, already loosened from your fingers and last night's fucking.

You kneel behind her and rub your slick cock between her cheeks, teasing both holes. "You want my cock in your ass, don't you? Such a dirty girl, getting off on having both holes used."

"Please," she moans, pushing back against you. "Fuck my ass! I need it so bad!"

You press your cockhead against her tight rim, watching it slowly stretch around you. Despite being fucked there just hours ago, she's still deliciously tight. You grab her hips and steadily push forward until you're balls deep in her ass.

"Fuck yes," Seulgi pants. "Your cock feels so good stretching my ass!"

You start with slow, deep strokes, watching your shaft disappear into her hungry hole. Her ass grips you perfectly, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. You reach around to rub her clit, making her moan louder.

"Such a good little anal slut," you growl, speeding up your thrusts. "Taking my cock so deep in your ass while I play with your pussy."

Seulgi pushes back to meet each thrust, clearly loving the double stimulation. Her pussy drips steadily as you pound her ass, adding to the lewd sounds filling the room. You give her ass a hard smack, watching it jiggle.

"Harder!" she begs. "Wreck my fucking ass!"

You grab her hips tight and really start hammering into her. Your balls slap against her pussy with each thrust as you drill her asshole. Sweat drips down your chest, mixing with hers where your bodies meet.

The sight of your cock stretching her tight rim combined with her wanton moans has you getting close. You increase the pressure on her clit, wanting her to cum again before you finish.

"Gonna cum again," Seulgi gasps. "Keep fucking my ass just like that!"

Her whole body shakes as another orgasm rips through her. You feel her asshole spasm around your cock as she screams in pleasure.

“Fuck, I'm almost there,” you moan. “This time I'm gonna cover your little body with my cum.”

You pump into her stretched asshole a few more times, savoring the tight grip before withdrawing with a wet pop. Her gaping hole clenches around empty air as she quickly flips onto her back, her abs glistening with fresh workout sweat. The torn leggings frame her lower half perfectly, her pussy still dripping from her previous orgasms.

"Fuck, look at you," you growl, furiously stroking your cock as you kneel between her spread legs. Your shaft is slick with her ass juices, making obscene squelching sounds as you jerk it. "So fucking hot all sweaty and messy for me..."

Seulgi runs her hands over her damp skin, pinching her hard nipples through her sports bra. "Come on baby, mark me up. Want to feel your hot load all over my abs..."

Your cock throbs harder at her words. She looks like a fucking goddess lying there, skin golden and gleaming with perspiration, hair messy from getting railed, lips swollen from sucking your cock. The contrast of her still being partially clothed in her workout gear while being completely debauched is driving you wild.

"Play with yourself," you command, stroking faster. "Want to watch you rub that clit while I cover you in cum..."

She immediately slides a hand between her legs, fingers circling her swollen clit. Her other hand pushes her sports bra up to fully expose her perky tits, rolling a nipple between her fingers.

"Please," she whimpers, hips bucking as she pleasures herself. "Need your cum so bad... want you to paint me with it..."

You can feel your orgasm building, pressure mounting in your balls. Your cock is angry red and leaking precum steadily. Seulgi notices and licks her lips.

"Are you gonna cum for me baby?" she purrs, spreading her legs wider. "Want to feel it hot and thick all over my sweaty body... want you to mark your territory..."

"Fuck... gonna cum so hard for you..." you grunt, your hand a blur on your shaft. The wet sounds of her fingering herself mixed with your jerking is obscene.

"Do it," she demands, her fingers moving faster on her clit. "Fucking cover me... want to feel it splashing on my skin..."

Your orgasm hits like a freight train. The first rope of cum shoots out with incredible force, landing in a thick stripe from her collarbone down between her tits. The second and third spurts paint her ribs and abs, hot white streaks stark against her shiny skin.

"Yes! More!" she cries out, her own orgasm hitting as she watches you mark her. "Cover me!"

You continue cumming, decorating her sweaty stomach with rope after rope of thick seed. Some lands on the torn edges of her leggings, soaking into the fabric. The final few spurts dribble onto her lower abs, mixing with the sweat pooled in the grooves of her muscles.

When you're finally spent, you sit back to admire your work. Seulgi looks absolutely debauched - covered in sweat, cum, and pussy juice, workout clothes torn and disheveled, hair a mess. Your cum is already starting to run down the sides of her torso in rivulets, mixing with her sweat.

She runs her fingers through the mess on her stomach, spreading it around like lotion. The sight of her rubbing your seed into her sweaty skin makes your spent cock twitch weakly.

"Mmm, so much cum," she purrs, gathering some on her fingers and bringing them to her mouth. She maintains eye contact as she sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. "Love how it mixes with my sweat... makes me feel so dirty..."

She continues playing with the cum on her body, alternating between spreading it around and tasting it off her fingers. Some has dripped down to her pussy, mixing with her own juices.

"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, watching her enjoy your mess. She gathers more cum on her fingers and offers them to you. You eagerly suck them clean, tasting the salty mixture of your cum and her sweat.

"Love marking you up like this," you say as she continues rubbing the cooling cum into her skin. "Looking all sweaty and used, covered in my load..."

"Mmm, me too," she sighs contentedly. "Want you to do this every time I come back from working out... mark your territory all over my sweaty body..."

The combination of the visual, her dirty talk, and the various fluids coating her skin makes your cock start to harden again despite having just cum. Seulgi notices and laughs.

"Already getting hard again? Such a horny boy..." she teases, running a cum-covered finger down your shaft. "Save that energy for the next workout... want you nice and pent up so you can cover me in an even bigger load..."

You spend the next few minutes trading lazy kisses and caresses, enjoying the afterglow. Seulgi's skin is still flushed and glowing with sweat. Her sports bra is stained with your cum, marking her as yours.

"I should probably actually shower now," she says eventually. "Want to join me? I could use help getting clean... or maybe getting dirty again."

"Lead the way," you smirk, admiring her ass as she heads to the bathroom.

—

After the shower, you throw on some clothes and head to the kitchen. While Seulgi makes coffee, you raid her fridge for breakfast ingredients. The domestic scene feels surprisingly natural after the intensity of your sexual encounters.

"I still can't believe this all started because you caught me making porn edits of you," you say, cracking eggs into a pan.

She laughs. "I mean, I was shocked at first. But then I watched them and... fuck, they were hot. Made me realize how much I wanted you."

"Could have saved us both a lot of sexual frustration if we'd admitted it sooner."

"True. But making up for lost time has been pretty fun," she winks. "Plus now I have a personal trainer who really knows how to motivate me."

Breakfast becomes less about eating and more about stolen touches. Her fingers graze yours when you pass her a plate, and your knees bump under the table like it’s on purpose. Each bite of food comes with a side of heated glances that linger too long. The energy between you is still electric, even after having sex twice just this morning, alive with the kind of hunger that never truly fades.

Seulgi reaches across the table, her thumb brushing a crumb from your lip. Her touch lingers, her gaze heavy with desire. "We’re really bad at pretending this isn’t gonna happen again in about five minutes, huh?"

You grin, pushing your plate aside.

"Who’s pretending?”

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p-seduonym · 1 month ago

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Switched At Birth (Part Five)

A/N: So I've been a little busy. Work, school, etc. This one's a bit shorter but hopefully you guys like it. Wanted to get more into the yandere aspect of the story with Melissa's thoughts. Also sorry if my taglist is a mess, I'm still figuring out Tumblr etiquette.

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask):@luludeluluramblings, @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

It was only after Melissa had gone home, with a bag of thrifted clothing and another solely for her new dress, that she noticed it.

You left your scrunchie with her.

It felt like satin and was a baby blue color.

You had used it to pin her hair back as you did her makeup with some drug store brands. “Totally a spring— I knew it”, you said as you gently dusted blush on her cheeks, your breath curling around the nape of her neck.

The most reasonable thing to do would be to give it back to you, the next time she saw you.

But…when would “next time” be?

She had heard that plenty of times. “Next time”, Dick promised when she asked if he could go out with her.

“Next time,” her father had said about dinner.

Next time. Next time. Next time.

So she didn’t give it back.

Turning it over in her hands, her thumb brushed over the faint warmth still trapped in the fabric. Just a whisper of it— but your presence was within the weave.

It wasn’t much. Just a scrunchie.

But you’d worn it. You touched her while wearing it. You laughed while twisting her hair up like it was second nature. And that laugh was still there, somewhere in the soft folds, if she listened closely enough.

She slipped it around her wrist, let it rest there like a bracelet.

Just until she saw you again, she told herself.

Only—she didn’t take it off.

The satin was cool against her pulse, a pale ribbon of proof.

Proof that you had been real.

That you had chosen her, even if just for an afternoon.

And maybe it was stupid, maybe she was reading into everything too much—but she didn’t care.

You saw her. You picked her. When no one else even noticed she was there.

Of course you didn’t mean to leave the scrunchie. But that didn’t matter.

Because now it was hers.

A thread that tied her to you.

In the inky stillness of her room, she fell asleep with it intertwined in her fingers.

The next morning, Melissa came down for breakfast. Everyone was gone, as usual, but Alfred was already waiting in the kitchen.

He always was.

However, today, there wasn’t just the morning paper—opened to the financial section— on the table. A laptop, it looked like Barbara’s, sat opened to the trending page on a tabloid site. A picture took up the screen: Melissa, standing awkwardly in a thrift store. You beside her, grinning like you owned the world. A blur of pink between you—the dress.

Alfred looked up when she entered the kitchen. Not judgemental or stern. Just… watchful.

He closed the laptop carefully.

“Miss Melissa”

She paused halfway to the fridge, “...yes?”

“May I assume your outing was enjoyable?”

Not what were you thinking? Not that was inappropriate. Just a simple question. Yet she hesitated.

“...Yes,” She answered carefully, halfheartedly scanning the contents of the fridge. “It was”

She didn’t elaborate further. Didn’t ask why Alfred was interested in social media for once, or why the tabloids thought teenagers hanging out was suddenly front page news. It must have been such a slow news day for the site that they actually remembered the Forgotten Wayne. Barbara always knew when one of them was mentioned anywhere on social media, so it must have been recent, too.

But…her chest tightened. Why did they have to know about you? Why now? When she found someone who chose her? It’s not like they knew who you actually were; just the “girl with cat socks” or “a public curiosity”.

Still, she didn’t like the way it felt. The way your name might now sit on the tongues of strangers, twisted and misinterpreted, picked apart by people who didn’t know you.

Alfred’s tone was light as he poured her tea—green with a dash of sugar, just how she liked it: “She seems like a nice young lady”

That made her think to herself as she stirred her tea aimlessly: did she know you either?

You told her the basics at the diner— you went to a public school, average grades, some friends, a house in the suburbs. Did you tell everyone else that? Did everyone know you the way she does?

The tea tasted more bitter than usual.

You weren’t for them. You were hers.

She didn’t say anything, at first. She didn’t plan for possessiveness. She didn’t get to plan far before everything seemed to dissolve in your wake. Plans seemed to just be like that—crisp and clean until they got wet and tore.

“She is,” She admits, finally. “Nice.”

Alfed inclined his head, accepting this answer. He pauses and waits for her to continue, but she doesn’t. His eyes soften, in a way that grates at her skin, and lets the silent question dissipate.

Poor, little Melissa, she almost heard him think. So worried about her one and only friend.

She was used to this; as used as one could be. People just saw her as someone—something— to feel bad for.

Her warped reflection stared back from the tea cup.

They never really saw the rot just below the surface— and she was glad for that. No one had to see the disgusting bitterness she kept hidden. Even Alfred just saw her as yet another tragedy within the Wayne Manor,

Still, that wasn’t entirely useless.

If there could be yet another thing to tie her to you— her hand grazed the scrunchie on her wrist — wouldn’t that be even better?

Alfred watched her, not pointing out how the hair tie clashed with her uniform, and made a passing note.

“She does look strikingly similar— to who, I can’t quite say”

Melissa paused.

That’s right, she thought, you did look like that person.

She didn't leave her tea when she stood up, rather she took with her and walked past Alfred. In a practiced tone of submissiveness, Melissa confessed,

“I don’t know when I’ll see her again. We don’t go to the same school after all…”

And Alfred responded, his ever kind and patient self: “I will see if your invite to this month’s gala can be extended to one other person”.

Perfect.

As she retreated, she pulled out her cell phone. Typing and retyping, she sent out a message to you.

Hi-

Hello-

Hi, there’s a gala coming up– can you go with me?

She watched as the three little dots appeared and then disappeared before reappearing.

“If you want another makeover, you can just ask lol”

Melissa smiled to herself.

A/N: hehehe who's "that person"? It's probably pretty obvious if you follow @luludeluluramblings's posts but let's forget that and pretend I'm clever for now, okay? btw if you are waiting for some more Cult of the Lamb X Batfam stuff I'll be posting something soon. It's small but it's something.

#yandere #yandere blog #yandere core #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #yandere oc #original character #familial yandere #romantic yandere #yandere batfam X reader #yandere oc x reader #just let me ramble #switched at birth au

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straylightdream · 27 days ago

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I like you, maybe - teaser

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jeon wonwoo x afb.reader

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: coming May 2025

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): friends to lovers, mutual pining, romance, hurt, comfort, angst, smut, fake dating

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol au

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: daddy issues, family issues, fake dating, alcohol consumption, crying, lots of emotions

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: protected p in v, vanilla sweet smut, breast/nipple play, fingering, clit play, hand job

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: if you would like to be tagged please fill out this form. I’m reworking and fully rewriting something I wrote in 2021

-PREVEIW-

You always felt as if you were never good enough for your father. No one saw you truly upset over your relationship with your father other than Mingyu and Wonwoo.

“I don’t think I have a choice, if I don’t go, my grandma, and dad won’t let me live it down.” You sighed. You’ve contemplated going no contact but you knew it would be hard. There is this part of you that thinks if you try hard enough maybe one day your relationship could be fixed. “Oh my god I don’t want to go to this alone.” You knew that this wedding was going to be a lot of people asking you why you’re single, and if you’re going to have kids. All your cousins were married and had kids, and you’re the only single one. Every Christmas one of the few times you would see that side of the family. Everyone would always harp on you and ask a million questions about your life.

“You should have someone go with you,” Mingyu said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Do you want to go with me?” you asked, praying maybe Mingyu could save you from going to this alone. You knew that Mingyu could play the part as the perfect boyfriend. Your mother already loved him and constantly told you that you should date someone like Mingyu. You knew her father would love him too. He’s a parent’s dream partner for their daughter.

“I can’t because it’s my mom’s birthday that weekend so I’m going to be at a family event out of town,” he said. You can tell he feels bad he can’t help you. You could tell that he didn’t want you going alone, but he wasn’t able to go to help you out.

“Literally everyone is going to be in my business about not having a boyfriend. I need to get a boyfriend within the next two weeks,” you said with a sarcastic laugh knowing damn well that was going to be nearly impossible.

“What are you talking about?” Wonwoo asked, walking into the kitchen. He sat down next to Mingyu and looked over at you. He pushes up his glasses. You completely forgot Wonwoo was home. He’s been locked away in his room playing video games.

“My dad is getting married in two weeks and I don’t want to go alone. I’m not looking forward to being asked the same questions about my dating life over and over again.” You can’t help but sigh dramatically. Leaning forward resting your face in your hands.

“So- do you want someone to be your fake date?” Wonwoo asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes, she wants a fake date,” Mingyu said before taking another drink of his beer. He gave up on working on his own work project about an hour ago.

Wonwoo shrugged his shoulders and said, “I mean I can go with you if you want. I think I would make a pretty good fake boyfriend.”

You looked up at Wonwoo and knit your eyebrows together and stared at him wondering if he was serious.“Are you being serious about offering to be my fake date?” You don’t think you can actually handle it if he's just messing with you.

He shrugged his shoulders again oh so casually. “Yeah why not? Weddings are great, there is free food, and normally there are free drinks.”

Shutting your laptop, you looked over at Wonwoo who was smiling. “Jeon Wonwoo, you’re a lifesaver.”

#svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #keopihausnet #mansaenetwork #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #wonwoo fanfiction #wonwoo imagine #wonwoo angst

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awrkive · 10 months ago

Text

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 2 — JJK (m.)

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 22.5k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, lovely hot nerdy jk ): (i think i speak for all women when i say that nerdy jungkook is the best jungkook say I IF U AGREE),[explicit sexual content: masturbation (f)], has the budding romance finally hit the second towers? read more to find out

NOTES hey everyone thank you so much for the overwhelming support on this silly little fic. i hope you guys enjoy this update and let me know your thoughts in the replies/reblog section and in my inbox, wherever you prefer hehe <3

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You usually finish prepping for the office at around 7:40 am, just enough time left to walk to the station and catch your bus at exactly 8 am.

As of now, it's 7 but the clock's longer hand has moved past the 40-minute mark, and you are still in your living room, supposedly all done and ready to go – except that you're stuck on the floor looking at your laptop perched on your coffee table, staring at it blankly, the HR email looking right back at you; almost daunting.

Subject: Invitation to Ceremony: Announcement of Interim CTO Dear Blue Nexus Inc. employee, We hope this email finds you well. We would like to inform you that a ceremony has been scheduled on July 29, 2028, 10:00 am at the AVR Hall 5, 12th floor. The purpose of this event is to announce the appointment of our interim Chief Technology Officer (CTO), Mr. Jeon Jungkook. As you may be aware, our previous CTO, Mr. Shin Juman, is currently on medical leave recovering from a stroke. While he is recuperating and undergoing treatment, it has become necessary for us to appoint an interim CTO for an indefinite period of time to ensure the continuity and effectiveness of our operations. Your presence at this meeting is highly valued as we introduce the new leadership to the team and outline our strategic direction moving forward. Light refreshments will be served. Thank you for your attention to this matter. We look forward to seeing you at the ceremony. Best regards, HR Department

You've been reading it over and over again you're sure you can recite it with ease if prompted. It's in the hopes that the name Jeon Jungkook will suddenly disappear somewhere in the email – that maybe you missed some detail, and it doesn't actually mention his name at all. You read the email repeatedly wishing that it is just a glitch in the system and what you found out about yesterday are all just a part of your extreme delusion. Maybe it's one of those nights with Jimin at his apartment where you would indulge in a little bit of guilty pressure – pots, to be exact – and just let it take you to a whole new world.

But you and Jimin didn't go home together last night, and you definitely did not smoke pot. He went straight to the airport and you straight home with nothing but mixed feelings inside, and you were more than thankful that Jimin was in a bout of panic himself about not getting there on time that he didn't notice you squirming in his passenger seat.

There is a vague memory in your head with him telling you he was going to come with Namjoon, but you can't be for sure. Everything that transpired that night is all reduced down to the very moment in the comfort room when you realized the glaring information about Jungkook being three eggs in your basket: first, he's Jimin's cousin. Second, he's an executive in your company – a CTO, to be exact – and while you aren't exactly working under his department and they are all the way up ten floors above you, he's still technically your boss according to the hierarchy. The son of the CEO of the very company you are working at. Not only is he the CTO, but third he's also your neighbor. Someone you've met weeks ago whom you may have developed a growing relationship with that will now possibly be bleak in a matter of hours or days depending on if you are going to tell him or if he finds out.

That is the thing that you're currently debating with yourself about as you let your eyes glide over the unsuspecting email from HR for the nth time.

7:50 am – the clock on your screen reads.

You think about the dock pay that you're gonna get if you come to work late. At this point, you can run to the station and still catch your bus, but you have to decide in a minute for that to be possible.

Groaning, you feel defeated as you shut your laptop close and stand up from the floorboards, your eyes going over to the door across from you which earns yourself a wince.

I'm gonna get a dock pay and it will all be Jungkook's fault. That jerk.

Okay – obviously, he's far from a jerk and he has nothing to do with any of this. You just like blaming anybody.

You sigh, grabbing your bag, finally making up your mind to just go and see for yourself what today has to offer you. A little optimism, if you will. But if you manage to bump into Jungkook at that company you aren't sure if you're not going to do something embarrassing because one thing about you, you do not know how to face certain challenges in life like a matured individual – you always have to be a little overboard and overdramatic with it.

You were heading towards the door when you suddenly remember your ID.

Your ID. Funny.

As you pick it up off the coffee table, you think about how you don't really wear it on the way to work and on your way home. You don't like the feeling of the lanyard wrapping around the skin of your nape, so you've always just worn it when you're in the office where it is mandatory. Otherwise, you make sure to take it off.

Suddenly, you think about a scenario where you're the kind of employee to wear their ID all the time, and those nights where you'd go to Midday straight from work to have dinner with Jungkook would've turned out differently because then if you were to have worn your ID during one of those meetings, he would've figured out that you're working at the same company. And maybe... the conversation about his relation to Jimin would've came up.

And maybe, you won't feel so... complicated about the whole thing.

How – in the two weeks that you've spent with him – do you know too much yet so little about him? How did you ever not ask each other where you work and how did this all come to you like a landslide and now you have no way out?

God's sake, you know about his dog, and you've exchanged numbers... and yet...

Although, granted, maybe you should've asked for each other's socials? Does he have Instagram? Twitter? Maybe if you had exchanged those sooner, you would've gotten to know him more and made the connections you only recently found out.

You want so badly to reach out to Jimin to talk to him about all of this. But he hasn't really contacted you since he sent off Namjoon to the airport. Maybe he really did leave with him, and it isn't just your imagination when he said something about going there last night when you sneaked out of the party.

But deep inside... you do not really want to talk to him about any of this, at all.

It is, to simply put, awkward.

You feel ashamed for gushing about your neighbor that is apparently the same person as his cousin. Feel embarrassed about how you ogled over him to Jimin when in fact, they're related. You don't know about other people, but you know the unspoken rule about not dating your friends' relatives? Not like you're dating Jungkook, but you have a crush on him for fuck's sake. The strings do not even stop at their blood relation because it extends to your workplace as well.

You know Jimin well enough to feel confident about not getting judged by him if you were to tell him about it, and if he actually does, he will directly say it to your face as far as you're concerned. But...

It's just all too awkward to tell anyone about. You're in too deep in the sea of embarrassment and shame you cannot think of ways to get out of it.

Your head is starting to hurt, and you know it's the sign to stop thinking. So, you shut up all the voices in your head and walk towards the door ready to go out, telling yourself that whatever happened, you're going to handle everything cooly like the grown woman you are.

