#just some fluff for your monday morning

[gyuswhore]

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

kim mingyu x reader

word count: 21k

contains: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [minors DNI], angst, statistics, ur honour they're stupid for one another, descriptions of stress exhaustion and burnout, academic burden, disagreements, mingyu is smart as hell, shitting on bad professors, smut but its a surprise [gyu gets his soul sucked while he's reciting statistical models I mean what]

words of conviction from @highvern: Kim Mingyu, total asshole , 1-800-HOT N DUMB , THEYRE IN LOVE MINGYU SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LOSER , sick fucking freak , i know when you wrote this you put your head in your hands , OHHHM YW GOD

synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.

[a/n]: this fic is set in the same universe as @highvern's wonu fic endpoint [read here!!!], some insight for wonu's pov is included here as is some of Mingyu's pov in cam's fic if you'd like to see more about what happens in the gaps!!

I want to start by thanking everyone who chose to be part of this collab fic and for being the reason cam and I were able to open up @camandemstudios in the first place. everyone's been so kind and cooperative and I still cant believe we managed to convince such amazing writers to join us on this collab journey 🥹 I love u guys

Thanking my wife camothy @highvern for brainstorming with me since day one and for betaing for me. @seokgyuu and @miabebe for also looking over the doc and reassuring me. I'm for sure forgetting someone and I'm really sorry about that, know that I appreciate you just as much 🤍

on that note, I hope you guys enjoy this fic, im HELLA nervous for some reason so plsplspls remember to reblog and send me feedback on how you liked it, I will love you forever <333

masterlist

Monday

A normal person would’ve cried. Perhaps even sued the entire institution for all it was worth. Burn down the world, if it came to it. 

But as you stare at the tiny 37/100 on your screen, you feel…nothing. 

You could’ve said you saw it coming, which you did, but something about blaming someone else for an exam you took was beginning to feel a little manipulative. 

Clicking off the student portal, you huff loudly, five in the morning too early for you to begin breaking down over a grade that was completely unreflective of what you were taught. 

Or maybe it was, because as you count one, two, three hours till your dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, you can only hope you’ll hold back from spitting in your professor’s coffee. But alas, you can only shut your laptop harder than necessary for what it costs and push the grade out of your mind.

You were tired enough to sleep for a couple more hours, and you take it as an opportunity to spite the entire course by giving just as many fucks as your professor did.  

Which was little to none. 

That was a lie—on your part anyway. Because you continue to show up, and probably will until you can put this course and all of its trauma behind you. Even now as you feel the inclining beat of your pulse sitting in the white lecture hall, you know this is all but you versus the universe. 

Dr. Cho might as well have wheeled himself into the room on a skateboard with the way he struts into the room. 

He’s wearing a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off and jeans of a matching finish that do not fit him properly. There’s pins in every last colour on this earth, littering the front of his jacket with sayings that toe the silver controversial lining. There was one that said Vote for John F. Kennedy, another plain black one with I Eat Kids, and of course, the blaring Cunt written in cursive, pink sparkly letters. 

This man that’s pushing into his 60s stands before his slightly wilted class in his crocs, hands on his hips as he heaves a long breath. 

“I have to say, not the turn out I was expecting on that last report.”

He’s talking about the report you coincidentally failed, the same one you were pushed into with little to no direction and a deadline tighter than any you’ve had to bully yourself through. 

“All I can say is to read through the feedback I’ve given and try a little harder next time.” His voice is somewhere bordering comical exasperation. Feedback that consisted of sparing ‘?’’s and ‘no’’s with zero further explanation. He could say more, but you’ve learned that he simply chooses to not. 

Besides the man that drones in the front of the room, there’s another person in the other corner of the lecture hall. He’s hunched over a giant pile of papers, sifting through each and every one with a pen in his other hand. 

The TA doing a mundane task is somehow more interesting than whatever seminars of disappointment your professor was giving. He’s crossing something out on every single leaf of paper that he flicks through, and you vaguely wonder if those were today’s worksheets. 

“...and post hoc tests last week, we can start on Bayesian today. Mingyu will be handing out the tutorial papers.”

The poor TA looks like he thought he’d have more time, snapping his head up to look at the professor with an expression of pure incredulousness. He staggers for a moment before he’s flicking past the pages even faster somehow, striking out what seems like the same instruction in the giant pile of papers meant for an entire lecture hall. There’s a rustle as about a hundred laptops are being pulled out and booted up, waiting for the worksheets to land on the desks. 

You hear the familiar warble of papers being passed out and you watch as the TA pulls chunks of sheets out of the giant stack in his arms to slam down onto the front tables. 

“Pass it down, please… pass it down, please…”

There’s a voice that calls from one of the front seats, “What formula is the sheet talking about?”

Mingyu looks startled as he snaps back to look at the blaring empty whiteboard. In the midst of passing papers, you watch him sprint to the rolling whiteboards, pulling one of the giant flats of white over to the other side, the mechanism slamming into place with a louder than comfortable slam. It reveals another whiteboard underneath with the detestably long formula already written (and the one you’d have to figure out yourself).

 The professor remains with his chin in his hands behind his laptop, unphased. 

By the time you’ve registered the foreign symbols on the board, one of the tutorial papers has made it into your hands.

Sure enough, there’s a quick line across one of the steps with a thick black marker. 

Blinking hard, you attempt to pull yourself into the zone, staring at the white sheet with words that are barely stringing themselves together. Nothing out of the ordinary, especially as you lift your head to find hunched shoulders and furrowed brows all around. 

There’s one person that’s zipping back and forth, just like there always is. 

You watch as Mingyu hunches over certain laptops and whispers in rapid explanation before moving on to the next, a looming sense of dizziness that trails behind him as he shoots up the stairs to the back rows to help someone else. 

There’s a brief consideration to raise your own hand to ask for help, but one look at his disoriented gaze and the amount of hands that shoot up by the second, you guess it wasn’t going to help.

Back you go, hunched over the same wretched paper as everyone else, and praying for some divine revelation. 

Tuesday

Divine revelation did not come to you, but the good sense to make use of office hours did. 

So here you are, a printed copy of your supposedly horrid assignment and a pack of multicolour pens in your tote, and determination in your stride, you make your way to the department building. 

You’ve double, triple, quadruple checked the times to ensure you don’t dip in at the wrong moment, swiping open your phone to re-check the room number yet again. 

Standing outside the door, you knock with mustered confidence, waiting for something akin to an affirmative from the other side of the door. 

Nothing. 

You knock again.

Silence. 

You glance around the empty hall before grasping onto the cool brass handle of the door, wrenching it open just a peep. Poking your head in, you find the room…empty.

The chairs and tables that usually buzz with discussing students lay barren as you step into the room. Moving to look at the front of the room, you inhale sharply as you realise the professor’s desk has been occupied this entire time. 

Except he’s asleep.

No, that’s not the professor. 

Moving closer, you watch the way his back rises and falls ever so slowly, head resting on his arm as his hand hangs limp off the table. Whipping your head around with more attention this time, you attempt to find an explanation written on the walls. But there’s none, even in the papers that litter the table he rests his head on.

You don’t need to see his face to know it’s the TA. But as you stand in the empty room, clutching the straps of your tote, you aren’t quite sure what to do. 

Another glance around the table and you realise his laptop remains on, the screen yet to sleep. Before the obvious issue of a blatant invasion of privacy can befall you, you take a step forward to take a peek. 

It’s his schedule, a million colours blaring on the screen in a colour coded regard with barely any white spaces. It doesn’t take long to find his time slot for right now, red with importance. 

Glancing down, the man remains fast asleep, pen still in hand as it inks a faint line on the page. You look around the room for the nth time, taking constant glances back at his laptop that tells you he’s actively missing something right now. Clearing your throat, you hunch over a tad bit. 

“Um, excuse me.” He hardly moves. So you try a little louder, hunching over his sleeping form even further. “Excuse me.”

You could’ve sworn you heard a snore. 

Out of instinct, you bring a hand forward to his shoulder, shaking ever so slightly as you call for him again. “Excuse me!”

There’s a sharp inhale and he shoots up quicker than you can back away, ensuring you get an entire back’s worth of force as he bumps into you, hard.

“Wh–ow!” The noise is collective, yelps and thuds as you both back away from each other. 

“W–what’re you doing here?” he asks, hair still ruffled and eyes barely open as he stands at the table. There’s a bright yellow sticky note on his right cheek, ink scribbled on in something you can’t decipher.

“Um, it’s office—”

His eyes land on the same screen you were peering into just before and it looks like his life flashes before his eyes, widening at the sight as he slams around the table looking for something. 

“I have to go,” he announces, gripping onto an unstrapped watch as he registers the time, his other hand shoving his laptop and a few papers into a dark messenger bag. 

“Wait, isn’t it still office hours?” you call out as he whizzes past you. 

He’s swinging his bag over his shoulder and half tripping to the door as he calls out, “Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

“But—”

“It’s on the portal.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it—” he pauses as he exhales loudly, closing his eyes and bringing a hand to rub across his tired face. “I’ll double check. But it’s Wednesdays and Thursdays from now on. You can wait till I get back if you really want help.”

“How—”

A loud slam! of the door. 

“—long…” 

You’re left draped in silence yet again, the echoes of the slammed door ringing in your startled ears. It all happened too fast for you to process, blinking rapidly as you registered that you were now alone in the room. 

He said he’d be back, but left you with no indication as to when. By the looks of his god awful schedule, it looked like he had something else to attend to right after whatever it was he buggered off to right now. 

Fingers clenched into a fist, you consider your options. You could wait, sit on one of the desks and try to get some work done until he gets back. 

The universe gives you your answer as the door opens with a loud creak in the empty lecture hall. It’s another professor who looks quite startled to find an overenthusiastic student already present for class. 

She stares before craning to look at the room number outside the door, “Am I in the right room?”

“Uh, yes! I was just leaving,” you buffer out, moving to shuffle out immediately. 

You’re halfway out the door when you hear another call of an “Excuse me!”

“Are these your papers?” The professor’s full arms are up as she gestures to the still littered table. 

The No is ready on your lips. Until it isn’t. 

Later on, you’d consider how you left that room with an armful of papers that did not belong to you. How you’d ducked under the table to ensure you’d gotten everything, down to the leather strap watch with the cracked clock face. 

But as you stare at the stack of files and sheets that lay on your desk at home, you only know of the decent act that you’d committed.

And nothing of the hourglass you’d just turned over. 

Wednesday

In your Sent box are three emails sent on three separate days, all asking the same recurring question, all responding with the same recurring reply.

I wanted to confirm the days and times for office hours. I’m aware it’s on the portal but I’d like to reconfirm. 

Regards, YN

Dear YN,

Wednesdays and Thursdays. 4 to 6 PM.

Kim Mingyu, T.A. 

So there you were on a Wednesday afternoon, 3:59 PM sharp, outside the lecture hall where office hours have always been. With the same tote hung on your shoulders, with the same printed assignment and pack of multicolour pens, and a separated stack of files and folders, you wrench the door open with bated breath. 

The blended murmur of the usual hustle and bustle of the appointment reassures you first, the sight of scattered students of familiar faces reassures you second. And most of all, a conscious TA that sits at the professor’s desk, speaking to another student over a laptop screen. 

The man does nothing to acknowledge your arrival, continuing above the babble of students that occupy the chairs and the discussion. It isn’t too full, but considerably busy nonetheless despite how early you’ve swooped in. 

There’s a brief consideration whether this was in the TA’s job description at all, craning your neck to take a full sweep of the room to find a sparing glimpse of the man who should be here. The professor and his loud fashion choices are nowhere to be found. 

The sigh you let out is heavy and full of an emotion you cannot possibly begin to unpack, taking a seat on one of the unoccupied chairs to slump against. Shoulders sagging, you feel every fibre of your being screaming against your better judgement to pull out some work and to be productive while you wait. Reading over your failed assignment for the nth time, the same one that seemed to be some sick form of rage bait. 

You pull a couple things out so as to not look awkward sitting and staring into nothing on an empty desk, uncapping your pen and pulling up your sleeves like there was business to be done. Which there was, but none of which you wished to entertain. 

People watching, you realise, is a lot easier when most of the room is preoccupied with whatever it is they’re doing, too busy to notice your blank stares. 

The faces are familiar, none of which are people you’ve interacted with before but classmates nonetheless. The room is full of shaking legs, spinning pens and hunched backs, not an un-scrunched brow in sight. There’s a particular gaggle of girls somewhere around the front, their tables suggesting a work environment but between the whispers, giggles and glances to the front of the room, you assume there’s one thing in common the both of you weren’t doing. 

Speaking of the front of the room, your matched glance finds you face to face with the student at the main table in the middle of pushing himself off his seat. Your reaction is immediate, hand coming over to slam against the flat of your bag to find the lost straps, moving out of your seat as you keep your eyes on the front of the room. 

Bad luck must be a lover, because you realise quickly that somebody’s already beat you to it. Before you even noticed the first’s intentions to. The student stands beside the chair ready to keep it warm as the previous occupant leaves. 

Slamming back down on your own seat, you realise very quickly that trying to get an audience with this TA was going to be harder than you anticipated. There’s multiple other sounds of frustration around the room, and you doubt the slowly increasing pool of students was going to help anyone’s time management. 

Realising you needed to be a little more tactical if you didn’t want to sit here for the next month and half, you find an empty spot near the gaggle of girls you’d noticed before. It was right up front, just enough for you to hear when the conversation would begin to conclude at the main table. 

Once again, the TA doesn’t seem to notice any of the hustle and bustle of the room as his mouth continues to move rapidly, eyes on the question as he invests himself in his explanation. 

It was unfortunate that the only remaining seat was right next to the louder than necessary group, but you take it as a blessing anyway. It’s then that the one right next to you turns to stage-whisper to you. 

“Are you here to see him?”

You don’t expect a conversation, ears straining to eavesdrop on the other conversation in front of you to find your cue. You snap to look at her in surprise. “Pardon?” 

“Are you here to see him? Mingyu?”

“Uh—” Wasn’t everybody? “Yeah, I had a couple things I wanted to clear out.”

The revelation makes her shoulders drop as she lets out a loud sigh, “God, I can never get anything this professor says. I've been here nearly every week trying to figure it all out.”

“Yeah he’s a bit…unorthodox.”

“He’s unorthodox too.” She looks over to the main table towards the TA, chin in her hands as she gazes. “A face like that is rare.”

It wasn’t that she was wrong, it didn’t take more than a glance to convince yourself that Mingyu was possibly one of the more attractive people you’d meet in your lifetime. But the appeal lasted for all of five minutes for you, flitting away when you noticed that he dragged along a very…overwrought… suggestion wherever he went. 

It was clear he was stressed seemingly all year round, nearly just as relaxed as your professor seemed to be. 

But Mingyu was attractive. And you realise how much of a fool you’d sound if you admitted to anything other than such. 

“It is. His willpower’s somehow even rarer,” you add. “Don’t know how he does it.”

“God, tell me about it. Forget getting his number, trying to have more than a three sentence exchange with him without some statistical nonsense involved is near impossible.” Her face has fallen, a tight little frown on her face as she irritates herself with some other memory. 

Taking a glance down at her notes, you find the printed sheet littered with glitter gel pen ink lining the edges, doodles of stars and hearts and small anime characters next to p values and z scores. 

There’s a distinct sound of a chair screeching, and it’s like a large GAME OVER sign is hanging above your head. 

You jerk in your seat, like you could jump over the table and land in the emptying seat with some god-given stroke of luck, like the person already standing next to the chair wouldn’t hold a lifelong grudge against the insane girl with an unnatural acclimation to statistics. 

Although, nothing was more unnatural than the way this TA seemed to know more than the professor. Or you were just really behind. 

Alas, you don’t tumble over the table or kick back your chair, merely making a forceful motion in your seat, palms itching terribly as you watch the girl with her open laptop balanced in her arms move to take a seat. 

You were preoccupied, hence you do not notice that the TA has also noticed you. 

Suddenly, the girl looks startled as she’s told to wait. 

“She’s been waiting nearly a week, I really hope you don’t mind,” you hear him say, voice strained as you turn to look at him. His hands are outstretched to motion towards you a few feet across from him. 

For whatever reason, you had no thought that he might’ve remembered you. Something about his half asleep state when he’d spoken to you, perhaps he might’ve thought he dreamt it. Or he’d just forgotten it altogether. 

The girl glances at you, and her shoulders sag a little as she nods in formality. 

“Thank you.”

It comes out of both of you, snapping to look at each other hardly a moment as you go back to smiling at the retreating student. 

“You can come right after her,” he reassures, his own upturned mouth tired and fading. 

Never have you felt more awkward trying to come around the elongated student tables. 

You pause at first, staring at the table in front of you like it was worth trying to climb over or even crawl under it to get to the desk. Another moment of eye contact as he stares at your unmoving form with a blank look, and the heat pools your skin. 

Staggering for a moment, you end up moving past your chair and walking the way round anyway, the screeching of the chairs only nurturing the existing budding humiliation for no apparent reason. 

It only gets worse when you sit across from him finally, backside barely touching the plastic before realising you’d forgotten your bag in your seat. 

Mid smile in a timid greeting when you make a sound resembling something of an “Oh!” as you spring back up immediately. It’s easier to reach for your bag over the table you were sitting on, reaching across to grab it off your vacated seat. 

The girl you were sitting next to just before makes a motion like she’s trying to help and you have to remind yourself to smile at her as you retreat. 

Mingyu has the very beginnings of an amused expression on his face once you’ve finally made yourself comfortable across from him, clearing your throat just for something to do. 

“Right. How can I help you?”

Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring out the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him. 

One look at the sparse format of the cover page, he blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page. 

“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell. 

“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he actually wanted to know. 

It stumps you regardless.

“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer. 

“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.

“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and presentation was off.”

“You marked them?”

He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”

Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words. 

Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes. You don’t have an explanation, but it’s somehow easier to feel helpless in front of the man that’s meant to help you. “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he has to say it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”

He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand. 

Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.

“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”

You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”

“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”

“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.

Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”

“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”

It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger. 

“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”

Help, he did. 

Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered in a rainbow of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag. 

You only remember when you spot the segregated file of papers in your bag.

“I almost forgot,” you say, slipping the files and tidbits out and in front of him. 

“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply, eyes widening as sees the familiar blue. 

“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”

“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”

You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”

Pausing, you wonder if you should make the next comment, the words tumbling out before you can make a decision. “Maybe don’t run out of rooms still half asleep.”

By the grace of God, he laughs, “No, you’re right. I should be careful.”

It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he continues. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.” 

Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”

He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”

You smile, “No problem.”

Thursday

True to your punctual nature, you make yourself known at exactly 3:29 PM.

Mingyu is at the desk, conscious and on the phone, eyes closed as he rests his face on his fist.

“I don’t know if I can make time for that—no, I understand, sir,”

Another pause as the noise from his speakers fill his ears, his rubbing over his face a little harsher than you doubt he’s entirely comfortable with. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

His phone hits the table with a heartbreaking thud, both hands covering his face as he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. 

“Light on your feet or something? I can never tell when you come in,” he startles when he notices you. 

Sheepish smile on your face, you move to sit down. “Sorry.”

You know it’s invasive, and you also know you might be asking him to break some unknown university code of conduct, but curiosity takes charge as you ask a casual question. “Important call?”

“Uh, yeah, um, just work stuff,” he states, shaking his head swiftly like he’s trying to shake the thought out of his mind. 

There’s a pause while you're slipping your papers and laptop out of your bag, during which he seems to have decided to divulge a little more. 

“It was Dr. Cho. More stuff for me to do,” he says. “As always.” 

“Does he do anything other than show up to class?” you ask through a snort. 

“Of course he does. He cusses out every article he doesn’t agree with, is anything but objective and…the occasional relay of blatant misinformation.” 

For the record, you’d never really heard Mingyu speak at all for the months he’d been TA-ing for the semester. It was small whispers of choice words in a vague voice, the distant murmur as he exchanged with the professor too far for you to hear. 

The voice of the seemingly quiet and diligent TA was never known to you, not until yesterday as he explained statistical models and the flaws of your data presentation. 

Passionately too. Incredulous for a discipline so dry and unapproachable. 

That being said, something about the grit in his voice as he positively sneered through his teeth, badmouthing his professor—it was something you couldn’t quite believe he was capable of. 

“I’m sorry you have to put up with him.”

Once again, by whatever stone of tolerance the universe bestowed in his heart, you watch him sigh and smile, “Anything for that recommendation. And the pay too, I suppose. Besides, he’s done a lot for the area, can’t discredit him entirely.”

With your eyebrows raised, he seems to catch your expression. He pants out a laugh, and your stomach lurches as you watch it reach his eyes, teeth on display, a lurch in his chest; a true laugh. 

Raising his hands in surrender, he responds, “I’m stuck.”

There’s nothing you can do to stop the smile that reaches your own face, turning your laptop screen towards him with the JASP software display. “I am too. Help.”

Help, he does.

Monday

Mingyu ended up giving you an entire hour on that Thursday. 

The thirty minutes before office hours began soared by like they were nothing, and you were ready to take your leave the minute students began to scatter in as the clock hit a swift four. Except he kept going, another 30 minutes in deep concentration as he retaught you nearly everything from scratch. 

Perhaps his proven determination to ensure you don’t tragically fail is what prompted you to do this, standing at the till of your regular coffee shop as you ask, “Make that two, please.”

It might also be important to mention the 7:30 AM on the dial on a bright Monday morning as you walked into your slightly less dreaded Statistics in Psychological Research class, knowing there would only be one other person insane enough to get to the lecture hall this early. 

Something isn’t right. 

Mingyu is in a position all too familiar to you and everyone else who shares this class, hunched over something or the other in deep focus. The sun pours in through the lifted blinds, the lights of the class turned off as natural light does more than enough of the job. 

It also shows you a blaring hot pink post-it note on his face, all too familiar to a previous interaction you’ve had with him. 

He notices you before you need to announce yourself, brows separating as he recognises you in the doorway. “‘Morning!” 

“...Morning.”

“You’re early,” he comments, straightening his back with a hand behind him for support as you approach. 

“Figured we both needed this,” you hand him a tray with his cup of coffee, eyes still trained on his lower cheek with the paper stuck to it. “It’s a latte with no sugar, but I added a couple packets on the side anyway. Just in case.”

“O–oh, thank you. And you’re right I did need this.”

Now that you’re closer, the scrawled writing on the post-it note is clearer. 

To Do:

Call mom

Shoot myself

“You, um—” It’s alarmingly difficult for you to say it, despite the words being so simple. Hey! You got a lil’ something on your face.

But all you do is dumbly point to your own cheek, eyes trained on the loud piece of paper that tells more than he might like the world to know. 

There’s a loud slap of his hand on his own cheek as he crumples the paper in his hands, bringing it forward to see. “For fuck’s sake.”

“It’s okay! I wanna…shoot myself too sometimes.” 

What the fuck?

“I mean!” you correct louder than you anticipated, before covering with a laugh. “It’s okay, it happens. Good thing I caught it before someone else did.”

It’s all the more petrifying when your voice echoes across the blatantly empty lecture hall, reverberating like it was a punishment for you and your horrid lack of volume control. Meeting his eyes feels like a sin right now, so you keep them downcast and pray he doesn’t try to sabotage your education. 

“Good thing it was just you. Yeah.”

Just you.

“Anyways, I think I’m done with prepping for class. Do you wanna squeeze in twenty minutes of ANOVA?” 

“Have you seen the time?” 

“Not a morning person?”

“Nope!”

“And yet it’s 7:40 on a Monday morning and you’re absurdly early.” His brows are raised as he pulls around the professor's chair to bring it to you. 

“Do you want the coffee or not?” you ask, watching as he drags another chair for himself. 

The both of you sit away from the professors table, coffees in hand as you watch Mingyu run a hand through his hair. 

He gives you a crooked grin,“I apologise.”

“To be fair,” he continues. “I’m not much of a morning person either.”

You narrow your eyes the slightest bit as Mingyu takes a sip of his unsweetened coffee, “I’m starting to think no money’s worth this job.”

Mingyu snorts, coffee suspended in his full cheeks. He swallows with much difficulty before answering, “You’re right. Not sure why I’m still here either. I could get an offer from another professor.”

“And that isn’t happening because…?”

Elbows on his knees, Mingyu swirls his capless coffee cup, the beige liquid moving in a growing tornado. “I like Dr. Cho.”

“You—”

“I know,” he laughs loud, a deep, echoing sound that shakes in your ears. “I know. I sound like a lunatic.”

“I don’t know about lunacy, but insanity can have its reasons.”

“Another would argue that insanity was the very absence of reason.” 

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Excuse me for doing my job.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, and you ask again, “No, but really. I can’t imagine this man having too many redeeming qualities as an educator.”

Mingyu lifts his chin as he presses his lips together. “When I was in my first year, there was this other class I had where we had to write a lab report for the first time.”

“PSYCH101?”

“That’s the one. I’d never written one before, but I liked statistics enough to do a little more digging than what the assignment called for. I ended up finding one of Dr. Cho’s studies, read the entire thing, word for word. I was up all night reading nearly everything he’d published, some of ‘em before any of us were even born.” 

“Oh. So you’re a fan.”

“Everyone tells you to never meet your idols,” he snickers. “He’s done amazing things, but I guess he pays for it with his flawed personality.”

“I’m sorry it had to be you,” you half joke. 

Mingyu looks at you sheepishly, “That might also be my own fault.” 

“Don’t tell me you offered.”

“I might as well have. All my assignments referenced his work the most. I was always talking to him about upcoming research after class, and it was like he was a different person. Forget differing opinions, some of what he was saying was just…plain incorrect. He welcomed the argument though, and I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true. He was always emailing me extra resources which…I’m pretty sure he isn’t supposed to do. Only reason I did so well in his class was because I taught myself.” 

He sighs a loud sigh, straightening his back, “I guess he liked me more than I thought, because next thing I know I’m getting a call over the summer telling me I have a job.”

“Did he…have a TA when you were in his class?” 

“Four.”

“Four?!”

“Two at a time. All of ‘em quit at some point. Said they didn’t want the recommendation or the pay.”

“Would he…not give you a recommendation anyway? You said he liked you.”

Mingyu shakes his head solemnly, “He’s a tough cookie, everyone in the field knows that. If you’ve impressed him, you’ve impressed everyone.”

You take a moment to really absorb everything you’ve just learned. “That’s a sucky position you’re in.”

“Tell me about it. But it’s okay. Three—three and a half more months to go? This isn’t even the worst of it, I’m just dreading study week when I’m gonna have to handle all the crying.”

You wince as he mentions something even remotely close to exam season, still barely at a stage where you can accept you’d be alright with this class. 

“I know you’re not nearly as qualified or experienced as him, but I think you could take over his class.”

“Ever heard of barriers to entry? I’d be ruined if I wanted a career in this.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “All I’m saying is I’ve learned more from you in barely a couple hours combined than the last two months I’ve spent cursing this very lecture hall.”

If you weren’t lying to yourself, you could’ve sworn you saw a blush creep up his face, and paired with his shy laugh and hand at the back of his neck, you can’t help but bite back your own smile. 

“If I can help you then it’s worth losing myself.”

Your heart is in your fucking throat.

“I’m glad when students tell me that,” he continues, utterly oblivious to the landslide happening in your digestive tract. “Makes me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re—” you swallow thickly because you sound like a toad. “You’re doing more than just something right. You’re saving us therapy and an extra semester.”

He laughs at that, and you wish he’d let you breathe. 

“Feels like I’m doing something wrong sometimes,” he huffs. “My friend’s a TA too and he’s got himself a girlfriend on top of everything else he’s got going on.” 

He goes on, “Do you know how many times I need to ask people to quit twirling their hair? To look at the page and not my face? Asking for my number, I have an email for a reason, for fuck’s sake—”

Mingyu is cut off because you’re laughing, hand to mouth as your shoulders shake through your sniggering. “W–what?”

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “It’s just…It sounds like you don’t know what you look like.”

“What’s wrong with how I look?” he frowns.

“Nothing!” you exclaim. “But that’s the problem isn’t it.”

Mingyu doesn’t seem to buy it, even through your coaxing as you attempt to explain to him that he is, in fact, desirable.

“Can’t possibly be enough to distract people,” he huffs in earnest, still hung up on the students he can’t get through to. 

“Majority of the class would beg to differ.”

There’s a pause as he registers what you imply. 

After a few moments, he drops his head, opening his mouth, “Would… you also—”

There’s a loud creak of the door as you hear the immediate noises of shuffling feet and chattering mouths, as low and tired as they sounded. Turning back to look at Mingyu, he’s already jumped out of his seat, wrist to face as he checks the time on the same leather strap watch you returned. 

“That’s our cue,” you breathe, pushing your chair back behind the professor’s desk as you manoeuvre around Mingyu who’s suddenly frantic. 

Of course you realise there’s people other than just the two of you in the room, heightened in seats that are designed to ensure they can absorb every detail that goes on right where you stand in the front of the room.

But you feel the soft of Mingyu’s shirt over his wrist as you give him a gentle squeeze despite it all, barely enough pressure. Half your index finger brushes the skin of his hand, just enough to register how cold your fingertips are and how warm his body is. 

“Relax,” you whisper. “You’ll be better off without all the panic.”

You don’t see his face as you brush past him and up to your seat, looking up to see him disappear somewhere in the corner hunched over another stack of papers. The next time you see Mingyu’s face is when the professor arrives and has begun his regularly scheduled tomfoolery, and realise all the age that can accumulate in the span of five minutes. 

Thursday

Midterm season is nothing you’ve ever really had to worry about. 

Something about the halfway point did make it obvious that the clock was ticking, but danger was far enough away to prevent the ultimate breakdowns reserved for the peak seasons. 

Except this class isn’t ordinary, and it’s all you’re able to worry about all semester. And as Dr. Cho in his Thrasher vest announces the date for the in class midterm, the glass once half empty, suddenly looks very half full. 

“I’m not ready.”

“You’re more ready than anyone else in class.”

“How do you know that?”

Mingyu stares at you blankly, “If I don’t know that, then who else does?”

You have tears in your eyes, which is embarrassing enough since this is the second time you’ve teared up in front of him, but also because you’re in a library following Mingyu around like a lost duck because he insists on putting the books he borrowed back onto the shelves himself after registering the return. 

“But I don’t feel like I’m ready,” you whine, turning the corner as he searches for the last spot to place his final book. 

“You’ll realise just how ready you are when all those hieroglyphs on the page start to make sense to you,” he grunts the last bit out as he reaches on his tippy toes to shove the book back up. 

Dusting his hands off, he adjusts his shirt before turning to you, “You only feel that way because I’ve been giving you harder problems to work on. You’re past the level you need to be at right now. Trust me, you’re more than prepared.”

“But—”

“Listen,” he waves to the librarian as you both leave the library, your eyes still glistening as you fiddle with your sleeves. “It’s only the midterm—”

“Only the—”

“If this goes wrong, I’m just gonna have to work you harder for the real thing. Even though I know it won��t go wrong because I said so.”

You fall into silence as he walks you towards the coffee shop across the courtyard. 

“I’m assuming…” you start. 

“Hm?” he looks over to you.

“I’m assuming you can’t hint at what’s on the paper.”

Mingyu barks out a laugh of disbelief, “You assume correct. I’m not going through hell with this job just to lose it because of a paper leak.”

“But it’s just the midterm,” you mumble, not even close to remotely audible. 

“What did you say?” Mingyu smirks. 

“Nothing,” you huff.

“You know, I’m a little offended you don’t trust me.”

“Who said I didn’t.”

“Well then, stop being such a worrywart.”

There must be something written on your face, because as you pass Mingyu standing at the door he keeps open for you, entering into the coffee shop with fallen shoulders, he seems to change his mind. 

He brings you a coffee, sits you down, and gives you something else you need. “I made the paper. Every question. And I taught you. Every concept. So I definitely know you’re gonna be fine.”

In that moment, with the large glass walls of the warm coffee shop, the afternoon sun comfortably resting on every last object of the room, you don’t see it illuminate anything other than the man before you. 

Perhaps you're being dramatic at the revelation, but you don’t take anything into account as you note Mingyu’s eyes and how they sparkle like they were gifted from the centre of a flaming volcano, brown and polished more than any jewel or stone you’d ever seen. Reaching out to touch him, you know you’d feel nothing but smooth stone, the indentations only possible by a being beyond what you could comprehend. 

He’d given you more than just reassurance, and at times, his timing makes it feel like he was sent from the heavens itself, just for you. 

You sniffle. 

His hands brush over yours as he hands you a napkin, and even more so, cover your own as he takes your freezing fingertips into his own palm, the contact burning you like hot coal. 

You know he’s real. And you don’t know why quite just yet, but that reassurance is enough to give you calm.

Monday

You were alright, but it seems that Mingyu seemed to disintegrate right after he was done reassuring you to the moon and Saturn and Jupiter and back.

It’s midterm day, and as always on every Monday morning, you enter the empty lecture hall with two warm coffees in your hand, ready for whatever shitshow you’d have to perform for today.

It seems Mingyu must defect from at least one regular string of behaviour to remain as Mingyu, who on this occasion, stands before you in a baby blue polo sweater. 

Except you only know that because you can see the unique collar, but it might also be important that his back is turned towards you. 

“Morning, champ,” he gruffs, nothing encouraging about his voice in the slightest. 

Your breath hitches when you finally see his face, eyes sunken in and face pale. His lips are chapped and peeling, eyes half closed. 

“Why’re you looking at me like that, why has everyone been looking at me like that?” he huffs in one long, rapid question. 

“Um, I mean,” you stare at his shirt that’s backwards. And inside out. “I can’t tell if that’s a choice or a mistake.”

Looking down at his front, he looks back up, “What?”

“Your collar is…not at your collar, Mingyu. And your shirt’s inside out.”

Hand at his nape, he reaches his fingers down and finds the unmistakable starched planes of his collar, eyes closing at the realisation. He’s immediately pulling his arms out of the shirt with his eyes still closed like it’d all disappear if he keeps them like that. 

“Wait!” you exclaim before he strips entirely, scrambling to put your coffees down to push him out of the room towards the restrooms. “Do you wanna strip for the CCTVs?”

You only hear him sigh as he moves out and into the hall, doors closed behind him. 

You’ve nearly forgotten about the midterm at this point, your concern now growing in a completely different direction. By the time Mingyu returns, he’s blabbing about wondering why everyone he ran into since he left home was giving him the strangest looks, and then something about you always swooping in to save him before the real bout of disaster strikes. 

It’s hard for you to listen to him when you’re more worried about him passing out, his face doing him no favours to reassure you that he wasn’t a breathing corpse. 

“Mingyu…did you sleep at all?”

