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deepcreekvultures-writing · 6 months ago

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"Stellar Collision"

Spencer Reid x F!Reader

Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Word Count: 8.2k

Content Warning: Mild injury, Description of injury, Smut, Fingering (F receiving), Penetrative Sex, Using Astronomy as a Plot Device

A/N: Please ignore any inaccuracies with the scientific stuff and the smut- I'm just silly and Asexual. I picture this as late season 4 Spencer, but you can picture whatever Spencer you want bbg.

Summary: Everyone knows you and Spencer Reid work well together- actually, the entire team thinks you two are the most oblivious profilers to ever work for the FBI, but c'est la vie- they figure you'll crash into each other eventually.

=======

Shaking the hand of the lead detective you introduce yourself before gesturing to Spencer who hovers behind you, “... and this is Agent Weirdly Sticky, a.k.a. Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Spencer’s face scrunches in an odd fusion of disgust, confusion, and amusement. He fights off the laugh that bubbles up and just lifts his hand in an awkward wave. Pressing his lips into a thin line to avoid the smile threatening to break out on his face. JJ elbows you in the ribs, earning a small ‘oomph’ as she pushes you aside.

It had become routine at this point, calling him weird names to break the tension between the team and locals. Spencer’s hands rest on your shoulders to steady you as JJ takes over the conversation. You chuckle, following an officer into the precinct conference room to get everything set up. Hotch doesn’t say anything about your antics for once, resigning to just accept that there was no stopping you.

“You really need to stop doing that, they’re going to think you don’t take things seriously.” Spencer mutters to you quietly, his hip lightly bumping into yours as the two of you stick photos onto the provided whiteboard.

“Yeah, maybe, but their face is worth it. It’s like they think federal agents can’t joke, so at first they believe me.” You giggle, sliding your hand around his waist, unceremoniously picking him up and pivoting him around you. You swap places with him quickly to tack a few pieces of evidence to the board.

Spencer lets it happen, not offering any help as you move him. Not that you need it, you were more than strong enough. “But “Agent Weirdly Sticky”? They’re going to think I don’t shower or something.”

You laugh, “At least they won’t try and touch you.” Looking at the board, you tilt your head a little. “The handwriting in each of these is so similar but look-” You point at two series of numbers, “one writes their seven with a dash, and the other doesn’t.”

Spencer leans forward to look at it, his eyes squinting as his mouth drops open in focus.

“I swear you need to start wearing your glasses again.” You snort, reaching out and placing your fingers under his chin to push his jaw closed.

He bats your hand away, “Glasses obstruct my peripherals.”

“But you look cute with them.” You argue, sliding to stand behind him, “I miss them.”

Flattening your hands, you place them on either side of his head, blocking his peripherals. He ignores you, trying to focus on the pages in front of him rather than the warmth radiating off of your palms. Only moving when his phone rings, you drop them on his shoulders, turning him a little so you could grab his phone from his front pocket.

“Hey Garcia, what’s up?” You greet, “...yeah, it’s me, what do you have for us?”

The investigation continues like that, the two of you revolving around each other, splitting up only when necessary, bouncing profiles off of the other.

Everyone knew you worked well together. Spencer was comfortable around you, not as stiff and one track minded as he would be working alone. He turned to you for most things, and sometimes when working through things in his mind he would just stare at you- Managing to find most of his answers in the curve of your nose and the color of your lips.

You mellowed out around Spencer, his ramblings filling empty spaces almost like a living white noise machine. It was hard for most people to believe how abrasive and short fused you could be working alone. Irritation ran rampant with local PD getting in the way, suspects being difficult, media running with half baked stories; whenever the tension in your jaw threatened to spring into a full on rage, Spencer was always there.

“You’re telling me you released the profile to the press even though we specifically told you not to?” Your eyebrows raise, hands pushing your sleeves up to your elbows.

“The public needs to know what they’re dealing with.” The detective crosses his arms over his chest, lifting his chin in challenge.

“Yeah? Well now our Unsub knows exactly what to change to avoid us, this guy is smart and he is watching.” Your voice raises slightly, shoulders squaring as you step chest to chest with the man. “From this point on, you release nothing to the press without approval from our Liaison or SSA Hotchner.”

The detective snorts, shaking his head, “Oh yeah? And who are you to tell me what to do?”

Spencer instinctively reaches out, hooking his finger around your belt loop. He tugs you backwards, putting space between you and the focal point of your mounting rage. You don’t relax, but you let him pull you back.

“I’m the woman who’s gonna punch a hole through your spinal cord.” Your tone is icy, and he can almost hear your jaw pop from how hard you’re clenching your teeth. Spencer keeps his finger hooked on your belt loop, cringing slightly at the threat.

It’s not that he disagrees with you, it was out of line for them to release a statement to the public without the team’s permission; and it’s not that he thinks you can’t back up your statement, he is well aware that you can. Spencer just didn’t want you to get suspended for assaulting an officer. Again.

Hotch approaches, stepping between you and the detective, and- to your relief- backs you up.

“If you release anything more to the public you can consider that little boy as good as gone. If you want us to be able to catch the unsub before it’s too late, it’ll do you well to listen to my agents.” His sharp gaze lingers on the man’s face before he turns to you, “Go cool off, and stop threatening people.”

You nod and turn to leave, missing the small tilt of Hotch’s head, gesturing for Spencer to go with. He obliges, quickly rushing after you.

Pacing around in the conference room, you keep your arms folded, chewing on the nail of your thumb.

“Sit.” Spencer pulls out one of the chairs, and you follow his instruction. Having gone through this routine again and again, you move a few stacks of papers, opening up a space for him to sit on the table’s glossy surface.

“I was reading up on star systems, and typically stars will orbit around each other in small or large groups- but most are trinary with only three stars…” Spencer hops up onto the table, crossing his legs under himself. He settles into his position, leaning his arms on his legs as he watches your face.

He can tell by the way your head tilts that you’re listening, unconsciously bringing your ear closer to him. Folding your arms across your chest again, you roll your jaw to relieve the tension from the joint. He pays attention to your demeanor, watching the pressure between your eyes melt away. Crossing your legs, you tilt your hips, turning your body to face him though your gaze stays cast to the floor. Spencer responds by unfolding his legs, stretching them out to rest his feet on the apex of your thigh.

Hands finding their way to the laces of his converse, you untie and retie them as his melodic droning fills the room. You keep yourself from looking at him, wanting to hold onto your anger for just a little longer. Spencer knows that you would’ve stewed in your fury for hours alone- and it seemed that Hotch knew the same.

“... but then you have star systems that are just two stars- a binary system. The Sirius star system is the most well known, but Sirius A is a lot bigger than Sirius B. Sirius B is a white dwarf- which has around the same mass as our sun but condensed into a star not much bigger than the earth.”

“Without the extra gravity from another star like in trinary systems… Do binary stars collide a lot?” You ask and Spencer beams, happy that you were finally relaxed enough to fully engage.

“Actually, it’s pretty rare for them to collide. They stay stable for the most part, but when they do collide it’s most likely due to their stability being thrown off by the exchange of mass or gravitational radiation.” Unlacing his left shoe fully, you replace them upside down, tying the bow at the toe of his converse. He expected you to do the same with the other shoe, but you leave it asymmetrical.

Lifting your gaze from his shoes, your eyes settle on his face. Spencer chews on his bottom lip, looking for any underlying stress in your features. He finds none.

“So, when a stellar collision occurs, the way it reacts depends on what kind of stars were involved in the collision. Like, if it was a set of white dwarfs, the gravitational radiation would cause them to spiral inwards and-”

Spencer is cut off by JJ poking her head in the room, “Hey, the unsub responded to the statement they released.”

You sigh, “Come on, Gorgeous, you can tell me more later.” pushing Spencer’s feet off of you before standing. You lead the way out of the conference room. As he follows, he tries to ignore the way his face warms when you call him gorgeous. He knew it was stupid to focus on your little nicknames- you use them often enough that he should be used to it by now- but his heart flutters all the same.

Spencer stands at your side, his slender fingers finding their way back around your belt loop. He didn’t think you would do anything, but local cops could be unpredictable.

A few feet away, Emily leans over to Morgan, “So how long have they been dating?” She asks.

Morgan looks at her, quirking an eyebrow, “Who?”

“Reid and his attack dog, duh.” She points to the two agents attached at the hip next to JJ. Morgan snorts, covering his mouth with his hand.

“They’re not,” He shrugs, laughing when Emily’s head snaps to look at him, “I know- I know, we like to say they are, they just don’t know it yet.”

Emily looks back at the two of you, noting how you lean back into him. Your head tilts up and you whisper in his ear, motioning to whatever the unsub had sent loosely. “You’re kidding…”

“I wish I was,” Derek shakes his head, moving to place his hands on his hips, “you’re looking at a four year relationship between the two most oblivious profilers in the FBI.”

The entire team has thought the two of you were dating at some point- even Gideon before he left. In the beginning, Hotch came to the conclusion that the two of you lived together and got into the habit of only calling one on the assumption that you would arrive together. And you did. Always.

With the unsubs response, you and Spencer manage to put together a solid lead to who exactly you’re looking for. You hand the letter to Spencer, and break away to call Garcia- still with Spencer’s phone.

Garcia locates the unsub and the team hits the road. After securing your own bulletproof vest, you approach Spencer. Undoing the velcro on the sides of his vest to redo them. The velcro ripping apart is loud, drawing the attention of Rossi. He makes a face, looking over at Hotch and Derek who shrug in response.

You make sure they’re snug, sliding your hands along the curve of his waist. Moving on to the straps over his shoulders, your face scrunches a little in focus. Your hands are warm, radiating their heat onto the skin of his neck. Spencer watches you, your lips parted slightly, the tip of your tongue fitted between your teeth. You shimmy the vest, eyes roving over his torso to make sure there were no loose points.

Satisfied, you pat the FBI emblem on his chest, turning away without a word.

As the team approaches the house, you enter ahead of him. Moving methodically through the hallways, indicating clear rooms through your intercom. You enter the garage slowly, Spencer following closely behind you.

“FBI, drop the gun and show me your hands!” You have your gun on the unsub, expression stone cold. The man huffs, sweat dripping from his nose and he switches between pointing the barrel of his hand gun at you or Spencer. He seems to settle on the latter and you step forward, rushing the unsub who in turn shoots.

Spencer expects impact, but it doesn’t find him. Instead, coupled with the dull ringing in his ears from the shot, he can hear the crack of the man’s nose as the butt of your pistol slams into it. You gently push the little boy the unsub was holding towards Spencer, who cradles him to his chest.

“We have the kid- garage.” He can hear you gasp into your intercom, the breath knocked from your lungs at the impact of the bullet. Slamming the unsub into the concrete and cuffing him, you attempt to take in air. The grimace on your face isn’t from rage, he can tell that much, the tension is sat in your throat rather than your jaw.

Once the man is cuffed beneath you, your knee holding his arms in place as he squirms, you huff. Long, drawn out, breaths are pulled into your lungs. Expanding them slowly as you feel the searing, white hot, tendrils of pain erupting from the base of your ribcage.

===

“I’m fine,” You assure him for the fifth time since the team got back to the precinct. He goes to say something, but you hold up your hand, your finger pushing against his forehead, “Yes. I promise.”

“But-” He grabs your wrist, “but, even if you were shot in the “bulletproof” vest, the vest isn’t actually bulletproof. You could have bruised or cracked ribs, internal bleeding, even organ damage-”

Wiggling your arm out of his grip, you slap a hand over his mouth, “I got checked out by the paramedics, I’m fine.” He grumbles but nods, his eyes soft as he silently pouts. “Perfect, now go pack up your stuff.”

He slinks away, still pouting. Packing up the things in the conference room slowly, his worry plaguing his demeanor. You frown as you watch him. Making Spencer upset was the last thing you wanted to do.

Morgan slides up next to you, “Hey there rockstar, I know you’re just trying to reassure him. How is it really?”

Sighing, you rub a hand over your face, “He shot me at close range, the bullet pierced through and I’ve got the most wicked bruise and it hurts to breathe- but I’m definitely not telling him that.”

Morgan laughs, his eyebrows raised in concern. “You know he just worries, let him take care of you.” He pats your shoulder in support, stalking away as Spencer comes back, bag slung over his shoulder.

Landing back in Quantico, Spencer finds his way into your car- something he had taken a liking to. You were a good driver, and Spencer didn’t really like driving all that much. Having to focus on so many things means that he can’t talk as much as he wants to. But he sinks comfortably into the passenger seat of your car. His shoulders drooping as he leans his head back on the head rest.

He tucks his duffel under his legs, relishing in the leg room your car offered. Since he was the only one who really rode with you he had the seat set how he liked.

“Are you gonna finish your rant about stellar collisions?” You ask, your voice soft as it carries over the sound of the car’s A/C. He turns his head, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion. You laugh, “You were explaining what would happen if two white dwarfs crashed into each other. Are you sure about that eidetic memory thing?”

He rolls his eyes at your teasing, but he straightens up in his seat, taking a second to remember where he left off.

“So, the two white dwarves would emit gravitational radiation, or waves, which would cause their orbit to become unstable- which would in turn cause the stars to spiral into each other,” He uses his hands as a model, “and once they collide, the force causes carbon fusion to ignite. White dwarfs are basically dead stars that no longer support fusions, but the fusion is re-ignited by the merge.”

You nod along, turning into the parking lot of your apartment building. Spencer is confused, usually you would drop him off first, but he decides to keep his question to himself, “And since the dwarfs are made up of that degenerate matter, the equilibrium needed to keep the merge stable is pretty much non-existent. So the thermal pressure combined with the unstable weight of them crashing into each other causes a full blown supernova.”

“Supernova, huh? That’s pretty cool.” You grin, putting the car in park. You turn your head to look at him, and he stays silent. A soft smile rests on his face, and he takes the time to memorize the way the warm lighting of the street lamp shines on your soft features.

You turn off the car, pocketing your keys as you open the car door, “I need your help with something really quick, then I’ll drop you off at home, okay?”

“Yeah, no, of course.” He gets out of the car, mindlessly grabbing his bag as he rushes to catch up with you. Unlocking your ground floor apartment, Spencer shuffles in after you. He kicks off his shoes, nudging them into a neat position with his foot before placing his bag next to them.

You shrug off your jacket, hissing lightly as you slowly stretch your arms over your head. Motioning with a small tilt of your head, you lead him further into your apartment, flicking on a few lights as you do.

After all these years of knowing you, Spencer hadn’t been to your apartment much. He liked how homey it felt, dark wood furniture scattered around neatly, warm lighting, and a little clutter here and there. It was very you.

Opening the door to your bedroom, you usher him inside. Your hand was on his lower back to guide him, “Chill out, Pancake, I just need you to help me change my bandage.” You chuckle, pushing him a little firmer as he hesitates. You separate from him to grab the first aid kit from your bathroom, setting it down on the mattress when you return.

“I thought you said you were fine?” He asks, tilting his head and furrowing his eyebrows a little.

“I am, but I might’ve just told you that because I didn’t want you worrying.” Your confession frustrates him and he crosses his arms, “Don’t look at me like that you Grackle, just help me out, please?”

Spencer nods, dropping his hands at his sides, stuffing them into his pockets. He watches as you shuffle through the contents of your first aid kit. His hand mindlessly lifts to scratch at the inner part of his right elbow. Without looking away from your task, you reach one of your hands behind you. Gently hooking your fingers around his, you push his hand away.

“Okay, so, it definitely looks worse than it is.” You warn, turning to him. Before he can ask what you mean, you start unbuttoning your shirt. His head snaps to look away, the tense joint in his neck cracking at the force.

His cheeks warm, his hands coming up to fiddle with his tie. Keeping his eyes averted, he wills himself to stop thinking all together. All trains of thought chug their way back to you, your face, your lips, your bare torso- he has to stop thinking. Blank. Blankness.

“Uh, if you’re gonna help me I kinda need you to look,” You chuckle awkwardly. He slowly turns his head, feeling like his head is sitting atop a stack of rusty gears. To both his relief and utter disappointment, you were wearing a tanktop. He doesn’t have time to decide if he should choose between the two, you shrug off the button up before quickly pulling the tank top over your head.

Spencer was afraid he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from your chest, clad in a black bra, but his eyes were immediately drawn lower. At the base of your ribcage sits a large mass of purple and red splotchy skin spreading out from underneath a bloodied bandage. His mouth falls open when he sees it, his eyes flicking between your face and the bruising over and over.

“Like I said,” you raise your hands, “It looks worse than it is. The bullet pierced through the vest a little and it hit skin.”

“What? Do you have any broken ribs, any organ damage, what if you’re bleeding internally?” He rushes, his hand cupping the curve of your ribs. His thumb grazes over the edge of the bandage.

Tensing at his touch, you respond swiftly, “I have a broken rib, a few fractures and a ton of bruising. The ribs took the brunt of the force, no organ damage.”

“That you know of-”

You shush him, placing your hand over his. His fingers were warm against your bare skin. Making no move to remove his hand fully, you gently slide his hand lower to rest in the dip of your waist. He lets out a shuddering breath, briefly distracted by the softness of your side.

Peeling back the bandage, you wince, swallowing the hiss bubbling at the back of your throat. The center of the impact was so red it looked black, the dark purple skin surrounding it giving the illusion of a black hole. Reminding himself of what exactly he was here for, Spencer sits on your bed, guiding you by your waist to stand between his legs.

He gets to work, gingerly removing his hand from your side to grab the contents of your kit. Working silently, he focuses on being as gentle as possible while also assessing the damage. His eyes squint softly, his jaw hanging open as he disinfects it. You watch him, your head tilted downwards, noting every small mole or freckle you can as you try to ignore the burning ache in your abdomen- both physically and metaphorically.

Having him this close was supposed to be the norm, right? The two of you had been closer than anyone on the team for almost 5 years. But your heart pools into your stomach, settling itself in your wound. Just for the chance to be cared for by his hands.

Spencer’s hands, warm and lightly calloused, slide along your ribs as softly as he can manage. His long, slender fingers, guiding a new bandage into place.

You had never considered that Dr. Spencer Reid would ever return your simmering feelings. Sure, he went along with your teasing, let you manhandle him, calmed you down, turned to you for everything, cried on your shoulder, comforted you. But that was just him, right? He was like that with everyone… Right?

No. Spencer was sweet, yes, but you knew. He was different around you, more open, more playful. Everyone on the team knows how you revolve, bound to each other via some inexplicable force. He knows how you like your tea, he knows what snacks you like, he knows the ins and outs of your past relationships. But he knows everything, from the probability of finding a four-leaf clover, to quantum physics. You weren’t special.

But once he’s done securing the bandage just beneath your sternum, he looks up at you. His eyes rounded and shining, their honey-like color looking richer than ever.

And you feel like the only woman in the universe.

It’s hard not to feel like you’re completely under his spell when the warm hazel color of his eyes bore into your own. The patterning on his irises were just as enchanting, throwing you into the labyrinth that has held your heart at its center for the past 4 years.

“How often do you need to change it?” He whispers, suddenly finding himself closer to you, his warm breath wafting over the center of your chest.

“Just once a day after this.” Is your breathy response. Your hands lift, gently pushing the front pieces of his hair behind his ears, “Your hair is getting long.”

“Should I cut it?” He asks, gaze unwavering. You shake your head no, brushing your fingers through his soft brown waves. The touch is attentive and gentle. The air grows thick with every passing moment, bathing every touch in an intimate nature.

Spencer’s hands linger at your sides, fingers ghosting along your waist. He looks up at you, his eyes somehow softening further. You almost melt on the spot, your hands finding their place at the nape of his neck. Mindlessly, you press the pads of your thumbs into the space just below his skull. The pressure alleviates some of the tension in his neck, his eyes fluttering closed as you begin to move them in a circular motion.

“You really worry too much…” You murmur, face flushing as you watch his expression melt into contentment.

“Hard not to when you’re rushing at a sociopath with a gun…” He mumbles in response, looking at you through his eyelashes. “Especially when this bullet was meant for me.” His thumb slides over the bandage, his bottom lip jutting out a little as his eyes round at the edges.

That damn puppy dog look. You hated it. He used it in any situation where he wasn’t getting his way. He knew it worked on you, probably thinking that you just thought he was too cute to resist. Not quite, as much as you did think it was cute- it was just such a turn-on.

Scoffing, you push away the mounting arousal pooling in your stomach, “Neither of us died, so I call it a win…” his gaze doesn’t waver, clearly seeking to break you, “Stop looking at me like that.” You grumble, placing a hand over his eyes.

Spencer laughs, reaching up to pull your hand away. His fingers curl around you, sliding against the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. “Like what?”

Rolling your eyes you sigh, “Come on, Handsome, don’t be coy. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

His fingers slide up your wrist, spreading out to flatten your palm. Spencer’s hands are large, enveloping yours easily as he intertwined his fingers with your own. You had spent the last 4 years perfecting the art of hiding the way you feel about Spencer. But it was impossible to hide what he was doing to you here and now.

After years in steady orbit of each other, you were finally spiraling inwards.

He keeps his right hand intertwined with yours, his other hand sliding up your torso slowly. He keeps his eyes trained on your face, watching the miniscule changes in your flushed expression. His fingers slide along the band of your bra. The texture of the lace rubs along the pads on his fingertips. He guides his hand up, breathing shakily as it ghosts over the apex of your chest. You bristle at the contact, your hand gripping his tightly in an attempt to keep your composure.

The only thing breaking up the silence permeating the room is the uneven breathing shared between you. Spencer takes his time, tracing the outline of your collarbone. He follows the line of it, dipping his index and middle finger into the center crevice of your clavicle. Dragging his fingers up the center of your throat, his short, dull nails lightly scratching the sensitive skin. You let out a strained hum, his fingers feeling the vibration of your vocal chords. His inner thighs press against the outside of your own, reminding you of how exactly you ended up here.

Following the line of your jaw, his knuckles gently tilt your head down. He keeps his eyes locked on you, still giving you that dreaded doe eyed stare. Once his hand reaches your face, he tears his gaze from your eyes, following his fingers as he caresses the soft skin of your cheek.

Turning his hand, Spencer lets his slender fingers flatten against your jaw. His thumb runs along your bottom lip, tracing the warm skin and gently pressing into it. Watching as the color of your lips changes with the light pressure, he finally speaks.

“The reason your heart races, or you feel nervous when you’re in love… is because of the sudden release of hormones. Dopamine, Cortisol, and Norepinephrine spike, but the mood stabilizer, Serotonin, drops.” His thumb gently tugs on your bottom lip.

“Do I make you nervous, Dr. Reid?” You whisper, your lips gently pressing into the pad of his thumb. Reaching up your free hand, you gently slide it under the front of his cardigan. Pressing it into his chest you could feel his heart hammering behind his ribcage.

Spencer nods, his bottom lip fitting between his teeth as he looks up at you. His face is flushed, the heights of his cheekbones radiating heat from the blood pooling beneath his skin. Adjusting in his seat, he pulls his legs towards himself, fitting one of his knees between your legs to spread them apart.

You look at him in surprise, but he dips his gaze to watch what he was doing. He puts his knees together, placing them between your own. Spreading his legs, he hooks them around your calves, forcing you forward. Yelping, you try your hardest not to collapse into him. You manage to get one of your knees onto the mattress before he fully knocks you over. Ignoring the way his gaze lingers on your flushed face, you settle into his lap, knees on either side of his hips.

Spencer could feel the strap of your thigh holster pressing into his leg. He unclasps his hand from yours, sliding it up your knee. He finds the buckles on the two straps digging into the flesh of your thigh. Maintaining eye contact while he unclasps them, you lift yourself off of him so he can take it off easier. He discards it onto the other side of the bed before letting his hand fall back to rest on your thigh. Spencer was constantly searching your face for approval, touching you slow and simple- He always made it a priority to make you comfortable. Mirroring his other hand, the one holding your face slides down the side of your torso to cup your thigh.The pressure of his touch increases, kneading your muscles through your jeans.

Your hands rest on his shoulders, gripping them lightly as he touches you. Growing restless, you reach down to unbutton his cardigan, sliding it off of his shoulders. He assists in taking it off, throwing it haphazardly across the room. His hands return to their places, but he tilts his head a little, his lips parting as his eyes slide across your face.

Rocking your hips forward pulls a soft moan from his lips, his fingers curling into your thighs. “I- I don’t… think we should do this…” He gasps, contradicting himself as his hands slide up to your hips, pulling you against him again.

“We don’t have to…” You gasp in response, the stimulation only slightly dulled by the thick material of your jeans.

“I want to- but, you’re injured.” He mumbles, leaning forward to press his lips against your collarbone.

You shake your head, sighing at the feeling of his warm lips, “You won’t hurt me.” Loosening his tie, you pull it over his head and toss it to the side.

“I could- not on purpose, but strenuous activity should be avoided during recovery.” Spencer argues, his voice weakened by the way your hips slide into his. His breath falls from his lips heavily, fanning your face as you lean in close.

Laughing, you turn your head to press a kiss to his temple, “It doesn’t feel like you want to stop.” You could feel him underneath you, already straining against his slacks. He swallows, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down. The hands on your hips tighten their grip, digging into your flesh. He keeps his eyes on you, leaning forward to press a small kiss to your sternum.

Spencer’s hands knew exactly what to do. Sliding over the apex of your hips, his thumbs pressing firmly into your soft skin. Traveling slowly up, the weight of his palms kneading your sides as the tips of his fingers find the band of your bra. The pressure of his touch lightens as he lifts his palms off of you. His fingers curl slightly, leaving just a few fingertips touching the lacy fabric.

Reading you like a book, his hands circle around to your back. Finding the clasp, he makes quick work of undoing your bra. He makes no move to fully remove the garment, just flattening his hands against your exposed back. His fingers press into your spine, running along the outsides of it.

You slide the bra off, throwing it over your shoulder to join your shirt and his cardigan on the floor. His eyes leave yours, trailing along your skin, uninterrupted by fabric. One hand stays on your back, the other sliding around your side. The pressure of his touch lightens as he reaches your front, very careful to not disturb your injured ribs.

His hand flattened on your torso scoops the underside of your breast, his thumb caressing the soft skin. Watching how your body molds to the shape of his hand, his lips part slightly, almost studying you.

Spencer presses a few more kisses to your sternum, slowly making his way up to your collarbone. Your hips continue to slide against his, pulling soft breathy moans from the both of you. His noises are muffled by your neck as he presses his lips to the center of your throat. It almost hurts how badly you want him, your desire clouding over any possible pain stemming from your ribs.

Moving as quickly and as gently as possible, Spencer twists his body. He slowly lowers your back to the mattress, settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He continued to grind against you, the feeling of him through four layers of clothing was enough to drive you up the wall.

It dawned on you then how easy this felt.

Just like everything with him, it all came to you like the most natural thing in the universe. The two of you had spent years memorizing everything about each other. You never thought it would translate so well into this situation. Then again, you never thought it was possible for you to end up in this position with him. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them quickly as his mouth finds your throat again. He takes his time exploring the warm skin of your neck, very gently nipping at your pulse. He takes in every noise he draws from you, filing them away in his mind with every roll of his hips.

Just as easily as the dusk slides into the quiet of night, you turn to putty in his hands.

Trying to focus on getting his shirt off, you’re distracted by the intense way he kisses your neck. You hadn’t really expected Spencer to be so… possessive with his mouth, but in hindsight it made sense to you.

He was possessive in other ways, always taking the seat next to you on the jet, calling dibs on partnering with you, not letting anyone else help you if he was nearby, getting pouty when your attention was drawn elsewhere. Listening to his heavy breathing as his warm, open mouthed, kisses press into your throat you’re suddenly aware of every way he’s laid his claim on you to the people around you.

To everyone else, you were his.

His hands hold your chest, squeezing and caressing the soft skin. Spencer’s teeth slowly drag along the side of your neck, biting you very gently, careful not to leave any marks where anyone would see. Your breathing comes out heavy and labored, your face scrunching slightly as you feel the strain of your ribs with each breath.

Spencer’s large palms slide down your torso after one last squeeze, finding the hem of your pants. He quickly gets your belt off, letting it clatter to the floor and unbuttoning your jeans. Pulling away from your neck. his eyes meet yours as he hooks his fingers over the hem of your underwear. He shimmies them down the length of your legs along with your pants, tossing them across the room carelessly. Pupils dilated wide, he drinks in the look of you like a starved man. His hand finds its way to your cheek, his eyebrows furrowing slightly at the pained look on your face. His thumb presses against the space between your brows, smoothing out the tension building there as your chest rises and falls heavily.

“Try to relax your breathing,” He whispers, pressing his lips to your cheek. His hand slips away from your face, the soft noise of his silver belt buckle unfastening filling your ears. Attentive kisses are pressed along the perimeter of your face, urging you to try and calm your racing heart.

The air around you is cold, a stark contrast to the ever growing heat pooling between your legs. His warm chest presses against yours, one hand curling around your knee, the other sliding along your bare inner thigh.

A soft moan falls from your lips, “You’re not exactly helping,” You whisper, feeling his lips press against your temple.

“It doesn’t feel like you want to stop,” He replies, throwing your words back at you as his fingers slide against your clit teasingly. You writhe underneath him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair. Trying your hardest not to move too much as his fingers slowly circle the bundle of nerves. If you move too much and aggravate your ribs, you might have to stop. His slender fingers slide along you, dipping into your entrance briefly before continuing to tease. You whine, lifting your hips to meet his hand as best as you can.

As much as Spencer wants to keep teasing, his need to please you overwhelms any other desire that may be festering. He pushes his middle finger into you, kissing the corner of your mouth as a guttural moan is pulled from your lips.

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing soothing circles into it as his finger fucks into you. His face remains pressed into yours, kissing along your cheekbone lovingly. Adding his ring finger, he pushes it into you slowly and allows you to adjust to the difference in size. His long, slender, fingers slide in and out of you, the ministrations deliberate and slow.

Despite the slow pace of his hand, the length and size of his fingers provides overwhelming stimulation. You had always loved how large his hands were, spending nights wondering and fantasizing about how they would feel touching you like this. But this was way better than any piss poor scenario you could dream up.

Your head falls back onto the pillow, mouth hanging open as deep, breathy moans fall from your lips. Hissing a bit, you try to calm your breathing.

“Don’t stop…” You sigh out, knowing he was noticing the way your breathing changes in kind to the pain spreading from your fractured bones. Spencer listens to your request, his fingers curling slightly. The sensation draws out a loud gasp as the tips of his fingers press into you. Your hands move down his neck, sliding along his back.

Your head swims with intense pleasure, not bothering to care about how badly your ribs hurt with every breath you take. Spencer’s name falls from your mouth like a mantra, eyes closing as you focus on not writhing underneath him. Hands pressing into his shoulder blades you pull him flush against you, feeling his hard length against your inner thigh as he pushes you closer to the edge with his fingers.

The way he presses into your inner thigh pulls a small noise from the back of his throat. He speeds up the way his fingers fuck into you, rutting against your thigh instinctually to keep the friction going. His thumb presses into your clit, the pressure firmer as he continues to circle around it. The feeling draws out a strained moan from your lips, your hips jerking involuntarily.

Spencer can feel you starting to fall apart underneath him, his lips pressing firmly into your neck. His soft gasps and moans muffled by your warm skin as he uses your thigh. Tightening around his fingers, your legs shake, and you mumble his name over and over. Biting down on your lip, his free hand slides just under your breast, holding your torso down when he feels your back begin to lift from the bed. Your orgasm crashes over you and the room spins, tremors vibrating through your spine.

You gasp, panting to try and catch your breath. His lips find your face again, smothering your cheeks and nose with affection as you come down from your high slowly. His desperate grinding against your thigh pulls you back to reality and you gently push on his shoulder to get his attention.

“Spencer… I need you…” You whine, your hands cupping his face. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, he nods. There’s a soft twitch to his face when he pulls his hips away from your thigh, his eyes searching yours for final approval. You nod, adoring the amber color at the center of his irises.

Gripping himself in his hand, he takes a second to slide his tip through your folds, pulling a desperate moan from the both of you. The tenderness left from your last orgasm causes you to whine and throw your head back onto the pillow.

“Wait…” He gasps, looking up at you, “I- do you have a condom?”

You can’t help but laugh a little, shaking your head, “I’m on birth control, it’s fine… please.” Your fingers curl and play with the long hair at the nape of his neck.

He hesitates, seemingly working through the probabilities and statistics of not using one, but he nods. Spencer looks back down, lining himself up with you. One hand on your hip, the other wrapped around himself.

“Tell me to stop if you need to,” He says, voice shaking with his heavy breathing. You nod, eyes locked on his features. The shadows of his face as he hovers over you are dark, seeping into the dips and curves of his brow and cheek bones. He looked ethereal.

When his tip pushes into you slowly, you gasp. His mouth finds yours, kissing you needily as he works his way inside of you.

Spencer breathes heavily into your mouth as his fingers dig into the flesh of your outer thighs, “I… I love you.” He declares, his lips moving against yours with fervor.

Your fingers tangle into his hair, his kisses not allowing you to verbally reciprocate. You loved him. There was no doubt about that. But when he’s fully inside of you, filling you completely, there is nothing you can do to stop the way you ignite underneath him.

Moaning into his mouth, your legs shake from your earlier orgasm. He gives you time to slowly adjust, shivers running up and down his spine as your muscles flutter around him. Spencer slows down his kisses, resorting to soft presses as he waits for your signal.

After a moment you nod, whispering a soft “I love you” and kissing him in return. With your quiet permission, he pulls his hips back. Letting out a strained groan, his lips loosely against yours, he rolls his hips back into you.

The feeling of you wrapped around him completely, your hands in his hair, your mouth against his. There is nothing that can compare to this. Nothing.