Stepping outside the threshold of your apartment, you're just about to turn around to lock the door on your way out when suddenly, the door across yours opens and there welcomes you the man starring in your list of problems for the day: Jeon Jungkook, your neighbor Unit 446.

"Oh, hi. Good morning—"

You turn on your heel so quickly and open the door to your apartment so fast it's almost at the speed of light, entering your apartment once again and slamming the door closed, pressing your back on it as your eyes widen; heart beating at a staccato of thug, thug, thug as you take a moment to hold your breath.

What the fuck.

How in the hell is this the first time you see each other getting ready to work? It couldn't have happened in the first week you knew him or hell, the first day?! Why must you have bumped into him like that the moment you finally knew about who he is? Everything is getting way too ridiculous. It's like the universe is telling you once again that you'll always be her middle child: unfavorable by all ends.

"Shit." You hiss, biting your lip quite harshly as you think about how you must've looked like a goddamn fool turning on him like that for no reason. Jungkook must've been weirded the hell out – and rightfully so.

You face-palm. Damn, you were just telling yourself you're gonna handle everything like a grown, matured woman.

You unconsciously walk on your tippy toes on the way to the small window on the side of the door that lets you oversee outside your door, peeking from there like a creep as you watch Jungkook, still on his porch – with his grey coat over his arm – looking down on his phone and doing something with it.

That something is apparently sending you a text.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:52am]: why did u seem like u just saw a ghost?

The message read when you open your phone at the bell of notification. You haven't even read all of it yet when another one comes in.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:52am]: am I that appalling in the mornings? Haha 🥴

On any occasion, you would've laughed and go along with the joke, but you do not know what to say to him.

You stand there doing nothing, just staring at his two consecutive messages, poorly left on read. You purse your lips as you peek from the small window again, getting a glimpse of Jungkook standing still on his porch, eyes glued to his phone. He waits for awhile, and then you see him shaking his head with a hint of... smile on his face?

And then your phone dings once again.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:53am]: good morning by the way. Get safely to work

You stare at it so hard that the next second you look at the window, he isn't there anymore.

Letting out a heavy breath, you knock your head on the door, thinking about how you missed your 8 am bus and you have to wait for 30 minutes for another one to come and most especially, how you're going to get a dock pay for being late.

It's almost as if Jungkook is running for higher office the way his face is plastered all over the LED screens inside the building, showing the announcement of his ceremony. It's taunting almost, the way it was the first thing you see when you swiped your ID for entry.

Although, you do find it funny that it's the same man you just saw in front of you when you stepped outside of your place earlier this morning.

"Sol," you call your co-worker and also your friend, sliding your swivel chair closer to her desk. "Do we really have to go to the ceremony?" You ask, seeing that everybody in the office is already setting aside the stuff on their desks to head out to the 12th floor where the announcement ceremony will be held.

Sol fixes the post-it note on her computer first before turning to you, "Of course we do."

You pout at that.

"Is Ms. Jung really gonna be mad if we don't attend?"

"You know how she has this obsession of making our department look good, so I'm assuming yes." She answers, and you slump in your seat knowing damn well she's right to think that. Sol sees your seemingly grumpy disposition and asks, "Why? You don't wanna go?"

If only she knew.

You shake your head to her question.

"I just think it's gonna be boring," you shrug, the lie rolling on your tongue seamlessly.

"Eh, at least it's less work for today. Those things run for two hours and there's free lunch so that's that."

Events like these are supposed to be advantageous for you because again, Sol is right and those things do run for about two hours meaning less workload. Also, free lunch. Who doesn't like free stuff? But then again, Jungkook is going to be there and with your luck, you're starting to think that you're going to see more of him from now on. That is just how the world works against you.

"You're right." You say, frowning becoming more and more apparent, you're sure.

Sol chuckles at you and stands up herself, fixing her dress as you follow her out of the office.

Before you could completely go out though, you stop her on her tracks.

"Hey, do you think you have a face mask I can borrow?" You say, looking hopefully at her. Sol raises her brows, obviously confused at your strange request. Clearing your throat, you pretend to cough a little in your fisted hand. "I'm feeling a little under the weather today, but I drank my meds this morning. Forgot the mask." You reason with her, adding more lies to the conversation.

"Oh, I see. Okay, I think I have it." Sol perks up at the realization and you both enter your office once again, with your co-worker digging through her desk's drawer for the mask you were asking her for.

She hands it to you as soon as she finds it and you're quick to wear it around your mouth, silently rejoicing in your head at the brilliant last-minute plan you came up with in your head in order to avoid anything with Jungkook later. Not that you expect him to do something if he, indeed, sees you – you doubt he even will, given that the hall is huge, and you are planning to sit all the way back – but the mask is just a precautionary measure so there are less chances of him recognizing you or anything crazy like that.

Together, Sol and you ride the elevator down to the 12th floor and unsurprisingly, a lot of the company's employees are already there, finding their seats, chitchats heard across the hall.

"Sol, __!" Joonhwi, one of your co-junior accountants and also a friend, calls out to you both, separating himself from the other accountants and heading to your direction. "You're sick?" He asks as soon as he sees your face covered with the mask.

"A little." You reply.

Joonhwi nods his head and then say, "I thought you girls were planning to ditch the ceremony."

"I'll do anything to not see your face but then again we work together so I have no choice." Sol snarkily remarks.

"Sol, can you please refrain from professing your love to me with all these people around?" Joonhwi retorts back, smarmy and teasing, ever the expert on how to get on Sol's nerves.

"__, can you get this khia away from me?"

You laugh at both of their exchange, shaking your head at their silly antics. You don't know if Sol is just... emotionally constipated, but damn, she sure is clueless as hell about Joonhwi's feelings. It seems like everybody from the accounting department knows except for her.

Shaking your head, you go straight to the seats available with Joonhwi and Sol sitting on opposite sides of you.

"Anyway, I heard they're appointing Mr. Jeon's son." Joonhwi suddenly say.

Now that makes you squirm.

"Really?" You utter, just to give them a reaction.

Sol looks at you weird. "I thought everybody knew that?"

"Well, there are lots of Jeons in Korea..." you tell her, earning a laugh from Joonhwi which makes Sol frown.

"A man is not allowed to laugh in my vicinity, Joonhwi, shut up," she says rolling her eyes. Her tone shifts when she speaks to you though, suddenly sounding more gossip-y as she shows you a picture on her phone. "Look at the material, though,"

You look at the photo of a man who very much has the same and exact coloring of the one and only Jeon Jungkook you know and you have to swallow the lump in your throat.

"I mean, I've always thought Mr. Jeon was a DILF but his son is – damn." She adds, zooming in on Jungkook's professional head shot.

You and Joonhwi both give her the stinky eye.

"Have some class." you tell her, earning a laugh from both of them.

"For the record, you agreed to that before." Sol points out, referring to that dinner you three had at a barbecue house awhile ago. For the record, though, you were both drunk and Joonhwi had to haul Sol's ass back to her place and call Jimin to get you to yours.

"I refuse to acknowledge anything I've ever said when I was drunk."

"Okay but is anybody getting the urge to get transferred to the IT department expeditiously?" Sol jokes, obviously swooning over Jungkook.

Joonhwi snorts. "The CTO doesn't even go there."

"Killjoy much?" Sol frowns at him. "He'd visit, though. Imagine the eye candy."

You eye her in a teasing manner, "You have enough candy on your plate, Sol." And then you subtly look over Joonhwi.

Joonhwi himself doesn't seem to expect the insinuation, but nonetheless you know that he got the message of you implying he's good-looking and if Sol is looking for that, he's just there. That is why he suddenly loses his smirk and rests his back on the seat, crossing his arms as he retires himself from the conversation, obviously dodging your teasing.

Psh. Emotionally constipated co-worker number two.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sol asks, but she can't get an answer as the ceremony begins.

"Good morning, everyone. Today marks a significant moment as we gather to appoint our interim Chief Technology Officer," The host starts the introduction, "We are here to acknowledge the pivotal role of the CTO in our company's journey to ensure continuity in our innovation efforts. It is with great pleasure that I introduce Mr. Jeon Jungkook, our interim CTO, who has been selected to step into the position."

And there is him, in his grey suit that you've seen him in earlier. He's wearing his glasses as well, the one that has the thinner frame. You notice he switches between two kinds; he wears the thick-framed one off work and the thin-framed one during work, like right now.

Jungkook smiles at the applause that reverberates all over the hall. There are LED screens that hang on both sides of the room and you can see his face clearly there. Sol gushes over how good he looks.

"Jesus, wow..." Sol whispers to herself, and you're sure she did not mean for you to hear that, so you try not to acknowledge it because deep inside, you agree with her. That's exactly your reaction when you saw him for the first time in the stairs of your apartment complex – and he didn't even clean up in his suit that time.

Jungkook stands on the podium with an easy-going smile on his face, his aura screaming confidence. He looks so sure of himself, like he's born to actually do this.

"Thank you, Mr. Park. Good day to all. I am deeply honored and humbled to accept the role of Chief Technology Officer at Blue Nexus Incorporation. As we navigate this interim period, my commitment is to uphold..."

You watch as he starts his speech, noting how well he speaks. You aren't a stranger to how people have different personalities when they are in and off work, but it's almost disorienting to see Jungkook going all professional, his voice soft but edgy at the same time, just enough for you and everyone to recognize a bit of authority in there.

He looks over the crowd, and for a brief second, you feel as if his eyes glossed over you far longer than he had other parts in the room.

But that thought dies down as quickly when he immediately goes back to speaking, and you're sure you just imagined it.

You're in the middle of your night routine when your phone suddenly dings.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:44pm]: just remembered we never really got around to that boxing machine, did we

Right. Today is Friday and you are supposed to go that boxing machine to determine if he's gonna supply your daily boba or if you're coming over to his place so he can cook you both a meal.

But that deal was made days ago when you still were clueless about his identity, and admittedly, you'd say that right now, you're doing anything to avoid him.

Scrolling through your message thread and seeing Jungkook's texts since that morning being left on read makes you feel bad. You know it isn't fair. It isn't nice to just suddenly go leave people dry like that, especially Jungkook who has been so strangely non-confronting about your sudden weird behavior.

It takes you a few minutes to give him a reply due to you erasing and retyping your message repeatedly.

You [10:47pm]: sorry ive been busy the whole day with work ):

Was what you lamely came up with. You couldn't have done better than that, to be honest with yourself.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:47pm]: I see Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:48pm]: so raincheck tonight?

You [10:48]: sorryyyy for cancellig im just feeling a little under the weather

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:49pm]: ohhhh ok ok sorry for texting late

You [10:50pm]: asbdbsfjshf its fine!!!!!!!!

Maybe you didn't think it through, but you find yourself typing the next message and hitting send way too quickly.

You [10:51pm]: maybe tomorrow?

You're thinking about taking it back, but Jungkook has already replied.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:51pm]: ok. I'll see you tomorrow 😊

Pursing your lips, you wonder what he's doing tonight.

Is he working? Maybe some take-home paperworks? What do CTOs even do? He must be really busy... though you think it has to be otherwise since he had the time to text you.

You stand up from the chair of your vanity table, patting your hair one last time and jumping to your bed, ready to overthink some more then sleep when an idea suddenly pops up into your head the moment your eyes lay on your phone.

Making yourself comfortable on your mattress, you pick up the phone from your night stand and unlock it, your fingers making quick work of opening the Instagram app and typing jeonjungkook on the search bar.

The results show you a few accounts that resemble the username you looked up, but as you check each one, none of them seems to belong to the man you're looking for. So, you try a few varieties: jungkook, jungkookjeon, jeon... JK?... but then you're sure you've milked out the last of your brain juice trying to come up with a possible username for him but to no avail.

Jimin must be following him, you think to yourself. Since Jimin is a snob on his verified and public account and isn't following anybody there, you go straight to his private account to try and find a Jungkook in his following but again – you guessed it, failed search.

"Does he not have an IG?" you ask yourself, feeling quite exhilarated.

You think about Twitter, but remembering Jungkook's face makes you share your head in disagreement with yourself. There is no way he has Twitter. That guy looks terminally offline and doesn't have the face of someone who likes tweeting in his leisure time.

You'd say it was curiosity rather than desperation when you decided to install Facebook and hoped to see some of him there. You did have little hopes though, as you started typing his name, thinking there was no way you'd see him on the app because, who even uses Facebook nowadays except moms and dads and grandparents?

But then as you jokingly type his name and enter it on the search bar, a few tagged pictures of him show up.

The first one is posted by a Jeon Junghyun, his brother, and the picture is from 2017. Said picture is of Jungkook at the airport sitting on his luggage, and the caption reads as: good luck in college brother.

You stare at the picture, noting how young he looked in it and suddenly feel disoriented when you see his arms with no ink around them. They're so bare, and he definitely looked more lean, not like the muscly guy you know him as now. He was starting college here, so he must've been only 19 in the photo... meaning he got his tattoos in the States while he was in college or maybe even later than that?

You click on Jungkook's page, the one that his brother tagged in the photo, but all you see is the default Facebook profile picture and a locked account.

Feeling disappointed at that, you go back to his brother's page and check it out, throwing all your shame away as you look through his photos.

He must've limited his audience since the public posts are all outdated, but there are a few pictures in which Jungkook is in them, as well as other recurring people who seem to be their parents.

There's a recent family picture of them in the Eiffel Tower – uploaded in 2022 – all four of them.

As you see Mr. Jeon, the CEO of your company, with his family, it's hard not to feel... whiplashed, for the lack of better term. From the looks of it, they seem to be... close? For the record, Jimin does not have any casual pictures of him with his parents, and as far as you know, they never went out on trips together – just galas and all that socialite events. You know they are only mere pictures, not solid enough to assume what Jungkook's relationship is with his family, but you're starting to think maybe it's a good one.

That'll honestly be surprising, given that every wealthy family you know has dysfunctional relationships. Nevertheless, it will be quite... adorable if what you think is true.

"Oh my god," you say, disbelieving, as you recognize Jimin in one of Junghyun's public photos while scrolling through more.

It's an event of some sort, and how can you not spot Jimin when he looks conspicuous in his orange hair? You remember this being in your sophomore year in college, and how much Jimin actually hates that hair and wants to burn down every picture that reminds him of it.

You snort as you zoom in on Jimin, taking a screenshot of the photo, mindlessly going to your messaging app; ready to send him the photo to poke lighthearted fun, but then you realize—

"Oh, I can't do that."

Jimin will ask you where you got the photo from, and you'll have to tell him that you were cyber stalking his cousin. Then, he'll ask why you were stalking his cousin, and he will find out the very thing you don't want him to find out.

That makes you frown, quick to delete the message you were just about to send and put your phone back to your nightstand.

Well, that ruins fun.

You wish you can tell Jimin or anyone for the matter, but you currently don't feel comfortable about doing that.

Sighing, you look up at your ceiling, then forcefully close your eyes to avoid more thoughts coming into your head.

You start counting sheep until you fall asleep.

There had been a lot of times where you felt like shit about yourself. They happen way too many times that at this point, you'd lost count. It wired you to think that there must be something wrong when a day goes all too well.

But there is no beating the feeling of self-antagonism when you ditch somebody – even if it's for a valid reason.

Sure, you've ditched Jimin a couple of times, and he always makes sure to rub it on your face as much as he can until you pout at him and explain to him that there are just some days you do not feel like going out. Jimin, as your best friend, understands that about you, of course.

A lot of times, though, it's the dates you tend to ditch the most. Three dates – you recall – is the number of times you'd skipped out of, just because you had a panic attack thirty minutes before the meeting that one time and two times for the plain, simple fact that you had a realization that you did not really like the guy you were planning to see.

Shin Taemu, the guy from the IT department asked you out last month for a second date and you texted him a last-minute, half-assed lame excuse about having gotten period cramps. Up to this day, you're still wary about using the IT department's copy room because his texts, since then, have been left unanswered. You saw him awhile ago at the cafeteria, though, and he seemed to be treating you non-differently even after you ghosted him suddenly.

Recently, you're doing the same thing again to Jungkook.

It isn't dating, of course – just the whole ditching thing.

You feel terrible for canceling on him again on Saturday when you just told him Friday night that you would go to that boxing machine. He had texted you a simple "we still on?" with a smiley emoji that gave you the creeps (because that smiley emoji does not ever mean the person is smiling behind it – knowing Jungkook though, it's probably not the case, and you're just overthinking it). You've left that text to rot until Sunday morning, and only picked it up later during the night, telling him you were "sorry I just saw this now! I was swamped with work stuff" even though you've never brought paperworks at home in your whole career and you were just binging The X-Files, bashing those two idiotic emotionally constipated FBI agents when you are quite one, yourself.

Sometimes, you fear you're no better than a man. Jimin will willingly knock your head on a door to get you to your senses and tell you all the things about why you should never compare yourself to them – but there are times like these when your shortcomings – specifically your lack of proficiency in communication – mirror that of a man's, and you hate every single second of it.

Until then, you dreaded for Monday to come.

But it's ultimately inevitable

And when you wake up from your sleep, it's Monday, and you have to go to work whether you like it or not.

And oh, to add, Jungkook hasn't replied to your message. Which – okay – ouch. But you're not supposed to be hurt by it; if anything, you kind of deserve it after ditching him so many times. He isn't an idiot, and you're sure he knows you lied... you're just thankful that he's not saying anything if he does know, indeed.

You have thought things over in the shower this morning, though.

If Jungkook is three eggs in your basket, why will it matter? So, what's the big deal if he is Jimin's cousin and that he works at the same company and lives in the same apartment complex?

You finally admit that those things matter to you initially because... you have a crush on him. If you didn't, you'll give fuck-all if he's related to your best friend. You won't care at all if he's your boss because you don't have to worry about fantasizing about him.

But the thing is, you do have some sort of romantic feelings for him, and that is why those things moved you in a way that makes you feel and act a little weird around him.

And now there's this feeling of guilt that has overtaken your entire system. Because if you just see Jungkook platonically, these things won't happen. And you hate it, because he's genuinely a good friend. Someone who may want a friend in you too, but you are ruining it all because you have trivial feelings for him.

Absolutely ridiculous.

But now that those realizations have become clear in your head, you've made up your mind by thinking that those eggs don't matter.

It doesn't matter that he's Jimin's cousin, doesn't matter that he's an executive. You are his friend, and it's was okay to have friends that are your other friend's relative and friends who are your boss.

Of course, it's still awkward to think about him catching you in your home clothes but on a more serious note, your crush will never see the light of the day and even if it does, there's no way Jungkook will accept it because guys like him never settle with people like you. And you don't even mean that in a self-deprecating way, not at all! You are just fully aware of the practical world you live in and know that the vast disparity of your economic status will never work, especially with the kind of family he was born into.

With that said, you are ready for things to be back the way they were. No more pussyfooting in the office in fear that you'll bump into him, no more canceling on his innocent invitations to dinner, no more pining over him secretly and putting malice over everything that he does because you're going to be a renewed person now.

You're ready to take on the big shoes and be matured enough to address his questions if ever he has one.

So, you enter the elevator of Blue Nexus Inc. with a sort of spirit that you're sure will be hard to take down, creating pictures in your head that depict a smooth-sailing conversation with Jungkook where you're ideally going to be cool in it and not at all panic-y.

It's alright. Nothing is going to change—

Your thoughts are disrupted when somebody enters the elevator and the people in it suddenly start bowing their heads, a series of greetings reverberating in the confined space.

Fuck.

"Good morning, Mr. Jeon."

"Greetings, Mr. Jeon."

"Mr. Jeon."

Your eyes widen when you see Jungkook walking in with his black suit and sleek black hair, his eyeglasses sitting on his nose.

Okay, so nevermind the illusion that you're going to be cool now – you're absolutely panicking in your position!

Thank fucking god you're at the back with two persons in front of you, hoping they are enough to at least cover your frame as Jungkook stands in front after greeting back the employees inside.

Oh my god. Fuck me.

You tilt your head to the side with a wince on your face, sneakily raising your arm over your head to take your hairclip off so your hair fans your face. It is a poor attempt at covering yourself lest Jungkook suddenly turns around and recognizes you as a result.

But in that moment, you must look stupid as hell that the guy beside you looks at you weird.

You stand upright, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He just snubs you.

That makes you roll your eyes.

You go back to staring at Jungkook's back agonizing the thought that you really aren't ready at all to confront him. You thought about it all morning, but the moment he got here, all those ideations of you being cool around him from thereon are suddenly thrown out the building.

A few seconds after, somebody drops off at the 13th floor, and it starts to make you feel nervous.

What if more people start going out and then you'll be left alone with Jungkook? You intended to go to the 16th floor where your office is... Jungkook is – wait, where is his floor? You actually have no idea. But you are certain it's floors above you. Oh god! How can you possibly move past him without him recognizing you? Shit. You didn't think about that.

Now, you're starting to lose your bottle, your head not able to form ideas to get through him. The elevator is small! And people are starting to head out...

You look at the position indicator of the elevator, telling you that you're going way up to the 15th floor. A few seconds after and it dings, the elevator door opening. The guy in front of you heads way out, and you can see Jungkook still on his spot.

You find yourself not being able to move, completely stoned in your position.

You sure as hell aren't going out unless he does first! That's your solution. If he's located at the topmost floor, you're going to wait until then. You're just going to ride the elevator down again.

But what you don't see coming is Jungkook suddenly moving to head outside the elevator.

Looking at the indicator once again, you confirm if he really is going to the 15th floor.

The door already closed by the time Jungkook is finally out, which eases your nerves. You're way too relieved to forget thinking about why he's in the 15th floor.

You stop at the 16th with a smile on your face, feeling like you just got away with murder. You've never done it – get away with murder – but that's exactly how you feel.

On your way to the office, your phone vibrates from the pocket of your trousers.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [8:56am]: Correct me if I'm wrong but I think I just saw you at the elevator today

You thought of ways to dodge his bullet, thought about denying his claim and telling him that he must've seen somebody else because you work all the way across town and him seeing you would've been impossible.

But you know the attempts will be futile.

If anything, though, you take it as a sign to finally make things right.

Avoiding Jungkook will never be efficient. In order to be successful in that regard, you'll have to hand in your resignation or move out of your apartment completely and you can't do that.