“Hm?” His eyes are glazed over and unfocused. 

“Sleep? Rest?”

“Oh,” he frowns. “Not really. I had emails coming in all night.”

“And you were replying?”

“It's the midterm today,” he responds flatly, like it should’ve been enough explanation. 

You almost don’t believe him. “Doesn’t mean you stay up to answer something that should’ve been cleared out beforehand!”

“Couldn’t just leave them to fend for themselves,” he dramatises. 

“Yes, you could!” Your voice comes out louder than you expected, eyes wide as you realise what he’s doing to himself. “You barely look human and it’s only the midterm.”

“What’re you trying to say?”

“I don’t know if this job is really worth as much as you think it is.”

Mingyu’s jaw is clenched, fists tight as he releases them to grip paper weight on the desk, knuckles white. “I can’t get anywhere if I don’t—”

“Mingyu, please. This isn’t good for you.”

He says your name. Declarative, almost like a warning. “If you think this job isn’t worth it then you just don’t know.”

“Mingyu—”

“No, you don’t, because I’ve seen how good of a job I’ve been doing.”

“You have, you’ve been amazing but—”

Mingyu’s own voice is raised, a hard impenetrable floor to the words he spills. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You look like a corpse!”

And then he’s getting out of his chair with so much force it almost knocks it backwards, “Why on earth do you care so much? So what if I look like a corpse, if I‘m doing my job?” 

It might’ve been better if he knocked the chair right into you, your breath dissipating in your chest like it never existed. His face is morphed in an expression of exasperation your anxieties fear the most, every line on his face committed to irritation and anger. 

Why on earth do you care so much?

Right. Why do you? 

“Are you asking me that?”

“What?”

“Are you asking me why I care?” 

Mingyu only sighs, shoulders dropping and eyes closed. Like so many times before, you watch run a hand through his hair, except this time he yanks on the strands harder than ever before. 

His eyes are bloodshot. 

“I have to get the exam pack.”

Marching out the door in front of your own eyes, you’re left with a feeling that’s right in the back of your throat, curling and whirling into something you wish you could hack and gag out. Gripping the corner of the professor’s desk, you feel the peeling wood cut into your skin. 

There’s a draft, the delayed slam of the door has only hit its wind now, a delayed reaction. It’s like it registers in your mind as you feel strands of your hair shift, the clarity that comes with it.

Delusive. Chimeric. Cruel.

Everything you’d subjected upon yourself. A whimsical fantasy between pages of logic and numbers, a story that simply didn’t fit where the laws wouldn’t allow it. 

The null hypothesis of your most elaborate nightmares.

Monday

Your favourite commonplace box, where your mother once placed all her most prized jewels, had a finicky latch. 

It wasn’t broken, simply worn in from years of opening and closing. It took a few tries to get it shut. Simply pressing down with pressure didn’t work; you had to open it again, press down on the individual elements of the latch and then try again. 

You were never satisfied until you heard the distinct click of the latch fixing itself, the box closed and ready for you to hook your lock through.

Earlier on in your undergraduate career, you remember a professor talking about the effects of external factors on the mind, how they can sometimes cause it to ‘shut down’ when overwhelmed or stressed. 

It’s happened to you on many a occasion; like when you stayed up too late on a school night to watch a documentary about the Stanford prison experiment, or when you’d neglect food or water on busier days, or when you’d stop paying attention in class because you were too preoccupied thinking about Taco Tuesday. 

Regardless, you’d found a way to recognise when your brain would fall into some strange kahoots with daydreams, or whatever was bothering you, and learned ways to give yourself a reset. 

Pressuring and forcing the attention wouldn’t work, just like how the latch wouldn’t fit when you’d do the same with your beloved old box. So you’d take a walk, drink something cold, spray yourself with a garden hose, or even take a nap altogether. Opening yourself up, so the latch can finally click. 

On the morning of your midterm, when you’d ensured your brain was in optimal condition for the exam you knew would be one of the worse ones you’ll have to take, you were sure the only external force that could ruin your vibe was from God himself. 

Having been so preoccupied with your mind and its functions, you’d seemed to have forgotten where your heart had wandered off to. 

Somebody else might consider it a minor disagreement; an anxious squabble if you will. But your breakfast in your throat was enough reason to deem what happened that morning much more than that. At least for you. 

“Pass it on, please…pass it on, please.”

The sound of his voice is tectonic. Rattling in your head like a superior force had slammed into your skull like a padded hammer to a gong. 

You hated it. You hated everything. You hated yourself. And as the midterm paper reaches you with your pen in your clawed fingers, the first three questions already making perfect sense, you realise you hated Kim Mingyu the most. 

That was a lie. You were lying to yourself, yet again. 

Because it was quite the opposite. You couldn’t hate him. 

As you drift past every question of conditional experiments and screenshots of data and tables on a software, you hardly remember what you circle and what you don’t. Hardly remember what words you picked for the short answers and labels. You hardly remember taking the steps down from your seat to the front of the room, where the professor sat scrolling through his Skateboarders [!MEN ONLY!] facebook group, placing your paper down and leaving the classroom. 

Throughout your years of living, you’d learned what you needed to get your brain out of its clouded muffle, to refocus when you needed it. 

Everything. You tried everything. 

But on that day, when it mattered most, your latch never clicked.

It’s Wednesday. 

You order lunch from the Italian place a few streets down. Ravioli; it’s safe and you know you’ll like it. 

Savouring it is easy in front of another true crime show. You pull a lone soft drink from your fridge, one that your friend left weeks ago. It tastes just as bad as the last time you tasted it from someone else’s cup, but you drink it anyway, the empty can now in your trash. 

It’s 3:30 PM, and you sit at your desk. It’s strange. It feels like you’re missing something, which in ways, you are. But as you pull your laptop from your nightstand instead of out of your bag, you slow your movements. 

The papers are the same. But you read them anyway. 

Parameter estimation: Make inferences on characteristics of the population, including distributions of the variables and the effect of one variable over another. 

It’s accursed the way the universe won’t let you live. 

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, estimation cannot be perfect. 

Estimation cannot be perfect. 

[_]

It’s Thursday

Class. Eat. Drink. Work.

Hypothesis testing: Determine whether null hypothesis is rejected or not after data observation. 

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue, no null hypothesis in bayesian approach!!

[_]

It’s Friday

Eat. Drink. Work.

Latent means to have meaning but is yet to be manifested. The greek letters are placeholder values for values yet unknown. 

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue; values that you will find out

[_]

It’s Saturday

Eat. Drink. Work.

P(A|B) = [P(B|A)P(A)

              ——————

                     P(B)

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;

 it gets less complicated

 promise :/ 

[_]

It’s Sunday.

Eat. Drink. Work.

The page is blurry. Your eyes hurt. 

There’s a scribble in the corner in a dark blue;

you’ve got this!!! < 3

You give up.

It’s Monday.

8:14 AM. 

You barely glance at the front of the room; swift turn to the left and right up the steps. Dr. Cho’s outfit almost goes unnoticed by you, tamer than most. Bright Barbie pink with large polka dots, untucked into too tight white jeans. His crocs are sparkly, at least that’s what the twinkle from up here looks like. 

He’s insulting another author, the man’s ProQuest journal article open for the world to see like a mediaeval scandal. 

There’s another person next to the whiteboards, back to the wall, hands clasped in front of him. His hair is messy, shooting lasers into the carpet as he rocks the slightest bit, listening to the professor rip this author to shreds. 

An hour later, you’re staring into the JASP software like it was written in a different language. 

Glancing next to you, the boy in the spongebob hoodie is playing sharkboy and lavagirl by himself. On your other side, the girl has the same thing as you open on her laptop, her pen occupied with drawing about a hundred tiny gojos on a bright pink sticky note. 

Bright pink sticky note. 

You snap your gaze back to your screen quickly after that. 

9:58 AM. You start packing up, shoving everything into your bag. 

Dr. Cho doesn’t even notice you slip out of the room, hardly a minute to the end of the lecture.

In the hallway, you take your first real breath in two hours. 

It’s Tuesday.

You’ve come down with something, head heavy as you feel yourself burn up. Skipping class is easy when you sleep through your alarm and every phone call from a friend asking where you are. 

They drop by, armed with medicine and soup. You almost feel better. 

It’s silent after they leave, and you realise in that moment how much you hate it. 

Opening your laptop for the first time in over 24 hours, you turn on a random podcast to play in the background, needing something to fill the air before you lose it entirely. 

The screen lands right where you left on the incredulous data presentation, unsolved tutorial paper crumpled between the screen and keyboard like a wilted leaf. 

Hot, scalding tears sting your eyeballs when you realise there was nowhere to turn to.

It’s Wednesday.

After a long day of doing nothing, still sick from whatever plagued your body, you go to bed earlier than usual.

It’s Thursday. 

Walking out of class, your mind is empty. You’re still sniffling, still achey, but better than you were. The shawl wrapped around you is warm, and your hood covers the cold tips of your ears. 

This other class makes you feel better about yourself, especially when the content is digestible and so is the professor. The TA feels like a mere accessory in the room, something you’ve learned to appreciate. 

With your gaze lowered, you only see midriffs as you walk out the classroom into the busy hallway. 

It happens in an instant, the flash of a clenched hand as the owner walks by in quick stride. An unmistakable leather strap watch with a broken clock face on the wrist.

You freeze like you’ve been caught. 

The hard bump of someone coming out the room behind you is welcomed, the annoyed “Hey!” knocking you back to earth before you could even exit the dimension. 

You’re off centre. But it’s fine. 

It’s Monday.

“Midterm results are out Tuesday morning. If you have any questions I’ll be sitting at office hours on Wednesday and Thursday, four to six in the evening. Or you could send me an email, either’s fine.”

Dr. Cho isn’t here. Something you only found out when the pitt sank in your stomach as Mingyu cleared his throat at the full hour. 

You want to leave, not caring about how strange it’d look if you did. Not caring about how he would definitely notice if you did. You want him to shut up, to stop talking, for anything to halt the way his voice infiltrates your entire being, talking about things you don’t understand but more familiar than anything else. 

Mingyu’s voice is hoarse, and you loathe the way you can tell the difference. 

It’s Tuesday.

Midterm Results for Statistics in Psychological Research.

—  92/100

It’s Wednesday. 

4:10 PM. It’s almost too much for you. Almost. 

The screech of the door is loud, the slam of the handle’s rebound even more so. The room doesn’t so much as glance at you at the door, the half full seats preoccupied with more important things. 

The front desk perks up immediately, eyes shooting towards the door for the nth time that day, like he was expecting someone that never seemed to show up. 

It’s ironic, you think, how Mingyu never seemed to notice you walk into the room for the many months you’ve walked in just for him. And now, as you walk in fists clenched and jaw set, eyes wild and burning, he’s breaking away from a student to look at the door before you even come into view. 

“Did you feel bad?” you spit.

“What?” he whispers. He seems to come around, glancing back before continuing, “Can we talk? Please.”

“Answer the question, Mingyu,” you snap. You don’t care there’s a confused student sitting right across from the both of you, his slot interrupted by your barge. “Did you feel so bad you had to give me something I didn’t earn?”

He’s stood up now, half confused. “Is this about the midterm—”

“I did not get a ninety two, I know I didn’t,” you grit. “Whatever happened before that stupid paper made sure I wouldn’t.”

Mingyu says your name and the sound makes you want to vomit. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I fucked up because of you?” you announce, louder than before. 

The world disappeared, your tunnel vision pointed at Mingyu’s face that wears an expression you cannot even begin to read. The unbecoming tears in your eyes are of a type of unadulterated rage you’ve felt only a few times before. Your heart is going about a million miles a breath, everything else only triggering an added bout of infuriated tremble in the forefront of your emotions. Nothing makes sense. 

Mingyu pushes back his chair in silence, stalking over to a large cupboard in the corner of the room. He shuffles around for a minute before returning. 

There’s a packet being thrust into your fists when he reaches you. He does not meet your eyes. 

A bright red 92/100 marks the front page.

“Here. It was all you, if you can’t believe me.”

It’s a careful mark, unmistakable lines and curves of the nine and the two. 

Reality is slow to sink in, but for some reason it’s only making you angrier. The paper curls under the pressure of your fingertips. You don’t open the packet. You refuse to flick through the pages. 

Because you know you’ve lost.

It’s Thursday. And it’s full of regret. 

There’s a sickness in you, from that dreaded day, something beyond what affects your body temperature and your energy. It’s in your mind, flooding the nerves that swim through every crevice and cave of your brain, a physical venom that does the opposite of kill but also the opposite of letting you live. 

There’s a feeling in you, that even if you were to open your mouth, unhinge your jaw, try to scream as loud as your throat would allow, there would be no sound. Something like a horrible dream, that you need to screw your eyes tight shut to fall out of. Except you aren’t waking up from this one. 

In a coffee shop, where Mingyu held your hand in a reassurance you now bleed for, you were sure he was real. Real like some deiform image; too good to be true. 

In your bed, dry tears on your face, midterm packet sifted through that showed you absolutely everything that you did right, thanks to him. He feels too real. Real like a cloud of obsidian that follows you everywhere, like the sad that’s been sleeping with you every night. 

If there was a way to hate someone more than a human limit, you’ve crossed it with the resentment you’ve now fostered for yourself. 

Barging into office hours like that, accusing him on a basis of nothing but your own dangerously stewed thoughts. If there was a hope of salvaged parts, you took a hammer to it in disregard; tearing it to ribbons that lay at your feet. 

It’s Friday.

At least it was. It bled into Saturday before you realised the 3:23 AM on the dial. 

Two weeks of no help and you already feel lightyears behind. The hour is getting to you, and you feel the frustration pool into tears, that turn into full fledged sobs. You’re crying over Bayesian inference and it’s somehow more pressing than any other emotion you’ve ever felt. 

Impossible numbers on your data sheets taunt you, not a single reference to if it was a button you clicked wrong or if you were playing a fool’s game altogether. 

Ding! You pick up your phone, the weight of it is enough gravity to pull you back to earth. 

[Mingyu]: switch to bF10 

[Mingyu]: you’ve been pulling numbers from bF01

It’s immediate the way your eyes dart towards your lit screen, clicking off tables to get to the drop down menu you need. And there on the left, two tiny buttons, one clicked on bF01. 

With shaking fingers, you move your cursor to hover over the tiny bF10, anticipating. You click. It takes a moment for the numbers to change, but they do. The nominal values turn into something you can actually work with. 

Something akin to a tut leaves you, hidden in the breath of another sob. It’s stupid, unreasonable, absurd. Your fingers hover over your phone, shaking as tears drop onto the screen, faster than before. 

Do you not miss me?

Do you not want me around?

Talk to me

I miss you

Please talk to me

“I couldn’t—can’t—stand listening to someone spew nonsense when I know it’s not true.”

Mingyu is a product of his personality. You can only imagine he’s helped because he saw you struggling in class, heard from someone else, or perhaps, he just knew the very thing you’d make blunders out of. 

The reasons come to you, that Mingyu is a product of his personality. Then why does it hurt? Why does it feel like the knife’s twisted a full 360, that despite the way you accused him of the thing that would strip him of everything he’s bruised himself for, he helps you. The very thing that caused this rift in the first place. 

There’s a reason for that, and it is again, that Mingyu is a product of his personality. 

It’s Saturday. 

Perhaps you relied on your olfactory senses to remain calm, because you always knew you could count on a coffee shop to forever and always smell the same. 

The universe seems to want to ruin that for you too. 

“Latte, please,” you voice. “Iced.”

“We have a one plus one for the week! Would you like to receive another latte?” The lady taking your order looks no older than 17, a pep in her voice. 

“Um, no thank you. Just one, please.”

She looks taken aback, a reasonable reaction to anyone turning down a free drink. But you couldn’t bring yourself to walk home with two cups in hand. 

You’re plucking a napkin from the pickup counter when you hear his name. 

“...that he manipulated her grade because they were hooking up.” 

“He has time to hook up?”

“I remember hearing about that! She barged in during office hours and asked why he fixed her grade or something.” 

“A ninety two? In that class? Oh, they were definitely fooling around with each other.”

“Whatever, at least we know he’ll entertain you if he likes you enough. I’m just glad those two are over so I can swoop in.”

There’s an eruption of giggles. You press your head down further. 

“Unless he flirts in variables.”

“All is forgiven when you’re born with a face like that.” 

Another explosion of giddy laughter, through which your drink is slid across the counter towards you, like it was waiting for you to hear the damning evidence before you could leave. You grab it anyway, grip tighter than usual. 

Turning around, your eyes search, finding a group of people that sit in smiles and in various states of trust-falls. 

There she is, the girl you sat with on the first day you attended office hours, the one with the glitter gel pen doodles on her notes and her blatant fawns over the TA you slipped under just as easily. 

She locks eyes with you and her face falls, eyes widening the slightest bit in recognition. 

Pressing your lips into a smile, you hope it doesn’t look as menacing as you feel. You don’t wait for a response before you walk out the large glass doors.

It’s Sunday.

It seems every sip of water you’ve taken during the week has been used up in all the tears you’ve seemed to be shedding. By the bucketload.

Alas, even blurry and puffy eyed, you pour over statistical formulas anyway, running on no energy and all antagonism. It’s another tutorial sheet left incomplete, a single question taking a pour that lasts in at least an hour of struggle. 

Reading the same question for the nth time, your palms press into your temples as you stare lasers into the paper, like the revelation would come to you if you stared it down hard enough. It doesn’t make sense, the commands you’ve toggled on and off identical to the instructions on the page. 

Hence the question begs why the data was coming out like someone pressed the ultimate on a number generator. 

With a heat of unreasonable embarrassment, you find yourself checking your selection in one of the drop down menus, switching to bF01 and back just to see the difference. It does nothing to help, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved it wasn’t that particular snag. 

The library is as silent as it could possibly be on a Sunday morning, near empty as you occupy the mostly vacant seats. The librarian is having her own day off, as you could swear she’s playing computer games behind the counter instead of actual work. 

The only noise in the room is your own breathing, and that seems to be enough to mess with your concentration. You’re going cross eyed staring at the page for so long, the words doubling and  disappearing before going back to normal. 

Bayesian inference…z scores…null hypothesis…

Wait. 

It’s like you can see it in front of your eyes right now, the scribble of someone else’s dark blue on your notes.

no null hypothesis in bayesian approach

Bayesian approaches don’t use null hypotheses. And z scores are in…

“Oh my god, this is a t test,” you whisper to yourself in disbelief. Immediately, you’re scrambling to shake your laptop out of its sleep, switching over to a t test to redo everything, following the instructions on the same data set. 

And there it was…a clear 0.067 under the p value. 

In a moment of questioning, you laugh out a breathy sound, the absurdity of it all becoming too real. T tests were the first thing you learned, the foundation to all your statistical knowledge. Coming so far, and it took you days to realise the instructions under a Bayesian approach were for a different realm entirely. 

It was stupid of you. But in this difficult aftermath you can’t help but feel victorious. Laughing to yourself quietly in this empty library. 

When the initial adrenaline fades and you’ve double, triple checked to ensure you were right, you can only stare at the tiny mail button in your shortcuts on the screen. It was clearly an error, one that was given out to nearly a hundred students. 

The first step was clicking, your inbox coming to life as you drift towards the big blue button with the readily available NEW MAIL. So you click. 

There’s an attached file in the email you draft. 

The tutorial paper has titled t test instructions as a Bayesian approach. Just wanted to point it out and ask if I could receive a corrected version. 

Regards, YN

It’s almost like you’re trying to remember how it feels like when you type an experimental m in the To bar. His name pops up immediately, email address typed out in full, full name clear on top as a regular contact. 

You don’t need a suggestion to remember, his email came easier to you than your own. 

But you don’t email him, backspacing till it’s empty once again. 

Dr. Cho’s email sits in that place instead, a first for you. 

SEND.

You don’t expect him to reply on a Sunday, in fact, you aren’t sure if he’s going to respond at all. You’ve already shut your laptop, half out of your seat in an attempt to pack up. You’re forced to consider. 

Would it be terrible to go back and cc him as well? 

A spiteful part of you might find joy in correcting him for a change. The rational part of you wants to actually finish the tutorial before tomorrow’s class when you’d have to tackle another beast for the rest of the week. 

Sitting back down, you move without thinking. Your mind is still cooking up possibilities as you swing your screen open once again, still weighing as you click back into your inbox. 

There’s a new email in your sent box after you’re done, a copy of the one you sent your professor, the same attachment and the same question; word for word. The only difference, a more familiar name in the address bar. 

Before you can chicken out, you slam your laptop shut for the actual last time, shoving everything into your bag before the speeding thoughts can infiltrate your mind's barrier. You’re out the door before you know it, ready to be done with this. 

You’re afraid if you put a hand to your stomach it’d be met with kicks and punches, especially with the way you feel the aggressive cartwheels slashing away at your insides. The butterflies are making it to the end of your food pipe, and you briefly wonder if you need to break into a sprint to make it to a safe throwing up zone. Your entire being jolts as you feel a buzz in your hands, a loud click that signifies a new email in your inbox. 

Right there, in the middle of the sidewalk, you stop. 

The grip you have on your phone is unyielding, your fingers beginning to hurt from the pressure. There’s no way to tell if you’re shaking or not, but you bring your phone to your face anyway. The screen flips on, a lone notification on the screen. 

RE: Tutorial Error from Kim Mingyu

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since you sent that email, the library still in sight from where you stand. At the same time, it’s almost funny you expected any different from him. 

The kicks and punches in your stomach halt, the cartwheels have calmed, the butterflies have fallen asleep. The grip on your phone has loosened, and it’s like every nerve in your body went from on fire to serenity in a whiplash inducing shift. 

Clicking on the notification, the email opens. 

Noted. I have another tutorial sheet for you if you want it. I’ll be in the room where office hours are held for the rest of the morning.

Kim Mingyu, T.A.

There was no way he didn’t have a softcopy he could send you in less than a minute, and you’re sure he knew you’d realise that too. You should scoff, be upset, roll your eyes. 

But instead, you find your feet making a 180, turning around to go right back to where you came from. You walk, eyes still half trained on the email, reading and rereading as you walk back onto campus, towards the building you’d once considered a second home. 

You walk, and walk and walk, in through the doors, up the stairs and then another set of them, you take a left and look up. The hallway is empty, the door on the right coming into view as you slow your steps significantly. 

Closer and closer, you realise the light surrounding it is brighter than usual. The door is open, and you can see the empty rows of tables and chairs, set neatly against one another. It’s strange, you’ve never seen it wide open before. 

Walking even closer, you can see the beginnings of the professor’s desk come into view, and it only takes you one more step forward. 

Standing in the doorway now, you find yourself in the direct path of the sun that pours in through the open windows. It’s warm, but just enough to combat the cooling weather. 

The desk up front is occupied, as it always is. 

Mingyu is only in a t-shirt and trousers, glasses perched on his nose as he scrawls away on the paper in front of him. His laptop is turned on, screen facing the door where you stand, his inbox open and available even on the weekend. 

It wasn’t that you were waiting for him to notice, but you found yourself inadvertently taking your time looking at him. Every other situation, you’d done your absolute best to avoid your eyes grazing over him at all costs, hardly drifting over his form before flitting away. You never did it on purpose, but it was more like you were unconsciously protecting yourself.

 Like looking at him would only make the ache in your heart worse.

If that was the case, you would’ve been right. There’s a tug in your chest, and in that moment, it all comes flooding in like a gate destroyed. 

Mingyu looks up and sees you in the doorway, standing immobile. He sets his pen down, taking his glasses off. There’s the smallest hint of a smile on his face as he greets you, “‘Morning.”

You take it as your cue to move forward, stepping foot into the patch of sun slowly. “‘Morning.”

You reach the desk, standing in front of him, the only thing blocking you being the littered table with files, papers and stationary; the trench between you both. 

It’s so silent it tears at your insides, gripping the strap of your bag to have something to do. 

“I, uh, double checked when I saw the email. You were right, nobody noticed in class either.” There’s an airiness in his voice, like he might be struggling just as much as you are right now. 

He clears his throat when you don’t respond, looking back down at his workspace like he was looking for something. He finds a paper from some stack, handing it over to you. 

“Thanks,” you hoarse. It’s the same tutorial you had, except the instructions had been crossed out, replaced by a list of handwritten instructions instead, detailed in their annotation. You recognise it, because of course you’d recognise his handwriting. 

“I didn’t have time to print one out right now. I’ll probably send a corrected copy to everyone tonight,” he explains. 

“That’s alright.” You look up, lips pressed together, eyebrows forced into a regular position on your face. Nodding, you thank him once again. “Thanks again. I’ll…get going.” 

Every fibre in your body screams at you to turn back around, hollering profanities at your inability to deal with this. You’re already halfway to the door though, and your pride’s already deemed it too late. 

Please stop me, please stop me, please stop me, please just say something and stop me—

There it is. Your name, from his mouth, in his beautiful voice. 

Turning back around is the easiest thing you’ve ever done. 

Mingyu has stood up from his seat, out from behind the desk. He looks like he wasn’t expecting you to turn back. “Can we talk?” 

And then he’s pulling out the chair he was sitting on, presenting it like a piece offering. If you heard correctly, you could’ve sworn you heard his voice break the slightest bit when he pressed, “Please?”

So there you were, in a position all too familiar as you sit across from the man that’s haunted you for the past weeks, trying to keep your chest from falling in. 

“I guess I should start with an apology,” he’s fidgeting with his own fingers. “I don’t need to give you excuses about stress or exhaustion because…”

He closes his eyes, trying to find the words. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. You were only trying to help and I was too preoccupied with myself to notice. I’m sorry I spoke to you like that when you didn’t deserve it.” 

For about the millionth time, you realise you’re tearing up again. He continues. “And then…right before the midterm too. You were right, I did feel horrible. But I swear that grade was all you, I didn’t touch those numbers.”

He really didn’t, because the papers he had thrust into your hands on that fateful day in this very room proved that you earned that mark. You wince regardless.

“I thought I could apologise before the exam started but I couldn’t find you, and then you were gone right after. I didn’t text or call because I was sure I’d fucked it all up.” 

“I’m sorry too. For barging in in front of everyone and basically accusing you. I wasn’t thinking straight.” You look up from your lap, wet lashes and all. “I really hope you didn’t get into any trouble.” 

“I–no, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I promise I didn’t.” He locked eyes with you when he said that, hoping you’d believe him. You nod slowly. 

“It wasn’t even that bad, what you said,” you sniffled. 

He scoffs at that, “I’d beg to differ.”

“I would’ve gotten over it,” you continue, bracing yourself to admit to something you’ve had trouble admitting to yourself. “I should’ve gotten over it. I don’t know why it hurt so much, why watching you walk out felt so horrible. But I haven’t been acting like normal ever since, and I’m sorry for stretching this whole fiasco out into something that didn’t need to turn into…this!”

“You were hurt because I hurt you.”

“People have said worse things to me. And you were practically a zombie, I should’ve just left it for another time. It was a little bit my fault too. But…yeah.”

There’s a silence as you try to remind yourself to breathe. You speak up again. “I just want us to go back to normal. I’ve missed you. Alot.”

“Me too. The go back to normal bit. And the…missed you bit.”

Mingyu’s half smiling when you look up, biting your lip hard as you try to keep a smile of your own at bay. “I’d thought if I gave up and admitted I was struggling that day, that’d be admitting defeat. That you’d think I…couldn’t do it.” 

Why on earth do you care so much? It rings in your ears. 

You sound light when you say it though, knowing now it wasn’t what he meant.“Since when are we on caring terms?” 

Mingyu cringes. "We are. I am, at least, if you aren't anymore, which is fine. I care about you. A lot."

It’s hard to not let out a laugh. He looks half constipated as he tries to navigate his words. 

“Oh well I’d hope you’d care, since you’re my TA and all.”

“Not in a TA way.”

“Tutor way.”

“Um.”

“Friend way? A human way?” 

“No.”

You both know you’re being obtuse on purpose, and you aren’t sure why. Maybe you just like to watch him squirm. 

“You know what?” he rasps. 

“What?”

Your answer comes in the form of Mingyu lurching to grab the legs of your chair, pulling the wheels to crash into him where he sits. You’re not expecting it, the clashing legs causing you to swerve forward, hands on Mingyu’s lap. 

And then his hand is on the back of your neck, and his lips placed on your own. 

You’re stiff as a board, brain computing the fact that Mingyu is kissing you in a classroom. 

It’s short, hardly a few moments before he pulls away. “Does that clear things up?”

There’s nothing you can do but blink at him, the reality of it all settles in. “Hm.”

He laughs at your half dazed state. It’s a purely instinctual part of you that speaks after this. “Maybe one more time. To make sure.”

Mingyu doesn’t even wait to laugh again as he wastes no time, putting his mouth on yours properly this time. There’s more of a drive in you this time, moving your mouth against his and he keeps your head close. 

The ecstasy is slow but sure to build in your stomach. Mingyu is kissing you. Mingyu is sitting with you and kissing you so good you’re already half faint. 

His mouth tastes like coffee and remnants of berry, a combination you can’t believe you could enjoy this much. Licking into his mouth, you let your tongue drag over his, like the tactile would convince you this wasn’t some too vivid fever dream. 

He pulls away for a moment, but hardly so as his lips remain pressed onto yours. 

“For the record,” he pants. “I love that you care. And I hope you’ll keep caring. Because I don’t think I can handle it if you walk away after this.”

Mouth back on his own, you decide there’s only one way to convince him you weren’t going anywhere without dragging him with you. 

MINGYU'S APARTMENT IS CLEANER than you expected. You aren’t sure what you were expecting, perhaps more mad scientist than anything else. But the most you find is a mug and plate in the sink, and a moderately crowded study desk, which is to be expected. 

Mingyu decided to abandon his work for the day to spend it with you, to which you contest that it was Sunday anyway. His response is making you change into something comfortable of his so you could laze on his couch. 

Like you would run away if he didn’t, Mingyu keeps his arms around you in a tight hold, fingers curling around your shoulders as you lay on top of him. Your head rests directly over his heart, his cheek and lips taking turns to occupy the top of your head.  

You fill him in on everything, and realise the most eventful weeks you’ve spent were actually quite uneventful in hindsight. He feels up your cheek and forehead when you tell him you got sick at one point, to which you have to reassure him it was either something going around or stress that you subjected on yourself. 

“I went to a frat party,” Mingyu mumbles into your forehead. “For Halloween.”

The information has you shifting to look up at him in bewilderment, “You went to a frat party?”

He snorts, “Dressed up for it too.”

“Oh my god,” you voice in mild horror. “Do I wanna know?” 

“Wonwoo and I matched,” he hums as he pulls out his phone, scrolling his gallery to look for pictures. “I was Mario, he was Luigi.”

“How adorable.”

He only gives you a look and shoves the phone in your face. By some grace of god they aren’t wearing moustaches, but the distinct red and green outfits are enough to give you enough recognition. 

“Thing 1 and Thing 2 were also possible contenders,” he informs. 

“That might’ve been a little better.”

“What’s wrong with Mario?” he asks sharply.

“Nothing. But I do hope you weren’t sporting an Italian accent throughout that.” 

“I was,” he pushes. “A horrible one too.”

You give him the satisfaction of an eye roll. 

“You could’ve gone as Peach. We could’ve matched.” 

“I don’t know if I’d wanna wear any available Peach costumes during Halloween time.” You crinkle your nose as you think of all the racy costumes that unearth every October. 

“Maybe in private,” he says with an insufferable smile on his face. 

Placing your hands flat on his chest, you rest your chin and look up at him. “I’m not sure I want to interrupt whatever you two have going on.” 

“Who?”

“You and Wonwoo, you’re practically married.”

Mingyu laughs out loud, and you can feel the rumble in his chest against your hands, his body moving against your own that’s stuck to him. “Not with whatever he has going on with his girl.”

“Oh right,” you frown in remembrance. “What happened to not understanding how he does it?” 

“Hm?”

“He’s a TA too. Probably just as busy as you. You said you didn’t know how he could juggle a relationship and his job at the same time.”

His eyes spark in remembrance, pausing for a moment. “I may owe him an apology.”

“Do you?”

Mingyu frowns, “Actually no I don’t. I don’t think he and his lady are doing too well right now. He’s been insufferable lately.”

“Is it because of the TA-ing?”

“I never know with those two,” he sighs.

There’s silence once again, in the midst of which Mingyu leans over to kiss you a few times, soft and lingering. Like he’s trying to familiarise himself with the shape of your mouth, the tactile feeling of kissing you. 

“Do you…know about us?” There’s hesitancy in the way you ask. But you can’t help but ask anyway.

Mingyu thinks for a moment, and it has your heart beating out of your chest. “I know that I want us to be concrete. That I wanna work around whatever life throws at us. You can decide what to call it, but I know I’m in it for the long run.”

“I’m glad you’re smarter than your husband,” you smile.

He only rolls his eyes, “He’s only good at one kind of chemistry.” 

“D’you think they’ll be okay?”

“Oh yeah,” he assures. “They’re just going through a…rough patch.”

“Like we did?”

“If you’re asking me, I’d say they’re being a little more stupid about it.”

The snort that leaves you is unanimous with his own. He continues, “They’ll be okay though.”

“I hope so. I’d like to go on double dates with my boyfriend’s husband’s girlfriend.” You start giggling in the middle of your sentence, too ridiculous even for you to voice. 

“This is getting weird,” Mingyu breathes. 

You only hum against his mouth, “Do I have to take your husband's blessing before we can move forward?”

“For fuck’s sake.” 

You’re both laughing again, a sound that comes from your stomachs, true and uncontrollable. For a moment, you can’t help but be conscious of how light you feel, how happy you feel with his scent infiltrating your nostrils, his presence known where his fingertips touch you. 

“I did the sticky note thing again too,” Mingyu says into the silence, and there’s nothing you can do to stop the fit of giggles that erupt all over again. 

“Said something worse this time,” he continues as you laugh into his chest. “Accept that you’ll die alone or some other shit like that.” 

There’s comfort in this moment. In your giggles and in your tears, in his voice and in his affection. His lips are another sanctuary you’ve found, and perhaps even another way to make your dreaded latch click. 

Nose nuzzled in his cheek, the feeling of his skin so soft against yours, fingers at his chin where a slight stubble grows, you relax in ways you cannot comprehend. 

MINGYU'S LIPS BECOME A feeling you’ve grown dangerously accustomed to. 

It isn’t that he has them on you too much, regardless of what an outsider might suggest; to you they simply aren’t on you enough. 

The following Monday went as usual, for you anyway. You weren’t avoiding Mingyu this time, and you were grateful for it. It was two hours of following him with your eyes as he darted around the room. You could hardly constitute it as not paying attention when Dr. Cho was preoccupied with explaining every reason he hates JASP over SPSS, but also ultimately, hates them both. 