Spencer rocks into you slowly, keeping your hips pressed against the mattress. The angle is perfect, and the least likely to aggravate your rib cage. He’s fully in tune with how you feel underneath him, his hands gently sliding over your hips in a soothing motion. Feeling no need to rush, he pulls back from your lips to watch the way he slides in and out of you.

“I… I would beg you to go faster if my ribs didn’t feel like they were on fire.” You hum, your hands brushing over the perimeters of his face. His face scrunches a little and he almost slows to a stop, but you shake your head, “Don’t- don’t stop, please, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” He whispers shakily, one of his hands sliding down to press circles into your overly sensitive clit.

A whine falls from your lips at the feeling, “Yes, yes… I’ve never felt so good…” Your muscles flutter around him, the added sensation pulling your thoughts from the deep ache ringing from your torso. His lips meet yours again, one of his palms cupping the back of your hand. Pressing your hand firmly into his cheek, his mouth moves against yours in slow, loving motions. The amount of tongue he used was a pleasant surprise, his kisses never seeming to still.

Keeping up his languid pace, Spencer memorizes the way you feel- which isn’t hard with his memory, but he files away every moan, every flutter of your core, every lingering kiss. It was all so perfect.

The remnants of your first orgasm buzzes in your core, your entire body felt like it was on fire. You could feel yourself reaching the edge, your kisses getting sloppier and his name falling from your lips in quick succession. His hips roll deep into you, making up for the slow pace with the thumb rubbing evenly over your clit.

His shoulders tense, the kiss between you breaking into just a sequence of heavy breaths against your lips. Hips twitching, the feeling of you around him almost unbearable as the pleasure causes his head to swim. All of the facts and knowledge constantly swimming through his mind fall silent, replaced with your soft whines and the feeling of your soft skin under his palms.

“Spencer… god, please- come for me…” You murmur against his lips, your hands moving into his hair and sliding down the back of his neck. Your nails lightly scrape along his sensitive skin, coaxing him over the edge. It’s all he can do to keep his slow pace, lifting his face away from yours to look down at you. Your eyes are slightly glassed over, looking up at him with a pleading gaze. The eye-contact is the final push he needed, his fingers circling around your clit quickly.

You gasp at the change in pace- the feeling of him inside of you, the length of him brushing against your sweet spot, his sweet gaze on your face all cause your muscles to contract as your second orgasm crashes over you. Spencer follows quickly behind you, groaning loudly as his hips stutter and he pushes himself into you as deep as he can. His release coats your insides, the added sensation pushing you even farther. Mouth falling open, his moans spike to a slightly higher pitch as he slowly rides out his own orgasm.

Heavy gasps fall from your lips as the two of you come down from your high. Spencer’s lips press against yours sloppily, his hands reaching up to hold your face firmly. He pulls out of you slowly, listening to the soft whine that falls from your lips.

Overly sensitive from the two back to back orgasms, your head swims. Spencer attempts to pull away from you more, but your hands loosely capture his wrists and pull him back. Lips meeting again in a lazy fashion, your mind is in a daze, “I love you…” is softly mumbled into his mouth, your hands holding his to your face.

“I love you too… How do your ribs feel?” He asks, kissing up the bridge of your nose.

You sigh into his affection, your thumbs rubbing the outside of his hands, “I feel great… it’s like a forgotten bruise.” Your lips pull into a sloppy grin.

“That’s because pain can be reduced by orgasms,” Is his response, pulling a soft laugh from you, “Potent analgesics, which are basically pain killers, are released in the endorphins during sex.”

“Maybe we should do this until my ribs are healed,” You hum, pressing a few soft kisses to his cheek.

Spencer laughs a little, shaking his head, “Let me get you cleaned up.”

He attempts to pull away again but you keep his hands held in your grip. You were still exhausted, your hold loose. Spencer could easily wriggle away, but he humors you with a few more kisses.

“Stay… I want you to stay.” You whine, tilting your head and kissing the corners of his mouth. “Please?”

Spencer nods, moving to settle next to you. Being mindful of your injury, he wraps an arm around your shoulders. Scooting closer and pressing his chest against your arm, he kisses your temple sweetly. The gravity of your connection holds your cores together in the wake of your collision.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #no use of y/n #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #fluff #smut #mgg x reader #mgg fanfiction #mgg #mgg smut #gublernation

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luveline · 6 months ago

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i know you said hotch and reader baby requests… but what about hotch’s daughter that he met as an adult meeting Jack for the first time? two babies in one! love you 💕

—You meet your little brother, with your dad’s support. fem, 1.6k

To grow up wondering if your father might love you is odd. You spend years wondering if you’d ever know him. Would he be proud of you? Would he like you? If you could find him, would he want you to?

And then you do find him, and you’re floored by how desperately he wants to take care of you.

Honey, his message starts, sent at 5AM that morning. Just to remind you, dinner is at 5PM, but you don’t have to worry about being late. You can come whatever time you like, please let me know beforehand. Jack was so excited last night he couldn’t sleep.

Another sent at 5:16AM. I can’t wait for you to meet him. How are you feeling about it? If this is too much, you don’t have to.

At 5:25AM. Please call me to talk when you’re awake, if you can.

You think perhaps your father might be as nervous as you are to introduce you to his family. Because Aaron, your dad, has a wife and child. Haley, his high school sweetheart (though there had been that brief separation in college that allowed your existence), and Jack, his four year old son.

This might be hard for everyone, but at least you aren’t destroying a family by existing. Aaron didn’t do anything wrong in getting your mother pregnant. He had no idea about it until you showed up at his office.

You rub your tired eyes and decide against calling him right away. You have work soon, and he’s probably at his own place of work already. Instead, you make yourself a cup of tea and breakfast you can’t eat. Turns out you’re more nervous than you thought.

You call him on your lunch break.

He said you can call him whenever you want, just he’s busy, and can’t always answer. He also said you can call him whatever you want. It had been a strangely touching moment at one of your ‘catching up on a whole life’ dinners. Mr. Hotchner was extremely formal, and made him laugh every time you said it. Aaron was better, but you could call him dad, if you liked. The paternity test agreed.

“Will that be weird for you?” you’d asked.

“Honey, I’ve had someone calling me dad for the last four years. You can call me what you want.”

Some part of you wished he insisted, but maybe it’s best the choice be down to you.

“Hello?” he asks as he picks up. “Y/N?”

The will to call him dad dies. It’s too awkward, what if he hates it? “Hello,” you say instead, stammering trying to sound natural.

“Hi, honey. Are you still coming to dinner tonight?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it.”

After an investigation and a mother’s confession, you found Aaron Hotchner online. Watched him behind podiums and sat at conference tables, even found his guest lecture at your university. It was a few years before you’d attended, but you can’t help thinking: what if you’d watched him talk? Would you have known he was your father? Of course, you couldn’t know. But maybe he would have.

Aaron took one good look at you in his office and believed you. Well, you had a photo of him and your mom, and you offered to take a paternity test then and there, but he told you he knew pretty quickly.

“You okay?”

“Just terrified,” you say.

“Haley… Haley isn’t mad at anyone. She has,” —he clears his throat— “a very tight picture of her life in her head, and her husband having a child without her wasn’t in that picture, but she also has a really big heart. I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

“It’s not Haley I’m scared of.”

“Honey, Jack can’t stop telling people he has a new sister. People keep giving Haley congratulations.”

You rub your eyes. You’ll be surprised if your makeup survives the day. “Are you sure you even want me to come?”

“I want you more than anything.”

Which doesn’t answer the question you’d voiced, but reassures the one you’d been thinking. “I just wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want me to. I can’t imagine how terrible this has been for you. I’ve disrupted your whole life.”

“Is that what you think?” he asks gently.

You can imagine him sitting at his desk. His office was roomy, with heavy furniture, big windows, and a gaggle of photo frames on the desk. He is intimidating, but he doesn’t talk to you with any meanness, or sternness. He’s been careful with you this whole time, so no, you’ve no reason to think he doesn’t want you around, but maybe he’s too good a man to admit it.

“If it’s too much for now, we can wait,” he says. “We have all the time in the world. But I promise it won’t be what you’re thinking. You certainly aren’t disrupting my life.”

You decide to be brave about it and go to dinner. Only when you’re standing on the Hotchner porch do you remember he’d wanted to talk to you about something. He opens the door quietly, ushering you in with a smile, and before you know it he’s offering a hug in the small foyer.

“Hi,” he says, patting your back. Your hands rest tentatively on his sides.

“Hi.”

He holds you at arm’s length before dropping his touch. “You look pretty,” he says.

Which is a whole other category of thing. “Thank you. Is this the sort of thing you wear to dinner?”

“You can wear pyjamas, if you like. Jack usually does.”

“That would make a good first impression.”

Haley appears from a doorway. “Oh, you’re here,” she says, smiling. “Hello, hello!”

You get another hug. Haley smells like expensive perfume and softness. Her hair is perfect. She’s one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen, and it’s emphasised by her glowing smile. “Jack is bouncing off the walls, but he might get a little shy when he really gets to meet you.” Her smile softens. “Wow. You don’t look much like him, but you have his frown. How’s that possible?” She nudges Aaron. “You’re so moody it’s in your DNA.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just nervous,” you explain.

“Me too,” Haley says.

“It’ll be okay.” Aaron gives Haley a squeeze around the shoulders. “He’s in the living room. Are you ready?”

“Maybe she should go in by herself.”

You and Aaron both stare at Haley.

“I should?” you ask.

She shrugs. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere. But maybe Aaron can introduce you and then bow out. It’s less pressure on both of you.”

You honestly couldn’t agree less with her, and Aaron’s giving her a dubious frown, but she’s Jack’s mom and your dad’s wife and you’re too scared of upsetting her to disagree.

Aaron, however, isn’t worried. “You don’t have to,” he says, giving Haley a rub on her shoulder, “it’s just a suggestion.”

“It’s okay. Um, whatever you guys think is best.”

So Aaron opens the living room door and walks you in.

Jack is drawing a bright picture on the floor, surrounded by a spread of crayons and washable markers. He has a huge sketch pad, where light from the TV stains the white with cartoon colours.

“Jack.” Aaron touches the back of your arm. “Bud, Y/N’s here for dinner.”

Jack whirls. As predicted, he sees you and his smile turns to shyness. You’re feeling shy, too, tempted to hide behind Aaron’s arm, but stepping forward when he prompts you to.

“Hi, Jack,” you say.

“Hi,” he says, lookin at Aaron.

“This is your big sister,” Aaron says.

Because Jack is your little brother. Half brother, but brother. You weren’t expecting to feel so awed.

You step out of your heels, you should’ve at the door, and use the armrest of the couch to lower yourself onto your knees. You just wanna see him.

He’s quite big, for his age. He’s tall. He has brown hair with slightly blond ends, and his eyes are big, flush with dark lashes. You have some of the same DNA, but you’re not sure you could tell with the two of you side by side.

“You look like your mommy,” you say.

“You don’t,” Jack says.

“I look more like my mommy.” You smile at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack.”

“You don’t look like a sister,” Jack says. “You’re old.”

“I’m not that old.”

Aaron laughs and touches your shoulder again. It’s nice to think he’s standing by.

“I… I can still do big sister stuff, even if I’m old,” you hedge gently. “I can still do fun stuff, I swear. I’m super fun.”

Jack pulls himself on knees to sit very close to you. He takes the skirt of your dress into his hand and pets it. “What if we ruin your dress?” he says worriedly.

“I have so many like this, it’s okay.”

His smile warms. “Okay. You want to colour with me?”

“Yes, yeah, I do. I really want to, what can we colour?”

“I’ll draw you a picture.”

You look up at Aaron with a smile that threatens to set with the wind. You’d be stuck like that, grinning with a mixture of relief, pride, and affection.

“I’m gonna go help Haley set the table,” he tells you. You’re probably wanting more than he’s giving, but you swear, he talks with love. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, dad,” Jack says, taking your hand to pull you to the crayons. “We’re gonna colour now.”

“Okay, buddy. Draw me something nice.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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dan-the-womans-blog · 3 months ago

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Hey! I’d love a one-shot where Hotch is really protective over the reader, who’s been getting some unwanted attention from someone at work. Maybe she’s a bit younger and new to the team, and she’s always been close with Hotch, but lately, he’s noticed that someone’s been making her uncomfortable. I’d love to see how Hotch handles it, especially since he’s been realizing he has feelings for her. Lots of protective Hotch vibes, maybe a little angst, but definitely some fluff and maybe a confession at the end. Thanks so much!

Of course lovely!!

Title: “Shield of Silence”

Pt2

You weren’t sure when it started, but the pit in your stomach had been growing for weeks now. At first, it had just been lingering looks—nothing overtly inappropriate but just enough to make your skin crawl. You’d brush it off, thinking you were imagining things, but the feeling only intensified as time passed. It was like being watched constantly, a gaze that clung to you when you least expected it.

It was your third month with the BAU, and although you were still adjusting, you felt like you’d finally found your place among the team. Spencer had been a wealth of knowledge, always eager to share some obscure fact or statistics. JJ had quickly become like an older sister, guiding you through the maze of FBI procedures and office politics. And then there was Aaron Hotchner—your unit chief, your mentor, and more recently, the person you found yourself gravitating towards the most.

Hotch had been nothing but professional with you, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. You admired his leadership, the way he commanded respect without demanding it, and his quiet but unwavering sense of justice. More than once, you’d caught yourself staring at him, wondering what it would be like to cross that line between professional and personal. But you always pushed those thoughts aside—he was your boss, after all.

Lately, however, you found yourself needing his presence more than usual. There was someone on the team who was making you uncomfortable, someone who lingered a little too close, who spoke a little too softly when he was near you. It was subtle—nothing you could report without feeling like you were making a mountain out of a molehill. But you knew it wasn’t just in your head.

The elevator ride that morning had been the final straw. You were alone, checking your phone, when you felt the presence beside you. Your stomach twisted as he moved closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. You stepped away, mumbling an excuse about needing to review a case file, and practically fled to your desk.

It wasn’t until you were safely seated that you noticed Hotch watching you, his brows furrowed with concern. He’d always been perceptive, but this time, his gaze felt like it was peeling back the layers you’d tried so hard to keep hidden.

“Y/N,” his voice was low as he approached you, leaning on the edge of your desk. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a smile, trying to mask the anxiety churning in your gut. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

Hotch didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If anything’s bothering you, you can always come to me. You know that, right?”

You nodded, grateful for his concern but unwilling to drag him into something that might just be a product of your overactive imagination. “I know, Hotch. Thank you.”

But Hotch wasn’t the kind of man to let things go easily, especially when it came to his team. Later that day, as the team gathered in the conference room for a briefing, you noticed that Hotch had positioned himself closer to you than usual. It was subtle—just a shift in his usual place—but it felt like a protective barrier, a silent assurance that he was there if you needed him.

The meeting went smoothly, but as it wrapped up, the same coworker who’d been making you uncomfortable sidled up beside you, his hand brushing against your arm in a way that made your skin crawl. Before you could step away, Hotch was there, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Y/N, I need you to stay back for a moment. We need to go over the details of the Montgomery case.”

The man beside you stiffened, his eyes flickering between you and Hotch, but he said nothing as he backed away. You watched him leave, your heart pounding in your chest.

When the room was finally empty, Hotch turned to you, his dark eyes filled with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “This has been going on for a while, hasn’t it?”

You swallowed, nodding reluctantly. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I thought maybe I was overreacting.”

Hotch shook his head, his jaw clenched. “You’re not overreacting. If someone’s making you uncomfortable, it’s my job to protect you. I don’t take that lightly.”

There was something in his tone that made your heart ache, a protective edge that spoke of more than just professional duty. “Hotch, I—”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush your arm where the other man had touched you. The gesture was tender, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I can’t stand the thought of someone hurting you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not when I care about you as much as I do.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your mind racing to process what he’d just said. “You… care about me?”

Hotch’s eyes softened, the usual hardness melting away to reveal something far more vulnerable. “I care about you more than I should, given our positions. But I can’t help it. I need you to be safe, Y/N.”

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken feelings. You didn’t know what to say, how to respond to a truth you hadn’t been ready to face. But as you looked into Hotch’s eyes, saw the sincerity there, you felt the walls you’d built around yourself begin to crumble.

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your hand resting on his chest. “I feel the same way,” you admitted softly. “I’ve tried to ignore it, but… I can’t anymore.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with the tension of words left unsaid. But then, Hotch’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

“Let me take care of this,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Thank you, Hotch.”

He smiled—a rare, genuine smile that lit up his usually stoic features. “You can call me Aaron, you know.”

Your own smile mirrored his as you felt a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the lingering tension. “Okay… Aaron.”

The moment was perfect, the beginning of something new and fragile, but full of promise. As he pulled you into a comforting embrace, you knew that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt safe.

#idk what else to tag #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #angst #fbi #fluff

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thebibliosphere · 4 months ago

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I made it 22 days without an acute migraine attack and then the humidity and temperature spiked again and wrecked my streak*.

I will say if yesterday was a migraine it was a comparatively mild one that I managed to sleep through the worst of it.

Which seems to confirm that my debilitating daily migraines are being caused by screens (other than my phone which seems perfectly fine) and some damage in my neck which the PT and fancy pillow seems to be helping.

As soon as I sit down in front of any screen other than my phone, the pain starts to build behind my eyes and the nausea starts. So not doing that for a while.

I was enjoying not praying for death every day and I intend to keep it that way until I can afford a different screen.

Which will probably be a while considering I owe $3k to the ER for this month alone, plus whatever the fuck this MRI is going to cost on Friday.

I’m ready for this year to be over 🫠

——

*I don’t include the occipital neuralgia or low level headaches in this category so I was still in what many people would consider moderate to severe pain in my skull, but it wasn’t the searing pressure I get from migraines with the awful vomiting which nothing seems to stop.

I’ve got another follow up with neurologist in two months. I’m honestly not sure I liked her. She asked if I’d ever tried a chiropractor which set alarm bells off and tells me she didn’t read my fucking file and the whole bit about my neck being irrevocably fucked by a chiro.

She was willing to let me confer with my MCAS doctor before she prescribed Topamax (which I’m not keen on trying. Very few MCAS patients handle it well.) but only because I got the vibe she didn’t want to prescribe me anything other than PT and acupuncture.

She also kept pushing Botox which is not great if you have cranial instability like I do and can actually make it a lot, lot worse. Not to mention the MCAS risk. It was just a very blegh appointment, but at least it’s got me in their system now and I can maybe hop to another doctor at some point if necessary.

#chronic health tag

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wordstome · 1 year ago

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COD Men as Dream Daddy DILFs

Call of Duty single dads x gn!single parent reader

⤐Characters: 141 + König + Horangi + Keegan

⤐Premise: You just moved into a neighborhood with a high population of retired military personnel.

*glances at my 3-4 wips* let's talk about some dilfs, shall we? ...Don't look at me. I had a vision. (No relation to the actual characters from Dream Daddy, just a similar premise) Also a disclaimer: I'm writing these dads mostly in their late 30s to 40s, but don't think about their ages and the ages of their kids too much. This is all vibes. And sorry ahead of time if I gave one of the kids the same name as you 💀 Feel free to imagine the kid has a different name because the names really don't matter

p.s. I wanted to write more characters but I had to reel myself in. I could be persuaded to write a part 2 with Vaqueros, Nikolai, Valeria, Nikto, and other Ghosts tbh

Warning: this shit is LENGTHY. Strap yourself in.

Price: A post about DILFs and you expect me not to start with Captain John Price? Price is the lynchpin of this cul de sac. He's the one inviting everyone over to the barbecue, tries to get the dads to get along, and gives everyone advice. He has the quintessential dad energy. He 100% slaps his knees and says "well!" when he gets up. Price also has major girl dad energy. He's got three adorable little ladies, aged 3 (Clara), 9 (Brianna), and 11 (Alice). Yes, he did name his daughters in ABC order, I can see him doing that. Oh, he dotes on his girls, and they love their dad endlessly. He's the model father: recitals, sports, parent teacher conferences, you name it, he's there.

That's how the two of you meet: he comes up to you at one of the aforementioned events and gives you a firm handshake and apologizes profusely for not coming around to introduce himself earlier. It's not like him not to at least swing by, and he hopes you can forgive him the discourtesy. He hands you his number and says anything you need, just give him a call, or maybe swing by for a beer sometime. He gives you a wink that makes your knees weak, a wink that says he definitely noticed you checking out his muscled arms and broad shoulders. Maybe you will swing by for that beer sometime—and maybe get a little more than just a drink.

Ghost: I could see Simon having a one night stand kid. He certainly never saw himself starting a family after he lost his last one, but he was stressed and probably piss drunk as well. Years and years later, he's back from deployment and finds a social worker with a boy on his doorstep, and the rest is history. I love the idea of Simon with a moody 16 year old, but I actually see Simon and his son having the same dynamic as Mike and Abby Schmidt from the FNAF movie. Since Simon wasn't around for Caden's early childhood, they have a relationship that's undeniably father and son, but leaning towards casual and sibling-like. Simon's figuring his shit out, dealing with his PTSD and the various lasting health issues his time in special forces has left him with, and Caden's a quiet, sensitive 10 year old boy who thinks the world of his dad.

You meet Simon at the local bar. His Ghost days are long behind him, but the balaclava's a hard habit to kick. Besides, he doesn't need people staring at his scars. He's usually there with the 141, but today he's alone, and looks like he could use some company. You sit up at the bar close to him and order a drink, but you don't disturb him, and he visibly relaxes when he realizes you're not going to try to make small talk. It becomes a routine, the two of you: always sharing a quiet drink together at the bar, and then both of you wordlessly go home to your kids. You have a sort of silent conversation every time: Good to see you again. Yeah, you too. Neither of you actually speak a word to the other until Price introduces you to him at a gathering, and you finally hear his voice. "We've met before," he says, with a glint in his eye that suggests perhaps he'd like to be more than just a silent drinking buddy. That's fine with you: you're dying to see what's under the mask and dark hoodie.

Soap: JOCK ALERT. Johnny's basically Craig from Dream Daddy: total dreamboat who goes on runs around the neighborhood and gets all the appreciative looks from the local moms. He thrives on the attention in a way that definitely makes the 141 roll their eyes. He's got an older little girl named Elodie, and a lil baby boy Thomas that he takes everywhere with him. Obviously he's just being a responsible parent taking care of an infant, but secretly, Thomas is a great conversation starter with aforementioned local moms.

Conversely however, it's Johnny who makes the move on you first. Maybe in the grocery store, maybe at one of Price's get-togethers. Sidles up to you and introduces himself with a look in his eye that means trouble. Only the good kind of trouble, of course. If you reciprocate and he finds out you're single, you're not getting rid of him. But why would you want to, anyway? He's endlessly charming, attentive, and good with his hands. When he's fixing a leaky tap for you, of course—what did you think I meant?

Gaz: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a fucking heartthrob. I'm saying it right here, right now. He's a walks in with flowers, makes you dinner kind of partner. Also househusband vibes, because, surprise: Kyle is still married. This isn't a Joseph (Dream Daddy) situation, though: he and his wife, Emily, have known each other for a long time, a very high school sweethearts situation. Over the years, though, they drifted apart with Kyle in the military, and Emily eventually realized she's not actually into men. They're still married for coparenting purposes: they've got an older teenage girl named Violet, and a younger boy named Elliott. (Yes, I'm naming him after Elliot Knight, sue me.)

Honestly, I think it would be HILARIOUS if you met Kyle on a dating app and realized he's your next-door neighbor. But however you guys meet, Kyle is an old-school courter kind of guy. He is taking you on dinner dates, listening to you rant about your day, and is on your doorstep in a heartbeat when you call him in a panic because your kid's running a 105 fever (41 in Celsius) and you need a ride to the emergency room. (Not that the other dads wouldn't do the same, but I'm trying to convey "most reliable man in the world" vibes here.)

König: Y'all...you don't know how much fucken time I've spent thinking about this man as a dad. He's in the same boat as Ghost where he never saw himself living long enough to start a family, but here he is with the most precious little girl you've ever laid eyes on. Ava's got her father's curly hair and big green eyes, and she has her dad wrapped around her pinky finger. For König, Ava is living proof that he's capable of being more than just a tool for violence.

You meet König through Ava, of course. Your kids are the closest of friends, and the two of them are constantly going over to each other's houses. You're obviously delighted that your kid is making new friends and fitting in so well, but you'd be lying if your heart didn't skip a beat whenever you open your door to see Ava's six foot ten dad standing there with soft eyes and a sheepish smile. I have to stop here, because I've already written an extra paragraph for this man that I've cut out and pasted for safekeeping in my notes app, and if encouraged I will write more. (Please encourage me.)

Horangi: I know we already had a sort of Robert (Dream Daddy) figure with Ghost, but I think Horangi is a dad whose kid is an adult, much like Robert and Val. I also think that out of all the dads, Horangi is likely the one who's still doing some level of military work. Either that, or he has a very demanding job that takes up a lot of his time. He's ashamed of the way he let his gambling affect his family in the past, and is making up for it by being responsible and keeping his finances in order.

You don't meet him until you've lived in the neighborhood for quite a while, but he pops up at a gathering, talking quietly with König in a corner. You'd thought you had met every neighbor in the cul de sac, so you're intrigued by the newcomer. Someone, probably Price, tells you what Hong-jin's deal is, and ever since that you just can't keep your eyes off of him. You can't quite work up the nerve to talk to him, so you occupy yourself talking with the other parents. Some time later, you're at the food table grazing on the snacks when you look up and make eye contact with him. There's something intense in his gaze that makes you freeze, like a deer in headlights. He's definitely checking you out, you think. Your chest erupts into nervous butterflies when he starts walking towards you.

Keegan: Keegan is an adoptive father! I love his dynamic with the Walker boys, so I can see him being the kind of guy who adopts an older teenager so they have a home and a family instead of aging out of the system. Jason and Cecelia are high school age siblings who would have been separated otherwise, and consider Keegan their dad in every way that's important.

I think you and Keegan are definitely rivals in some way. Maybe it's a PTO thing, maybe he gets a little too boisterous at your kids' sports game. Whatever it is, you can't stand the man, but your annoyance whenever he's around only seems to amuse him. You have no problem saying to his face exactly what you think about him, but unfortunately, Keegan can see right through you. And hey, Cecelia could use some experience as a babysitter, so you won't have to worry about spending the night over at his place, will you?

As always, I wanna hear peoples' thoughts and feedback! If you want to hear more about these dads, drop me an ask <3

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dreaming-medium · 1 year ago

Text

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 10

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Praise Kink - Hyunjin

Word Count: 11.7K

Summary: As a lead detective in the police department, you've been assigned to solve a serial killer case, but you've hit a point where you can no longer work on the case by yourself. Hwang Hyunjin, the golden child of the police department and your sworn rival, is assigned as your partner.

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You have officially run out of red string.

The cork board in the conference room doesn’t have any more open spaces for new leads or clues. You can’t even see the brown of the board anymore.

Instead of whittling information down, you’ve only come up with more suspects for the case.

It’s better than the case going cold, sure, but it feels like you’re getting further and further from actually solving the damn thing.

It also doesn’t help that you not only have Chief Bang breathing down your neck, but the entire city as well. You understand, really, everyone wants a killer to be caught.

But these sort of things take time.

And they usually don’t have a million and thirty leads. Typically, you were lucky to have one.

Everyone in the city has a tip. And you have to check each and every single one.

Three sharp knocks draw your exhausted attention away from the board.

“Come in!” You call out.

The door clicks open and dress shoes click on the floor.

“I think you’re going to need another cork board soon, Detective.”

Your mood curdles like milk.

“What do you want, Hwang?”

Hwang Hyunjin, the department’s top detective and your least favorite person in the world.

Every case he touches is solved. Every last one of them. But maybe— just maybe— it’s because he gets to pick and choose which ones he’s assigned to.

The golden child of the police department. The biggest, cockiest pain in the ass you’ve ever met.

He clicks his tongue and walks up to the conference table you’re leaning against.

“I have a whole new stack of tips for you.”

The sound of a thick stack of papers hits the table, you cringe.

You haven’t even finished going through the last stack.

“And I am once again humbly offering my assistance on this case.”

You look over at him for the first time tonight. His long black hair is pulled back with a few strands dangling in front of his face.

He wears a pressed dress shirt, black tie, black vest, and slacks.

Truly, it looks like he popped off a magazine cover and you hate it.

“And I am humbly declining. I can handle this on my own, thank you.”

Your own heels click along the floor as you come around the conference table to sit down in front of the first stack of papers.

Hyunjin shoves his hands in his pockets and meanders closer to the cork board.

He looks up and down all the different leads, the ever expanding list of suspects, murder weapons, locations. He’s silent for a long moment.

The only sound in the room is the clock ticking on the wall.

What time is it anyway? You’ve been here since 4 AM when a call came in about another victim. The bags under your eyes surely look like bruises at this point.

Since you started on this case two months ago there hasn’t been a single night where you’ve gotten more than five hours of sleep.

Words are blending together on the paper. Is the sun up?

Warily, you turn and eye Hyunjin, who’s still staring at the cork board. His head cocks to the side as he studies all the different clues littering the surface.

He takes a deep breath and turns to look at you. You point an accusatory finger at him.

“No! No, no. You’re not coming in here and solving my case that I’ve been working on for months!”

His mouth shuts, a smirk appears.

Oh, you want to smack it off his face.

“I was only going to say—“

“No! Nothing! I do not need your help! Get out of here!” You shoo him away.

“L/N—“ he tries again.

“Shut it!”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes and sucks his teeth while making his way to the door.

You glare daggers into the back of his head, praying that a ceiling tile will miraculously fall and crush him.

He grabs the door handle and walks into the hallway. Right before the door closes, he peeks his head in through the crack.

“The killer is ambidextrous,” he says in a sing-songy voice.

A frustrated, muted scream tears from your throat and you hurl the nearest object— which happens to be a metal cup full of pens and pencils— at the door.

It shuts before the cup makes contact.

Hyunjin’s laugh comes through the closed door and it only makes your blood boil more.

You slam your head down onto the wood desk.

“Of course he’s ambidextrous.”

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“Detective L/N,” Chief Bang’s head pokes into the conference room. “Can I see you in my office please?”

You haven’t gone home yet. You’re in the same clothes as yesterday except now they’re more wrinkled.

Nodding, you put down your pen and tell your chief you’ll be there in a minute.

He hums and leaves the room.

You rub the heels of your palms into your eyes to try and get the exhaustion out of them.

About 100 ounces of coffee is flowing through your body but it’s doing nothing to wake you up, all it’s doing is increasing your heart rate.

To anyone else who wanders through your police department, they might think you’ve escaped the morgue.

The walk to Chief Bang’s office was short.

As soon as you step inside, your heart sinks.

The chief sits behind his desk, but that’s not why your stomach turns.

Hyunjin takes up one of the chairs, another freshly pressed suit on his body.

The man is flawless and it makes you want to become a suspect for one of your cases.

“Take a seat, detective.” Chief Bang motions to the other empty chair.

Hyunjin looks up at you, arms crossed over his chest. A smug smirk pulls on his lips as he takes in your disheveled appearance.

You tongue your cheek for a moment and flip your hair over your shoulder before sitting down. Your fingers iron out deep wrinkles in your pencil skirt.

You try to maintain some level of pride. It’s comical, really.

“Now, I’ll cut right to the chase here, Y/N, it’s not that I don’t trust your abilities as a detective, I do.”

You deflate.

“But this case is becoming too much for one person.”

Your jaw clenches.

So badly you want to refute that claim, to tell Chief Bang that you have it handled, it’s no big deal. But that’s a lie and you both know it.

And the smug asshole next to you definitely knows it.

“Detective Hwang has kindly offered his assistance on the case, so I’m assigning him as your partner on this.”

You think for a moment. “Can I get a different partner? I think Detective Kim just closed his last case, meaning he’s available to help.”

“Detective Kim started a new case this morning.”

“Detective Lee?”

“Busy.”

“Officer Yang?”

“He’s not even a detective.”

“What about Detective Seo?”

Chief Bang stays silent, deadpan eyes watch you. He cocks his head to the side.

You sink back in the chair.

“I specialize in homicide cases, L/N.” Hyunjin pipes up from next to you. “I’m the best one for the case and you know it.”

“Zip it, Hwang.”

Hyunjin scoffs.

Chief Bang rolls his eyes, his patience obviously wearing thin. “Y/N, I’m going to need you to swallow your pride for the sake of the city. There’s a murderer on the loose, remember? You’re my top detectives, it would be stupid not to partner you together.”

You can’t meet his eyes, you look off to the side, crossing your arms over your chest. Anxiously, your leg begins to bounce.

“Put your personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

Silence falls over the room. Both of the men wait for you.

It really doesn’t feel like you have a choice, here. Obviously, you don’t.

“Fine.”

“Great!” Hyunjin taps his hands on the arms of the chair and then pops up. “I’m going to need access to all the files you’ve been looking at these past two months as well as the extra key to the conference room.”

He grabs his trench coat off the back of the chair.

“I’ll also need you to catch me up to speed on the latest tips from civilians; you did have time to read those last night, right? Additionally, I think we should rearrange our hours so that we’re on duty together until this is solved.”

He makes his way towards the door.

“Come on, L/N! We’ll discuss over coffee.”

You stare at Chief Bang. He offers you a slightly amused, slightly sympathetic smile.

“Best of luck, detectives.”

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The hot mug rests between both of your shaky hands. Hyunjin sat across from you in a large diner booth.

Files littered the entirety of the top of the table. It’s all things you’ve seen before and practically have memorized by now.

You explained everything you knew to him from the beginning, sparing no detail.