Besides, for what it's worth, you kind of miss hanging out with him and if you were to continue hiding from him, you will have to say goodbye to having him around at all.

The moment you got off work today, you think of plans to talk to him and maybe, just maybe, invite him for dinner – to, hopefully, make up for all the times you've bailed on him.

With a tail tucked between your legs, you stand apprehensively in front of the door of his unit, still unsure about your plans but doing it nonetheless. There's no going back now.

You ring the doorbell, taking your hand back quickly as if you just got electrocuted by it.

Please don't answer. Please don't be home. Please don't answer—

And there he goes, in his plain white shirt and grey sweats, hair wet from his previous shower – you assume. He's still drying his hair with a towel when he opens the door, but his ministrations stop the moment he lays his eyes on you.

You just give him an awkward smile that probably look more like a grimace.

"Hi."

The surprise is evident on Jungkook's face. Regardless, he is quick to get over it and gives you a big grin instead. An expression you did not expect to get.

"__, hey," Jungkook greets, placing the towel around his neck and letting go of his doorknob. "What brings you here?"

You balance your weight on your other side and purse your lips in a thin line.

"Do you, uh, wanna grab dinner?" You ask right away, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Jungkook's smile somehow grows wider at your question, and you don't know what to feel. If he's petty, he'll reject your invitation but with the look on his face right now, he doesn't seem to have the intention to do so. At least you hope so. It will be so embarrassing for you to have come all the way to his place instead of just asking him through text.

He was about to answer when somebody suddenly approaches the door.

"Jeon Jungkook?" The guy asks, and you immediately shot your eyes to look at him. With his printed shirt that reads a famous food delivery brand and his hands carrying bags of what you assumed take-out food, you figure what he's here for. "Here's your order, sir."

Embarrassed, you scoot to the side to give way to the food delivery guy and let him extend the bags towards Jungkook who grabs his wallet from the pocket of his sweats to pay for the food, thanking the man in the process.

He already has plans for tonight, you realize. Your invitation to dinner is futile because he already bought take-out.

The food delivery guy gave you a look before he took off in which you returned a timid smile for. And then, you turn around to look at Jungkook again.

"Nevermind, don't answer my question." You say, referring to your invitation prior to the arrival of his food delivery. "Uhm, bye. Good night."

You were just turning your heels to go the other way around when Jungkook suddenly speaks.

"Wait, don't go yet," Jungkook steps to the side and inserts his wallet back into his pants. He raises the bags of take-out and arches his brow towards your way, "Do you like Thai?"

"I do." You reply, not really understanding where he's getting at first.

Jungkook smiles. "Good. Do you wanna come inside?"

When you realize what he just said, you shake your head, "Oh, no, no. We could grab dinner outside tomorrow if you're free."

"This is enough for two?"

He's inviting you to his place. Is he insane?

You shake your head once again. "No, Jungkook, I really don't want to impose on—"

Jungkook cut you off with a hearty laugh.

"__, you won't be imposing. Come on, I bet you haven't had dinner yet either." When you don't answer, he insists again, "I think I have Thai tea around here somewhere."

You narrow your eyes at him.

"You think I'll go inside just 'cause you have Thai tea?" you say, raising your brow at him, challenging Jungkook to say something to that. He shrugs with a smile of amusement. Then you break your demeanor and sigh. "You're actually right. I can probably be bribed with daily boba supply."

Jungkook laughs at your absurd claim.

"No matter what's on the line?"

"Yeah," Then you decide to joke a little, "If you're the one on the line."

His laughter only becomes louder, and you shake your head at him because you genuinely wonder why he laughs so much at your nonsensical jokes. You would consider yourself funny but not that funny.

But this is good. Joking is good. This dynamic is surely better than you avoiding him.

"You're so..." Jungkook stops to look at you and you stare back at him. That moment stretches into a minute until you feel the hair on your nape stand.

It's the night air, and not at all the almost intimate way he looked into your eyes.

That's what you'll tell yourself tonight.

"I'm so what?" You decide to break the silence, seemingly snapping Jungkook out of the trance he's put himself in awhile ago.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Okay, now you're just making me curious."

"It's nothing."

"Okay, I'm gonna let it pass this time..." you say, eliciting a low chuckle from him.

He must realize that you've both been standing on his porch for a while now.

"Come," he says, gesturing inside his place.

Your steps are a bit hesitant as you follow him inside. But nonetheless, you both get in, Jungkook offering you a pair of home slipper that are almost twice as big as your feet as he locks the door.

When you let your eyes wander, you're more than surprised to see the state of the interior.

Jungkook's place is surprisingly... clean.

Sure, it must be because there aren't any decorations or much furniture yet, but from your experiences with men, the one thing they have in common is that they are messy. It's almost impossible to not see clothes strewn all over their places or food wrappings on any surface at a corner, but Jungkook's is spotless.

Except maybe for the few boxes that stand beside the door of the room all the way across the room which you assume is his bedroom, but other than that, there's no indicator that a man is residing inside. Admittedly, it's even cleaner than your own.

"Sorry, it's a little messy. I haven't unpacked all of my stuff. Got busy."

He seems to notice you eyeing the aforementioned boxes, and hearing his words, you shake your head.

"Oh, no, trust me. This is the cleanest place I've ever seen." You say truthfully.

"Thanks." Jungkook responds with a smile.

His apartment, like yours, has an open layout so from where you are in the living room, you can see him putting the bags on the kitchen counter, unloading them and starting to transfer some of them into his own plates.

You approach his direction to find yourself useful.

"Is it okay if we eat at the coffee table? My table set hasn't arrived yet..." he rubbs the back of his head, a sheepish smile painting his face.

"It's fine."

His coffee table is wide enough for all the food to fit, anyway. That's what you thought when you bring all the food to the living room, sitting on the floorboards opposite of him.

Before you start dinner, Jungkook asks if you want to watch something on the TV.

"It's like a jumbotron." Is your throw-away comment when he turns on his huge ass TV. It's genuinely so big you aren't even exaggerating. You are not that good with estimation but the screen is probably the same height as you...

"What?" Jungkook chuckles, looking at you all confused.

"Nothing. Just that your TV is so big."

"Yeah? I wanted to buy this one for so long and I got really lucky to get it on sale here. I have the Criterion channel so I've been wanting to watch stuff with an OLED screen—" he cuts himself off and looks at you with a hint of embarrassment. "Sorry."

You look away before you can go on a spiral about how cute he looked with a proud smile on his face while he was going off about how he got his jumbotron on sale. He was geeking out about a freaking TV. But you guess it makes sense for a tech guy like him.

"Uh, what do you want to watch?" He asks, going through his streaming services.

The big TV and the streaming services just click so much in the context of him. You, in contrast, cannot relate. After forgetting to unsubscribe to Netflix a few months ago, it automatically stole the thirteen thousand won from your account, and since then, you're more than traumatized to pay for any streaming services until today. Pirating is bad but so is capitalism.

"Anything is fine."

"Okay."

You really couldn't have cared less about what he's going to click on, but National Geographic pops up on his big screen and you think he must be joking but he starts tuning in with genuine interest.

Oh. Wow.

He's just a big nerd trapped in a hot human body, huh?

How cute. And how unbelievably hot to discover this about him.

After a few minutes into the documentary, it turns out that whales are interesting to a certain degree. Sure, Jungkook's huge ass screen made it a little funny because the pictures are too big, but they did pique your interest a little, especially when Jungkook would add in a little of his own knowledge about them. When you asked him about the weird little stick thing on their mouth, he told you that they were tusks and only male narwhals had them, and that they used it as some sort of sensory tool. He admitted he hyperfixated on whales for a while when he saw them first on Discovery Channel as a kid.

You didn't even have to pretend to be engrossed, you were just in genuine awe of his interests and how enthusiastic he was about sharing them.

Food is starting to run out, making you realize that it's been awhile since you've eaten Thai food and you should probably eat them once again tomorrow.

You're just about to ask Jungkook which restaurant he got it from when he beats you to speaking first.

"You're still in your work clothes."

You stop.

"Yeah..."

And then you're reminded of why you're here in the first place.

It isn't for the whales or for Thai food, that's for sure.

You haven't changed out of your work clothes, indeed, since you planned going out for dinner in hopes of talking to Jungkook while ago. The night is going so well so far that you actually forgot about that. But then since he already cocked the gun, might as well just pull the trigger and get it over with.

You look at him, an uneasy feeling settling in your nerves.

"So... about your text earlier."

There is a hint of a smile on Jungkook's lips when he nods his head.

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't me." You say, trying to look for a reaction, trying to see if he'll insist or anything.

But Jungkook just nods his head again.

"I see."

He does not seem to see, though, and you know right then and there that your cover is finally and officially blown.

"Okay, I lied. That was me." You take back your words, jutting your bottom lip out when you add, "Turns out we work at the same company. And that you're apparently my boss."

"And you're my cousin's girlfriend."

You gasp audibly.

So he knows you were at that party! How? And what? He thought you were Jimin's girlfriend for real? Wait, does he not know it was all Jimin's ruse?

"How did you know that?"

"They mentioned Jimin's girlfriend was in the bathroom when I arrived. I asked Jimin about it and he told me her name was __."

You would face-palm yourself if Jungkook wasn't present.

Ugh. Of course, Jimin doesn't know.

"Well, okay, just so you know, I was a paid actress." You tell Jungkook, which earns you a laugh from him. Then you cover your mouth, realizing you shouldn't have said that. "Oh—uhm, do you know...?" You trail off, looking at him expectantly and hoping he knows what you meant.

You swear you remember Jimin telling you that Jungkook knows about him being gay, but now you are second-guessing yourself and you will be in trouble if you did slip up.

Thankfully, Jungkook nods, seemingly understanding where you're getting at.

"Don't worry, I know." You heave a sigh of relief at his verbal confirmation. Jungkook takes the tom yum goong and started peeling the shrimp from the bowl, continuing to say, "And Jimin brings a fake date to every family gathering, so I knew right away he was lying about dating somebody," Jungkook chuckles, and as if an afterthought, he adds, "I wish I could've seen you act. You two left so early."

Well... you did play a role in that, you think. But you can't tell him you purposefully didn't go back to the table that night because you saw him.

"Oh, Jimin had to send Joon off at the airport." You say, which is actually true. For a change.

He nods. "His boyfriend, yeah... did he go to Italy with him?"

You wonder how he knows about the Italy thing. Jimin, probably. They're close after all—

"Namjoon's a close friend as well." Jungkook adds, as if having read your thoughts.

"Ah," you nod, not surprised at all about their apparent link.

Wealthy people do have a tiny world.

"Jimin hasn't actually contacted me yet since that night."

It has been a few days, and you're starting to think he's dead or something. Your calls go straight to voicemail and your messages do not send. You've sent him a few on social media as well but it seems like he hasn't been online at all.

"I'm worried about him. Has Namjoon said anything?" You look at Jungkook, hoping he'll say yes.

But he shakes his head instead.

"I wouldn't be worried, though. I think they're together."

"In Italy?"

"Yeah."

You won't be surprised if that's the case. Jimin is the king of spontaneity and if he did fly off to another country abruptly with his boyfriend, you won't question it.

You do miss him though and you're gonna make sure to make him feel bad for not telling you anything soon.

"You're right." You sigh.

Jungkook has been peeling shrimp for awhile now, setting them aside in a small bowl. You think he's gonna eat it himself, but you're surprised when he slides off the bowl to your direction.

"There. I noticed you weren't eating the tom yum. You don't like it?" Jungkook asks, smiling at you.

You can't help it; blood rushes to your cheeks at the realization that he just peeled shrimps for you.

Is this normal for him? Like, does he just go around and do things like these for friends?

You will scream in your bathroom later when you get home.

"Oh, no, uh... I'm actually allergic to shrimp." You give him a tight-lipped smile.

You feel bad at the way Jungkook's expression drops as soon as you said that.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't know," He takes the small bowl quickly and looks at you apologetically.

"No, it's fine! I didn't tell you either."

"I'm really sorry. I should've asked first."

"Jungkook," you chuckle. "It's fine. Thank you, anyway."

"I could've done serious damage to you, huh?"

"Yeah, you'd have to tell Jimin you killed me because you fed me shrimp."

"Don't say that," Jungkook laughs. "How long are you friends now, by the way?"

You nip on your chopsticks, answering him.

"We've been friends since college... so almost ten years."

"That's really nice."

And then you remember to ask, "Did you tell him?"

"What?"

"That you know me?"

"No. Not yet, at least. Didn't have the chance." Jungkook proceeds to eat the shrimp himself and you have to keep yourself from letting out a breath of relief at his answer. "Did you tell him?"

"No. Uh— I know this is weird. But... can you not tell him?" You ask. Jungkook looks at you for a bit, studying your face. You clear your throat when seconds passed and he still hasn't said anything. "It's just that I want to tell him on my own time." You decide to add.

"Okay." He says after a while, smiling.

Thank god he doesn't ask any more questions.

"Thanks."

And now there's another elephant in the room that you still need to address.

A bit hesitant, you open with, "Did you uhm..." You think about how to word it, but then you think, fuck it. "Did you know by that time at the party that I work at Blue Nexus?"

Jungkook shakes his head.

"No, I saw you at the company and only put two and two together."

Your brows furrow. "When?"

"Uh... earlier this morning."

"Oh. Yeah..."

You don't know exactly why, but you feel a tinge of disappointment that he meant earlier. You really thought he recognized you at the ceremony.

But then you shake the feeling off and jokingly narrow your eyes at him. "Why didn't you tell me about the party, then?"

"Why, did you see me there?"

You shut your mouth. Right. You're supposed to pretend you didn't seen him that time.

"No." You lie.

"So I thought it didn't matter... though I was pretty surprised when I saw you today."

"Ugh, I thought I hid myself pretty well." You lament dramatically, embarrassed that you really thought covering your face with your hair would do you any good.

"Nah," Jungkook shakes his head while laughing at your misery, "I thought, "who is this five-foot woman hiding in the back","

"Wow." You gasp, not believing his audacity. But you're also thankful that he makes talking to him so easy. The way your conversations goes from funny to serious is so seamless, all because Jungkook knows exactly how to turn the wheels around.

"Kidding. I actually recognized you by your blouse..." he gestures at your baby blue polo sleeves, making you furrow your brows, not quite sure how he meant. But then, he continues, "Did the ink ever come off?"

Oh. Right! He had seen you wear the blouse before and even heard you tell him the story about how the jammed printer caused a blot of ink to stain your cuff.

You're surprised he even remembers that. It seems so long ago.

Raising your arm to examine the cuff area of your blouse, you look at it with small amusement.

"Yeah, it did, actually."

"How did you do it?"

You deadpan, "You're not asking me how I do my laundry, Jungkook."

"Hey, I love doing laundry," You raise your brow, not believing him, but Jungkook insists. "No, I really do."

"Okay." You nod, chuckling because he really seems way too eager to prove to you that he loves doing laundry.

What you've found out about him so far is so... mesmerizing, to say the least. With how he looks like – you meant, the tattoos and the body – you would most likely assume he likes guy stuff. You know, big macho man stuff like that. But turns out, he's just a guy who likes big TVs and NatGeo and... laundry.

He's such a fascinating person.

"I'm also not your boss." Jungkook suddenly says, making you look up at him.

"Well, you're CTO, you technically are." You point out.

"Technically, yes. But I don't oversee the accounting department, so you're not really working for me, which means I'm not your boss."

The mental gymnastics make you frown but you get his point.

"Okay, that's true. But still... your father is Mr. Jeon."

"Would you believe me if I denied that?" He jokes, the tilt in his voice telling you he is.

"You kind of look the same, so I probably wouldn't believe you."

"Really? A lot of people say I look more like my mother..."

You've seen the pictures. It's more of a split, really. But you can't tell him that obviously.

Silence sits in his living room for a while, the NatGeo narrator serving as background noise at this point.

You drop your chopsticks down and sigh. Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows, worried about your sudden seriousness.

"So, you're not like weirded out about this whole thing?" You ask him straight to the point.

Joking is good, as you said. And this night is going better than you thought. But it feels like you are just glossing over the facts, and you need to address it with him lest it becomes a problem in the future. You don't know how exactly they are going to be; you just have a feeling in your heart that they are going to.

"The what?" Jungkook says, looking genuinely confused, as if he doesn't know what your deal is.

"The I'm-your-cousin's-best-friend? And the fact that you're an executive at the company I work at and we live in the same building?" You lay out, sounding exasperated now that you're taking it all out.

Jungkook stares at you for a bit.

"Why would that weird me out?"

He isn't being dense, you can see that. He's just plain confused.

You sigh once again. Seems like you've been doing a lot of that these past few days.

"Because it's just... too many eggs in the basket."

Jungkook chuckles, wiping his hands with a tissue. "Isn't it good you have many eggs in the basket?"

You glare at him, and it makes him raise his hands as a peace offering.

"It's bad because..."

"... because?" Jungkook, now with his hands clean, props an elbow on the coffee table, looking right into your eyes as he leans closer to your direction.

You look away.

"Because it means I can't hang out with you anymore."

When you look at him again, the smile is wiped off his face, suddenly exchanged with a frown.

"Why?"

"Because again, it's too many eggs in the basket and—" Running out with metaphors, you say the first thing that was off the top of your head, "That makes you my uncle."

Jungkook's jaw drops a bit.

"Your thought process really amazes me."

You grimace, already expecting that. "Thanks, I get that a lot."

"No, it's really... interesting."

He doesn't look judgmental at all, just full of genuine awe, but you're eager to come to your own defense and so you say, "You don't get it? It's like—" You fling your hands around, trying to explain what you just said. "You don't have a close relationship with your uncle, right? 'Cause it's awkward. When you're with them it's like being with your boss, which means you can't be friends with them 'cause, again, it's awkward."

Jungkook still looks like he doesn't know what the hell you're talking about, but he nods his head, nonetheless.

"Okay... but I have a very close relationship with the CEO..."

You pout. "That's not what I meant."

And when he chuckles at that, you know he's fucking with you and understand exactly what you were trying to say; fooling around as if you aren't having an internal crisis.

Jungkook must've seen how you're genuinely not finding anything funny and stops.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me the past few days?" He raises his brow, but his voice is gentle as he speaks.

You didn't think he'd confront you about that, but you decide to look away when you try to lie as an answer.

"No...?"

Jungkook only chuckle at your indignation.

"Okay, okay, let's divide and conquer, yeah?" He smiles at you. Warm and soft. "First, you're Jimin's best friend, what's the issue? It just means you must be a good person to hang around with because you're friends with the person I'm close to. Second, I'm not your boss, will you please stop saying that? And third, we're neighbors... so what? We just happened to rent in the same building. No big deal."

Your frown just gets deeper at what he said because... he's right. So right.

You overreacted the whole time you tried to hide from him.

With nothing else to add, you weakly ask, "Okay but... can you fire me?"

In your head, it's a relevant question. You don't know how the chain of command worked at the company. He's an executive which probably means he has firing rights, right? What if he finds you too rude towards him over the past few days that he wants to take your job away from you? Can he fire you because of personal vendetta?

"Asking the important question?" Jungkook teases.

"Damn straight, I am. I mean, I did complain to you about my job before, and it turns out you're one of the executives at the company."

"I can see the wheels in your head turning but sorry to say I'm not actually an official executive. I'm just an interim CTO. And no, I don't have the right to fire you," Jungkook chuckles, seemingly amused at your thoughts. "And you can complain to me about your job all you want."

You send him a suspicious look.

"No, thank you."

"Seriously?" He asks incredulously. "Interim CTO or Jimin's cousin or not, I'm still Jeon Jungkook. Just your plain ol' neighbor."

"You say that but what if I arrive to my desk tomorrow with my things packed because you told Ms. Jung all the things I told you about her?" You squint your eyes at him.

"God, you're unbelievable." Jungkook says in between his laughter.

"Okay, but I wanna ask you something." You say. Jungkook hums. "I'm curious... why here?"

It isn't like your apartment complex is abominable or anything of the sort. When you were still on the look-out of apartments five years ago, here was the only decent one that did not cause you a 3-month pay. It's why you chose it in the first place. The unit is big enough for yourself and it's located at the center of the city, which means that it's near establishments that are relevant to your daily living. The bus station is also just a few minutes walk, and it only takes you an hour commute to get to your company building. It was the best out of all your choices back then.

However, for a guy like Jungkook, you wonder why he isn't at the big shot complexes like in Cheongdam or Hannam. You don't doubt he can afford those.

But Jungkook surprises you with his answer.

"It's cheaper."

You can't help but raise your brow.

"What?" And then as if realizing your look, Jungkook chuckles. "Oh, I see... you think I'm, like, rich?"

You shrug.

Jungkook answer with a simple, "My parents are loaded. And anyway, it's near the company. I also really like it here so far. Hannam felt like prison when I stayed there in my first week. Guards were way too strict."

Nodding, you recall Jimin's stories about that gated community when he himself stayed there for merely three months. It makes sense for it to almost seem like prison, though, given that most people who live there are high profile.

"I commute on my way to work. What about you?"

"I bought a parking spot nearby; it's surprisingly cheap compared to America."

You wouldn't know because you've never had a car in your life. First of all, you refuse to apply for a driving license because you're sure you'll kill yourself on the road. Besides, cars are expensive. You'll stick to your buses and trains all your life even though commuting sucks ass sometimes.

But you nod at Jungkook's words.

Soon, you both engage in more conversation about yourselves until you notice the time.

"It's getting late, I should go. I have work tomorrow." You tell him with a pout, genuinely disappointed about having to go.

Jungkook looks over at the clock hanging on his wall and then turns to you, "We have work tomorrow, you mean."

You blush at that for no reason.

"Well..."

"Okay, I'll walk you to your place."

"What?" You laugh. "That's ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about it? You're so short, the crickets might attack you." Jungkook says with a serious face.

That makes you frown instantly.

"Ugh, you've got to stop saying that. I'm starting to dislike you."

"Hmm."

Jungkook indeed followed you on your way out, though, but not without you insisting that he didn't need to walk you to your door because it was literally just across his, but Jungkook was persistent and you had no choice but to walk the five steps it took to get in front of your apartment from his own.

He's still laughing when your face is still contorted into an unpleasant expression.