You don’t even notice his loud outfit (overalls and a neon green sweater underneath), happy to watch Mingyu flit about and whisper incoherent explanations to students. 

The tutorial paper is barely looked at by you, because you know your boyfriend will be happy to help you out later at his place. 

You’re barely through the door that night when he gets a hold of you, tight grip across your waist as you’re catapulted into his arms, door slammed shut behind you. 

Bag still on your shoulders and your shoes still on, Mingyu’s slammed his mouth onto yours before you can take a proper breath. You stumble, squealing through the kiss as you realise you aren’t escaping the iron grip he’s got on your face. 

Somehow between it all, you manage to slip your bag off to let it drop to the floor of his doorway, shoes kicked off one after the other as he leads you inside, littering the way. 

“You aren’t actually paying attention in class anyway,” he breathes against your mouth before kissing you again. “So why don’t you sit in the back where you don’t distract me.”

“Who says I’m not paying attention.” You open your as your back lands on the couch, looking at him as he looms overhead. 

“You’re paying attention to me.”

“It was in my job description when I signed up for the girlfriend position.”

He’s all over you now, hands at your sides, mouth underneath your earlobes as he husks, “Was letting me take you in front of the entire class also a clause? Because if this goes on I might have to take up on that.”

If you didn’t know any better you would’ve assumed he’d been possessed, everything about his behaviour screaming the opposite of the well behaved, restrained man you’ve been accustomed to. The fact that he’s whispering directly into your ears isn’t helping either, a conspicuous shiver dragging across your spine. 

It lands with precision, right at your core. You’re too hot to tell, but there isn’t a doubt you’ve begun to pool. 

There’s a ding in the background. 

He’s suckling underneath your ear, his hands roaming in ways that would smear your reputation altogether. 

Another ding. 

He’s reached your mouth once again, groping your right breast lightly. Like he’s testing the waters.

Ding. 

Mingyu makes a noise of annoyance, the other hand trailing underneath your shirt. 

His ringtone blares throughout the room, whoever the caller was having reached wit’s end. 

“Gyu…” you whisper. 

“Ignore it,” he growls. The ringing has stopped. 

He ducks underneath to kiss at your stomach, lifting your shirt oh so slowly. He goes higher, and higher and higher, leaving a trail of kisses at the skin, taking deep breaths as he drags his mouth over your torso. 

His phone begins to ring again. 

Your head is spinning, your senses overcome. If you weren’t sure before, the air of wetness between your legs is definitely obvious now. 

He brings a hand to your centre, pushing inwards at your jean clad core. You exhale sharply yet shakily. 

The ringing stops. 

Mingyu makes a gumbled sound that you can’t quite make out, too preoccupied with the way your shirt is now up past your bra, at which Mingyu has taken to leaving open mouthed kisses to your cleavage. 

There’s a ding. 

“Mingyu, I really think—”

His phone begins to ring again. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he curses, rearing his head like an interrupted animal, wet mouthed and bleary eyed. He looks at his buzzing phone on the floor in an accusatory glare, like he wants to chuck it out the window and go right back to burrowing into your chest. 

“You should answer.” 

He looks irritated as he takes his phone in his hands, and you find a flash of Dr. Cho’s name on the screen. “It’s eleven O’clock.” 

“It might be important.”

“The last time he did this he asked where his peacock feather pen was,” he grunts as he silences his phone. 

You laugh, running a soothing hand through Mingyu’s hair, a tiny attempt to calm him down. Pulling your shirt down, you attempt to sit up. 

Mingyu makes a noise of denial, attempting to stick his face into your now clothed chest, knocking you back down, “Nooooo, I’m gonna ignore him.”

“He’s not going to leave you alone,” you sing quietly, running your nails across his scalp lightly, holding his head to your chest. You place your cheek on his head, playing with his ear. 

As if to prove your point, Mingyu’s phone begins to ring again, and he groans at the prospect. 

“Go on.”

He swipes to answer it. A loud sigh and then a tired, “Hello?”

His volume is bumped up enough for you to make out what’s being said on the other line. “Where have you been?”

“It’s nearly eleven, sir. I was in bed.”

“My flash drive won’t open up on my computer.”

You have to stifle a snort. 

“Is it…plugged in?”

“Of course it is, I’m not an idiot.”

“Is it showing up on your files?”

“Disk…is not…formatted.”

“Erm, it might be corrupted.”

“How did that happen?”

“Did you download something off the internet onto it?”

“Hardly matters, I need the attendance sheet on it!”

Your fingers are massaging Mingyu’s temples as you feel him tense on top of you. 

“Your attendance sheet is on the teacher’s portal,” Mingyu grits before adding, “sir.”

“...I have other things on there too.”

Mingyu exhales ever so quietly and you tighten your hold on him a smidge. “This sounds like something tech support could help with.”

“Why can’t you help?” he asks sharply. 

“I…I don’t know how, sir.”

There’s a noise of indignation from the other end, and you can’t help but keep from laughing. 

Mingyu sighs into the phone, this time doing nothing to hide it. “I’ll take it to tech support for you tomorrow. And I’ll send you a direct link for the attendance sheet for Monday and Tuesday’s classes.”

The line beeps shut. Mingyu brings the phone for you both to see the professor’s hung up as soon as the words left Mingyu’s mouth. 

“Wow,” you whisper into the silence, the weight of Mingyu’s head heavier on your chest. “Not even a thank you.”

“Absent father behaviour,” Mingyu grumbles as he moves his face to burrow into your shirt. 

It’s a bad joke, but you laugh anyway. 

“Will I be an asshole if I say I’m not in the mood anymore?” he murmurs. 

“Absolutely not. Everything sucked right back in the minute I heard his voice on the line.”

“Gross,” he comments, but he’s laughing too. 

“Should we call it a night?” he asks, rearing his head. 

Nodding, you rise with him. By the time you’ve reached the bedroom, you’ve already begun taking off your accessories, fiddling with your bracelet as you voice. 

“I need a shower.”

Mingyu throws you a towel and a t-shirt, which you catch and move towards the bathroom. Halfway through the door, you sneak a look at him fiddling with his belt. 

“Do you wanna come in too?” 

Mingyu looks at you peering through the door frame. You’ve never seen anyone leap across the room as quickly as in that moment. 

THE FOLLOWING DAYS WERE just as eventful as that phone call, Mingyu running around as the midterm low passed and the line creeped up towards finals season. 

Perhaps it was better that you stopped attending office hours, because the room seems to become increasingly packed as the days progressed. 

You only ever saw Mingyu in the wee hours of the night at his place, where he begged you to camp out till the end of the semester so he “doesn’t move to insanity”. It might even be better for you, going about your day as usual, without the usual added distraction of a partner.

Coming home to him was easier, where he could clear up your doubts while in ratty pyjamas and starfished across the bed, where you could find solace in Mingyu’s chest without prying eyes when the information became like filling an already stuffed junk drawer. 

It was a Friday night, you’re alone at Mingyu’s place sitting cross legged on the floor. The table in front of you is pouring over the final question of this week’s tutorial paper, everything seemingly whizzing right past the top of your head. 

Despite that, as Mingyu stumbles inside past eleven, you know you shouldn’t ask him for a thing. 

Tired was a look on Mingyu you’d gotten quite used to, so you’ve learned to not comment and simply let him fall into the couch cushions with all his weight. 

His face is parallel to yours as he closes his eyes with a light groan in greeting. Moving forward, you kiss the flutter of his eyelids softly, down to the apple of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth. 

Your fingers run through his tangled and distressed hair as he mumbles against your mouth. “Did you finish the tutorial paper?”

You huff in mild annoyance, that despite his state he still thinks about work. “Not yet. One last question and I’m done.”

He hums and waits a moment before reopening his eyes. With a loud groan he’s pushing himself off the couch, sliding off of it to sit with you on the uncomfortable floor. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“I can figure it out myself, Gyu.”

“You would’ve been done by now if you could,” he answers. It’s annoying that he says it but he’s also right. 

Mingyu holds the paper a mere inch from his eyes, the sight almost comical if he also didn’t look an inch from passing out. 

He mumbles the question as he reads, “It’s nothing, just worded weird. Toggle this off and move this to mixed factors and you’re done.”

The toggles are done for you, and Mingyu takes the liberty crossing he question off with a pen he finds on the table. 

“Did you get everything else?” he asks in earnest. 

“Hm? I think so.” 

“Good.” And then he’s throwing his head back to rest it on the couch cushions behind him, breathing slowly. 

He’s in a navy sweater, collar of his undershirt peeking through the top. Your gaze leads up further, to the exposed area of his throat—clean, tan and naked. You realise this might not be a good time, but it’s only natural your mind cooks up other ways to translate your helplessness as you watch your boyfriend push himself to the brink. Release is never a bad idea. 

Besides, it’s a Friday night. No reason to not. 

“Gyu,” you shuffle closer. 

Lolling his head to look over at you, he answers in a small voice, “Yeah?” 

You put on the guiltiest face you can muster, complete with darting eyes and fidgeting fingers. “D’you think…d’you think you can go over post hoc tests again?”

“Post hoc?” He furrowed his eyebrows. You bite the inside of your cheek, having blurted the first plausible model you could think of to ask him. It’s an older bit of the syllabus, something you should already be well versed in. 

Not that you care what he thinks right now, he’d figure out why you were asking anyway. 

“Post hoc, um,” he rubs a hand over his face as if to jog his memory. 

Shifting forward, you plaster you front onto his side. He thinks nothing of it. 

“Analysis tool after you’ve already run the data,” he begins. 

Placing your chin on his shoulder, you let your nose nuzzle against his cheek. Trailing up, your lips find the shell of his ear. 

“Results have to be…they have to be…” He falters when your hand reaches his front, running across the expanse of his clothes stomach, nails digging ever so slightly as you reach his abdomen. You continue to place open mouthed kisses at the space of neck you can reach. 

“Hm? Has to be what?”

“Statistically significant,” he breathes when your palms reach the tops of his thighs. “To run a post hoc test.”

His trousers are less barrier inducing than regular jeans, something you’re both grateful for as you begin to palm his clothed bulge. “Results of what, baby?”

“For the love of—”

“Go on,” you whisper in his ear. “Please.”

One flick and his trousers are unbutton, pulling them aside as the zipper pulls open. You're pushing down his boxers when he answers you. “ANOVA.” 

“What’s that again?”

“You little shit.”

You move your mouth forward to kiss him.

“Analysis of variance.” 

You hum against the column of his throat at that, his half hard member in your hands. Light touches, that’s all they are, running the pads of your fingers across the pulsing length, coaxing him into full length. 

“What’s it for though? We already got our results.” Bending forward, you stick your tongue to kitten lick at his tip. Mingyu hisses, hips shifting. Your tongue swirls around the tip, pushing into the skin on the head where he’s most sensitive. 

“Ugh, fuck, for um,” he falters as you begin to suck at his head, tongue running over each hollow of your cheeks. 

“For…for…” His chest is moving up and down in quick breathes, every sound from his mouth coming from a deep rumble in his stomach. 

Letting go of his cock, you continue to pump him with your hand as you gaze up at him from your position. “For? Keep talking, baby.”

“For…To identify groups,” he grunts out. He lets out a louder moan when you place your mouth back on him, going past his tip and taking as much as you can of him into your mouth. “Identify…the differences, shit, hmph.”

He takes a loud breath before speeding through it again, “Identify which groups actually differ, oh my god.”

The bit of him that you can’t fit on your mouth is being pumped by your hands, fingers pushing into him like you were trying to indent them on the base of his cock. A glance upwards and you find his head thrown back, hands coming to tangle in your hair. His thumb caresses the side of your cheek.

“How many groups?” you ask, before diving back in. 

“Three,” he chokes out. “Three or more, oh I’m gonna cum, fuck don’t stop, holy shit.”

Both of his hands are at your head, guiding you as you suck him harder, faster, more tongue digging into his slit. You hum against his dick on purpose, making sure it’s coarse enough to get the reaction you want. 

You succeed, because immediately after you hear Mingyu rip out the loudest moan you’ve ever heard, his grip on your strands harder than ever. He cums into your mouth, hips stuttering as you place your entire weight on him to keep him in place. 

You let some of it dribble out your mouth and back over his softening dick like a hot coating, sucking him through shooting spurts of cum that land on your tongue. 

When you emerge from underneath, Mingyu looks like he got the soul sucked out of him; eyes closed, stuttered breaths raking through his entire body, a light sheen of the beginnings of sweat that glisten in the low light of the room. 

Reaching for the tissue box and water bottle on the table, you soak the napkins and bring them to clean him up. He whines when the cold tissues touch him where he’s most sensitive right now, you want to kiss him but account for the cum that is actively stuck to the walls of your mouth. 

You leave for a few minutes, much to Mingyu’s hoarse protests. He’s almost on all fours, hands on the floors as you promise to be back. By the time you’ve hauled his tired ass into bed, you’re just as ready to knock out as the half asleep man beside you. 

Mingyu’s face is plastered into your neck, arms and legs thrown over your form as he hugs you close to him. 

“I might love you,” he says into the darkness. A secret, just for you and the walls to hear. 

You hide the way your heart absolutely leaps, conceal the way your hands tighten around his form into an affectionate caress, hold your breath to prevent the inevitable hitch. 

I might love you too. 

You hide that as well. For now. 

Smiling into the skin of his temples, you sigh.

“Feel free.”

[Mingyu]: class ended early 

[Mingyu]: be there in 5 

[You]: ???

[You]: wdym ended early

[You]: kim did u end class early to come home

Your response comes in the form of the front door lock jiggling loudly. You’d stayed the night at his place, knowing you didn’t have anything to do but study by yourself. Sickly as you were, you doubt you could sit through two hours of even more statistics. 

He’d left you in bed with a kiss, needing to be extra early since Dr. Cho decided to dump the last crucial few weeks leading up to finals season entirely on his TA. As much as there was on Mingyu’s already overflowing plate now, you couldn’t deny the elated feeling of your attendance being taken care of regardless of whether you show up to class or not. 

A very real violation, but no one truly notes one skipped student in the midst of hundreds. Besides, the bag under Mingyu’s pretty eyes might be enough for anyone to have mercy and let the supposed mistake slide.

As Mingyu walks into the room, shoes flying and back dumped on the floor, he finds you still half clothed with leftover sleep in your eyes, standing in the middle of the living space like you were lost. 

He drops his things to come and drown you in his arms, loud kisses all over your face as you talk. “You’re getting too comfortable with this job.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t possibly expect me to teach a bunch of half asleep idiots when my woman is all alone at home, sickly and cold without me.”

You grumble wordlessly as you feel him check your temperature with the back of his hand. “How’s the congestion?”

“Bad,” you respond nasally. “I can’t find my Afrin.”

“It’s on the bedside table, baby.”

“No, it’s not.”

Still wrapped in his hold, Mingyu begins to take steps forward that lead towards the bed, pushing you to walk backwards.

“I’m not awake enough to navigate,” you sniff.

“I’ve got you,” he lowtones, pushing backwards slowly. 

The back of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall back into the unmade sheets. You crawl back under the covers as Mingyu navigates between used tissues, water bottles and pills on the bedside table. But no sign of your nasal spray. 

You have to breathe through your mouth and you hate it, but you send a remark his way anyway. “Told you.”

Mingyu bends down and emerges with a familiar red capped bottle. He stares at you while you stare at it, choosing to simply snatch it from his presenting hands and be done with it. 

“Good thing I came back early, hm?” 

“Shut up.”

He leaps over your form to claim the spot in bed right next to you, still fully clothed as he burrows under the covers next to you.

There’s nothing flattering about the way you stick the nozzle up your nostrils and sniff hard, but the gleam in your boyfriend’s eyes might as well suggest you were trying to get him to look at you like that. 

“Are you gonna keep doing this till finals?” you ask throatily, shifting under the covers. 

“Teaching during class time is just extended office hours, I’m gonna go insane if I keep going like this. Probably just today. Or…once more if I feel it.”

“Didn’t you say you were gonna extend office hours to Fridays too?” 

Mingyu moulded himself against you, giving warmth to your shivering body even under thick blankets. 

It seems throughout the course of your relationship, your time with Mingyu is either spent laying down or in the process of doing so. Not that you mind, you’ve found that remaining horizontal was what worked best for someone like Mingyu who seemed to want to fuse with your very being whenever you were together.

“Ugh, not this week. Do not have the patience.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say, eyes closed, already on the highway to dreamland. 

“Thank you, I do think I’ve been very brave.” Even while slipping into dreamland, you find the good sense to find his nipple through his sweater and give it a hard pinch. He jerks away in a yelp, clutching his chest. 

“What’s that for?!”

You ignore him and simply run your hand over the area you just attacked. “You’ve gotten better at knowing when to slow down. I’m proud of you.”

You’re too far gone to make out what he answers you with, but with the hot breath against your already warm forehead, you decide it's more than enough for you. 

MINGYU DOES IT FOR the fourth time, but this time round he’s smart enough to not tell you. 

It’s the Friday before finals week officially begins, and you remain in your own place for once to crack down on the last bits of syllabus you want to go over, away from your extremely distracting boyfriend. 

There’s a text when you check your phone after a couple hours of hyperfocus, and you narrow your eyes at the notification. 

It’s Wonwoo’s (actual) girlfriend, and she’s sent you nothing but a picture of both of your men on Wonwoo’s living room floor, thoroughly occupied with the floored expanse of sheets, pillows and cushions. 

It’s a pillow fort.

Your boyfriend is building a pillow fort in his not-husband’s living room mere days before the final exam for the most dreaded course of the semester. All while he’s actively meant to be available for office hours.

You want to laugh. The man that stayed up multiple nights to answer stupid questions in emails, is now less than concerned about the pandemonium that is probably ensuing in the department building. It isn’t that you’re upset, because this was what you wanted from him. To learn to take a break when it was needed. But you would also prefer he’d time them a little better. 

Inevitably, you text him, but not before sending an encouraging text to your girlfriend-in-law for putting up with the both of them all by herself. 

[You]: where are you

[Mingyu]: where im meant to be?

[You]: office hours?

[Mingyu]: mhm

[You]: are u and ur husband conducting them under a pillow fort in his house

You imagine him sending Wonwoo’s girlfriend a betrayed look. Perhaps even throw a frilled throw pillow in her unassuming direction. 

[Mingyu]: DONT KILL ME

You let him suffer in your silence, clicking your phone off and leaving it somewhere you won’t be tempted to look. 

Besides, it wasn’t long before there was an incessant banging at your door that you ended up needing to get up to open. He looks so timid, the face of an innocent perpetrator that waltzes into your space. 

“I’m sorry,” he begins, following you to your desk like a lost duckling. 

“Whatever for?”

“For lying.” 

You snort as you sift through tutorial sheets, “Might wanna take that up to the poor hopeless student that thought you were their last hope.”

Mingyu’s head sinks to your shoulder where you sit at your desk. “God.”

“Him too.”

In another few moments, his arms have come around to cage you into your desk where you’re sat, hands placed on the table as he towers over the top of your head, mouth to crown. 

“Rumour has it,” he starts. 

You make a face. “Now you’ve joined in on gossip? Maybe I have steered you wrong.”

He ignores you valiantly as his mouth drops lower, down to the beginnings of the tips of your ears. You can smell him. He smells good. 

“That a textbook recitation is all it takes to get you all bothered down there.”

Lifting your head from its craned position over your papers, you stare straight ahead. Blank and unassuming. 

“Take a hike, Kim.”

“...Sorry.”

NO MATTER HOW FAKE annoyed you were at your boyfriend, you cannot possibly credit anyone else for how smooth your finals had gone. 

Not a single tear, hack or whine. Your meals were on time, your sleep schedule the healthiest it’s been for months. You even managed a movie night break in the midst of it all. A record for you. 

The very first thing you do after walking out of the exam hall, stretching and sighing, you find Mingyu waiting with nervous eyes. 

“Well?” he asks, eyes wide and lips pulled into his teeth. 

You merely grab for his hand and pull him out of the crowded hall and past a few familiar turns. 

“For the record I didn’t want some of the questions on there,” he yaps as he follows behind your stalks. “Hard ones weren’t mine. I promise I’m not a sadist.”

Then, in an un-CCTV’d corner, marked by the broken, empty vending machine, you round up on him. In seconds you’ve pulled him down to meet your lips in an eager, full kiss. 

In the moments your lips remain intact, you can feel all the horrid statistical knowledge you’d gathered over the months slip out the cracks and crevices, relieving you. 

Mingyu is careful to let you pull away first, eyes sticky to open when you do. There’s a smile on your face. “It went great.”

A strong tug against your waist and you’re suddenly pressed into Mingyu’s all too familiar hold, so everloving tight you can hardly breathe. His lips are smacking and pressing into your skin, all over your face, neck and hands. Anywhere he could possibly reach. 

There wasn’t much he could do standing in a huddled corner at nine in the morning on a Tuesday, where anyone could pass by and question what in the high school was going on. But there was more than enough Mingyu could do behind closed doors. 

In true Mingyu fashion, he’s begun to grope in every way you love the minute the lock clicks shut of his apartment, every fibre of both of your beings giddy and jumpy, giggles erupting from your tired mouths. You haven’t been touched in ages, always too tired to do anything even when you would find the time. 

It isn’t remotely strange that you're wet from only a few kisses and hot breaths against your neck. Although Mingyu’s hands haven’t been modest either, already reaching your clothed cunt as you fall into bed. 

He says it was your reward, for doing so good, his illustrious mouth suctioned onto your naked core, moving and grinding in ways you can more than just appreciate.

His tongue is nothing below made for you, like he knows exactly when to flick his tongue, graze his teeth and all but suck the daylights out of you. It’s marvellous, even more so as you realise he won’t stop. One, two, three mind blowing orgasms later, your legs still shake around his head as you cry out for him to stop. 

Not that he was going to listen, as he did not the last fifteen times you tried, simply pushing a finger into your abused hole to chuck you into yet another climax. You’re sobbing, trembling, sweating; but also half hearted in your attempts to stop him. 

By the time he’s relented, you’re sure you won’t feel a thing down there for at least a week. If Mingyu will even let you go untouched for that long. 

But as you’re finally able to catch your long lost breath in bed, and Mingyu has curled up right beside you, like he always does, you let the finality of it all sink in. You were done. And so was he. And you could now begin to experience a Mingyu that wasn’t exhausted, stressed or tired. Even now, the long indented layers of fatigue begin to melt away, revealing a less strained man. 

Mingyu was beautiful either way. 

“Are you okay?” he asks you, his fingers tracing your features. 

The pads of his fingers glide across your eyelids, down the slope of your nose, tracing the outline of your lips. You kiss his fingers as they reach you there, hand coming up to hold his wrists. You kiss the tips of his fingers, down to the palm of his hand. Eyes closed, you keep your lips there. 

“More than okay,” you mumble. 

“Good. Thought I lost you there.”

Stretching unceremoniously, you drape yourself over his naked form, head on his shoulder. “You’re not losing me. Not after being the sole reason I pass this devil’s module.”

“Is that all it takes? Make sure you don’t fail?”

“And give head like that.” It’s a half joke. “But also be Kim Mingyu comma TA.”

He mimics you between a breathy laugh, “Comma TA. Not anymore, I guess.”

“How happy are you?”

“Still have to grade the last set of papers. But I got what I wanted.”

“The recommendation? You deserve it.”

“That, and not having to be in Dr. Cho’s presence every other day. And you.”

You kiss his shoulder. “Look at you. All grown up with your big boy grad school on the horizon.”

“Not just yet.”

“You’ll get there too. If you can power through this hellsent semester, you can power through anything grad school applications throw.”

Mingyu shifts where he lays, taking a turn to lie on his side to face you. The afternoon sun peeks from behind his form, his outline made of pure gold. His breath is in your face as he talks, and there’s comfort in the air it penetrates.

“I only powered through this because of you. I hope you know that.” He’s smiling. 

“Girlfriend duties,” you quote solemnly. 

“I mean it. I knew I was walking into disaster with how this stupid job was going, all that work was just a distraction. I didn’t wanna believe this was a bad idea. And then you walked in.”

You cup his face and pout, “Oh, my damsel in distress.”

“Hm, my knight in shining armour,” he giggles. “Galloped in and saved me from myself.”

“You saved me too. From the world and its horrible creations.” 

“I’ll start talking in formulas if this keeps up.” 

You can only grumble in mild annoyance. 

“I’m glad I asked you to come in early that day,” he says.

“I’m glad I was a good samaritan and gathered all your stuff that day.” You grin.

Mingyu leans in and kisses you. It’s soft, slow, and drips of the romance he’s trying to bring into the conversation. His lips are bliss, the feeling of him is bliss. 

It’s almost scary how easily you’ve been able to give yourself to him. How quickly he’s placed himself in every nook and cranny of your heart. With his tired eyes and stronger than himself smile, the hand he extended in ways beyond you could ever explain to him. It’s terrifying when you realise what remains on the tip of your tongue, ready and bursting. 

But it’s true, and you can only pray it remains that way. Because in that moment, naked and tangled between Mingyu’s limbs, his heart in your ears, your hands on his being, you just know. 

“I think I might love you too.” 

[espinosaurusrexex]

Watchful Eyes

CEO!SteveRogers x Female!Maid!Reader AU

read Bucky's story here

summary: When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

a/n: So that just happened... I don't know where it came from, but please enjoy. (Please don’t be discouraged by the word count - I promise you it’s worth it and I kindly ask you to at least try 💛)

word count: 10.8k

warnings: power differences, Steve is pining, watching someone over secret livestream (is this stalking?), women being referred to as objects (not by Steve), just so much fluff, and also angst (there is a happy ending!), smut (masturbation - m, praise kink, oral - f receiving, dirty talk, orgasm control, overstimulation, unprotected p in v, size kink, breeding kink) !MINORS DNI!

ﾟ✫ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ𝒄.𝒂𝒊 ｡✭･ﾟ

“Can you start Monday?”

“I can start Monday.”

“Perfect.”

Holy fuckidy fuck fuck. 

You had a job. A job that would crinkle some noses but it would pay money. Good money actually. Well, better than other offers in the branch.  

It had been luck, really. Because during one drunken night, which had originally been dedicated to drowning yourself in self-pity over the last job that had let you go due to staff cuts, your friend Natasha had crashed your party with Chinese food and gossip from her workplace. She was an assistant for one of the CEO’s of Shield Protection Services. And during her lunch with Sharon, the other assistant, Sharon had complained about Steve Rogers and how he had fired the third maid this month because they, apparently, were taking pictures of his home or selling some of his things. 

There might have been some talk about how picky and stuck up he could be but the important info was that Sharon was desperate at this point and had asked Nat if she knew anyone with the decency not to breach privacy and willingness to clean the CEO’s home. 

The good thing - or bad thing, you weren’t sure - was, Nat knew you were desperate too. So she gave Sharon your number and before you knew it, you were an employed woman again. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It was too early for you to be roaming the streets of New York, but you had gotten instructions and so you had gotten up at 6 and headed out to the address. And when you arrived, it felt as though it was the first time you blinked since the subway - you were that tired. Definitely not a morning person.  

The building was huge, tall glass fronts stretching into the sky and the ride up to the penthouse took longer than your average elevator rides did. 

The doors opened and revealed a beautiful open floor plan. A whole wall of windows brought natural light into the place and offered a view so breathtaking, it took you a moment to collect yourself. The place was ginormous - a lot to clean up - but seemed tidy enough to at least get started right away. 

You placed your bag on the counter by the kitchen and took more of the place in when suddenly, a voice startled you. 

“Who are you?” You whipped around, big eyes searching for the source until they landed on a tall man standing in what seemed to be a dining area - well, one of them at least. He had broad shoulders, neatly styled hair and one of those toothpaste smiles you only ever saw in magazines. He was wearing office attire, blue dress pants that slightly stretched over his muscled thighs, and when your head wandered back up his body, piercing blue eyes seemed to stare right into your soul. 

Holy Shit. 

Before you stood Steve Rogers, three-time Forbes Magazine cover story, young entrepreneur turned filthy-rich hunk of a man, and CEO of the most successful security firm in this country. And he was talking to you - staring at you... waiting for an answer. 

Talking, you needed to start talking, you reminded yourself.

“I’m the new maid, sir. I’m so sorry I was told to come here at 7 as you leave for work before that.”

Mr. Rogers looked at you with an unintelligible stare. Meanwhile, you were nervously wringing your hands in the doorway, looking down. You hadn’t planned for anyone important to see you today. The worn-down Fleetwood Mac shirt you didn’t mind getting bleach on hanging over some pants you pulled from the back of your closet definitely wasn’t the kind of outfit you expected to greet Steve Rogers in. Great start. This was going awful.

“Well I’m here aren’t I?” His arms folded before his chest as his eyebrow raised, impressive biceps bulging beneath the white button-up, and - damn - it was hard not to stare. 

“Right. Yes. Sorry. I’ll come back later.” You turned to leave again but he stopped you.

“No need. I am on my way out.” The left corner of his mouth twitched into a cheeky grin when he grabbed his bag, left the newspaper discarded on the table, and placed his coffee mug in the sink. Interesting.

“Don’t snoop.” He whispered teasingly as he passed you, a whiff of expensive cologne paralyzing your senses and you weren’t sure if he was making a suggestion or actually warning you. That damn perfume seemed to hypnotize you. 

Your eyes followed his broad shoulders until they disappeared behind the corner and then the elevator doors shut. It seemed to take all the tension from your face. You exhaled long and then began to look around some more.

The place was huge, you’d already established that. But when you found the third bedroom amongst the private office and Pool table room, you knew you had to make a weekly plan to work off. You had to give Mr. Rogers credit, though. There was rarely any clutter lying around - it wasn’t dirty per se - just had the usual dust you’d expect in a place this size with only one person living in it. 

You huffed, resting your hand on your hips once you completed the tour. And then you got started. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve peered up from his computer screen when Bucky strolled through the doors of his office. A coffee in hand he had most likely tweaked from his assistant's desk on the way here, he shot a grin to his oldest friend and business partner. 

“What ya doing, punk?” The brunette asked teasingly when he circled the desk and settled on the window sill behind Steve. 

“Just making sure things stay in order.” He leaned back and turned around slightly, just in time to see his friend nod knowingly.

“Heard Nat got you a new maid.” Bucky dipped his chin towards the laptop still open on the desk. “That her?”

His eyes wandered to the screen where a live feed of his apartment streamed you changing his bedsheets. He hummed in agreement. 

“She’s pretty,” Bucky commented before sipping his coffee again and Steve felt an unfamiliar feeling bubble in his stomach. “But I bet you don’t care anyway. You’re all ‘don’t sell my stuff’ and ‘having things stolen from a security firm CEO is embarrassing’. Wouldn’t know a pretty thing like that if it climbed you.”

“Because it is embarrassing. And I highly recommend you monitor your staff to make sure they don’t do the same.” Of course, Steve knew you were ‘pretty’. Exactly his type, to be honest. He had noticed it the second you stepped into his apartment this morning. The way your hands wrung beneath you. And he had shot you a teasing remark in hopes of discovering a sassy fire in those timid doe eyes of yours. But you had stumbled over your words like a fawn.

Bucky clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Nonsense. Peggy is great - and too old to even carry anything valuable out of my place. I trust her with my life and house keys.” And then he pushed off the sill. “I think it’s time for you to get laid again. And that’s why I’m a great friend and organized dinner and drinks with Tony and Sam tonight.”

Steve fell back in his chair, hands over his eyes. “I don’t need your wing-maning me. I’m perfectly fine on my own.” 

“Sure.”

“I’m serious, Buck.”

“You can thank me later.” He stout towards the door. “You know... after you’ve been devoured by the pretty little waitress at the Ironbar.” Bucky winked before his face disappeared again. 

Steve just huffed as his eyes landed back on the weekly report on his desk and then swayed back to his computer screen. 

As unwilling as he was to admit it, it had been some time since his last late-night rendezvous. And as he saw you crawl up on his bed to place the bedsheets properly along his mattress, he felt his pants tighten slightly. 

❁ ❁ ❁

“We’ll get one more round of the good stuff.” 

“Of course Mr. Stark.” Tony winked and patted his waitress’s butt before she stalked away on her high heels and towards the locked glass cabinet behind the bar. 

Steve had designed it himself, a fiberglass shrine-like display for ridiculously expensive liquors, only to be opened by a passcode that got regenerated every week. He watched as Betty - the young and lanky waitress - retrieved a crystal bottle of whiskey and filled four glasses with the golden liquid. 

“God, I love that thing,” Tony sighed next to Steve and watched Betty with a satisfied smile.

“You better be talking about that cabinet, Stark.” Steve shook his head with a frown only to receive a wink from Tony, who was sitting closest to him at the round table. 

“So...” Bucky leaned over to Steve and spoke in a hushed voice. “You see anything you like?” He gestured at the bar where Tony’s carefully picked waitresses passed with filled and emptied glasses and bottles. They were all wearing tight black t-shirts and skirts or shorts that counted just as scandalous. One could foolishly mistake this place for a Hooters if Tony hadn’t made it one of the most pristine bars in all of New York City. 

It was popular amongst the clientele which mainly consisted of bored rich men that came here to get something to look at without being judged for it. But Steve wasn’t feeling the girls today. When Betty shoved her breasts in his field of view, all he could think about was how he had never gotten the idea to get his maids a uniform that catered to his... liking. And when Betty swayed her hips on her way to the bar, his thoughts became clouded by the image of you in a short little skirt, riding up just a little to tease I’m about what was hidden underneath when you kneeled on his bed to get the sheets sorted. 

Steve adjusted his pants at the little flashback, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter in his seat. 

“Oh, apparently you have...” Bucky grinned before his eyes hushed down to Steve’s crotch and back up just as fast. “Well then,” he leaned back with a satisfied grin. “Which one is it? Samatha? Tiffany? Though I think Megan is more your type.” 

“Just shut up, punk.”

“Okay you don’t have to tell me me... either way, my job here is done.” He brushed his hands off fake dust and smiled smugly. “You better be in a good mood tomorrow.” 

Steve just huffed and waited for Betty to come back with ‘the good stuff’ to hopefully drown out his annoying friends for the rest of the night. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them. No, he would do anything for the people he chose to have in his life. The group he found himself in right now had been through thick and thin with him, stayed through his fame and fortune, and was just as supportive before it had all happened to either of them. He was happy having the guys because they built each other up and aimed for greatness - together, they were fucking invincible. 

But sometimes, Steve felt a little out of place amongst Bucky and Tony. It was in situations regarding women most of all because he could never adapt the attitude to talk about them the way they did. And he never had the headspace to juggle as many as they did. He had tried the one-night stands. But he struggled to navigate the superficial pleasure maze New York City provided in masses. Because just as the ever-passing smiles on the streets, it wasn’t fulfilling enough for Steve. At least not in the way it was for his friends. 