College girls were all found murdered in their dorms. No security footage of anyone going in or out of the building that doesn’t belong there.

Each victim is about two weeks apart.

A half eaten fruit cup sits next to your coffee. ‘Fruit cup’ is a loose term since more than half of it was honeydew melon.

Why can’t they just throw a few strawberries in there? Slice up a banana or toss a few blueberries in? They already have the fruit in the back for the pancakes, it would be so easy to—

“I don’t think this victim is from the same killer.”

Your head snaps up and you glare at Hyunjin. “Who?”

He slides the file across the table to you. “Andrea Bowman. She doesn’t fit the same profile as the other victims. All the others were blonde, Andrea has brown hair.”

You sip at your coffee, glazed eyes scanning the file. You’re simply too tired to keep up the anger.

“I had thought the same thing at first. But according to the coroner, her time of death would put her as the first victim of the killer, first victims of serial killers tend to not fit the profile of the rest since it’s the first taste.”

Her autopsy stares up at you.

“Plus, everything else is consistent with the rest, bruised wrists and ankles and a slit throat. They’re all college aged girls who went to the local community college.”

You slide the crime scene photos around, taking in all the details.

“Maybe she wasn’t his victim.” One of her school photos peeks out from the bottom of the stack, you pick it up and look at it solemnly. “But something tells me she was his first.”

Hyunjin watches you closely, any rebuttal he had died on the tip of his tongue.

Plates clatter in the kitchen.

Your nose scrunches and you pack away Andrea’s file.

“You said they all go to the same school?”

“Yeah, the community college.”

“Did they all study the same thing?”

You shake your head, taking another sip of coffee. “Nope, all different fields of study, all different extracurriculars. They didn’t even live in the same dorm building.”

Hyunjin leans back against the booth and picks up his iced coffee, taking a long sip while staring out the window.

Your fingers run through your hair. “I requested their transcripts and class schedules from every year but I’m waiting on all those requests to process. With how slow the registrar’s office is taking you would swear they didn’t want this case solved.”

“Red tape always gets in the way.” Hyunjin reaches down in his pocket and takes his phone out, tapping a few buttons and then holding it up to his ear.

You cock an eyebrow at him, he only holds up a finger at you. You scoff.

“Dianne? Hi, it’s Hyunjin!… I’m doing so well, and you? … That’s great to hear! … Yes, yes those homemade cookies were to die for.”

Your mouth falls open a bit. Who in the hell was he talking to? Homemade cookies?

Throwing your hands up in front of your face, you give him a flabbergasted look.

He narrows his eyes at you and gives you a look that says ‘be quiet’.

“Listen, I was actually calling to cash in a favor, I have a list of students I need transcripts and schedules of for a case. … I can email it over to you, it’s for the— … yes, yes that one.”

You slow blink at him. Does he have a contact at the registrar’s office? Of course he does, why wouldn’t he have one?

The golden child strikes again.

“You’re a darling, Dianne, thank you. I’ll send it to you asap. … of course, say hello to Rob for me. Bye!”

He hangs up and puts his phone back on the table.

Hyunjin takes one look at your face and shrugs. “What? I helped her with a personal matter when I was a P.I.”

If you roll your eyes anymore, they’ll go into the back of your head.

“So do you have a list—“

You interrupt him. “Yeah.”

“Can you—“

“Mhmm.”

You finish your coffee and reach into your purse, digging out a ten dollar bill and tossing it onto the table.

“Where are you going?” He asks you.

“Home,” you respond simply while shuffling out of the booth. “I haven’t slept since Monday.”

Hyunjin looks down at the various files on the table. “What about the list?”

You move the files around and pull out one of the papers and place it in front of him.

“It’s right here. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hwang.”

“Tomorrow? But what about—“

“If Dianne gets the list back to you, just forward it to me. I’ll look at it when I wake up.” Your voice is full of venom.

“I really think we should look at it together.” His eyes narrow. “We’re partners on this, remember?”

“As if you would even need my help,” you spit out. “By the time I come in tomorrow, you’ll probably have the entire case solved, the perp arrested, and all the paperwork done before I even pour my coffee.”

The more you talk, the more your anger levels rise. You lean over him in the booth, one of your hands on the back of the seat to keep you balanced.

Hyunjin’s eyes widen and he leans back as you go forward.

“The golden boy will strike again, solving a case that I’ve been working on for months and getting all the credit. Because that’s just how good you are. Mr. Perfect. Everything about you is just amazing.”

He gulps and shifts around. A red tint creeps up on his face.

And for the first time since you met him, Hwang Hyunjin is speechless. His mouth opens to say something several times but no sound comes out.

“Now. If you’ll excuse me.” You stand back up and turn on a heel, leaving the diner and a very flustered detective behind.

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Knock after knock after knock after knock bangs on your apartment door.

You’re not sure of how long whoever’s been knocking has been at it, but it takes you a solid thirty seconds to wake up fully. You had peacefully drifted into a very deep sleep the moment your head hit the pillow.

The entire bedroom is pitch black, the sun no longer in the sky. The clock on your nightstand displays that it’s around 1 AM.

“What the fuck?” You slur out. It’s so hard to open your eyes right now.

The knocking persists.

With all the grace of a drunken newborn deer, you slither out of bed and make your way to your front door.

You flip on a light on your way there.

Staring through the peephole, a frown pulls at your face as soon as you see who’s banging on your door at this ungodly hour.

You rip the door open, startling Hyunjin. His hand still hangs in the air when you open it.

“Finally!” He shoves past you and into your apartment.

“No, please, come on in.” You growl and shut the door, securing all the locks in place again.

Behind you, you hear him slam a stack of papers onto your kitchen island.

“I forwarded you the transcripts hours ago but you didn’t answer.”

“I told you I would look at them when I woke up.”

He takes in your disheveled appearance with judging eyes. Your hair was all frizzy and out of place, a loose t-shirt hung off one shoulder and was so big you couldn’t see the shorts underneath.

His Adam’s Apple bobs with a swallow.

It was obvious he wasn’t used to seeing you in such a relaxed state. He was still wearing his dress pants from earlier, but he only had a dress shirt on with his trench coat over the top.

“You’re awake now, aren’t you?” He looks back down at the stack of files and opens them up, spreading papers everywhere.

You come up to the table and look down at everything.

Semesters of different class schedules stare back at you. Some have highlighted portions, others are still blank. He seems to have given up in the middle of doing it himself, opting to bring it here.

You tongue your cheek, looking over what you can see so far.

It’s going to be a long night.

“I’ll make coffee.”

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Hours have passed, the sleepiness and weariness of being woken up has been replaced by the delightful thrum of caffeine in your veins.

After about a half an hour of going through the transcripts, you quietly asked Hyunjin if he was alright with you playing music softly.

He stared at you with wide eyes, “Ah, yeah, of course, that’s fine.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m just… not used to you asking for permission before doing something.”

Grumbling, you rolled your eyes and picked your phone up to scroll through playlists. You settled on a calmer one full of music from artists like Lord Huron and Tom Rosenthal.

Since then the two of you have been silently going through each schedule.

Biting the end of the highlighter absentmindedly, you study the class schedule.

“I’m only seeing one similarity.” You say out loud. Hyunjin looks up. “This one class, it’s a gen ed Physics class. But each of these girls took it, all at different times though.”

“Which class?”

“PHYS 100. Same Professor– Dr. Furon.”

“Do you think we should bring the professor in for questioning?” he asks.

“Couldn’t hurt. Right now he’s the only common denominator. Is it anywhere on your transcript?”

Hyunjin flips through the pages. “Yep, right here, her freshman spring semester back in 2020.”

You pull out a sticky note and write down that info.

“Can you go through each one and tell me when they took the course?”

Hyunjin gathers all the stapled packets of papers up. “Yeah.”

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You and Hyunjin stood shoulder to shoulder looking through the one way glass.

A near ninety year old man sat on the other side.

“So,” Hyunjin says to break the silence.

“So.”

“It can’t be him.”

“Obviously.”

Another long moment of silence.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to question him or should I?”

You sigh, watching as the professor fidgets with a loose string on his sweater sleeve. The officers had completely forgone the handcuffs, allowing him to sit at the table freely.

They also rolled in a comfier chair and gave him a cup of coffee.

“My case. I’ll do it.”

“ Our case.”

“Shut it, Hwang.”

You make your way into the interrogation room with a notepad tucked under your arm.

The professor looks up as soon as you open the door. He shakily stands up from his seat with proper manners.

You smile gently. “Dr. Furon, thank you so much for taking the time to come down.”

Both of you shake hands before sitting down. His grip is not firm whatsoever.

Arthritis.

“Oh, it’s no matter. Happy to be of help.”

You place the notepad down and scoot your chair in. “I’ll get right to it since I can see you’ll be our best help here. When analyzing the list of victims, we saw that each of them had taken your class before. It’s a small lead, I know, but it’s too much to sweep under the rug.”

He nods, listening carefully. He blanches and leans back. “I didn’t realize I had each of them. There are so many students in each section, there’s not enough time to learn names.”

He shakes his head.

“I had recognized a few in the paper, but I try not to do too much digging, it hurts too much to look into. I don’t know how you detectives do it.”

You reach across the table and grab his hands warmly. “I feel the same way about physics, I don’t know how you do it. All those equations.”

Dr. Furon cracks a smile. “Someone has to. But I do have help with all my courses. Each student has a specific discussion section once a week with a smaller class size, but they’re all taught by graduate students.”

You jot that down on your notebook and lean your chair back. You knock once on the window.

“On it.” Hyunjin’s muffled voice comes through the glass.

“Just one more question, Dr. Furon, I won’t take up any more of your time, this has been very valuable. Are there any students or people that you come in contact with that maybe trigger some alarm bells or a gut instinct?”

He shifts around, he really thinks about it.

“I really can’t think of anything, detective, I’m sorry. The girls’ names that I recognize were normal students too, granted they weren’t the best, but I do know they were doing their very best. Breaks my heart.”

You scribble that down and stand up.

“Thank you very much for your time, Dr. Furon. We greatly appreciate your help.”

He nods and stands up as well. “Of course, if I can do anything else, please give me a call.”

“If you think of anything else, here’s my card.” You reach across the table and hand him a small business card.

You showed the professor out of the room, asking if he needed anything. He patted your arm sweetly before leaving.

When you turn around, Hyunjin is standing there, waving a file around.

You roll your eyes. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

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Your apartment has become the unofficial meeting place for both you and Hyunjin once your shifts are over. The department wasn’t great for concentration.

They say not to take work home with you, but your home is so much cozier.

It’s only about 8 PM. Takeout containers take up a small portion of the kitchen island.

Another pot of coffee is brewing.

“So, between the victims, there are five different graduate students that taught their discussion sections. And one of them graduated last year.” Hyunjin flips through his notes.

You run your hands through your hair.

“So, four graduate students.”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’.

“Do we have any information on the four students?”

“No, but we have enough cause to bring them down to the station for questioning.”

You sigh and pick up your phone. “Let’s do that, then.”

A message is sent off to Chief Bang, he replies immediately saying he’ll contact them immediately and have them brought in and that he’ll call you when you can come in.

“I just don’t think it was any of the graduate students.” Hyunjin adds, sliding papers around to grab a victim’s file.

“I agree.”

He doesn’t seem to hear you. “Two of the graduate students are women— women don’t commit murders like this, the other two are masters in their field with promising careers.”

“I know, I agree with you, Hwang.”

“And I just don’t think that— wait, you agree?”

You stare at him with a blank expression. “Yes, I agree with you.”

He shifts around on the seat. His mouth opens and closes a few times before actually speaking. “You agree?”

Rolling your eyes, you place the papers down on the table. “Hwang, you know I would rather die than agree with you, but in this case, yes, I agree, I think you’re right.”

“Oh.”

Looking back down at the papers, you absentmindedly read a sentence in one of the witness statements. “I know you get the job done, I’m not going to put personal feelings before a case.”

Hyunjin fidgets more. “So, you think I’m a good detective?”

Is he serious?

You roll your eyes, still not looking up. “Yes, Hwang. Chief Bang has proclaimed you as one of the greatest detectives— everyone at the station knows that.”

“I just didn’t think you thought that way.”

“I’m not here to stroke your ego, Hwang.”

He clears his throat and shifts forward on his chair. “But do you , Y/L L/N, think I’m a good detective?”

Putting the paper down on the counter, you look up at him with a cocked eyebrow and a frown. “Really? Do your work.”

“Not until you say it.” He smirks and crosses his arms over his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you look down once more. What was on this page again?

“Choke.”

Hyunjin takes a breath to say something, but your phone lights up with a call at the same time. Expecting it to be Chief Bang, you answer quickly.

“Detective L/N.”

“Detective!” An old voice comes from the other line. You pull your phone back to look at the unknown number and then bring it back to your ear.

Hyunjin’s attention peaks at your confusion.

“It’s Dr. Furon, I apologize for calling so suddenly.”

“Oh, hi Doctor, it’s no trouble at all.” You look around for your notepad.

“Put it on speaker,” Hyunjin hisses while leaning forward. You shoo him off. He reaches forward to grab the phone from you, you smack his hand.

“I remembered something I didn’t get a chance to say earlier, I’m so sorry I didn’t think of it,” Dr. Furon continues.

“That’s quite alright, it’s the reason I gave you my number. Now, what is it?” You grab a pen and a random piece of paper.

Hyunjin reaches again, you smack his hand once more. “Speaker!” He grumbles again.

Dr. Furon talks, unaware of the petty brawl happening on the other line. “All of the students that are struggling in my class, I point them to the tutoring center in the library. As far as I remember, the names that were in the paper, the ones I recognize at least, they were going to the tutoring center.”

Your eyes widen and you write it down quickly.

Hyunjin’s patience wears out, he stands up from the counter and comes around to your side, his face dipping down to press his ear to the other side of the phone.

“Is there only one tutor available for your class?” you ask, jotting down notes.

“I’m not sure, I’m sorry. You know, now that I think of it, on their final exams, I give extra credit if they write down that they went to tutoring and name their tutor.”

“Do you have those exams?” Hyunjin asks into the phone. You reach over and flick his forehead. He swats your hand away.

“Oh, Detective Hwang, how are you?” Dr. Furon says politely.

“I’m doing very well, thank you.”

You go to smack him again, he once more swats your hand away.

The professor comes back to the conversation. “I have them but they’re in my office. Would you two mind coming to campus to get them tomorrow?”

“Of course,” both you and Hyunjin say at the same time.

You sneer and push his face away.

“Great!” Dr. Furon gives you all the details for tomorrow and the two of you hang up.

Placing your phone on the counter, you stand up to get away from Hyunjin.

“You could've put it on speaker.”

“You could’ve been patient!” Grabbing the nearest object— a tissue box— you hurl it at him.

Hyunjin only laughs and catches it.

“Putting more coffee on?”

“Obviously.”

---------------------------------------

“It’s the same one,” you say incredulously, flipping through the exams that Dr. Furon had given the two of you.

While you got the papers from the professor’s office, Hyunjin had gone to the tutoring center for a list of tutors. Apparently he had a connection there as well.

The two of you now sat in the conference room with your original cork board to the side. New leads and pictures right smack in the middle.

You had spent the day questioning the graduate students, but as you suspected, it was a dead end. No one knew anything.

The exams spread over the table were the best lead.

“It is,” he mutters in agreement and disbelief.

“Eric Rowan.”

“Do you think…?” Hyunjin trails off.

“I do,” you state clearly. “I really do.”

Shaking your head, you flip through the exams over and over to make sure you’re right, to make sure you’re not looking past something.

You’re not jumping to conclusions, are you?

Hyunjin suddenly stands up from the table and makes his way to the door. “I’ll have the chief get someone to bring him down to the station.”

He didn’t even give a second thought to your decision.

The door clicks after him. The silence inside the room is deafening.

It would be perfect if you could play music like you do at home.

“Eric Rowan,” you whisper solemnly.

One tutor from the library at the university.

It would make sense.

Hyunjin had managed to get Eric’s entire tutoring log, every student he’s ever tutored had been included.

You were able to highlight each and every one of the girls’ names that were victims of these heinous crimes. There were about two weeks of time between their last tutoring session and when they were found dead.

One name stuck out, one name brought you an endless sigh of relief: Andrea Bowman.

It made your skin crawl, but you instantly noticed she was the first female he tutored during his time.

Slowly, the pieces started clicking. Your throat got a bit tight, it was difficult to swallow the emotions.

You look around and grab her file underneath a huge stack. Her school picture is the top photo paper clipped on the inside.

Andrea’s smiling face will haunt you for a long time.

Hyunjin came back into the room, you didn’t look up.

“Chief just sent someone out to get him, we’re getting interrogation room two ready for him, I think that— L/N?”

Your head snaps up and you sniffle.

“Sorry,” your voice is hoarse.

He shifts his weight in the doorway. “Everything finally hitting?”

You bite your lip and look back at Andrea’s picture. “Yeah.”

Standing up from the table, you close the file and tuck it underneath a few more.

“The guy hasn’t even confessed yet, I’m getting ahead of myself here. It just makes too much sense. These girls stopped going to see him two weeks before he killed— supposedly killed them.

“It just reads so clearly. He probably made a move, they felt uncomfortable so they stopped seeing him for tutoring, he couldn’t face rejection, so he killed them. It’s fucking sick.”

You roll your shoulders and look up at the ceiling. “Am I being too hasty? It just feels right, like … like these girls are cheering for me and telling me I’m right.”

The door shuts behind Hyunjin. He weighs his words carefully and walks up to his jacket, grabbing it off the back of the chair he sat in before.

Those perfectly polished dress shoes click on the floor. It echoes off of each wall.

“There’s one thing I’ve always lacked as a detective.” He folds the trench coat over his arm and walks up to you. “It makes me so mad that I don’t have this, it would help with so many of my cases.”

You watch him warily. There’s a sad smile on his face as he takes in your frazzled mood.

You’ve never worn your heart this freely on your sleeve before.

With a sigh, he reaches up and taps on your forehead. “Women’s intuition.”

For the first time, you have no response for him.

As far as Hwang Hyunjin goes, this is the closest you’ve ever gotten to a compliment from him, or even an acknowledgment of your skill.

Your lips stay sealed.

“I’ve never not trusted your judgment. Ever. If your gut is saying this is the guy, then this is him. When have you ever been wrong?”

Your mind is reeling.

Did he just compliment you again?

Heat rises to your cheeks. Your stomach flips.

“I’ve always been so jealous of that. You just… know.” He shrugs and looks around, a small tinge of pink on his cheeks. “When the pieces finally fit into place you’re fucking brilliant at solving everything so fast. What’s that about?”

A sad laugh tumbles from his lips.

“This case would’ve taken any other team months to solve, but you and I did it in two weeks. Maybe we should work together more often, Y/N.”

There’s no way he said that.

He’s jealous of you?

And did he just call you by your first name?

He stares down at you for a couple of seconds. Maybe you were imagining it, but you could swear that his eyes flickered to your lips more than once.

“Come on then, we have an interrogation to do.”

Hyunjin turns on a heel and makes his way to the door.

“Thank you,” you call after him. Hyunjin’s hand pauses on the door handle. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t acknowledge what you did— the favor you just returned.

He doesn’t speak on the new level that your relationship just crossed nor the mutual respect that you two just shared.

Nothing.

You don’t even get to see his face when you call him by his name for the first time.

But, by the way his shoulders square and his head twitches, you know it affected him.

Wordlessly, he nods and opens the door, leaving it open for you as he walks into the hallway and towards the interrogation rooms.

Hwang Hyunjin, the golden child of the police department, considers you to be on the same level as him. Who would’ve thought?

Maybe he’s right, maybe you should work together more often.

---------------------------------------

Hours and hours and hours have gone by.

Hyunjin as well as other officers have been grilling Eric for what seems like days. But it’s only been about 18 hours.

The bags under your eyes feel like bruises.

Three empty coffee cups and one full one sit next to you as you stare through the one way glass.

Hyunjin’s pacing around the room with his hands in his pockets.

His tie is loose around his neck, the sleeves of his button up are rolled up, his hair is tied up out of his eyes.

He’s been trying to go the good cop route for the last 3 hours. Slowly, that act has been dropping; Eric is getting on his last nerve.

You both let Eric sit in the interrogation room by himself for 4 hours leading up to this to get to his head. It didn’t seem to work. You can only legally keep him here for forty-eight hours.

If anything, he’s only gotten more agitated.

Hyunjin walks up behind Eric, he reaches one arm down to the table.

“You’ve never seen any of these girls before?” Hyunjin slides a few photos towards them on the table.

“No.” Eric answers quickly. “I’ve already told you that.”

“I just think it’s interesting you’ve never seen any of them, Mr. Rowan. You tutored them. All of them.”

“Do you realize how many students I tutor on a daily basis?”

Hyunjin barks a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn't realize you were that popular.” He comes around the table and opens a file.

Hyunjin pulls out one specific page, and reads off the top. “Actually, here we go, I know exactly how many students you tutor. Let’s see here: ‘Eric Rowan works two days a week in the tutoring center, Tuesdays and Thursdays.’ Last week you tutored 3 students total, and they were all returning students— how interesting!”

He slams the paper down onto the metal table. Eric jumps.

“Only three returning faces to your tutoring session, Mr. Popular. And here’s the funniest thing; I’ve noticed that there’s no women on this list. Weird.”

Eric’s eye twitches.

Hyunjin takes a seat across the table, folding his hands on top of a notebook.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend before, Mr. Rowan?”

Eric scoffs and shifts around in his seat.

Your interest is piqued, you sit up straight in your chair and lean forward.

Why did he get so nervous all of a sudden?

Eric picks up the cup of water that he requested and takes a long sip from it. Hyunjin waits patiently.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to anything, Detective.”

Hyunjin laughs and opens the file. “See, I thought you would say that. My chief also asked the same question.”

Said Chief, who has been standing behind you for the better part of 5 hours, most certainly did not ask that. Chief Bang snorts quietly at the lie.

“But you know what, we detectives have to do our due diligence.” Hyunjin opens a file and slides a large printed photo out across the table. “Recognize her?”

So many different emotions fly across Eric’s face: anger, loss, betrayal, depression, rage, hurt. The muscles in his face dance as they try to settle on an expression.

“No,” he grits out.

An obvious lie.

“Interesting.” Hyunjin pulls out another photo and slides it across. “Because just by taking a quick look at your social media profile, I can see how this girl was your girlfriend . Look, here you are together! Leah Miller. Pretty girl.”

Eric says nothing. He can’t look away from the picture.

“Most interesting part I noticed was that you haven’t posted anything with her in about a year. What happened? Breakup? They suck, hm? Sorry, should I have said ‘ex-girlfriend’ before? My bad.”

You can’t help but smile. Hyunjin’s always been brilliant in interrogations, you can’t deny that. You’ve only ever heard rumors about how he is on the other side of the one-way mirror.

Sneaking a peek at the picture of Leah Miller, your eyes widen. She fit the profile: long, blonde hair and sweet, light eyes.

More pieces fall into place.

“It’s none of your business,” Eric grits out between clenched teeth.

Chief Bang shifts behind you and grabs the back of your chair. Obviously he senses it too, a confession, a slip up, anything. It’s showing its head.

“What? What are you saying?” Hyunjin laughs. “It’s exactly my business. That’s quite literally what my job is, you know, to know your business. It’s the same reason I know that you asked out Andrea Bowman during one of your tutoring sessions and she rejected you.”

“That’s not—“

“Oh, sorry, is that not how it happened? Did you maybe try and make a move on her and she rejected you that way? Maybe you put an arm around the back of her chair? Classic.”

“I-I didn’t—“

“Not that one? Understood.” Hyunjin nods and flips through the pictures on the table. “Oh, did you use the old ‘give me your number just in case you need more help’ trick? Used that on a girl in college, myself. Of course, it worked for me.” He winks at Eric.

Eric is fuming, his face is turning redder and redder, the vein in his forehead is popping.

“Here we go,” Chief Bang whispers under his breath.

Your mouth is agape, you’ve heard about Hyunjin in interrogation rooms before but you’ve never actually seen it.

It’s like he’s dancing with fire so beautifully. He’s twirling a flaming sword with a silver tongue.

“I think Andrea rejected you and then when she never came back for more tutoring, you lost it. You looked up her campus address in the internal systems, because guess what, you have access to that as a tutor, and you went to her dorm room, and you killed her.”

“Wh-What? You’re way off base here, Detective.” Eric stutters, his eye twitches again, his leg starts bouncing under the table.

He pulls on the cuffs keeping him to the table.

Hyunjin you’re so close, come on, come on.

“Funny!” Hyunjin exclaims and slides another piece of paper across the table. “Here’s the search history in the library computer with your login credentials!”

Eric gapes, his mouth opens and closes several times.

“You know what, maybe you didn’t go to Andrea’s dorm with the idea of killing her. Maybe it was a grand romantic gesture, yeah, that seems more like it— flowers and everything.” He slams another picture on the table.

A bouquet of flowers was found at Andrea’s crime scene.

“You presented her with the flowers. And she rejected you. Again. ” Hyunjin’s voice is getting louder and louder, crescendoing with Eric’s anger and heart rate.

Your breathing picks up. Both you and Chief Bang stop moving.

“Stop,” Eric suddenly pleads. His hands shoot up to cover his ears but they’re stopped by the cuffs.

The metal clinks and pulls, they dig into his wrists.

“She rejected you twice! To your face! But you couldn’t take that for an answer. God, why did she do that? Why did she turn you down when you were just trying to be nice? ”

Hyunjin stands up slowly from the table, towering over Eric.

“She was just like her, she was just like that bitch that broke up with you? She tore your heart out and spit on it! She was no better than Leah! So, you knocked her out and you tied her down to her own fucking bed in hopes that she would just hear you out!”

“Stop, stop!”

“Because maybe if she just listened she would understand that you’re just a genuine guy trying to be a good boyfriend to someone! You’re so nice, you’re such a good guy, no one likes good guys anymore, huh? And, of course Leah didn’t see that either!”

“ Stop! ”

“She tried to scream for help, so you killed her. You slit her throat without a second fucking thought for anything! And it felt so fucking good, didnt it? It felt so good to finally take power back from her? So, you didn’t stop.”

Tears spring from Eric’s eyes as he squints them shut, his body physically curling in on itself. He writhes around, unable to get far because of the handcuffs.

“So you kept going, and you went after women who looked just like Leah. And it felt amazing because every single time you could picture her face as you slit their throats. Each and every one of them babbling for mercy, crying out for their mothers, to only choke on their own blood—“

“ FINE! ” Eric screams, slamming his fists on the table. “I killed them. I killed each and every one of the fucking bitches. And I fucking wish I could have killed her too!”

The sudden seemingly endless torrent of sentences comes to a screaming halt.

Hyunjin sits down on his chair once more with a huff.

And just like you did yesterday, he leans back on his chair and knocks once on the window.

It takes you a second to find your voice after witnessing the most amazing, jaw dropping interrogation you’ve ever seen.

“G-Got it!” You say loudly through the glass. “We got it. Oh my god!” You stand up quickly from the chair and turn around to Chief Bang, who has an equally surprised expression. “We got it! ”

He stutters for a moment and shakes his head to clear his mind before speed walking out of the side room to get officers to arrest Eric.

Eric Rowan, who is now pathetically sobbing in his chair.

Eric Rowan who signed his confession with the opposite hand that he’d been using to drink his water.

Eric Rowan who is ambidextrous.

---------------------------------------

It’s so weird to see your kitchen island devoid of files and endless stacks of papers after the last few weeks.

Eric was taken in for booking. Your job was over.

Well, it was over for now. Chief Bang gave you and Hyunjin a week off and then you’re due back in the office for the next case.

Plus, you’ll have to be at Eric Rowan’s trial since you were the lead detective on the case.

So maybe ‘over’ isn’t the best way to describe it.

More soft music plays from your speaker as you clean up the rest of the files. A large t-shirt draped over your body, it practically covers the shorts you have underneath.

There’s a couple knocks on your door. His knocks are so distinct. You’ve gotten so used to them over the past two weeks.

“Come in, Hwang!” you call out.

The door opens and shuts.

“I think I left a few things here,” he says kicking his shoes off in your entryway.

You hum in response, gathering up files to stack them neatly.

His soft footsteps pad up behind you.

“I don’t think I ever saw your countertop, is this granite?” he teases over your shoulder.

You snort a laugh. “Yeah, it is. Came with the place, so don’t ask any more questions.”

Putting the stack down, you turn around and come nose to nose with Hyunjin. He is so much closer than you thought he was.

You jump slightly and back up a bit, your hips hitting the countertop.

Hyunjin doesn’t move.

“I didn’t get to see you after the interrogation,” he says with a quieter voice.

Not able to hold his searing gaze, you look off to the side and cross your arms over your chest.

“Yeah, well, you know how the hustle and bustle can wrap someone up after a case closes. Next thing I knew, Bang was sending me home.”

Hyunjin takes a half step closer to you. “What did you think?”

“Hm?”

“What did you think of the interrogation?”

So many sarcastic, sharp retorts die on your tongue when you remember the conversation that the two of you had earlier.

But still, complimenting him was about as easy as petting a cactus.

“I told you I’m not going to stroke your ego, Hwang.”

He takes another step towards you, both of his arms come up to cage you to the counter.

Heat rises on your cheeks more and more with each passing second. You refuse to meet his eyeline.

“Humor me, L/N. How was my performance today?”

Tonguing your cheek, you roll your eyes. Your heart rate picks up at his proximity. Why does he smell so good?

The last time the both of you had an opportunity to shower was two days ago.

He still smells like aftershave and expensive cologne.

“It was good, okay? You got the guy.”

“ We got the guy, L/N.”

“Yeah, yeah, golden boy, we got him.”

He knows your sarcasm is empty. Just by looking at your flushed face he can tell you don’t mean it.

“Come on now, L/N.” Long, lithe fingers grip your chin and turn your head towards him. “You can do better than that.”

Your jaw clenches. Arousal shoots down your spine like an electric shock.

Fuck.

Closer and closer his alarmingly handsome face inches closer to yours. The beauty mark under his eye seems more prominent than ever.

His mind is one of a brilliant detective, but god, that face. He should’ve been a model.

You bite the inside of your cheek and when you try to look away from his deep eyes, the grin on your jaw tightens.

“Come on, L/N.” He smirks. “Tell me how good I did today. Say it.”

The brat inside you decides to surface. So, he wants to go this route, hm? “Why do you need me to say it so badly, Hwang? Everyone else in the department is so far up your ass, they can wear you like a hat.”

He rolls his eyes, his body pressing against you entirely. Your arms uncross and you reach back to grip the countertop next to his hands.

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does. You should be shoving him away, slapping him across the face, spitting on his shoes. But instead you relish in the feeling.

“Yes. But they’re not you. ”

Your eyes widen and the corner of his mouth twitches. He knows he has you in the palm of his hand. He just needs to break you more.

But does he really?

Finally, he brings his lips closer and closer to yours. He pauses right before he makes contact, giving you a chance to say no.

Nothing of the sort tumbles out.

The first kiss he presses to your lips is nothing short of devouring.

His soft, plush lips consume yours like he’s a starving man at a feast. You meet his enthusiasm with fervor.

Hyunjin’s head tilts to get better access to your mouth. His eyebrows pull together in concentration, he almost looks like he’s in pain.

The fingers on your chin move down to your neck, he wraps his hand around it, thumbs on top of your pulse point, but he doesn’t squeeze.

Your hands tentatively reach for him, grabbing at his dress shirt and tie, pulling him even closer to you.

A small moan comes from the base of his throat and through his nose. Hyunjin’s other hand grabs your hip possessively.

“Say it, L/N,” he hushes between kisses, completely out of breath. “Tell me how good I am.”

How is it that he has this sort of possessive grip on you and yet he’s putting the ball in your court?

A small boost of confidence courses through your veins.

“Can’t you just admit it already?” he adds.

Smirking, you say nothing. One of your hands threads into his long hair and yanks his face back to yours for another bruising kiss.

He huffs through his nose once more, but kisses you nonetheless.

Twirl after twirl of his tie around your hand tightens your grip. With the last tug, Hyunjin moans once more into your mouth. The hand on your throat squeezes a bit.

“L/N,” he pleads again against your lips.

You tug hard on his tie. Hyunjin loses his balance slightly, his knuckles turning white from grabbing your countertop so tight.

Bringing your lips to his ear, you blow hot air on the sensitive skin first. He shivers against your hot body.

At the same time, your bare foot travels up the back of his clothed calf, your thigh brushing against his hip.

“If you want my approval that badly, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Hyunjin makes a choked moan, “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. The hand on your hip tightens. The fingers wrapped around your throat twitch.

“How does that sound, Hwang? You be good to me and I’ll let you know how well you’re doing.” You roll your hips against his.

Your words have an obvious effect on him, the hardness that presses to your leg says it all.

Hyunjins lips drop down to your neck, he bites the soft skin where it meets your shoulder. “Fucking hell, L/N, don’t play hard to get.”

Humming, you roll your head back, enjoying the sensation of his mouth on your skin. “I’m not playing anything, I already told you how to get what you want.”

Licking and sucking his way down your neck, his teeth nip at your exposed collarbone. The hand on your throat slides backwards and into the hair on the back of your head.

Your bottom lip pulls between your teeth to stop a moan from leaking out. You pull Hyunjin’s tie to keep his face there.

“Just like that, golden boy, your mouth feels so good.”

His hips involuntarily buck into yours at the praise, he whimpers against your skin. “ Shit, ” he curses into your neck with a hot exhale.

You wrap your entire leg around his waist and roll against him more. His mouth stutters, but afterwards he sucks hard . A bright purple hickey already surfaces when he detaches.