"Okay, good night." You say. You point to his chest absent-mindedly, but you quickly take it back when you feel how hard it is. "A-and stop calling me short, I'm not. The __ karma is real, I have Jimin to prove that."

"Fine, I'll stop." Jungkook smiles, watching as you enter your threshold.

"Good."

You stand on your door, leaning over the frame and not closing it just yet.

Jungkook gives you a heart-warming smile before he says, "See you tomorrow."

And he speaks the words so gently that you feel your cheeks heating once again.

"S-see you as well."

"You look banging in that polo shirt." Jimin says, obviously chatting you up because the moment you accepted his call earlier this morning, you did not hesitate to tell him off about going MIA on you so suddenly.

"It's literally just a plain white polo."

"Okay, and you still look good in it, so..." He shrugs, but you can see the look on his face, sheepish and apologetic.

You scoff.

"You can't compliment me out of sulking. I'm mad at you."

There's a pout that forms on his lips quickly; a tactic so predictable you almost roll your eyes.

"I know... but I told you! Joon and I spent the last week—"

"Fucking each other to Sunday and back, blah blah blah. Still, you could've told me you went to Italy, you slut."

Jimin lets out a loud laugh at your blunt words.

"Slut shaming in the big year of 2028? I thought you were better than that." He shakes his head, pretending to be pointed and curt with the bitchy look on his face. But you know he's just teasing to get you out of your own bitchy mode as well.

It works every time.

You don't fight the way your eyes roll on their own accord as a response this time. Jimin compromises, "Okay, I'm sorry! For not telling. It's just that I've turned off my phone for the past week because I'm sure dad and his secretary are going to blow up my phone— they are, by the way, so cut me some slack."

Forgiveness comes easy when you take into consideration what he's been through for the past few weeks. The spontaneous trip to Italy and him flying along with his boyfriend may come off as immature, but you know deep inside he's just wanting to get away from the reality of his life: which is pretty much toxic family with incredibly high expectations and boring ass management school.

You are certain they are giving him shit, and you don't need to add more to that.

It's 7:20 and you're currently prepping for work. Privacy is almost moot in your friendship with Jimin, so you're quite literally dressing up in front of him on call, sweeping your hair to the side as you pull up your trousers.

"Okay... are you having fun there?" You ask instead.

Jimin smiles a knowing grin. "Babe, I just told you me and my boyfriend are having sex 24/7 in here, I'm having the most fun in my life."

You button your trousers and groan at his words.

"I wish I was also in Italy."

"I mean, you could."

You give him a look.

"And what? Third wheel you and Joon? No thanks."

Jimin just shrugs, the angle of his camera going shaky for a bit as he moves to lay on what you assume is his bed.

"I don't know, girl, maybe you'll find a nice Italian man here."

That earns him a snort from you while you duck to wear your sandals.

"I've long forgotten that fantasy since I was 19."

"You're not a stranger to relapsing..." Jimin clocks and that makes you shoot up straight so he can see the look of incredulity on your face as an immediate reaction to what he just said.

"Rude!"

Jimin just snorts. "Okay but for real, how are things going over there for you?"

You sigh. "Same old, same old. Pretty and single and working a very boring job."

Your best friend can't help but mirror the wince on your face.

"You could change the last two but never the first one, babe. So, you see, you're still miles ahead." He says as a matter of fact, sounding like he's giving out some sort of motivational speech.

"Lucky me," you noted with a straight face. You start rummaging your bag to see if you got everything you need. Then, there's something at the tip of your tongue. Something you've been wanting to open up to him. So, you start by clearing your throat – subtly, you hope.

"But you know, life's pretty... eventful the past few days."

Jimin quirks his eyebrow at that, obviously catching onto what could possibly be a new news.

You bite your lower lip, nibbling on it slightly as you contemplate whether to tell him about what you've been up to.

For some weird reason, you still haven't told him about Jungkook, and it seems like Jungkook has made good on his promise not to tell your best friend because if he did break it, Jimin would be inquiring you all about it now.

You figure now is sort of the perfect time to... maybe tell him.

"Uh, well... not eventful, per se, just a little..." you trailed off, finding a bit of uncertainty in your voice. You see Jimin's face morphing into more of a confused look rather than intrigued as the second passes. Pursing your lips into a thin line, you finish your previous sentence with, "Just a little different, I guess."

"Don't edge me, I swear to god." Jimin threatens playfully, making you chuckle.

"It's not something groundbreaking, okay? It's just the, uh, do you still remember Mr—"

The yawn that Jimin lets out stops you from completing your words, and you remember him mentioning a while ago that it's currently midnight from where he is.

"Ugh," Jimin groans, "Sorry, I slept so late yesterday. Anyway, go on, what were you saying?"

The uncertainty you felt a while ago increases, and you decide that maybe, now is so not the perfect time to bring up Jungkook, his cousin.

So, you shake your head, smiling at him, packing the words of your confession in a box that that you place at the back of your head, ready for unpacking when the time calls for it – which you don't exactly know when.

"Nah, go to sleep. This conversation can wait."

"You're gonna kill me with curiosity."

Rolling your eyes, you make a gesture of shoving him.

"I have to catch up with my bus soon, anyway." You say, dodging his insistence.

"Just tell me pretty please, I won't be able to sleep!" He dramatically says.

You roll your eyes again at the theatrics.

"It's really nothing big."

Well, it is. Sort of. Or maybe it's not, and you're just doing that thing again where you put too much thought over something inconsequential.

You swear you were ready to tell him about Jungkook, having even hyped yourself in the bathroom a few days ago and practicing what you're going to tell Jimin. But as of this moment, right now, it suddenly feels... unimportant. Not in a negative way. Just in a... does-it-really-matter way.

Jimin will find out eventually. But not now when you're not totally ready.

"I know what this is," Jimin suddenly says. At his suspicious tone, your heart starts to pick up the rate of its beat. You can see the way Jimin squints his eyes at you, and you wish he doesn't see the way you're slightly frozen. "You got back with your ex, Hansung."

You hope he sees the disgust on your face the moment he let out the words.

"Oh my god, hell no!" Is your instant response. Just hearing that name again made the hairs on your nape rise. "Jimin, what the fuck."

Jimin rolls his eyes. "You look so nervous, that's how you look like when you're about to tell me you've done something stupid."

Okay, fair. The assumption is coming from a valid basis. It makes you frown at him.

"You're such a bitch." Jimin laughs at the way you deflate. You let out a sign. "It's just... Taemu. From the IT dep."

"That guy?!" He exclaims and quickly covers his mouth. "The cute guy you refused to date a second time... you're finally dating him again?"

"What do you mean, finally?" You narrow your eyes at him, surprise at the positive comment about Taemu. "Jesus, I thought you were with me when I said I found him boring."

"What can I say? He can be cute and boring." He points out, as if he did not talk behind the Taemu's back when you ranted about the guy to him.

"You're fake as hell." You laugh, unbelieving.

Jimin joins your laughter, finding his sudden switch up funny as well.

"But you're, for real, dating him again? It means he still likes you?" He asks, obviously intrigued at this newfound information.

Unfortunately, it's a bit of a lie. You feel bad, but it is a great scapegoat to dodge the bullet of the conversation about Jungkook.

"I don't know... we're talking."

Which, for once, is true. Taemu and you did not exactly end on a good note (courtesy to you, boo), but you work in the same company, after all. There are times in the company's cafeteria where you bump into him, and it would have felt weird if you just snub him and act like you did not have an acquaintanceship before he asked you out to a date. Taemu's ultimately still your friend, and there are no hard feelings on his part, you can confidently say. He's... nice, you guess. Somehow of an afterthought. You're starting to think you completely misjudged him on your first date.

You take a quick trip to the fridge to grab a glass of cold water since Jimin is on loudspeaker anyway.

"That reminds me," Jimin suddenly quips. You hum to acknowledge him. "My cousin now works at your company, right? You still remember Jungkook? Have you met him yet?"

You couldn't help it; the water splattered all over the place when you heard Jungkook's name from his mouth.

Jimin quickly asks you a series of "are you okays" and you respond with a "yes" that's interrupted with a cough every time; a weak nod with a raised hand, telling him not to worry.

"Water just got in the wrong track." You reason, coughing and slapping your chest to regain your breathing. When you see wet spots on your shirt, you let out a whiny groan.

"You're so jumpy today. You're sure you're fine?" Jimin checks once again, and you have to bite your tongue to not show the way you froze a little at his observation.

You nod at him, showing him an expression that hopefully conveys he's the one being weird and definitely not you.

"Yeah, it's fine." You look down on your shirt. You're debating whether to stick with it and just let it dry in the bus later or completely change out of it. "But uh, your cousin! I did see him. We had a ceremony a week ago."

You would've said that with a smile, but Jimin knows you too well that he'll surely know it's fake. So, you spoke with an almost straight face. What Jimin says next surprises you a bit, though.

"I hope you meet each other," Jimin's excitement is visible on his face. "It'd be kinda fun; my closest cousin and my best friend... imagine that? I think you'll like each other." He seems to be so geeked about the idea that even when you're internally having a crisis, you can't help but find it cute. But then his smile gets wiped off his lips just as quickly as it showed. "It'd be awkward, though. He's, kinda like, your boss, right?"

You suddenly remember Jungkook's words about him not being your boss. It makes your lips curl, but you have to shake off the thought.

You give him a hesitant look.

"Well, not really, but he's an executive. So... it would be awkward. I guess."

Jimin nods, agreeing with you.

"It's crazy though, I never thought he'd be working at uncle's company so soon..." He trails off and he looks deep in thought, like his words were just supposed to be inner thoughts and you're not supposed to hear them. But he shakes his head after a while, moving on to another subject that makes you quietly sigh in relief. "Anyway, I'm sure I'm keeping you up. I'll sleep and you better tell me all about Kang Taemu when I wake up, okay?"

You chuckle, shaking your head at the threatening tone of his voice.

"I will. When will you come home, anyway?"

He groans, obviously not wanting to discuss home for the reasons you know exactly what. He confirms your assumption by telling so.

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm trying to avoid responsibilities as much as I can. God, I wish you were also here. There's a bar Joon and I discovered that sells these insane bottomless mimosas."

Before you could reply, Jimin goes off the frame suddenly, but the lower part of his face makes you see the way his lips curling up into a smile and saying, "Hey, hon."

There's a greeting from another person on the other end of the line – one that you are certainly familiar with.

Jimin moves his camera and as expected, you see Namjoon waving at you.

"Hey, __,"

You mirror the smile on his face. "Hi, Joon."

"Let's not keep her up. She has to go to work," Jimin tells Namjoon. "Anyway, bye. Kick some ass at work."

Laughing, you tell them, "I'll be off. Good night to you both."

When the call ends, you look down to your shirt once again, seeing that the little wet spots still haven't dried yet. Sighing, you decide to change out of it because it looked untidy.

Too bad you didn't check the time when you were doing it though, because as soon as you were done buttoning the new shirt you've worn, the clock hits 7:55 am. You bus arrives at exactly 8 am.

"Shit." You hiss, scrambling out of the apartment hoping that you can somehow run your way fast to the station and hop on it on time.

But you're no The Flash or Usain Bolt. To piss you off more, the strap of your bag got caught up with the handle of your door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" You whisper, hastily untangling the strap off the door which won't let up.

"__?" As soon as you hear the familiar voice, you stop with what you were doing and turn to Jungkook, conjuring up a what you can only hope a pleasant enough smile.

"Hey!" You say, chirpy in that weird way. You hope he didn't catch you cursing the door.

But with the way he was looking at your hand on your door, you knew he did.

Sigh. He just really has to catch you in your most vulnerable moments, huh?

"Good morning," Jungkook greets with a smile, ignoring the case at hand. As usual, he looks put together with his sleek suit and styled hair and eyeglasses.

"Morning," You say, slowly taking off the strap around the handle, gentle and slower this time.

Fucking door handle, you thought bitterly.

As you do that, you catch a glimpse of your wristwatch. Shoot.

You look back at Jungkook apologetically, moving away from your porch. "Nice seeing you. I have to catch my bus."

"When is it coming?"

"At exactly... two minutes from now. Bye! Gotta run!" You were about ready to literally run but Jungkook calls out your name.

"Wait!"

You stop coming down the flight of stairs to ask him, "What?"

"I can drive us together there."

"Oh," You slap your hands on your trousers. "That's so nice of you. Thank you—" And then suddenly, his words register, and you take back your quick agreement. You hate that you're so slow sometimes, but it's innate at this point. "I mean, no! That's a nice offer, but no, thank you."

"You won't catch your bus at this point," Jungkook says as a matter of fact, even taking a quick glance at his own watch. He begins to walk down the stairs to walk with you. "It only takes thirty minutes to drive by car to the company." When it takes you long to answer, Jungkook insists, already predicting the "no" that you're going to hit him with. "Come on, do you want to be late?"

"No."

Jungkook smiles at you. "Okay, so...?"

You purse your lips into a thin line, blowing your bangs and giving him a sheepish look.

"Okay, fine. But I owe you."

The smile on his face only grows wider. "More than fine by me."

He leads you both to the parking building nearby where his car was, only taking about a few minutes to walk towards.

When Jungkook points at his car, you follow his behind him shortly, stopping on the one side of the door. You're just about to open it when you feel Jungkook looming behind you, his hand extended forward to open the same door. You stretch your neck to look at him in question, making sure to keep a decent distance between you both.

"Uh...?" You utter.

And then it hits you.

He's trying to open the door for you.

You take a step back after the realization, feeling shy about the prospect of such a chivalrous act from him.

"This is the driver's seat."

"Oh!" You exclaimed. Eyes widening, you walk backwards to give him more space. "Yeah! Fuck... sorry," You apologize, cheeks starting to heat in embarrassment.

You round about the car and enter the passenger seat quickly, seeing Jungkook already set in his own place. You look to the side, almost pressing yourself to the window just so he won't see the way you wince.

So fucking embarrassing. This is exactly what you write about in your diary during high school days.

"Your seatbelt," Jungkook says, and you look at him with widened eyes. Right. You were way too deep in embarrassment that you forgot about it. You fiddle with the seatbelt a few seconds before he speaks once again, "Let me."

And you couldn't have stopped him from leaning closer to you to grab the seatbelt and wear it around your waist, carefully and gently, making you hitch your breath at the sudden proximity.

Of course you've noticed it way before, but this is the first time you were close enough to deduce that he smells like green apple and fresh laundry. A little different from the musky scent that you were used to smelling on men that you've been with before.

"There." He smiles at you before sitting back on his chair, wearing his own seatbelt.

You are way too stunned to acknowledge what he did that for the first few minutes, you're just quiet, mind flying to some place. You only snap out of it when Jungkook speaks again.

"Slept late last night?"

You shake your head at his question. "No... just facetime with Jimin this morning. You were right to tell me not to worry, he's with Joon."

Jungkook nods at your words, turning the ignition of the car. He starts to reverse, and you feel yourself growing embarrassingly hot when he does the thing of putting his arm around the back of your seat while the other spins the wheel, stretching his neck to look back.

You decide to look away for your own sake.

"Uh, anyway, I'm really sorry."

"Hm?" Jungkook hums, eyes on the road as he starts driving.

If you think about it, you were just at his place a few nights ago eating dinner with him, and now, you somehow find yourself in his car as he drives you both to work. His constant kindness is not lost on you... but Jungkook's casualty makes it seem like this is just his plain nature.

You quirk your head to the side.

"Are you free later for lunch?"

"I can arrange my sched. Why?"

"Do you want to go together?" You ask. You'd say the offer is a form of compensation for his help today, but getting lunch together for the pure sake of it doesn't sound bad, either. Both works, so you're only a bit hopeful as you try to look for his reaction.

Jungkook has a hint of surprise on his face when he takes a quick look at you before turning his attention back on the road.

"Really?" There's a little lilt to his voice, as if he's not surer if you're being serious.

You shrug to appear casual. "If you're not too busy, that is."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Where are we going?"

"You're gonna find out later." You tell him. Jungkook cocks his head to the side, intrigued.

"Okay... where should I meet you, then? At your office?"

"Oh, god, no." Is your quick response. Jungkook immediately looks at you in offense, but it's more like amusement when he stares longer. At that, you wave your hand so he doesn't get the wrong idea. "No, no, I mean— it's just rude if an executive, like, comes to our office."

"You're still not hung up on the boss thing?" You roll your eyes at his teasing tone which earns a hearty chuckle from Jungkook. He shakes his head playfully at you. "I doubt anyone would care."

You jut your bottom lip out because he's probably right. But still, your co-workers would ask, and you're not trying to dig yourself a hole by making yourself news of the day because the newly appointed interim CTO just walked into your office for what? Lunch? The HR would have a field day.

"Maybe we can meet at the parking lot?" You offer, thinking it's the sensible place.

Jungkook smiles. "Alright."

You had to stay behind Joonhwi and Sol as lunch came, making an excuse about going out with a friend as opposed to not coming with them. In your head, you think you were doing Joonhwi a favor.

After that, you were welcomed with text from Jungkook when you turned on your phone. It said he was already at the basement where he parked earlier, so it wasn't exactly hard to spot him right away the moment you got there.

The drive to your destination was quick enough to only amount to around fifteen minutes. As soon as Jungkook managed to park his car somewhere, you lead him to where the place you'd chosen for lunch.

When he finally registered where you were, his amusement does not go unnoticed.

"I've always wanted to go here," He tells you, looking around the stores in-line by the street.

You look back at him in surprise.

"You haven't been here?" Jungkook nods and you want to ask him if he's kidding around, but then you realize he's no ordinary person like most of the people you know in your life, recalling that Jimin's first time in a marketplace like this was only when you introduced him to it during sophomore year. "But you eat street food, right?" You ask him, even though you know he does. You did spend nights on that food truck around your building.

"Of course I do," Jungkook chuckles, rubbing a hand at the back of his head, seemingly shy. "I just never tried it here."

You give him a wide grin. "You're gonna enjoy it here. Follow me, I have a favorite store here that sells really good hotteok."

You spent the better part of the morning thinking about the place where you can bring him, opting out of going to cafes and restaurant because it was just getting kind of old. Aside from the fact that you stopped going to the food truck across your apartment building, it's also been a while since you enjoyed some street food yourself. You're also delighted to know that this is apparently Jungkook's first time going here.

The area is usually livelier in the later hours of the night, but there are still a lot of people by lunch time. Students, civilians, tourists... a usual day in Seoul, you can say.

When you reach the hotteok stall, you ask for your usual right away, almost asking the same thing for Jungkook but remember that he might actually want something else.

"Do you want other flavors instead?" You look back at him while he stands behind you with his hands in his pockets. He's forgone the coat – it's somewhere in his car seat – which left him with his usual polo shirt, sleeves folded up to his forearms. He kind of looks broody with his stance and you know... the exposed tattoos – but he looks adorable when he gives you that familiar easy-going smile at your question.

"I'll have whatever you're having."

You're hungry for a while now so you don't wait a long time to take a bite of the hotteok when it's finally served. It's hot, and Jungkook laughs as you learn it the hard way, sputtering as you move the food away from you.

"Fuck!" You curse, blowing air and fanning your mouth which doesn't really do anything.

"Slow down," Jungkook says in between his chuckles. You feel his arm resting on your back as some sort of support. "I'll get you some water."

It only takes him a few seconds to stop by a nearby stall to get you some bottled water, and you thank him after drinking it quickly.

"Sorry 'bout that," You apologize, smiling sheepishly.

"There's a—" Jungkook gestures at his mouth. You arch your brow at him, a bit confused. He tries again. "Something in your—" He interrupts himself, shaking his head, and takes out a handkerchief from the depths of his slacks.

Your immediate reaction is to take a few steps back when he goes to wipe at your mouth. Jungkook stops, pausing his movement. You give him an awkward thumbs up which prompts him to continue.

"Done."

You choose to gloss over that occurrence, taking another bite of hotteok after that.

"You know I always wondered why I don't see you going out of your apartment every morning." You start a conversation while you walk together mindlessly.

"You wonder... why?" Jungkook looks at you for a brief moment. With a teasing grin, he says, "You wanna see me every day?"

You gasp.

"Gross, Jungkook." You say, absolutely scandalized at what he said.

He just laughs, shaking his head, amused at your reaction. It makes you roll your eyes.

"I just figured you don't commute so you don't need to leave early." You tell him.

You notice he seems to be extra playful today.

"Oh, yeah, that's right."

"Lucky you. I'm so sick of commuting."

"You don't like driving?"

You shake your head, "I don't know how to drive, and I don't have any intention to."

"I think I've heard that from Joon before." Jungkook chuckles.

"Oh yeah, he told me one time he'll most probably kill himself if he drives. Which– same."

Jungkook bites on his hotteok, chews on it for a while before saying, "That's what I thought when I started to drive a motorcycle."

You almost snap your head to look at him.

"You drive a motorcycle?" You ask, just to be sure you heard him right.

Jungkook nods. "Hm."

"Oh, wow... that must be..." You trail off, looking blankly ahead of you.

Well, now you can't get it out of your head. Jungkook riding a motorcycle with his tattoos out. Jungkook riding a motorcycle with a leather jacket.

Ugh. You told yourself you were gonna forget about the stupid crush! This is so counterproductive. There's nothing special about a man who drives a motorcycle! Not at all.

"Must be...?" Jungkook curiously asks you.

"Nerve-wracking." You say, which you think is a fair answer. He doesn't have to know that you're thinking about a totally different thing.

He nods. "It was for the first time. Mom always gives me an earful whenever I use it." He shakes his head while laughing.

You can't help but ask.

"You're close with your mom?" It only registers to you that the question must be way too privy, but Jungkook doesn't seem to think so as he answers casually right away.

"Yeah. She was really glad when I came home."

You smile. You once thought he's close with his family... turns out you aren't exactly wrong.

"That's sweet."

He just gives you a soft smile. "You?"

"Oh, me? She, uh, died awhile ago. So."

The smile on Jungkook's face falters.

"That... sucks."

"Thanks." And then it makes you laugh. "You know most people say sorry. You're the first one to say it sucks."

"I..." Jungkook seems to track back on what he said. "I mean, I'm sorry, of course. But it must suck, right? I just... love my mom a lot. Can't imagine losing her."

You nod, completely understanding where he's coming from.