He wanted what Sam had. A partner, a family, something constant and beautiful. And that was, why he found himself asking for pictures of Sam’s kids and nephews rather than listen to Tony’s latest bed bunny endeavor whenever the conversations took a turn in that direction. 

“Earth to Rogers,” Sam’s finger snapped in front of Steve’s face. “What this I’m hearing? You got a new maid? What happened to the old one?”

“She sold his stuff on Craigslist.” Bucky snorted and took a sip of the drink that had magically appeared in front of them. 

“You aren’t serious.” 

“I really liked that tie,” Steve grumbled into his cup. 

“Man, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with things like that. You rich people really are a different breed.” 

“You’re rich, too, Sam.” 

Sam just smiled above his crystal glass, having fun with the little joke he liked to pull for ages now. He wasn’t any less successful than any of the other men at their table. But other than them, he had settled in a beautiful neighborhood - despising the concrete jungle each of the other guys lived in. His house felt like home, like a cozy place that had seen love and time and nothing like the polished and sleek man caves the rest of them owned.

“Well, anyways, my amazing assistant organized him a new one, the prettiest thing - really. But he’s refusing to see it.” 

Tony chuckled. “Well, that's Rogers in a nutshell, isn’t it.” 

Sam just pursed his lips and glanced over at Steve with a soft smile, ignoring the comments of the other guys. They never explicitly talked about it, but Sam was a smart man, and it would have surprised Steve, had he not already figured out that he was more of a family man than their friends were as of right now. 

“To new maids that aren’t selling your clothes on the internet then.” He raised his drink and winked at Steve once their glasses clinked. 

And Steve? He visibly exhaled, silently thanking Sam for pulling the tension out of their conversation. 

❁ ❁ ❁

It had been a little over a week. And so far, things had been going great. 

By now, you had cleaned through the entire place once and set up a plan of what to do on which day. You weren’t surprised it actually took a full 6 days to cover every single room in Mr. Rogers’s apartment. You had already figured out which tasks were going to be your favorite and which weren’t. Like his bedroom. You liked doing that. Because even though the sheets were a bitch to get on the ginormous bed, you kind of liked the smell the room had. His pillows smelled of the cologne you couldn’t forget ever since the man had brushed past you on your very first day.

You were pretty sure you would never forget that since your knees literally felt like giving in at that moment.  

Today, it was bedroom day. That and the on-suite. 

With a smile on your face, you entered the apartment on the top floor, each day secretly hoping you’d catch a glimpse of the CEO before he took off to work. But even though you tried to arrive ten minutes earlier (you really couldn’t spare any more sleep for your own good), the first day remained an exception in Mr. Rogers’s daily schedule. 

You placed your bag on the stool at the open kitchen island, changed into some other shoes, and headed for the supply closet. Despite the size of the place, you actually got around pretty easily. Mr. Rogers was a very organized and neat man - you’d noticed that the first and only time you met him. So things were almost always where you’d think they would be. Which made your job just that much easier. But also prevented you from the advised ‘not snooping’ you desperately wanted to do. 

You knew better though. 

People like Steve Rogers probably had cameras installed in this place. And you would certainly not go and rummage through his underwear drawer after he had personally told you not to. Who knows what strings powerful people like him could pull. So, for the sake of not waking up on a cargo ship to Madagascar one day, you restrained yourself as much as possible. 

Of course, you didn’t stop your eyes from wandering whenever you swept the shelves in his walk-in closet or closed the drawers in his office space. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. And this girl had a nosy best friend on her back that wanted to know every little detail of her new job... and was also way too invested in celebrity gossip.

Though, as always, there was nothing out of the ordinary today - there never was. Sure, it was still exciting to see how the filthy rich lived but other than that, no scandalous collection of women’s underwear, or drug lord papers lying around. You started to believe that Steven Grant Rogers was a very boring man. Not that you could properly judge in your position, seeing as you did not really know him, but the whole being in his home seemed a little too intimate not to do so. 

So that day you finished the tasks for the day, packed your stuff, and made your way back home, hoping to see him in the morning or to at least find something more interesting than dust in his home. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve greeted the concierge of his building when he entered the marbled entree hall. With a little frown and a look at his watch, the man greeted him back before he resumed his work. 

Yes, Steve was home earlier than usual. He regularly stayed even longer than his original work schedule intended. Today, however, he was home even earlier. But after another banter with Bucky about Steve’s non-existent sex life, he couldn’t imagine making it past five in the same building as his persistent best friend. So, he fled the office and decided to work through the rest of his papers at home. 

Of course, Steve knew that Bucky only wanted the best for him. But the ways he tried to approach the supposed bothersome loneliness Steve had in his bed just weren’t for Steve. Those might have worked on Tony - hell, Tony probably invented setting his friends up with one-night-stands - but not on Steve.

He huffed and swiped some loose hairs from his forehead as the elevator dinged at the top floor. The doors opened to the window front of his penthouse apartment and Steve stepped over the threshold, immediately stopping in his tracks when he took in the scene before him. 

The vacuum was running while you were kneeling on the floor, wiping up some water he only assumed came from the vase missing next to his sofa. He would have found it rather amusing if it weren’t for the way you carried yourself today. Something wasn’t right. 

Steve knew that you weren’t usually this messy - that much he could tell from the livestream that had become a constant in his office by now. Your head hung low, your motions hurried and sloppy. He watched as you swiped the floor, one of your sleeves constantly slipping down your arm again until you angrily pushed it up further than necessary. 

It was worrisome. 

He couldn’t place the feeling he felt in his chest when he sat his briefcase down and approached you from behind. His foot carefully turned off the vacuum and then he stood still, careful not to startle you when you finally looked up at him. 

He could see it in your eyes then. The panic, the uncertainty, and something else he hadn’t seen in them before.

You looked around you as if you were seeing the mess for the first time and when Steve was still watching you with an arched brow after a minute of silence, you suddenly sprung up to your feet. 

“I am so Sorry, Mr. Rogers. I didn’t realize it was this late already.” You turned a full 360 until your eyes landed on his again. “I’ll have this cleaned up in no time and I'll be out of your way. I promise.” 

Steve watched as you scrambled to gather the vacuum cord, struggling with it when it didn’t immediately snap back into the caster. “The subway was stuck in a tunnel for an hour because some guy decided to pull the emergency break for fun. And then this lady passed out next to me and when the fire department finally got us out and the paramedics packed her in the ambulance, I realized that I still had her purse.” You finally got the cord in turning so fast that the wet rag in your hands sprayed some water on Steve. “And do you know how difficult it is to find out which hospital they’re taking people? Because it’s so much more difficult than it looks in the movies. I didn’t know that! And then it was almost 10 a.m. when I got here. I am so sorry. This won’t happen again I promise-“

“Hey,” Steve finally stepped forward and caught your flailing hands with his and it shut you up. “It’s alright.” He spoke softly, guiding your hands down and proceeding to carefully stroke your arms down. “Are you okay? Do you need a day off?” 

Your doe eyes stared up at him, round and shiny as if you couldn’t believe he was actually standing in front of you. And Steve had to admit, besides the concern breezing through his body, your face was capturing up close. He traced your lashes with his gaze, the way your lips were parted slightly, your teeth showing past your upper lip, and the way your eyebrows were raised in shock. 

“No... no, I’m fine.” You finally stammered and it made Steve relax a little. 

“Then take a breath for me, please.” You nodded and Steve watched as your shoulders moved when you inhaled with your eyes closed. It shook Steve out of his trance. He cleared his throat and retreated his hands from your arms, awkwardly standing up a little straighter now that there was no excuse to touch you anymore. 

You were fine - that’s what you had said. But you didn’t quite seem that way. 

He watched as you opened your eyes and gifted him a small smile. Then your gaze dew to the floor and the mess you were standing in. Your smile turned awkward. 

“I’ll clean this up real quick and then I’ll be out of your hair.” 

Steve shook his head with a smile. Maybe this was a nice opportunity to do as Bucky had suggested. It was true, Steve hadn’t been interested enough before. Had he taken more time to know his former maids better, he could have probably prevented his things from being stolen and sold. Maybe it wasn’t exactly what Bucky had meant by ‘interested’, but Save decided it would do for now. “You can do what you need to and you can take as much time as you need to. I’ll be in my office for some time, so please don’t rush. I didn’t mean to freak you out by coming home earlier.” 

His arms reached up to scratch the back of his neck and your eyes landed on his bicep. Those damn doe eyes. “O- okay.”

He nodded, buried his hands in his pockets, gifted you a tight-lipped smile, and then proceeded to grab his briefcase and disappear into his office at the end of the hall. 

After some time, he heard the vacuum pick back up. Steve peaked through his open office door and caught a glimpse of you roaming his living room every now and then. It was relieving to know that you were functioning again. You had him worried for a second there - a feeling the successful CEO hadn’t welcomed in a hot minute. But it was kind of nice, made him feel a little more human than usual. So he didn’t mind having you work while he was home. On the contrary, actually, even though he had a huge stack of papers to go through, having to do them with a little bit of white noise was much more efficient than he had thought. He liked it when the occasional sound of items being set down snook its way to his office just to be interrupted by the vacuum again. And before he knew it, the workload he had taken home with him today, was worked through. 

Steve made his way to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. Though, as he waited for the machine, he found himself leaning against the counter and watching you work in front of him. You were currently bent over the sofa, arranging the cushions after shaking them out, your shirt riding up ever so slightly and exposing a strip of skin on your back. 

The fresh grounding of coffee beans covered the way Steve gulped loudly at the sight of you in front of him. This was definitely different than watching on his laptop screen. He felt his pants tighten ever so slightly as he imagined walking up to you and just taking you from behind. Your face would press into the pillows as he would easily push into you, hearing your drawn-out moans through the cushions. 

He couldn’t help himself, you were just so pretty. 

The smell of coffee drew Steve back to reality. It wasn’t that simple. Because Steve wanted you to want him as well. But you didn’t know him well enough yet. 

You pulled the vacuum around the corner and seconds later the sound of the storage room door closing echoed through the apartment. You walked back into the living room, adjusted the book on his coffee table, and then looked at your work with your hands on your hips. It was kind of cute to watch, Steve had to admit. 

“Well done,” Steve praised and your shoulders jerked in surprise. 

“Woah, didn’t see you there, Sir.” You relaxed again and then moved to change your shoes, before packing the other pair in your bag. You looked like you were about to leave, but Steve didn’t want that. 

“Would you like some coffee?” He offered and turned to grab the mug that was just filled with the steaming hot beverage. 

But you shook your head, raising your hands. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’m sure you’ve got work to do...”

“I wouldn’t have asked if it were an inconvenience.” 

You looked down and nodded, which made Steve smile and hand you the cup. Your hands encased it like it was a cold winter's day, timid looks roaming the room and landing everywhere but him. 

“You seem uncomfortable,” he tried, cautious not to intrude. 

“I’m not. It’s just that... I’m not used to,” you gestured around the kitchen, “all this.” 

“I know it sounds stupid but sometimes I feel the same.” Steve took in the high ceilings and shiny surfaces, the expensive paintings and furniture he had no part in picking out.

You just stared at him again before nodding and averting your eyes once more. It seemed like you were holding back, but Steve didn’t feel like he was in the position to ask. So he just had to do with your fleeting glances and diffident presence. It was fine for now. Though he didn’t know if he could actually stand it for long. 

“You got this job through Bucky’s assistant, right?”

“Natasha, yes. She’s my best friend.” Your eyes lit up and Steve celebrated the little victory in silence. He had finally found something to talk about with you. 

“How long have you known each other?” He took a sip of his own coffee, acting indifferent, though his gaze hung on your lips. 

“We’ve been friends since high school. But then we went to different colleges and for a moment, we lost contact. But when I called her after graduation, we reconnected. We coincidentally both moved to New York. It’s nice to have her back.”

“That does sound nice. I know a thing or two about reconnecting with old friends.” Steve smiled reminiscent. 

“Right, your business partner. Mr. Barnes.” You set your mug down when Steve shot you a surprised look. “Sorry, but it’s hard not to know things about you when every tabloid in the country has covered your story.”

Steve nodded, being reminded once again how different his life was now. Not that he didn’t appreciate it... it just used to be simpler. 

“Yes, Bucky is my oldest friend... we’d lost contact in-between as well. Now we spend so much time together, I sometimes wish it was that way again.”

“You don’t mean that,” you laughed and Steve swore it was the prettiest he’d ever heard. 

“Of course not.” He set his cup down once he noticed that you had finished your coffee and had grabbed your bag from the stool. 

“I should go,” you smiled sadly and Steve just nodded with a similar expression on his face. Then he pushed off the counter and walked you to the elevator. He caught your small wave before the doors closed, leaving his stomach feeling warm and fuzzy. 

This was definitely new.

❁ ❁ ❁

The next week was pure torture. 

Steve couldn’t work from home like he had wanted to. He also couldn’t go to work later to at least catch a ‘good morning’ from you. 

It had only lasted a couple more days. He had managed to trap you for a conversation with coffee two times after the first one and then it all went downhill from there. 

Steve’s work seemed to pile up in unusual amounts of papers on his desk. His e-mails and meetings were longer than ever and his frustrations built with every new message Sharon redirected to his phone.

It wasn’t until Bucky pointed out how unusually grumpy he was, that Steve realized, he missed you. How could that have happened? He barely knew you and talked to you even less than that. But he knew he was missing you. Because as silly as it sounded, the time he spent with you, he was more relaxed than ever before. 

“I’m headed home, now. Do you need anything before I go?” Sharon popped her head through the door of Steve’s office after the knock she placed there. 

Steve just sighed as he closed one of a dozen tabs on his computer. Then he shook his head. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early!” She beamed and Steve just waved her off. 

The door fell shut once again and Steve moved to close a second tab. The one open beneath was the video footage of his home. It was paused because Steve had categorized it as ‘not suited for work’ once he saw you climb on his bed to straighten out the sheets and his dick reminded him just how deprived he really was. 

Looking at the paused video now, his pants tightened again. There you were, on all fours on his bed, tugging the sheet under the headboard side of his mattress - ass up and struggling. Fucking hell. 

His hand instinctively moved to his crotch to relieve some tension and then his eyes fell to his office door. Sharon had gone home. He was likely the only one left. His gaze wandered back to his computer screen and before he knew it, he was rubbing his hard cock through his pants. 

He groaned lowly at the feeling spreading through his body, the image on his screen just intensifying the scenarios he usually imagined when he got himself off. Because now they had your face. And your perfect body. If he squinted at the screen, he could actually see a sliver of your underwear peaking out the top of your pants. 

“Jesus Christ,” He pushed through his teeth when his hands worked to open his belt and pulled his rock-hard length out. He was already leaking from the angry red tip. 

His thumb grazed over his sensitive flesh, spreading the beads of precum and his whole body shivered when he imagined you doing it instead. His knees spread further apart in his office chair as he squeezed the base of his cock, concentrating on his breathing to slow. And then, without thinking, his other hand moved to play the video. 

Steve’s eyes never left the screen as he watched you tug the sheets tight. Your ass bounced up and down with the motion and he began to pump his shaft, imagining pushing into you from behind. Then you crawled back slowly, careful not to pull the sheet off again, but one corner came loose anyway. As you leaned forward, your new position seemed even more obscene - with your arms stretched forward and your ass still slightly lifted off the mattress. 

Steve’s fist pumped harder up and down his cock, he was panting. He could already feel the orgasm building. His balls were on the edge of bursting - but he wanted to hold out a little longer. 

For a second, his gaze jumped to the little speaker icon at the bottom right corner of his screen. His right hand still pumping with a tight grip, the left moved to slightly turn up the volume on the stream. 

Just then, you released a frustrated groan, followed by a throatier, softer noise that could almost be mistaken for a moan and Steve lost it. His fist stroked his thick cock in hard fast motions, the tingle in his body building with every heavy breath you released. His thumb grazed over his tip when you fell forward like a fawn and it was enough to make him burst. 

He closed his eyes and threw his head back on the chair. With a last firm push, he tumbled over the edge, squeezing his flesh as he felt the hot ropes of cum cover his hand. His heart beat in his ears once the ecstasy subsided, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.  

Steve stared at the ceiling, sighing in defeat. He was in deep now. 

❁ ❁ ❁

“So... how’s it going?” Nat’s voice rang through your speaker and you pressed your phone a little harder to your ear to hear her over the street noises. 

“It’s going really good. I don’t see him that often but he’s not messy at all, so it’s really not that bad.”

“Good, I’m glad!” Nat cheered on the other end of the line and you could hear her computer keys clicking beneath her fingernails. “Anything you wanna tell me?” Her tone was suggestive, and you kind of hated how well she knew you. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, we’re stating the obvious here. He’s hot!”

“Nat!” You gasped appalled. “I’m not going around asking you if you think your boss is hot.”

“Why not? I'm not ashamed to admit it. My boss is hot,” she stated plainly and shorty after a distant ‘You got that right, doll!’ was heard through your speaker. 

“Oh my god,” you muttered, watching around you as if anyone could hear what Nat was saying. 

“So...?”

“Okay, yes he’s super hot and I wish he would just grab me with his big muscled arms and kiss the life out of me every time I see him. Are you happy now?”

“Yes, very.”

You waved at the concierge when you reached Mr. Roger’s apartment building and then stepped into the elevator. “Good. I can’t believe I just made me say that out loud.”

“We both know it’s true. No shame in a little crush.” You could practically hear her grin through the phone and it just annoyed you even more. How could she call you out when she was a mile away?

“Great, now I’m actually imagining kissing him and running my hands down his chest,” You huffed as the elevator door opened and turned the corner just to stop in your tracks. 

“I knew it!”

“Nat, I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, but-“ and then you ended the call as your eyes were glued to the kitchen counter. 

You stepped closer, your eyes never leaving where they had landed upon your arrival. There, on the polished black marble, stood a vase with a beautiful bouquet of pastel flowers. 

Your breath hitched in your throat as your fingers traced the colorful petals, and you leaned in to smell them. This was so sweet! A little giddiness shot through your body at the sight of the flowers. You’d never expected them from Mr. Rogers and it was nice to be appreciated. 

Feeling excitement all over, your fingers reached for the little white card lodged between a eucalyptus branch. But when you turned it over, all of it fell like someone had turned on gravity again. 

Happy one month!

Your mind repeated the words over and over again until they registered.

Happy one month.

You dropped the card and it made a dull clicking noise on the counter. How could you have been so naïve? Nat had put this stupid haze in your brain, getting you all giddy and excited. Of course, he had a fucking girlfriend. How could he not? He was Steve fucking Rogers.

You needed to take a step back and breathe. Those were a few too many emotions to feel in the early morning for you. Now you even felt guilty about wanting to run your fingers down his body. God, you’d even said it out loud - how embarrassing! 

“Okay, girl. Relax. Nobody heard,” you reminded yourself out loud. And then you took a deep breath with your eyes closed. 

“It’s not embarrassing if nobody saw. I’m the only one that can decide the level of awkwardness here.” Maybe stop talking to yourself then. You nodded and carefully placed the card back in the bouquet. 

“This never happened,” you whispered, more so to ensure yourself. “Just move on with your day.” 

Thank god it wasn’t kitchen day - you wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of those flowers any longer.

With your shoulders pulled back and your head held high, you made your way to the supply closet and got to work. 

It’s just another day. You reminded yourself when you pulled your cleaning supplies out and into the office. 

Just like any other day...

❁ ❁ ❁

Boy, had you never been any more wrong. 

Your phone rang at 7.30 that evening. You had already made yourself comfortable on your sofa, ready to binge a whole season of Gilmore Girls, after a successful day of pretending you hadn’t gotten the biggest turn-down of the century this morning. You had finished your cleaning plan, you had gone grocery shopping, bought yourself some own damn flowers, and even showered all before the sun had set. 

But now your phone rang and the caller ID could not mean anything good. 

“Hello?”

“Good evening!” Your name echoed through the speaker of your phone, a - for your taste - way too cheery woman on the other end. “I am very sorry I have to call so late. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“That’s alright, what do you need?” You bit your lip nervously, only dreading the next words of Mr. Rogers’s assistant.

“Well, actually it is not I that needs anything. Mr. Rogers requested for you to see him. Is that possible?”

“What? When?”

“Now would be amazing.” Your eyes widened at her words. Mr Rogers wanted to see you and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow? You must have done something horribly wrong. Oh, god, had he noticed you messed with the flowers? Had he seen you sniff his pillows? All possible scenarios of wrongdoing swarmed your head when you sprung up and bolted for your closet. 

“I can be there in thirty minutes,” you hurried through the speaker just to receive a satisfied hum from the other end. 

“Amazing! Thank you so much.”

She had hung you before you could even answer. It didn’t matter. You looked through your clothes, trying to decide what an appropriate ‘getting fired’ outfit would consist of - probably no sweatpants, so you could find the closest bar and drink your sorrows away in connection to the dreaded talk. 

You pulled out something, you could see yourself crying in and headed for the door.

❁ ❁ ❁

8.00 pm on the dot, the elevator doors opened to reveal a beautiful New York Skyline. Unfortunately, you neither had the headspace, nor the time to appreciate it properly. As soon as you turned the corner you saw Mr. Rogers casually leaning on the kitchen island. 

Instantly, you felt intimidated. He had never done anything to make you feel scared or in danger, but his mere presence was so powerful, you didn’t quite know how to act around him. Especially, because on top of it all, he was the most attractive man you’d ever laid your eyes on. 

“What did I do?” It just sprung out of you, your arms wanted to hug your body but you willed them still. He didn’t need to see how worried you really were. 

To your surprise, however, his face scrunched up in amusement instead. He pushed himself off the counter and gestured towards the flowers still standing proud on that polished marble top. 

“You forgot your flowers.”

“My... my flowers?” He nodded with a small frown, probably confused by your reaction. And to be honest, you were too. 

“Yes... I got you flowers. You’ve officially been working here for a month. That’s a record.” He shook his head with a chuckle and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m... very picky.”

His eyes met yours and a whole new wave of uncertainty washed over you. You didn’t miss the hesitation in his tone, the carefully chosen wording for something he didn’t exactly say. 

“So, I’m not fired.” God, why did it take so long for you to register. You just looked so stupid right now. 

“On the contrary.” Mr. Rogers took a step closer, though still keeping a respectable distance. “I think I can trust you. I’m very pleased with your work. You deserve them.”

“I do?” You looked up at him with big eyes when he took another step closer. He was so tall, you had to tilt your head up now that he was so near. 

“Can I trust you?”

His chest would almost touched you, if you were to breathe any heavier. Your breath hitched in your throat when the faint remains of his perfume reached your nose. It was as intoxicating - the way his eyes stared down at you - intense and looming. “Ye- Yes.”

“Good.” His voice was a raw timbre. His gaze drifted to the side, where his hand slowly reached up to lay on your shoulder. You felt warm and tingly from the touch. 

Not knowing what to do exactly, you just held your breath and stared up at his eyes. They were so blue - and up close, they were so much more captivating than any magazine photograph could ever display. 

You wanted to touch him, reach out, and pull him down towards you, but he had just told you he trusted you. Were you really going to risk this perfectly good job for a heated moment?

His other hand came up to graze your cheek with a careful touch and the worry of losing your job suddenly became very small. Mr. Roger’s hands were warm, his fingers almost hot even compared to your heated face. 

So you did it. Your hand reached forward and landed on the top of his chest, one of them traveled down the hard plane of his torso while the other clawed at his shirt collar. His thumb traveled to your lower lip, pulling it down and then stroking over the soft flesh, touching your teeth as well. 

Guided by the heat traveling through our body, your right hand tightened around his shirt and pulled him down and onto your lips. The blonde man jerked forward until his mouth crashed onto yours, immediately moving in perfect sync with yours. 

Your insides were tingling from the kiss when you felt his lips pull into a smile. His big hands roamed your body until they snook around your back, pulling you flush against his body and making you sigh contently. 

Mr. Rogers chuckled and then kissed you deeper. His touch was everywhere, yours too. Your mind was free of anything that wasn’t the tall, built, blonde man in your arms as soon as his tongue traced your bottom lip - asking for you to let him in. And you did just that. When he began to explore your mouth, you melted even further into his embrace. 

No man had ever kissed you like that. Which was why you dreaded the moment you had to pull away for air. 

Your hand landed on his cheek, thumb softly stroking his beard, eyes locked with his. 

“You’re very good at this.”

He just chuckled and pecked your lips once more. “Up.” He demanded, suddenly, he grabbed your thighs and lifted you as if you weighed nothing. 

“What are you doing?”

“I'm gonna show you how good I am at this.” 

Then he set you down on the bed and pushed you back until your head hit the comforter. His scent, the one you’d secretly been craving ever since you started working here, engulfed you like a big blanket. He stood above you, big and broad-shouldered, looming over you like a wild animal. But you weren’t scared.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” His lips attached to your collarbone, sucking and licking bruises to your skin until you moaned beneath him and your hands clung to his hair. “I’ve been watching you,” he murmured to your neck and a shiver traveled down your spine. 

“I knew it,” you gasped when he reached a spot behind your ears that sparked more pleasure. The thought of him spending his day watching you made you all excited and impatient. 

“The way you stumble about this place when you clean it... How do you navigate the world being this clumsy, Bambi?” A whimper escaped you at the nickname he chose for you. “You need somebody to take care of you, huh.” 

You arched your back to brush up against him. His hard cock was already straining his pants, pressing into your own deliciously. “Ah, yes.”

“Don’t worry, Bambi, I’m right here. I’ll take real good care of you.” His fingers traveled down your body until they reached the hem of your jeans and began to tug on them. 

You pulled him down to your lips once more, guiding his head back to that spot behind your ear that had you squirming on the sheets. “So needy.”

His voice was so low and husky now, you barely noticed he had already worked your pants open and halfway down your legs. You kicked them off the rest of the way and arched yourself back against him just to have him grind down on your core. 

“Feel so good, so big,” you mumbled through the haze you already found yourself in. God, what was it with this man - he was out of this world. 

“You can’t wait any longer, can you, Bambi?” His hands moved beneath your shirt and began to massage your breasts. “But I get it. I don’t wanna wait any longer, either.” 

In a swift motion, he had you flipped on your stomach, his hands traveling to your hips to pull you on all fours in front of him. Then the bed dipped and you felt his fingers press to your soaked underwear. He rubbed the drenched fabric over your entrance, only driving you wild with need when his fingers reached higher to your clit. “So pretty.” 

“I need you,” you whined, “need you so bad.” 

“Believe me, I need you too.” He pulled the black lace over the curve of your ass and you felt the cool bedroom air hit your wet core, only making you shiver once more. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, you know that.” You could only whimper in response when his hand pushed your head into the comforter and his face suddenly pressed into your pussy from behind. 

“Oh, god.” A yelp escaped you as his tongue teased at your entrance, only to be pulled back to lick a long strip from your clit back to it. His hand massaged your cheeks and the constant moaning to your core shook you from the inside out. 

“This isn’t enough, is it, Bambi?” He dragged a strong finger up your spine. “You need me to fill you all the way up, don’t you? Need me to mark you, show everyone you’re mine.”

“Yes, yes, fill me up, give it all to me. Fuck me and make me yours.” You were so desperate at this point. His mouth had you squirming and aching for the promising bulge beneath his pants and you couldn’t wait to feel him raw - you’d let him do anything. 

You turned your head and watched as he unbuckled his belt. Within seconds, his cock sprung free from its restraints and your breath hitched in your throat. He was thick and long, a prominent vein running along his side up to his tip, pink and already decorated by a bead of precum. Of course, Steve Rogers had a pretty cock. What wasn’t perfect about him?

“You’re so wet already, Bambi. So ready for my fat cock, aren’t you? You’ll suck me right in, I just know it.”

“Please! I wanna feel all of you.” Another whimper got swallowed by the mattress when you waited in anticipation for him to finally fuck you. 

His one hand grabbed your ass and the other aligned his cock with your entrance. You could feel his head already breaching, a delicious stretch sending shocks through your body in hot and cold waves of pleasure. 

He groaned lowly and it sent shivers down your spine. “Relax, baby girl. You’re so tight. You’ll be so stuffed with me.”

“I need you de-. I- ah just please!”

He worked himself forward with small rocking motions, each time reaching a little deeper into your core and when you thought he was finally all the way in, he pushed even further until your ass was pressed flush to his thighs. 

You screamed into the covers and reached for something to grasp when he groaned behind you. “Gripping me like a vice, Bambi. Are you gonna be able to take it?” He shivered behind you and you could tell he was struggling to hold still until you answered him. 

“I can take it. Your big cock feels so good inside me. Oh, god, please move.”

“Fuck.” Wet noises filled the room when he drew back almost all the way, just to slam back into you. In this position the curve of his cock stroked your walls perfectly, making it hard to hold back the building orgasm. 

“I’m so close already, sir. I’m-”

“Fucking call me Steve,” he roared and pushed your face further into the covers. “You gonna come? Gonna squeeze my cock with your pretty little pussy already, huh?”

You could only whimper in response, the steady stroke of his body clouded your mind until you felt like you were floating. 

“I-“Another scream ripped through your speech when the pleasure exploded within you. Steve slowed his motions, seemingly unable to move with the way your muscles contracted around him. And when the pulsing pleasure lessened after what felt like minutes, he picked his pace back up again. 

“That was so sexy. You gonna do that again for me? I’m so fucking close.”

His hand reached around you and began to massage your clit in tight little circles and your body lifted off the bed. Steve had pulled you up flush against his chest and watched his hand work on your clit over your shoulder. 

“’S too much! Ah!” You were still pulsing around his cock with every circle he traced on your bundle of nerves, making your legs quiver.

“You’re doing so good, Bambi. You can give me another. Milk my cock dry.” He kissed your neck and bit your skin. “So fucking beautiful, how’d I get so lucky?”

“Steve!” You felt another wave of pleasure approaching, just for his fingers to still on your clit, his hand now pressing into your stomach. 

“I’m almost there, baby. Hold it a little longer.” His face fell into your neck and you could feel his cock twitch inside you while his hot breath licked down your shoulder. “Don’t you fucking cum until I say so.”

“I don’t know if I-“

“Yes, you can!” Steve pushed you until you fell onto all fours again and then guided your hips to meet his hard strokes. His movements became frantic and fast, making you lose your mind. 

“I’m gonna fill you to the brim, Bambi. Make you drip with my cum for days. You’re mine.”

“Steve! Steve!” You couldn’t hold it any longer, it was too much. He was so big, and his movements so fast, there was no way you were lasting any longer. 

“Wait. Almost there.”

“I can’t. I can’t! I’m- Oh my god!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuck.” With one last hard slam, Steve shot his hot seed in your pussy. Your walls clenched with every lewd sound he pushed through his heavy breaths. “Cumming so much for you, Bambi. All for you. Uhnggghh.” He rutted into you a couple more times and once the intense feeling faded into lazy pulses, he fell forward and pulled you into his chest. 

Still buried deep within you, Steve pulled the covers over your bodies. Every little movement made you squirm and your pussy clench down again, drawing small grunts from the man behind you. 

“You did so good.” His hand stroked over your hair and his face nuzzled into your shoulder. “Now, rest. You deserve it.”

And with that, you let your body fall into its well-needed sleep - warm, content, and without a care for the morning.

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve woke up to the sound of his alarm. He smiled before he opened his eyes, his mind still reminiscing the night before. He felt warm and content at the thought of it. Your kiss was like nothing else.

He felt around his bed blindly after turning off the alarm only to be met by a cold mattress. Opening his eyes, he called out your name and sat up in bed. But when no answer sounded from his apartment, he got up and looked for you. After a few minutes of searching, he was sure you weren’t there. And it worried him. He had planned to order you breakfast. He wanted to talk about last night. He wanted to tell you how much it had meant to him. 

A look at the clock on his wall made him frown. Maybe you’d gone home to change for work. He decided to wait and get to work a little later today. It would all resolve itself, Steve was sure. 

But when seven rolled around, there was no sign of you. And even after another 25 minutes, there was no indication you’d show up soon. Steve really couldn’t push his time anymore. There was a lot of work waiting for him at the office. So he got up and grabbed his briefcase, only to be interrupted by his phone. 

“Good morning, Sharon.” 

“Good morning, Mr. Rogers. I’m just calling to let you know your maid just called in sick.”

“What? Until when?”

“She didn’t say. But she’ll call when she is better.”

“Do you know what she has?”

“I believe that’s private. Mr. Rogers.”

Steve just hummed absentmindedly. His brain already playing all the possibilities in his head. 

“Would you be so kind so send me her number?” He asked almost hesitantly, but still demanding enough for Sharon to agree right away. 

“Of course, one second.” And then his phone pinged with a message from his assistant. 

“Thank you.” Sharon just hummed in response and then she hung up the phone, ever the busy assistant he knew her as. 

Steve didn’t hesitate to call you right away. With every peep. His heart hammered faster in his chest. And when he was about to give up, a familiar rustling rang through his speaker. 

“Hello?”

Steve took a second to breathe and then he said your name - steady but careful. 

“Mr Rogers,” you sounded surprised, and Steve tried to suppress the sting in his heart at the sound of his last name. You had called him Steve just last night. Why’d you stop?

“Yes... I heard you’re sick. Do you need anything?” He cringed the second he said it. You obviously didn’t want anything from him given that you had fled from his apartment before he even woke up this morning. 

“No, no. I’m good thank you.” There was an awkward tension in the static connecting the two of you. But Steve didn’t understand where it came from. Had you not enjoyed last night. Had he only imagined the affection you gifted him then?

“Well... I hope you are able to come back soon.”

You huffed into the phone. “Uh, yes. Okay.”

“Alright, then. I’ll see you.”

“I’ll see you.”

And then the line went dead. And Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that you had sounded a lot colder than before...

❁ ❁ ❁

Steve had taken the next day off. His mind was too occupied to work, anyway. He had caught himself glimpsing at his video feed several times that day, even though he knew you weren’t going to show. He guessed, somehow that you would appear anyway. It didn’t happen of course.

So today, Steve had to learn to do nothing. That included not thinking of you as well. Because as much as the thought of you distracted him from work, not working wasn’t exactly the best move to get rid of his thoughts. 

First, he had tried to stay in bed until 6. That was hard enough. Then, he worked out a bit, read an article, made a smoothie - okay he ordered one - and then he sat on his sofa watching as the clock above his fireplace ticked to 7 a.m. 

It was ridiculous. If every hour would pass this slowly, he’d go insane.

His fingers taped on his thigh as he watched the seconds hand tick. He had to do something, anything. 