“L/N,” he murmurs into your neck. You hum in response. “Can I take this off?” He tugs at your shirt.

You smirk. “You can.”

When your hand unwinds from his tie, Hyunjin backs off of you. His face is already so fucked out; eyes are half-lidded and hazy, his lips are so puffy and swollen, spit glistening off them in the soft kitchen light.

From all your pulling, Hyunjin’s hair is all askew and coming out of its usual ponytail.

He wastes no time, grabbing the hem of your t-shirt and yanking it over your head, he throws it behind him carelessly. His eyes light up at the sight of your bare chest, tongue poking out to lick his already slick lips.

You chuckle.

“You gunna touch me or what?” you tease. “Or maybe you don’t want it that badly.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenches and he meets your eyes. The look he’s giving you is dangerous.

He huffs once and grabs your waist tightly, lifting you up off the ground and sitting you on the cold granite. The sharp temperature change against your flushed skin makes you shiver.

Hyunjin parts your legs and stands between your thighs, his head dips down and envelopes one nipple in his mouth.

“Fuck!” you cry out, grabbing a fist full of his hair.

One of Hyunjin’s hands trails up your leg to grab at your exposed thigh while the other comes up to play with your other perky bud.

His eyes shut in his own pleasure. That tongue is absolutely relentless, licking circles around your nipple to flick over it a few times and then sucking.

Your toes are already curling, legs wrapping around his waist to get him closer to you.

“How about now, L/N?” his hoarse voice whines against your spit covered chest. “Is this good for you? Does it feel good?”

The more he talks, the more you can’t tell if he’s teasing you or genuinely asking for his own sanity.

“It feels fucking amazing, Hwang, keep– shit – keep going.”

Hyunjin takes in a shaky breath and switches sides, your fingers yank on his hair and he whines again around your nipple.

You let him continue for a while, relishing in the feeling of his spit dripping down your chest and onto your navel. The wet licks and sucks bouncing off the walls combined with his own small whines and your loud moans.

Roll after roll of your hips grinds against his hard tent in his dress pants. After a few minutes, your hips seem to have a mind of their own, your soaking wet cunt seeking friction against anything to satiate the need for contact.

The more he licks at your chest, the more Hwang Hyunjin continues to drive you insane.

“H-Hwang,” you pull his attention. His eyebrows furrow as you yank him away from your purple marked chest.

When he finally detaches, he looks up at you, panting.

“Touch me, touch me, please . I can’t fucking take it.”

His shoulders curl forward like you knocked the air out of him.

With more strength than you thought he had, he scoops you up and wraps your legs around his waist while smashing your lips together again.

You cling onto him for dear life while letting your tongues slide over one another.

“Hah,” you pant out in between kisses. “You’re doing so fucking well.”

He whines.

“Could’ve made me cum with just that tongue on my tits. Such a shame.”

Hyunjin drops your body onto the couch without a warning. You squeal and bounce on the soft cushions.

“Hwang–” your voice dies in your throat when you catch the sight of him standing on the other side of the sofa arm.

The change in his demeanor gives you whiplash.

His eyes are dark, almost black. His chest is heaving with heavy pants. Those long fingers are tugging at his tie, until it's loose enough for him to rip off his neck.

Your knees tuck up a bit towards your chest as you watch him with wide eyes like prey.

Hyunjin reaches down and snatches your ankle, he tugs on it harshly. You yelp as you’re dragged forward into a lying position.

Coming around the sofa, he swings one knee over you to straddle your hips. One by one he begins to unbutton his dress shirt, never once breaking eye contact.

Each sliver of skin that is revealed is devoured by your eyes greedily. Never once has he so much as undone the top button on his collar at work.

Shamelessly, you rake in his athletic build.

“You want to cum with just my tongue? Okay, L/N, I can do that.”

Your heart thuds in your chest.

He shrugs his shirt off and drops it to the floor. Hands grab at the waistband of your shorts and yank them off with your panties in one swoop. Another article of clothing to hit the floor.

The cold air against your soaking wet folds makes you hiss slightly.

Hyunjin stares down at your arousal, biting his bottom lip. Lower and lower he descends until you can feel his heavy exhales against your cunt.

He pushes your thighs apart, putting one over his shoulder, your heel settles into the dip of his spine. He’s smirking the entire time.

Finally, he tears his eyes away from your folds to look you right in the eye.

Your jaw clenches and you watch as he licks all the way from your entrance, up to your clit, circles around it to go back down to your entrance again.

An immediate shockwave of pleasure shoots through your body down to your toes. You toss your head back with your mouth agape, a silent scream stretching your lips.

Hyunjin keens at your reaction, doing the same maneuver again before focusing his attention on creating the most sinful figure eights with his tongue.

Your hand flies down to grab at his hair, shoulders arching off the couch. “Shit, shit, H-Hwang, feels so– hah – s-so good.”

He moans into you, the vibrations go right through you.

With your heel on his back, you can feel how his back curves as his hips rut into the couch underneath him to relieve some pressure off his aching cock.

Praises fall from your lips like water falling over rock. Each one makes Hyunjin whine and kick it up a notch.

“That fu- uh -cking silver tongue, holy shit .”

Hyunjin moans loudly, he grabs both of your hips, nails digging into your skin with deep scratches. It only makes you cry out louder, pulling on his hair even harder.

The tie in his hair comes out completely. You toss it away from you and gather up his hair in between your fingers to keep it out of his eyes. It feels like silk.

A coil within you begins winding tighter and tighter. The more he licks and sucks, the higher your cries get and the tighter your abdomen feels.

“Feels so good, it feels fucking amazing ! S-So close! Shit, please make me cum, please, shit!”

Each word makes Hyunjin sutter and moan into your folds, his eyebrows pulled like he’s in pain. Harder and harder he ruts into your sofa, his nails digging into you so much you think he might draw blood.

It’s taking every ounce of his will not to spill out in his pants at your praise. At your begging .

One of his hands comes up and kneads at your chest. His thumb rubs over your nipple a few times and that’s all it takes for the band within you to finally snap.

Your orgasm washes over you so hard it’s like being hit by a bus.

With a silent cry, your entire body tenses up. Hyunjin’s movements slow down, but he still coaxes you through your climax with that skilled tongue of his.

He hums into your folds, licking up every last drop of your juices.

You come down from your high slowly, chest heaving up and down, every exhale is paired with a moan. Shockwaves still ripple through your thighs.

Hyunjin’s eyes open and he stares at you, his mouth going over to bite your inner thigh. You squeal and squirm.

Slowly, like a lion, he gets up and crawls over your form, keeping eye contact. Once he’s close enough, he captures your lips greedily. Your arousal is still all over his tongue. It’s swapped between the two of you with your spit.

Your hands reach down and fumble with his belt buckle. Hyunjin makes no move to stop you, instead, he pushes you further.

“Look at that,” he pants, looking down at your fumbling hands. “So desperate for my cock, huh, L/N?”

Your eyebrow twitches. You undo the buckle and reach down to grab his rock hard erection through his pants.

Hyunjin’s elbows buckle at your touch and he grunts, squinting his eyes shut.

“All talk, aren’t you? Once I touch you, you crumble .”

“Shit!” His eyes snap open and he bucks into your hand. “Because– ugh –, like I said, it’s you . Fuck ,” he moans when you squeeze him again over his pants.

“Keep going,” you tease. “Keep going and I’ll keep stroking this fucking monster cock you keep tucked in these pressed dress pants of yours.”

He exhales shakily while you unbutton his trousers.

“When were you ever going to fucking– agh – realize that you drive me fucking insane, L/N?” His eyes start to unfocus when you push down the waistband of his pants and boxers down his thighs.

Fucking hell . Has he always been packing this?

“God damn, Hwang.” Your hand runs up his length. Hyunjin shudders and closes his eyes. Your touch is so featherlight he thinks he’s going insane.

His eyebrows twitch and hips buck forward to try and reach your touch.

“I’m not hearing a lot of talking.” You lean up and attach your lips to his neck, continuing to only trail the gentlest of touches up and down his throbbing cock.

The head is red and angry and weeping precum.

His body trembles. “ Shit – I wanted you for so long, L/N. You drive me– fuck – insane. Every single fucking day I did whatever it fucking took to get your attention.”

Finally, your hand wraps around his length tightly and you start pumping very slowly. The long, pathetic moan that tumbles from Hyunjin’s lips is something of sin.

He sounds so relieved yet even more aroused at the same time.

You continue to suck your own marks onto his perfect skin. Sweat drips down the side of his face and down his now slick back.

“ Ughhh – L-L/N…” He buries his face in the crook of your neck.

Your hand stops moving when he stops talking.

He cries out into your neck, hips frantically bucking into your touch to chase it. You only chuckle in response.

“ Please! ” He whimpers.

“Keep going then, golden boy.” You suck a sensitive spot underneath his ear.

Another stutter of his hips.

“I begged the chief to put me on your case!”

Your pumping picks up speed again, his entire body rolls into yours. You grip him tighter and jerk him faster.

“I said– ah – I would do whatever case he wanted next if he– ffuuck – let me work with you on this one– oh my god! And I still would, I would do whatever– mmmph – case I need to to fucking work with you every day. Agh! ”

Despite your outwards nonchalant expression, on the inside, his words are fucking killing you. The throb in your cunt that was satiated moments ago comes back with a vengeance.

To hear Hwang Hyunjin at your mercy is going straight to your core. Each noise he makes goes straight to your pussy.

“God, fuck , L/N, I-I’m close. Please, god , shit.”

After a few more pumps, you stop, taking your hand away completely. Hyunjin cries into the crook of your neck again, his body rolling and rutting the air at the loss of contact.

“Please, why, fucking hell , I was so close!”

You grab the hair on the back of his head and yank his head up to look down at you. His eyes are cloudy, ears and cheeks bright red. Sweat drips down the side of his face and over his sharp cheekbones and jawline.

“Wouldn’t you rather fuck me?”

His face twists up with another moan.

Hyunjin dives down and captures your lips in the sloppiest kiss of the night. He’s messy and desperate the longer he kisses you.

While trying to stay attached to your lips, Hyunjin fumbles around to kick off his pants and boxers.

Both of you finally naked together, he grabs his cock in his fist.

“I-I’m not going to last–”

You cut him off with a sharp tug to his hair. “Fuck me, golden boy, don’t you think you deserve it after today?”

His eyes practically roll back in his head.

As soon as he’s lined up with your entrance, Hyunjin slides into you slowly. Inch by inch you’re stretched open,

He might not be thick but god, he is long .

With his mouth on yours, he swallows each moan and cry of pleasure. Without wasting any amount of time, he pulls out to slam back into you.

Both of you moan out together.

Your arm wraps around his neck. He rests his weight on one elbow and the other wraps around your shoulders to hug you close to him. His hand splays out between your shoulder blades to keep you anchored against his sweat slicked chest.

The skin to skin contact sends both of you wild.

Over and over again his hips undulate to thrust into you in the most delicious way. The angle of his hips brushes his pelvic bone against your clit with each slam against you.

“You feel so fucking good,” you whine into his ear.

Hyunjin’s next thrust hits a bit harder. If praise makes him fuck you harder, then so be it.

“God, your cock is amazing.” Harder. “Hitting me just right.” Harder. “Never knew you would feel this fucking good.”

With his mouth on your neck, he leaves sloppy hickeys wherever he can reach. His pants fill the room and mix with your whines.

His head suddenly dips down to take your nipple into his mouth once more. You keen and toss your head back, hips canting up. The new angle has his cock slam right into your g-spot.

A loud scream tears from your lips. Hyunjin immediately picks up on this and picks up the pace, making sure he hits that spot every time.

If you thought your first orgasm had a sudden build up, it’s nothing compared to this one. There’s a sudden pressure increasing in your lower stomach.

“Fuck!” Thrust . “So good!” Thrust. “Oh my god!”

Praises and noises fall from you, you don’t even realize what you’re saying anymore. The pleasure has your mind in the clouds.

“Y/N,” the sudden use of your name grabs your attention. Hyunjin comes up over your face with a pleasure twisted face.

“Say it, please, please , I’m fucking begging you , please, say it.”

Your eyebrows pull together, mouth still hanging open. What does he want you to say that you haven’t said already?

“ My name. Say it, please, please, please, please–”

Oh, fuck.

You smirk and watch as the desperation drives him wild. Even in the deepest throes of pleasure, you string him along for a few more seconds as you approach the edge.

Closer and closer you come to the edge.

He whines, begging louder and louder as his own climax creeps up on him, the muscles in his body tightening more and more.

He needs it so bad.

“Y/N! Please! ”

Just as you’re about to tumble over, your mouth stretches open.

“Fuck, Hyunjin! ”

The loudest moan you’ve ever heard from a man comes falling out of his mouth as he buries his face into your neck. Hot, sticky warmth shoots within you in long, drawn out spurts that match with Hyunjin’s whines and groans.

His hips stutter for another twenty seconds before his moans finally calm down.

Both of you hold onto each other tightly, heaving heavy inhales and exhales to catch your breath.

Absent-mindedly, your hand begins to rub up and down Hyunjin’s clammy back, drawing small circles and lines onto his skin.

He hums into your neck and holds you closer for a moment before collapsing onto the couch on top of you.

Surprisingly, his weight on top of you doesn’t seem to phase you; instead it brings the same comfort as a weighted blanket.

After a few more minutes of you silently rubbing his back, Hyunjin begins to lazily press kisses onto your bruise covered chest, paying extra attention to your collarbones.

The kisses are soft and sweet, nothing like the lust coated ones from before.

“Did you mean it?” you ask him quietly.

He pauses his kisses only to answer you. “Mean what?” He starts kissing you more.

“That you asked Bang to work on the case.”

He chuckles against your neck, his hair tickling your skin. “Oh, yeah. It took entirely too much convincing.”

You laugh with him and keep him close to your body.

In the back of your mind, you know you should get up, that he should pull out and the two of you should shower and drink water, but you can’t seem to distance yourself from him.

There’s no harm in sitting there for a while anyway.

Hyunjin hums into your neck again, “Thank god we have the week off.”

You couldn’t agree more.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x y/n #hwang hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids x y/n #skz x y/n #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic

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marasmadness · 7 months ago

Note

hii could you possibly do a jj x emily x reader smut fic where they are protective over her and maybe someone else flirts with her idk 🫶

What We Deserve || J.J x E.P x reader

a/n: changed it slightly bc I kept getting stuck and scrapped this like three times but hope you guys like it :)

CW: dark!jemily x sunshine reader, guns, violence, Emily and JJ turning to revenge, slightest past Emily angst, stalking and sexual harassment (a man who later becomes irrelevant), threesome, age gap, smut, mild gunplay, strap-on sex, oral sex, face-sitting, daddy kink (one time), light choking, praise (she holds your hand and talks you through it🥰)

“I can stay tonight,” you offered up easily, trying to hide the fact that you were incredibly eager at the possibility of not returning home tonight.

Emily looked up from her desk, baffled by why you would ask to spend the night working, and scrutinized your body language with her eyes. This was something Garcia had warned you about when she recommended you for the job position Emily and JJ were trying to fill. They were excellent profilers, or at least formerly, but their old habits never left them.

After the two women turned to a more avenging and under-the-table profession, they turned to Garcia for her usual tech intel, but as she remained a current government employee, she was unable to give them her usual assistance. Instead, she recommended you, “her protégé,” she claimed.

You had offered up your nights to the older woman four times in the last two weeks, which wouldn’t be unusual for a demanding corporate job, but this wasn’t that. The couple worked from their grand home with three offices to exceed all their work needs. You assisted them on the tech side of things and were an expert at tracking people down. In this case, it was usually whatever unpunished psychopath or scumbag they were currently hunting.

“Why don’t you want to ever go home?” Emily questioned, resting the end of her pen on her lip. Her question was in no way rude, despite her consistently assertive tone. She just wanted to know why anyone would rather spend their nights working at a new job with few people to talk to and staring at a mini computer screen than return to a cozy apartment.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just willing to help out here,” you replied, rubbing your knuckles against the fabric of your pencil skirt.

JJ, who was shuffling through a paper trail you just printed out, profiled you cockily without even looking up. “ Lying? Didn’t think you had it in you sunshine,” the blonde quipped.

The "Sunshine" nickname and “Learn that from Garcia?” Jokes have been nonstop since you started. You weren’t sure how much of your demeanor you actually picked up from spending plenty of time with Penelope or if it just stemmed from the fact that you were generally quieter and gentler than the two women who kept guns tucked underneath their blazers at all times.

Emily flicked JJ’s shoulder as she slid behind JJ’s chair to reach a final cabinet, a subtle way of telling her to cut it out, but she couldn’t help the small smirk that crossed her face. She tipped her head toward you, pointing across the hall. “Go grab your work and bring it back here. Shut the lights off on your way back too.”

You quickly pivoted around, treading to the conference room to grab a folder and your laptop. For two vigilantes, they were incredibly organized. You assumed that’s what made them so good, and their FBI experience probably helped. You returned to work in their office, working through the list of wanted profiles and trails for the two women. At some point, Emily appeared behind you, watching as your fingers flew across the keyboard. You restrained your instinct to flinch as her hands grasped your shoulders.

After two hours, the glare of your laptop screen blurred before your eyes. Entirely zoned out, you jumped slightly when Emily’s hands found your shoulders, her breath rushing across your ear. “Go home, rest; it’s late,” the gravelly sound of her voice sounded from just above your shoulder.

“You’re still here working though,” you protested out, pointing out how her and JJ were still camped out at their desks with no intent of leaving anytime soon.

She raised her eyebrow, catching you off guard when she spun your chair around, pressing her knee into the seat beside your thigh. “That was an order. You’re no help if you come back tomorrow sleep-deprived. JJ and I have been on this schedule for years. We’ll sleep when we retire.”

You listened, gathering up your stuff. Your keys jangled against your side as you stopped to linger in the doorway before making your way out to your car.

The streets were pitch black and mostly empty as you drove to the low thrum of the radio. Your fingers bounced anxiously on the steering wheel while pulling into the parking lot beneath your apartment complex. It was late; nobody would still be out and about, and your trip up to the 3rd floor would be uninterrupted. You reassured yourself. You were right to some extent. The stairwells were empty and a little eerie.

Your hand closed around your doorknob when the reason you were reluctant to return home called out, making you flinch in the dark. “Late night?”

“Mhm,” you replied dismissively while hurriedly fumbling for your keys. You could see his silhouette in his shadow as he stepped out of his apartment and turned down the hall toward yours.

“What kept you out late?”

“Just work.” You didn’t look up, pushing your door open roughly. Slipping inside, you were a second too slow. ”Good night, Ro,” you said sternly, attempting to close the door as he appeared in your doorway. Your heart started thumping in your chest as his palm slapped against the already splintering door.

“Hey, wait up, what’s the rush?” He grinned, holding his weight against the door to keep it open. You froze, only able to keep the door at the crack it was, and no further. Too focused on your sweaty hands gripping the door, you missed the soft clicking pair of footsteps until it was too late.

Two strong hands engulfed your body, one sliding around your waist and pulling you against a warm torso, and the other expertly clamping down on your mouth. Your eyes darted back and forth, catching a whirl of raven hair between you and the door. Without your half of the balancing act, the door slammed up against the wall, leaving Ro and the stranger in your apartment facing off.

“May I help you sweetheart?” A sickly sweet and familiar voice rang out, throwing your stalkerish neighbor for a loop. Emily.

You were dragged backward slightly, out of view, forcefully but not violently. A blond wave of hair fell over your shoulder, and vanilla perfume became mixed in with your heavy breaths. Emily, and JJ.

Ro suddenly stepped back into the hallway. ”Who the hell are you? Wait, you were on the news. You were in the FBI.”

“Catching on so quickly,” Emily taunted while revealing her gun from her side, raising it casually. “Step inside, close the door behind you, scream and you won’t make it back out alive,” she instructed, waving the barrel of the gun as she spoke.

He obeyed, if only out of obvious terror. JJ stepped out of the shadows with you in her grasp. Out of angry instinct, he lurched toward you. “Crazy bitch.”

JJ defensively tightened her bicep around your body, moving you behind her. She and Emily moved as one fluid, deadly unit. Sharp, efficiently placed pressure on Ro’s shoulders from Emily made him drop to the floor like a fly, his knees cracking against the floor. The point of JJ’s boot dug into the flesh of his leg, threateningly close to his crotch.

Emily was back to looming over him, hands steady as she clicked the gun against his temple. ”Here’s how this is going to work. We managed to find video footage of you breaking into this apartment, stalking, and harassing, and that’s just the surface—things that we found in seconds. If, and that’s a questionable if you leave here alive, so will we, because if you turn us in, we turn you in, and with all the cameras disabled in this apartment, who are the courts more likely to believe former FBI agents who left peacefully and with high credibility, or you?” Silence. “That’s what I thought. You’ll also be ending your lease within the next 24 hours, and I highly suggest your next place be at least 25 miles from this apartment. Last but not least, apologize.”

You saw him wince at the pressure from the weapon or Emily’s voice as he looked up at you from the ground.

“ I-, I’m sorry! Ah!” He yelled out as Emily knicked the side of his head.

“Do fucking better, and I’m not one to dish out third chances, so make it good.”

You nearly blacked out at the scene unfolding in front of you. His apology played like a distant voiceover in your head; JJ’s hands felt hot against your skin; and you didn’t even start to leave this dazed state until Emily was forcefully leading your now-former neighbor out of your apartment.

Emily guided you toward the back of your apartment while JJ locked it up, not before surveying the hallway twice.

Flicking on a dim light, Emily braced herself against the doorframe as you turned around to face her. “So, “I can totally work late,” was actually Mr. insecure fucking stalker?” She prodded, adding a slight imitation of your voice into her tone.

“He wasn’t a stalker; he was just gross and pushy. He asked me out when he first moved in; I said no, and he never really let it go,” you explained in an attempt to descalate.

Emily scoffed, removing her blazer as she invited herself to sit down on your bed with her hands pressed into her thighs. “Honey, he intercepted you every time you came home, couldn’t take no for an answer, and knew your schedule by heart. Why didn’t you just tell JJ or me? We could’ve handled it.”

You circled around the room, still attempting to process what had happened. “Okay, and by handled, do you mean go fucking insane?” You asked in a raised whisper, tangling your almost-twitching fingers in your hair. “You cannot just pull a gun out from underneath your blazer and hold it to someone’s head while your wife threatens them with credentials she no longer even has!”

Emily stood up quickly, untucking her blouse from her pants with her sharp movements. “And he can’t just monitor your life and push his way into your apartment!” She shot back with fire in her tone. You seemed to have hit a nerve. Your best guess was that wherever this anger was coming from, it also had to do with whatever reason she left the BAU for, something she had yet to reveal to you. “He had no right, and you’re not responsible for his actions. Look at me,” she commanded, tipping your chin toward her gaze with two fingers. “Even if you said yes, he would still behave as he always has, as a creeping coward. I spent my whole career chasing carbon copies of men like him. Nothing will change their sense of entitlement from believing they deserve women who they could never appreciate or understand.” Finishing, her chest rose up and down with emotion as you remained still in her grip.

“Is that why you quit?” You asked, slightly steering the conversation back toward her. “Because of people getting what they didn’t understand or deserve?”

“Yes, I was tired of having to put people I cared about or wanted to care about,” she added, refocusing on you, “in danger and not being able to be the one who served repercussions.”

Feelings you had pushed down since day 1 rose up in your throat. “And have you ever contemplated what you deserve?” you asked as a more relaxed smile curled on her lips.

She nodded as her eyes flickered down your skin. Her forehead glistened with unexpired anger and effort as she swiped a piece of damp hair from it.

“And what’s that?” you asked. Moving your hands backwards, they landed on the dresser, feeling as if the space between you and Emily was growing closer and closer, more intoxicatingly suffocating.

“You.” JJ’s smooth and confident voice filled in the blank for Emily, and you felt your entire body flush with warmth. She had been walking by the door with silent steps and filled in the rest with context. While her calm and mildly seductive reaction to the scene surprised you, it only made Emily grin, curling her fingers to invite the blonde into the room as she shut the door behind her. Emily had seen the way her wife’s gaze soaked in your body the first day you stepped in the door with a bright smile, making her hungrily sink her teeth into her lip. Emily admittedly had quite a similar reaction.

Distracted by JJ’s appearance, you hadn’t noticed Emily’s shift until you felt her body press up behind you and her lips dance across your neck. Removing her gun from her side, you expected her to put it on the nightstand beside you, so you were taken aback when she pressed the edge up against your ribs, leaving you to feel the cool metal through the thin material of your shirt. All the air left your lungs as she slowly dragged it up your skin, her deep red-painted nails leaving a trail of scratches in their wake. The barrel of the gun followed the curve of your chin until she used to tip to guide your gaze up to hers. Trust me, at least for tonight.” She placed the gun on your nightstand with dangerous amusement flashing across her eyes.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled you between her legs, unbuttoning your shirt with nimble fingers until it slipped off your shoulders. Slipping her hands beneath the hem of your skirt, her fingers grazed against the skin of your lower belly, the cold metal of her rings making you tense.

She slowly and seductively removed the rest of your clothes, taking her sweet time to soak in every inch of your body. You followed her lead as she charmingly held out her hand to help you climb up and kneel on the mattress. She followed, settling at the top of the bed. “Come up here; let me taste you.” She rapped your thighs until you were straddled over her body. Her suave confidence and eagerness to aid in your pleasure were new to you and created a confusing knot of feelings in your stomach. Your knuckles turned white with your grip on the headboard, holding yourself up delicately.

Emily wet her lips, curving them into a smile. “Sit means actually sit, love.” Her hands gripped the back of your legs, dragging your throbbing cunt onto her mouth. A satisfied groan left her lips, vibrating through you.

Behind you, JJ’s nonchalance surprised you. In every other environment, she was incredibly overprotective. In this case, both the people she was ever overprotective of were right in front of her, so she was happy to pour a drink, sit back and watch… or at least for a moment.

Through your muffled thoughts brought on by Emily’s lips wrapping around your clit and her hands kneading at the flesh of your thighs, you heard JJ’s glass clink on the table before her hands appeared on your body. You felt the mattress sink beneath you as she climbed up on the bed behind you, cupping your breasts in her hands as her lips trailed along your neck. “If I’m gonna let you fuck my wife, I think it’s only appropriate that I get something as well, don’t you, doll?” She murmured, her breath leaving a trail of warmth along your skin, until she found your mouth, sinking her teeth into your bottom lip. A soft whine escaped as she pulled away, taking her touch with her, and sat down next to you.

Your knuckles grew white against the headboard as Emily’s tongue curled against the walls of your tongue, drawing you closer and closer to a shattering orgasm. JJ, next to you was only contributing to your arousal as she undressed herself and raked her long, blond hair out of her face with a ravenous look. Your body tensed on quivering thighs resting on either side of Emily’s head as she pulled your cunt down in her mouth, flattening her tongue against your sensitive nerve. A stew of moans and expletives fell from your lips as you coated her tongue, and she looked up with a slick, lopped grin as if she had just won a trophy.

Without more than half a breath, she was up and directing you between JJ’s legs, driven by lust-induced vigor. “Eat her out,” she commanded with a soft air of confidence.

Focused on pleasuring JJ, you only caught a blur of Emily in your peripheral vision, slipping out of black work pants and letting her belt hit the ground. Arched between JJ’s legs, she secured her feet over your shoulders, trapping your head between toned thighs as you delved into her cunt. The blonde’s head sank back with a guttural moan as you circled and sucked at her clit.

You stuttered as Emily caught you off guard, dragging her fingers down your spine until she squeezed your ass. JJ’s hands found their way into your hair, guiding your back down between her legs with a sickly soft tone, but you didn’t miss the smirk shot at Emily over her head. “Focus baby, okay? Don’t worry about her.”

You listened, far into the hazy trance of the women surrounding you. As your tongue roamed JJ’s pussy you could feel Emily’s grasp on your hips, positioning them to her likely, and then what came as a startle from your lack of awareness was the silicon texture of her thick strap gently teasing your entrance as you brought her wife closer and closer to an orgasm.

She pistoned the faux-cock inside of you, and you choked out a gasp that made JJ’s hips stutter as she arched her back off the mattress. “Fuck, almost there, doll, let me come on your tongue.” Her words slowly morphed into pants as she reached her climax, with a heaving chest and a tight grip on your hair. Her legs relaxed on your shoulder as Emily continued thrusting into you, the slight ridges of her strap against your walls leaving you gripping at JJ with desperation. JJ found your hands. Running her thumbs across your knuckles with soft praise. “Come for daddy, baby,” she mumbled into her forward before leaning up into Emily’s brief breathless kiss. Your three sheening bodies were intertwined in various ways. The room was filled with obscene noises and sounds from the lingering exhaustion of pleasure.

With close attention, JJ caught on when you were close, using two fingers to drag your chin upwards, forcing you to look her in the eye as your juices coated Emily’s cock. As you came, Emily’s hand wrapped lightly around your throat, adding an extra starry haze to your orgasm. You collapsed in a euphoric state on JJ’s lap. She chuckled at your fucked-out state, running her hands through your hair. Emily wore a similar smile of satisfaction as she left a trail of light kisses down the back of your legs. She was the one to get up and go to the bathroom, preparing to help the three of you clean up and collapse back onto your queen-sized bed in a dreamlike sleep.

#jennifer jareau x reader #wlw smut #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #jemily

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asapeveryday · 8 months ago

Text

SHOCK FACTOR★彡 PART 3

Previous. Next.

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing, suggestive jokes/language, tension

Summary: having Paige’s number means she can bother you whenever she wants, but maybe a night out with her isn’t a bother at all.

A/n: enjoy guys 😇lmk what you think of this one

YOU

is this paige?

???

Has anyone else given you their number since you got here?

YOU

no…

PAIGE

Aight, so who else would it be then? 🤘🏼

YOU

i should’ve thrown out that napkin tbh!🙂

PAIGE

Ignoring that. How’s the hangover?

YOU

it’s ok. getting coffee helped ig

PAIGE

Having another night out might help too…if u fw that

YOU

with you? id rather die then “fw that” 🙏

PAIGE

Ok rot in ya hotel room see if I care 🤷🏼‍♀️

Seen.

PAIGE

Actually nvm I feel bad for ur miserable ass. U shud fr go out and see what Connecticut has to offer. Ever been to Gianni’s?

YOU

no i haven’t, I’ve only been here for like two days. is it italian food?

PAIGE

Only the best in town 😉 u shud def go

YOU

ugh I would but i have to see if elaine can take me cus my teammates are busy

PAIGE

I could take u if u want?

YOU

typing…

YOU CAN FEEL yourself getting socially drained as you text her, at least that’s what you tell yourself. Paige is infuriating and arrogant, which comes with the deadly additions of charisma and the ability to keep you on edge with every word spoken, or even typed.

You’d always known of this, even before your game with her that day. A player like Paige can be hard to come across; perfectly capable, talented and independent yet somehow the best team player out there, sharing passes she can without a doubt make. Why? Because she doesn’t need to prove anything.

It often bothered you, especially since you constantly needed to prove yourself during the start of your college career. You took every shot you could get your hands on, and she gave shots away like candy whilst still having a huge reputation as a player. Obviously it went deeper than that, but the simple fact just stuck to your brain.

You can’t help but recall her face, inches from yours attempting to pry your ball from your grasp. Like she was deserving, like it was hers for the taking. She had made a similar face on the panel where she dissed you soon afterwards, and then again while watching you at the bar, and just before writing her number on the napkin. You wondered if she was making that face right now as she texts you.

PAIGE

I could take u if u want?

The text is simple but it summons some sort of unique feeling in you. Paige Bueckers is offering to pick you up in her car, on her night off, and take you to a restaurant. And you, for whatever reason, are considering saying yes.

Sighing to yourself, you weigh your options. Option one: you sit around your hotel alone till your teammates come back, most probably drunk from a bar since it’s a Saturday. Option two: you ask Elaine to take you out once again, even though you’re probably gonna see her the whole week you’re here. Option three: you let the girl who shit-talked you at a post game conference take you out for dinner.

YOU

i guess i should go out. DONT act like ur doing me a favour tho….n if I don’t have fun i’m blocking u.

PAIGE

Drop the addy. I’ll come by in an hour

Seen.

After hurriedly pulling yourself together, taking an Advil, checking out the restaurant’s Instagram and getting ready you can’t help but find your heart steadily hammering inside of you. Paige is coming to your hotel. You’re gonna be in her car. She’s taking you to her favourite restaurant. This has to be the most peculiar thing that has happened all year.

The car ride is significantly better then you expected it would be. Paige adamantly seems to prevent any room for awkward silence to seep through, commenting on your outfit and filling the vehicle with music that makes the interior buzz from the volume. She has a free look on her face, chair reclined more then you’d dare if you were in the drivers seat, hair blowing in her face from the windows being down.

“I’m surprised you’re driving me out.” You say, finally airing what was on your mind.

Paige shrugs. “Didn’t feel like drinking today. Plus, I’m in the mood to be generous and show you what Storrs has.”

“If someone told me I’d be hanging out with Paige Bueckers like a week ago, I think I’d be fucking appalled. Or disgusted. Or both.” You laugh.

She chuckles, glancing at you sneakily. “You swear a lot, don’t you?”

“Awe my bad.” You pout, giving her a fake-concerned look. “Forgot you can’t handle a little language.”

“I can handle it,” she grumbles. “I just think cursing is better for specific situations.”

“Like what?”

Paige wets her lips almost sheepishly, but she keeps her eyes straight on the road. “Like sex.”

A beat passes before you respond “Sorry I couldn’t savour a couple words for you and your little kink.”