All your life, people have always felt sorry for you for losing your mom, your only parent. Of course, you're thankful for the sympathy, but sometimes... you just need someone to be real with it. Someone to say it sucks – because losing a parent is hard. Losing a mother suck.

"You're not so bad, Jungkook." you comment after a while, and as you take a quick look at Jungkook, you see him in another light. The same light you see a person in when you figure you want to befriend them and be in their life.

"What do you mean by that?" Jungkook asks with an arched brow.

You shake your head, smile not going away.

"Nothing!"

Jungkook annoyed you some more about it and you had to laugh at his curiosity because it was funny the way he insisted about something really inconsequential. Even when you went to another stall to buy some drinks, he still tried to bring up the same thing, but you're more stubborn than him so of course his efforts did not bear any fruit.

After a while, you sit on some bench while you eat tornado fries.

"I don't like this." You say, looking at your stick and frowning. Turning to Jungkook, you extend your tornado fries to him. "Try this one."

He takes a bite from your own stick. Surprisingly, he seems to like it.

"You wanna exchange?" He offers his cheesy tornado fries in exchange with your sour barbecue-flavored one. You nod, taking it from him. Jungkook chuckles at you. "I told you to get that one."

"I was feeling experimental." You tell him simply.

When you were in front of the stall, you told him how you didn't like sour barbecue at all but still wanted to give it a try. Obviously, that did not go well. Good thing Jungkook bought the cheesy flavor, though.

From your peripheral vision, you see a group of what seems to be a group of teenage girls sitting on the bench across from you. Judging from the very familiar uniform, they're in high school. They've been there for a while now and you notice they've been stealing glances at your direction.

You glance at Jungkook and snort.

"Looks like someone here has some admirers from Seoul High School." You tease Jungkook. He does not seem to notice the girls at all, looking at you with confusion first before turning his head to look across.

In a second, Jungkook turns uncomfortable in his seat.

"That's Seoul High School?"

You laugh at the obvious way he ignores them looking at him. Still, you nod your head at his question, "Yup. Went there."

You subtly look at the girls' direction again, catching them do the same and you can just see Jungkook's ears getting red by the second, visibly embarrassed at the unwanted attention.

"That's just across my high school." He casually says, trying so hard not to mind the girls.

"No way!" You gasp. "Yongsan International?"

He nods.

"The cheerleading teams on both schools used to have, like, this big beef before, you know that?" You tell him, ready to lay out the huge gossip that happened in your batch. And then you remember, "Oh. You've probably graduated when I entered senior year in high school."

Jungkook gives you a look. "Rude. I'm not that old."

The sass comes unexpectedly which makes you laugh out loud you almost choke on the fries.

You were just about to tease him some more when somebody approaches you both.

"U-uhm..."

When you both look at the girl, she's one from the group who was shamelessly looking towards your direction, which is obviously aimed at a specific someone by your side, Jungkook.

"Hi!" You greet cheerfully.

The girl blushes and then turns to Jungkook.

"O-oppa..." She utters, hesitant when she pulls something out of her skirt pocket. It's a small, crocheted sunflower.

You coo at the sight, looking at Jungkook in amusement. The man beside you just grow more uncomfortable in his seat. He looks so constipated, god bless him.

"My friend told me to give this to the eonni beside you."

Your smile is quickly wiped off your face the moment her words sink in, confusion slowly coming to paint your expression. You look at the girl but before you can say anything, she's already walking away as soon as Jungkook takes the crocheted flower from her. You watch as she and her friends ran, their figures slowly disappearing from your line of sight.

"Looks like you got admirers from Seoul High School." Jungkook quips beside you. "For the eonni beside me." He teases, extending the cute little flower to you.

Hesitantly, you take the flower from his hands.

"You know, it suits you." Jungkook says when you don't say anything, still stunned from the literal turn of events.

You look up, baffled. "Huh?"

"A sunflower. It suits you... you're like it." He smiles, soft and gentle. There's a look of fondness in his eyes that you couldn't have mistaken for anything else. "I'm glad they gave that to you."

You open your mouth to speak, but there's nothing at the tip of your tongue.

Shying away from his gaze, you mumble a low, "Thank you."

You don't think you hear his next word right.

"Cute."

You have a hobby of collecting hobbies instead of focusing on one thing to be good at, jumping from one activity to another, even if it means abandoning your previous thing. Hobbies for most people means time lent to be better with it every day, but in your defense, you don't necessarily think you have to be good at something.

You've tried drawing. You've tried dancing. You've tried the guitar and you've tried the ukelele and you've tried crocheting and you've tried to study astrology. You've built three huge boxes of storage containing the needed materials for each of them, but they end up collecting dust.

Why can't a hobby just stay as a hobby, anyway? Why can't you just feel goofy one day to suddenly start drawing and give up the next day the moment you realize shading is hard? Why can't you just buy dress patterns and only sew the skirt part because tops are complicated to sew? Why can't you just learn four guitar chords because it's enough to play at least five songs using them?

None of it matters, you think. People will pressure you to push and push until you can possibly capitalize on something you're good at, but it just isn't the case for you.

You'll collect all the hobbies in the world until your head is full of random things and you just burst with it.

And true to your words, you find yourself wandering about in the baking aisle of your local grocery store at the late evening hours.

Yep. It's 2028 and your hobby pick for the year is baking.

So, what if you're a disaster in the kitchen? Cooking and baking are two different worlds! At least that's what Google tried to tell you a while ago when you were cleaning your bathroom earlier this morning, suddenly craving for some matcha cookies after you were done.

It sounded about right in your head that you decided to pick up ingredients for it, deciding it will be your dinner. At the back of your head, you think you should've just gone to the hundred cafes surrounding your apartment complex like, you know, any regular person would if they're craving something. But you figured that if you know how to bake, you could get matcha cookies anytime you want.

What can you say? You like to live life on edge. (You'll probably burn yourself in the oven later, but that will just be another lesson that life is soon to give you. You're just taking it in advance.)

But living on edge doesn't mean getting your card declined when you turn it to the cashier to supposedly pay for your grocery.

"I'm so sorry, uhm, can I have a few seconds, please?" You tell the cashier, giving her an awkward smile as you grab your wallet from your tote bag again, taking your card from her. You take another one of your debit cards this time and offer it to her, subtly looking around in hopes that no one is watching.

"Oh, we don't accept debit cards issued by this bank, ma'am." She says, and you're just about ready to dig yourself a hole from this complete, utter embarrassment.

"Okay..." you trail off nervously, glancing at the computer to look at your total. "I'll just pay in cash."

You do not, in fact, have enough cash.

You can tell the cashier is getting impatient from the way she shifts her weight from one side to another, and you keep yourself from making eye contact with her, fumbling with your wallet.

Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year and your card chose to decline on this very particular day. Why don't they accept your debit card? And why don't you have enough cash with you? Are you really this broke?

This is going to be a disaster. You can't afford to go to prison for this. Can you even go to prison for not paying grocery? Okay, maybe jail time for like 12 hours? But you have work tomorrow!

"Excuse me, miss,"

Somebody says but you refused to look at whoever it was, still counting the bills in your wallet that do not even accumulate to half the amount of your total.

"You can charge her bill here."

At that, your head quickly snap to the owner of the voice only to reveal himself as no other than Jeon Jungkook.

You swear you almost sigh in relief at the sight of him and have the sudden urge to hug him big time.

Jungkook looks at you and gives you a smile.

"Hi."

"Jungkook," you breathe. "Thank god you're here."

The cashier looks at you both weirdly but nonetheless swipes the card Jungkook gave her., instructing him to type his code on the key pad. There's nobody in line for the cashier you went to other than you both because it is too late an hour to be getting groceries, so Jungkook is able to butt in seamlessly and get his cart checked out as well.

"You're very much welcome." He says warmly.

Jungkook's dressed just as casually as you; a combination of simple white t-shirt and shorts and a pair of sliders. His grocery contains a lot different than yours, showing all sorts of food ingredients. You wait for his stuff to get bagged until you both head out of the store.

His car was just parked nearby, so you follow him towards its direction to apologize.

"I'm so, so sorry for earlier. I'll pay you later when we get home, of course." You say, just now registering how embarrassing it is for him to catch you in that situation. You're no stranger to getting your card declined... but really, now?

You decide to add awkwardly, "Or... do you have Kakao Pay?"

Jungkook chuckles while he opens his trunk, picking up his bags of groceries to place them in there. He shakes his head, keeping his hand outstretched to upwards to hold the hood of his car.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

You're about to speak in protest when he gestures at the bag in your hands, as if asking you to place it in the trunk as well. You shake your head repeatedly.

"No, it's okay, I'm just gonna take a cab home." You say, pointing to your back where the street is, politely refusing his obvious offer to drive you home.

He's done too much in the span of ten minutes you've seen each other tonight. He's paid for your groceries for heaven's sake, and he still has the intention to drive you again to your destination? Not adding the fact that he also just drove you to work yesterday to keep you from being late. It's like he's just doing you heaps of favors and so far, you've done nothing in return.

"__, please, I'm offering." Jungkook insists. As usual. "I really don't mind."

Shoulders deflating, you let out a sigh.

"It's just that..." You start, nibbling on your bottom lip.

"What?"

"You've just been doing me a lot of favors lately." You say, looking away from his gaze.

Jungkook calls your name gently. You train your gaze at him. He steps closer to you and gives your shoulder a soft tap. "Hey, I'm not counting."

The words in itself aren't all that special, but the way he said it and the way he looked at you while he did may have just did a little damage to your heart because why did it seem so genuine?

Still, you shy away.

"It's just really embarrassing." You say, out of argument now.

Jungkook lets out a sound of amusement and takes the bag from your hands. He didn't even give you the chance to protest before he managed to put it successfully in the trunk of his car, together with his own groceries.

"Why don't you pay me back by helping me make dinner tonight?" Jungkook muses.

You give him a weird look.

"You really want me in a kitchen? Have you not listened to my horror stories this whole time, Jungkook?"

He laughs as he leads you both inside his car. You follow quietly behind but this time, you don't mistake the passenger seat from the driver's seat and instantly wear your seatbelt as soon as you're sat.

"I dunno, I'm just offering. I thought it'll be fun." He shrugs, turning on the ignition of the car and starting to drive back to the apartment building.

"Okay, I can at least chop some onions and garlic..." You trail off. And then you remember as an afterthought, "Oh, I'm actually baking tonight as well."

Jungkook takes a quick surprise glance at you. "You never told me you know how."

You snort. "I don't know how, trust me. I'm just starting right now."

"Is that why you went out grocery shopping tonight?" He arches a brow.

"Yep. Totally a spontaneous thing. I wanted, like, this very specific matcha cookie..."

Jungkook laughs. "Should I help you with the baking as well? I might learn from you."

"Really? You want to help?" You ask him delightfully.

He nods, making your grin wider.

"Sounds fun."

You both agreed to cook and bake at his place, partly because you personally are not ready for him to see your own flat. When you get inside his unit, Jungkook cutely bragged about his table set that just arrived earlier this morning according to him.

Personally, you've barely cooked at your own place let alone somebody else's. The one time you were in someone else's kitchen was Jimin's but even then, it was just to microwave some pizza and other take-out food.

It should feel weird to be prepping ingredients with someone, to move around the kitchen with the goal to make yourself a homecooked meal – especially with somebody like Jungkook – but truthfully, it felt almost... natural. Probably because you're conversing casually while you're doing things so there isn't any awkward silence.

You're making tangsuyuk, according to him, and he's obviously taking the lead – expertly prepping the meat while you go chop some spices needed for the dish.

"Is this okay?" You ask, showing him your work. You hope he likes it because you're kind of under a weird pressure to be in here, helping him. Also, you're not sure if you minced the garlic right.

But Jungkook just gives you a hearty smile.

"Good girl."

And goes back to what he's doing as if he just said nothing.

Which—okay, he seemed to have unconsciously said it that now you're gaslighting yourself whether you heard him right or not. Did he really say what you think he just said? What the fucking fuck.

Thankfully, Jungkook's too busy to notice that you become a bit frozen in your position for a good ten seconds. If he truly didn't mean to say that, he needs to get those words out of his vocabulary before he sends you in a sudden cardiac arrest. It'd be the most mysterious death of humanity.

"Do you need the carrots?" You ask, raising the vegetable in your hand.

Jungkook nods and you start to peel it. He watches by your side when you begin slicing the carrot.

"Cut them into Julienne slices."

"Huh?" You look back at him. "Not the cooking jargon, Kook." You deadpan, the nickname seamlessly coming out of your mouth.

He apologizes and tells you exactly what he meant. You furrow your brows in concentration to achieve what he wants, but Jungkook just laughs beside you.

"Okay, let me just—"

He's behind you a second after that, towering over your form and circling his arms around you. Your breath hitches as Jungkook places his hand on top of yours – the one that holds the knife – and begins to guide you through slicing the carrot.

You can feel his breathing from the proximity of your position, and even though there's still distance between the both of you, it's only hairsbreadth away and frankly, the ridges of the front of his body are so prominent against your back.

Jungkook does not seem to face the same internal panic as you though, because as soon as he deems that you are staring to get it, he steps back and let you do the thing on your own.

He leans back on the countertop, crossing his arms while looking at you.

"You're not so bad at this like you claimed." He comments.

You feel your cheeks heating up, so you focus your full attention on the carrot, your hands seemingly having developed a mind of their own throughout the time. Well, at least it's doing the right job. You can only hope you don't slice through your fingers... imagine cutting them right into this very moment.

"This is a trauma response from watching too much Gordon Ramsay."

Jungkook chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

"We're just gonna wait for another thirty minutes for the meat and the mushroom. Should we start baking? What do we do first?" He says, washing his hands first before walking towards your direction.

You take your phone out from your pocket, looking at him a bit apologetically as you say "sorry" for pulling up Google. For the record, you haven't memorized shit and this is your first time baking.

Jungkook shakes his head, telling you there's no need for apologies because he "can't bake for shit" himself. That makes you feel relieved. You thought he's just good at a lot of things.

You don't encounter any trouble while mixing the dry ingredients, but when it comes to the wet ones, you think you've done something wrong. Jungkook tells you to try it. When you dip your finger into the mixture and taste it, you automatically scrunch your face.

"What, why?" Jungkook asks curiously.

"I don't think this is quite right..." You say, looking down at the mixture sadly.

"Mayve we can add more vanilla...?" He takes the bottle with him, ready to pour some into the bowl.

You pout. "But it says one teaspoon and we already put one teaspoon."

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know... give up?"

Jungkook chuckles as he says your name.

You sigh. "Okay, maybe we'll try some that."

You do as you say, and as you taste it again, you're delighted to notice the elevated flavor. Mindlessly dipping your finger again into the bowl, you offer it to Jungkook to try.

The very act just sinks into your head when he leans down to suck it off your finger.

It happened quick, not at all sensual and slow like the movies make it out to be, but you feel your heart rate picking up at the feel after-effect of Jungkook's hot tongue touching your skin. But as you look at him, his eyebrows are furrowed, assessing the taste, not at all in a trance by what just happened.

"Oh, definitely better." He comments, as if he didn't just... suck your finger?

... Which you offered.

That he took willingly.

You turn away from him and pretend to busy yourself with the electric mixer, fumbling with the paddle.

"Are you cooking the tangsuyuk yet?" You ask, changing the subject. Jungkook is completely unaware of the current chaos in your head, walking towards the refrigerator to take out the pork he marinated earlier and the bowl of mushrooms.

"Just tell me if you need help." He tells you, touching the small of your back as he passes by you to get to the stove.

You feel your cheeks heating at the touch, moving aside to let him start frying the meat with the batter he's busied himself with awhile ago.

"Shit!" You say, surprised at the sudden whir of the machine. Jungkook quickly looks at you. You laugh and give him a thumbs up. "I'm fine here!"

You both work together on your own thing, and when you let the dough to rest, Jungkook, at the same time, finishes frying the meat of the tangsuyuk. You don't want to feel useless while you don't have anything to work on, so you peer over what Jungkook is doing and ask him if you there's anything he needs.

"Do you want to make the sauce?" Jungkook asks you. You scrunch your nose and hesitantly nod. He seems to notice your uncertainty and chuckles. "I'll teach you."

"Okay, but don't blame me if it tastes like shit later, okay?" You warn but he just shrugs and laugh, telling you that he'll talk you through the process and there's no need to be nervous. You can just experiment with it a little, he says.

You've watched a lot of Hell's Kitchen episodes that you have this silly, unrealistic expectation on what goes on in kitchens, but thankfully, Jungkook isn't like Gordon Ramsay at all and is so unbelievably gentle in teaching you even when you almost spilled soy sauce on the countertop and put too much vinegar than needed. He shrugs your worries off by fixing the thing, thankful that when he offers you the ladle to taste the sauce from it, it's more than decent.

While Jungkook prepares the tangsuyuk for your dinner, you take the time to form your cookie dough into small circles, leaving it in the oven to bake while you follow Jungkook into the living room and start eating the food that you cooked – or he cooked.

Jungkook teases you that you lied about not being good at cooking, but you have to remind him you didn't do shit and only the bare minimum. He looks like he's not convinced.

By the time that you're finished with your dinner, the oven's timer went off. Jungkook insists that he wash the dishes even though you feel like you should be the one doing it, but he tells you to check your cookies in the oven and so you did.

You're not expecting anything, but it will feel really good if it tastes at least okay.

Crossed fingers, your mind says as you take out the sheet pan.

First impression: it looks okay to the eye. Like real cookies.

But soon, your parade is rained on when you try to bite into the cookie.

It looks like real cookie, all right, but apparently doesn't taste like one.

Your face contorts into a frown as soon as you bite down into it a second time.

Okay, that's it. Put them in the tupperware as soon as possible, you thought. So, you do just that, placing all of the pieces into the plastic box and securing them away.

From where you were, you can hear Jungkook shutting the water off on the sink, his footsteps coming near you. Once he gets close, he peers down at what you're doing. Intrigued, he asks for one.

"No." you shake your head. The cookies are to be gatekept not because it's too good but because it should not be consumed at all. Jesus. You just ate Jungkook's tangsuyuk and it tasted exactly like the ones you've eaten from restaurants; it'd be such an embarrassing contrast to your own work.

"Don't be stingy," Jungkook playfully says, already making a move to reach for the cookies in your hands.

You hide the tupperware behind your back and stop him with your other free hand.

"Don't come closer. These cookies are not for consumption. Go away."

But he just arches a brow, walking a few steps forward.

"Jungkook!" You whine. "They don't taste good, and I'm embarrassed by them."

"Just one bite," Jungkook chuckles at you, not understanding your mortification. "Come on, __."

But you're stubborn and you won't let him have any of it even if he tries hard.

Jungkook is just as determined though, as he threatens to get closer and closer to you.

You squeaked out his name when he takes a hold of the tupperware but thankfully, you're quick on your reflex and able to take it back.

The whole thing prompts you to burst into laughter as you run around the island of his kitchen, giggling at the silliness of it all.

Your efforts to get away from him eventually go to waste as he managed to get ahold of your waist with his one arm, the other not missing the beat to steal the cookies from you.

He's firm over his hold, lifting you up while laughing against your head as you try to wriggle away.

"Let me have one bite, __," He says, and with his one arm, sits you on the countertop, not letting you go just yet even when you're fully sat.

You try to snatch the plastic from him but he's much quicker this time. When he opens it, you have no choice but to cover your face in embarrassment.

"I told you it's bad." You say, pouting at him, noting the expression on his face as he chews on the cookies that tells you it definitely does not taste good.

"You're a first timer." Jungkook just says, putting down the tupperware.

"Don't try to make me feel better." You frown even more.

"I'm not! I'm just pointing out that this is the first time you tried so of course it's not gonna be perfect right away?" He offers, some sort of comfort, maybe?

But your shoulders deflate because he's right.

Still.

Jungkook must have noticed your mood and tries to cheer you up one more time.

"Come on, you still made a really good tangsuyuk."

That makes you chuckle, unconsciously kicking his knee slightly making him let out an ingenuine, "Ow!"

You don't notice one of the straps of your spaghetti top falling off until Jungkook fixes it for you in the middle of your shared laughter.

"Thanks." You smile at him, mindlessly touching the strap, keeping it in place.

Jungkook hums as he helps you jump out of the kitchen counter.

The night ended with him walking you to your unit again, a rather silly thing he keeps on insisting to do. It's hard to put a name on it, but there's a certain feeling in your chest when you went out of Jungkook's apartment.

A feeling that lingers its way through when you receive a text from him after you come out of the shower that night.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:05pm]: good night chef

You fight off the smile that forces its way into your lips as you type out a reply.

You [11:06pm]: good night :)))))

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:06pm]: i thought u already slept

You [11:07pm]: at 11oclock??? what do u think am i a grandma

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: fair Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: but i had fun earlier. we should do it again sometime

You lie on your back, can't help yourself from letting a small giggle.

You [11:09pm]: jungkook-a You [11:09pm]: just tell me u wanna be with me??

You meant that as a joke, obviously. Just like how he joked about you one time over lunch about wanting to see him every day when you brought up the topic of not seeing him come out of his apartment. You did not mean anything by it other than friendly banter.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:10pm]: 🤔 Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: that can be arranged. you can be my personal sous chef and I'll build us a restaurant

You [11:11pm]: sweet

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:11pm]: you havent seen all, baby

Your lips part.

Okay...

Your relationship is absolutely platonic at best. But you can't help but think that he gets a little flirty at times... like the few moments in his kitchen earlier. Is it bad that you're thinking way too much about that specific memory of him licking your finger without thought? Of his strong arm effortlessly carrying you against his rigid body and putting you on the countertop, almost manhandling you? Is it bad you can't get the memory of him fixing your top out of your head?

His use of nickname ticks a little light at the back of your head, and you decide to poke the nest a little.

You [11:12pm]: really? what r u wearing right now

Just a little jokey-joke between friends and nothing more.

You don't even expect a reply to that, but your phone dings a second after, and when you open your message thread again, your jaw parts wider this time.

It's a picture of Jungkook lying his bed, his face cut off from the frame. But you know it's him from the arm that peeks out, his tattoos a familiar sight by now. The photo is taken at a low angle, just enough for you to see the sleeveless shirt he's sporting and the strings of his grey shorts.

You [11:14pm]: i meant that as a joke

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:14pm]: 🥴

You do not know what he meant by that. You look for a picture to reply with, and the HAHA reaction is expected the moment you pressed send.