The moment this thought passed his mind, he heard the elevator door ‘ding’ at his level. And before he could even turn around, your bag hit the ground with a loud thud. 

Steve stood up straighter, adjusting a tie he was not wearing, but the motion had become a habit. He was excited you’d shown up - visibly well and healthy that was. 

You stared at him for a solid minute and neither of you said a word. Your stare was unintelligible to Steve. He had to admit, that he didn’t know you well enough to read into your silent conversation yet, but he wanted to - he wanted to so badly. 

His hands moved to clasp in front of him and then he cleared his throat, but as he was about to say something, you moved past him, straight to the supply closet, and then disappeared into his guest bedroom. 

He followed you before he could tell his feet to stop, halting in the doorway of the room and watching as you dusted off the tall shelves above the sideboard. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was higher than he anticipated. 

“I’m working,” you answered bluntly, moving to the next object to dust off. 

“Why?” Steve had promised to provide for you just the other night. And, yes, while he might have been hazy from the incredible pleasure you had created, he had meant every word.

You suddenly turned to him with an angry stare. “I’m working because, unlike other people, I can’t just do whatever I want and not deal with the consequences,” you spat and then turned around again. The dusting motion turned a little more aggressive and Steve felt a cold shiver run down his back. Feisty.

Though, Steve couldn’t quite place your anger. Had he said something to offend you? How did the other night play into any consequences and why the hell were you working still? You’d said it yourself, you wanted to be his. And that was all he ever wanted. It just didn’t make sense.

Steve didn’t move. He just stood there like an idiot and watched you work your anger away on the poor dusty decorations of his home. You obviously didn't want to talk to him and he had no idea what to say to you. So he just watched... and watched until at least ten minutes had gone by. 

You were at a completely different corner of the room by now, trying to grab a book to dust off, but couldn’t quite reach. Steve had been standing in the doorway this whole time so he just assumed he was blocking your way to a ladder. But he took it as an opportunity instead. 

In three Long strides, he had walked up to you, reached for the item you stretched toward, and handed it to you. And for a second there, he could see those doe eyes return to your face, staring up at him.

Maybe he had misread the situation after all because your gaze drew him in again. He slowly closed his eyes before he could reach your lips, excitement rising in his veins when he thought back to the feeling of your lips on his–

*smack*

His eyes shot open when your hand collided with his cheek, a fire flickering in your eyes that made him take a step back, holding his heated skin. 

“You don’t have to mock me, okay?! I know it’s embarrassing and it’s stupid what we did, so please don’t make this more difficult.”

“What?” Steve was baffled, hurt. 

It was stupid what we did. Your words echoed in his mind until your voice penetrated the mantra. 

“Just leave me alone. Don’t you have work to do?”

He shook his head with an aching heart. You really had no idea. You thought he had used you, made you a bed bunny like Tony or Bucky would - he’d never do that. “I called in sick. I was so... forget it.”

You resumed cleaning and Steve just stood in your way watching. His chest stung with every second he spent with his eyes glued to you, knowing what you thought of him. He couldn’t stand it. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable, much less convey he’d only use you. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You ignored him, but he could see your movements stagger for a second. “Do you really regret what we did?”

Then you paused, your eyes trained to the surface in front of you. When you finally looked at him, Steve could see the tears shimmering in them. 

“No,” you whispered softly, Steve had almost missed it had his heart not skipped a beat. 

He instinctively stepped closer to you again, though cautious not to scare you away. He’d come this far and didn’t want to mess it all up again. “Then why are you ignoring me?”

“I'm not ignoring you.” It shot out of you like a bullet. You sighed, took another breath, and set the duster down. “We don’t know each other. We live in completely different worlds. There is not one scenario in which we could exist together as anything more than... this. I know that now.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you and I’m just the maid.” You gestured to Steve and then yourself and Steve hated the way you degraded yourself just because he had a couple dollars more in his bank account. It wasn’t right. 

He shook his head, his hand reaching out to you but dropping just before he could actually touch you, curbing into a soft fist instead. “And what if I told you that you are much more to me than that?” Now he finally dared to lay his hand on your cheek, tilting your head so he could come closer to you and still stare into your eyes. “I like you. And the night– ever since you came into my life, my days seem just so much less dull.” 

He smiled with shiny eyes, afraid your silence would last forever. “Please say something, Bambi.”

“You like me?” There was awe and disbelief in your voice and Steve wanted to kiss it away until every last doubt was erased from your mind. Whoever had made you this insecure about affection would eat his fist. 

Steve bit his lip to hide the chuckle threatening to spill. “I do.”

He slowly got lost in your eyes again. Those beautiful innocent orbs looked at him like he was a different type of special. He loved it so much. 

His gaze dropped to your lips, slightly parted and full, and then back up. And before he could lose himself in them again, your hands latched onto his collar and pulled him down toward you. 

The kiss was all tongue and teeth, need and desperation melting into sighs and tingles - he could feed off of it forever. His hands roamed your body and pressed you deeper into his. Your arms reached around his neck as your noses bumped against each other in eager anticipation. 

Nothing ever felt this right. Steve couldn’t possibly believe you’d doubted the chemistry for a second. Not when it felt like that. But he wouldn’t need to think back on it anymore now... now that he finally had you.

🫵 You cant get enough of this character? Go check out the chatbot I made for him! This way you can explore different endlings, plotlines, or just enjoy his company for a while longer 💕

I couldn't decide which GIF to use, so here are some extras!

If you’ve read this far, I would be so happy to receive a comment or reblog. It helps writers reach more people in the community and also improve themselves. So, if you have the time, please consider giving me some feedback :) until next time ~Meg 💞

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv @fangirl-swagg @mi-amoree1111 @lastwandastan @royalwritersoftheuniverses @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @broadwaybabe18 @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @simpxinnie @blackhawkfanatic @kandis-mom @ashhsage

[aouiaa]

NOT JUST ANYONE’S | A. ANDERSON

warnings and disclaimers, (enemies to lovers), porn w plot (yay), a word count of 15k+?!, wlw content, mean!abby, jealous/delusional!abby, mentions of reader’s hair, abby being a book wormy, abby describes the reader as a goddess (once), fluff, angst, different povs, bullying, light workplace mistreatment, SEXUAL CONTENT, mean/softdom!abby, sub!reader, semi-public sex (hospital’s office), panties stealing, spanking, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling, masturbation, usage of a vibrator (once), scissoring, squirting, nipple play, degradation, body workship/praising, overstimulation, usage of pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl, good girl, dirty girl), cum eating, mutiple orgasms, DARK CONTENT, stalking, act of stealing narcotics, cursing, jealousy, alcohol/drug consumption, mentions of inflicting harm on others, acts of frame-up.

TAPE THAT MOUTH SHUT, this is probably one of the biggest/questionable pieces of art i’ve done. though it’s FINALLY fucking done idk how to feel honestly. i just feel like i have such an emotional bind to each and every piece of work i have done. this is my baby, the full nine months and everything, and now the world will see her for her. i feel like a mother watching her baby go off to kindergarten. :”(

ONESHOT PREVIEW | ABBY ANDERSON’S MASTERLIST

PRESENT TIME

saints mary’s hospital - 2:30 am on a saturday morning

the saying goes, “it’s not about how you start, it’s how you finish.” didn’t quite apply. time seemed to move in a blur, making it impossible to piece together a coherent thought. the room filled only with the echoes of your loud, wanton sounds mingling with abby’s, far removed from anything deemed professional. however you weren't concerned with those details, not at all. with the way abby was able to extract those sounds from your throat was almost painful.

almost.

abby derived an addiction from your pleasure. each moment of ecstasy seemed to fuel her further, driving her to amplify the tempo and depth of her ministrations. as the room filled with the lewd symphony of flesh meeting flesh and intertwined heavy breaths, something stirred within abby. something unfamiliar, uncharted. normally, she would exhibit unrivaled confidence during intimate encounters, but with you, it was different—more intense, deeper. a desperate craving to be perfect, to ensure you'd never seek anyone else, but her. she’d hate to admit it, but the realization gnaws at her: the longing for you even after this is over.

"who's making you cum tonight?" abby questioned the obvious, but her arrogance tone underlined the strong need for reassurance. your moans were her only response, and while she adored the sweet sounds, she craved more. a sudden shift in her fingers’ movements made you yell out, "you, abby.” your words punctuated by cries of pleasure.

abby's fingers, now confined within your tight grip, sensed the growing tension, the impending eruption, the imminent of your orgasm. "uh-huh, come for me," she ordered, "let me hear who’s making a mess of you."

the warnings of your impending release came with fervor, each thrust hastening to the inevitable snap of the tightening band in your abdomen. then when it did, a cry rang out, loud and clear, as her name left your lips in tandem with your essence painting her features. in this haze of euphoria, you suddenly find a sense of clarity, wondering how in all worlds did you end up in this situation, in the arms— or rather the mouth of your boss?

MONTHS BEFORE

saints mary’s hospital - 3:20 am on a monday night

the staff room was still mostly quiet, the faint sounds of a few muttered conversations and the soft hum of the fluorescent bulb created a low hum of background noise to complement the bigger situation in hand. you had just finished discarding your dirty gloves and discovered that some residue had clung to your uniform, prompting a soft groan of disgust to escape your lips.

you picked up another clean uniform and quickly changed into it, your mind wandering to the series of events that led you to this moment. working in a hospital meant dealing with a never-ending slew of new problems each day, some imprinting themselves in your memory more vividly than others.

and this time was memorable—at least for the night —for an aggravating sense. it was a vomiting incident in room nine that not only you witnessed, but you were also permitted to clean up after. fun, you thought sarcastically as you trudged your way with a bucket and sponge. nonetheless here you were, the aftermath, running a hand through your uniform to smooth out any wrinkles with your other hand on the doorknob, taking a long, exasperated intake prior to stepping out.

with a final exhale, you turned the knob and stepped out into the main hospital ward. the familiar sounds of hushed conversations and the constant hum of machinery filled your ears as you walked through the hallways.

with your desk in your line of sight now, your body starts to move faster as the thought of getting some much needed rest sets in. despite that, you took a quick glance around, searching for her presence, but finding no resemblance.

a sigh of relief escaped your lips as you settled into the plush chair, the cushions embracing your tired body. hands squeezing the pads provided on the arm’s office chair, this was heaven. but satan herself wouldn’t let that alleviation last for long, she never does. not in this hospital. your body suddenly tensed up and jerked forward as the sound of a hand slamming into the surface of your desk reached your ears. fuck, you thought, your head automatically turning to see the horned asshole with the little tail stuck up her ass.

“what the fuck was that back there, huh? i’ve had people complaining left and right.” she spoke, her face contorted with anger. you knew that was a lie, only there to further embarrass you in front of everyone. the “great” abby anderson was known to make something bigger than it actually was. but you’d be lying if you didn’t say that disruption left you breathless, seemed like all and any explanation that could clear your name left you, but even if you did, would it even work? or would abby deem it as a barely acceptable excuse, or quote “a three year old can lie better than you” excuse?

you could hardly breathe, your mind racing to try to explain yourself. every mistake seemed to be met with harsh criticism, and it was taking its toll on you. your voice wavered as you stuttered out a singular word in response: “what?”

abby’s expression only hardened further, her voice mocking your supposed ignorance. “couldn’t you see the medication you gave her was gonna result in nausea?”

each word was enunciated with sharp frustration, as if you were supposed to have known better, but you didn’t know. it wasn’t stated on the patient's file that she’d react like that. you followed protocol, knowing the consequences if you didn't, and followed through based on the information in hand. you weren’t in the wrong, and you explained that to abby.

though she didn’t seem to care at all, instead her words echoed through your mind like a painful reminder; you keep it up, and you’ll end up on your ass in front of this hospital.

her threat sent a pang of dread through you, and the loud thud of her office door shutting only added to your sinking feeling. you let out a heavy sigh, bringing your hand up to your eyes and rubbing them, trying to ward off the exhaustion and anxiety swirling within you.

your thoughts were interrupted as you realized the truth behind abby’s threat. you had a proven record as a dedicated and skilled employee, and deep down, you knew abby knew it too. there was a reason she couldn’t just fire you on a whim —she needed a valid justification to complete that pesky employee termination form sitting on her desk.

as you pondered on these thoughts, you let out a resigned sigh, the threat suddenly feeling less intimidating and more like a broken record you heard over and over again.

FIVE DAYS LATER

saints mary’s hospital - 11:01 pm on a saturday night

there was a newfound sense of comfort that accompanied your realization. although abby’s words still stung and cut deeply, you now had a silent reassurance— a knowledge that her threats were ultimately empty, that mere words could do nothing. your mind was now at ease, knowing that despite her harshness, she couldn’t truly harm you. the thought gave you a strange sense of power, even as she spewed her usual cruelty.

with your profound resilience, you found yourself feeling more lively and vibrant than before. you no longer fretted over every small mistake or worry constantly about doing your job wrong. your once reserved and introverted self now blossomed, making connections and building friendships where there had been none before.

amelia, the colleague who sat beside you for a year, but whom you had never truly spoken to, was now a friend, and the two of you formed a bond beyond just work-related interaction.

“darling, it’s wishful thinking that the inferno herself would let you off so easily,” amelia teases, the soft pads of her fingertips dancing along the keys of her keyboard. her familiar british accent rolls off and into your ear, making you scoff.

“it’s just for a day.” you mumble, your hands flipping the page to the never-ending paperwork waiting for you. you stop and look at amelia who’s now reclined in her chair, arms crossed with a knowing smirk.

“oh love,” laughed amelia, her playful jab at your wishful thinking only making her more endearing. “i’d love to entertain your rather ludicrous idea, but in doing so would be criminal!”

her words stung a little, you knew she was right, but hearing her say it out loud had you clenching your jaw slightly. abby would never agree to letting you take a day off from the hospital, it seemed like the whole place would fall apart without your presence.

and while it felt like an honor— at times. you longed for just one day off, a single day to rest amongst the countless days spent diligently working at the hospital. how criminal could that be? as amelia called it, you felt your shoulders sag and nodding quietly in resignation. your features must have betrayed your disappointment, as amelia swiftly noticed and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

amelia smiled sympathetically, her eyes soft as she saw your frustration. “cheer up, darling. it was just a quip.” she said softly, her tone filled with comfort.

you tried to hold back your tears when you spoke, your voice faltering as you looked up at amelia. “It's not that. i just… work my ass off, and don't even get the recognition i deserve.” your words trailed off as you let out a frustrated sigh. “and it's not like i’m just looking for that.” you pause to mend the right words together. “just some sort of break from it all.” you quickly sniffle, attempting to hide the tears that had escaped from your eyes during your confession. your embarrassment was evident as you turned away, trying to compose yourself. “god, i’m sorry for this.” you sighed heavily, reaching for a tissue to wipe away your tears.

amelia pats your shoulder, her voice filled with understanding. “no, no, i get it, darling. you need a break as much as anyone does in this bloody facility. perhaps more than hamburger-munching samson over there.” she quips, referring to a less than efficient employee.

you let out a tearful laugh, your grin still tinged with sadness. “yeah.” you agreed, your voice heavy with resignation.

amelia smiled warmly at your smile, her hand giving your thigh a comforting pat. “go ask her, and if she doesn't oblige, tell her i'll cover for you.”

her sweet words of offering to cover for you had you fighting back tears again, determined to not further burden her with your crying, and managed to let out a shaky chuckle.

you try to protest, feeling a pang of guilt for potentially inconveniencing her. “you don't have to do that.” you say softly.

however, amelia is resolute, dismissing your objections with a firm, yet gentle push. “no darling,” she replies firmly. “i don’t, but i want to. now go on.” her insistence is unwavering, and you can see that she will not take no for an answer.

with a resigned sigh of “okay”, you straighten your shoulders and approach the entrance to abby's office. a quick glance back at amelia sees her raising her thumbs in a gesture of encouragement to go ahead. you return a grateful smile before turning back around and lifting your hand to knock on the door. but before your knuckles make contact, the door swings open, revealing abby.

you freeze in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of abby before you even had the chance to knock on the door. you realize you must look like a fool, standing there frozen with your arm raised in the air. feeling a sudden pang of self-consciousness, you quickly lower your arm and bring your other hand up to cup it gently, almost as if you could somehow conceal your awkward position.

abby’s smile catches you off guard, surprised to see her display such genuine happiness at your surprised arrival. "oh—there you are.” she says.

you stand there, slightly confused by her unexpected demeanor. her next words, spoken calmly, further perplexed you: "come in." this gentle tone is unfamiliar coming from her, as she's never used it with you before, reserving it only for the presence of supervisors.

she leaves the door open for you, a silence gesture for you to enter before taking her seat at her desk. "i was going to call for you, but it seems like you heard my call telepathically." she quips, chuckling at her own joke.

you internally scoff at her stupid joke, quietly shutting the door behind you as you enter her office. "well, don't just stand there, sit." she instructs, her smile still uncharacteristically cheerful— almost eerie. you can't help but wonder if this is all just an act, a facade that will undoubtedly crack like it always does, given abby's fiery nature. however, you comply silently, watching her sift through documents on her desk.

you struggled to keep yourself from asking what she was searching for after you caught a glimpse of it being the employee files. your heart began to race as an oppressive silence enveloped the room, fueling your nerves. was she looking for your file? was this gonna be the moment when she’d reveal the anticipated reason to use on that dreaded employee termination form? your mind swarmed with questions, each more pressing than the last. how much more can you deal with this suspense looming over your shoulder like the grim reaper.

you attempt to speak in a firm tone, but your voice betrays you, wavering at the edges. “why are you so happy?” your own curiosity battling with a sense of reluctance to hear the answer.

“and why are you so gloomy?” she taunts with a smirk, chuckling. “put a smile on that face for me, yeah? you’re gonna do me a big favor.” she admits, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she mentions the word “favor.” finally finding the paper she had been searching for, she slid it across her desk in your direction. the paper contains the resume of someone you’re unfamiliar with, and your curiosity piqued.

"this is cassidy mcclair," she pauses. "and you'll be her mentor for the week. she's the new replacement nurse after what happened to poor old sadie." a pang of irritation stabs at you as abby uses a condescending tone when mentioning sadie. her untimely demise still weighed heavily on your mind.

you inadvertently let out a scoff as you cross your arms, immediately regretting the impulsive action. abby glances up at you, arching her eyebrow before speaking.

"is there a problem?" her question rhetorical, signaling her indifference to your potential objection. however, you're determined to express your feelings, regardless if rhetorical or not. you werent gonna give some half-ass smile and nod. after all, it wouldn’t be the first time your opinionated mind got you into trouble, as abby so often reminded you.

you respond with a defiant tone, your words clearly expressing your dissatisfaction. “yeah, there is actually.” you retort, your arms remaining defiantly crossed. “you’re supposed to do this. not me.”

abby chuckles at your boldness, her expression growing serious as she responds, “that was rhetorical, surely anyone with a hint of common sense would catch on. frankly, i don’t give a fuck if it is.” she dismisses your argument, beginning to organize the documents on her desk, grabbing the paper in front of you without sparing an eye, her attention now focused elsewhere. despite your differences, you remain silent, yet seething within at her dismissive response.

“be here at eight pm sharp on monday.” she adds, ending the conversation on her terms.

so much for a day off..

AN HOUR AFTER

hospital’s break room - 1:17 am on a sunday morning

after your unsolicited meeting with abby, your emotions were overflowing and the need to confide in someone was at an all time high. though the term 'confide' may be a stretch, considering you practically unloaded your frustrations to the mere mention of "hey, heard you had a meeting with the boss?"

“she didn’t even let me speak, once!” you exclaim, frustration seeping through each and every word, punctuating your sentence with lifting your pointed finger.

talia responds with a sympathetic tone, saying, “she tends to do that..” her words trail off, and you can almost feel the strain in her voice, knowing that she’s the unsuspecting recipient of your pent-up frustrations.

“right! god, she’s so fucking…” you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe her. “infuriating!” you say louder than anticipated.

she looks up from the coffee maker, surprise etched on her face as other heads turn towards you, startled by your outburst. you sheepishly mutter an apology before letting out a dejected sigh. trying to lighten the mood, you force a smile and lean against the counter. "so, have you had to do any of abby's dirty work too?" you quirk an eyebrow.

the long haired girl chuckles at your antics, her gaze fixated on the coffee maker as it slowly fills her cup with the dark, yet energizing substance. she turns her attention back to you, a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. "yeah, actually.” she replies, her voice filled with good-natured sass. "but she made the task sound much kinder when she assigned it." she jested.

you jokingly say, "oh, fuck you," to which she responds with a playful eyeroll, but then curiosity takes over. "but really?" you ask curiously. "how'd it go?"

a dreaded sigh escapes talia’s lips as she recounts her memories of being assigned to mentor a new employee. the mirth vanishes from your expression as she begins to share her experience, the once lighthearted atmosphere replaced by a sense of foreboding.

“oh, terrible," talia responds through the sigh, her laugh edged with strain before looking back at the coffee maker, which is about a quarter away from being done. "sometimes, i wondered what would be inside her head if i were to cut it open. a brain made out of putty, or no brain at all?" her words make you wince as you begin to imagine what your own experience might be like. the idea of being a mentor to a complete idiot was less than appealing.

talia takes notice of your nervousness and quickly tries to reassure you, saying, "but i assure you, your experience won't be like mine." she offers a nervous smile, hoping to alleviate your concerns.

you respond with an uneasy chuckle and a reluctant "yeah.” not truly convinced by her reassurance. you know that only time will tell if her words will hold true, and so you find yourself resigned to the fact that you'll have to impatiently wait until monday to find out.

THREE DAYS LATER

your home - 6:03 am on a monday morning

the incessant blaring of your alarm felt like background noise for the past three minutes, though you've been wide awake for about ten minutes prior to its start. last night, sleep eluded you, as anxiety and exhaustion plagued your thoughts. you had hoped that your previous activities on your day off would tire you and help you sleep, but unfortunately, that was not the case. you had laid awake for an extra hour, struggling until sleep finally took over.

your anxiety, semi-dissociative state can be attributed to your "big day" ahead, as abby had nicknamed it. the thought of the unknown had you sweating bullets. not to mention, your boss’s words that stayed with you like crazy glue, stubbornly stuck in your mind. with reluctance, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom.

as you turn on the faucet, the soft meows of your kitty-cat, charles, reach your ears. your face lights up with a smile as you turn and spot him. you kneel down, showering him with a few gentle pets as he responds with a pleased purr. "hey, buddy," you whisper, planting a kiss on his head. you then stand up to check the water temperature, only to huff in frustration when it doesn't meet your desired level. turning to the kitty by your side, you murmur, "i know, bud. lemme feed you while i wait for the water."

the kitty yowls eagerly and paws at your legs, anticipating its food. you repeatedly tap the can's bottom against the bowl until the food finally falls free, landing on the plate. the cat's excitement escalates as it watches you kneel down to place the plate on the ground. chuckling, you observe the kitty pounce on the food as soon as it touches the ground.

“eat up, spud.” you give your feline friend one last pat before walking away to the bathroom. you undress and check the water's temperature once more, finding it to your liking. with a satisfied nod, you step inside, letting the hot water wash over you and momentarily rinse away your worries for today.

AN HOUR AND HALF LATER-ISH

saints mary’s hospital - 7:28 am

what was meant to be a calming shower had obliterated your sense of time, leaving you in a scrambling to finish your morning routine. with a start, you realize it was nearly seven-thirty, and sprung into action, throwing your clothes on at an almost superhuman speed. you had never dried your hair this quick before in your entire life. yes, abby had mentioned to be there at eight, but you knew that translated to "be there before eight."

you arrive at the hospital just before eight, clutching your coffee like a lifeline, knowing all too well that you wouldn't make it through the day without it. you quickly exit the elevator, stepping into the lobby to find abby engaged in conversation with a red-haired woman.

the ginger had her hair braided, resembling abby's but with more volume. her fair complexion was adorned with freckles, resembling a sky full of stars. like many others on this floor, she wore a blues-and-white uniform, with a small cat pin attached to her shirt pocket. her colorful keys hung around her neck, and her radiant smile oozed an infectious energy, effortlessly drawing a reciprocating smile from you as you approached.

your smile momentarily falters as you overhear abby's sarcastic, yet condescending tone. “oh, there's the princess!" she exclaims, closing the distance to you with the woman following suit behind. this must’ve been the woman abby was talking about, leaving you feeling increasingly anxious, your eyes locked on the girl behind her. however, abby manages to draw your focus as she speaks up.

“this is cassidy. the one i told you about the last time we spoke.” she says firmly, bringing her hand up to her shoulder and beckons her toward you.

“hi.” you say shyly.

cassidy reciprocates the greeting with a wave, her expression a mix of nervousness and surprise. however, before she can respond, abby cuts in, with a tone of sarcasm. “i trust you won't be as late as our little princess here was," she says, referring to you, causing cassidy to nervously laugh and answer with a tentative "no."

your frustration peaked as you clenched your fists, your anger evident. It was clear what abby was trying to do once again, to twist the truth and make you appear worse than you actually are. she smirked, seemingly enjoying your irritation, before patting cassidy on the shoulder and wishing her good luck.

with the condescending smirk, abby leaned in to whisper in your ear, her tone different, dripping with sarcasm. "good luck, princess." and with that, she walked away, leaving you to face the challenge ahead.

"cunt," you silently say to yourself in annoyance, sending a glare at abby's retreating form. after a moment, you plaster on a forced smile and turn your attention to the ginger girl in front of you. you extend a hand and saying, “hi, i’m y/n."

"hi, i’m cassidy, but you already know that," she laughs, taking your hand in hers and shaking it firmly. after releasing her grip, she absentmindedly begins to stroke her braid with the same hand, a subtle fidget that seems to be her go-to anxiety coping mechanism.

you smile, genuinely impressed by her hair color. “yeah, i love the color of your hair, by the way. it's beautiful.” a hint of bashfulness washes over cassidy's cheeks as she responds, "thank you, it's my natural hair."

you let out a soft "cute..." as your eyes dart over her vibrant locks before gathering your thoughts. "well, let's get to work," you sigh, beginning to walk over to your desk. cassidy quickly follows, and upon reaching your desk, you set down your things and greet amelia with a friendly smile. you then turn your attention back to cassidy, clipboard clutched in your hand.

“alright, just follow me this way.” you lead cassidy through the hospital floor, providing her with a tour of the different departments. while the tour starts off awkwardly, you and cassidy manage to strike up some small talk. despite her quiet demeanor, she proves to be a hard worker, efficiently tending to her tasks. you can relate to her reserved nature, knowing firsthand how it feels to be somewhat introverted.

FEW HOURS LATER

hospital’s break room - 12:40 pm on a monday afternoon

after having cassidy follow you around like a lost puppy, occasionally taking notes on her little cat shaped notepad when needed. you both sat in a corner, eating in comfort silence. amongst the normality, you couldn’t help but notice her lunchbox also in a cat-like shape. a soft chuckle escaped you, causing cassidy to look up from her food, her chewing briefly stopped to ask, “what?”

you point out the box which promptly makes her look down, mouthing “oh.” cassidy chuckles nervously, her cheeks tinted with a hint of embarrassment. "i suppose i’m a cliché," she admits, her smile widening. "it’s no secret now that i enjoy girly things.”

you nod, a smile playing at the corners of your lips in response. "i think it's cute." you utter with a slight smirk.

cassidy grins, a hint of self-consciousness in her expression. "you don't think it's too silly?" she asks, seeking validation.

"nope," you reply sincerely, “everyone has their own interests. who am i to judge?" you shrug, emphasizing the point.

cassidy chuckles again, playfully teasing you with her next words. "i'd beg to differ." she pauses for a moment, before continuing, "dr. anderson seems to be quite interested in you." her tone implies a hint of a tease, suggesting that abby's fondness for you may be noticeable to the people around you.

as soon as cassidy suggests that abby has a soft spot for you, you sputter and cough, practically choking on your food. between gasping breaths, you manage to exclaim, "what?! you definitely need your eyes checked!"

cassidy's eyes widen with concern, and she begins to pat your back to help you through your coughing fit. after regaining your composure, you nod, trying to play it cool as she asks if you’re alright. your voice is still strained when you speak, "i’m fine, but what makes you say something like that?" you ask, completely bewildered.

once she's assured that you're okay, cassidy begins to chuckle lightly and leans back in her chair, arms crossed in a confident stance as if she solved the equation pi in her one sitting. "i’ve seen the way she talks to you," she says, low and soft, smirking.

“yeah, she talks like she has a stick up her ass.”

your blunt comment about abby having a "stick up her ass" makes cassidy erupt into laughter. "yeah, that's—that’s definitely true," she concedes, still giggling, "but there's also… a passion behind it." she pauses before continuing. “It's like she does it out of love or something," her eyes fixed on you.

you let out an amused sigh and roll your eyes, responding with a playful retort, "yeahh, I don't know about that." you can't help but chuckle as you continue, "but, that’s definitely crazy talk." you tease, a hint of mirth in your voice.

cassidy laughs, feigning surrender by holding her hands up in a playful gesture. "hey," she says, a toothy grin plastered on her face, "i know what i'm seeing." she retorts.

you continue to eat, a scoff escaping your lips as you try to dismiss her earlier accusations. "you saw a bunch of nothing.” you remark, keeping your tone nonchalant. cassidy responds with a soft scoff of her own, but the silence that follows is strained, uncomfortable, well at least for you… you think.

your mind drifts back to all the times you've interacted with abby, a strange feeling beginning to grow inside you. there were no signs, no hint of anything more than anger and hatred, right? no itty bitty details so unmissable to others, but you? no, it couldn’t be, that’d be ridiculous, hell, every it'd be a synonym in the book ridiculous! there were never any crossovers besides hatred, a mysterious hatred, but hatred nonetheless. come to think of it, you never really found out why she hated you so goddamn much. was it envy? fear? if so, of what exactly?

whatever the case was, it doesn't matter. because you would fucking pay to see her at your mercy. beneath you with a look of hopelessness glistening in her eyes, for it to be her to struggle to utter a simple explanation, only for you to completely demolish the right of speaking. to watch that stupidly neat braid disheveled and her oh so infuriatingly muscular arms that seemed to taunt you, begging to be popped like a balloon.

yeah… you definitely hated this woman.

SIX MONTHS LATER

front desk - 1:30 pm on a wednesday afternoon

gathering any loose strands of hairs from the nape of your neck with one hand, you create a makeshift ponytail, struggling to keep a straight face as cassidy’s stifled laughter resonates nearby. you playfully chastise her, trying to suppress your own laughter.

“stop laughing,” you admonish, your attempt at a stern tone is undermined by your own stifled giggles. “you’re gonna get us caught!”

as luck would have it, you and cassidy had bonded over an unexpected shared interest— a love for plants. and they say that a mother’s life is over when they have kids. quite literal bullshit if you ask anyone with a brain. cassidy, besides being nature’s supporter, was also incredibly humorous, her wit and humor made work a little more bearable.

over a few rounds of cold beers, she had discovered abby’s mysterious hatred for you. her curiosity knew no bounds, weaving theories on why, but never truly connecting the dots. from that point on, she couldn't resist teasing abby when she erupted into her typical outbursts—episodes she jokingly dubbed "hissy fits." just a few weeks ago, she had been assigned to work the counter beside you after amelia went on maternity leave.

"check this one out," the red-head chimes, tilting her phone towards eyes’s view to reveal a piece of media from abby’s instagram. cassidy, as if being a FBI agent was her second job, didn’t break a sweat looking for abby’s entire life online the moment it was plausible.

now, knowing who to call, you glance to see a photo of the blonde with her usual serious expression. the framing itself is taken from an awkward angle. “she’s so stiff, like a damn statue.” she laughs.

you let your hands fall once successfully securing your hair in a bun, a chuckle escaping your lips. "not a bad-looking statue, though," you remark casually, shrugging your shoulders. a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you added, "maybe she should start a new career as a model. the 'stiff but stunning' look could be all the rage."

cassidy quirks an eyebrow your way, a mischievous gleam in her eye as she teases you, “oh, am i sensing something here?”

you respond with a scoff, hastily denying any such notion with playful push. “god, no!” you exclaim, feigning offense, your laugh mingling with her own.

amidst the laughter, your moment is abruptly interrupted by the overwhelming waft of a potent perfume that assaults your senses. immediately, you recognize the scent and dart your gaze towards its source—abby’s new assistant. wearing a top brazenly too small for her ample cleavage with an extravagant makeup job tailored for a circus clown, it's painfully obvious whom this performance is intended to impress.

fucking ‘asshole’ anderson. It’s a pity really; she’s a decent-looking girl, but a relentless ass-kisser. everyone in the hospital picked up on her antics pretty quickly, constantly trying to win abby’s favor. rumors speculated, suggesting they did more than just work together, but hey, they’re just rumors.

“you should be working, abby wouldn’t like this.” her grating voice rings out, dripping with unwarranted confidence.

“we’re on our break, alexa.” you reply coolly, not bothering to mask the distaste in your expression.

she theatrically glances at her watch and purses her lips, stating smugly, “not anymore.” her gaze flicks to you, a smirk playing at her lips. it takes every ounce of restraint you possess not to grab her by the hair and slam her head against the wall. instead, you listen as she adds, "i should be informing abby about this,” she emphasizes with her hand, going in a circular motion towards you and cassidy before finishing. “but she's requested your presence in her office right now."

you stare at her, bewilderment etched across your face. abby? needing you in her presence? the confusion can’t linger long when she impatiently snaps her fingers.

"chop, chop, she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” she prompts, her tone dripping with condescension.

fucking bitch.

"you said you needed me?" you inquired, poking your head through the door’s open crack.

"yes, shut the door and take a seat." she affirms, witnessing firsthand the intentitive— almost obsessive behavior driven by a need to be perfection itself. her eyes don’t move from the paperwork at hand, but there’s no need for her body language and demeanor is a revelation on its own.

her stoicism matched almost flawlessly, as if they had been meticulously practiced in the mirror—akin to a morning ritual, like a cup of coffee. and her physique? it’s a memoir to resolution, sculpted from the divine hands of a deity, making you wonder: how could a person be so flawless? is she a forsaken angel, once god's favorite, now cast away from grace?

her voice, now with a hint of a crisp clear edge, breaks the silence, stating firmly, "i need to discuss something with you." her arms are now visible, resting on top of her desk, hands neatly folded together, an action that seizes your attention like a magnet. was this beautiful “angel” of a woman merely toying with you, masquerading as a jester with deceptive tricks?

nervously, you lick your dry lips and nod, responding with a strained voice, "yeah?" she picked up on that.

her eyes narrow with curiosity, and she leans forward, her voice laced with suspicion as she queries, “tell me,” she begins, letting the question linger in the air for a moment. “why do you still waste time with cassidy?” her tone carries a note of mild disdain. “she’s a bit.. odd, don’t you think?”

within the span of a moment, a wave of frustration surges through you, compelling you to argue your case. however, you find yourself inexplicably entranced by her features, unable to break the spell that has woven its way around your thoughts. nodding without conscious thought, your gaze is transfixed on the magnificence standing before you— the artistry of her face and form.

the sun's warm glow streams through the windows just behind her, casting a radiant light upon her as if nature itself were emphasizing its own masterpiece. every detail of her appearance is meticulously crafted, like a tempting apple dangling in front of the unsuspecting. a loose strand of hair falls gracefully in front of her face, accentuating the fine features of her facial structure. the angular lines of her nose seem to carry the weight of her sharp-edged spectacles, and her eyes, often lacking warmth, rarely seek solace in anything but themselves.

the sinew, a testament to the muscularity of her arms, even beneath the loose confines of her doctor’s coat, as if they were destined to stand out, to be admired. the way she held her pen moments ago makes it seem almost insignificant in comparison to her thick fingers, wrapped around it like a vice. her penmanship is impeccable, smooth and faultless, as if her hand is a perfectly calibrated machine.

god’s greatest gifts bestowed on its worst creation alive.