She looks over at you now, and you meet her gaze as equally as you can. She just lets out a smile, shaking her head to herself as she pulls into the parking lot. You try to ignore the elevator-sinking feeling in your stomach from her words as you get out from the car.

The restaurant is beautiful. It’s cozy, ambient and well decorated. Not too fancy and not too full, just perfect. You’re seated in a more secluded area, per Paige’s request. She orders for you, insisting she knows exactly what to get for the best possible experience.

The food is good, and you don’t feel the need to hide it from Paige, who visibly grows at your praise for the place she picked out.

“So, are you jus in Connecticut for Elaine?” She says.

“Not really.” You reply. “Me and some of the others are just doing a little East Coast road-trip. I wasn’t really interested in coming to Storrs, but it made sense to come by and see her.”

“For a whole week?” She raises her eyebrow. “Seems like you’re close.”

“I was only gonna stay in Storrs for a couple days, then go to Hartford but the girls seem to like it here.” You shrug. “They think it’s cute, being a small town and all, but it’s pretty boring if you’re not a student.”

“It’s better if you’re with fun people.” She smiles.

“I hope you don’t think you’re fun.”

“Compared to Elaine I definitely am.” Paige scoffs.

You can’t help but feel a little more hostility than humour in her tone.

“Do you guys know each other?” You ask, as sly and innocent as you can muster. Paige seems hesitant.

“Nah.” She finally decides. “I mean, we’ve talked before. Ion know her personally.”

“It’s kinda funny, she said she doesn’t pay much attention to you but I think she might have a little crush.” You laugh.

Paige visibly stiffens at this, which catches you by surprise.

In a split second she regains her calm, unbothered composure. “What has she said?”

“Not much.” You shrug. “Just seems a little interested.”

Paige’s jaw clenches for a moment, and you’re not surprised when she changes the subject. “How many people have been on your case since I posted that picture of us from the bar on my story?”

“God, so many.” You laugh, shaking your head. “You?”

“You don’t even wanna know.” She scoffs. “Not sure why everyone was so crazy bout it though, s’not like we were beefing for real.”

“Right!” You say, happy she seems to be on the same page. “It was just some petty crap. I guess people just really were hoping there would be some rivalry.”

You think for a moment, before saying. “Maybe we should keep this drama thing up. Might be fun.”

“It’s a lil too late for that,” Paige shakes her head with a slight smile. “remember how KK and Ice were on live yesterday at the coffee shop? Yeah, we kinda were in the background at some point. People saw us talking.”

“You’re joking.”

“Dead serious. There are edits and everything.”

You rest your head in your hands, elbows on the table, lessening the proximity between you and her. “I only get into these weird ass situations when I interact with you, Paige.”

She sits up in her seat, blue eyes quickly looking you up and down. “Yet you’re still here.”

“Girl’s gotta have fun.” You shrug. Her foot hits yours under the table, her eyebrow raised as if challenging you. You have a sudden thought of going under the table and letting your hands unzip her cargo pants, but instead you just kick her back.

“Wanna go?” She asks. You don’t want to go back to the hotel, and she seems to pick up on it. “The area we’re in is nice. We can walk around a bit.”

You smile and nod. “Split the bill?”

“Fuck no.” She shoots you a look, pulling out her credit card from the back of her phone.

“You cursed!” You exclaim, to which she scoffs.

“I said it’s alright in specific situations.”

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “Well we’re not having sex, are we?”

The way her eyelashes flutter at your question gives you jitters. “Aight, stop talking.” She finally manages to respond. You just send her a look that you hope makes her nervous.

“You’re not funny.” She grumbles, attempting to grab your phone from you.

“Back off, Bueckers! I’m serious.” You laugh, sidestepping her with your phone above your head. The street was empty and the lights were on, putting the two of you in a yellow glow against the night. You’d been walking around the neighbourhood, observing houses and learning a bit about Storrs for the past hour.

“Give me your phone, I know you ain’t deleting those.” She huffs, grabbing for your phone. You try to escape her grasp but she’s got longer limbs, so eventually your phone is in her pocket and she’s wearing a proud look on her face.

It’s nice to walk in the quiet of evening, her beside you. You have no idea where you are but you can’t help but trust she can get you back to the car in no time. Not just yet though.

You turn to look at Paige almost shamelessly. There’s just so much to observe with her. Her confident posture, toothy smile, sleek straightened blonde hair, even the baggy cargo pants and sweater. She always looked good, it never failed to annoy you.

“Either your pants are too tight or crazy baggy.” You note. She just raises her eyebrow.

“Sounds like you just want me to take my pants off at this point.”

“Wouldn’t mind a little show.” You reply almost instantly, shocking yourself at the surge of confidence. She doesn’t seem taken aback, in fact she’s intrigued.

“Is that your usual routine? Have a meal out then have a meal at home?”

“Maybe it is.” You shrug. “I never object to a wine n dine.”

“And what exactly would you object to?”

“Cocky girls who think they’re the shit.” You say, turning your head to face her. You don’t mean to target her, but she simply smiles.

“Is it really being cocky if I can back it up though?” Paige asks quietly. You’re not walking anymore, stuck in place on an empty path between buildings. She’s closing in on you until your back hits a brick wall. The way Paige is staring down at you, hands in her pockets, lip between her teeth. It’s nothing you’d object to, ever.

“I won’t believe it till I see it.” You mutter, holding her eye. The air is tense in a new way that you haven’t felt with her since you first met in the bar. Her face is entrancing.

Paige’s hands lift your jaw upwards, and she leans into your ear. “You might not see it,” she mumbles, breath hot against your skin. “But you’ll definitely feel it.”

When she pulls back from your ear she stays hovering just above you, hands chastely holding your head up. You’re in the perfect position to kiss, and you can’t stop your eyes from darting between her electric stare to her lush, pink lips.

You can literally feel her breath on your mouth when a piercing ring cuts through the moment. It’s coming from her pocket, and she pulls out your phone. Paige’s face twists as she reads the screen. “It’s Elaine.”

“Just- just decline it.” You rush out, not caring how desperate you sound. You can feel how wet you are, and the lack of heat against you is blaring.

“She texted you too.” Paige scoffs. “She’s waiting for you at your hotel.”

You don’t even know what to say. Paige’s face is expressionless. You’re disappointed, but there’s no point in begging. Nothing really happened.

“Let’s get you home.” She says, starting to walk back from where you came. “Shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Her tone is dripping with toxicity. It makes you shiver.

#Spotify #fanfiction #fanfic #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #rpf #paige bueckers x reader #paige buckets #paige x reader #x reader #tension #uconn women’s basketball #usc wbb #rivals to lovers

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loveshotzz · 10 months ago

Text

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love?

Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week.

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught.

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out.

Oh no.

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too.

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack.

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.”

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes.

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name.

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!”

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again.

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics.

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours.

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around.

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance.

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along.

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn��t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-”

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries.

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump.

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry.

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.”

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit.

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change.

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips.

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop.

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek.

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm.

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself.

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible.

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real.

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again.

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs.

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,”

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?”

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.” He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours.

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.”

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

🌻 chapter four

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n

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wandascosmic · 4 months ago

Text

standing by (6)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part six of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 4292

tags: best friends to lovers, very very special and cute friendship, reader pining after wanda, oblivious wanda it's almost laughable, believed to be unrequited love, toxic vision (unsurprisingly), honestly might be my favorite part i've written so far, also maybe perhaps some jealous wanda >: ), and the pranks are back!!

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

“Tony,” Wanda knocks on Tony’s office door. “There’s a girl outside who wants to sell handbags.”

“Kick her out,” Tony responds, barely looking up from his magazine. “No vendors in the office.”

“Okay, but I told her you’d talk to her at least–”

��No, Wanda. I’m busy,” Tony cuts her off, putting his feet up on his desk. “Just tell her to go away.”

Wanda nods, starting to head out the door.

Once Wanda exits the room, curiosity gets the better of Tony, and he decides to try and see what the person looks like through the window. His mouth parts once he sees that she’s actually rather beautiful.

“Why didn’t she tell me she was hot,” Tony mutters as he gets up to go and talk to the vendor girl.

***

You watch in suspicion as Tony smooths his hair back, accompanied by the noticeable bright grin on his face. You follow his gaze all the way to the new girl who came in a few minutes ago, and your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape in realization.

“Hi, there,” Tony says, making the purse girl turn around and face him. “I’m Tony.” He holds out his hand for her to shake.

“Valkyrie,” she introduces herself back with a smile.

“Wow, look at you,” Tony guffaws, clearly checking her out. “You’re, uh, you’re like the new and improved Wanda.”

Your eyes widen in shock as you and Wanda make eye contact with each other.

“Um, thank you?” Valkyrie questions.

“You’re welcome.” Tony grins. “So listen, I usually don’t allow solicitors in the office, but for you, I think we’ll make an exception.”

Tony was awful at flirting, you quickly realized.

“Well, thank you very much.” Valkyrie nods politely.

“Don’t worry about it. But hey, maybe you can make it up to me later with dinner and a movie maybe?” he suggests with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You snort at his forwardness.

“Uh–”

“Anyways, think about it.” He pats her on the shoulder. “So, Valkyrie, you can use the conference room for the day.” He points in the direction of the aforementioned room. “And, I’ll check up on you in an hour or so to make sure you’re settling in. Sound good?”

“Yes, that would be great, thank you,” Valkyrie responds.

“Alright, let’s get you settled in then.” He grins, leading her in the right direction.

Once they’re both out of sight, you go up to talk to Wanda.

“Ten bucks he ignores all his work for the day to go and flirt with her,” you bet the receptionist, popping a candy from the dish on her desk into your mouth and leaning onto your elbows.

“Ten bucks he moves the HR staff who are supposed to have a meeting in there into the hallway,” she responds with a smile.

“Oh, you’re so on, Maximoff.”

***

“So, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Tony tells Valkyrie, helping her put her bags in place.

“Well, I guess a cup of coffee would be nice,” Valkyrie answers back politely.

“Oh! I knew it! I knew I should’ve spotted another addict.” Tony laughs.

Valkyrie’s brows furrow in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“You know, those Dunkin’ Donuts coffee addicts? Man, gotta love it,” he sighs.

“Regular coffee is fine, honestly,” Valkyrie assures, feeling awkward.

No, no, it’s not,” Tony shakes his head. “Damn it, too bad we don’t have the good stuff here.”

“No, really, it is,” Valkyrie says.

“Are you sure?” Tony asks. “‘Cause, you know I could go out to get some for you it’s only like a 30-minute drive–”

“Really, it’s alright,” Valkyrie cuts off with a small laugh.

“Alright, great!” Tony says, about to head out the door. “I’ll just head on over to the coffee machine in the kitchen, then. Hey, do you want high test or unleaded?”

“Um, high test?”

“All right!” Tony says with a grin as he leaves her alone.

Valkyrie sighs in relief once Tony’s gone.

***

“So, are you jealous ‘cause there’s another girl around?” Thor asks Wanda as he staples his documents together behind her.

“No, not really,” Wanda responds absentmindedly, typing on her computer.

“Are you sure?” ‘Cause she’s prettier than you,” Thor replies with a shrug.

Wanda pauses. “That’s a very rude thing to say, Thor,” she says slowly.

You almost laugh at the idea that anyone could ever come near Wanda’s beauty.

Thor purses his lips and nods, leaving Wanda alone.

You figure that now is a good time to give Wanda the banana bread you had gotten her this morning after Thor’s comment. Grabbing the dessert from your bag, you walk up to her desk with a small smile on your face.

“So, what did Thor want?” you ask, knowing the answer already since Thor was anything but soft-spoken. Plus, your desk was only a couple of feet away from hers.

Wanda scoffs. “Apparently I should be jealous of the purse girl because she spices up the office more than I do.”

“And are you jealous?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

You laugh. “Yeah right, Maximoff. I can see the crinkle you get when you’re upset about something.”

“I do not have a crinkle.” Wanda leans back and crosses her arms with a pout.

Your eyes soften at how cute she looks.

“Fine,” you back down. “But anyways, if you are upset, I did get you something.”

Wanda’s head perks up in curiosity. “What did you get me?”

You place the white paper bag on her desk. “I may have stopped by that cafe you like this morning and gotten you your favorite dessert.”

Wanda sits up slightly, peeking into the bag. Once she sees the delectable banana bread she loves so much, a wide smile breaks out on her face.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“Anytime,” you respond, giving her a small wink as you turn around to walk back to your desk. “And by the way.” You stop to look back at her. “No one could ever match how beautiful you are.” You give her a comforting smile before heading back.

Wanda bites her lip slightly as she watches you get back to work.

***

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” Tony knocks on the conference room door to get Valkyrie’s attention.

“What’s that?” Valkyrie asks, reorganizing the purses slightly on the table.

“Why don’t I introduce you around? You know, you can kind of get your foot in the door, meet potential clients, stuff like that? Come on.” Tony grabs Valkyrie’s hand as he starts to lead her out of the room.

“Um, I would love to, but I really shouldn’t leave my purses alone-”

“Oh! No problem, we can get Peter to watch them. Peter!” Tony calls for the intern.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” Peter calls back from the kitchen.

“Will you watch the purses in the conference room please?” Tony says.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course, no problem!” Peter replies, already sprinting out of the kitchen to go watch the purses.

“Good kid,” Tony says to Valkyrie who nods in response. “You know, you should sell a lot here.” He says as he leads her through the various areas of the office. “This branch actually made over a million dollars last year.”

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Valkyrie answers, waving at the people the two of them pass by.

“Yeah, I know,” Tony brags. “Not that we’re all millionaires though, you know. I’m probably the closest so.” He chuckles.

“Oh, cool,” Valkyrie replies, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

“Yup, that’s what we do here at Shield Industries. Oh, here’s Bruce!” Tony introduces a brown-haired man who’s on a call in the break room. “What’s up, Bruce?” Tony punches Bruce’s arm playfully.

“Tony, I’m on a phone call,” Bruce replies, putting the phone to his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, man,” Tony responds, leading Valkyrie to another section of the office.

***

“So, Y/N, what do you think of the purse girl?” Vision asks you, chewing a bit of his pizza.

Wanda had invited you to eat lunch with her and Vision, and while you would rather do anything other than have a meal with the girl you were in love with and her fiance, you couldn’t say no to her no matter how hard you tried.

“Cute, sure, yeah,” you responded, taking a bite of your sandwich. You had told Wanda about your sexuality two years after you had met her, and you assume that the word got out to Vision somehow.

Little did you know it was because Tony overheard your confession in the break room and despite his lackluster demeanor 90% of the time, he was awful at keeping secrets.

“Why don’t you get on that?” Vision suggests.

“Mm, she’s not really my type,” you say, shaking your head and taking a sip of your water.

“What, you’re not gay anymore?”

“Vision!” Wanda slaps his arm in shock. “Sorry, Y/N,” she apologizes to you on his behalf.

“It’s fine, Wanda,” you assure. “I don’t think so, no,” you respond to Vision’s question.

“Well, what is your type then?” Thor asks from behind you, who had come in to grab his lunch from the fridge.

You ponder for a moment. “Uh, moms…primarily. Soccer moms, single moms, NASCAR moms. Any type of mom, really.”

“That’s disgusting,” Vision scoffs.

“Stay away from my mom,” Thor says as he starts to leave the kitchen.

“Too late, Thor,” you respond, taking another sip of your water.

Suddenly, you all hear the clack of heels approach, and the three of you turn your head to see Valkyrie walk past you all.

Vision’s mouth parts slightly as he watches her exit the room. “Man, I would be all over that if I wasn’t dating Wanda,” he tells you, pointing at the doorway where Valkyrie just left.

Wanda’s stomach drops.

“Vision,” she states angrily, making him glance down at her. “We’re not dating, we’re engaged.”

“Engaged, yeah,” he replies nonchalantly with a shrug.

Wanda scoffs as she drops her fork into her food and storms out of the kitchen, slamming the door shut with a thud.

Vision rolls his eyes as he takes another bite of his pizza.

***

“She’d be perfect for you,” you tell Sam, the two of you observing Valkyrie through the conference room window. Truthfully, you didn’t believe an ounce of what you were feeding him. Wanda was still upset after what Vision had said earlier, so you were setting up a prank against Sam in hopes of making her feel better.

“Mm, she’s been talking to Tony a lot,” Sam says bitterly as he crosses his arms together.

“So what?” you say as you face him. “You’re assistant regional manager.”

“Assistant to the regional manager,” Sam corrects you with a frown.

“Well, you know what, Sam? Sometimes, you’ve just got to go for it. And by the way, Tony’s just your work boss, ok? He is not your relationship boss.”

“That’s true,” Sam nods.

“Plus, you have so much more in common with this girl than Tony does. You’re both, um, salesmen,” you point out. “I mean that’s something to talk about right there.”

“True,” Sam’s eyes widen in realization. “Plus, I could talk to her about the origins of my last name!”

“It’s all gold,” you say, emphasizing your point with a wave of your hand. “But here’s the thing.” You beckon Sam closer with a finger. “Even if it goes horribly wrong, you just keep talking to her, alright? If you hit a stall, you have a perfect fallback.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“You buy a purse,” you instruct.

“I don’t want a purse, purses are for girls,” Sam says, recoiling slightly.

“Sam, that’s not necessarily true.” You shake your head.

Sam scoffs.

“Do you read GQ?” you ask.

“No,” he mutters, looking away.

“That’s fine, I do. They’re like mini briefcases, alright? Lots of guys have ‘em.”

“Really?” he asks incredulously. “Like those?” He points to the purses through the window.

“Yes!” you confirm.

“I don’t know..”

“Listen,” you get his attention. “You are spending way too much time talking to me when you could be talking to her.” You point to Valkyrie over your shoulder.

“Okay, fine,” Sam agrees, starting to stand up. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom then-”

“No, you don’t need the bathroom, alright?” you cut him off, standing up as well. “You’ve got this, Sam. Go for it.” You shove him gently in the direction of the conference room.

You watch him go in until he can no longer see you, and you smile as you run in the direction of Wanda’s desk.

“Okay, shh, stop.” You run around Wanda’s desk, gently pulling the phone away from her ear and hanging up the call she’s on. Wanda looks up at you curiously. “Stop whatever you’re doing ‘cause this is gonna be good,” you say as you stand behind Wanda’s chair and swivel it around so she has a clear view of the conference room.

“What did you do?” Wanda asks suspiciously, a smile starting to appear on her face.

“You’ll see,” you whisper.

Once you see Sam start to talk, you begin your imitation. “Hi, my name is Sam Wilson and I would like to buy a purse from you,” you mock in a high-pitched voice. “Good Lord, look at these purses! This is something special.” Wanda giggles. “Oh my God, is this Salvatore Daccini Pa….sta,” you say as you see Sam pick up a random purse.

“Oh, definitely, definitely step in and out of it like that,” Wanda imitates Valkyrie as you both see Sam step in and out of the purse’s strap.

“Yes, well I want to stress test it,” you continue your impression. “You know, in case anything happens.”

Wanda smiles widely as she looks at you.

“Oh!” you both remark, the two of you struggling to hold in your laughter as you see Sam smack the purse against the table.

“That was really- this is necessary to do to really give it a good workout,” you say in your high-pitched voice. “This is the– ooh. This is the prettiest one of them all,” you mimic as you see Sam pick up another purse. “I’m gonna be the prettiest girl in the ball. Oh, how much?” you break as you finally start to laugh.

“Oh, god, it’s sad, it’s so sad,” Wanda remarks with a shake of her head.

“Yeah,” you say through your laughter. “Oh, here he comes,” you inform her as you see Sam slowly start to walk out of the conference room.

He turns to give you a thumbs up and you give him one in response as well as mouthe some encouraging words. Sam smirks confidently as he struts back to his desk, the strap of his brand-new hung nicely over his shoulder.

“He did pick a good one,” you tell Wanda with a smile as you look over to observe Sam’s new handbag.

“You’re horrible,” Wanda giggles as she looks up at you.

***

“So, how was that coffee from earlier?” Tony asks Valkyrie as he enters the conference room once more.

“It was good,” she responds with a small smile.

“Ah, I knew it,” Tony smirks. “I make the best coffee. Hey, can I show you something?”

Valkyrie nods.

“Great, I know you are gonna like this.” He starts to lead her towards his office. “Picked it up today for 1000 big ones.”

He opens the door for her to enter.

Valkyrie’s eyes widen as she sees the huge coffee machine set on Tony’s desk. “Um, Tony, you spent 1000 dollars on a new coffee machine just today?”

“Yep,” he brags with a large grin. “They call it a Digital Barista. It’s the absolute best of the best of the espresso maker variety.”

Valkyrie laughs awkwardly. “Wow, is that for the office?”

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking.” Tony points a finger at her. “You’re not prying this out of my hands,” he jokes. “But hey, give it a shot and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Valkyrie answers with a shake of her head. Suddenly, she feels her phone buzz with a new message. Opening it, her brows furrow as she sees the content of the message that was sent.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Tony asks, seeing her expression.

Valkyrie looks up. “Oh, nothing, just, my ride bailed on me,” she says.

“Oh, god! I’m so sorry,” Tony says rather passionately. “That sucks. Um, where you going? Nearby? Because I could give you a ride, you know?”

“No, no, that’s ok, I don’t wanna inconvenience you and I can just take a Taxi–”

“No, no, no, it’s not an inconvenience at all!” Tony cuts Valkyrie off. “I mean, I’m out of here at 5:00 sharp, and plus, I am the boss,” he says with his hand at the side of his mouth as if he were telling a secret. “I can go even earlier! Like, whatever, out of here…slaves.” He laughs.

“Well, I guess that would be ok,” Valkyrie accepts unsurely.

“Really?” Tony grins. “Well, awesome! 5:00 sharp, I will give you and your purses a ride home, sound good?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Valkyrie says as she leaves Tony’s office, grimacing slightly on her way out.

***

“So did we get any mail?” Tony asks Wanda who sits across from him at his desk.

“Yeah, I gave it to you,” she responds with a nod of her head.

“Right, just checking. Just double checking,” Tony says.

“So can I–” Wanda points to the door over her shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” Tony responds, letting her go. “Oh, wait, Wanda, one more thing,” he says as Wanda starts to get up out of her chair.

Wanda pauses to hear his question.

“How do girls your age feel about futons?”

***

“A futon?” you ask Wanda who laughs as she leans against your desk. “Oh my god, he’s a grown man.”

“That’s what he said,” she says, trying to stifle her laughter.

“That’s sad. That’s so sad,” you say, shaking your head and Wanda giggles. “Or it’s innovative. You know, the futon is a bed and couch all rolled into one.” You twirl your index fingers around each other to imitate a rolling motion.

Unfortunately, your moment with the receptionist is soon interrupted as you look up to see Vision on his way to talk to Wanda. You sit up sharply, starting to type on your computer as you get back to work.

“What’s up?” he greets her with his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Hi,” she replies, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks wearily.

“Vision…” she sighs.

“Come on,” he says as he starts to tickle her abdomen.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Wanda turns her upper body away slightly. “Cut it out,” she says.

“Come on, are you mad at me?” he continues, starting to make Wanda jerk in various directions.

“Stop it,” she responds, but giving in slightly as her voice becomes less stern.

“Are you still mad at me?” he says in a loving voice.

“Cut it out,” she replies, though a smile is beginning to appear on her face.

“Are you mad at me now?” he teases, grinning as she starts to laugh fully.

“Stop!” she says through her laughs.

“Huh? Come on,” he continues, tickling her harder and making her giggle even more. “Come on, Wands,” he prompts playfully as she keeps laughing uncontrollably.

“Stop, I can’t breathe!” Wanda musters out, still jerking around.

You sigh as you get up from your chair, deciding it’s probably best to leave the couple alone.

“I was just kidding! You know I didn’t mean it,” you hear him say with a smile.

You put your hands in your pockets as Wanda continues to laugh with her fiance.

***

You tap your foot anxiously on the floor, bored out of your mind since Wanda went out with Vision on her break. Swiveling around in your chair, you pause as you see Valkyrie on her own in the conference room.

Maybe you should go and talk to her?

You bite your lip slightly, deciding maybe it was time for you to make a new friend in the office.

But no one could ever beat Wanda.

Against your better judgement, you decide it might be fun to go and talk to her. Taking a deep breath, you stand up from your chair and head in her direction.

You knock on the door, making Valkyrie look up at you.

“Hi,” you say, entering the room with a smile.

“Hi,” Valkyrie responds, matching your tone.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you hold out your hand for her to shake.

“I’m Valkyrie,” she nods, shaking your outstretched hand.

“Hi, Valkyrie, nice to meet you,” you say in a friendly manner.

“Yeah, you too. You sit out there don’t you?” Valkyrie points to your desk through the window.

“Yes, I do. That’s what I’m best known for,” you joke slightly, making her let out a small laugh. “Alright, let’s talk about purses then.” You drum your fingers on the table in front of you.

“Okay, um..” She starts to point at the purses on the table.

“Oh, wait, Valkyrie, but you know what?” you interrupt, causing her to look up at you. “Don’t try to sell me one. Okay, seriously? ‘Cause I’m just here to learn,” you say earnestly before a small smirk breaks out on your face.

“Okay,” Valkyrie nods with a laugh.

“So, I know about most of these, but..”

***

“What’s up?” you ask Wanda who leans against your desk.

“I’m bored,” Wanda responds, giving you a grin.

“Thank you for choosing me,” you reply amusingly as she laughs.

“No, I’m kidding,” Wanda says. “So, have you got any plans this weekend?”

“Uh, well, I think I’m gonna see Valkyrie,” you respond, shrugging your shoulders.

Wanda’s smile falters slightly.

“Really?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“What are you guys gonna do?”

“Oh, man, I don’t know,” you sigh. “Uh, dinner, drinks, movie, matching tattoos…” you say the last one with a cheeky smile.

Wanda chuckles at your joke.

“Well, that’s great,” she nods, unsure of what the uncomfortable feeling in her chest might be.

“Yeah, big stuff,” you agree, swiveling around slightly in your chair and pausing for a moment. “What are you up to this weekend?”

“Oh, um,” Wanda ponders a bit. “I think we’re gonna help Vis’ cousin move.”

“Okay,” you nod.

“‘Cause Vis has a truck,” she finishes.

“That’s cool, that’s really cool, Wanda,” you tell her.

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Wanda says, suddenly feeling very awkward.

“But I’ll see you Monday, though, right?” you ask, drumming your fingers at your side.

“Yeah, uh, you know what? I think I’m gonna head back now,” Wanda says as she stands up, pointing to her desk over her shoulder.

“Oh, okay. No problem,” you respond with a small smile.

Wanda nods, turning around and heading back to her workplace.

Sitting back down, she sighs as she tries to decipher what the uneasy feeling within her might be.

***

“Good night, Y/N,” Tony says as he walks next to you and Valkyrie in the parking lot.

“Good night Tony,” you reply, tossing your car keys up and down.

“Where you headed?” he asks you.

“I don’t know, probably grab a drink, I think,” you answer, pointing towards you and Valkyrie.

“With us?” Tony inquires, stopping in his place as his brows furrow in confusion.

“Oh shoot, I, um, I probably should have told you. But I don’t need a ride now ‘cause Y/N can take me home after,” Valkyrie tells Tony with an apologetic look.

“Oh, okay, great,” Tony replies, but you can tell that he feels a bit dejected.

“Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Tony,” you apologize.

“No, no worries.” He shakes his head. “Hope you have fun, you two,” he says trying to hide his disappointment.

Tony starts to turn away, and you frown as you watch his dejected posture.

“Have a good night, Tony!” you call out, checking to make sure he’s ok.

“Yeah, you too!” he calls back, though you hear a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Valkyrie asks at your side.

“Yeah, I hope so. If he’s still sad by Monday, I’ll bake him some cupcakes or something,” you respond, grabbing her bags and nodding your head in the direction of your car.

You start to lead the two of you to your vehicle. “Wow, a baker, huh?” Valkyrie inquires with a smile as she follows your step.

“Well, I got a lot of free time on my hands,” you respond, opening up your trunk and placing her bags in after moving a couple of your things.

You don’t notice Vision’s car pull up behind you with Wanda in the passenger seat, immediately sitting up straight as she watches you curiously through the window.

“All right, I’m gonna warn you. Don’t freak out, okay?” you say to the girl next to you as you shut the trunk.

“Why?” Valkyrie inquires with a tilt of her head.

“Well, this is a really nice car,” you say as you walk backward, leading Valkyrie toward the passenger side of your sedan. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a Corolla, okay?”

“It’s a very nice car,” Valkyrie compliments with a small laugh.

Wanda’s sure she wants to slap Valkyrie across the face.

“So you’re not gonna freak out?” you ask, opening the door for Valkyrie to enter.

Valkyrie shakes her head with a smile as she sits down in your red vehicle.

Vision starts to drive away, and Wanda continues to watch the two of you until you disappear from her sight.

part 7

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wandamaximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #marvel mcu #mcu #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda marvel

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drvscarlett · 9 months ago

Text

About You Pt3

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

About You Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Taglist: @spideybv28@randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @honethatty12 @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama @ririyulife

2009, Hungaroring

There was at least 2 weeks before Formula 1 went back to racing. It means that there was 2 weeks for Y/N to hide herself and that embarrassing situation she was in. 2 weeks to prepare herself how to pretend on how to act if she sees Sebastian.

'As long as Sebastian does not bring it up then I will pretend that nothing happened' she told herself.

She tried not to think about the incident by allowing herself to be buried with answering emails and looking into other things needed pre-race.

"Did you eat already?"

A sudden orange appeared in between her and the computer screen. Y/N didn't have to look up to see which driver handed the orange because there was only one driver who would always give her an orange.

"I haven't got the chance yet"Y/N replied to Sebastian

"You should probably eat. It's not good that you aren't eating" Sebastian insisted "Can't Mark do these things?"

"I'm his personal assistant remember, I'm paid to do these"

"But is it really necessary to finish it at the moment?"

It was pointless to argue with Sebastian so Y/N took the orange and closed her laptop.

"Happy?"she asked

"Very much"

The two of them started eating the oranges brought by Sebastian. It was a habit that the two have, Sebastian calls it a pre-race ritual. He actually believes he performs better when they share oranges. So here they are sitting and enjoying the oranges.

In the back of their minds, they are both thinking about that night at the hotel but there is a certain peace between the them. They don't want to ruin things by saying something stupid.

"You heard what happened with Massa right?"Y/N tried to establish a new topic just to get things off her overthinking.

"Absolutely felt bad for him. It's a good thing that he seems to be in a stable condition"Sebastian said.

The qualifying incident yesterday has been terrifying to watch. Y/N didn't want that happening to either Sebastian or Mark or even any other driver. Her heart dropped when she saw Massa being wheeled out unconscious to the hospital.

"Do you sometimes think that you'll ever stop racing?"Y/N wondered "You have been racing since you were like young and now you are stil racing"

"I honestly don't know, racing is all I have ever known" Sebastian admitted.

"I know, you were born gripping on a steering gear I bet" Y/N joked which made Sebastian laugh too.

"But seriously, if you ever want to retire of racing. Don't retire and go out because you got badly injured. Retire because you want to"Y/N added

It was her way of saying that she is extremely cared about him. Maybe its something that she cannot put into words but maybe Sebastian can figure it all out, he is a smart man in Y/N's opinion.

With a comforting smile, Y/N was assured that he got the message.

2009, Spa-Francorchamps

"Did you try texting Mark?"

Christian Horner and Sebastian Vettel are both in a meeting room about to discuss some things with the team strategists. They were supposed to meet up 10 minutes ago but they can't go on with the meeting since Mark is not around.

It was highly unusual for Mark to be late. He is never late as far as Sebastian knows. He considers giving Y/N a text when the door burst open.

"I'm gonna punch Button in the face when I see him"Mark Webber was fuming when he entered late at the conference room.

"Hold on, what did Jenson do?"

"Punk tried to ask my sister out"Mark huffed.

"He did what?" Christian butted in the conversation "I thought Sebastian was dating Y/N"

"HOLD ON WHAT?" "EXCUSE ME?"

The two red bull drivers were on their feet. Mark seems to be ready to hit Sebastian while Sebastian was debating which exit is much more safer. Frankly, Sebastian was never afraid of Mark but with the way he is shooting daggers with his eyes- If looks could kill, Sebastian was 4 feet under ground now.

"I just thought Sebastian was dating Y/N, they are always together when she isn't following you around Mark" Christian explained.

"My sister and Sebastian?" Mark repeated

Sebastian wanted to explain himself to Mark but he is internally panicking. If Christian, their team principal, can notice then there is a big chance that his feelings might be obvious to other people in the paddock.

At the same time, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach upon realizing that Jenson Button asked out Y/N. Jenson had the courage to ask her out and Sebastian couldn't even talk to Y/N about what happened weeks ago.

Christian seems to sense the tension that he brought to the two red bull drivers

"Maybe its just me and my understanding, right seb?" Christian apologized

"Huh yeah, mmhh nothing going on" Sebastian lied

There was a sharp gaze from Mark "I'm watching you"

"Let's talk about Jenson"Christian redirected the topic "maybe he is just trying to get a rise off you. We're slowly closing on him for the championship"

"If I hit that boy with a car this Sunday, I won't regret it" Mark swears.

"Don't bring your personal life on the car" Christian reminded.

Sebastian seems to take it as a mental note for himself as well. He was actually debating that if Mark wasn't successful in punting Jenson then he would.

"Besides Y/N has to date, she is in that age of dating" Christian added

Sebastian knew that Mark has been the kind of sibling that is overly protective. Given that Y/N has been the youngest one and the one that has been following Mark around, Mark has a special worry about her. It was very understandable why he acts like this.