You [11:15pm]: stripper patrick says good night

Laughing silently at the meme you sent him which was Patrick from Spongebob wearing a pair of black fishnet tights and boots, you wait as three dots appear on Jungkook's line.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:15pm]: you're a minx

You chuckle, reacting to his message with an emoji and turn off your phone, almost throwing it on your nightstand and scrambling to bury your face in your pillow to let out a sound of a weird sob, but you're smiling your face off and your cheeks feel way too hot.

The truth of the matter is that you ended the conversation because you're afraid of where it's going.

Turning around, you lay on your back and stare at your ceiling, calming the beat of your heart and forcing your eyes to shut close.

But the picture Jungkook sent you keeps on popping up in your head, almost like those ads from shady websites on the internet, and when you think about it, it triggers a slur of memories that play like a picture in your head: his lips wrapped around your finger... his strong arm... his subtle touch on the small of your back...

"Ugh," you groan, slapping your hands over your face.

You furrow your brows to appear serious, thinking that it'll make you think of something serious as well, wrapping a blanket over your body and sighing when the technique doesn't work.

Okay, think of dogs... and puppies...but that's apparently a wrong move because now you're thinking of Jungkook with his dog.

You're obviously awful at this.

You turn on your bed once again, muffling a sound in your pillow.

But then as minutes passed, your restlessness continues to prevail and you're about to cry with the unknown frustration that sits at the back of your head.

Laying in silence for a while, your hand finds itself roaming over your body, your thumb catching your nipple through your thin top. You pinch the nub, experimental, until it turns into a pebbled rock in your touch.

You bite your bottom lip as your other hand trails down over your panties, running it around the waistband, down until you reach down, down, down to your core.

Your lips part when you feel its heat, two of your fingers starting to stroke where your nether lips were. You sigh at the sensation, squeezing at your boob and turning your head to the side, thinking about how good it feels.

Slowly, you reach down under your parties to part your lips, moaning at the wetness that welcomes you below.

You start to stroke gently with your middle finger, drawing figure eights over your core and making sure to put friction on your clit. The ministration produces more wetness in your cunt, and you spread it over for easier access inside as you start to poke into your hole.

"Oh my god," you mewled, breathing heavily against your pillow, pumping a finger into you. It's a little tight, and you remember you haven't touched yourself like this for over a few weeks now.

But god, how could you forget the feeling of it? The feeling of something going in and out of your cunt, gliding so smoothly because of the abundance of wetness all over.

"Fuck." you sigh out, lips parted, eyes closed to feel more of the sensation.

Your other hand reaches under your top to fondle with your boob, helping you stimulate yourself into that familiar feeling of great ecstasy that comes with your pussy getting touched.

It's starting to feel hot, and you can feel the beads of sweat starting to form on the side of your head even though the AC and your fan are both on. There's a zap that starts from your spine that comes with a sort of electricity coming from within, transferring that tick into your belly which prompts you to pump into your hole faster.

The sheets are a mess at this point, with your feet kicking into them as your movement picks up pace.

"Oh god," you cry out silently, muffling your sob in the comfort of your fluffy pillow.

You chase the feeling of completion, closing your eyes once more, trying to figure out how to get there.

And there's one familiar man that pops inside your head.

Jeon Jungkook.

"Oh shit," you hiss, pinching your nipple and going in and out faster.

Jungkook with his lips around your finger. Jungkook pressing his body against your back. Jungkook carrying you against his body. Jungkook's electric touch as he fixes the strap that's fallen over your naked shoulder.

You let out a pathetic moan, trying to shake away the thoughts of him.

You aren't supposed to. It feels wrong. So wrong.

Suddenly, you feel frustrated over still not reaching your climax up to this point.

You let out a heavy breath, pulling out your fingers from your pussy and from under your panties.

You don't get off. You never do – with your fingers, anyway, that is. And that's why you have a trusted toy buried deep at the back of the drawer of your nightstand, kept away for occasional uses. You'd say you need it right now, but you're too flushed and tired to take it out.

And there's also a melancholic feeling in your heart upon realizing that you just thought of Jungkook while touching yourself.

"Shit, shit, shit." You hiss, the cusses mostly dedicated to yourself.

You shake your head as you sit on the edge of your bed, your hair a bird's nest and clothes strewn over your body as per your reflection on the full-body mirror across your bed.

Sighing, you let your head down and massage your temples.

"God, what's wrong with me,"

You feel guilty... because you aren't supposed to think of a friend when you're trying to get off. You told yourself you'd stop finding Jungkook hot or cute or what-the-fuck-ever so that stupid crush can go away finally. But it feels like all your efforts – or lack, thereof – always seem to fall short.

This isn't good. You need to think straight.

A sudden loud ping catches your attention, almost startling you because it's in the middle of the night, after all. When you snap your head to the side, you see your phone with the light out.

You instantly feel a little nervous. What if it's Jungkook? There's an irrational fear in your head that he knows what you just did, but you shake the thought away, scolding yourself for getting way over your head.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you feel scared to open your phone but then, did you really have a choice?

Slowly trudging to the direction of your phone, you pick it up from the table and turn it on.

August 18: Your cycle forecast Ovulation in 2 days. Your sex drive may just be hitting its peak🌡️ Tap for tips to make most out of it👉

"Oh fuck me." You curse, throwing your phone on the bed, feeling pissed all of the sudden.

Fucking period tracker app... and ovulation.

PART THREE | ...

#fic: nb #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader

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mister0ctopus · 5 months ago

Text

Server Room (1)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary: Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Smut (X), Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: I wanted to write more, seems like this is my hyperfocus rn, but I’m sick, you guys. I skipped our company’s year-end party tn, so here I am typing with snot, lol. Hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think! More to come. 😊

🐙 Masterlist / AskMeeeeee!!!

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The office floor buzzes with the noise of chatter and the clicking of keyboards. Four more hours to go, and you’re free from this torture. Work has been exhausting lately, with everyone scrambling to finish everything before year-end.

You’ve been typing furiously, finishing a report you need to present tomorrow, but when you hit the Enter key, nothing happens…

And as if the world is playing tricks on you, your screen turns blue…

Enter. Esc. asoyjebcvbcjkv.

No! No no no!

You stare at it in disbelief. You worked so hard on this report—there’s no way it didn’t save, right???

You suddenly stand up and rush to one of your friends at work, and your go-to guy in IT, Yoongi.

You open the door to the IT department and let out an exaggerated sigh before plopping down next to Yoongi’s desk. He’s wearing huge headphones and tinkering with a motherboard.

“I need your magical powers right now. You can retrieve my report after this thing died on me, right?” you say, shoving your laptop toward him.

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh… you’re not Yoongi.”

“Oh—uhm…” not-Yoongi stammers, quickly pulling off his headphones, clearly startled by your sudden appearance.

Big, round eyes stare at you for a moment, like a deer in headlights.

After a few seconds, you stand up, gently pulling your laptop away from his face.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were Yoongi. Is he—”

“He’s not here. He’s on PTO for a week. The rest of the team went to check the new equipment coming in. Uh— I’m new here,” he says, almost too quickly, before gulping nervously. “I started last week…” His words trail off abruptly, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Oh! Right. I forgot about his PTO. Vacation. Yeah. Uhm…” You laugh at yourself, realizing you completely forgot about Yoongi’s vacation. He’s going fishing and camping with Jin, his brother, and wow, that actually sounds amazing. You really need a vacation too, but goddamn it, the report, YN! You really need that report!

“Yes. Report. I really really need your help. I’m YN btw, and you’re…?”

“Jungkook,” he says in a breathy voice.

“Right. Hi, Jungkook. I didn’t realize there was a new guy in IT. So, listen... my laptop just died, and I really need your help retrieving a report I’ve been working on for days. I’d be so grateful... please?” you smiled sweetly as you subtly leaned in, because lord, you’re desperate and running out of time.

He nods quietly and places your laptop on his desk. He inspects the device and types a few keys. After a few seconds, still without looking at you, he says, “I need to run some tests. It may take a while…”

“How long exactly?” You nervously bite your lip. There’s no way this report can’t be retrieved. You have no backup, obviously relying on the laptop to save everything.

“Maybe... tomorrow? I—I’ll try to fix it,” Jungkook stammers, his cheeks slightly pink as he types a few commands.

“No!” You cut him off a little too quickly, then softened your tone to control the panic rising in your chest. “I have a presentation first thing tomorrow, and I need it today. Tonight, at the latest.”

He still doesn’t look at you, focusing on the device.

“I’ll try my best. You can come back later before you go home.” That’s all he says before turning his chair away from you.

You were about to further insist on the urgency of this matter, but you don’t want to push him more. You’re at the mercy of this guy, and he’s the only one who can help you right now.

You nod, trying to keep your frustration in check. "Okay, I’ll be back before 5 pm." you say, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Jungkook. I appreciate it.”

He simply nods back, still not making eye contact as he focuses on the device.

You leave the IT department, your mind racing as you think about how to explain to your boss if the report can’t be recovered.

4:07pm

You glanced at the clock for the eleventh time since leaving the IT room, your anxiety growing with each passing minute. You couldn’t wait any longer to find out if the laptop was fixed, so you decided to head back to the IT room, only to find it empty.

“Jungkook?” you call softly.

The room is small, with only four desks, so it’s easy to tell that no one is there—no one except for you.

You turn to leave when your eyes catch another door with a sign that reads “Server Room.”

Jungkook must be in there, so you approach the door and push it open. But just as soon as you step inside, you hear angry grunts and heavy breathing, as if someone is straining.

A sense of panic rushes over you, as though you’re not supposed to be here—should you be here?

You freeze, unsure of what to do next, but then you notice movement behind one of the racks directly in front of you. Colorful inked hand moves erratically, tugging at something angrily.

Up, down, forward, backward...

You hear the grunts shift into groans, and the heavy breathing turns into soft whines.

You hear slick, wet sounds and the pounding of your own heart. You know you’re not supposed to be looking, yet you can’t tear your eyes away.

Your eyes shift from his busy hands to his strained face, where you notice Jungkook biting his lip to stifle more sound from eliciting, his lip ring catching the light on his every movement, and you feel wetness soil you in your center, so you press your thighs together to try and soothe it.

You close your eyes because god why is this so wrong, and so fucking hot?

And you clench your cunt around nothing as you hear him call your name in the most strained voice, almost sounding like a plea.

“Fuck… YN, oh god of god oh goddd!” he whined, movements quicker now.

Your face goes numb with shock from the vulgarity, and you struggle to steady your breath as you quietly storm out of the server room, praying he didn’t notice you at all.

You hurriedly walk back to your desk, a wave of shame washing over you for what you saw and what you're feeling, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and need.

You fix your already neat hair, hoping no one notices the chaos you're feeling, but what you don’t realize is that Jungkook saw you leave the room, and that made him cum harder as he imagined his firm hands being your soft and wet hole instead.

Still shaken from the incident, you finally gather yourself at exactly 5 PM and make your way back to the IT room. Desperation fuels your steps—there’s no way you can let what you saw, and the way it made you feel, stop you from retrieving your laptop.

As you step inside the room, expecting a dismissive Jungkook to greet you, you instead collide with something solid—a chest.

Jungkook’s chest.

Visuals of him from a few minutes ago flash through your mind, and you let out a small gasp. He is smirking, but his expression remains unreadable—a stark contrast to the shy and aloof Jungkook you had initially met.

"I fixed it. Your data is all there. I also made sure you're logged into the reporting CRM, so your presentation pulls real-time data via API. Basically—you have a backup," he said matter-of-factly, his tone professional—but his eyes are anything but.

He handed you the device, and you hesitantly took it, still processing everything.

With a sigh of relief, you offered him a sweet smile, your voice soft as you thanked him. "Thank you, Jungkook. You saved my life. I owe you," you murmured, though your mind was still racing, unable to shake the earlier scene.

He nodded and remained quiet, simply watching you with a sly grin on his lips, his expression still unreadable.

The tension was unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, you quickly mumbled another "thanks" and made your exit.

When you finally reached home, exhaustion settled in, but relief quickly followed. You’d been running on adrenaline all day, but now that it was done, you could finally breathe. The changes Jungkook made were a game-changer—it fed you real-time data seamlessly, saving you hours of work.

After adding the final touches to your presentation for tomorrow, you got ready for bed. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and awe as you closed your laptop for the night.

But your mind betrayed you—thoughts of Jungkook still lingered in your brain, refusing to let you rest.

His tattooed arm around his hardness…

The way his chest heaves…

The way he was beating his dick for you…

The way he sounded, his groans, his moans…

How the slick and wet noise filled the air…

How he looked so angry biting his lips, brows furrowed in frustration…

His dark hair stuck to his damp forehead…

The lip piercing that you were sure would feel cold against your warm folds…

You touch yourself with desperate need, pumping two fingers inside as your other hand circles your clit.

You yell his name over and over, as you buck your hips, feeling your release drench you further. Then you drift into slumber in soiled underwear and a sweet sweet smile, knowing you’ll see him again tomorrow.

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peachiejeongin · 5 months ago

Text

Asleep and Adored | Bang Chan

synopsis: a short sleepy drabble about bang chan when he gets tired

pairing: bang chan x reader

genre: pure fluff!

warnings: lowercase letters intended, no warnings!

notice: hello my loves! i wrote this sleepy chan drabble back many months ago; considering i may or may not have posted part 6 to the phantoms a bit early, enjoy this filler fiction :)

whenever bang chan was sleepy, he got clingy. that was a given as he was physically unable to fall asleep without you by his side. it would start with gentle taps on your arm or thigh, progress into frequent hugging, and by the end of the night, chan would be laid in between your legs or vice versa holding you like a life-sized teddy bear.

however, tonight seemed different.

chan had been in the studio tonight for only heaven knows how long. he had been producing, writing, you name it. you were not sure as to why; after all, stray kids had just wrapped up dominate promotions, and there were no planned song collaborations scheduled to your knowledge.

you knew he was getting tired. his eyes were drooping as he attempted to stay focused on the, unnecessary, task at hand.

“love, why don’t we head home? it’s nearly one,” you stated softly. chan drowsily checked his phone clock, shaking his head in response. “mm-mm. gotta,” he paused to yawn, “get this done.”

“what even does ‘this’ entail?” you asked both in curiosity and frustration. chan shrugged his shoulders, quickly returning them to their slumped position.

“just a side project. i got bored, y’know?” a few mouse clicks sounded, as well as a few ‘mms’ and ‘i need to adds’ from your boyfriend.

“if it’s just a side project, can’t it wait?” you sounded desperate, but you could not care less. you were desperate. desperate for your insomniac boyfriend to lay down and get even a few brief moments of sleep.

“it can, but i don’t see the point in postponing it any longer.” he went back to adjusting sounds and adding beats, clicking notes and corresponding vocals, and auto tuning voices and repositioning lyrics. you had had enough.

absent-mindedly, you stood up suddenly, reached over your boyfriend’s left shoulder, and pushed his lap top closed gently.

“baby, no!” he almost instantaneously yelped, attempting to reopen his laptop; however, your hand sat firmly in place on the technological device.

“ah, ah, ah,” you said softly. “rest. you can finish tomorrow.” chan sighed both in annoyance and defeat.

“fine.” chan made a swift reach for his keys, yet once again you stopped him.

“i don’t think either of us should be driving this late. maybe we could…” your eyes darted over to the smooth, black leather couch positioned near perfect in the center of the room. chan nodded slightly, another soft yawn eliciting from his pouty lips.

you lied down on the makeshift bed for tonight, spreading your legs slightly in invitation for chan. he quickly obliged, crawling in between them and laying his head down on your chest whilst simultaneously wrapping his arms around you.

you stroked his hair gently, and before you knew it, the adorable boy was nearly half asleep. yet, something in him seemed to be keeping him awake.

“got something on your mind, hon?”

“mm, just, thanks for caring about me. if it wasn’t for you, i’d never get any sleep.” a chuckled vibrated in your chest.

“any time, baby.” the soft thump of your heartbeat lulled chan to sleep before you knew it, and the sight of the sleepy boy in front of you sent you to dreamland soon after.

in different manners, both of you dreamed of how you got so lucky.

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids oneshots #lee know #changbin #hyunjin #han #felix lee #seungmin #jeongin #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan oneshots #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff

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saiyanprincessswanie · 2 months ago

Text

The Ultimate Risk - Part 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4500

Series Summary: Reader is a full-time college student at 30 years old who is starting over in life. When she loses her full-time job as a waitress, CEO James “Bucky” Barnes steps in with a proposition. Can he sell you on a way to help you by offering a Sugar Daddy relationship? In time who will get feelings first? Can a Sugar Daddy relationship really work out?

Series Warnings: Sugar Daddy au, Reader is 30 & Bucky is in his 40s, trust issues, angst, eventually falling in love, smut, oral (m & f).

The Ultimate Risk Masterlist

A/N: @avengers-assemble-bingo for James Buchanan Barnes - 108th Birthday Bingo

Square: Sugar Daddy (card #4B 024)

A/N 2: Thanks to my beta readers @gremlin-girly & @lfnr-blog-blog-blog Thank you to @nekoannie-chan for reading this. Thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for my amazing moodboard.

Please Read, Reblog, & Comment. It lets me know you like my work. 😊💜

I do NOT consent to translating or reposting my work on any social media platform, app, or third-party site or run through AI. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen.

The alarm went off way too early for your liking and you instantly hit the snooze button on your phone. You roll over with a grumble and fall back asleep instantly. Ten minutes later your alarm goes off again and you curse at the loud alarm. You grabbed your phone, turned off the alarm, and placed your phone on the bed. Your eyes finally open and you’re hissing at the sunlight that is streaming through the curtains.

You let out a groan knowing your long day has just begun. You stay in bed for another ten minutes before you climb out and shuffle to the bathroom to get ready for your day.

After showering and getting changed into comfy clothes you grab your laptop. Logging onto the college’s website you start working on your homework for the classes you have today. You would have done it sooner but you worked a late shift again last night.

You wish you could complain but you really needed the money to keep a roof over your head.The apartment was quaint; one bedroom and one bathroom. It had a small kitchen that was open to the living room. It may not be much but it was yours to rent.

A part of you wished you could win the lottery to help get you caught up on bills. That way your money wasn’t going mostly towards rent. You sigh, thinking how long it’s been since you had a vacation. What you needed was a miracle but those don’t happen for you.

An hour passed and you had completed your school work. The next two hours pass and you get two online classes done. By the time you knew it it was noon and you had two hours to get to work.

You changed from your comfy clothes to work ones. You grabbed something to eat for lunch so you had food in your stomach. Placing the plate in the sink you go put your shoes on. Grabbing your purse, phone, and keys you head out the door, locking it behind you, and head to work.

At the sidewalk sits your 2010 Toyota Corolla. It’s not much to look at but it gets you from point a to b. Unfortunately, the check engine light is on and you have no idea how much longer your car will last. Maybe one day you will get a better car.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive to work and you huff getting out of the car. Your boss likes you at work an hour before your shift so he can go over the special guests who will be attending tonight. It’s an upscale restaurant that you work for but one you would never visit due to funds.

The group of staff members stand in the back as your manager speaks.

“Tonight is Friday night and we have a list of “A” list customers coming in. I need you all on your “A” game tonight. Remember our goal is to keep the customers happy.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes with his last sentence. Your boss believed the customer came first and foremost. Which you believed in, because, depending on who they are some of these customers tip well.

He spoke a little more about business and an hour later he ended the meeting. You thank the heavens above that he was finished. Taking a breath you get ready for your shift.

At first, it was the usual slow afternoon crowd. You enjoyed the slow time but were anxious for the real crowd to roll in. The crowd filters in around five in the afternoon and you were busy working tables. Taking orders and bringing food out was stressful at times but you smiled through it all. Thankfully nothing was dropped.

At seven in the evening, you were informed that James “Bucky” Barnes had requested to sit in your section with his friends. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face. The man was the CEO of a company in the heart of New York. He was well-mannered, benevolent, charming, and easy on the eyes. To say he was your favorite was an understatement.

Taking a deep breath in and out you head to a table in the back of the restaurant. Bucky likes his privacy, so this is where he would sit when he came here every week.

Approaching the table you see Bucky and two other men. When Bucky’s eyes look up from the menu he offers his million-dollar smile. His blue eyes gaze into yours for a minute before he greets you.

Smiling at him first then the other two, you ask for their drinks for the night. They give you their alcoholic drink of choice and you are off to grab their drinks. After a few minutes you return to the table and give each man their drink.

Bucky introduces you to his friends Steve and Sam. You shake their hands and smile at each one.

Sam blurts out, “You were right Buck. She is beautiful.”

You look from Sam to Bucky and see Bucky blush. Was he talking about you to his friends? Why would he, you’re just a waitress. You were nothing special.

Bucky looks at Sam with a dirty look. “Shut up.”

Bucky glances back at you and apologizes for his friend's behavior. Changing the subject, he quickly orders his food followed by the two men. You smile at Bucky before you head to the back to put their order in. As you leave you hear the men mumbling to one another. Hopefully, whatever’s going on doesn’t involve you. The last thing you want to be is a butt of a joke to the one customer you enjoy.

You continued to serve other customers in between grabbing Bucky’s table more drinks and eventually their food. The night seemed to be going well until your ex-fiance showed up with a couple of his friends. The greeter was leading them into your section as you cussed under your breath. The night just took a step in the wrong direction. You huffed a little before plastering a smile on your face and heading to your ex’s table.

“Good Evening gentleman my name is…”

John Walker interrupts you before you can say another word. “Yeah, darling, we know who you are. Why don’t you grab us some beers and be quick about it.”

“Sure thing,” you bite out.

You headed to the bar and grabbed the beer they liked. Taking your time you bring the beer to the table and place them on the table.

“Oh darling, why do you look so glum? Wait, don't answer that 'cause I don’t care.” John sneers. Making his friends laugh before you take his order.

As you turn to leave John grabs your arm. “Oh, don’t forget to keep the beers coming. Gotta work for that tip.”

At that moment Bucky turned his head to the right and saw John’s hand around your arm. Before he could get up to say anything, the man let you go and you quickly headed to the back/kitchen. You put in his order and then stepped into the hallway that led to the bathrooms to take a few breaths. You knew John was going to make your life hell and there was no doubt he would tip garbage. While you were trying to calm down Bucky stepped into the hallway with a sad smile.