"are you even listening to me, right now?" she questions, her jaw setting tight.

startled, you snapped out of your reverie, blinking to moisten the dry eyes that had forgotten to blink in their fixated state, you confirm. “yes.” no.

“i asked you a question.” she snaps, her voice stern.

“what was the question?” you stammer, feeling flustered under her intense scrutiny.

“why—forget it.” a sudden shift in her expression indicates a change of mind. it seems the words didn’t sound as smart when she voiced them aloud.

“what?” you stutter, leaning forward in your chair. “what were you going to say?”

“i said, nevermind,” she replies, her tone firm and dismissive. “you’re free to go.” she averts her gaze from you, redirecting it towards her paperwork, as if you had suddenly become unimportant and unworthy of her attention.

you’re left dumbfounded, what was that about?

FEW HOURS LATER

your bedroom - 3:20 am on a thursday morning

your sharp gasp and the tension in your body were palpable, confined to the bed where your body lay cushioned. a hand ran through your hair before tugging it tightly, adding to the pleasure that coursed through you. the serene hum of your vibrator, nestled between your legs, was a poor substitute for the fantasies that danced through your mind.

your guilty pleasures, your secret desire.

“oh, abby!” you moaned, the broken syllable laced with longing. images of her flashed through your mind, your body yearning for the warmth of her fingers instead of the cold, mechanical pleasure your toy provided. the thought of being stretched by her strong, capable hands was all it took to push you over the edge.

a wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body shaking as you orgasmed, the fantasy of abby's touch more potent than the reality. the intensity of your pleasure left you breathless, even as you knew it was only a fleeting escape from reality.

as your mind snaps back, an overwhelming rush of realization washes over you. you toss aside the vibrator, sitting up with a sigh. you can’t help, but feel shame towards yourself. the thought of your boss—the one person who makes your life a living hell—occupies your thoughts. how could you even entertain the thought of her?

a fallen angel, huh?

SAID “FALLEN ANGEL”

abby anderson

she was fucking on one today, and in return she thought you were too. her mind was consumed by you. even the morning coffee, always a comfort, tasted bitter and cold. she didn't even acknowledge the usual flirtatious advances from her assistant when she greeted her this morning. instead, she simply asked for her requested files and retreated to the sanctuary of her office, locking the door behind her.

it was always you, stirring up trouble by merely existing near her. cassidy mcclair, that braid-wearing copycat bitch, had you wrapped around her serpentine fingers. and you? you should have known better than to waste your precious time with people like that, but there you were. in fact, compared to these idiots you had to call coworkers, you were leaps and bounds above them.

you were just making a mistake, a mistake that was costing her sleep— more than she already doesn’t get.

she silently fumed as she stood in front of her office door for her daily check on what everyone was doing, over the years making mental lists of the flaws of each employee. amelia, didn’t know if she was bleating or laughing, and those killer front teeth— literally. one glance and someone’s head would be off. then there was samson, who seemed to do nothing, but shove burgers down his gargantuan throat. she was convinced he never even bothered to chew.

it was laughable, and she could go on and on about the flaws each one of her employees had. but you, well, not a single flaw could be attributed to you. not one mentioned on any list of the many she had. in essence, you were the embodiment of a boss's dream employee—quick on the case, a good sport, but until now, there was one flaw that had eluded you: the habits of hanging around the wrong people.

granted, it's not like cassidy was forcing drugs down your throat, but it was clear she was trouble. competition, that had to be eliminated. but one might wonder, why? why did abby have such a deep-seated grudge against you? why did she feel this burning urge to take you down? just like a pack of wolves, having her sights set on the weak link, ready to pounce.

deep down, abby didn't fully understand her intense feelings towards you. each attempt to articulate her emotions only led to frustration as they were often misinterpreted in the delivery. you made her nervous in a way that was both understandable and utterly perplexing, leaving her with feelings uncharted. in a desperate attempt to maintain control, she decided the best course of action was to keep her fondness for you hidden. surely, as long as you remained oblivious to her affections, there would be no complications, right?

she’d pledge that promise to the death, do everything to her power to keep it this way. there would be no vulnerability, no broken hearts to be on the mend, even if meant being cruel. but when cassidy came and first laid her eyes on you. oh, how she wanted to claw her eyes out just for even staring at you for a millisecond long.

it infuriated her to see how easily cassidy could evoke laughter and smiles from you, things that abby denied herself. many long, self deprecating nights filled with overflowing ashtrays of spent cigarettes and a collection of empty whiskey glasses were becoming too often to be called a casual drinker.

the day she requested your presence in her office, and sat across from her as she filled out the paperwork to transfer cassidy to another floor was a moment of triumph. however, her satisfaction evaporated rather quickly—leaving her dry to the bone. throughout the entire conversation, you appeared to be dazed, barely registering a word she spoke. had she been too late? were you already so smitten with cassidy that you couldn't even comprehend a word coming out of her mouth?

was it already too late?

after you had left her office, abby found herself lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. alone with her musings, her mind raced, and suddenly, all her thoughts aligned. if the two of you were indeed in a relationship, as it seemed so obvious, then separating the two of you would create an irreversible ripple effect. like two peas in a pod, together you were a force to be reckoned with, but tearing one away and crushing it would change everything.

if cassidy wanted to stoop low, she could go lower.

ANDERSON’S ESTATE

4:54 am on a sunday morning

due to the convoluted approval process, the transfer paperwork would likely take weeks, if not months, to be approved. there was no way abby could allow that to happen. by the time the transfer was accepted, you'd be off in dubai for a honeymoon with your apparent soulmate, sipping margaritas without a care in the world. no, she had to find a way to expedite the process, and it had to be done by the end of this overcoming week.

so she found herself in her office, nursing a few glasses of whiskey and indulging in chain-smoking cigarettes, a habit she could never partake in one without the other. surrounded by the solace of her private liar, the alcohol and nicotine fueled her thoughts, as she brainstormed list after list of ways to get rid of cassidy. patient abandonment was one option, but it ran the risk of tarnishing her own reputation as well. however, she was past the point of caring about the repercussions of her actions. all that mattered was taking down cassidy, one way or another.

feeling a mixture of an uncomfortable unfulfillment and disoriented, she runs a hand through her tousled mane. with a groan, rubs her eyes and gets up, smoldering the glowing embers of the cigarette in the overflowing ashtray before trudging off to bed like a pouting toddler.

In the comforts of her bed, shafts of dawn gently seeped through the curtains, with her loyal puppy, alice, sleeping at her feet, whining occasionally as she glanced up at her owner. abby couldn't help but wonder if the dog was attempting to communicate with her, as if offering a cautionary message. was it the effects of the whiskey and cigarettes playing tricks on her mind, or was her canine companion genuinely trying to warn her of impending consequences? these thoughts swirled through her muddled mind, yet the idea of it actually seemed far-fetched.

it’s a thing to think of, and another to do.

ONE DAY, MONDAY

cheshire cat grin

“and i want you all to be more aware— if you haven’t been already.” the firm voice snapped abby out of her reverie.

a weary sigh emits as her body slumps into a loose crescent shape, the strain of sitting in an ass-numbing chair for hours was finally taking its toll, and listening to her supervisor drone on and on about the same old report on employee performance wasn’t helping either. however, one particular statement caught her undivided attention.

the rise in unauthorized narcotics.

the report revealed that there had been a 3% increase in the number of supplies used compared to the usual amount. this increase caused considerable stress for the superior, who advised—no, demanded that all doctors on each floor find the culprit.

with mounting irritation from the current predicament, the overseer noticed abby’s expression and prompted her with a question. “is there anything you’d like to say, abigail?” she inquired, presumptuously.

as the superior fixed a firm gaze on her, abby’s initial instinct was to reply with a simple “no.” but then a new thought took hold. she sat up straighter, straightening her normally confident demeanor even further, and responded with a question of her own. “hypothetically speaking, if i do uncover the perpetrator, what measures will be taken in response?”

the woman’s scoff conveyed a dismissive tone, as if the answer was lingering in the air. she smugly responded, “well, hypothetically, they’d be fired on the spot, and all hospitals in the county would be notified never to employ them again.” there was a brief pause before continuing with that same overly confident demeanor, “so, they’d have to move just to find another job.” eyeing abby as if searching for even the slightest hint of nervousness.

under normal circumstances, abby’s temper would have flared at her superior’s condescending tone, but in that moment, everything was perfect. a polite smile abby offered held more than the naked eye could see.

the jigsaw pieces were falling into place.

TWO DAYS LATER, WEDNESDAY

surprise!

the days melded together, each one weighed down by a stack of endless papers and an incessant, desperate assistant who was over her shoulder, relentlessly nagged for her attention. in those moments of exhaustion, she started regretting ever giving them the slightest bit of her attention in the first place, justifying the brief lapses in her focus as mere 'moments of weakness'.

in obeying her supervisor's advice, she had been carefully observing everyone, with a heightened level of scrutiny directed towards cassidy, intentionally growing increasingly “suspicious” of her. with a fierce determination, she wrestled hard to suppress the many outbursts that threatened to spill over simply due to the sight of you and cassidy together.

even as a child, abby had a knack for fixating on unimportant details, down to the intricate nuances of color. her attention to detail had grown into a deep obsession, enabling her to familiarize herself with an object or being within days. with cassidy, she had approached it like disassembling a game of jenga, meticulously analyzing her every action, carefully calculating her plans. all she needed now was the opportune moment to set everything into motion.

just as she was about to execute her plan, a sudden, unexpected event occurred, as if on cue.

with newfound courage bolstered by a glass of whiskey and a cigarette, she rose from her chair, only for the shrill ring of her phone to pierce the tense atmosphere, and she glanced down to see a rarely-seen name on the screen— her grandmother, susana. an unyielding, meticulous woman, had been a source of inspiration for abby as she grew up, shaping her into the determined individual she had become.

susana, was a renowned fashion designer based in paris, a demanding professional life that had left her with limited time to spend with her beloved granddaughter. with a huff, sitting back in her office chair, abby picked up her phone and pressed it against her ear, preparing for their conversation.

"oh, my darling abigail!" the sound of her grandmother's sweet, melodic voice filled abby's ear.

a subtle wince crossed her face, and a forced smile tugs at her lips, almost as if her grandmother could see her through the phone.

"hi.” she responded, prompting her grandmother to lightheartedly tease, "oh, darling, why so timid?" her chuckle echoed over the line.

abby responded with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "sorry, gam-gam, I'm just a bit stressed." she confessed.

her grandmother replied with a lighthearted hum. “well, in that case, meet me at the cafe down the street for a little whine down.” and with a click, the line went dead, leaving abby scarcely a moment to protest.

with a heavy sigh, she tossed her phone aside, muttering, "damnit." frustrated, she ran a hand over her face.

in the reserved confines of their booth, her grandmother inquired with a casual tone, "so, did you receive my letter?" she pierced a strawberry with her fork, taking a bite.

abby responded with a nod, her thoughts momentarily astray to the brief moment earlier when she'd seized the opportunity to execute her plan on cassidy's unattended bag during your lunchtime in the break room. she knew such an opportunity might not present itself again anytime soon, as cassidy was set to be away until friday.

“and the book?”

abby paused, strawberry mid-air on her fork, perplexed by her grandmother's question. "what book?" she questioned with a full mouth, confusion lacing her voice.

her grandmother sighs, explaining, "the book didn't arrive?" she grumbled about the subpar mailing service. "doesn’t matter," she continued, "we can just head over to the bookstore after and replace it." her interest piqued as her grandmother added that it was another mythology book, a favorite topic of hers.

abby's eyes sparkled with excitement. "awe, sweet! i’ve been meaning to go." she responded enthusiastically.

the older woman chuckled, observing, "old habits die hard, I suppose." she then posed a question that seemed to ignite her interest even more. "tell me, have you managed to swoon any girls with your extensive library of knowledge?" her grandmother's smile grew wider at this question, her genuine wish for abby's happiness evident. how could abby possibly ruin her grandmother's happiness?

abby wasn't one to lie, but she felt compelled to do so, especially since the truth was more difficult to share. a gentle smile tugged at her lips, and a blush appeared on her face as she played with the blueberry on her plate. though it was a lie, it was an effortless one. "well, there's this one girl at work," she began, her voice growing more softer. "she’s incredibly sweet, and I think she likes me." the rosiness in her cheeks deepened, adding a touch of authenticity to her fib.

“awe, sugarplum, who is it?”

“her name is y/n.”

ANOTHER TWO DAYS LATER, FRIDAY

the final act

after two days of being completely immersed in the book, abby managed to force herself back to reality. cassidy had reappeared, prompting abby to resume her daily observations. she diligently watched over you and cassidy, particularly monitoring the red-head’s interactions.

she had arranged a private conversation with the supervisor, raising concerns about “suspicious” behavior involving cassidy. the supervisor guaranteed action before six pm that afternoon. all she needed to do now was secure her bag alone before then. abby set an alarm on her watch, stashed the narcotics in her pocket, and exited her office, determined to carry out her plan.

she closed her door and was immediately greeted by the familiar sounds of chatter and movement, the distinctive scent of the hospital filling her nose. as she inhaled, it was as if she was breathing in the purest air. but then, the explosive sound of a voice abruptly shattered her moment of comfort. she jumped in surprise and turned her head to see a nurse.

"sorry, doctor," she apologized, her smile tinged with nervousness. "i—uhm, have documents for you to sign for a discharge." she extended the clipboard, waiting for abby to take it.

still feeling discombobulated, abby nodded stiffly as she accepted the clipboard and signed it. “are… are you okay?” the nurse's question caught her off guard, prompting her to look up. "yes—yes, I'm fine.” she replied, her voice somewhat strained.

saying a brief goodbye, she walks down the hallway, and sees cassidy getting dressed in the staff room. abby smirks, and walks inside just as she’s gonna leave. the initial door opening scares, making her jump back, and she sees it’s abby, she greets her with a smile, and quick hi, trying to exit. but abby isnt gonna let her leave so quick.

abby says a brief farewell and proceeds down the hallway, catching sight of cassidy dressing up in the staff room. she stops with a grinch-like grin saunters into the room just as cassidy is about to exit. the sudden door opening startles cassidy, making her jump back. she quickly greets abby with a smile and a casual "hi," attempting to leave. however, abby is determined not to let her go that easily.

"hey, wait." abby halts cassidy in her tracks with a firm arm grab, causing her to stop.

cassidy looks up, bewildered, and clutches her bag close to her shoulder, waiting to see what this was about. abby’s eyebrows furrowed, it’s been truly a long time since she stood by her self-proclaimed enemy. she didn't seem to have changed much— not that she cared to notice, except for the new pin on her shirt— a small pride flag, cute.

abby scoffs, chuckling which prompts cassidy to raise an eyebrow. “what’s so funny?”

in response, she shakes her head dismissively, replying with a hint of mischief, "nothing, just a joke i remembered." adding slyly with a cunning smile, she continues, "how do you like working here?"

cassidy swallows, her nerves becoming visibly apparent as she nods in agreement. "it’s good," she reiterates, adding, "yeah, i love working with the children."

abby hums in response, laughing. "well, don't let me stop you." she promptly opens the door for cassidy, eliciting a smile from her in response, and as she begins to pass through, the taller blonde adds. “enjoy it while it lasts.”

as she watched cassidy leave with her bag in hand, abby's emotions were divided. she felt a sense of sheer satisfaction, empowerment, her lips twisting into a muscle straining grin as she watched the bag recede into the distance, carrying her ticket goodbye. and she didn’t feel an ounce of regret because she did warn her. to enjoy it all, her time at the hospital to its fullest, and she meant it. true to her nature, abby prided herself on consistency, even more so in her efficiency, like a stealthy ninja.

in and out, no flaws, no witnesses.

no window for the light to shine through.

THE LIGHT

cascading over your form was from the now straining lamp above. your head ached, overwhelmed by the events of the day. but one interaction stood out as particularly odd— an event you didn't take part in, rather witness instead.

it seemed under every blue moon that cassidy and abby would interact, despite working on the same floor. there were no crossovers, so when a hand broke that line. there was something unsettling about the whole interaction, especially the invader's body language. her movements were mechanical, unnatural even, making it all hard to ignore.

a chill runs down your spine as you consider the implications. you know what you witnessed, but it feels almost unbelievable. just as with notorious serial killers, you struggle to comprehend the thought processes behind such heinous acts. perhaps this lunatic in particular requires her own account to explain her motives and actions.

you arrived at just the right moment, only a few seconds before their conversation ended. fortunately, you had come in time to witness abby casually slipping something into cassidy's bag while she was turning away. the object had a distinct pill bottle shape, subtle enough to avoid attracting unwanted attention, but enough to pique your interest.

the rumors of stolen narcotics had been circulating, and a mysterious culprit was being gossiped about behind closed doors. you and cassidy had spent some time discussing the topic, sharing silly theories, though nothing more than just pure hearsay.

your eyebrows furrow in thought, though it wasn't helping. instead, only intensified the now throbbing headache, slowly morphing into a full-blown migraine. with your hands holding your head up, you look down at long forgotten paperwork that was meant to be done from the comforts of your own home, but considering the distressing state you’re in. it was far from comforting now.

with a frustrated sigh, you flick off the lamp and abandon your paperwork, ready to rise from your desk. suddenly, your phone rings, jolting you with a spike in heart rate. you glance down at the caller ID.

you immediately answer the call, only to be met with cassidy's hysterical voice. through her sobs and gasps, she reveals that she was fired due to stealing narcotics. your worst fears were confirmed; it was no longer just a mere theory. you had indeed witnessed abby slipping something that resembled a small pill bottle into cassidy’s bag.

as you try to console your friend, a whirlwind of emotions begins to roil within you. some of that emotion directed towards yourself, but strongly towards abby. it was true, you saw it with your very own eyes, and yet chose to wait. you hated the fact that it took you so long to come to your senses, and a wave of guilt consumes you for not marching straight to the supervisor moments after witnessing it.

even if it was too late for your friend, it wasn’t for abby.

the lobby, now shrouded in dimmed lighting with very few sources of illumination, seemed like something straight out of a horror movie. paying no mind to the eerie ambiance, you quickly make your way towards abby’s office door, knowing she typically uses this time to prepare the employee’s schedules. the reasoning behind why she does it in her office is unknown, but frankly, not your biggest concern.

your knuckles collide forcefully against the wood, channeling the full extent of your anger’s strength. the door swings open, revealing a slightly taken aback abby. she utters, “what—what are you doing here?” her tone seems somewhat off.

you don’t waste any time, no words, and cut straight to the chase. “what did you do to cassidy?”

she raises an eyebrow in confusion, responding, “what are you talking about? are you on something, y/n?”

without hesitating, you push past her into her office. turning your head at neck breaking speed to set your hardened gaze onto hers. your voice takes on a more firm tone: “am i? are you?!”

you repeat your question with unwavering determination. “what did you do to cassidy?”

with a scoff, she crosses her arms, feigning innocence. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.” she denies.

“oh, don’t play dumb,” you retort, your gaze unwavering. “you know exactly what i’m talking about! tell me, what was it that you threw into her bag?”

she nervously swallows, her composure faltering for just a moment before she regains control. this reaction was all you needed to confirm your suspicions.

"that’s confidential.” she repeats assertively, making her way behind her desk.

"confidential, my ass!" you yell in response. "i know damn well what i saw!"

she stops in her tracks and turns her head to face you, a look of indignation on her face. “what did you just say to me?”

ignoring her interruption, you push on, demanding answers. “what did you do to her? what did you say?!” your fist clenched tightly.

for the first time, she drops her facade, maintaining eye contact without hesitation, as she admits. “i gave her a little parting gift.”

the intensity in her eyes makes your blood run cold, trying to gather a sense of what her cryptic response implies. you stammer. “what—what does that even mean?”

she suddenly realizes the gravity of her confession—how she inadvertently revealed her actions, but anger clouds her morality. "just drop it.” she grits out through clenched teeth, patience wearing thin.

the fire in your eyes flares up, brimming with anger and defiance that refuses to let you back down. "no!" you firmly retort. "you’re going to tell me!" frustration seeps through your voice as your patience wanes. you’re tired of her smug superiority, the audacity to act as if she had everyone under her command.

her lips curl into a smirk, her voice oozing with sarcastic scorn. “oh, i’m gonna tell you?” she taunts, scoffing. “tell you what? about your little friend?” her tone carries undertones of something against your mere friendship with cassidy.

the mention of something more regarding your friend sends a pang of defensiveness coursing through you.

"what?" you breathe out, taken aback. "what does that even mean, huh?"

she takes a step forward, each breath heavy and labored. her voice betrays her impatient nature, a predator preparing to pounce. “oh, you know what that means,” she retorts, scoffing internally at how dull you’re being to an obvious situation. despite the tension in the room reaching a high, it’s abby’s intensity that seizes the moment. you half expected to see her licking her lips with anticipated hunger, like a ravenous beast.

it sends a rush of conflicting emotions coursing through you—an alluring mixture of curiosity and trepidation. the encounter itself feels like a high-stakes game of chess where you struggle to predict your opponent's next move. as you step back, your confidence falters, and your voice softens into a small whimper.

“i don’t...”

abby catches onto this, pouncing on it like a hungry lion sensing weakness, further igniting her motives.

you gasp as your back meets the cool, solid wood behind you. in an instinctive movement, your eyes flick briefly behind you before darting back forward. only to find abby’s overbearing presence suffocating your personal space.

"oh, i think you do." she rasps, tilting her head to the side, a chuckle escaping her lips. her faltering gaze lingering to your lips for a fleeting moment before pulling away. her tone seethes with anger, words biting as she scoffs.

“you think you’re so damn slick, huh?” she paces back and forth, a fierce intensity in her stride, causing you to wince in response.

“you act like i wouldn’t catch on to your little games, as if it wasn’t painfully transparent to everyone around you!” her frustration builds, and she raises her arms, unleashing a frustrated sigh before bringing them down forcefully to slap her thighs. "as if i wouldn’t notice!”

you couldn't understand where this anger was coming from. sure, she had always been an asshole, but lately, her outbursts and irritability have seemed to reach a new assholery. and it seemed to have started around the same time you had become friends with cassidy. It was almost as if your newfound friendship had awakened something within her, something darker and more volatile. perhaps jealousy?

abby’s anger blazes brightly in her eyes, her words sharp. "god, you’re infuriating," she says, her voice laced with hostility. "like some fucking prodigy, you think you know everything, don’t you?!" she emphasizes with lurching her body forward, her hands slamming down on the desk either side of you, effectively trapping you in place.

your breath hitches as she draws nearer, her proximity sending an intoxicating wave throughout your body. the intensity of her anger is palpable, every labored breath brushing against your skin like a gentle caress. her lips are tantalizingly close to yours, separated by an annoying invisible barrier that could be shattered at any moment if she so desired. just one push.

"fuck you, abby!" you hiss, your voice faltering for a moment before hardening. "you always had a goddamn bone to pick with me, you piece of shit!" your words linger in the air, carrying years of built-up resentment directed at abby. but the shock of her unexpected confession wipes away your outrage, replacing it with astonishment.

"because i love you!" she yells, her voice ringing out louder than intended. her revelation hangs in the air, rendering you speechless. as those words sink in, your breath catches in your throat. "what?" you manage to croak out, hardly believing what you've just heard.

you observed a flicker of vulnerability in her expression that's quickly replaced by a hardened composure. there was no turning back, the cat was out of the bag, and so she only pressed forward with determination.

her voice descending to a low, sultry tone, she says "you think watching what's mine prancing around like a slut at her own workplace doesn't make me livid?" each word drips with possessive anger and suppressed desire.

your voice comes out smaller and fragile than anticipated as you muster the words, "i’m… i’m not yours." you struggle to meet abby's intense gaze, your body tensing subconsciously as you push yourself against her desk, attempting to create some space between the two of you. the air is thick with tension, the room practically vibrating with the weight of abby’s confession and your denial. you felt trapped, your body practically molding into the desk behind you.

"do you believe that?" she inquires, raising a brow in challenge. she lifts a thumb to slide across your bottom lip, her touch firm yet almost teasing. she pauses for a moment before letting out a gravelly chuckle, further probing into the tension. “i don’t.” she admits with a light shrug. her movements felt taunting, yet calculated as if she’s trying to catch you in a lie, and to fess up.

abby was frustrated, bordering on infuriated, trying to make sense of the situation. her mind was a tangle of emotions, and she felt like she was grasping at straws, trying to connect the pieces in her head. she had the mental board laid out in her mind, each string connecting to a different thought, all pointing to one central question: you and cassidy, and the enigma of your poorly hidden relationship. this uncertainty fueled her anger, and you weren’t making it any better. she wanted to do something— anything— to show you that you weren't just anyone's; you were hers.

"what about alexa, huh?" you ask, gaining a peak of confidence, your words snapping her attention back.

“what about her?” she questions truthfully, amused by your presumed jealousy. “you jealous?"

caught off guard and exposed, you feel the equilibrium shift, upending the chess pieces in your mind. "i’m not jealous," you insist, realizing the power her words hold. it’s as if she has cornered you in this game, check. mate.

“oh, sure you aren’t." abby steps closer, her body pressing against yours, trapping you between her and the desk. her words take on a dual edge of ire and yearning as she smirks. "i should’ve known with the way you’ve been acting, you’re practically begging me to put you in your place.” she murmurs, chuckling gravely. "to fuck you until you can only say yes, doctor anderson." she feigns a high pitch moany tone, a lewd and terrible, yet obvious admit of sounding like you as she says “yes, doctor anderson.”

she laughs before humming, seeming to enjoy that fantasy as she lets herself become lost in the idea for a moment before continuing.

abby’s features lean in closer, the heat from her breath caressing the apple of your cheek as she murmurs against your ear, “tell me, do you let cassidy make you her personal pocket pussy?” her words send a shiver down your spine as her hand moves to caress your cheek, pausing to let you feel the weight of her question in the air before inquiring further, “to bend you over anywhere, anytime, and you’ll just take it like a good girl?” her words laced with a lewdness that sends a thrill through your body, despite the fact that you know you should reject the notion. the question itself was filthy, taboo, and utterly intoxicating. but you couldn’t deny the existence of being drawn to it, deep down knowing more than ever if you ever were to think of that fantasy, you’d want it to be her, not cassidy.

“no, no, it’s not like that.” you attempt to defend yourself, trying to find the right words, but abby interjects before you can say anything else. she scoffs at your attempted denial, her grip on you tightening, causing you to wince. her voice lowers into a dark laugh, her disbelief evident. "oh really? you really expect me to believe that bullshit?"

her name escapes your lips in a gasp, but abby cuts you off yet again, her eyes darkening as she speaks.

"lemme tell you what it's like," she begins, her tone husky. “i think you'd like it. hell, you pray that it does happen because you're nothing but just a pathetic girl who wants some attention. is that what you want? attention?" abby inquires, licking her teeth in an almost predatory manner. your heart races in your chest as her words cut through you.

the tension in the room is palpable, thick with unexpressed desire and emotion. you find yourself unable to hold back any longer, your voice quivering as you voice your deep-seated need. “i want your attention," you confess, your words almost inaudible, they're so faint.

even if faint, she heard all of it, dissected each syllable. it’s all she ever wanted, no, needed to hear from you. “yeah?” her voice falters into a soft whimper, tilting her head to the side and grabbing your cheeks with her large hands, only now focusing on your lips. “i’ll give you all my attention.” she promises, swiftly pulling your face, smashing yours onto hers.

your body trembled from the conflicting sensations, a clash of cold and hot, a maelstrom of warring emotions. years without her touch had left you craving her embrace, and her lips on yours sent heat coursing through your veins. though the kiss stood unspoken, there was no need for actions that spoke louder. both hatred and desire intertwined, two sides of the same coin, fueling this volatile gesture. your hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and contour, as hers did the same, desperately pulling you closer, kneading your flesh like clay. your hands finally found a resting place on her shoulders, gripping her like a lifeline in the storm of sensations swirling around you.

your movements, your gasps and sighs, fueled the fire within abby, and with a determined strength, she hoists you up onto her desk. the sudden change in position elicits gasp from you, pressing your body against hers with an arch, and abby seizes the moment, slipping her tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth with a fervent passion. it was a dance both familiar and new, a moment of fiery connection that consumed you both.

her breath ragged, lips tingling from the passion of the kiss as stares down at you, her eyes dark and filled with hunger as she murmurs her confession. "i've always dreamt of this… having you," her fingers roaming over your body slowly as she says this, relishing in the way you react to her touch. she presses her forehead shading yours, her dilated eyes reflecting the depth of her desire. her cold thumbs find their way underneath your clothes, tracing slow circles, sending a shiver through your body. "having this feeling of your skin under my fingertips."

your voice quivered as you call her name, and for a moment you think your plea to have her lips on yours again are answered, but instead, she finds her new focus, your neck. her lips fall, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites. the sound of your whimpers only spurred her on, her hands gripping your hips possessively as she continued to mark your skin, leaving a trail of hickeys.

abby was in her element now, and your desperate tone only fed her desire. she wanted more, to hear you call her name even more. with a smirk, she lifted her head, eyes burning with amusement. "yeah? you like the sound of that, pretty girl?" she muses, her hand suddenly landing a sharp smack on your thigh, making you jump. in response, she chuckled at your reaction, her laugh sent tingles down your spine, a mixture of amusement and desire. her grip on your thighs tightened, pushing them higher up, and drinking up the sight of you, spread before her with your feet on the desk sent abby's desire spiraling out of control. she couldn't help but lick her lips, taking in the full view of your flushed skin and parted legs. you couldn't hold back a squirm, feeling so exposed— though you weren’t — under her intense gaze.

"i love seeing you like this," she murmured, her voice thick with arousal. she steps towards you again, nestling herself in the newfound space. her lips return to your neck, greeting the previous bruises plastered on your neck with soft licks and kisses. "so desperate and needy."

her hands leave your thighs as she lifts herself up to meet your gaze, taking in your already disheveled state. with a hum of satisfaction, she asks, "who gets you like this?"

you manage to respond with a barely audible, "you, abby." she hums at your whimperish respond, a smirk crossing her lips at the confirmation, "yes, not that bitch, cassidy. me. and only me, right, baby?" she gives a slight nod, as if she’s responding for you.

the blonde brings her hand up to your lips, watching as you open your mouth to invite her thumb, which she eagerly accepts.

she let out a low, guttural groan as you suck and lick her pad of her thumb, enjoying the sensations that your mouth causes. she couldn't resist the urge to voice her thoughts, her words thick with possession and desire.

"hm, such a dirty girl." she paused for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before amending her statement with a husky tone, "my dirty girl."

you release her thumb with a pop, humming a tone of satisfaction, and licking your lips to savor the lingering taste of her. a chuckle escapes abby's lips as she watches you, her eyes roaming your body yet again. the desire to rip your clothes off and shut you up has been building since the moment you walked into her office, "take this off, baby. you’re killing me with not showing me what's mine," she growls, her words tinged with need and possess. "need to see it, feel it. need." she mumbled against your skin, completely submitted to her delusions. you don’t fight this time, barely able to remove each article of clothing with abby eagerly kissing and licking every available inch of skin. but stops at your bikini line, encountering a setback— your underwear — cockblocking her.

her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, looking up at you with an almost comical expression of frustration, and offense. as if being unable to take off your underwear because of her was a you problem. “funny.” she retorts, tone dripping in sarcasm, but nothing on her face shows amusement. “real fucking funny.” she remarks, punctuating her words with a sharp smack to your hip, kneading at the red skin roughly, making you wince. “you fucking tease.” she continues, her voice laced with a mix of desire and irritation.

"i should punish you for that little stunt," her fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, intending to pull them down herself since you’re incompetent to do so. “but, fuck, look at all this.” she relents, sliding them off your legs— and pocketing them for later — to reveal your core, practically weeping for her. “all this f’me?” she pants, eyes flicking up to yours.

a whiny moan of her name slips past your lips, but she shushes you gently, her voice softer now. "i know, baby, i know." she cooed, her large hand running comfortingly up and down your side. as she spreads your quivering legs further, exposing your drenched folds, abby feasts her eyes upon the sight before her. her lips curve upward, "fuck," she breathed, her eyes never leaving your pulsing core. “look at this pretty pussy. this is prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen—this has to be mine.” she leans down, her warm breath ghosting over your clit before she pressing a tender kiss there, savoring your reaction to her smallest touch, and now wondering what other reactions she could get out of you.

you weren't prepared for what came next, not one bit. expecting her to take things slow, you were completely caught off guard as abby gripped your thighs and, in one swift motion, separated your slimy folds, lapping any sweet nectar waiting for her. you tense from sudden sensation, letting out a loud, unapologetic moan as you arch off the desk. your hands instinctively tangle themselves into her steady braid that soon unravels from being used as reins.

encouraged by your fervent response, abby delved deeper, her skilled tongue tracing a path to your engorged nub. enclosing it between her lips, she whispered her praise, "you taste better than i thought." her voice trembled, mingling with your own moans.

as her teeth gently nipped at your sensitive bundle, you cried out, your thighs involuntarily squeezing her shoulders. a wicked smirk graced her lips as she basked in your reaction, taking immense pleasure in your submission.

the unexpected pinch sent jolts of shock through your body, your limbs twitching and writhing in a frenzied dance. in response, abby repositions her left hand on your abdomen, gripping tightly to anchor you in place. each sound that escaped your trembling lips fueled her hunger, her throaty hums resonating against your flesh. with a devilish gleam in her eyes, she teasingly traced circles near your navel with her thumb, heightening your anticipation.

a groan rumbled in her throat when your fingers gripped her hair, the sensation only spurring her on. her mouth fastened more insistently around your swollen nub, sucking harder as you cried out her name. the strain in your voice confirmed her suspicions: you were on the cusp of your release, and she was eager to push you over.

abby's fingers joined the fray, sliding in and out of your slick folds with practiced ease. her relentless assault on your clit continued, her touch sending shivers through your body and causing your breaths to come in ragged gasps. the sight of you, quivering and exposed before her, stoked a fire within her, a determination to send you flying over the edge.

abby derived an addiction from your pleasure. each moment of ecstasy seemed to fuel her further, driving her to amplify the tempo and depth of her ministrations. as the room filled with the lewd symphony of flesh meeting flesh and intertwined heavy breaths, something stirred within abby. something unfamiliar, uncharted. normally, she would exhibit unrivaled confidence during intimate encounters, but with you, it was different—more intense, deeper. a desperate craving to be perfect, to ensure you'd never seek anyone else but her. she’d hate to admit it, but the realization gnaws at her: the longing for you even after this is over.