"As much as I could, I will not let my sister date drivers." Mark says with finality.

It felt like it wasn't just a statement meant for Jenson but it was also something meant for Sebastian. Great, now Sebastian feels like everything is more complicated than it was before.

2009, Interlagos

It wasn't Y/N's brightest idea that she went on a date with Jenson Button. She figured after weeks of being constantly asked by Jenson, she should give him a chance. She thought it could also help lessen her feelings for Sebastian.

It's a pretty bad idea now that she thinks about it.

But there was no going back because here she is sitting with Jenson at a small restaurant somewhere in Brazil.

Don't get her wrong but Jenson is charming and he knows how to make people comfortable. He is a gentleman, he picked her up with roses, asked her for her favorite dish, and was kind enough to lend his jacket when she is feeling a bit cold.

But there is something missing about Jenson.

"You know, I really enjoy spending time with you tonight"Jenson started "But are you enjoying yourself?"

"I'm sorry its just that its my first time going out for dates, I'm not good with this sort of thing" Y/N replied

"That's okay, I'm glad to be the first one to take you out"

Y/N felt the guilt of lying eating her up so she quickly wanted to clear out the air "Jenson, you are a really nice guy but you know I really think its better if we become friends instead?"

There was a small smile from the British driver. It seems like he has also felt that he was about to be friendzoned tonight.

"It's perfectly fine Y/N, I just really enjoy your company"

The dinner continued on more smoothly and they were able to share some personal details about their life. It felt like an air of relief for the two of them to clear out things that this will not be a failed date but rather a new friendship.

The media on the other hand has seen a different story.

Jenson Button winning on and off track against Red Bull?

In case you missed it, the newly declared Formula 1 champion, Jenson Button, has been seen in a restaurant in Brazil having dinner with a very special lady. Who is this mystery lady? It's Mark Webber's sister and personal assistant, Y/N.

The pairing is a shocker for everyone since Red Bull is the main competitor of Button this season. It seems like the two are a star crossed lovers in the making. People who have been in the restaurant has noted how the pair were giggling and close to one another.

We can't wait what Mark will have to say about this pairing.

2009, Yas Marina Circuit

"Sebastian please just slow down"Y/n begged.

It was really petty for Sebastian to be angry and ignore Y/N but he felt really confused on how to act around her. Ever since he read that stupid article, its all that he could think about. So while he couldn't deal with his emotions then he thinks its best to avoid her like the plague.

"I'm busy" Sebastian's curt reply

"Oh c'mon, you are not busy. You are ignoring me" Y/N was still hot in trail "This is so childish and stupid"

"Me? Stupid?" Sebastian stopped and turned to face her.

"You are calling me stupid when you are the one out there having dinner with the enemy"Sebastian wasn't thinking at this point.

"The enemy? Do you think I'm giving out secrets to Jenson?" she asked in shock

"Yes, Jenson is our enemy. You should have not gone on a dinner date with him, don't you have any sense of loyalty to the team?"

Sebastian could see the tears starting to form in her eyes. He knows that he said the wrong things and its not something that he can take back. Everything was just so heated.

"You believe those tabloids than me?"

"I don't know what to believe. You two looked pretty cozy on that front page" Sebastian really wanted to shut himself by now but jealousy is a sick sick disease that cannot be stopped.

"That's real mature of you Seb, you disappoint me" she sounds so defeated "Out of everyone, you were one of the people who I thought would believe me rather than what was painted by the media"

"Y/N you can't fault me on that, you were close"

"We were just friends and besides I-" she caught herself to stop.

There was a confession at the other end of Y/N. She almost confessed how she cannot see herself with Jenson because all she can see is how he is not Sebastian and all she wants to love is Sebastian. It was a good thing she caught herself before she slipped again.

"Besides what?" Sebastian wondered.

"Never mind. Talk to me when you mature"

"Yeah that's real mature, run away when you don't wanna face the consequences of your actions" Sebastian chastised.

Y/N felt that her tears are falling so she could only turn away and run the other direction. Sebastian, on the other hand, felt like hitting himself. It was the type of conversation he wanted to avoid because he could not contain his emotions. He bitterly regrets how this was their last conversation for 2009.

#sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel imagines #sebastian vettel x oc #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

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junghelioseok · 1 year ago

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miss taken.

↳ you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ fluff | smut | teacher!au | single parent!au | e2l ◇ 20.3k [1/1]

❛❛ our kids are bitter rivals and the only time we ever meet is when we’re both called to the principal’s office and whatever maybe i think you’re kind of cute but your kid’s a monster and ALSO someone keeps buying the last everything bagel at my favorite coffee shop 2 minutes before i get there in the morning and has heard about my plight and has started leaving me bragging notes about it ❜❜

notes: fic number two in the serendipity series is here at last!!! this took me like a million and a half years to finish because Real Life happened but here we finally are! also, i changed the type of bagel that the story is centered around, because i honestly didn’t come to like everything bagels until relatively recently and i will still only eat it if it’s part of a bagel sandwich because? just having cream cheese or whatever on an everything bagel feels kind of unhinged to me! but that’s neither here nor there and no one is here for my bagel opinions so! hope you enjoy the story!!! 💕

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dilf!jk, some kissing and hand stuff, ✨sexual tension✨ but nothing too terribly explicit tbh

Silence has never sounded louder.

You drum your fingers against the armrest of your chair, nails clacking against the cheap plastic. On the wall, the second hand of the clock completes yet another revolution, and you glance over when your companion sighs, plucks off her reading glasses, and sets them down on the desk beside the placard that houses her title: Principal Pamela Baker, Hybe Academy.

A woman nearing her fifties, Pam has sandy blonde hair cut into a neat bob and an enviable ability to pull off any lipstick color, no matter how bold. You’re lucky enough to call her both a friend and a mentor, and when she mutters a curse under her breath, you chuckle. “Late again,” she huffs, offering you a wry smile before leaning back in her seat and casting her gaze skyward. “Typical.”

“You know what these corporate types are like, Pam,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “They have zero regard for anyone else’s time. He was twenty minutes late to our parent-teacher conference last semester, so don’t take it personally.”

“Believe me, I know plenty of men like Jungkook Jeon,” Pam says with another sigh, this one heavier and longer than the last. “I even married one, you know. But that was before I came to my senses and divorced his ass. Best decision of my life, right after getting my tubes tied.”

“Three kids was enough for you?” you tease, and Pam snorts out a laugh.

“More than enough,” she replies. “What about you, though? Thinking of having another kid anytime soon?”

“I don’t think so… well, not anytime soon, at least. Ask me again in—”

The sound of a doorknob turning stops you in your tracks, and a moment later, the door to the office swings open with a dull click.

“Principal Baker. Miss {L/N}.” Jungkook Jeon is standing at the threshold in a wool coat the color of charcoal, the buttons of which are undone to reveal the undoubtedly designer suit underneath. His dark hair is parted neatly across his forehead, still sprinkled with lingering snowflakes from his journey here, and you bite back the urge to remark on his tardiness. Instead, you stand when your boss stands up, mustering up every ounce of professionalism you possibly can.

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, giving his hand a firm shake before gesturing to the empty chair beside you. “It’s nice to see you again. Please, take a seat.”

You incline your head in Jungkook’s direction as he lowers himself into the plastic chair, the legs scraping against the tiled floor in protest as he adjusts his position. “Hello, Mr. Jeon. Thank you for finally joining us.”

If Jungkook notices the snarky inflection of your tone, he doesn’t let it show. He merely levels you with a cool gaze, blinking lazily before turning to your boss. “Excuse my tardiness,” he says, smoothing down the lapels of his black jacket and straightening his slate blue tie. “I got here as fast as I could. Where is my daughter?”

Pam gestures toward the door. “Daeun is down the hall in the library, under Mr. Kim’s supervision. I thought it best if we spoke without the children first.”

The dark-haired man hums. “What happened, Principal? You were rather vague on the phone.”

Pam nods, and you exchange looks before she turns her attention back to Jungkook. “Yes, well, as I explained on the phone, there was an incident. Daeun forcefully took her classmate’s book during the free reading period, and refused to return it when asked.”

At that, Jungkook casts you another glance. “I see. And I presume the classmate was Miss {L/N}’s daughter?”

“It was,” you confirm, taking care to keep your tone even despite the irritation simmering in your belly. “This is the second time Trixie’s been targeted by your daughter, Mr. Jeon. Do you think that’s a coincidence?”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his lips twisting into a displeased frown. “I'm not sure I like what you’re implying, Miss {L/N}.”

The iciness in his voice is unmistakable, but you have fifteen minutes’ worth of annoyance festering in your belly—annoyance that has amplified with every second that he made you wait. That, combined with his behavior last semester is enough to stir that annoyance into full-blown anger. He’s been short with you every time you’ve called to talk about his daughter’s progress in class, and you very nearly canceled his eight o’clock appointment to meet with you during December’s parent-teacher conferences. You remember pulling up his contact information nineteen minutes after eight, thumb hovering over the call button on your phone when he finally burst into your classroom. No preamble, and no apology. He just sat down, as if nothing was amiss, and began asking about Daeun’s grades in math.

It’s no wonder you’ve never heard so much as a word about a Mrs. Jeon. The nosy part of your brain wonders about Jungkook’s home life on occasion, and the more vindictive part relishes in the fact that he’s no doubt a single parent. Any woman would have to be a saint to put up with Jungkook Jeon, you reason, because as far as you’re concerned, he’s the devil.

The devil dressed in head-to-toe Armani, who is currently fixing you with a look that could temper steel.

“Mr. Jeon.” Pam, as always, is quick to diffuse the sudden tension that’s settled over her office. “No one is implying anything here. We just want to have a frank, civil discussion about Daeun’s behavior, and see if you can think of anything that may be causing her to act out. A recent change in her life, perhaps? Something new that she hasn’t quite adjusted to yet?”

You take a deep breath, releasing it through your nose before putting your professional mask back on. “Her shift in behavior was extremely sudden,” you chime in, watching out of the corner of your eye as Pam inclines her head in agreement. “Laughing when Trixie and another classmate slipped and fell on the ice, and now this? I don’t believe for a minute that this change came out of nowhere—something must have caused it. Daeun is a smart girl, Mr. Jeon. She’s outgoing and a little rambunctious, but she’s always been kind to her classmates in the past. Today’s behavior was incredibly out of character for her.”

A beat of silence passes, as your words fade into silence. Then Jungkook shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other as he turns his full attention to you. “We keep talking about Daeun as if she was the only child involved in this incident, Miss {L/N}. Why don’t we talk about your daughter instead? Trixie, is it?”

And just like that, your mask begins to splinter at the edges. “Trixie was reading quietly at the table when Daeun approached her,” you reply coolly. “She didn’t instigate anything, Mr. Jeon.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to take your word for it?” Jungkook huffs out a humorless chuckle, leaning back in his seat. “I think you, of all people, might be a little bit biased.”

Fury flares in your belly, hot and bright. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon,” you manage between clenched teeth. “I care about all of my students equally, and treat them as such. But I don’t expect you to understand that.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, but your boss stops him before he can utter a single syllable. “I think that’s enough for today,” Pam says, rising to her feet and stepping around her desk to shake Jungkook’s hand. Even in heels, she only comes up to his chest, and you would have laughed at the height disparity if it weren’t for the rage still bubbling through your veins. “Like I said before, the girls are just down the hall with Mr. Kim. If you’ll follow me…”

Pam ushers Jungkook out of the office, chattering mindlessly about the cafeteria renovations that are underway—funded in large part by Jungkook himself, you’re certain. As much as you’ve grown to dislike the man, you know that he cares deeply about education and donates a rather large sum to your school every year. Trailing after them by a few paces, you listen as Pam points out a row of plaques hanging on the wall, honoring distinguished students and teachers alike.

The library, when you reach it, is empty save for three figures seated at one of several rectangular tables that occupy the middle of the room. Taehyung Kim, the copper-haired librarian, springs out of his seat upon your arrival, and you wave tiredly as he approaches with a warm, affable grin.

“Welcome!” Taehyung says, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses before extending a hand for Jungkook to shake. “You must be Daeun’s dad. I’m Taehyung Kim, the librarian here at Hybe.”

“Jungkook Jeon.” Then Jungkook’s gaze flits past him to where the two children are seated opposite one another. Daeun is a slender, petite girl with dark hair braided neatly down her back and round, brown eyes that are narrowed in concentration as she colors in a picture of a lion. Quietly, Jungkook strides over to his daughter, kneeling down beside her chair until he’s eye-level. “Hey, Daeun,” you hear him murmur. “What happened today, hmm?”

You, meanwhile, join your own daughter at the table, sitting down in the chair Taehyung abandoned and taking in the paper and coloring utensils scattered across the surface “Hey, jitterbug,” you murmur. “Were you nice to Mr. Kim while I was gone?”

“Tae read us a book about butterflies,” Trixie replies, shrugging her little shoulders. “He taught us about migration.”

You chuckle. “Migration, huh? That sounds interesting. You want to tell me all about it on the drive home?”

Trixie nods, her pigtails bobbing in time with the movement. Then she glances over to where Jungkook is instructing Daeun to pack up her backpack, tucking books and notebooks neatly inside while Daeun collects her crayons and puts them into a sparkly little pink case. “Are we going home now?”

“Soon, bug,” you promise. “I just have to finish up with Mr. Jeon and Principal Baker, okay?”

“Okay,” Trixie says agreeably, returning to her drawing. Pam gestures for you to join her and Jungkook near the library doors, and you meet Taehyung’s gaze as you brush past where he’s pulling a few books down for a display. Good luck, he mouths, and you suppress the urge to make a face. Instead, you mouth a quick thanks back, offering Daeun a quick smile as well before joining her father and your boss at the door.

“Mr. Jeon,” Pam says, casting a surreptitious glance toward Daeun and Trixie before lowering her voice. “I don’t think you should ignore this behavior from your daughter. If there’s something in her home life that is making her act out, I can recommend a few counselors who would be more than happy to speak with the two of y—”

Jungkook shakes his head, a lock of dark hair coming loose from whatever gel he’s used to style it. “With all due respect, Principal Baker, I don’t appreciate my parenting abilities being called into question. I think it’s probably best if Daeun and I take our leave.”

Pam sighs. “Mr. Jeon, I don’t mean to offend. But Daeun did take a book out of Trixie’s hands.”

“And I’ll be sure to discipline her for that,” Jungkook replies. “But if this is all over a book, Principal, I think the solution is simple. I can easily buy her whatever book she needs.”

“I’m not so sure it’s about the book itself,” you point out. “Tae—I mean, Mr. Kim—has multiple copies of Charlotte’s Web available for the students.”

Jungkook hums and turns up the collar of his wool coat, pulling it snug around his throat. “Nonetheless, I think we’re done here. Daeun, we’re leaving.”

The six-year-old looks up from the book Taehyung has checked out for her and immediately runs over to grab her father’s extended hand. “Are we going home?” she asks quietly, and he nods.

“Yeah, we are, sweetheart. Come on. Say bye to your teachers.”

Obediently, Daeun waves to you and Taehyung before bidding Pam goodbye as well. Jungkook offers you a stiff nod, and Pam resignedly offers to walk the duo out. They depart together, and you watch as they disappear around the corner of the hall before turning to Taehyung with a heavy sigh. Trixie is still engrossed in her coloring, and you lower your voice as you join Taehyung where he’s begun re-shelving books from a cart of returns.

“Thank god that’s finally over,” you murmur.

Taehyung glances both ways, ensuring the coast is clear. “Yeah. That Jungkook guy is a total wang.”

///

By the time you pull out of Hybe Academy’s parking lot, rush hour has well and truly begun. Silently, you curse Jungkook’s tardiness as you merge onto the main road and almost immediately come to a complete standstill amongst the traffic. Glancing back in the rearview mirror, you take in the sight of your daughter, buckled neatly into the backseat with her face pressed against the window.

“What color are we looking for today, bug?”

“Red,” she replies, her nose scrunching against the glass. Every day, your daughter picks a color and counts the number of cars she sees in that particular shade. She’s taken to keeping a running tally on the refrigerator—working toward the answer to a research question that only she understands. Her work is accompanied by a variety of figures and diagrams as well, which she’s plastered across the remainder of the refrigerator door and are slowly encroaching on the freezer door as well. You’re pretty sure she’ll need a larger surface soon enough—the wall of the hallway leading to the bedrooms would probably suffice—but until then, you have no plans to interfere with her creativity. If anything, you sometimes wish you could see the world through a child’s eyes again—to view every new experience as an adventure, and delight in the simple things. It’s one of the many reasons you love working at Hybe, even if you do have to deal with the occasional entitled parent.

Unwillingly, your mind wanders back to Jungkook Jeon. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive, even if you’re reluctant to admit it and refuse outright to say it aloud. He’s blessed with the kind of face that angels could rhapsodize about—his dark, expressive eyes set above a strong nose and an enticing mouth. His jawline is sharp as a knife, and you’re fairly certain the devil himself sculpted his thighs. Even beneath the drape of his expensive suits, you can see the definition of his musculature as clearly as if he wasn’t wearing anything at all. You wonder—more often than you’d like to admit—how his workplace hasn’t deemed his suits obscene. Maybe he needs a dress code, you think to yourself, easing off the brake as the cars in front of you begin to inch forward. Baggy clothes only from this point forward. The more skin covered, the better.

“Oooh! Found one!” Trixie exclaims, tapping the glass vigorously. “And look, there’s another. It’s a darker red, though.”

You hum and nod toward the traffic up ahead, where you can glimpse the corner of a cherry red bumper. “What about that one up there? That makes three, right?”

In the mirror, you see your daughter nod. A few minutes pass, the two of you calling out when another red car is spotted, and traffic eventually eases up enough that you can continue your way home.

“So, what did Mr. Kim teach you about butterflies?” you query as you make a right turn. “Something about migration?”

Trixie nods absently, still fixated on the cars driving by in the opposite lane. “Yeah. They go south for the winter to stay warm.”

You glance at her reflection in the mirror again. “Must be nice.”

“Yeah.”

Up ahead, the light turns green. You hit the gas, debating whether to bring up Daeun or not, but your daughter speaks again before you can dwell on it any further.

“It’s weird,” Trixie says, her face still pressed against the window and her breath misting the glass. “Daeun was never mean to me before. We weren’t friends, not really. But now it feels like she’s picking on me on purpose and I don’t know why.”

Something in your chest splinters at the tone of her voice—subdued and small. She’s dragging a finger through the fogged up glass now, tracing the crooked outline of a butterfly, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking again.

“We’ll figure it out together, then, jitterbug. Now, why don’t you start thinking about what you want for dinner?”

///

Mornings are always a little chaotic in your home. Trixie is sprinting around the entirety of the two-bedroom apartment looking for her favorite scrunchie, a half-eaten piece of toast clutched in one hand and her backpack swinging from the other. In the kitchen, you’re going through a mental checklist of all the places your daughter could have possibly left the accessory while sipping on your morning coffee. The mug nearly slips from your hand when your pet cat, Taco, slinks past your legs on her way to her food bowl, and you hiss out a sharp curse.

“Fuck!” Hot liquid dribbles down your knuckles. The calico cat gives you an unimpressed look, and you glance both ways to make sure Trixie is out of earshot before wagging a reprimanding finger. “Manners, Taco. You’re better than this.”

Taco merely flicks her tail and turns back to her own breakfast, rebelliously batting her water bowl with a paw before settling down to eat. Sighing, you finish the remainder of your coffee and rinse out the mug, listening as Trixie darts in and begins rummaging through the silverware drawer.

“Bug, I don’t think your scrunchie’s in there,” you remark, earning yourself a shrug in response.

“Can’t be too careful,” she says in a startlingly accurate impression of you, and you can’t decide whether to laugh out loud or roll your eyes. Coming up empty, your daughter runs off again, and you return your attention to your bag, rifling through the folders and assignments within. “Aha!” you hear in the distance, and smile. Trixie comes bounding down the hall a few seconds later with a sparkly holographic scrunchie in hand, and you obligingly help her wind it around her ponytail as she wriggles in place with excitement.

“Ready to go?” you ask once finished, and she nods eagerly. “Have all your homework?” Another nod. “What about those books you have to return to Mr. Kim at the library?”

Trixie heaves a dramatic sigh and fixes you with a look. “Yes, Mom. Can we go now?”

You chuckle and extend your hand for her to take, heaving your bag onto your opposite shoulder. “All right, all right. Let’s go.”

Locking the front door, you and Trixie take the elevator down to the ground floor of the building and exit out into the wintry air. Your car is parked on a nearby side street, and immediately, you see that the windshield is coated in a light layer of frost. Sighing inwardly, you head toward the trunk where you store the ice scraper. Trixie releases your hand when you pop open the lid, and you turn to watch as she skips her way down the sidewalk. “Sure you don’t want a ride to school?” you call.

She stops, her nose wrinkling. “It’s lame to go to school with your teacher, Mom.”

You feign offense, slapping a hand to your heart. “Oh? I’m lame now, am I?”

“Don’t take it personal,” Trixie replies, shrugging. “All adults are kinda lame.”

With that, she waves and darts the rest of the way down the sidewalk, making her way to the bus stop at the end of the block. You watch her go, waiting until she safely joins the other half-dozen kids clustered on the corner beside the stop sign, before turning back to your car and climbing into the driver’s seat.

There’s something calming about your morning commute—something about the low hum of the engine and the whir of wheels against asphalt that soothes your soul. The route downtown is a familiar one, and you navigate it with ease. A glance at the clock on the dashboard tells you that you have just enough time to grab some breakfast, and at the next intersection, you opt to turn left instead of right. Three minutes later, you’re pulling up to your favorite coffee shop in the city, snagging one of the few remaining parking spaces on the street and braving the chill one more time as you head for the brightly painted front door beneath the cheery sign that reads, Bean There, Done That!.

The smell of warm cinnamon and vanilla washes over you as soon as you step inside the coffee shop. There’s a relatively short line, and you pull out your phone as you join it, scrolling through news articles and notifications until you reach the counter. “Good morning, Bonnie,” you greet the middle-aged woman working the cash register, before waving at the man who’s already brewing a fresh espresso in the corner. “Morning, Jin.”

“Hiya, {Name},” Jin replies. As the owner of the shop and a dear friend of yours, he knows your usual order like the back of his hand. “Got your coffee going right now.”

Bonnie smiles at you, nodding as Jin plops your finished drink down and joins her at the counter. “Morning, hun. You’re too late again, I’m afraid. Can I get you something else?”

You glance over at the glass display case where all the baked goods are housed, disappointment sinking into your stomach when you see the empty row in the bagel section. “No cinnamon streusel? Again?”

“Some guy beat you to the last one,” Jin answers as Bonnie rings up your coffee and slides it across the counter into your waiting hands. “Same one as last week, actually. He comes here pretty regularly.”

Your eyes narrow. “You mean the same jerk has taken my bagel three times now? How is it that I haven’t run into him yet?”

“I dunno—dude’s an early riser, I guess. You missed him by about ten minutes this time, but sometimes he’s in here even earlier than that.” Jin shrugs and jabs a thumb toward the back where you can just barely see the kitchen through a small window. “We’ve got more bagels going right now though, if you can wait five minutes.”

The time on your phone’s screen tells you that you cannot. “Sorry,” you tell him. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for school.” Turning, you nod at Bonnie and drop a few bills into the tip jar. “See you both tomorrow.”

“Wait!” Jin pats down his apron pockets and fishes out a crumpled napkin from within. “I almost forgot. The guy—he left a note.”

“He left… what?” You frown. “Why?”

Awkwardly, Jin clears his throat. “I, uh, may have let it slip that he kept beating you to the last cinnamon streusel bagel on Friday. And then he asked if he could leave you a note, so….” Uncrumpling the napkin, he extends it toward you. “Here.”

You can’t help it—curiosity roots in your belly and winds its way to your fingers as you carefully accept the note and smooth it out on the countertop.

Better luck next time ;)

“That prick.”

Jin winces. “Yeah, I know. I mean, he does always leave a twenty in the tip jar, but yeah, totally. I’m with you. Guy’s a wang.”

You’re barely listening. Scowling, you fumble for the pen in your purse, taking the napkin that Bonnie wordlessly hands you and scribbling out your own note so fiercely you nearly rip through the papery material.

Game on, mister.

///

The rest of the week seems to drag by, until Friday arrives at long last and shepherds with it stormy gray clouds on the horizon. You’re already feeling rather grumpy—no doubt thanks in part to the collection of snarky napkin notes you’ve accumulated over the past few days—and the sun’s absence only serves to exacerbate your foul mood. Even worse, you had an unfortunate run-in with one Mr. Jungkook Jeon yesterday, meeting with him in the principal’s office following an incident where Daeun took and hid Trixie’s favorite holographic scrunchie. Thankfully, it was recovered quickly, but even now the mere thought of Jungkook Jeon’s stupid, condescending face is enough to tank your mood. Scowling, you lock your car and head in the direction of Bean There, Done That!, carefully eyeing every person who exits in an effort to discern whether they might have purchased a cinnamon streusel bagel and hoping that none of them have snagged the last.

You’re running a full forty-five minutes early today—all in an attempt to beat the damned bagel thief. Half an hour hadn’t been enough—you found that out the hard way yesterday, when Bonnie had greeted you with an apologetic smile and Jin had wordlessly doubled the usual shot of espresso in your coffee without charge. Looking back, your initial attempts to be a mere fifteen minutes earlier were feeble at worst and laughable at best. But today, you think, today will be different.

The bell over the door jingles pleasantly when you step inside the coffee shop, and you immediately deflate when Jin catches your eye and shakes his head. He’s there to greet you when you finally reach the front of the line, and you sigh as you accept the folded napkin he hands over. “He beat me? Again? Does this guy not sleep?”

“He was super early today,” Jin replies with a shrug. Groaning, you unfold the note and smooth it out on the counter, sucking in a breath when you read the words scrawled there.

What’s that saying again? Something about the early bird always getting the worm? ;)

“That fucking asshole,” you grit out. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“Testy,” Jin says, clicking his tongue. “What’s got your panties in a bunch today?”

You sigh. “School stuff, mostly. I had to meet with the father of one of my students yesterday, and he’s a real piece of work. And then I was up late grading homework.”

“You could always assign less,” Jin offers up unhelpfully, which earns him a snort and an eye-roll from you. Relenting, he instead begins pouring your coffee, chattering on as the hot liquid splashes into your cup. “So, about this guy’s impending doom. How exactly do you plan on murdering a man when you don’t even know what he looks like?”

“Stop being logical,” you groan, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Just then, the coffee shop door flies open, letting in a gust of chilly wind. You turn to see Bonnie bustling inside, wearing a bright pink woolen hat and ushering along her eleven-year old son, Caleb. “Hi, hun,” she greets you, her nose scrunching when she sees your frown. “I take it you still haven’t found your mystery bagel man?”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t think I can get DNA off of his notes, so no. I have no idea who this guy is, which means I have no way of tracking him down and giving him a piece of my mind.”

Bonnie tuts sympathetically and pats your arm. “Sorry, hun.” Giving your elbow an affectionate squeeze, she slips past the counter and into the back room to grab her paycheck. Jin finishes up with your drink, and you thank him as you take a long sip. Then you turn to Bonnie’s son, who’s taken a seat in a nearby booth and is doodling on a piece of scrap paper.

“Hey, Caleb. How’s it going?”

The boy, normally quite talkative, just shrugs. Taken aback, you decide not to press the issue and instead turn back to Jin, who’s wiping down the espresso machine and whistling something that sounds vaguely like “Never Gonna Give You Up” under his breath. Bonnie returns then, and you give her a quizzical glance as she pours herself a to-go cup of coffee and adds two generous pumps of caramel syrup. Is something up with Caleb? you mouth, and watch as confusion flits across her face before realization dawns.

“Don’t worry about him,” she whispers, approaching you so you can hear. “He’s just a little bummed from yesterday. Misspelled ‘serendipity’ in the school spelling bee, and it cost him the win in the end.”

You wince. “Ouch. That hurts.”

“Yeah, that sucks real hard,” Jin chimes in from his spot at the espresso machine. “Little guy didn’t even try to steal a cookie from the display like he normally does.”

Bonnie chuckles. “I’ll grab a couple to-go, then—a double chocolate and a snickerdoodle, if you please. But then we’ve really got to head out. School starts in twenty.”

At the reminder, you pull out your phone and glance at the time. “Yeah, I need to leave soon too. Give my best to Caleb, okay? There’s always next year’s spelling bee.” Turning to Jin, you hand over your credit card to pay for the coffee before grabbing a pen and a napkin. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what you want to write, and then another few to scrawl out the note:

Don’t forget, the tortoise always beats the hare in the end.

Straightening up, you hand the napkin over to Jin, who accepts it wordlessly and tucks it into his pocket. And once he’s handed your card back to you, you wave goodbye to both Jin and Bonnie before heading out.

It’s typically a five-minute drive to Hybe Academy from the coffee shop, but this morning, it takes you almost ten. Every red light in the city has seemingly teamed up in order to make you late, and you make it through the door of your classroom with mere minutes to spare. Thankfully, the first bell hasn’t rung yet, and to your surprise, Taehyung is still lounging in your desk chair when you enter the room. The two of you have a longstanding tradition of having breakfast together in the mornings—even if breakfast just turns out to be two extra-large cups of coffee with anywhere between zero and four shots of espresso added in. Taehyung occasionally brings in some of his kitchen experiments as well, and you’ve had to politely decline his offer to share on more than one occasion.

“Hey, there you are!” Taehyung grins and props his feet up onto your desk, crossing one leg over the other. “I was just about to leave.”

“Really? It looks like you’ve made yourself pretty comfortable,” you reply, dropping your bag onto the floor and collapsing into the chair he’s pulled up beside him. “Must be nice, not having to worry about being on time for first period.”

Taehyung nestles deeper into the back of your chair and lets his eyes drift shut. “Sure is.”

You snort and take a sip of your coffee. “Jerk.”

“I’m rubber, you’re glue,” he replies without missing a beat, his eyes remaining staunchly shut.

Shaking your head, you instead direct your attention to the tupperware container that’s sitting on the desk in front of your friend. You can see what looks like some kind of pastry inside, and prod curiously at it before poking Taehyung in the shoulder. “So, what’s this? Don’t tell me you tried to make croque monsieurs again.”

“Excuse you, those weren’t even that bad,” he defends, his eyes flying open. “And no, I didn’t. I made quiche this time.”

“Right,” you say suspiciously. “And what’s in it?”

“Bacon, cheese, onions,” Taehyung lists with a shrug. “Oh, and a few baby carrots I had on hand. I didn’t really know what else to do with them.”

It’s far from the strangest combination your friend has come up with—a sentiment you voice aloud as you pry open the edge of the container and accept the fork he hands over. “This feels shockingly normal.” Cautiously, you dig into an edge and bring it to eye level so you can examine the filling. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“I’m going to start force feeding you if you don’t stop teasing,” Taehyung threatens, grabbing a fork for himself and helping himself to a generous bite. “Seriously, give it a try—I promise it’s good. I didn’t even drop any eggshells in it this time.”

Laughing, you bring the quiche to your mouth. The pastry is flaky and the filling is smooth, and you’re pleasantly surprised by the harmonious balance of seasonings that you taste. Taehyung watches in satisfaction as you go in for a bigger piece, and pushes the tupperware closer when you nearly drop it.

“Told you it was good,” he says smugly, and you can only nod your agreement and raise your coffee in silent commendation.

The two of you eat in silence for a few moments—until you remember the napkin shoved in your pocket and pull it out with a grimace. You’ve ranted to Taehyung about your new nemesis on more than one occasion by this point, and he doesn’t even blink as he flattens out the material and scans the words scrawled there. “I’ve gotta say, the guy’s got good handwriting,” he remarks, and you immediately fix him with a scowl.

“Really? You’ve got to say that?”

Taehyung holds up his hands innocently. “Just an observation,” he says. “How many of these notes do you even have now? Three?”

“Five,” you grumble. “And I’m still no closer to figuring out who he is. I don’t suppose you have access to a police database or anything, right? Some way to match this guy’s handwriting?”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” is Taehyung’s blasé reply. “Besides, it’s not like you’re going to do anything, even if you do figure out who he is. You’ll just keep stewing until something else comes along, so why even bother with the manhunt in the first place?”

You sniff. “I’m raising Trixie to be a strong, determined woman who can accomplish anything she sets her mind to. What kind of example would I be setting if I can’t do this one thing?”

Taehyung doesn’t even bother trying to disguise his snort of laughter. “You’re so full of shit. Jesus Christ.”

The bell rings, then—signaling that students have five minutes to make their way to their classrooms. You sigh, and Taehyung wordlessly stands up and begins gathering his tupperware back into his bag, tucking the cutlery in last and grabbing his remaining coffee as he turns toward the door.

“Catch you later,” he says at the threshold, and you wave him off before brushing a few stray crumbs off your desk. Finishing off the last of your coffee, you pull your planner from your bag and absentmindedly shove the napkin note in its place—putting away any and all thoughts of your bagel nemesis as students slowly begin filtering into your classroom. Trixie briefly catches your eye as she files in with a couple of her friends, and you smile as you rise from your seat and begin outlining the day’s lesson plan on the chalkboard.

There’s no doubt that Fridays are your favorite. Friday afternoons at Hybe Academy are dedicated to the arts, and listening to the soft strains of music coming from the orchestra room and the various solo instruments taking lessons brings you boundless joy. You love seeing the new paintings on the walls the following Monday too, and often stay a while after school lets out on Friday to hang up the pieces produced by your own class.

But this particular Friday—it isn’t going as planned at all.