“Hey, sweetheart, are you okay? It’s just I saw that man put his hand on you before you walked out of the dining area.”

Embarrassed, you covered your face briefly with your hands. “I can’t believe you saw that.”

Bucky gave you a small smile. “Hey, it’s okay. Do you know him or is he just a handsy customer that needs to be spoken to?”

You looked at Bucky and gave him an awkward smile. “He’s my ex-fiance, John Walker. He left me 6 months ago and ghosted me. He didn’t even give me a reason why he left. Gosh, I shouldn’t be sharing this with you, you're a regular customer here James.”

“Please call me Bucky. No need to be formal, sweetheart.”

“Bucky. Well, I should get back in there to do my job. Don’t need the manager mad at me for being back here.” You start to walk away and you look over your shoulder to see Bucky staring at you while smiling.

You get back in the dining room area and see John flag you down. Again, you huff but head over to the table.

“Where the hell were you? I told you to keep the beer flowing. Now be an obedient waitress and go get us more!”

Everyone in the restaurant turned around to look at you and John. People were whispering amongst themselves as you headed to the bar to grab more drinks for the table. Tears started to form in your eyes at the embarrassment that John was causing. He was trying to cause a scene and so far he’s been successful at it. You took a deep breath and headed back to the table where you switched the empty cups for the new ones. Walking away before he could say a word you turned your attention to Bucky’s table. You see they are almost done eating and ask, “Do you gentlemen need any boxes to go?”

Bucky puts his fork down. “I’m good. Steve and Sam, do you need one?” Both men shake their heads saying ‘no thanks.’ Bucky flashes his smile at you. “How about another round for us when you get the chance? No rush, sweetheart.”

You smile back at Bucky and head to the bar area.

After you leave the dining area Bucky hears who he now knows is John talking about you. He doesn’t like the sound of the conversation or how vulgar it’s about you. His hand is making a fist on the table and both his friends can see the vein in his neck twitch from the anger that is building. Bucky doesn’t want to cause a scene but this man and his friends are being obnoxious at this point. The other diners listen in as John talks loudly about you. Bucky looks Steve and Sam in the eyes before he stands up to go to John’s table.

Bucky walks over to the men at the table and smirks. “Good evening, gentlemen. I just wanted to come over here and say the whole restaurant can hear your disgusting conversation about the nice waitress who is serving you. How about you drink your beer in peace and leave her alone.”

John stands up and is nose-to-nose with Bucky. “How about you mind your fucking business and go back to your table?”

“Or what…?” Bucky cocks his head to the side and stares him down.

John turns a shade of red and starts to poke Bucky in the chest. “Or else I take your sorry ass outside and shut you up.”

Bucky laughs out loud. “I honestly would love to see that.”

You come back from the bar with drinks in hand and see the men causing a scene. You spot Bucky and the other men, who are now all standing, and place their drinks on an empty table. You walk quickly over to the men and try to separate them.

“John, Bucky, this is a restaurant. Whatever has been said just let it go or I’m going to ask that you leave.” Bucky takes a few steps back and keeps staring the man down.

John’s blue eyes are cold as he looks at you. “Why don’t you shut up and leave the men to the conversation?”

“John, I'm asking nicely for you to stop or else I will have you removed from this establishment. No excuses, sit down or leave.”

John swiftly grabbed his beer and started to chuckle. “Women. They just don’t know how to listen.” Walker turns to you and spills his glass of beer over your head causing you to shriek.

That was all Bucky needed to see before he punched John in the face, causing him to fall backward. The two other men jumped out of their seats and before they could swing at Bucky, Steve and Sam punched each man. Patrons were screaming over the fight and other waiters and waitresses were trying to calm them down. Within seconds the manager rushed into the room and started shouting at all six men who were going at it. The manager made his way into the middle of the pack and he was yelling he was going to call the cops. That made the men separate real quick.

“Pay your bills and leave this establishment!” The manager yelled at them. Your manager looked at you covered in beer and made a disgusted face. “And you are fired. I want you out of here now.”

“Wait, please I didn’t do anything.” You started to panic but your boss pointed toward the exit.

“They were your customers and clearly you know them. Guilty by association in my book.”

Your tears finally fell down your face as you were screwed with no job and the rent was due next week. “Please, sir, I’m begging you…”

John starts to mimic you as he tosses down bills on the table. “Please, sir, what? He doesn’t want you around anymore like I don’t. You’re a pathetic piece of trash who whines too much.”

Bucky was about to punch John again when Steve and Sam started to walk him back to their table to pay. As each table was paying their tabs you walked into the back to get your purse and leave. You walked through the hallway and glanced over to the men who were now leaving.

Great.

You hurried along and headed to your car. John left with his friends and they laughed about what happened.

“Hey, sweetheart, wait up!” Bucky called after you.

There would be no seeing him ever again after what just happened. You wiped at your tears as Bucky reached you. You looked up at him with teary eyes. “Sorry Bucky I really should be going.”

“I know but first I wanted to give you your tip in person.” He hands you two hundred dollars. “I know it’s not much but I want you to take my business card with you. I have a possible opening if you’re interested in it. We can talk tomorrow over lunch if you want. See if it’s right for you or not.”

You held his money and business card in your hand. With bills due in a week what would the harm be? You knew he was a kind-hearted and generous man. “Yeah, that sounds fine. Which number do I call on here?”

“Oh right.” Bucky chuckles. He takes the card from you and writes his cell number on the back of the card. “Here, now you can text me when you are ready tomorrow.” He hands you back the card.

“Thank you, Bucky for the money and card. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You turn back around and walk to your car. Getting in you turn it on and slowly drive away. In your rearview mirror, Bucky is standing there watching you drive out of sight.

He is hopeful that you will be interested in taking the job. He’s watched you for months and knows the kind, caring woman you are. Bucky walks to his expensive car, gets in, and drives home.

Fifteen minutes later when you arrive at your apartment you strip out of your clothes so you can shower. Under the warm water, you think back to how John was acting. This was his normal behavior so you were glad he left you when he did. The guy was a total jerk. As you continue to wash your mind shifts to Bucky. The man was charming and the best part was he stood up for you. No one has ever done that before. You wonder what kind of job offer he has for you as you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in a towel.

You dry yourself off and hang your towels up. You change into a pair of sleep shorts and a T-shirt before you collapse on your back on the bed. What kind of job would a CEO have open for you? You were now unemployed and a full-time college student. Would the job be able to be flexible so you could continue your studies? First things first, you need to talk with him about it before worrying.

The next morning after your shower and morning routine you texted Bucky.

You: Hey Bucky, I was wondering when was a good time to meet with you today?

Bucky: Hi sweetheart I’m so happy you texted me. My noon is wide open so let's meet for lunch. I’ll have a driver come by your place and pick you up. Just text me your address and everything will be covered.

Thinking about being picked up made you a little nervous. What if the job interview didn’t go well? He would then know where you lived. On the other hand, you were still tired from not being able to sleep that much last night due to being fired. Of course, this could also be a test to see if you trusted him. You texted him your address and hoped to god he wasn’t some psycho.

Bucky: Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.

Well, now that you got that over with, you take your time getting ready. Since this felt like an interview you dressed yourself in a black pencil skirt that was just above the knee with a small slit in the side. Next, you pulled on a cute light blue blouse and you finished off the look with a pair of black heels. It wasn’t an expensive outfit but it will hopefully do for this meet-up. Your hair and makeup were perfect; striking the balance between natural and formal for your interview with CEO Bucky Barnes. You gave yourself a glance in the mirror one more time before you grabbed your purse, phone, and keys and headed for the front door.

You headed down the stairs and opened the front door. Sure enough, there was a black SUV parked at the curb waiting for you. A man got out of the driver's seat and walked around the vehicle to where you stood. He nodded to you and opened the back door. Taking a breath, you climbed into the back and waited as the driver climbed back inside. He pulled away from the curb and off you went to wherever Bucky had planned your lunch. It was a fifteen-minute drive from your place when the driver pulled in front of a fancy restaurant. There was no way you could afford to eat here but as you were pondering your choices, the man opened the door and helped you out.

Great, now you had to head inside to this beautiful restaurant in your clothes that would not fit into this type of place. Clutching your purse you walk inside to the restaurant. Light classical music echoed around you as you made your way up to the hostess with a nervous smile on your face. She looked you up and down, sneering at you.

“Can I help you?” She asked with faux-politeness, staring you down with cold eyes.

Feeling embarrassed to be there you took a step back. “Sorry, I must be at the wrong place.” You turn around to walk away and bump into Bucky.

He looks down at you and smiles. “There you are, sweetheart. I was wondering if you made it. I’m so glad you are here.” Bucky lightly wraps his arm around your back and makes his way to the hostess.

This time she is all smiles when Bucky stands before her. “Mr. Barnes, what an honor to see you today. Would you like your regular booth?” The woman looks at you, seeing his arm around your back and you can tell she is biting her tongue.

“Yes please, a table for two today,” Bucky states as the hostess leads the both of you to a booth in the far back.

Bucky waits for you to take a seat and he soon follows. You are both handed a menu and you start to glance through it. Seeing the exorbitant prices on the menu made your stomach instantly twist and turn. Biting your bottom lip Bucky can see the wheels turning in your pretty head.

“Don’t worry about the prices. Today is my treat as I asked you to meet me here.” He gives you a warm smile and makes you feel more at ease.

“Are you sure? I mean I don’t want you to feel like you have to pay or anything.”

“Sweetheart, I promise you have nothing to worry about today. Let’s just eat and talk.”

You nod your head. “Okay.”

Bucky’s blue eyes wander on your outfit for a moment and he smiles. “You look beautiful.”

“I don’t know about that. The hostess didn’t seem to like my outfit.” Your hands fidget as you look down at yourself.

Bucky reaches across the table and puts his hand on yours. “Well, she’s wrong. I’m telling you that you’re beautiful and as long as you feel it too that should be enough.”

You give him a shy smile. “Thanks, Bucky.”

The waiter comes over to take your order and to pour some wine that Bucky requested. Taking a sip of it made your taste buds explode in your mouth as you have never had wine like that before. The taste had you moan lightly and quickly you realized how silly you were acting. But Bucky was just staring at you with a smirk on his face.

Your lunch arrived a few moments later and you both made small talk as you ate. He talked about his day at work and how he had a few charity events coming up. You talked about schoolwork and working towards your dream career.

After you both were done eating Bucky smiled before he cleared his throat. “You’re probably wondering why I asked you here and not at my place of work to talk about a job I’m offering.”

“Yes, I’m very curious. What is it, a secretary job? I’m not sure how many words I can type per minute but I’m good at typing up reports for college.”

“No, it’s not like that, please let me explain. In my job I don’t have time to go out and meet women. I’m a very busy man with my job. Right now, I’m looking for some companionship to keep me company at work events, charities, and sometimes my travels.” Bucky was the epitome of confidence and giving you a reassuring smile as he spoke. “Someone who will be my shining light during these exhausting times. Someone kind, smart, funny and beautiful. In return, I would take care of that person financially. They would want for nothing.”

“So why not get an escort? I mean that’s what they’re there for. Why even have this conversation with me? I’m an unemployed college student. Why even come to me with this?” You didn’t know how to feel about this conversation you were having with Bucky.

Bucky leaned forward and smiled. “First I don’t want an escort. Second, you meet all the qualities I’m looking for in a companionship or, in layman's terms, a sugar daddy relationship.” Bucky paused for any reaction before continuing. “We already know each other, which is a plus. I enjoy being around you. So why not?”

You stared at him, speechless. Not knowing what to make of this sugar-daddy relationship. What the hell is that? Is this the kind of job you want? What would people think?

“When you say you would take care of someone financially what does that mean?” Curiosity was getting the better of you.

“I would take care of your rent and all your monthly bills. That includes your tuition as well. I would give you a monthly allowance so should you need anything you have money to do it. I would also bring you clothes shopping to update your wardrobe. You will need dresses to attend events with me. You will want for nothing and all I’m asking in return is your companionship.”

You pondered what he just said. “All of that just for a sugar daddy relationship? What about sex?”

“Do you want sex to be involved?” Bucky asked, his eyes never strayed from yours.

“No, I mean is it required?” Now you thought you sounded like a fool but you needed to know if you were going to be a whore to him or not.

“I’m not seeking that but if down the road you want to we can talk about it then. I’m just looking for friendship and a companion. Nothing more.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “When do you need to know? Like, can I think about this?”

Your nerves were getting the better of you. Because of John, your trust issues had blown through the roof. This sounded too good to be true.

Bucky smirks at you. “Take all the time you need. But in the meantime let me help you with your rent and bills that are due next week. No strings attached I promise.”

You were going to be short on money next week so you nodded your head in agreement. “Okay, thank you Bucky. Give me a couple of days and I will reach out to you through text.”

The waiter came over with the bill and sure enough, Bucky paid for the entire meal. You just watched him as he stood and held a hand out for you. After getting out of the booth Bucky once again walked with his hand on your back until you reached outside. The same SUV from earlier pulled into the curb in front of you. Bucky opened the door for you and kissed your cheek gently.

“Whatever you decide I will be fine with. Now, go focus on your school work and I’ll head back to the office.”

“Okay, Bucky. Thank you for lunch. I had a great time.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

You climbed back into the SUV and gave Bucky a small wave as it peeled away from the curb, leaving him smiling after you. Again, you drove in silence and after the short drive, you finally reached your apartment. Once inside you changed into leggings and a T-shirt and flopped onto your bed.

You knew for sure you liked Bucky and thought he was handsome. You also knew what kind of man he was; kind, caring, protective, and smart just to name a few. This was going to be a big decision to make and you’re gonna need all the time to make it.

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hwaslayer · 2 months ago

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wildfire (cs) | fifteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 6.6k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, changes are happening??, namjoon again to the rescue, a bit of distant san 😔, a bit of yearning san ❤️‍🩹, alcohol consumption & intoxication, a very small kiss that was accidental and meant absolutely nothing, these two just 😞 over each other, some crying

—on rotation: next to you - bryson tiller | i'll be alright (tonight) - mura masa

Two months have passed, closer to 3, and you've been busy working your ass off in Namjoon's lab. You've brainstormed and came up with a project that Namjoon approved, giving you all the resources and space you needed to get started. You've also been working alongside a few people in the lab since their project was relatable to yours, finding guidance and a little bit of training and support to carry your project forward. It's been busy, and it's been a good busy.

It's been good enough to keep your mind off of San.

For the most part.

You could only avoid him so many times, and it's not like the ache you felt deep in your chest, your stomach, went away. It still lingers, and it still hits you from time to time.

And it doesn't make it any easier when you get reminders.

Like meeting San's eyes across campus— only for him to break loose and shift his attention elsewhere.

The shift is a harsh, cold reminder that this may actually be over for good.

—FLASHBACK

"Hey." Sunwoo says, gently nudging you. "You okay? Haven't seen you in awhile?" You nod, half smiling before looking down at your laptop.

"Was busy." You chuckle a bit. "Was working on the fine details of my rotation presentation, along with all the data analysis we worked on." You give him a small smile. "I came to clean out the last bits of my stuff."

"It'll all blow over." He says with a reassuring smile. "For the record, I don't think it really matters but I know Professor Kim is just trying to keep everything together before it all blows up again."

"Guessing the whole world knows now?" He shrugs.

"Maybe, maybe not. I haven't heard much lately, but you know me, I don't like to meddle in things like that in general. I keep outta that shit."

"People must think greatly of me." He chuckles.

"It doesn't matter what they think. In any case, you are a good person, you're super sweet and super smart. If they choose to fix on that, that's their issue."

"Thanks, Sunwoo." You look at him. "I'm sorry I won't be able to help you after this."

"That's okay. We'll still hang out and I'm sure we'll cross paths more before I finish up here. Plus, I love Professor Choi but having Professor Kim take you under his wing is fucking sick." You laugh, playfully shoving him.

"I don't know where this will take me, but I hope it works out."

"Are you two.. still a thing? Secret's safe with me. For real."

"I know. But, no."

"I don't know the ins and outs of what happened between you and Professor Choi, but I'm sure he did it for good reason. To also protect you."

"Yeah, maybe. Who knows anymore." You sigh. "Anyway. Gotta head out to do my rotation presentation."

"Goodluck. It'll be all good." Sunwoo gives you a small smile. "Text or call me? Let's get lunch on a weekly basis or something to catch up."

"Yeah, I will. Thanks for everything, Sunwoo."

"Nah, thank you. You really helped my ass out." You laugh and playfully ruffle his hair.

"I'll see you around." You gather your things and let out a shaky sigh as you head out. You're hauling your main bag, and another tote bag that has the rest of your things from your desk. You head over to the small auditorium that Namjoon booked for your rotation presentation, giving yourself some wiggle room to set up and get situated before the three would arrive.

Too bad someone else also had the same plan.

You waltz into the room and head straight for the podium, setting your things down onto a chair in the front row. You grab your laptop and settle at the front, eyes shooting up at the door when you hear footsteps approach the entrance.

And of course it would be San.

He slowly trails in with Namjoon next to him; except, Namjoon turns to speak with a student that stopped him right by the entrance. San is in his black dress pants, white shirt and a black leather jacket. His boots are leaving sounds with every step he takes, watch gleaming on his wrist. He meets your eyes and you instantly freeze— shifting your attention back to your laptop because you don't know what the hell else to do. He doesn't say anything as he heads down the aisle and to the front row, his greeting almost sounding dull.

Forced, even.

"Y/N."

"Professor Choi." The awkwardness and the tension fills the room, and you can't help but notice how awfully clammy your hands are getting. How nervous you feel yourself getting. "How are you?"

"Good." Is all he says before plopping into seat in front while you continue to work with the AV system to get your presentation up on the screen.

"That's good." You reply without looking at him. He feels cold and so standoff-ish— it's hard to tell if he's doing this because he has to or because he actually means it. Was he really done with you? "Hope the presentation's okay." You mumble lightly. San catches on, but he continues to scroll through his phone to distract himself until Namjoon finally walks in.

"Sure you'll be fine." And it sucks. Maybe he does mean it. He doesn't say anything else, and he doesn't reassure you the way he usually does. For San, it's a front. He has to distance himself or else he'll cave. For you, it hurts nonetheless.

"Sorry! Got caught up. The dean's on his way." Namjoon pops in and sits next to San in the front row. "All good, Y/N? Do you need help with setting anything else up?"

"No, I think I got it. Thank you." You smile at him and he nods.

"Course."

"Alright, let's get this going. Sorry for the small wait." The dean comes in last, taking a seat by the two. "Hi Y/N, hope you're doing okay."

"Think so." You chuckle a bit. "Well, I'll get started if there aren't any objections?" They shake their heads. "Great." You nervously respond while Namjoon and the dean give you a small smile.

San doesn't even maintain eye contact with you.

But, it's only because it's the hardest thing to suppress his feelings for you whenever you're in front of him and he can't exactly have you like he used to.

—END

"Yo!" Jiung waves, shifting your attention towards him across the lawn. You give him a small smile, stopping in your motions to wait for him to cross over. To your left is San, patiently waiting for Zara to walk over to him. You can't help but watch; the two only a couple of feet away, their voices slightly echoing around the courtyard.

His hand hovering the small of her back as they enter the Harvey Building together.

To this day, you can still feel your heart physically drop to your gut. You're not sure when it'll pass, but you hope it's soon. You're so tired of feeling this way.

So, so tired.

"Hey." You give Jiung a tiny smile as you hug your books against your chest.

"Whattup?" It took awhile for you and Jiung to get back to normal. You always knew you would, but you needed a little more time to understand his side of things. For awhile, you were angry and hurt. All you could see was red. All you could see was Jiung openly going behind your back to talk to Professor Kim about something he didn't know anything about.

You saw the surface level.

But, as time went on, and as your hurt continued to settle into something you just needed to accept, you understood Jiung a little more. You knew he had always cared about you and you knew he was always protective of you. You knew there wasn't any ill intention behind his actions. And when you two finally came together to talk about it more maturely, you've seen that Jiung had been more understanding of your side, too. He apologized for having gotten in the middle, but he did everything out of care for you and protection. It's clearer now that the relationship you had with San wasn't just any relationship— he saw you cry, and cry, and cry. Wondering where you went wrong or what you could've done to be more careful, to prevent this from happening. He saw the look in your eyes, the way your body physically called and yearned for San's touch and love; he knew this wasn't any of those cases of power imbalance or a one-sided relationship. He felt stupid having needed time to marinate on the whole thing when he should've known you better. But, he could truly say he acted in fear and felt better to err on the side of caution.

He just wished it didn't have to end like this; with you, sad and alone. Feeling like all of it was just too good to be true, a fleeting moment.

A quick chapter in your book.

He gets that now.

When he sees San walking around, he almost feels the same energy, aura, that he feels when he sees you. It's just too bad he can't help. Even if he did, he finds it better to no longer meddle.

Maybe it'll bring you two back together again. When the time is right.

"Nothing. I just need to get some stuff together before I meet with Professor Kim in a bit."

"Nervous?"

"No, not really." You shake your head. "Things have been going well for the most part, minus little hiccups. He wanted to talk about other programs and opportunities he found fitting for me."

"Huh." Jiung cocks a brow up. "More collaborations he wants you involved in, I'm assuming." You shrug.

"If it is, I'm for it. Just hope it doesn't take up my entire schedule completely." You chuckle.

"It'll be good either way!"

"Yeah, I know. It's been good. I have no complaints." You shiver from the breeze that's picking up, digging your face deeper into the scarf you have on.

"Did you hear? There's supposed to be a random storm coming soon. Spring weather, amirite?"

"I heard."

"Are you gonna head home? You should try and head home if you can. Who knows what it'll bring here."

"I don't know. I do need to catch up on some data analysis or else I'll be behind." You pause. "Dunno if I trust myself to work productively at home. We have backup generators, right?"

"I mean, yeah. But, what if it goes out? Then, what?"

"Yeah, I don't know. Let's hope that's not one of these cases." You stop in front of the Panama Building and turn to Jiung.

"Lunch later?" You nod.

"Might be a little late. I'll text you when I'm wrapping up?"

"Sounds good. We'll wait for you."