"who's making you cum tonight?" abby questioned the obvious once more, but her arrogance tone underlined the strong need for reassurance. your moans were her only response, and while she adored the sweet sounds, she craved more. a sudden shift in her fingers’ movements made you yell out, "you, abby," your words punctuated by cries of pleasure.

her fingers, now confined within your tight grip, sensed the growing tension, the impending eruption, the imminent of your orgasm. "uh-huh, come for me," she ordered, "let me hear who’s making a mess of you."

the warnings of your impending release came with fervor, each thrust hastening to the inevitable snap of the tightening band in your abdomen. then when it did, a cry rang out, loud and clear, as her name left your lips in tandem with your essence painting her features. in this haze of euphoria, you suddenly find a sense of clarity, wondering how in all worlds did you end up in this situation, in the arms— or rather the mouth of your boss?

it’s rather short lived, quickly fading into a hazy blur. you threw your head back as her eyes closed, savoring the taste of your ecstasy with a hum, helping you through your orgasm until your body laxs.

withdrawing her fingers, abby admired the sight of your juices clinging to them, a testament to her efforts. a satisfied smile stretches across her face as she reveled in the knowledge that she had brought you to such heights.

she licks them clean, feeling a rush of gratification that only you can provide. releasing her fingers with a soft pop, her lips make way and pave along the curve of your hip, leaving a trail of wet, sticky kisses behind as she moves up to stand before you. “such a good girl..” she mumbled against your skin. you lift yourself up with your elbow, taking a moment to catch your breath, your body still quivering from the intensity of your orgasm that has left you momentarily speechless. you couldn't help, but notice abby’s disheveled appearance as well. untangled, her hair strays from its famed braid, now flowing around her face like a cascade of waves.

but before you could comment on the sight, she claims your lips in a tender, sweet kiss, her hands cupping your face. the connection was brief, and when she pulled away, a grin lit up her features. without another word spoken, she unclothes herself, revealing herself in all her glory. you knew she worked out, but goddamn, did she work out! the determination to achieve the physique showed immensely. in your admiration, you felt the apple of your cheeks warm up, causing you to look away.

"don’t go shy on me, babe," she chided playfully, repositioning your face to meet hers. she seals the deal with another kiss pushing you down gently onto the desk. "lay back f’me, ‘kay?"

with a nod, you comply, watching as the corded muscles in her arms flex as she moves into position, lifting your leg. a grin tugged at the corners of your lips as she placed a tender kiss on your ankle, making her soft chuckle fill the air in return before she securely set your leg on her shoulder.

the moment your wet folds connected, a guttural moan escaped her lips. the sensation was everything she craved, wasting no time in starting a vigorous grinding motion. as she ruts back and forth, she can’t help but mutter curses under her breath, lost in her own pleasure. "fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good." she hisses, throwing her head back. the raw intensity of her emotions written clear as day on her features.

her concentration nearly falters when she glances down, and the sight that met her eyes threatened to make her cum on the spot. the image of your hair spread out across the desk, your bouncing breasts with every upthrust combined with the feeling of your warmth against hers drove her to near insanity.

abby swore she had to be on the edge of a near-death experience, or some type of dejà vu as she gazed upon you in awe, swearing that you resembled a goddess straight out of a mythology book she had once read. though the memory of the goddess’s name was just out of reach, abby couldn't shake the feeling that she had personally seen a painting she once visited come to life in front of her very own eyes.

your hair, freed from its usual up do, was now cascading around your head and spilling off the edge of the desk like an ebony waterfall. your body, unrestrained, was a breathtaking display of femininity. each heaving breath caused your breasts to sway gently, your nipples hardened in anticipation. the way your skin glistened with a thin film of sweat only added to the captivating tableau.

in that moment, abby could almost imagine you as a divine muse from an ancient myth, a vision of beauty and desire. if she didn't snap herself back to reality, the mere sight might have been enough to send her hurtling toward an orgasm. but she had other plans, and she was determined to make them happen.

without warning, abby leaned down, her left hand resting beside your head to brace herself. as her mouth wrapped over one of your taut nipples, her tongue danced over the sensitive bud. simultaneously, her free hand kneaded your other breast, eliciting a sharp gasp from you. your hips bucked involuntarily, meeting her thrusts, and for a moment, it stuttered her pace, a low moan escaping her lips.

"fuck—baby, don't—don't do that," she pleads, filthy groans slipping pass her lips as her hand slides down to your hip, holding you firmly in place as her engorged clit pulsated with building intensity. she was determined to make you cum before she did.

your whispered invocation of her name caused her to glance up at your flushed, disheveled appearance. the sight was a temptation she couldn't resist, and crashed her lips against yours, the feverish kiss mirroring the urgency of your coupling. the closeness and ferocity of both embraces unconsciously synced your movements, hips rocking in unison.

"fuck! abby, i’m gonna cum, please!" your gasps grew heavier and staccato, your forehead pressing against hers as her pace quickened, breaths entwining. normally, abby would step in and reprimand her employees for behaving too freely when seemingly having too much fun. however, in this moment, she actively encourages it, the atmosphere brimming with an intense hunger for it.

"i know, baby, i know." abby's hand found your cheek, stroking it soothingly as if trying to appease your mind to allow what’s inevitable. "cum for me—cum with me," she pants, her pace faltering as she reached her zenith. her arms enveloped you, her hair acting as a curtain around the two of you. guiding you through your release, the slick of your shared pleasure coated your entwined bodies.

once over, abby’s rhythm ceased, and she collapsed on top of you, utterly spent. the weight of the night's passionate encounters bore down, leaving the two of you entwined in the afterglow.

in the act of catching your breaths, it gave abby post-nut clarity. her cheeks reddened, overwhelmed with shame for her past behavior, guilt gnawing at her insides as she realized how much of an ass she had been. it makes her get up, promptly making you sit up, confused.

with a shaky breath, she pushed her hair behind her ear, an expression that was nothing like her usual confident self. "look," she began hesitantly, her voice strained as she struggled to find the right words. unable to meet your gaze, she continued, "i’m sorry for everything. i've been having these feelings, feelings i-i don't even know how to process about you, but i... just wanted to say that i'm sorry for being such an asshole. it was pathetic."

finally, she looked at you, her lips laced in a pout. her confession took you by surprise, leaving you speechless. it was a side of abby you never saw, apologetic.

“asshole is an understatement.” you finally say, laughing softly, an attempt to alleviate the tension in the air, yet it brought no amusement to the receiver. with a quick gulp to clear your throat, you question, “what kind of feelings?” tilting your head to one side.

abby's mouth forms into a tight smile at your lighthearted comment. "they're romantic feelings," she confessed, taking a step forward. she knew the likelihood of your response, but nonetheless continued. "i wasn't lying when i said 'i love you’… but if you don't—" she let out a shaky exhale, the next words stinging. "I'll understand."

unable to suppress an oncoming smile, you take the sight of the usually tough-as-nails abby anderson, now a softie. taking for a moment before responding with a soft voice that leaves abby confused, "you look pretty like this.”

"what?"

"yeah, you should wear your hair down when we go on a date."

PERMANENT TAGLIST, @dyk3ang3l, @elliesprettygirl, @les4elliewilliams, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @marsworlddd, @bready101, @abbysleftbicepp, @airenaa, @caraphernellie, @astralnymphh, @whore87, @kaiilectric, @sapphicontherun, @mikellie, @nihilisticangelbby, @be3flow3r, @ppuussyyy, @clairoscharm, @lvlymicha, @brackishkittie, @loveyru

ONESHOT TAGLIST, @st4r-b3rries, @h0pe-scotch, @grey-jedi12, @lucidfairies, @luvmily, @sarahduke, @sc0ttstre3ted, @lonelyfooryouonly, @4pascal, @rew1nds, @viswifetotallyreal, @giuliaexe66, @andersonfilms, @ankle-biter69, @ellieslovr, @wakeupitsdawn, @lavdia17, @donalesaa, @xayn-xd, @brunaedn, @fatamoangana, @drunkonnatasha, @freesmbdy134, @sincerely-forest, @mytwoseater, @starrywilliams, @pinkygirliee

[babyleostuff]

fanservice

𝜗𝜚 theme: fluff, established relationship 𝜗𝜚 pairing: idol!mingu x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 word count: 944

・ ❥ ・ jealousy is a disease when it comes to kim mingyu and his fanservice

“i’m not your strongest soldier lol don’t play with me rn.” 

you rolled your eyes at the caption, and scrolled past the video that had been haunting you for the past couple of days. ever since the boys’ fan meeting last monday your fyp had been going crazy with videos of your boyfriend holding hands and comparing hand sizes with his fans. 

and that wasn’t even the worst part. 

your man was the definition of fanservice, him holding hands with others and making puppy eyes at them wasn't anything new, hell - how many times had he asked you to take his “boyfriend” photos he later posted on instagram, while looking like a literal walking dream. he loved making people go crazy on a daily basis, so it wasn’t like the hand holding bothered you. 

what bothered you was the lovestruck expression, the annoyingly gentle, sparkly eyes, the perfect fucking black hair falling over his forhead, the soft smile, the gaze that never left the person in font of him. 

you weren’t sure where the sudden surge of possessiveness came from, but oh my god, there was a limit of what you could take, and if only you remembered your twitter password you would’ve logged out a long time ago. you knew exactly who this look was reserved for, and it was you, and you only, so why was he suddenly going around looking at others like they hung the moon and the stars in the sky. 

“baby?” mingyu’s voice echoed from your bedroom. “have you seen my black dior hoodie?”

you were too busy scrolling past yet another tik tok to answer your boyfriend. besides, who cared about a hoodie when he was basically cheating on you?  

“and what are you gawking at, huh?” you muttered under your nose, as the girl in the video squealed when mingyu took her hand in his. you weren’t sure why you were working yourself up so much. it’s not like you were jealous of the way his thumb was running over her palm. or how their fingers intertwined perfectly.

thinking you didn’t hear him from the other room, mingyu gave up on his mission to find the hoodie he was sure he saw in the closet just this morning, and walked out to the living room to look for you. “baby, did you h-,” he didn't have to look at you twice to see who exactly stole the piece of clothing he was searching for. “there it is,” he beamed, a smile blooming on his face. his heart never failed to turn into mush whenever he saw you dressed in his clothes, especially the oversized ones that made you look like an adorable teddy bear. 

“i can give it back if you want,” you mumbled, your eyes still glued to your phone. 

“it’s fine, i’ll just find another one, but tell me,” mingyu crooked an eyebrow at your frown, and walked over to where you were not so happily occupying the armchair he and wonwoo decided on buying last month, “what the hell got you pouting like that?” 

you didn’t notice your boyfriend standing behind you until it was too late. “huh?” too slow to turn off the phone, you spun around to find mingyu behind you with an annoying smirk on his face. “i wasn’t pouting,” you tried to argue, as you slipped the phone under your thigh. he laughed, and tucked a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. 

“baby?” he crouched down, and placed his chin on your shoulder. 

“mhm?” maybe playing stupid would help. 

“why were you watching videos from the fanmeeting, hm?” he asked innocently, like he didn’t know exactly why. 

you groaned, and turned around, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. there was no way you’d admit to being jealous of some girls for holding your boyfriend’s hand when you literally did that 24/7. 

“you know you literally get to cuddle and kiss me, right? it’s not like they’re going to steal me from you,” he said. you didn’t have to look to know that he had this infuriatingly handsome smile on his face that always made your knees weak. 

“stop being so smug about it, kim mingyu,” you mumbled, and hit his chest. 

“never.” 

he grabbed the back of your neck gently and peeled you of him, much to your reluctance. a pang of self-consciousness suddenly hit you because what if he thought you were acting immaturely over this? “listen,” he walked around the armchair to kneel in front of you. “whatever you’re thinking, stop it,” grabbing your face tenderly, he ran a thumb over your cheek. “i’m yours, remember?” 

“i know, it’s just-,” 

“let me finish, yeah?” you nodded and kissed his palm, encouraging him to keep going. maybe that was just what you needed today? a bit of reassurance and his words of affirmation. because if there was one thing that kim mingyu was good at, it was making you feel secure and loved. 

“i know it can be hard looking at those videos and whatnot, and you know why i act how i act when it’s needed. but i love you. you. and no matter how many hands i have to hold or how many people i have to pretend to flirt with, it doesn’t change the fact that at the end of the day all i want is to come home to you. ‘k baby?” 

too overwhelmed to say anything, you just nodded quickly, and threw your arms around his shoulders, so he wouldn’t see your teary eyes. 

“you’re really mine?” you asked, sniffling quietly. 

“all yours. only yours.”

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot 

[xinganhao]

✏️ seatmates joshua x reader.

prompt: "we sit next to each other every day, i lend you pencils, you share snacks with me, people are assuming we’re a couple, let’s go with that." ✶ part of my svt university milestone event

⤿ fluff, slight miscommunication, joshua is whipped, jeongcheol [if u squint!]. more content under the cut. ♡⸝⸝ prompt from anon!

It's not looking like a good start of the week for Seungcheol.

He had an insane bender the night before. He missed the morning bus to school and ended up walking the whole two-kilometer way. And now, the not-quite-a-couple duo who sat in front of him at class was back on their bullshit again.

With his fingers pressed to his temple, Seungcheol watches warily as the starry-eyed boy— Joshua, Seungcheol thinks his name is— places a canned coffee atop the edge of your desk. God, Seungcheol would kill for that right about now.

He's too far gone to make out anything the two of you are saying, but Seungcheol can fill in the blanks. It's probably something stupid, he thinks bitterly. Good morning, love. How was your weekend, love? I missed you, love.

Blegh.

There's only one thing he can think to do. Seungcheol whips out his phone and shoots out a quick slew of texts, trying to ignore the way that Joshua has begun to laugh a little too loud at something you just said.

Seungcheol it's a monday and i'm hungover and the pretty boy in front of me keeps making heart eyes at his seatmate he's laughing. i'm hungover to the heavens and he's laughing god what have i done to deserve this god when will it be my turn Jeonghan you think someone else is pretty? :( Seungcheol do NOT start with me rn

Seokmin doesn't think Joshua notices.

It's just like Joshua, really, to be a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to matters of the heart. And so Seokmin nods along, the perfect picture of indulgence, as you wheedle your way into Joshua's every day.

You don't even have to show up in the physical sense. Joshua fills in those gaps for you. I think they'll like this, Joshua (while holding a box of some obscure snack) tells Seokmin at the grocery store. They'll get a kick out of that, Joshua cackles as he snaps a photo of a silly eraser.

Seokmin knows he could, should probably ask his best friend what the hell is going on. The boy is in desperate need of a quick 'check-the-label' moment, honestly.

In the end, Seokmin decides: Not my circus, not my monkeys.

He figures the two of you will eventually hammer it out yourselves. It's a rite of passage, isn't it? The limbo of flirtation, confined in the four corners of a classroom. The happy crush that may or may not reciprocate.

As Joshua all but skips��� honest-to-God skips!— to the Wednesday session of his class with you, Seokmin can't help the fond shake of his head at what Joshua has gotten himself into. Sharing snacks and stationery every M/W/F?

There are worse situationships to have, Seokmin concedes.

Professor Kang has been in the academe for nearly two decades.

He's watched relationships bloom, and last, and end. One or two students have even invited him to their weddings. There's no shortage of gossip in the faculty rooms; there's always a seating plan to orchestrate, a partnered project to use for a little drama.

He likes to think he has a sixth sense for this sort of thing, and that's why he initially believed that you and Joshua... aren't really a thing.

Sure, the two of you bend your heads together a little too close when discussing something. He notices, too, the exchanges— both the transactional and spoken ones. But he's unconvinced, for the most part of the semester, that there's not really anything worth reading into.

That is, until, you don't show up to class one day. On a whim, Professor Kang asks Joshua about your absence, and the boy fumbles with his phone for a couple of minutes.

"Doctor's appointment," Joshua eventually divulges, though there's a slightly worried crease in his eyebrows that has Professor Kang thinking, huh.

That huh gives way to an ah when, at the next class, the two of you slot right back into place. Professor Kang catches bits and pieces of your conversation with Joshua; how he eagerly inquires about your Friday plans, how he listens intently to your little rants.

As the two of you walk out the classroom, your shoulders brush. It's slight enough that anybody not really looking would miss it, would dismiss it, but Professor Kang can only watch with amusement. Joshua apologizes for crowding you— only to take an infinitesimal step closer as the two of you leave the classroom.

By the time the two of you are out in the hall, your shoulders are almost touching again.

Ah, Professor Kang thinks. He swears he's seen it all in the past twenty years, but he's not immune to making mistakes.

Perhaps they're a little bit in love, after all.

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After the perfect weekend, three days without Bradley is harder than you could have ever imagined. It makes you think about what it will be like when you have to go months without each other. When he visits your classroom for the second time, your students make him feel welcome as they come up with an amazing idea.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, unprotected sex, oral sex, smut, Bradley in love, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You were at Bradley's house on Sunday night a lot later than you originally anticipated, but you just couldn't seem to make yourself leave. He kept luring you back to the couch with the promise of one more quick snuggle, and you fell for it every single time.

"I have to get my lesson plans in order for tomorrow," you whispered as you kissed your way along the scars on his cheek from your spot on his lap. 

"Bring them with you next time," he murmured, big hands warm on your lower back.

"You wouldn't mind?" You knew what a turnoff it was for your ex whenever you even mentioned your classroom full of kids, so it would have never occurred to you to bring your work with you down to Coronado for the weekend.

Bradley's fingers stroked your bare skin as he said, "Maybe I could help you? I actually like a lot of the same stuff as your fourth graders. Like airplanes and dogs and their teacher."

You snorted with laughter against his neck, but you said, "Next weekend I'll bring my lesson plans with me."

"Excellent," he murmured. "Then you can stay even later."

You knew without a doubt that in a few more weeks, you'd be sleeping over on Sunday night and driving straight to work on Monday morning if he asked you to. How could you not? The entire weekend had been incredible even with Vanessa crashing in on Friday. Being around Bradley felt like something close to magic with the way he talked to you and touched you. Earlier this morning, you sent him out for a run with Natasha, and he came back to you all sweaty and needy. You even got an adorable photo of him stopping to tie his shoe on a bench which his best friend texted you. And after lunch, you took a spider outside for him when he begged you to get rid of it, and he thanked you with at least a hundred kisses.

But now, when you tried to stand up, Bradley pouted and wrapped his arms around you a little tighter. "I'll see you when you come up to my school on Wednesday," you whispered with a smile.

"That's so far away," he groaned, letting his arms go limp at his sides as you wiggled yourself free. "I don't like that at all."

You pressed your lips together to keep the massive, goofy smile that threatened to take over your entire face at bay while you collected your things. Bradley watched your every movement as you said, "It's not like I won't text you some potentially dirty photos and call you just to tell you I love you."

He was on his feet right then and there with a ridiculous looking grin of his own. "Say it again, Gorgeous."

You looked up at him as he closed the distance with three long strides, and you said, "I love you."

It took you another twenty minutes to finish making out with him, and then he carried everything out to your car where you made out a little bit more. You got home really quite late.

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

On Wednesday morning, you made the rookie mistake of telling your kids that a visitor would be spending the afternoon in your classroom, but you were too excited about it to keep quiet.

"Is it Lieutenant Bradshaw?" Violet asked immediately as she bobbed in her seat.

"You'll just have to wait and see," you replied, getting your language arts notes ready to teach.

"Is he bringing his Super Hornet with him?" Harrison practically screamed.

"He can't bring a fighter jet to school," Jayden scoffed. "It would take up too many parking spots."

"I never even said who our special visitor is!" you reminded them as you started writing a few spelling words on the board.

Nia sighed behind you and murmured, "If it's not Lieutenant Bradshaw, then what's the point?"

You had to stifle your laughter, because you didn't disagree. You weren't even sure what he had in store for your kids, but he insisted he was going to need at least two hours with them. When you had questioned him about getting leave from base for the afternoon, he just laughed. "The Navy loves it when we do classroom outreach. I'm sure my commanding officers will all make it a point to thank me for volunteering, so there's no way I'm telling them that I'm visiting my girlfriend's school. But I'm sure they'll catch on by the fourth or fifth time I ask for the afternoon off."

Whenever he used the word girlfriend, you couldn't stop smiling. And the insinuation that he would be visiting multiple times made you giddy. You just had to get through the morning and lunchtime, and then he would be here.

"Spelling words. Let's focus," you told your class. "We can worry about our visitor in a few more hours." But they were already antsy, and they remained that way until you sent them to the lunchroom to cause some havoc without you. That's when you realized that you were antsy, too. How in the world were you already so attached to Bradley that three days apart felt like a week? How were you supposed to do a deployment when the time came? Your heart ached a little bit whenever you thought about spending months away from him.

You picked at your lunch at your desk and checked your phone. Bradley texted you nearly an hour ago to let you know that he was on his way up which prompted you to scroll through some of the photos of him you had saved. "It never gets old," you muttered as you examined the first picture he ever sent you of his face. He looked so tall and handsome on the deck of the aircraft carrier, and you had to stop gawking when your kids came back to the room.

"Is Lieutenant Bradshaw coming soon?" Oliver whined on his way to his desk. "It's taking forever!"

There was no point in denying that he was the special guest, so you just said, "He should be here soon. Practice your spelling words quietly at your desk, okay?"

You walked to your door and peeked out into the hallway. The front office knew he was coming ahead of time today, so there shouldn't be much of a holdup. That's when you saw him. His combat boots squeaked on the floor as he turned the corner, and he ran his fingers through his wavy hair. Each long stride brought him closer to you, and you realized he was holding a large envelope that said CLASSIFIED as well as a coffee from Starbucks in his other hand.

"Gorgeous," he called out when his gaze met yours, and you memorized the way his pace grew quicker so he could get to you. He looked so big and strong in his flight suit, it was unreal. "I missed you," he promised, brown eyes wide and sincere, and then his lips were on yours in the sweetest kiss.

An eruption of voices from inside your classroom started a chorus of, "Oooooh!" as you laughed against your boyfriend's lips. 

"She's kissing Lieutenant Bradshaw!" Violet hissed.

"I already told you they're getting married," Jayden insisted.

"I think they might already be married," Nia whispered.

"No, because her name would be Mrs. Lieutenant Bradshaw," Oliver told everyone while Bradley erupted into laughter as well.

"Are you ready for this disaster?" you ask as you nodded toward your open door where eighteen pairs of eyes were staring back at the two of you.

"Absolutely," he rasped. "Nothing like spending an afternoon with all of my pen pals."

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

Bradley followed you to the front of your classroom, fighting the urge to put his hands on your waist and pull you close the entire way. Your kids already saw him kiss you, for the second time. Maybe the third time if some of them witnessed him with his lips all over yours in the parking lot last week. You were holding the coffee he brought for you and glancing back to smile over your shoulder at him, and he had to remind himself not to cause too much of a scene in front of your class.

"What do we say when we have a special guest visit us?" you asked with a smile.

"Thank you!" your students all shouted in unison.

You were smirking at him as you said, "Thanks for visiting us again today, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

"I can't seem to stay away," he replied, and when he looked up at the kids sitting at their desks, he realized they were as excited to see him as he was to see them. "I hope you're not sick of me yet."

Violet was shaking her head with her pencil poised over her notebook like she was ready to record everything Bradley said. Henry was halfway onto the top of his desk in anticipation. Jayden shouted out, "No way! You're the coolest adult I ever met!"

Bradley tried to hide his smile, but it was impossible. "You're the eighteen coolest kids I've ever met," he promised. Then he winked at you and said, "And you have a way cooler teacher than I ever had in elementary school." You sipped your coffee happily as he held up the envelope in his hand and said, "I brought a bunch of stuff with me today, including blueprints for some jets that are flown in the Navy. But first, does anyone have any questions they want me to try to answer?"

When one girl's hand shot into the air before the others, he pointed to her and said, "You're Nia, right?"

She nodded as you muttered, "I can't believe you remember who is which kid."

"Yes!" Nia said before pointing from you to Bradley. "Our teacher is really pretty, and we all saw you give her a kiss. Did you marry her?"

Bradley chuckled, and you nearly dropped your drink before ducking away from him. "Uh... not yet, Nia," he told the girl, and her face fell.

"Well, when are you going to?"

Bradley glanced toward Jayden who asked the follow up question and said, "I'm kind of hoping for next summer, but I'll let her decide."

You set the coffee down on your desk and turned to face him with surprise in your eyes. "How about we stay on the topic of aviation?" you asked your class, but your voice sounded soft and breathy. "What's in the classified envelope, Lieutenant Bradshaw?" you asked, barely meeting his eyes as you smiled. "Is it really classified?"

Bradley cleared his throat and murmured, "Nah, I just thought it looked cooler." He really wanted to hear your thoughts on his comment about next summer, but that could wait. "But, at one point in time, these blueprints really were classified government property." He emptied the contents out onto Harrison's desk in the row and held up the first blueprint. "Does this look familiar to anyone? I might have sent your teacher a picture of me sitting in the cockpit of this type of jet."

"A Super Hornet!" called Oliver as he bounced in his seat.

"That's right," Bradley told him. "Anyone remember the other name for it?"

When nobody else immediately responded, you said, "It's called the F/A-18. Right?"

"Yeah," he told you with a grin. "That's a gold star and bonus points for the teacher."

You still seemed to be stuck somewhere between surprised and embarrassed, but you returned his smile and asked, "Which other blueprints do you have there?"

Bradley passed around the copy of the F-35 Lightning II before ultimately letting Oliver keep it. "I do recall you saying that flying it would be like slam dunking off the back of a dragon," he said as Oliver's entire face lit up. Then he let everyone look at the blueprints for the EA-18 Growler, the E-2 Hawkeye, and the P-8 Poseidon. There was still a stack in front of him as he said, "There are actually nineteen blueprints here, so everyone can take one home." He quickly swiped the Super Hornet from the pile and walked it over to you. "This one's yours," he told you softly, doing his best to fight the urge to kiss you.

"Cool!" shouted Henry as the blueprints ended up all over the desks. The kids were still examining them loudly as you took the one for the aircraft Bradley flew in your hands. 

"Thanks," you whispered, holding it against your chest. "And thanks for coming today."

"Lieutenant Bradshaw?" called Violet. "What happens when one of the aircrafts is broken? Do all the mechanics know how to fix all the airplanes? Or do they only learn how to fix one kind each? And where do they fix them? And did your jet ever need a mechanic?"

"That kid has aviator written all over her," Bradley muttered, letting his fingers brush the side of your hand as he walked toward Violet. "You remember my friend Marty? The mechanic from some of the videos I sent?" When she nodded, Bradley said, "Well, he knows how to fix the Super Hornets and a few other kinds of planes, too. He fixes mine all the time. That's why mechanics get deployed to aircraft carriers just like aviators do. But they also work on base on North Island in San Diego. Where I work most of the time."

Violet looked stunned. "So there are mechanics who fix the planes in San Diego?"

"Yep," Bradley replied as she clutched one of the blueprints in both hands. "In fact, I saw Marty yesterday, fixing part of a combustion chamber in the hangar when I got out of my jet."

Violet squeaked. "Oh, please, Lieutenant Bradshaw. Please, let us go to work with you one day!"

He started laughing as he turned back to look at you, but you just shrugged in response. "I mean, it would be cool," you mused as the rest of your kids chimed in.

"We could see your Super Hornet with your name on the side!"

"We could see all the airplanes!"

"We could talk to Marty!"

"We learned so much about aviation this year! Please?"

Bradley looked around the room and everyone was looking right back at him, waiting for an answer. When he met your eyes, he asked, "Are they allowed to go on a field trip?"

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

When the final dismissal bell rang and your classroom emptied out, you kicked the door closed, leaving you alone with your boyfriend. "Are you serious right now?" you asked with a smile as he pushed you back against the wall and started kissing your neck. "I inquired about taking a field trip to the Naval base ages ago, and everyone essentially told me it's pretty much impossible."

"Mmm," he hummed against your jaw as you pulled him closer. "If you want it, I'll make it happen, Gorgeous."

Your mind was swirling with too much information that didn't all quite make sense but all sounded beautiful nevertheless. "I want it," you whispered. "I want the field trip, and I want you to come back to my place."

He was running the tip of his nose along your ear, and you were slowly melting. "I don't know if I can wait that long. I haven't seen you in three days," he rasped, making you shiver.

"What are you going to do when you're deployed?" you asked him softly, trailing your fingers through his wavy hair.

Bradley groaned. "Baby, we are not talking about that right now."

His deliberate kisses made their way from your neck to your lips, but after a few seconds, you couldn't hold back any longer. You broke the kiss. "Were you serious? About next summer? You and me?"

Bradley's expression was soft as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip and said, "Okay, that we can talk about." Your heart was hammering in your chest as you kissed the side of his thumb. "Gorgeous," he rasped. "Is it really so crazy that I'm convinced we have a future together?"

"No." Your answer was immediate and sincere, because you already knew you felt the same way. "It's not crazy."

He kissed you hard on the lips before taking a step away from you. "Let's get out of here. I'm not going to be able to behave for much longer."

You were all smiles as you added, "And you're going to need to be fed soon."

"See? You already know exactly how to handle me."

Bradley carried your heavy tote bag and travel mug to your car while you held onto the Super Hornet blueprint, and then he followed you back to your apartment in his Bronco. It was almost comical having him there, taking up so much space in each small room, but your smile vanished when he looked you up and down with those pretty brown eyes.

"We should definitely fool around before we eat dinner," you said, and he immediately had you in his arms.

"A hundred percent," he replied, stumbling along to your bedroom. His flight suit was rough against your fingers, but his kisses were soft and sweet. Half of your clothing was off by the time you reached your bed, but he was still trying to pull one of his long sleeves down his arm.

"This is awkward," he mumbled with a laugh as you unhooked your bra. "This fucking flight suit." His movements slowed even more as he watched you drop to your knees in front of him in just your tiny underwear, and you started untying his boots. You looked up at him as you helped him take them off and tossed them aside, and then you pulled his flight suit down to his thighs. "Oh fuck," he whispered, running his fingers along your cheek as you kissed his erection through his briefs.

With his flight suit around his ankles, you looked up at his face and reached for the elastic waistband of his underwear. "Is this okay?" You tugged them down, his cock springing free, and you ran your lips along the tip, waiting for permission to do more.

"Holy shit," he gasped, yanking his undershirt over his head and nodding enthusiastically. "This is never not going to be okay."

You laughed softly before parting your lips and taking the velvety soft head of his cock onto your tongue. Bradley's eyes were glued to your mouth as you swirled your tongue in deliberately slow circles before taking him a little deeper. He was big and thick, but you took him as far as you could over and over, bobbing your head until your eyes watered.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he groaned when you licked at the strands of your saliva dripping down his balls. "Gorgeous. You're filthy." You looked up at him as you rubbed your cheek against his thigh. "And so damn sweet, Baby."

You nuzzled and kissed along his balls, taking his throbbing cock in one hand and giving him a squeeze. Bradley groaned and readjusted his footing, so you did it again. Now he was muttering your name softly and running his fingers along your hair as you sucked on his balls and jerked him off. He let you go for a few minutes, his abs flexing with each labored breath he took, and then you started to suck his cock again.

"Okay, okay," he eventually rasped, reaching for your shoulders and yanking you carefully to your feet. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were parted as you turned away from him and got onto your hands and knees on the bed. He made a strangled noise, but as soon as you glanced back at him, he was on you, pulling your underwear to the side.

"Oh my god," you gasped. His hands were a bit rough on your hips as he started to push himself inside you, and he took you just like that. After a few hard thrusts, you were whining for more, legs shaking with need.

Bradley was babbling as he fucked you, his chest pressed to your back, one big hand stroking down the front of your body to your clit. "You're so fucking tight. Holy shit." He kissed along your shoulder. "You smell so good. I love you, Gorgeous." It sounded like he was lost in you, his voice just behind your ear as he pressed two fingers to your clit until you were panting and coming apart.

Even when you were both spent, he pulled you to your feet while he was still buried deep, and you were slightly dizzy from your receding orgasm. His lips were soft on your neck, and he held you to his chest with his big hands on your body. "If you want a North Island field trip for your class, I'll get right on making it happen first thing tomorrow morning."

You melted against him and whispered, "We're not talking about tomorrow yet. Not when I get to spend the whole night with you first. Let's go make dinner." His stomach growled in response, and you kissed him and said, "I love you."

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

This is every kid's dream field trip! I'm actually a little jealous! Bradley better be able to make this happen for his pen pals. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 15

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@marve2014

@furiousladyking

[kiwriteswords]

Professional Distractions

AN: Alright, here's the winner from the poll!! It's funny; I wrote a multi-chapter years ago about Hotch x Secretary Reader, so this brought back some memories!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Secretary!Female!Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Rating: Everyone!

Tags/TW:  canon-typical themes, fluff, flirting

Summary: Aaron Hotchner thrives on control, order, and precision in both his work and personal life. But when a new secretary is assigned to his team, Hotch finds himself facing a different kind of challenge. Confident, witty, and effortlessly intriguing, she quickly becomes a presence he can't ignore. As their professional boundaries blur, Hotch is forced to confront feelings he never expected, and the calm, controlled world he's built begins to shift in unexpected ways.

Aaron Hotchner had never been one for frivolities in the office. Efficiency was his religion, order his creed. So, when Erin Strauss approached him with the idea that the BAU needed a secretary—he needed a secretary—he balked.

"I don’t need one," Hotch had said firmly, standing tall with that no-nonsense posture of his. “It’s a waste of resources.”

But Strauss was unmoved. "It’s already done, Aaron. She’ll start on Monday."

He felt like he'd lost before the battle had even begun. Hotch couldn't shake the sense that this was an unnecessary addition to his already perfectly functioning team. But Strauss was Strauss, and her word was law.