You’re beginning to think that this morning’s strike from your bagel thief was an omen. Up until two hours ago, it’s just been the usual inconveniences and minor drawbacks—a misplaced pencil here, or a spilled bit of juice there. But now, halfway through the schoolday, you feel like you’re drowning. Your stomach is growling and your hair is in disarray, and it’s all thanks to the fact that you currently have twice the amount of students you normally do occupying your classroom—all of whom are seemingly intent on covering every available surface with splatters of paint.

You can’t blame Miss Kumar, of course. Family emergencies are just that—emergencies. They can’t be predicted or controlled, and when she was called at lunchtime with unexpected news, you understood that she had to leave immediately. In an unfortunate turn of events, none of the Academy’s usual substitute teachers were available, and you soon found yourself haplessly watching on as her first-graders filed into your room with chairs in tow, taking up residence two to a desk alongside your own students.

And even though you’re doing your absolute best to maintain some semblance of order, you know you’ve lost when one of Miss Kumar’s students—Nicholas, you think his name is—upends a little plastic canister of paint onto his desk and splats both hands into it. Blue paint goes flying in every direction, and as he giggles, the other children quickly begin to follow his lead.

“Guys, no, wait—” you try to say, but it’s too late. A fully fledged paint fight has broken out, and you watch in horror as Daeun flings a dollop of yellow paint straight onto Trixie’s Hercules shirt.

If there’s a bright spot in all of this, it’s that Principal Pam Baker works fast. You’d called her mere minutes into the fight breaking out, and she’d done her part by calling the parents of the students you’d named as instigators of the fight. Those who could came in right away, and once you managed to settle everyone down, you brought their kids down to Pam’s office so that she could have a group meeting with both the parents and students alike. The remaining children you took to the library to be watched by Taehyung while you cleaned up your classroom. It’s an absolute disaster zone, and you’ve only just begun spraying down the first desk when the door flies open.

“Most of the children are at the library,” you say without turning around, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of red paint on the corner of the desk with a wet wipe. “If you’re looking for your child, you’d best head over there.”

“Actually, I’m here to speak to you,” a familiar voice says, and dread pools in your stomach as you turn and find yourself face-to-face with none other than Jungkook Jeon, his dark eyes unreadable. On his wrist, just barely concealed beneath the sleeve of his charcoal overcoat, you can see his expensive silver watch glinting in the fluorescent light.

“Mr. Jeon,” you manage once you’ve found your voice again. “How can I help you?”

For a few long seconds, Jungkook remains silent. He steps over the threshold and into your classroom, taking in the paint-splattered walls and the chairs scattered haphazardly about. Then his gaze settles on you, his nose wrinkling slightly as he speaks again.

“It smells in here.”

“It’s the paint,” you answer shortly, stepping over an upended cup of brushes and making your way to the window. Fumbling with the lock, you struggle for a few seconds before finally managing to heave it open, letting in a welcome gust of cool wintry air.

Jungkook watches all of this in silence. Then he hums, faint amusement lacing his voice. “I see that.”

Irritation blooms in your belly at his blasé tone. “What did you want to talk about, Mr. Jeon? If you’re looking for Daeun, I’m afraid she’s down the hall in Principal Baker’s office.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Jungkook takes a step forward, the heels of his sleek black oxfords clicking against the tiled floor. “This is the second time you’ve lost control of your classroom, I believe. And tell me, Miss {L/N}, why has my daughter been sent to the principal’s office two days in a row, now?”

You glance up from where you’ve begun wiping at a spot of hot pink paint on the windowsill. “With all due respect, Mr. Jeon, I think that’s a question that only Daeun can answer.”

“Daeun.” There’s outright laughter in Jungkook’s voice now—but it’s the humorless sort that makes the hairs on your neck stand on end. “Right, of course. The blame is always on my daughter, isn’t it? Never any of the others. Never your own.”

For a moment, you can only stare at him. Then, without even fully realizing what you’re doing, you begin walking forward. First one step, and then another—until the tips of your sensible block heels are mere inches from the tips of his oxfords. Emotion is building steadily in your chest—a cocktail of exhaustion and anger topped off with the day’s frustrations—and all of it comes flooding out as you raise your chin and look Jungkook Jeon square in the eye.

“Unlike you, I saw what happened today, Mr. Jeon. Several students were responsible for instigating and perpetuating this fight, and unfortunately, Daeun was one of them. I don’t appreciate you implying that I favor any of my students over others, and I certainly don’t appreciate you questioning my ability as a teacher.” Your chest heaves as you pause to take a breath. “I am a professional, Mr. Jeon. Maybe you don’t think so, but I am. I’ve been teaching for nearly a decade, and I’ve spent almost every day with these children for the past year. You don’t get to come in here and disrespect me in my own classroom. I don’t care how much money you give to this school. I’m not beholden to you or your money, and I’ll thank you to not come in here with unnecessary attitude and finger-pointing.”

Your blood is rushing in your ears by the time your speech comes to an end. Jungkook is silent, staring down his nose at you for three long seconds before he deliberately raises a dark eyebrow. “Are you finished?” he asks.

You shiver as his hot breath fans against your cheeks. “No.” And then, in a surge of stupid, adrenaline-fueled bravery, you add, “I kind of want to cuss you out, to be honest.”

The other eyebrow rises to join the first, as a huff of wry laughter escapes his lips. “Oh?”

You deflate slightly, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. It shouldn’t be so easy for a parent to get a rise out of you, but Jungkook seems to do it so easily—and so often. “I’m not going to,” you murmur.

“No?” Jungkook’s gaze darts down to your lips, then up to your eyes, and then down to your lips again. “That’s rather disappointing.”

Unwittingly, you’ve drifted even closer to him since you first started talking. You can see each fleck of amber in his irises, and could probably count each of his individual eyelashes if you so cared. This close to him, you can see that one of his eyebrows is pierced—his dark hair brushed back just enough to reveal the silvery metal embedded in his skin. You don’t pull away though, and neither does he. If anything, he seems to be willing you closer—his lips parting and his tongue darting out to moisten them.

And then he blinks, and you pull back as if burned. “If… if that’s all, I should really get back to cleaning up,” you stammer, hating the wobble in your voice as you return to your desk and grab a fresh wet wipe. “Principal Baker’s office is down the hall on the left.”

“I remember. I was there yesterday, after all.” The faint amusement has returned to his tone. Straightening his tie, he begins making his way to the exit, only to pause in the doorframe and glance at you once more over his shoulder. “Oh, and Miss {L/N}?”

You look up. “Yes?”

“You should really look in a mirror. It looks like a Smurf exploded on your face.”

///

Saturday brings with it clear blue skies and a sweet, sweet reprieve from the chaos of the week. You’d promised Trixie that you would make ratatouille together over the weekend—just like in the movie—and now you’re making good on that promise as you push a shopping cart around the grocery store with your daughter skipping happily by your side. “Ooh! We need these, right?” she exclaims, pointing at a display of zucchini, and you nod, watching as she carefully selects two and plunks them into the cart.

Together, the two of you finish up in the produce section and head for the aisles that house all the baking goods. Trixie peruses the shelves as you stock up on the essentials—flour, sugar, and a couple boxes of baking soda. Then you grab a package of chocolate chips, laughing when Trixie immediately perks up at the sound of the bag crinkling and whirls around to look at you with wide, eager eyes.

“Can we do chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies?” she asks, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

“I think you’re pushing your luck, young lady,” you tell her, but relent when she selflessly offers to bring the extras to class on Monday to share.

Ten minutes later, you’re heading toward the checkout line when you suddenly realize that you’ve forgotten something. “Tomatoes,” you say aloud, glancing down at Trixie apologetically. “Totally slipped my mind. Let’s go grab some, bug.”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but turns toward the produce section nonetheless. Faster than you can blink, she trots off, leaving you to trail after her with the shopping cart. Maneuvering around a particularly tall display of onions, you pull out your phone to check the grocery list one more time—only to be interrupted by the metallic clang of your shopping cart hitting another. Immediately, you open your mouth to apologize, but stop short when your eyes meet the owner of the other cart.

“O-oh,” you stammer, your head spinning as you try to recover your full vocabulary. “Mr. Jeon. I… I didn’t see you there.”

Jungkook chuckles. “That much I gathered.” Then he nods toward Trixie, who you can just barely see two aisles and a crate of watermelons away. “Doing some shopping, Miss {L/N}?”

You don’t respond. Your brain is in overdrive, struggling to reconcile the Jungkook standing in front of you with the one you’d seen just yesterday in your paint-splattered classroom. His dark hair isn’t parted neatly across his forehead for once—instead, it falls in soft waves around his face. Rather reluctantly, your brain acknowledges that he looks good—irritatingly so. You’ve never seen him in casual clothes before—only neatly pressed suits that cost more than your entire paycheck—and the change is jarring to say the least. His purple sweatshirt is baggy and his black joggers are just tight enough to show off the definition of his thighs, and—

—hang on, is he wearing Birkenstocks?

Trixie, thankfully, comes to the rescue as you gape at Jungkook’s feet for several seconds too long. “Is this enough?” she asks, lugging a plastic bag bulging with at least a dozen heirloom tomatoes. Still a little shellshocked, you look down at her, blinking dumbly before bursting into laughter.

“That’s plenty, bug. In fact, we probably need to put some back, unless you want tomatoes in your cookies too.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Trixie says thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “Or we can make marinara and have spaghetti and meatballs tomorrow!”

Jungkook chooses that moment to huff out a laugh of his own. “Spaghetti and meatballs, huh? Great minds must think alike—Daeun suggested the exact same thing for our dinner tonight. Only thing is, we’re apparently making everything by hand, even the spaghetti. And we’ve never made pasta before, so…” He chuckles. “You can imagine how well that’ll probably go.”

You glance around the nearest visible aisles. “Daeun’s a proper little chef, I see. Is she here with you?”

The dark-haired man gestures toward the back of the grocery store. “I tasked her with grabbing some milk and eggs while I get the onions. She won’t go near them until they’re cooked, so I figured this would be most efficient.”

You grin. “Divide and conquer, huh?”

“Exactly,” Jungkook answers with a surprisingly boyish smile. You note with amusement that his front teeth are more prominent than the rest, just enough to give him the resemblance of a rabbit. Rather unfairly, it somehow manages to work in his favor when put together with the rest of him. Your cheeks warm when you register again just how handsome he truly is, and you quickly suck in a deep breath as you search around for a distraction.

You’re in luck. Daeun rounds the corner of a nearby display of cantaloupes with a wide grin, a gallon jug of milk and a carton of eggs in either hand. Her grin widens when she spots you, and you chuckle as she tries and fails to raise her jug-bearing hand to wave.

“Hi, Miss {L/N}!” she exclaims as she comes to a stop alongside Jungkook’s cart and deposits her goods inside. “What’re you doing here?”

“Dae,” Jungkook chides gently, but you laugh and wave him off.

“Hi, Daeun. I’m doing some shopping with Trixie, just like you are with your dad. Speaking of which—you probably have a lot of cooking to get to.” You return your attention to Jungkook. “I mean, I know we do. Somehow, I was talked into making two types of cookies this weekend, so we should really head out and get started.”

“Wait—hang on a second.” Jungkook speaks again, and maybe it’s your imagination but you think you hear a tinge of desperation in his tone. “I’m actually glad we ran into you today. We were going to do this on Monday but since you’re both here, Daeun has something she’d like to say to Trixie. Isn’t that right, Dae?”

Daeun’s gaze drops to where she’s scuffing her sneakered feet against the tiled linoleum floor. Jungkook reaches down, giving her an encouraging nudge, and she hesitates for a second before looking back up and glancing between you and Trixie. “I’m sorry,” she begins shyly. “I shouldn’t’ve thrown paint at you. Or taken your book.” And when Jungkook nudges her again and lifts an eyebrow, she continues again. “And… I’m sorry for laughing when you fell down on the playground. It wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t being nice. I’m really sorry, Trixie.”

There’s a beat of silence, as Daeun falls silent and looks at your daughter hopefully. You glance between the two girls, then up at Jungkook, who still has a hand on Daeun’s shoulder and seems to be holding his breath. Trixie, for her part, looks to be deep in thought, her face scrunched in contemplation as she taps a finger against her lips. Vaguely, you wonder if you should say something, but decide against it.

And then Trixie beams, toothy and bright. Daeun’s answering smile is still tentative, but it transforms into full-blown giggles when your daughter rushes forward and clasps one of her hands in both of her own. “I forgive you,” she says shortly, giving her hand a shake like a little businesswoman. You and Jungkook watch on as the two girls proceed to skip off, hand-in-hand and singing “Baby Shark”.

“Wow,” you remark, turning back to Jungkook. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. What brought that on?”

Jungkook begins to look rather sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck. “I actually have a bit of a confession to make. Not to mention, I owe you a huge apology. I talked to Dae last night, and… well, you were right. She wasn’t acting out for no reason. She… she was actually jealous of Trixie."

You frown. "What?"

He nods. "Yeah. See, I got promoted at my job a while ago. Right after the holidays, I had to start working longer hours, which of course meant less time at home with her. And I guess all of that took its toll, especially since I had to stop taking her to school every morning.” He sighs. “She didn’t adjust very well to that. I tried my best to make things work, but there’s only so much I can do, you know? Eventually I had to set up a morning carpool with some of the neighbors. And I tried to ease the transition as much as I could, but…” He trails off with another sigh. “Guess I did kind of a shit job there.”

Your mind is reeling at all of this new information, but you manage to find your voice again after a few moments. “You did your best,” you tell him, resisting the sudden urge to reach out and touch his arm. “And you’re still trying. That’s all that matters, you know. You’re trying to make things better. Daeun can sense that, and believe me, it’s paying off.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, but thank you. I’m just glad that Dae has a good school and good teachers. Actually, you’ve always been her favorite, did you know that?”

You didn’t. “Really?”

“Really.”

You aren’t sure what to say after that, so you opt to look around instead. At some point—you aren’t sure when—the two of you must’ve started walking around the grocery store again because all around you are shelves full of bread and baked goods. Mindlessly, you grab a bag of everything bagels and smile when Jungkook follows your lead and drops a bag into his own cart.

A few minutes of meandering later, you find Trixie and Daeun together in the snack aisle, deep in discussion about their favorite candies. The conversation winds down as you and Jungkook approach, and you decide not to comment when Trixie not-so-surreptitiously slips a package of chocolate caramels into your shopping cart.

“We should probably get going,” you say instead, pulling out your phone and glancing at the time. “Gosh, there really aren’t enough hours in the day. You ready, bug?”

“Yep!” Trixie replies cheerily, turning to wave goodbye to Daeun and Jungkook. “Bye, Daeun! Bye, Mr. Jeon!”

“See you Monday, Trixie! You too, Miss {L/N}!” Daeun exclaims. And as you and Jungkook exchange smiles and farewells of your own, you feel lighter than you’ve felt in days, as if an invisible weight has lifted.

///

Like clockwork, Monday morning finds you at the counter of Bean There, Done That! with an apologetic Jin offering you your usual coffee in a size larger than the one you’d paid for. “Again?” you exclaim as you accept the cup and take a generous sip. “I can’t believe this. You opened like, twenty minutes ago.”

The corner of Jin’s mouth twitches. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he produces a full tray of cinnamon streusel bagels from somewhere beneath the counter, picking out the best-looking one before sliding the tray into its spot in the display. “I just wanted to see the look on your face,” he admits as he slips the bagel into a paper bag and hands it over. “These are fresh—still pretty warm, in fact. Surprised you didn’t smell them when you came in.”

“I did smell them,” you tell him, wagging a finger. “But the blueberry bagels are always kind of overpowering and this whole place tends to smell like vanilla anyway, so excuse me for taking you for your word when you said you were out.”

“You know, a simple ‘thank you’ would’ve sufficed,” Jin sniffs. Then he gestures to the stack of napkins next to the cash register and waggles his eyebrows. “Care to leave a snarky note of your own?”

A slow grin spreads across your face as you start fishing in your purse for a pen. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

///

The rest of the day goes smoothly, and you’re pretty sure it’s all thanks to the cinnamon streusel bagel you’d had the time to truly savor this morning. You’d even bought an extra for Taehyung, who for his part contributed a tupperware full of bacon strips and a pitcher of mixed berry smoothie to your breakfast. For lunch you’d made sure to eat a healthy dose of vegetables, and as you head into the final period of the day, you feel more than ready to give a room full of children their next big assignment.

“All right, class,” you say as your students filter into the classroom and start taking their seats. “We’ve been learning about the animal kingdom for the last few weeks, and it’s finally time to put everything we’ve learned so far together. I’m going to go around and hand each of you a card. Take a look at it—you’ll either see a picture of an animal, or the name of an animal.” Grabbing the stack of cards off your desk, you begin distributing them, slowly making your way up and down the rows of desks. “Then, I want you to get up out of your seats and find the card that matches yours. If there’s a picture of a zebra on your card, you want to find the person with ‘zebra’ written on their card. And that person will be your partner for this project. Does that make sense to everyone?”

Nods and exclamations of affirmation all around. Satisfied, you hand out the last of your cards and return to your desk, gesturing for your students to stand up and find their partners. You watch as the children mill around, exclaiming happily when they find their match. Much to your satisfaction, you see that Daisy—a little girl who always has her blond hair corralled into a neat braid—and Josiah—a well-mannered boy with a different-colored polo for each day of the week—just so happen to be partners. You hadn’t planned it that way, but you’ve always gotten the feeling that there was a hint of a little crush there.

Another pleasant surprise comes in the form of Daeun, who’s plopped herself in the seat beside Trixie and is animatedly gesturing at her card. Even from your spot in the front of the classroom, you can read the big block letters that spell out “penguin” and see the corresponding line drawing on Trixie’s card. And as the girls begin to chat, it’s as if the issues of the last few months hadn’t happened at all.

Your class spends the last few hours of the school day in the library, working on their newly assigned project. You’ve set up shop at the table nearest Taehyung’s desk, which you’ve always kind of envied. Perfectly round and situated in the center of the room, it allows for a 360-degree view of the entire library if he so much as spins in his chair. “Honestly, I could get so much done if I had one of these,” you lament to him as you watch Josiah sharpen Daisy’s pencil for her out of the corner of your eye. “I’d set up the best frickin’ assembly line you ever saw.”

“You sound like a workaholic,” Taehyung replies, doing yet another lazy revolution in his seat. “Or a lunatic. Same thing, really.”

Resisting the urge to stick your tongue out at him, you settle for rolling your eyes instead. The final bell of the day rings, and you shepherd your students out of the library with your friend on your heels. As the children disperse to their lockers, you trail after Trixie and Daeun, waiting for the two to say their goodbyes so you and your daughter can walk to the car together. It’s still odd seeing the two getting along so well, but you aren’t about to question it as you and Taehyung follow the girls to their lockers—which happen to be in the same section of the hallway—and then out and into the bright afternoon sun. Smiling, you listen to them chattering excitedly about the project even as Taehyung launches into a tirade about his latest rent increase.

“Seriously, I should just move at this point—it’s fucking ridiculous. I don’t even use the conference center, and the indoor pool is just a waste of space when there’s a public one that’s twice the size three blocks away. And that one even has a hot tub! Not to mention—”

You sigh, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Jeez, Tae, just move. You’ve been threatening to for over a year now, and it’s not like anyone’s forcing you to stay. You don’t even like the neighborhood, for god’s sake. I don’t know why you stuck around for that long.”

Taehyung sniffs. “Moving’s just such a hassle, you know? I really wanted to avoid it, but I guess I can’t this time around. A 22% rent increase… fucking hell. You’ll help me pack, won’t you?”

“I’d rather not.”

“But you’re so good at packing! And you have all that bubble wrap and the box of styrofoam peanuts hoarded in your closet—”

“Stored in my closet.”

“Whatever,” he says dismissively, waving you off. “I’m not here to debate semantics with you.”

“No, you’re here to guilt me into helping you move,” you reply. “What’s up with that, anyway? I thought you swore off of renting U-Hauls for good after last time. You were googling moving companies and getting quotes for weeks.”

“Yeah, I definitely lost that spreadsheet,” Taehyung admits. “Besides, money’s a little tight right now. Every last bit of spare change we have is going toward Jimin’s new pilates studio. We’re saving wherever and whenever we can.”

You nod in understanding at the mention of his fiancé and his new business venture. “How’s all that going, anyhow? I know Jimin’s been super busy—we haven’t been to bar trivia in weeks.”

“Yeah, it’s a whole thing,” Taehyung says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Starting a business is hard—who knew?”

“Who knew, indeed,” you echo. You’re about to say something else, too, but any semblance of coherence flies out of your head when you glance at the girls again and see that they’ve come to a stop. There’s a sleek black Mercedes-Benz idling at the curb, and leaning against it is none other than Jungkook Jeon—dressed in a sharp navy blue ensemble with his hair slicked back and dark sunglasses perched on his nose. It’s impossible to tell whether he’s seen you yet, and it’s all you can do to tear your gaze away before you get caught staring. Turning back instead to Taehyung, you raise a hand in farewell. “Well, it looks like this is my stop.”

“Seems that way,” your friend hums, casting a curious glance at Trixie, who’s enthusiastically greeted Jungkook with a Hi again, Mr. Jeon! and is now giggling with Daeun about how they can see their reflections in his car. “See you tomorrow. Don’t get into too much trouble!”

You roll your eyes at the flagrant wink Taehyung sends your way, surreptitiously flipping him off from behind your tote bag. Then you make your way over to your daughter, who’s still engrossed in conversation. Coming to a stop behind her, you lay a hand on her shoulder, smiling as she looks up and flashes you a big grin. “All righty. You ready to go home, jitterbug?” you ask.

Trixie juts her bottom lip out into a pout. “Can I go to Daeun’s?”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing up at Jungkook, who’s now scrolling through his phone. Then you return your gaze to your daughter, taking in her eager, bright eyes. “I don’t know, bug. Have you asked Mr. Jeon if you can come over?”

Daeun pipes up then, her pigtails bobbing with every word. “He says it’s okay, Miss {L/N}! Since we have a project to work on and all. He even said we can order takeout for dinner!”

Again, you look at Jungkook. His expression is unreadable behind his sunglasses, but when he feels your gaze he glances up, tucking his phone back into his pocket and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “Dae’s right—I did promise the girls takeout. Sorry to catch you off guard with last-minute plans like this, Miss {L/N}. If you’d like, you’re welcome to join us as well.”

You blink. To say that the invitation has caught you off guard would be a massive understatement, and as your brain races to catch up, you suddenly realize that he’s willing to let you come to his home. You would be in his space—where he lives, eats, sleeps. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.

“I—I don’t want to impose,” you finally manage after what feels like an eternity. “I’m sure you’re busy, and I have a lot of homework to grade, and…” You trail off, hesitant, and Jungkook waits a beat before chiming in.

“No imposition at all,” he says, offering you a small smile. “Honest. I’ve spent two of the last three weekends hosting sleepovers for Daeun’s friends, and I’m not convinced I remember what adult company is like anymore.” Then his smile widens—just enough to offer a glimpse of his endearingly prominent front teeth and crinkle the corners of his eyes. “Remind me?”

You aren’t sure if you’re imagining the flirtatious edge in his tone, but you push the thought to the very back of your head and straighten the hem of your blouse before grasping for the phone tucked in your bag. “I… I suppose that would be all right,” you begin hesitantly as you pretend to check for new notifications. “You’re sure it won’t be any trouble?”

“None at all,” Jungkook reassures. “Here, I’ll give you my address for your GPS, but it might be easier if you just follow me. Where are you parked?”

You gesture toward the staff parking lot, which is usually separated from the main lot by a row of neatly manicured hydrangea bushes that bloom in bursts of pink and blue and purple during the spring and summer months. Right now, there are only a few sparse yellow daffodils, pushing up through the dirt and signaling that spring is not far off despite the lingering chill in the air. “I’m about three rows in. I can drive over and meet you here, if that works?”

Trixie chooses that moment to pipe up, instinctively raising her hand like she’s still in class. “Can I ride with Daeun and Mr. Jeon?”

You hesitate, glancing over at Jungkook, who shrugs as if to say fine by me. Turning your attention back to your daughter, you nod and reach down to adjust the glittery pink scrunchie in her hair. “Be good,” you order. “Don’t distract Mr. Jeon while he’s driving, okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Trixie hums, already turning toward the sleek black Benz and tugging on the door handle. “See you there, Mom!”

You wave, watching as the girls climb into the backseat before turning and making your way to your own car. Unlocking the door, you slide into the driver’s seat and take a deep breath. Then, you take another. And a few moments later, you take a third.

Even as you mentally play back the events of the afternoon, you still can’t wrap your head around how it came to this. Here you are, about to drive to Jungkook Jeon’s house. You’ve seen his address in your files, and you know from the street name that he lives downtown, in the part of the city that’s dominated by high-rise buildings and five-star hotels. It’s an area that you don’t visit often, having no reason to unless there’s a particular restaurant that you’re looking to try out—and have the money for. It feels odd inputting his address into your phone’s navigation app, but you do so nonetheless, watching as it calculates the optimal route.

Steeling yourself, you start up the ignition and ease up on the brake. As you pull out of your parking space, you crane your head to see if Jungkook’s car is still where you’d last seen it, which it thankfully is. Slowly, you make your way over to where the Benz is idling, pulling up alongside him and giving him a little wave. Jungkook has donned his sunglasses again, but he lowers them when he sees you and nods in acknowledgment. Ready to go? he mouths, and you nod even though it’s a lie. You aren’t ready. You aren’t sure you ever will be. But Jungkook is already pulling ahead and out of the parking lot, and you’re forced to push aside your intrusive thoughts and follow.

The first stretch of the drive is easy. Jungkook is a measured driver, and you can tell that he’s taking care to turn only when there’s enough room for both of your vehicles. The second stretch, however, proves far more difficult. Now that you’re downtown, there’s an abundance of one-way streets and pedestrians. Traffic lights sit on seemingly every corner, alternating between red, yellow, and green at random, as far as you can tell. You nearly lose Jungkook twice on particularly short green lights, and only narrowly avoid hitting an overeager dog dragging its hapless owner into the crosswalk before the walk sign has changed.

The third time, it finally happens. Dismayed, you watch as Jungkook’s sleek black Benz cruises past a green light, just before it turns yellow for a split second and then flips to red. You’re forced to brake far faster than you’d prefer—way too fast to be safe, for sure—and watch as Jungkook disappears around the Starbucks on the next corner. Muttering out a quiet curse, you drum your fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as you wait for the light to change again. Thankfully, you’re only about two minutes from your destination.

After what feels like an eternity, the light finally turns green. Releasing your foot on the brake, you take the turn that Jungkook had taken, glancing between your phone and the surrounding buildings to identify your destination. There’s a string of restaurants, a pharmacy, and a post office. You cruise past a dentist’s office and a few dry cleaners, and then your phone is directing you to turn right onto a street that boasts a long row of glass-fronted office buildings.

Two blocks later, you’re pulling up to a tall, sleek chrome building. The first floor is occupied by a seafood restaurant and the second and third seem to be a gym, but as you crane your head upward you can see that the floors above that seem to be condominiums. Letting your head fall back against the headrest, you glance down at your phone one more time, confirming that this is indeed your destination. Then you take a long, deep breath before you begin following the little blue signs that claim to lead to a parking garage beneath the building.

To your relief, the garage itself isn’t difficult to find. You take a ticket from the machine as you descend down the concrete ramp, keeping an eye out for any open spots that are designated as guest parking. Seconds pass, and then minutes. Your heart flutters nervously in your chest as you descend deeper into the parking garage, seeking a break in the rows of cars that never comes. You’re seconds away from giving up and turning around, when finally, you see an open spot. It’s a little cramped and it’s right next to a concrete pillar that’s just a little too close for comfort, but you manage to squeeze into the space. Heaving a deep sigh of relief, you turn off the ignition and tuck your keys into your purse, taking a moment to gather yourself before exiting your car and locking it behind you.

That’s when you encounter your next obstacle: figuring out how, exactly, to get out of the parking garage. You can’t find a single sign to guide your way—only a locked dark green door that you assume is some kind of mechanical room. Groaning, you spin in a full circle, taking in your concrete surroundings. Maybe if you just start walking, you’ll find a sign that will point you to the elevators. You’d even consider taking the stairs at this point, no matter how many floors down you are (you’re pretty sure it’s seven or eight).

Just then, your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you see Jungkook Jeon (Daeun’s Dad) emblazoned across the screen and immediately swipe to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, obvious relief coloring his tone. “I’m sorry I lost you back there. Where are you now?”

“I’m in the parking garage below your building,” you reply, idly scuffing your foot along the concrete floor. “I’m parked pretty far down, and now I can’t seem to figure out how to get upstairs.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I’ll admit the signage isn’t great down there. Let me see… can you see any doors?”

“Just this green one, but it’s locked.” Reaching out, you try the handle again to double-check. “Other than that, nothing.”

Another hum from the man on the other end of the line. “Okay, walk away from that door. Try and head toward the middle of the garage—that’s where the elevators are. There’s four of them, and they’re in this big concrete circle. Can you see them yet?”

“Maybe?” You can see a break in the rows of cars up ahead, and a rounded concrete wall in the distance. Speeding up, you make your way around the edge and blink as a bank of elevators comes into view. “Oh, wait—yeah! Huh. Weird. I didn’t expect the doors to be orange.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Each floor’s color-coordinated, yeah. Orange means you’re near the bottom, though. Didn’t you see the guest parking on the first floor?”

You blink. “No, I don’t think so. Did I miss something?”

That draws another chuckle from him. “Probably. There’s a row of spaces off to the right as soon as you enter the garage, but it can be pretty easy to miss if you don’t know to look for it. I should’ve given you a heads-up.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you enter the elevator and hit the button for the thirty-fourth floor. “I could’ve asked.”

Bidding him farewell and assuring that you’ll see him soon, you hang up and tuck your phone back into your pocket. The elevator ride is relatively short despite how high you’re going, and before you know it you find yourself standing in front of a navy blue door with a polished brass knocker. Raising your hand, you’re about to knock when the door flies open, revealing Daeun and Trixie standing there with identical grins.

“You’re finally here!” your daughter exclaims, bounding forward to take you by the hand and lead you inside. “Mr. Jeon said we had to wait for you to get here. He says he’s gonna give us a grand tour!”

“It’s really not as exciting as they’re making it sound.” Jungkook’s voice comes from around the corner, and the man himself steps into view a moment later. He’s taken off his jacket and removed his tie, leaving him in navy slacks and a crisp white shirt with the first few buttons undone. Your gaze lingers a little too long on this newly exposed sliver of chest, but you forcibly tear your gaze away when Trixie gives your hand a squeeze.

“Come on, Mom! You can see everything from the window. It’s like you’re on top of a mountain!”

Laughing, you follow your daughter deeper into the apartment. She points to the closet off the foyer, where you obligingly hang up your coat next to her periwinkle one. Then she leads you to the far end of the foyer, where it opens into a wide hallway. On the other side of the hall is an archway that leads to a spacious kitchen with white cabinets and polished granite countertops. You take note of the bright yellow bar stools at the kitchen island, chuckling when Daeun loudly declares that she picked them out—and that Jungkook had caved to her despite wanting boring gray ones instead.

As you continue your tour, it becomes abundantly clear that Jungkook has caved to his daughter on multiple occasions. The furniture in the living area is neutral—shades of beige and dark wood that pair well with the polished floorboards and modern floor-to-ceiling windows. But scattered throughout the space are pops of color and quirkiness that you can confidently attribute to Daeun—having graded several of the art pieces that you now see hanging on the wall and adorning the sleek glass coffee table. There’s the lopsided clay vase painted with streaks of hot pink and specks of bright yellow, and there’s the papier-mâché snowman with his jaunty orange hat. You see more and more of Daeun’s influence everywhere you look—the watercolor butterfly paintings on the wall, and the red floral accent chair that you’re sure Jungkook didn’t pick out himself.

“That’s Daddy’s room,” Daeun says, pointing to a nondescript white door beside the bookshelves that flank the flatscreen TV hanging on the wall. Then she points down the hall, past the kitchen where you can see a few more doors. “And that’s my room down there, next to Daddy’s office. Do you want to see?”

You nod. “I can’t wait. Lead the way.”

Cheerfully, Daeun gestures for you to follow after her as she skips toward the door at the very end of the hall. She opens it with a flourish, allowing all of you inside, and as soon as you step past the threshold you’re transported to a fantastical world. Daeun’s bedroom walls are painted to resemble an enchanted forest, complete with delicate fairy lights wrapped around the wooden four-poster bed. A white desk and an accompanying green chair sit in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, the pale pink curtains opened to let sunlight stream in. Along the sill is a collection of stuffed animals, ranging from a tiny butterfly to an elephant that you’re pretty sure is taller than Daeun herself. Opposite the bed is a gallery wall, composed of colorful floral prints and Daeun’s own art—a charming, eclectic mix of animal paintings and landscapes. It’s the kind of bedroom that you would’ve loved as a child, and your daughter is equally taken with it if her awed expression is anything to go by.

“This is so cool!” Trixie runs to the window to peer out at the city below, before twirling in a circle to take in the art on the walls. “I can’t believe you live here. It’s like a magic forest!”

“It’s a beautiful room,” you remark, nodding your agreement. “And all of these drawings are amazing, Daeun. You’re a talented artist.”

Daeun flushes at the compliment, thanking you with a shy smile. Then she and Trixie are off again, speeding down the hallway to look at something else in the apartment. You and Jungkook trail after them slowly, until he opens another door off the hall to reveal his office. It’s smaller than Daeun’s bedroom and far more simplistic in its decor, but it’s a cozy and inviting space nonetheless. One wall is lined with mahogany bookshelves, and a polished wooden desk is pushed against the opposite. A plush burgundy armchair with a matching ottoman sits in the corner beside a tall potted plant, creating the perfect space for reading, and you can tell from the indentation in the seat cushion that it’s been well-loved over the years.