"See you later." You wave before heading inside the building, shimmying off the cold once you step inside and try to warm yourself up. You head down to the lab, setting your things down on your desk before immediately getting started on your work for the day. You try to pace yourself and plan out your tasks well so that you're able to step out for your meeting with Professor Kim and grab lunch with your friends in a few hours.

It's busy, and time flies. Busy is good. At least your mind is occupied with other pressing matters.

Time slips by so quickly you're almost running late to your meeting with Professor Kim. You put a pause in your current run for behavior, grabbing your laptop and a notebook before darting up to Professor Kim's office. You power-walk down the familiar hallway before finally reaching his open door, finding him occupied at his desk.

"Hey!" Namjoon smiles when you walk into his office and plop down in the chair. "Give me a second, just finishing up this email."

"All good." You chuckle. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late. Was running behavior."

"No worries, I figured. Get comfortable." You plop onto the seat in front of his desk, watching as his fingers move swiftly on the keyboard before he navigates to the mouse and clears his throat. "Okay! All good." He laughs a bit. "How's it going?"

"Good! Pretty busy per usual."

"Good busy, I suppose?"

"Yes, good busy. It's been productive. Days are going by quick. I've got some really promising data for this cohort and I think you might be happy with it."

"I'm happy with any progress." You laugh. "That sounds great! Any other ideas? Any other plans at the moment?"

"Well, I'm not sure yet. As long as I'm on the right path, I think there are other avenues I can explore if the results continue to trend upwards."

"Then, let's explore when we get there. I know you'll continue to do great work, and the results look promising. It all looks promising."

"Thank you, Professor Kim."

"There is something else I wanted to talk to you about." You cock a brow up and tilt your head to the side.

"Sure. I'm all ears."

"Professor Qi from the Mirae Biomedical Institute contacted me the other day. She was really impressed by your symposium presentation and the work you've done in Professor Choi's lab and mine. She thinks you'd be a great asset in their program, especially since she's starting a new clinical research study that I also agree you'd contribute well to. It's a study examining neural activity and behavioral patterns in individuals with conditions like bipolar disorder, anxiety, and OCD, etc. You get the gist. A lot of your work is relatable and can be used to push this study forward."

"Oh my god, wow." You respond in disbelief, shock, even. You didn't think anyone was really paying attention to your work like that, especially with what has happened. You kinda felt like a lost cause even though nothing entirely catastrophic has happened. "I was not expecting that."

"Why not?" Namjoon laughs. "You deserve the credit. What do you think about it?"

"I'm really honored, truly. I think it's a great opportunity."

"It is. Not a lot of people get recruited this way, especially with a research assistant position included in the package." You nod silently, still trying to take it in. "Now, if you do want to move forward, it does mean we'll have to get your transfer application in ASAP. They do offer housing assistance should you need it, and they're willing to help cover any other expenses until you settle."

"Right, transferring." You look down at your palms. Truthfully, Mirae wasn't that far from here; it'd be about 2 hours out, but you could easily get there by a drive down the less busier highway or the bullet train.

You'd have to make that effort to see your friends, meet halfway.

San comes into your head.

"I know it's a bit scary, you've already gotten accustomed to things here even if it's just been your first year. But, luckily, it's not that far away and you can always meet your friends halfway. The train can connect you to campus and back." He tries to reassure you because he really wants you to take this. Of course, he can't force you, but he knows this would be beneficial to your growth.

"Yeah, I know. It's not that bad."

"It's not. Plus, you guys all drive, right?" You nod.

"When do I have to get my transfer application in?" Namjoon pulls up the information on his desktop and lets out a small sigh.

"In two weeks. We can get that done. I can write up a letter of recommendation for you and have Professors Choi and Bahng do one each." He looks at you. "Do you feel comfortable asking Professor Jeong for one since you TA'd for him? It's not entirely necessary, but wanted to see how you felt."

"Um, to be honest, not really." He nods.

"That's fine. We don't need it. Us three should be more than enough." He gives you a tiny smile. "Think you can get a personal statement and everything else together by then?"

"Yeah, I think so. Shouldn't be too much of a hassle."

"I can help with official transcripts, too."

"That sounds great." Your expression is blank and Namjoon tilts his head to try and get a read from you.

"Why the face?"

"I truthfully didn't think I was qualified or that anyone was really paying attention." Namjoon chuckles a bit.

"Listen, your grades are fantastic. The work you do is incredible. I fully think you are capable of handling all the ins and outs of this transfer and transitioning over." Namjoon smiles. "The program isn't too different from ours, but it will definitely offer you a lot of different options and pathways with the clinical study picking up."

"It's alot, and I'm grateful you believe in me. I just don't know if I can handle it. The changes."

"Don't second-guess yourself, okay? You are more than capable. It won't be much different from what you're already doing. Just a 'lil more umph. More seasoning, if you will."

"You think so?" He nods.

"You'll still focus on research, but you'll be split between classes and eventually, the hospital. Unfortunately, that does probably mean there is some weekend work in store for you." You let out a breath, eyes still on Professor Kim. He lets out another laugh [of endearment] and nods, clasping his hands together. "I know that look. I've been there before, but trust me. You'll do amazing, and you'll excel, no doubt. You shouldn't restrict yourself just because you assume you won't do well. Your work and ethic has proved otherwise."

"Thank you, Professor Kim. I think I do wanna move forward with this."

"Cool, then we can work together and get you set up. I'll loop you into an email with her so we can all chat and finalize this. Hopefully before the week ends." You nod.

"And I mean it, by the way." You pause. "Thank you for everything. For supporting me and pushing me forward regardless of everything that's happened."

"You're welcome. I would never let that define you." You give him a small smile, fiddling with your laptop sleeve— dying to ask him about the one person that has been occupying your mind the most. "You okay otherwise?"

"Yeah, I think so. Just thought about some things, but nothing important."

"He's doing okay." Namjoon gives you a tiny smile.

"I— huh? How'd you know I was—"

"Because I just do. He asks about you, too."

"Oh." Is all you say, swallowing the thick lump forming in your throat. "Well, I'm glad he's okay."

"Him and Professor Choi #2 received approval for their joint program, so they'll be getting the real estate they wanted in the new building."

"That's amazing. I'm glad it all worked out." Namjoon nods.

"Anything else I can do for you in the meantime?"

"No, that's it. For now. I'm sure more things will come up when we meet next."

"Sounds good. Well, you let me know if anything comes up or if I can do anything else for you."

"Thanks, Professor Kim." You give him one last smile before grabbing your things and heading out the door.

And the rest of your day is pretty eventful, but not as eventful as San's turns out to be.

While you busy yourself with your new classes, lab work and hanging out with your friends, San is having to force himself to go out with his own group. For awhile, he kinda sulked. Stayed home, did his own thing. Kept quiet. But, it got old to Jongho [and the rest of them] quick— hence, now he's being forced to leave the comfort of his home.

He guesses he could use the fresh air, the night out. It is Mingi's birthday, so he doesn't think he could've said no otherwise.

"Ayo!" Jongho calls out as he enters San's house, twirling the key around his finger as he waits for San's response.

"I told you I'd be fine driving." San slowly comes down his steps, dressed in a simple tee, jeans and a bomber jacket.

"Okay, miss attitude." Jongho laughs. "I'm trying to make it easier so you don't have to worry about parking and what not." San sighs.

"Thanks." He shrugs. "Do I look okay? Not that it matters."

"Can you at least try to be somewhat happy? Especially when we see Mingi later?"

"I'm sorry, I really am trying. Just kinda hard to."

"I know, and I truly think you could use this night to get your mind off of things. It's been some time, give yourself a little break." Jongho nudges him.

"Yeah, yeah. You're right." San gives him a small smile.

"Things will get better, but you gotta stop sulking about it or else you'll just keep enforcing this negativity to come for you."

"Wow, that's the deepest shit I've ever heard from you."

"And it won't come again, so fucking take it or leave it." San laughs a bit and shakes his head.

"Can we go? Before I change my mind and tell Mingi I'm sick or something."

"Hell no." Jongho starts power-walking to his car, making San take his time as he checks around the living room and kitchen once more before locking up and slipping into the passenger's seat. San slouches in his seat while Jongho drives off towards the busy downtown area, scrolling through the new group chat created for Mingi's birthday to catch up.

"They're all there already."

"Yeah, well. They wanted a head start."

"I thought Zara wasn't coming."

"She wasn't, but I think her initial plans ended up getting canceled."

"I see." San sighs and rests his head back against the head rest. The bar is ways away from campus, thankfully. It's a new bar that just opened a month ago, and Mingi's birthday was the perfect excuse for everyone to get together for a night and relieve some stress. When Jongho arrives at their destination, he's having to park down the block due to how crazy busy the area is tonight. It's a chilly night, and San has to tuck his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket to try and keep himself warm on the walk. When they enter, they see familiar faces near the back wall of the bar, Mingi's loud voice radiating towards the entrance.

"My fucking boys!" He says, already intoxicated. He pulls San and Jongho into a hug before the two start greeting the group properly.

"Hey. I didn't think you were coming." San says, pulling Zara into a hug. She's got on a jeans, high heeled boots and an off-the shoulder sweater on. She's got a bit more makeup on tonight— she's gone for the natural blush kinda look. San is not gonna lie, she looks good.

But, she will never be you.

"Yeah, plans got canceled and I was already dressed so, figured I'd make use of the outfit somehow." San chuckles a bit.

"Glad you were able to." He gives her a small smile before greeting the rest of the crew that was there, including Namjoon.

The night starts off pretty chill for San. He's taken a few shots to try and keep up with Mingi, no longer wanting to hear him complain about how no one wanted to take shots for his birthday. After the third, he tries to slow it down and cashes in for a small can of beer while Mingi continues on with spreading the love throughout the group by passing out more shots. The music is right up everyone's ally, making most of their group bounce along to the beats and sing along loudly. San's got himself next to Zara at the booth— both of them sipping on their poison for the rest of the night.

"So, San." She turns to him, her chin resting on the palm of her hand. "How's everything going?" San looks at her and despite the blush she's wearing, he can tell her cheeks are naturally flushing red at the question, at being tipsy. At the fact that she has him alone.

Because you aren't around.

"Good. Super busy, but good." San is pretty drunk, not gonna lie. He doesn't normally drink like this, but he figured he'd just enjoy himself while around his bestfriends. The beer obviously isn't helping his case, but he believes he'll be fine. He doesn't think anything will come out of this anyway. "Heard you've secured some new funding and you've got three more grad students."

"I did, yeah."

"Congrats." San smiles at her before gently tapping his beer can against her cocktail glass.

"What's new with you? We haven't been able to catch up for a bit."

"Yeah, sorry. It's just— it's been a rollercoaster."

"I bet." Zara sips on her drink. There's a slight pause before she's tracing the rim of her glass, then speaking up again. "I'm sorry about everything that's happened." San looks at her. They're sitting in close proximity; enough for San to feel her arm rub against him whenever she moves, her body heat.

"You don't have to be sorry for anything." He gives her a small smile. "It is what it is. Things are pretty stable now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"So, are you not seeing her anymore?" San takes a big gulp of his beer while keeping his eyes trained on the crowd in front of him. Her.

You always come back in the picture.

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"All good. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be." Zara looks up at him and they meet eyes for a moment. To her, the tension feels thick. But to San, he's just going with the motions. He's drunk, she's pretty, he's chillin'. Nothing more to it. But, she looks at him in a certain way and it has him slightly furrowing his brows when he tilts his head to look at her a little more, a little deeper.

"I'm sure it hasn't been easy." Her eyes are moving down to his nose, to his lips. San is following her gaze and he knows all too well where this could lead. He should've known to break contact, but before he could even think about it, Zara is the first to lean in and make her move— lips pressing against San's that he's instantly in shock and can't process right away.

But, what he does know is that this doesn't feel right, and his body is already rejecting the action because it isn't you.

"Zara—" San gently pushes Zara back with a frown on his face. "Zara, I can't. I— this can't happen. I'm sorry if I ever misled you, but—"

"Oh." She almost looks confused. "No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, how embarrassing." She shies away. "I should've known."

"I'm sorry—" He tries to repeat again, but she's shaking her head and walking off towards the bathroom. "Fuck." He runs his hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. He feels terrible that it happened. One, it shouldn't have happened. Two, he didn't mean to hurt his friend.

Three, it wasn't you.

It sounds so fucked up, but even after all of that, his mind still takes him to you and he can't help but drunkly panic as if you were around to see it. It should've never happened, it should've never happened.

He didn't want that to happen.

They had been hanging out for awhile, but the last thing he wanted was to lead her on unintentionally. And he doesn't think he did, knowing she had feelings for him from the get-go. He was there for her and enjoyed her company, but kept enough distance to make sure it didn't cross any boundaries.

He didn't want that to happen.

He pushes his way through the crowd and finds his way outside, letting the cool air hit his skin. If he hadn't made his way out of the bar, he might've [quite frankly] yacked from the slight nausea and anxiety he's feeling. He pulls his phone out of his back pocket, quickly scrolling through his call log to find your name.

You don't answer when he calls.

So, he texts.

san: i'm sorry

san: i miss you so badly

san: i miss us

san: zara kissed me and you're probably gonna hate me for it

san: i'm so sorry baby, pls come back to me i miss you. i don't fucking care anymore, i just need you.

you: san stop

you: get home safely okay?

san: no i want you with me though

you: san, please stop making this harder than it already is.

And then he calls again. Because for some reason, he feels like you already hate him and want nothing to do with him over a dumb 'lil mistake that he had no intention of making.

He calls again.

And again. Even when he's got his back pressed against the wall, crouching near the ground until he can hear your voice clearly on the other line. Zara steps out to get a breather, but she sees that he's already on the phone and it must be with you. She doesn't know why she expected anything out of that stupid, silly little kiss.

He was always gonna run back to you.

It was always gonna be you.

You finally answer, but it's because you think something's wrong and you don't want anything to happen to San.

You don't even know if you can stomach hearing him right now.

"Baby." He drunkly murmurs on the phone and it causes you to swallow the lump forming in your throat— shut your eyes to prevent any more tears from falling. "Sweetheart, you there?"

"San, stop this. That's all I'm asking from you." You shakily respond.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why? You shouldn't be calling ne as if things are okay."

"But, they can be, angel. We can make it okay again."

"Please don't call me that." You barely say above a whisper, tears sting your eyes, throat aching. "If you need a ride, I can call you a cab."

"No. Mm'fine. I just wanted to hear your voice because I miss you so damn much."

"You're making this way too hard. Please just go home and get sleep, okay?"

"You're gonna hate me more than you already do."

"I don't hate you. But, whatever your business is with her, is your business with her. None of this pertains to me."

"I don't have business with her. I want you. I just want you. It's always you." You purse your lips tightly when you remember his text— of course Zara would take the opportunity, and now he's confessing his love to you.

All of this was so fucked up.

"I love you."

"San."

"You don't feel the same anymore?" You feel the burn in your throat when you take a moment to pause.

"Can you just put Jongho on the phone, please?"

"Why?" He whines.

"Because I need to make sure you get home safely." He clicks his teeth.

"Fine." He whines some more before he's calling out to Jongho and telling him his girl would like to have a word. "Think my girl is mad. C-can you tell her we can work this out? I-I don't want her mad anymore." In which Jongho follows with a quick 'yeah, ok' before snatching up his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi. I'm sorry to trouble you with this, but can you please make sure he gets home in one piece? I think it's best he stops calling me, too."

"Of course. I'll stay with him."

"Thank you, Professor—"

"Jongho."

"Thank you, Jongho." You hang up the call and instantly toss your phone to the side before your tears start overflowing. You let the sheets swallow you whole before you cry.

And you just.. cry.

Until you tire yourself and fall asleep, even though you tried to stay up to make sure nothing else came in from San.

Nothing does, anyway.

Jongho throws San into the car and tells him to chill while he says his final goodbyes to everyone. Mingi, Yeosang and the rest of the group are laughing it off, assuming San is just drunk and slumped for the night. And he kinda is, but he's sad. He's completely heartbroken. He doesn't wanna be alone for the night, and Jongho says he'll take the guest room so he doesn't have to wallow in his drunkenness alone.

Yet, he still feels like he is.

When he gets home, he lazily kicks off his shoes and runs a quick shower. The world is still spinning more than he'd like, so he downs a whole water bottle before finishing up his routine and slipping under the sheets. Jongho has left him to his peace, also getting ready for bed in the guest bathroom and bedroom.

San can barely get comfortable because he can't even close his eyes and feel still for a second. He lies on his tummy, sprawled out across his bed since there's no use in leaving space for two.

He wishes he could.

Your side remains empty.

"You good?" Jongho pokes his head in to see a shirtless San facing the opposite way.

"Mhm." He mumbles. "Thanks."

"Yeah. Well, you know where to find me if you need anything." San stays silent, making Jongho shut his door gently before retreating to the bedroom.

San does know what he needs, though.

It's unfortunate your side remains empty.

Monday comes, and San is hoping he doesn't run into you.

He's hoping he doesn't run into you because he's not sure how to explain himself, and it's not like he can, anyway. But, it'll also make everything real for him— too real for his liking.

It'll be too real that he drunk texted you and called you, confessing his love after an incident that should've never happened in the first place.

It'll be too real that you aren't his.

It'll be too real that you never came to be by his side and that your side of the bed remains empty.

San sighs to himself as he quickly rushes into the Harvey Building, hurrying down to the basement and unlocking his office door. He sets his bags down and plops onto his chair, getting settled for the day. He couldn't sleep last night, so he decided to get up before the sun rose to workout in the faculty gym. He might've pushed himself a little harder than usual, his arms already feeling the soreness from the upper body workout he did. He'll be extra tired today, but at least his day will fly by with the shit he has to do.

He just hopes he doesn't run into you.

Because somehow, when he sees you, time stops and he feels frozen.

He lets out a sigh and starts working on a few progress reports that are literally due tomorrow. He's gotten through most of it and thankfully, just needs to add a few more details before sending it off. He also just got word that he won an award, and the foundation has been asking for a bunch of material to get ready for the award ceremony in a few months.

He hopes he can still share that news with you at some point.

Until then, he'll gather some childhood and school photos, candids he has from being in the classroom and doing lectures, other award photos; you know the deal. He's gotta write an acceptance speech that's 500-600 words and lasts about 2-3 minutes, plus answer a bunch of questions on a sheet they sent him.

It takes up a good chunk of his early morning that he's grabbing coffee right before his meeting with Namjoon and Jongho about the new program and real estate. He mutters a quick 'oh shit' to himself when he looks down at his watch, wrapping up his last thoughts before switching his desktop computer to sleep mode and gathering his phone and badge. When he slips out of his office, he finds the basement office more packed than usual. Lots of his lab members are meeting with people from other labs to collaborate or get guidance on a project. Sunwoo is busying himself with the data on his computer, working on his next data presentation for the lab meeting next week. He's noticed that him and Belle don't talk anymore, and he wonders why; he has an inkling it has to do with you, but he won't pry unless he hears about it somehow.

They all toss their 'hello's' his way while he rushes out to grab his coffee before making his way to the electrical engineering building.

Luckily, the walk is quiet.

San sips on his coffee and makes his way into a room that Jongho booked for their meeting. He's not here yet, but Namjoon isn't either, so San sits at the table by himself— mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He hasn't deleted your text thread [call him crazy], and he still has all your photos in his album. He hasn't changed the 'Baby 💕' listed as your contact name, he hasn't changed his home wallpaper that consists of a shot from behind you looking out at the beach view.

It's all equally tearing him apart and getting him by at the same time.

He can't seem to get his mind off of you and it makes him think that the universe is playing some kind of sick, twisted game with him.

Or, maybe it's a sign that he just has to accept his feelings for you. That you were always gonna be the one for him no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it couldn't work—

"Ayo." Namjoon pulls him out of his thoughts when he walks in and plops down on a seat next to him.

"Sup."

"I see Jongho's running a bit late." San checks his texts to see the unread 'running a few mins late - be there soon' text from the man himself.

"Yeah. I almost forgot myself. Was too busy getting the award materials together." Namjoon smiles.

"That's a big one. Definitely deserved."

"Thanks, boss."

"How's everything else?"

"Good, I guess." But Namjoon can see it's deeper than that, and San isn't all that great at hiding his true feelings.

"You guess?"

"Yeah, why?" He looks at Namjoon.

"She's doing great."

"Is she?"

"Yeah, really."

"That's good to hear."

"Qi Jaemi from Mirae reached out and is recruiting Y/N into their program. She started a clinical study not too long ago that's moving fast, and the work that Y/N has done in our labs is incredibly beneficial and relates well to what she's focused on. She offered to support her and give her a research assistant position while she's studying for extra financial support." Namjoon meets San's eyes. "I think she'd flourish and do amazing in it. Can't let her talents go to waste."

"I agree." San shifts in his seat. "So, she'll be transferring?"

"Yeah, sounds like. It's promising and I told her she has my support. I think she's gonna take it and not backtrack."

"T-that's great. I hope she does." San says.

"I'll need your help with writing a rec letter for her transfer application. If that's okay."

"Yeah, of course. Anything." He is truly happy for you and thinks it's the best move, especially for a very well known professor like Professor Qi. After everything, he's glad your work is still being recognized and that you're opening new doors to different opportunities.

He hopes you do move forward with it.

Selfishly enough, he hopes you take it and this will eventually lead you two back together. To a time where you don't have to hide your relationship and be loved undercover.

To a time where you two could just be happy without any outside noise.

"You miss her?"

"I do." San barely responds. "I really do, and I don't know how I'm supposed to get past this. I tried, Joon. I can't let her go." He sighs.

"Listen, I can't tell you what to do anymore. My job doesn't include policing you down to the T. Things have settled and brushed over, but it doesn't mean the dean isn't watching you or her. Luckily, if she takes this, it won't be as big of a deal as it is now while she's a student here. He'd still wanna make sure you aren't getting distracted, though."

"Okay.. but that's great, right? Things have settled for the both of us." Namjoon sighs. "If she takes the opportunity, it changes everything."

"Yes, which is why.. whatever you do, please just remember not to mess this up for her or you. The both of you are on great paths right now."

"It was never my intention to do so in the first place. I wanna add value to her life, not take away from it."

"So, what are you trying to say?"

"I love her."

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