“I’ve definitely been bringing my work home too much lately,” Jungkook admits. “I’ve been cutting back though. Ever since Daeun’s behavioral problems…” He trails off. “Well, you know all about that already. And I do want to apologize for giving you a hard time. It’s just… I guess it’s not all that fun being told that you’re failing as a parent.”

“You’re not failing as a parent,” you reply, laying a hand on his arm before you can think to stop yourself. “You’re doing your best. It’s all we can do, isn’t it? Do everything we possibly can for our children?”

He nods, but he isn’t looking at you. He’s looking down at your hand on his arm, and you blanch inwardly as you quickly pull back and pretend to brush invisible dirt off your skirt. “We should go find the girls,” you murmur. And just like that, the tour is over.

The two of you rejoin the girls in the kitchen, where they’ve begun assembling themselves a snack of peanut butter and crackers. Jungkook slices up an apple and a banana for them to share, and they barely take the time to thank him before disappearing into Daeun’s bedroom to work on their project. You and Jungkook find yourselves alone in the kitchen, and when the silence between you has stretched on for just long enough to be awkward, you decide to speak. “So. I guess I should probably grade some homework while I’m here.”

Jungkook blinks and shakes his head a little, as if coming out of a trance. “Right, of course. I’ve got a few things I need to wrap up myself. Please, make yourself comfortable. You’re free to work in the office, if you’d like.”

Immediately, you shake your head. “Oh, no. I don’t want to intrude.”

He nods, then gestures out toward the dining table, which sits in a little nook between the main living area and kitchen. “Well then, feel free to make use of the table. Or the kitchen island. Or even the couch, if you’d prefer.” He pauses. “Wait, where are my manners? I haven’t even offered you anything to drink! Did you want anything?”

“Oh.” You hesitate. “I’m okay.”

Jungkook begins making his way to the refrigerator, regardless. “Seriously, it’s no trouble. I have coffee, tea, banana milk, and I think there’s probably a carton of apple juice in here too. What do you usually drink when you’re grading?”

“Tea,” you admit. “Any kind. I’m not picky.”

“Tea it is.” Jungkook sets about grabbing two mugs. “Go on, make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring it to you.”

For a moment, you wonder if you should ask if he needs help. But he’s already preoccupied with the kettle, his back to you, and you have to force yourself to look away from the way his broad shoulders taper into his slim waist. In an attempt to distract yourself from gawking, you walk back out to the dining table. Pulling out a chair, you settle your bag on the floor beside you and take a seat. And by the time Jungkook comes out of the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea, you’re already halfway through grading the first math worksheet in your pile.

“Here you go.” Jungkook places a mug by your elbow, and you glance up at him with a grateful smile.

“Thanks.” “No problem.”

To your surprise, he takes his mug to the opposite side of the table and sets it down. Then he disappears into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with his laptop in hand. You try not to stare as he sets up shop across from you, a loose lock of dark hair flopping across his forehead as he logs in and begins reading something, his dark eyes flitting across the screen. His piercing in his eyebrow glints in the sunlight streaming in through the nearby window.

Ripping your gaze away, you force yourself to focus on the homework you need to grade. And after a few minutes, you’re fully immersed, thumbing through sheet after sheet and writing down your notes.

Before you even realize it, two hours have passed. You only become aware of how late it’s getting when Jungkook shuts his laptop with a click, stretching his arms overhead and working a few kinks out of his neck. “It’s almost dinnertime,” he remarks, glancing out the window where the sun is steadily dropping closer to the horizon. “Did you have any thoughts about dinner? I can order some pizza or something.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” you begin to protest, but Daeun and Trixie choose that moment to dash in like mini tornadoes, whirling around the dining table.

“We can still order takeout for dinner, right Daddy?” Daeun gazes up at Jungkook with pleading eyes, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “And Trixie and Miss {L/N} can stay if we do, right?”

Trixie looks at you, lower lip already beginning to jut out in a pout. “Please, Mom?”

Jungkook gives you a meaningful glance across the table, and you can only shrug and relent. “Yeah, all right. Since takeout was already promised, we can stay for dinner. But we’re going home after that, okay? It’s a school night.”

The girls burst into cheers. After a brief discussion on what kind of food to order, you all settle on Jungkook’s initial suggestion of pizza. As he puts in the order, you begin tidying up the dining table, clearing it of your graded homework. Daeun points out where the plates are kept, and together, you and the girls set the table for dinner.

“Estimated delivery time is half an hour,” Jungkook says as he tucks his phone back into his pocket and joins you at the dining table. “What should we do while we wait?”

“Let’s play Candyland!” Daeun exclaims.

Trixie gasps. “I love Candyland!”

And just like that, it’s settled. The four of you settle around the coffee table for the game—you and Jungkook making yourselves comfortable on the cream-colored sectional while the girls sprawl out on the shaggy rug on the floor. The pizza arrives just as Trixie reaches Candy Castle, and Jungkook goes to answer the door while she celebrates her victory. Then, the four of you sit down for dinner.

It’s strange, sitting in Jungkook’s undoubtedly expensive apartment and eating pizza. But even more strange is how okay it all feels—natural, even. You aren’t sure when you became so comfortable in his presence, but you aren’t about to question it. You’re grateful for the lack of awkwardness.

An hour later, the last slice of pizza is finished. You volunteer to do the dishes, and Jungkook clears the table while you take up residence at the sink. You’ve tasked Trixie with gathering up her things so you can depart after you’ve finished in the kitchen, and can hear her giggling off in the distance with Daeun. “Thanks for hosting us today,” you murmur to Jungkook.

He chuckles, waving off your gratitude. “It’s no problem, seriously. I had a good time.”

You smile at him before returning to the dishes. Just as you’re putting away the last plate, the girls run back into the kitchen—Trixie with her backpack in tow.

“Can Daeun come to our house next time?” she asks, and you laugh.

“Sure, jitterbug. You’re welcome to come over whenever you’d like, Daeun.”

And with that, you and Trixie say your final goodbyes. You slip back into your shoes and grab your coats from the closet. Jungkook gives you directions for the easiest route out of the parking garage, and you thank him for what feels like the umpteenth time.

You’re barely listening to your daughter’s ramblings as you climb into the driver’s seat and turn on the ignition. All you can think about is Jungkook and this strange, newfound warmth that stirs in your belly whenever he seeps into your thoughts.

///

“You wiped that part of the counter already.”

Trixie’s voice barely registers in your mind, but the washcloth in your hand slows nonetheless. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning with hardly a cloud in the sky, and Jungkook and Daeun are due to arrive any minute. You’ve been cleaning for the past hour, and even though you know you’ve already gone through the kitchen, you can’t help yourself. This is the first time Jungkook will be seeing your humble abode, and you—ostensibly—want to impress.

“Bug, can you set the table?”

Trixie sighs dramatically, but complies nonetheless. Grabbing four plates, she places them down carefully before returning for four glasses. You join her at the table with a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, straightening out one of the striped blue placemats as you set it down beside the vase of flowers that serves as a centerpiece.

You’ve just started frying bacon when the doorbell rings. “Got it!” Trixie calls, darting to the door, and you listen as she enthusiastically greets your guests. A few seconds later, Jungkook rounds the corner with both girls, decked out in jeans and a gray cable-knit sweather and carrying a plain white cardboard box in his hands.

Curiously, you tilt your head. “Mysterious box you’ve got there.”

He laughs. “Hello to you too.” Then he puts the box down and pops open the lid. “I brought my favorite bagels—I hope that’s okay. Didn’t want to show up empty-handed.”

You smile at him. “Of course it’s okay. I was just planning on making some toast, but bagels are way be…” You trail off as the bagels in question come into your view.

Perfectly golden, with a dusting of cinnamon sugar and streusel crumbles on top. You’d recognize them anywhere.

“{Name}?” Jungkook sounds concerned. “Are you all right?”

You blink and shake your head, mind still whirring. “Are these from that coffee shop downtown? Bean There, Done That?”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, have you been?”

You nod. “This… this might sound crazy and I might be way off base. But do you stop there every morning for a bagel?”

Jungkook blinks. Then he blinks again, his lips parting wordlessly. A beat passes, and then another. “Wait,” he finally manages, his voice a croak. “Hang on. Is it… I mean, it can’t be… can it?”

You reach into the drawer next to the stovetop and pull out a wad of pen-stained napkins. “Did you leave me these?”

For a few seconds, it seems like Jungkook can only gape at you. “Holy shit,” he finally breathes, before slapping a hand to his mouth with wide eyes and glancing around to make sure the girls aren’t within earshot. “I was leaving you notes this whole time?”

You can only laugh in disbelief. “You were the one taking my cinnamon streusel bagels?”

“Hey, I wouldn’t have taken them if you’d gotten there earlier,” he teases. Chuckling, he picks up a napkin note and uncrumples it, scanning across the text. “Damn. Small world, huh?”

“The smallest,” you agree, mind reeling from this new development. Still chuckling, Jungkook steps past you to get to the stove, and you belatedly remember that the bacon is still sizzling in the pan as he picks up your tongs and carefully flips each strip.

“I kept your notes too,” he says after a moment. “I shoved both of them in my glovebox.”

You huff. “Both. Yeah, okay, you beat me to the last bagel way more than I beat you. You don’t have to rub it in, Jungkook.”

“Oh, come on.” He grins, toothy and bright, and you’re momentarily distracted by the endearing prominence of his teeth. “I think I have to rub it in a little.”

“Hmph. As long as it’s only a little,” you concede as you join him at the stove with another pan and begin scrambling eggs. Together, the two of you finish making breakfast, piling eggs onto one plate and bacon on another. You grab the bowl of fruit salad you’d prepared last night out of the fridge, and Jungkook grabs the box of bagels and calls for Daeun and Trixie to come eat. Then, he surprises you by sitting beside you, leaving the girls to sit next to each other on the opposite side of the table.

Breakfast is a relaxed affair—even if Taco keeps trying to jump up on the table to steal some bacon. You’ve eaten several meals with Jungkook and Daeun since that first dinner—usually at Jungkook’s apartment, but also once at the food court in your local natural history museum, where you took the girls to see the ocean exhibit’s penguin display. Since this is the final weekend before their group project is due on Monday, you’ve promised to take them to the zoo to see real, live penguins and complete the last of their research. Both girls already have their backpacks packed and ready to go, and you task Jungkook with checking to make sure they have all their notes while you clean up in the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, you’re on your way to the zoo. Jungkook has volunteered to drive, and you can’t help but gape a little as he unlocks his sleek black Mercedes-Benz and opens up the passenger door to reveal cream-colored leather seats and shiny silver hardware. “Wow,” you remark, catching his eye as he walks around to the driver’s side. “This is like the Batmobile or something.”

“Hardly,” he says with a laugh. “I wish I had rocket boosters and ejection seats. That’d be cool as hell.”

“Daddy!” Daeun gasps, scandalized. “That’s a bad word!”

Jungkook has the decency to look properly abashed. “I’ll put a dollar in the swear jar when we get home,” he promises before pretending to zip his mouth shut and throw away the key. Satisfied, Daeun clambers into the backseat with Trixie on her heels, and Jungkook shoots you a conspiratorial little wink as he takes his own seat and starts up the engine.

The drive to the zoo takes only about fifteen minutes. It��s already beginning to get crowded by the time you get there, but Jungkook still manages to find parking with little difficulty. Together, the two of you usher your daughters out of the car, reminding them not to run too far ahead when they immediately make a beeline for the entrance.

After a short wait in line to buy tickets, you finally make your way past the lion statues flanking the front gate. The wide concrete pathway leads to an open plaza where people are milling about—some looking at the directory located at the far end while others rely on the colorful signpost in the center, reading through the various directional arrows before heading off to their destination. Along the edges of the plaza are a multitude of stalls—selling everything from footlong hot dogs to stuffed animals to cotton candy. There’s a couple of artists painting faces, too, and Daeun only has to give Jungkook one wide-eyed, pleading look before he caves and pulls out his wallet. Aghast, you try to protest, but he waves you off and sends them both off with some cash in hand.

“Consider it payment for all the bagels I’ve deprived you of,” he says, and you relent with a laugh.

Slowly, the two of you make your way around the plaza, making sure to keep a watchful eye on the girls at all times. Half an hour later, Trixie and Daeun come skipping back your way, their faces bright with colorful paint. Daeun has an intricate pink and blue butterfly, while Trixie has opted for the distinctive orange and black stripes of a tiger.

“Do you like it?” she asks, and you nod, bopping her fondly on her painted black nose.

“I don’t just like it, jitterbug. I love it.”

Pleased, she rejoins Daeun, who has successfully diverted Jungkook to the cotton candy stand. Following after her, you hand the vendor your credit card to pay for both snacks before Jungkook can get a word in edgewise. Reluctantly, he tucks his wallet away, laughing when you stick your tongue out at him.

Once the girls have had their fill of the main plaza, the four of you head off in the direction of the penguin exhibit, stopping to look at the zebras and giraffes along the way. Photographs are snapped, and Trixie even flags down a nearby couple and asks them to take a photo of all four of you together. The girls jostle into place in front of the giraffe enclosure, and you suddenly find yourself standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook, the warmth of his body radiating off of him like the sun in the sky. Your resulting smile feels forced—especially when the girl starts taking multiple photos from different angles—but gradually relaxes. And now, even as you enter the penguin exhibit, you can’t stop sneaking glances at the last photo.

Because in it, you and Jungkook look like couple. You’re standing close enough that anyone who saw it would construe it as a family photo, the two of you beaming with your giggling daughters in front of you, their arms draped over each other’s shoulders.

Swallowing, you let your phone screen go dark and tuck it back into your pocket. You’re coming up on the penguin exhibit now, and the girls can barely contain their excitement as they run ahead to the outermost edge of the enclosure where a massive glass wall allows for a clear view of the penguins swimming about underwater.

“They’re so fast!” Trixie exclaims. She stops at one of the numerous placards lining the glass wall, her little face scrunching as she slowly reads it out loud to Daeun. “It says here some can swim over twenty miles an hour!”

As the girls pull out their notebooks and begin taking notes, you and Jungkook find an unoccupied bench near a rocky outcrop occupied by several bronze penguin statues. “Look,” Jungkook says, patting one of the upright penguins. “You can see how many people have rubbed this little guy’s head. It’s turned gold.”

“Must be good luck,” you remark, running a finger along the golden beak of another penguin. “Or maybe I should make a wish? I don’t really know what this situation calls for.”

“I’m pretty sure you make wishes when you throw a coin into a fountain,” your companion replies, brushing a dark strand of hair off his forehead. “Actually, I think I saw a fountain back there. Should we check it out later?”

“I don’t think I have any change on me,” you reply, peeking into your purse to make sure. “Seriously, who even carries coins anymore?”

“Not me,” Jungkook agrees. “I do usually have at least a little cash on me, though. It’s nice to have sometimes.”

“Mm, yeah. You never know when you’ll need it.”

Just then, Trixie and Daeun run up, gesturing toward the brown building at the very back of the enclosure. “There’s a penguin movie playing over there!” Daeun says. “Can we go see it?”

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “How long is it?”

“I think it runs every twenty minutes,” you reply when Daeun frowns and scratches her head. “Come on. If I’m remembering correctly, we should be able to see more penguins inside too.”

Daeun and Trixie beam. “Cool!” they exclaim in unison, before galloping off and leaving you and Jungkook to follow after them as quickly as you can manage without breaking into a run yourselves.

Your memory proves correct, as you enter the brown building and immediately see that the walls inside are glass as well. A penguin dives off of a rocky island and into the clear blue water, and you watch as it goes all the way to the bottom of the pool before coming back up for air.

After doing a lap of the building, Daeun and Trixie decide to go into the theater to see the fifteen-minute short film. Meanwhile, you and Jungkook find a quiet little alcove near the entrance, chatting softly while watching the penguins behind the glass on the opposite wall.

“I haven’t been to the zoo in ages,” Jungkook admits. “Dae’s mom used to always take her, though. They always came back with a stuffed animal from the gift shop—you might’ve seen them in Daeun’s room, actually. She loves them.”

You nod. “I remember, yeah. It’s quite an impressive collection.” Then you hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip as you consider your next words and debate whether you’re being too nosy. “Daeun’s mom… can I ask what happened between you?” You pause, then quickly speak again. “And feel free to say no, obviously! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m probably just poking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Jungkook smiles at you, but there’s a faraway quality to his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Nah, it’s okay. There’s really not much to tell, if I’m honest. Evelyn and I, we started dating when we were nineteen. We got married at twenty-three, had Daeun a couple years later, and then one day we realized that we’d become entirely different people and that we weren’t really in love anymore.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure what else to say. “I-I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs and sighs, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. “No need to be sorry; it was a mutual thing. Totally amicable. We’re still friends, and we’re a pretty kickass co-parenting team too.”

The conversation continues, and you find out that Evelyn’s job took her overseas last year. According to Jungkook, she currently lives with her new boyfriend, who’s a little pretentious but completely harmless. And despite the six-hour time difference, Evelyn still finds the time to FaceTime Jungkook and Daeun every Sunday afternoon. Because of those calls, she’s apparently heard all about you, too—you’re her favorite teacher, remember? he’d said with a laugh.

“What about you, then?” Jungkook glances over at you inquiringly, his eyebrows raised. “Is it my turn to pry?”

You can tell from the melodious lilt in his tone that he’s teasing. “My story’s far less interesting than yours,” you answer, fiddling with a stray thread on your jacket sleeve. “I don’t have an ex-partner or anything like that. I’ve just always wanted to be a mother, so one day I decided that I was going to do it. I used a donor, got pregnant, and here we are.”

Jungkook takes this in slowly, nodding. “Do you… I mean, do you know who your donor is? Have you met him?”

You shake your head. “No, it was an anonymous thing. I got a profile and some information about his appearance and hobbies and stuff, but not much beyond that.”

“I—” Jungkook begins, before trailing off. “I’m sorry. I’m asking too many questions. I don’t know a whole lot about the sperm donor thing, but I’m glad it worked out for you. Trixie’s an amazing kid.”

“She is,” you murmur. “I love her more than anything.”

“And you’re an amazing mom.” Jungkook’s voice grows softer, and when you turn to look at him, he seems closer than he was before. “I don’t know how you manage it all, teaching and parenting. But you do, and it’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

You aren’t sure who leans in first. All you know is that one moment, you’re staring into Jungkook’s earnest brown eyes, and then in the next, you’re kissing him.

It starts soft. Cautious, even. His lips press against yours gently, once, before he pulls back for a breath. You can feel him exhale, the warmth fanning your cheeks. And then you pull him back in by his collar, fisting one hand in the knit material and finding the soft hair at his nape with the other.

Time slows to a standstill. Jungkook groans against your lips, and you feel the way it rumbles through his chest, the sensation sinking into your skin and settling straight in your core. His hands find your hips, and you wind both arms around his neck to pull him closer.

And then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, time starts ticking again. Reality crashes down around you in the form of familiar, boisterous voices rapidly heading your way. You and Jungkook only barely manage to untangle yourselves before Trixie and Daeun round the corner of the alcove, chattering excitedly about all the new penguin facts they’ve learned.

“Can we go to the petting zoo next?” Trixie asks, seemingly oblivious to your lingering embarrassment at nearly being caught.

Awkwardly, you clear your throat. At your side, Jungkook is faring no better, shuffling his feet and refusing to make eye contact. “Yeah, sure, bug,” you finally manage when you find your voice again. “Lead the way.”

///

Monday dawns cloudy and gray. The weather app on your phone promises thunderstorms later in the afternoon, but that isn’t enough to dampen your mood one bit. Instead, you thumb back over to your messages, your heart skipping a beat when you see the text still sitting at the very top.

[6:54am] Jungkook Jeon: Make sure to stop by bean there, done that before school. Left you a surprise ;)

Taking a deep breath, you type out a response:

[6:56am] You: I’m a little scared. Should I be scared?

His answer comes in immediately. Nah. It’s a good surprise, I promise.

[6:58am] You: Sure it is… 🤨

Biting back a grin, you tuck your phone into your bag and head toward the front door of your apartment, nearly tripping over Taco along the way, who has chosen that moment to start slinking between your legs.

“Really, Taco?” you ask the unperturbed calico cat at your feet. “What if I fell and cracked my head open? Who would feed you then, huh?”

As usual, Taco merely gives you an unimpressed look before flicking her tail and wandering off. Sighing, you call for Trixie to hurry up before turning to check your appearance in the mirror leaning against the wall of the entryway. It’s a large, vintage piece—a gold-framed, flea market find that you treasure dearly and swear makes you look good no matter how awful you might feel.

Satisfied, you hike your bag higher on your shoulder and smooth down the lapels of your coat. Trixie rounds the corner and gives herself a quick once-over too, and you give her a thumbs-up. “Ready, bug?”

“Yup!” she replies, tightening her grip on her and Daeun’s project—a carefully constructed shoebox diorama that shows a group of penguins in their natural icy habitat.

“Let’s go, then.” Opening the front door, you let her through before locking it up behind you. Together, you head out to the car, and Trixie ensures that her diorama is completely secured in the seat beside her while you check your mirrors and turn on the ignition.

The drive to Bean There, Done That! takes only about ten minutes. Jin waves cheerily when he spots you walking up to the counter, but his face positively lights up when he sees Trixie is with you. He absolutely adores your daughter—Trixie loves him too—and on the occasional instance you’ve had to call on him to babysit, the two of them always end up stuffed with food on the couch and giggling over bad puns.

“What can I get you, ma’am?” Jin asks, directing the question at Trixie, who beams at him before turning to look at you with pleading eyes.

“Can I have a double chocolate cookie?”

“That… actually sounds really good,” you admit. “Make that two. And Jin, did someone leave something here for me earlier?”

Jin grins. “Thought you’d never ask. This here is from one Mr. Jungkook Jeon.” Reaching beneath the counter, he pulls out a box and watches as you open the lid to reveal half a dozen cinnamon streusel bagels with a neatly folded napkin on top. Unfolding it, you can only laugh at the words written on it:

Hope you have a mug-nificient day!

“Just so you know, he stole that line from me,” Jin says with a sniff. “I’m not letting him take the credit.”

“Duly noted,” you tell him, trying and failing to hide your smile as you look down at the note again. After a couple beats, Jin clears his throat, and you glance up to see that he’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Sooo,” he begins slowly, dragging out the single syllable, “I imagine you want a fresh napkin and a pen, unless… are you going to see Mr. Jungkook Jeon at some point?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance as best you can. “Trixie was paired with his daughter for a school project, so we’ve been meeting up for the past few weeks so they can work on it. Now that that’s over with… I don’t really know. We’re both pretty busy.”

Jin scoffs. “That’s a lame excuse, especially since he’s clearly flirting with you. And—”

Unfortunately, Trixie interrupts before he can finish his sentence, skipping back over from where she had been examining the pastry display cases along the wall. “Can I have a lemon bar?”

You fix her with a stern look. “You already asked for the double chocolate cookie, remember? The lemon bars can wait until next time.” Then you turn back to Jin, reaching into your bag for your wallet. “We should probably get to school, anyhow. What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing,” he replies, handing over a paper bag with your cookies and a bottle of apple juice. “It’s already been taken care of.”

From the wink he sends your way, you know that it must have been Jungkook who doled out the extra cash for your breakfast. “Thanks, Jin,” you reply, handing Trixie the cookies and juice before accepting the cup of coffee he hands over. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Pleasure doing business with ya,” is his response. Trixie waves goodbye, and together, the two of you head back out to the car. It’s started drizzling since you arrived, and you thank your lucky stars that you’d managed to snag a parking spot right up front.

Your daughter seems to be deep in thought as you help her buckle her seatbelt, her lips pursed in concentration. Then, out of nowhere, she asks:

“Do you like Mr. Jeon?”

You nearly choke. “W-what?”

“Mr. Jeon,” she repeats patiently, and you’re thankful that she’s not looking at you—instead, she’s focused on the raindrops splashing against the window and racing each other down the glass. “You spent a bunch of time with him when Daeun and I were doing school stuff. What’d you do?”

“Adult stuff,” you reply, before cursing inwardly at the potential implication behind your words. “Mostly, I spent my time grading homework. And he had some things to do for work, too.”

Trixie hums, apparently satisfied with this answer. “He’s nice,” she declares. “He buys us food and he has a cool house.”

“Sure,” you agree. “He’s a very nice man.”

And with that settled, you finish buckling her in her seat. Shutting the back door, you suck in a deep, calming breath before circling around to the driver’s side and setting off on the familiar route to Hybe Academy.

///

“... Miss {L/N}, are you listening?”

You blink and sit up a little straighter in your chair. “Yes, of course. Please go on.” Hastily, you scribble down a few random words, hoping that will placate the parent sitting across from you. It’s parent-teacher conference week—and you’re beyond grateful that it’s Friday night as Mrs. Greene rambles on and on about how the school isn’t doing enough for her precious baby boy. She’s talking about how the school day should be extended now—or at least how teachers should watch after the children whose parents can’t pick them up right at three-thirty. I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to understand. I mean, my husband is a very busy man, and I have my own business to run. I can’t be expected to drop everything in the middle of a client meeting to come pick Derrick up…

It takes everything in you not to snap at her. You know for a fact that her “business” is selling bejeweled keychains on Etsy—and that they’re incredibly poorly made, if the reviews are anything to go by. Instead, you bite your tongue—hard enough to taste metal—and remind her that the school’s operating hours are not for you to decide.

After what feels like an eternity, the clock strikes seven, marking the end of her reserved time block. Standing up, you shake her hand and wish her a pleasant evening before opening your planner and checking to see if you have any more meetings. Your parents have Trixie for the night and there’s a bottle of wine on your kitchen counter calling your name, and you cannot wait to get home and relax in the bath with a glass. Maybe, you think, I’ll even do a face mask.

The final name written in your planner stops you in your tracks. You haven’t seen him in over a week—not since that Monday when he left you half a dozen bagels at the coffee shop. The girls had insisted on meeting up that evening to celebrate turning their project in, so you’d all gone to a popular taco joint.

And then there’s a knock on your door, the three raps pulling you right out of your musings.

Silhouetted there in the doorframe is Jungkook Jeon, decked out in a polished charcoal suit and wearing a smile that makes your insides lurch dangerously in your chest. His dark hair is parted on the side, and you catch the slightest glimpse of his brow piercing glinting behind the hair that’s loose across his forehead. “Hi,” he says, his voice low, and you have to remind yourself that it’s impolite to stare as you find your voice.

“Hi yourself.”

He grins, baring the adorably prominent front teeth that you hate to admit you’ve grown rather fond of. “You look like you weren’t expecting me.”

“Oh, no. I just wasn’t expecting you on time,” you retort, gesturing to the plastic chair sitting across from your desk. “Your track record is questionable, at best.”

Jungkook grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that. I made sure to leave plenty early this time, just in case I ran into traffic. Or if Bobby decided to corner me in the elevator again—that guy really doesn’t know when to shut up.” He pauses. “Wait, I told you about him, right? Works on the development team, owns one singular tie? Balding but tries to hide it with a bad combover?”

“That rings a bell,” you reply. “The tie is red and Christmas-themed, right?”

“Sure is.” Jungkook chuckles. “I thought they might’ve been polka dots the first time I met him, but nope. Christmas ornaments, even in the middle of July.”

You laugh. “Odd fashion choice.”

“Seriously. Don’t even get me started on the rest of his clothes,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “Here, let’s change the subject. Have you eaten yet?”

You gesture around your classroom, artificially lit with fluorescent light even as the sun begins to dip closer to the horizon. “Nope. I mean, I had about twenty minutes between the end of the school day and the start of my first meeting, so I scarfed down an apple in the break room. But that was hours ago.”

“Perfect.” At your look of disbelief, he chortles and quickly amends his phrasing. “Sorry, I just mean that I’ve got you covered. Here, look.” And he begins pulling things out of a paper bag that you hadn’t noticed him carrying before. Crackers, sliced baguette, an assortment of cured meats and cheeses, grapes. He produces a bottle of wine next, and you very nearly start clapping.

The last thing he pulls out is a single red rose, his smile soft and warm and dizzyingly affectionate as he presents it to you. “I—wow.” You aren’t sure what to say. “Thank you. I… I feel like I should’ve prepared something. Stolen an apple for you from the teacher’s lounge, at least.”

Jungkook snorts. “Well, here’s something you can help me out with. I don’t actually have glasses for the wine. Totally spaced and forgot that we’d need them. Any ideas?”

You’re on your feet before he can even finish asking. “I teach elementary schoolers, Mr. Jeon. I always have cups.”

Making your way to the cabinet by the window, you grab a box of little paper cups and pull out two. Jungkook accepts them when you hand them over, and you watch as he unscrews the cap on the wine bottle before pouring out two generous helpings. Together, you lay out the food he’s brought, spreading it across whatever empty space there is on your desk. “Cheers,” Jungkook says once you’ve both taken your seats again, raising his paper cup to tap against yours.

“Cheers.”

For a moment, there is silence as you both take a drink. Then Jungkook speaks, glancing up at you as he carefully begins crafting himself a mini salami and cheese sandwich. “So, where does Trixie stay while you’re doing all these meetings? Do your parents have her?”

You nod, taking another much-needed sip of wine. “Yeah, my mom picked her up after school. They actually have her until Sunday—my dad’s going to teach her how to fish tomorrow, and then I think they’re going to build a pillow fort.”

Jungkook chuckles around a mouthful of gouda. “I love a good pillow fort. Dae insists on building one at least once a week, and at this point, I’m honestly surprised there isn’t one permanently in her bedroom.”

Grinning, you reach for a cracker and some cheese. “Taco manages to destroy every pillow fort Trixie and I try to make. She either decides it’s a trampoline, or that it’s a good time to start scratching everything she can reach. We can’t win.”

“Sounds like you need better defenses,” Jungkook replies, waggling his eyebrows. “That, or you can come over whenever you need a pillow fort fix. I’m sure Dae and Trixie would create something truly epic together. I mean, that penguin diorama was pretty fucking cool, wasn’t it?”

“Very fucking cool,” you agree, and both of you burst into laughter.

Deep blue twilight settles outside as the two of you continue chatting over your makeshift meal. The cheese begins to dwindle, only a few lonely grapes remain on their stems, and when you go to top of your wine, you realize there’s less than a quarter of the bottle left.

“Wow, we really put a dent in this thing,” you remark, holding it out for Jungkook to see. “And it’s already dark out. The time kind of got away from us, huh?”

“You won’t catch me complaining,” Jungkook replies, tipping the last of his drink into his mouth. “I’m enjoying spending time with you.”

You can’t help but smile at his earnest honesty. “Me too.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then you rise from your seat. At the same time, Jungkook stands up from his chair on the other side of the desk, making his way around to meet you halfway. And then his mouth is on yours, warm and firm in a way that makes your heart do a backflip before plunking straight into your churning stomach.

Jungkook’s hands find your hips, palming along the flowy material of your dress before finding a resting place just above the soft curve of your rear. Your fingers delve into the soft hair at his nape to tug him closer, and he groans against your lips when your nails rake across his scalp. Slowly, he begins trailing kisses from the line of your jaw down to the column of your neck, pausing to lavish attention on any spots that make you gasp or squirm in his grasp.

The growing hardness against your lower belly is growing more and more evident with each passing second. Deliberately, you slide one hand down his chest, admiring the toned ridges of his abdomen that you can feel through his white shirt, before making your way down past his silver belt buckle. Jungkook inhales sharply when you cup his hardening cock through the charcoal material of his slacks, and, emboldened, you thumb across the head and relish in his resulting groan.

Any caution you may have had is thrown to the wind. Adjusting your grip, you shiver when you realize that he’s now fully hard beneath your fingertips, his erection thick and hot through the fabric. You try and visualize what it looks like underneath it all—the color of the flared head, the veins that run along it, the curve of the shaft, if there is one. And then you realize that you don’t have to imagine—you can look. You can rip his clothes off and explore every inch of his body in the way you’ve been itching to since you first kissed at the zoo last week. Your hands scrabble for his belt buckle, fumbling with the silver prong embedded in its notch.

“W-wait.” Jungkook’s hand lands over yours, and you note the breathlessness in his voice with satisfaction. “I… this is probably cheesy, but this isn’t how I pictured this happening. Not that I don’t like what’s happening, but I just… I’d like to take you out first. On a proper date, I mean. Without our girls in the next room, or down the hall, or in the museum playplace wreaking havoc.”

“That does sound nice,” you admit. “Actually, I’d really enjoy that. I haven’t been on a proper date in years.”

“Let’s do it, then,” Jungkook says. “My babysitter’s already been paid to watch Daeun until midnight, and your parents have Trixie. This is kinda perfect.”

You can’t help it—you drag your thumb across the head of his still-hard cock again and revel in the way his breath hitches just a little bit in his throat. “Midnight?” you query with an innocent tilt of your head. “Were you expecting something to happen tonight?”

“Hoping,” he replies with a cheeky grin. “And wait, let me ask you out properly. It just wouldn’t feel right otherwise.”

Confused, you let him stand from his seat and slip around you to retrieve the paper bag on the ground. Understanding dawns when he reaches inside and grabs a napkin, and you watch on in amusement as he takes a pen from the cup on your desk and begins writing. And after a few seconds, he wordlessly presents this to you:

Drinks? Dinner? Maybe dessert? ;)

And you can only laugh. “Game on, mister.”

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