The team gathered in the bullpen that morning, curious about the new hire. Hotch had informed them earlier, his tone curt and business-like as usual. “She’s just here for administrative support,” he had said. “Nothing more.”

Morgan, leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow. "Bet she's someone Strauss sent to keep an eye on us," he joked.

JJ chuckled, but there was an undercurrent of anticipation among the team. New faces were always a point of interest, even in the most serious environments like the BAU.

The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped out, heels clicking softly on the floor. The conversations in the bullpen gradually quieted as you made your way towards Hotch’s office with a steady, assured walk.

You didn’t have the overt sex appeal of someone trying too hard. Instead, it was the way you carried yourself—your professional yet perfectly tailored outfit, your calm but confident posture, and the intelligent glint in your eyes—that caught their attention. Your aura spoke of someone who knew how to command a room, someone sharp, witty, and perhaps even a little mysterious.

"She’s... something," Morgan muttered under his breath, watching you with a grin.

"Wonder if she can keep up with Hotch," Garcia added with a playful smirk.

You reached Hotch’s office, giving the door a polite knock before stepping just inside. The faintest hint of a smile touched your lips, like you already knew what to expect.

"Mr. Hotchner?" Your voice was calm, professional, yet laced with just enough warmth to make him look up from his work.

He glanced up briefly, bracing himself for whatever distraction this was. "Hotch is fine," he replied, already setting his focus back on the file in front of him.

"Hotch, then," you echoed smoothly. The quickness of your response wasn’t flirtatious—it was simply sharp, quick-witted. You stepped fully into the office, no hesitation in your movements, and he took a second to measure you, noting that nothing about your manner felt frivolous.

"Y/N, your new secretary. But you probably already knew that," you said, standing with a straight posture, your gaze lingering just long enough to create the smallest tension in the air.

He nodded, clearly already trying to return his attention to the work on his desk. "Yes. Welcome."

You smirked slightly, sensing his resistance. "I’m here to make your life easier, Hotch. You’ll see."

It wasn’t a flirtatious comment, not in the usual sense. It was matter-of-fact, confident, and entirely unbothered by his lack of warmth. You weren’t intimidated, and that threw him off just enough to pause.

She doesn’t back down, Hotch thought, his fingers tightening just slightly on the papers in his hands. Most people hesitated, unsure of how to navigate his cool demeanor, but not you. You took it in stride, as if his distance wasn’t something to be overcome but just another part of him to understand. He wasn’t used to that.

There was a part of him that appreciated your confidence, your ability to handle things without needing constant direction. But there was also the part of him that felt something else—a pull, an attraction that was more than professional admiration. He couldn’t afford to entertain it, not here. Not with everything that was at stake. Yet, the more you settled into your role, the more difficult it became to ignore that nagging awareness of you, the way you never seemed rattled, no matter how he tried to maintain distance.

He was used to people being intimidated by him, especially new hires. But you? You weren’t phased in the least. Instead, there was a kind of ease about you that made him a little uneasy, though he’d never admit it.

With that, you left his office, and for the first time in a long while, Hotch found himself momentarily distracted, wondering just what kind of dynamic you were going to bring to his carefully controlled environment. 

Aaron Hotchner liked things a certain way. He wasn’t unreasonable, but he valued precision and efficiency, especially in his professional life. His office was always meticulously organized, his schedule tightly managed, and his expectations of those who worked with him were crystal clear. So when Erin Strauss had informed him that you—his new secretary—would be joining the BAU, he had been prepared to explain exactly how he liked things done.

Except, you were already a step ahead of him. And that both intrigued and unsettled him.

Hotch stood behind his desk, hands resting on the back of his chair as you entered his office with a fresh stack of files. You were calm, collected, and that faint smile you always wore, the one that hinted at a quiet confidence, made him pause.

“I thought we could go over a few things,” he said, his voice steady and professional. “Just to make sure we’re on the same page about how I like things done.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes as you placed the files on his desk with an air of someone who already knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Sure thing, Hotch. Lay it on me,” you said, leaning against the edge of his desk, clearly at ease.

Hotch hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He wasn’t used to this—someone who wasn’t fazed by his usual no-nonsense approach, someone who seemed completely comfortable in his presence. But he pressed on, his tone measured.

“I like everything to be organized by priority,” he began, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. “Urgent case files go on the top left, and any paperwork requiring signatures should be grouped together. My schedule needs to be updated daily, and—”

Before he could finish, you cut in smoothly, nodding as if you were already familiar with every word. “Urgent on the top left, signatures grouped. Got it. And don’t worry, I’ve been updating your schedule daily since Monday. You’ve got a meeting with Strauss tomorrow at 10 a.m., by the way.”

Hotch blinked, caught off guard. “You’ve already... updated the schedule?”

You nodded, not missing a beat. “Of course. And I took the liberty of sorting through the files on your desk this morning. The reports you requested from Garcia are already at the top. You’ll find a few case notes under them that I flagged as potential priorities.”

For a moment, Hotch didn’t respond, his usual calm composure faltering just slightly as he processed what you’d said. He wasn’t used to someone anticipating his needs like this, certainly not after just a few days of working together. And while he was impressed—very impressed—he wasn’t quite ready to admit it.

“Efficient,” he finally said, his voice careful, but you could tell he was weighing his words. “More than I expected.”

You grinned, tilting your head slightly. “What, did you expect me to be a disaster?”

“Not at all,” he replied quickly, but you caught the smallest hint of a smile on his face, which only fueled your amusement.

“Well, I hate to disappoint,” you teased, stepping back from his desk, “but I tend to be pretty good at what I do. You’re just going to have to get used to it.”

Hotch’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, he felt that same unsettling sensation he had the first time you’d walked into his office—like you already knew him better than you should. And that both fascinated and unnerved him.

“I suppose I will,” he said quietly, his tone measured but with an undeniable undercurrent of admiration.

You smirked, sensing you had him right where you wanted him. “Don’t worry, Hotch. You’ll thank me eventually.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression returning to that familiar composed exterior, but you could see the faintest flicker of something behind his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t as unaffected as he liked to appear.

“You seem very sure of yourself,” he remarked, folding his arms across his chest.

You grinned. “Confidence is key, right? Besides, I have a feeling I’ll be a good fit here.”

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his gaze still lingering on you as if trying to figure you out. You weren’t like anyone else he’d worked with before. There was something about your calm confidence, the way you seemed to know exactly how to push just the right buttons without overstepping. It was... refreshing. Though he’d never say that out loud.

Finally, he gave a small nod. “We’ll see,” he said, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful.

You chuckled, turning to leave his office. “Oh, I’m sure we will.”

As the day progressed, Hotch found himself more impressed with you than he cared to admit. Every task he’d mentioned—every detail, every instruction—you had already taken care of. Without being told. It wasn’t just your efficiency that caught his attention; it was the way you seemed to anticipate his needs, the way you handled everything with ease.

And the teasing? He found himself... enjoying it. More than he expected. You weren’t afraid to poke at him, to challenge him in small, subtle ways that made him pause and reevaluate the dynamics between you.

By the end of the day, as you prepared to leave, Hotch caught you on your way out, standing by his office door.

“Y/N,” he called, stopping you in your tracks.

You turned to face him, that same playful smile tugging at your lips. “What’s up, Hotch? Need something else done?”

He paused, then shook his head slightly, a rare smile threatening to surface. “No. Just... good work today.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Was that a compliment? From you?”

He chuckled softly under his breath. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

You grinned, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “Too late.”

As you turned to leave, Hotch couldn’t help but watch you go, still wondering how you had managed to slip past his defenses so effortlessly. You were different from anyone he had worked with before—confident, witty, and always one step ahead.

And though he wasn’t quite ready to admit it, Hotch knew he was impressed by you. More than he would ever let on.

Sitting back at his desk, Hotch allowed himself a rare moment of reflection. You’d been right: you had gotten under his skin. Not in a way that made him uncomfortable, but in a way that made him want to see where this new dynamic would lead. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite figure out—and maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was okay with that.

He glanced at the perfectly sorted stack of files on his desk and let out a soft sigh, knowing that working with you was going to be anything but predictable.

And for once, he didn’t mind that at all.

It didn’t take long for the team to notice the shift in the air. You were a natural conversationalist, quick on your feet with comebacks that were witty but never overtly crossed the line. Your presence was felt in the small ways—how you remembered little details about each of them, how you had a knack for lightening tense moments without being overbearing.

"I like her," Morgan said one afternoon after you had walked past, easily sliding a stack of paperwork into Hotch’s office without batting an eye.

Even Reid found himself smiling more when you were around, though you were relentless in teasing him, asking if his hair always did “that thing” on its own or if he had a special routine for it.

"She’s sharp," Reid added, intrigued by how quickly you seemed to pick up on the rhythms of the team.

"Too sharp, if you ask me," Garcia quipped, though her grin suggested she approved."She's like… intimidatingly hot," Garcia added, wide-eyed. "And those jokes? Even I blush."

JJ raised an eyebrow. "You think Hotch is... okay with her?"

Morgan laughed. "Oh, he’s pretending to be annoyed, but I bet he’s secretly amused."

And that was exactly the case. As much as Hotch tried to resist it, he found himself surprised by how often you caught him off-guard with your clever remarks. He wasn’t used to someone challenging him—not like this, in such subtle, intelligent ways.

But Hotch? He remained a fortress. He didn’t engage in your flirtation, not at first. He was polite, distant, keeping things strictly business even when you blatantly teased him about how serious he was.

“Do you ever smile?” you asked one afternoon, leaning over his desk again in that same casual-yet-familiar way.

“On occasion,” he responded coolly.

“Hmm. I’ll make it my mission to see that someday.”

He said nothing, though the corner of his mouth twitched—just a bit.

It was during a late-night case review when you knocked on his door and stepped inside, holding a cup of coffee. "I figured you could use this," you said, setting it down with a small smile.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes narrowing as he assessed you, trying to figure out what your game was.

“Careful,” you said, your tone light but teasing, “I might make you smile if you’re not too careful.”

For a second, his lips twitched, but he caught himself just in time. “I doubt that.”

“I love a challenge,” you responded without missing a beat, walking back to your desk with a slight grin.

And despite himself, Hotch found that he didn’t entirely mind the challenge either.

After a particularly long and grueling case, the team decided to go out for drinks to unwind. You, of course, joined without hesitation, slipping seamlessly into their social dynamic just as you had into their professional one.

As the drinks flowed, the conversation turned to you. Morgan, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a grin. "So, Y/N," he started, "you’ve been working with Hotch for a while now. What’s your take on him?"

You smirked, taking a sip of your drink before responding. "Hotch? He’s… everything."

The table quieted, and a few eyebrows shot up.

"Everything?" JJ asked, a smile tugging at her lips. "Care to elaborate?"

You shrugged, your tone playful but sincere. "I mean, he’s intelligent, strong, capable… and really attractive."

Garcia let out a small gasp, her eyes widening. "Wait—Hotch? You’re into Hotch?"

"How could I not be?" you laughed, setting your glass down with a casual ease. "He’s literally my dream man. Hot, smart, and way more fascinating than most people give him credit for."

Rossi, who had been quietly nursing his drink, raised an eyebrow. "Dream man, huh? I didn’t see that coming."

Morgan leaned back, clearly enjoying this turn of events. "You’ve got it bad, girl."

You smirked at him, completely unbothered by their teasing. "I’m just honest."

Emily, intrigued by your boldness, laughed. "I gotta admit, I didn’t peg you for a Hotch fan either."

"Oh my God," Garcia whispered dramatically, eyes wide. "Does Hotch even know?"

You rolled your eyes with a grin. "I mean, he will."

The table erupted into laughter, the team clearly amused by your boldness. Morgan, however, wasn’t done teasing. "You’re telling me if Hotch were sitting right here, you’d tell him to his face?"

Without missing a beat, you raised an eyebrow. "Absolutely."

And as if the universe had a sense of humor, Hotch, who had been at the bar talking to the bartender, chose that exact moment to return, taking a seat next to you.

"Tell me what to my face?" he asked, his voice low and curious as he glanced around the table.

You didn’t even blink. Turning to him, you smiled. "That I think you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room."

The entire table fell into a stunned silence. Even Morgan, who had been leading the teasing, looked impressed. 

Hotch, however, raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. He wasn’t used to being the subject of such straightforward comments, especially not in front of the entire team. There was a beat of silence, and in that moment, Hotch felt the weight of their eyes on him. Normally, he would brush off a comment like this, keep things professional, deflect the attention. But something about the way you said it—so casual, so unapologetic—left him uncharacteristically rattled.

She can’t be serious, he thought, though there was no mistaking the sincerity in your tone. For the briefest second, his mind raced—how could someone as confident, as intelligent, as you be interested in him? He was used to being admired for his work ethic, his leadership, but this was something different. Something personal.

The idea of being seen in that way, especially by you, was both unexpected and, if he were honest with himself, a little thrilling. But he couldn’t afford to let it show. Not here. Not in front of the team. So he did what he always did—he kept his face neutral, his words careful, even as his heart beat just a little faster than before.

"You’re serious?" he asked, his tone careful, as though he were waiting for the punchline.

You smiled, unwavering. "Very."

There was a beat of silence, the tension palpable, but not uncomfortable. Finally, Hotch’s lips curved into the slightest of smiles, something rare for him. "I see."

Morgan burst into laughter, clapping his hands together. "Well, damn, Hotch! I think she’s got you beat."

Garcia, still wide-eyed, leaned forward, her voice a loud whisper. "Do you like… like him?"

You turned to her, grin still intact. "Yes, Penelope, I do. I have good taste."

Hotch sat quietly beside you, a bit overwhelmed but also… intrigued. You weren’t like anyone he’d ever worked with before. You were confident, intelligent, and you clearly didn’t care about anyone’s opinions. You liked him, and you weren’t afraid to say it. 

Reid changed the subject, without even realizing so, but Hotch’s mind was still on your comments. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. "I think it’s time I head out," he said, standing and adjusting his suit jacket. His eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary. "Goodnight, everyone."

As Hotch walked away, the table erupted into more laughter, but you sat back, utterly unphased. You knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The next day, Garcia wasted no time in rushing into Hotch’s office with her usual enthusiasm.

"Hotch, I can’t believe you just walked away last night!" she exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.

Hotch looked up from his paperwork, raising an eyebrow. "Walked away from what, exactly?"

Garcia huffed, placing her hands on her hips, her bright and colorful outfit a stark contrast to Hotch’s meticulously organized office. “Oh, don’t play dumb, Hotch. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression unchanging but his curiosity piqued. “Enlighten me.”

Garcia dramatically threw herself into one of the chairs in front of his desk, eyes wide and voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Y/N! Last night! She said you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room, and you just walked away like it was nothing! Do you realize how monumental that was?”

Hotch fought back the smallest of smiles, keeping his voice even. “I recall the conversation. I didn’t think it required a response in front of the team.”

Garcia stared at him, dumbfounded. “Aaron. You have to be kidding me. Do you know how many women would say something like that to your face? And in front of everyone? She practically handed you the keys to a brand new chapter of life, and you walked away!”

Hotch let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not that simple, Garcia.”

“Oh, but it is that simple!” she shot back, leaning forward. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my time here, but never in a million years would I have thought someone would be so bold with you—and that you’d find it amusing! You didn’t even try to hide it.”

Hotch paused, letting her words sink in. Garcia was right, in a way. You were different. You didn’t play the games others did, and your boldness wasn’t born of carelessness—it was confidence, intelligence. And that intrigued him more than he had admitted, even to himself.

Still, he shook his head. “We work together, Garcia. I can’t cross that line.”

Garcia rolled her eyes. “Please. If there’s anyone who could handle both a professional and personal relationship, it’s you two. You’re like... two perfectly matched puzzle pieces, and I never say that about people who work here.”

Hotch glanced at the door for a moment, thinking. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t replayed the conversation from last night in his head. The way you had so confidently and calmly told him exactly what you thought—right in front of the entire team. It had thrown him off, but in a good way. A way he wasn’t entirely used to.

“I’ll handle it,” he said after a long pause, looking back at Garcia.

Her eyes lit up. “Handle it? Do you mean like actually do something about it? Because if you don’t, she will! I mean, the girl literally told you she thinks you’re the best man in the room. Hotch, you have to act!”

He gave her a look. “I said I’ll handle it.”

Garcia stood, grinning as she made her way to the door. “You better, or I’ll handle it for you. And trust me, you don’t want that.”

As she left, Hotch allowed himself a moment to sit back and think. Garcia wasn’t wrong. If he didn’t make a move, you likely would. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t mind that idea. Maybe, for once, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to let someone else take the lead.

You were at your desk, typing away when Hotch’s office door opened. You glanced up to find him standing there; his usual composed expression softened just a fraction.

“Y/N, do you have a minute?” he asked, his voice steady.

“Of course,” you replied, standing up and following him into his office, your curiosity piqued by the sudden request.

He closed the door behind you, the soft click of the latch making the room feel smaller, more intimate. You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms casually as you stood in front of his desk.

“What’s up, Hotch?” you asked, your tone light but aware that something was brewing beneath the surface.

He didn’t immediately sit down, instead remaining on his feet as he faced you. “About last night—”

You smirked, cutting him off. “You mean the part where I told you you’re the hottest, smartest man in the room?”

Hotch’s lips twitched, the smallest hint of amusement flashing across his face. “That part, yes.”

You tilted your head, waiting for him to continue.

“I wanted to make sure you understand that... while I appreciate your honesty, there are boundaries we need to maintain at work,” he said, his tone even but not dismissive.

Your smirk softened into a more thoughtful expression. “I’m aware. But if I remember correctly, I wasn’t exactly talking at work.”

He paused, clearly considering your point. “That’s true,” he conceded.

“Hotch,” you began, stepping a little closer, your voice lowering just a fraction, “I’m not here to make your life more complicated. But I’m not one to pretend either. You’re smart, and I know you’ve noticed the way we work together, the way we... get along.”

He didn’t respond right away, his dark eyes studying you intently. You had always been direct, and it was something he respected, but now, standing so close, it was more than just a professional admiration. It was something deeper, something that had been brewing for weeks, if not longer.

“I have,” he admitted, his voice softer now, almost contemplative.

“So what are you going to do about it?” you asked, your tone teasing, but there was an underlying sincerity in your question.

Hotch took a deep breath, his eyes still locked on yours. For a moment, the air between you seemed to thicken, the unspoken tension finally surfacing.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, his tone more gentle than you had ever heard from him before.

You smiled, stepping back just enough to give him space. “I’ll be waiting.”

With that, you turned and left his office, leaving Hotch standing there, wondering just when he had started to consider the possibility of more.

The days after your conversation with Hotch carried on much like before: cases, paperwork, and the steady hum of the BAU. But now, there was an unmistakable tension between you and Hotch, a thread pulling tighter with each passing day. It wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, it was almost... fun.

You enjoyed testing the limits of his calm exterior, watching for the slightest crack in his composed demeanor. Though Hotch stayed focused, that flicker of amusement in his eyes gave him away.

The rest of the team noticed, too, particularly Morgan and Garcia. Morgan would occasionally shoot Hotch a sly look, silently encouraging him to do something about the growing tension. Garcia, meanwhile, gave you conspiratorial smiles, her curiosity clearly piqued by whatever she suspected was brewing between the two of you.

One afternoon, you couldn’t help yourself. You wandered into Hotch’s office under the guise of bringing him some updated case files. You knocked lightly, then stepped inside before he could respond, a habit you’d developed over the past few weeks.

Hotch barely looked up from his paperwork as you entered, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

“Y/N,” he acknowledged, his tone calm but not dismissive. 

He knew it wasn’t just the paperwork that had him distracted—it was you. You’d been working at the BAU for a short time, but you had already managed to throw him off his usual rhythm. He wasn’t used to this—feeling something more than just professional respect for someone in the office. It unsettled him.

He told himself that it wasn’t anything serious, that he could keep it under control, but whenever you were in the room, there was an awareness that lingered—something beyond the simple back-and-forth of a working relationship. He glanced up briefly, bracing himself for the easy confidence in your expression that always made him feel like you saw more than you let on.

“What do you need?” he asked, trying to keep his focus steady. He couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.

“Oh, nothing urgent,” you said, your voice light as you placed the files on the corner of his desk. “Just thought you might like a little company. You’ve been holed up in here for hours. Starting to wonder if you’re avoiding me.”

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to the document in front of him. “I’m not avoiding you,” he said evenly. “Just busy.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, stepping closer, leaning against his desk. “You say that, but I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me because I might be distracting you. Don’t worry, Hotch, I won’t take it personally.”

His eyes flicked up to yours again, this time lingering a little longer. “You’re not distracting me,” he replied, but there was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You sure? I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if I was. It’s kind of my specialty.”

Hotch set his pen down, finally leaning back in his chair, giving you his full attention. “Your specialty?” he asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into his voice. “And what exactly does that entail?”

You smiled, leaning in just slightly. “I’m good at getting under people’s skin... in a good way.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile threatening to appear. “I’m not so easily rattled,” he said, his tone challenging.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you replied, your voice soft but teasing. “I’ve noticed that you seem a little... different lately. Less of that ‘stoic FBI boss’ thing you’ve got going on. Could be me, though.” You tilted your head, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Hotch didn’t respond right away, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. But you could see the faintest crack in his armor—just enough to know you were getting to him.

“I think you overestimate your influence,” he said finally, though the amusement in his tone betrayed him.

You smiled wider, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just underestimating how much fun I’m having seeing if I can make you crack.”

Hotch leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk, his eyes locked on yours with that intense focus he was known for. “You think I’m going to crack?”

You shrugged, unphased by his scrutiny. “Everyone has a breaking point, Hotch. Even you.”

He didn’t answer, but the way his eyes held yours for just a second too long told you everything you needed to know. You were getting to him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Before the silence could stretch too far, you stood up straight, backing away just a little. “I’ll let you get back to your very important paperwork. Wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for you losing focus,” you said with a smirk.

“Appreciated,” Hotch replied, his voice low and controlled, but there was a new glint in his eyes. “I’m sure I can handle it.”

You gave him a playful wink before turning on your heel and walking out, leaving him sitting there, slightly amused but clearly rattled—just as you intended.

The tension between you and Hotch continued to simmer, but now, it was more playful than before. You took every opportunity to poke at him, using your wit and quick remarks to see how far you could push before he finally let something slip.

One day, you were both in the conference room, going over some reports. The rest of the team was out in the bullpen, busy with their own tasks, but you and Hotch were alone.

“Looks like we’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through,” you said, flipping through a stack of files. “You really should invest in a better system. Maybe hire a secretary... oh wait, that’s me.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest glint of humor in his eyes. “You’re doing a fine job. No need to hire anyone else.”

You smirked. “Fine job, huh? Just fine?”

He didn’t bite, instead focusing on the papers in front of him. “You’re very efficient.”

You leaned a little closer, lowering your voice just slightly. “Efficient? That’s the best you’ve got? I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, but efficient doesn’t exactly scream ‘compliment.’”

Hotch finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “What would you prefer?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully, pretending to consider the question. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something a little more... creative? Stunning? Irreplaceable?”

His lips quirked in what could have been a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Satisfied with your small victory, you leaned back, crossing your arms with a satisfied grin. “Good. I’d hate for you to hold back on my account.”

Before Hotch could respond, Morgan walked into the room, interrupting the moment. “Hey, Hotch, we’ve got a lead on the case. You ready?”

Hotch stood up, giving you one last glance before nodding. “Let’s go.”

You watched as they left, that familiar flutter in your stomach returning. You’d been teasing him relentlessly, but the way Hotch handled it only made you more intrigued. He never gave too much away, but there were moments, small cracks in his usual control, that told you you were getting under his skin in the best possible way.

By the time Friday rolled around, the team decided to go out for drinks again, needing a break from the stress of the week. You joined them, of course, slipping into your usual spot at the bar. As always, the conversation flowed easily, the team laughing and unwinding together.

But you couldn’t help but notice Hotch, sitting across from you, his attention shifting your way every so often. He wasn’t as reserved as he’d been in the past, and you found yourself wondering just how much further you could push him.

“You’ve been quiet tonight, Hotch,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Something on your mind?”

He glanced at you, a small, unreadable smile on his lips. “Just thinking.”

“About me, maybe?” you teased, your voice light but with an edge of curiosity.

Hotch’s eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his gaze—something you couldn’t quite read. But instead of answering, he just took a sip of his drink, letting the silence linger.

“Careful, Hotch,” you said with a smirk. “You’re starting to look like you’re actually enjoying yourself.”

His lips quirked again, but this time, he didn’t deny it. “Maybe I am.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, satisfied that you had gotten another small victory. This was becoming a game—one you were both enjoying far more than you’d anticipated.

And you had a feeling that sooner or later, Hotch was going to make his move.

The conversation shifted as drinks were passed around, laughter bubbling up among the team. You found yourself in easy conversation with Morgan and Prentiss, but every now and then, your eyes would drift back to Hotch, catching him watching you in those quiet moments between interactions.

It wasn’t long before Garcia, after a few drinks, leaned over the table toward you with a wide grin.

“Okay, Y/N, let’s get back to the real topic,” she began, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What’s your move with Hotch?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by her boldness. “My move?” you asked, though you already knew where she was going.

Emily grinned, leaning in as well. “Oh, come on, you basically laid it all out there last time we went out. Now the question is, what happens next?”

You laughed, feeling the team’s eyes on you, and shrugged, completely at ease. “I think we’ll let Hotch decide that,” you said, glancing at him from across the table.

Morgan smirked. “You’re telling me you’re just gonna wait for Hotch to make the move? You know he’s not exactly the type to—”

“To what?” Hotch interrupted, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement as he joined the conversation, eyes now fully on you.

Morgan chuckled. “I was just saying that you’re not exactly the type to, you know, make a move in these situations.”

The table erupted in quiet laughter, everyone clearly enjoying the banter. But Hotch, ever composed, leaned back in his seat and looked at you, his expression soft but serious.

“Maybe I surprise people sometimes,” Hotch said, his voice low enough that only you could hear it over the chatter.

Your eyes locked with his, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade. You could tell there was something unspoken in his words, something that hinted at more than just a challenge. Your heart raced, but you kept your composure, offering him a small, knowing smile.

Before anyone could say more, Hotch stood up, drawing the attention of the team. “I think it’s time I head out,” he said, his gaze briefly lingering on you.

Morgan raised his glass. “Always leaving early, boss man.”

Hotch gave him a small, amused nod before glancing back at you. “Y/N, do you mind giving me a ride back to the office? I left my car there.”

There was no hesitation in your response. “Sure.”

The team exchanged knowing glances as you both said your goodbyes, and once outside the bar, the cool evening air hit your skin, but the tension between you and Hotch kept the night warm. The car ride back to the office was filled with comfortable silence, the kind that spoke more than words ever could.

You pulled up to the BAU parking lot, the building mostly dark except for the faint glow of a few security lights. Hotch turned to you as you cut the engine, his eyes reflecting the low light.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice softer than usual.

“No problem,” you replied, sensing that something more was on the tip of his tongue.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with the unresolved tension from weeks of lingering looks and quiet conversations. Finally, Hotch broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with something deeper.

“Y/N, about everything you’ve said—about me,” he began, his eyes holding yours. “I didn’t respond the way I should have before. I wasn’t sure how to navigate it, but... I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You tilted your head, intrigued but calm. “And now?”

Hotch paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Now, I think I’ve decided.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in just slightly, his gaze never wavering from yours. “I’ve spent a long time keeping things... separate,” he said, his voice lower, more intimate. “But I don’t want to ignore what’s in front of me anymore.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of his words sink in. “So you’re saying you do make the move sometimes?”

A rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Maybe I just needed the right person to make me want to.”

And with that, Hotch closed the small gap between you, his hand reaching out to lightly brush your arm. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t impulsive. It was deliberate, intentional, and filled with the promise of something more. When his lips finally met yours, it was soft but firm, like everything you had been waiting for had just clicked into place.

Pulling back just slightly, he looked at you, the usual intensity in his eyes now tempered with something new. “Dinner next week?”

You grinned. “I’ll be waiting.”

And as he stepped out of the car, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you had finally shifted in the best possible way.

Hotch had always been the kind of man who liked things done a certain way—organized, thoughtful, and maybe a bit old-fashioned. So, when he offered to pick you up for your date, you couldn’t help but tease him a little.

“I could’ve driven myself, you know,” you said with a playful smile as you slipped into the passenger seat of his black SUV.

Hotch, ever composed, shot you a small glance. “I like to do things properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Properly? What, are you going to ask my father for permission, too?”

He smirked—just the barest hint of amusement playing at his lips. “I considered it.”

You let out a laugh, settling into the seat. “Old-fashioned, huh? I didn’t peg you as the type, Hotch.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a little tradition,” he replied, his eyes focused on the road, though you could see a glint of humor in them.

You leaned back in your seat, your voice teasing. “No complaints from me. But don’t expect me to be swooning over your chivalry.”

He chuckled under his breath, surprising you. It wasn’t often you heard him laugh, and when it did happen, it was always low, quiet—like a secret only a few were privileged to hear.

“Noted,” he said simply, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely unamused by your teasing. And that made you all the more curious to see how far you could push him tonight.

Dinner was a surprising success. You’d expected Hotch to be his usual composed self, always in control of the situation, but as the evening progressed, you realized there was more to him than the stoic leader you were used to seeing at work. He wasn’t exactly playful, but there was a dry wit to him, a subtle humor that came out when he was relaxed. And tonight, for the first time, you saw that side of him more clearly.

“Admit it,” you said, leaning forward slightly as the waiter refilled your wine glasses. “You’ve been looking forward to this.”

Hotch tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I won’t deny that.”

He surprised himself with the honesty of his response. Normally, he wouldn’t have indulged in something so personal, especially not during a conversation with a colleague. But this wasn’t the office. Here, under the dim lights of the restaurant, it was different. He was different.

He watched as you smirked, your chin resting in your hand, completely at ease. You had this way of disarming him with a simple look, a shift in your tone that made him feel more like a person and less like the always-in-control Unit Chief he was used to being. It was unsettling how quickly you’d managed to make him lower his guard, even for a moment.

How long has it been since I’ve felt like this? The thought crept up on him, unbidden. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone made him forget about the weight of his responsibilities, even if just for an evening. There was something easy about being around you, something he hadn’t expected but found himself wanting more of, even if he couldn’t quite admit it to himself yet.

You smirked, resting your chin in your hand. “See, you can be fun.”

“I’m not as rigid as you think,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, I know,” you teased. “You’re just selective about when you let it show.”

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze steady and thoughtful, and for a moment, you felt the familiar tension between you—the same pull that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. But just as you opened your mouth to speak again, Hotch’s phone buzzed on the table.

The moment the sound broke through, you both knew what it meant. A case.

As you laughed together over the last few sips of wine, the soft clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation around you made the world feel smaller, more intimate. Hotch’s eyes lingered on you a little longer, and you could sense that rare ease in his posture, a subtle but meaningful shift away from the controlled, composed man you were used to seeing in the office.

But then, his phone buzzed against the table, shattering the moment like a pebble hitting calm water. Hotch’s hand paused before picking it up, his gaze briefly flickering with something close to regret. He already knew what it was. So did you.

As he glanced at the screen, you saw the professional mask slip back into place, the rare vulnerability gone in an instant. His shoulders straightened, his jaw set, and that familiar intensity returned. 

"It’s from Garcia," he said quietly, the warmth from moments before replaced by the familiar seriousness of a case.

For a second, he didn’t say anything further, his eyes resting on the screen as if weighing the decision to cut the evening short. His lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the disappointment he wouldn’t voice. Finally, he glanced up at you, offering an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

"I’m sorry," he said, his voice quieter now, as if reluctant to pull himself away from the moment.

You leaned back in your chair, letting out a soft sigh. "Comes with the territory, right?" you replied, understanding but equally disappointed.

By the time the two of you arrived at the BAU, the rest of the team was already gathered in the bullpen, their eyes immediately locking onto you and Hotch as you walked in together. You were still dressed in your dinner attire, and Hotch, though composed, looked far more relaxed than he usually did when coming into the office. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on.

Morgan, always quick to jump on any chance for teasing, grinned widely the moment you entered. “Well, well, well,” he said, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “What have we here?”

Garcia, who had been standing by her computer, gasped dramatically. “No way! You two were on a date?!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting between you and Hotch like she’d just uncovered the juiciest gossip.

Reid, looking slightly bewildered but intrigued, glanced at Hotch. “Really?”

You, completely unbothered by the attention, flashed a smile as you walked over to the table, pulling your jacket off and tossing it over a chair. “Surprised? I thought you all were more observant than that.”

Morgan laughed, clearly enjoying the moment. “We had our suspicions. But I gotta say, seeing Hotch in date mode? Didn’t think it was possible.”

Emily, who had been watching with a sly smile, leaned in. “How’s he doing? All proper and stiff like usual?”

You grinned at Hotch, who was standing behind you, his expression calm but not quite unreadable. “Oh, he’s very proper,” you said, your voice laced with playful sarcasm. “He even picked me up. Very chivalrous.”

The team burst into laughter at that, and even Hotch, though stoic, didn’t seem fazed by the teasing. If anything, there was a trace of amusement in his eyes as he stood there, clearly aware that he was the center of the joke.

Garcia leaned forward, her eyes widening with curiosity. “Wait, hold on. Hotch on a date? This is... rare,” she said, her tone full of intrigue but tempered with playful restraint. “I mean, I’ve heard of such things, but to witness it—wow.”

Hotch shook his head slightly, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward. “It’s not as monumental as you’re making it sound,” he said with a small, almost sheepish smile, something barely noticeable but present.

You laughed, leaning against the table. “Sorry, Hotch. I think you’re stuck with this one for a while.”

Morgan grinned, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, I don’t think she’s going to let you off the hook that easily. But I’ve got to say,” he added, glancing between you and Hotch, “I haven’t seen the man this... relaxed in a long time.”

Garcia smiled softly, her usual energy settling into something more genuine. “It suits you, Hotch,” she said with a wink, but there was warmth in her words, not just her usual excitement.

You shot Hotch a quick look, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “See? I told you I was good at getting under people’s skin.”

Hotch gave you a sideways glance, but the hint of a smile on his face didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the team. “So I’ve noticed.”

Despite the teasing, the team eventually settled into their professional rhythm, focusing on the case at hand. Hotch shifted back into his role as Unit Chief seamlessly—his tone authoritative, his posture all business. But even as he directed the team, catching glimpses of you across the room, there was something new in the air between you, something that didn’t quite fit within the professional boundaries you’d both carefully maintained up until now.

Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing your way, his expression softening for just a moment before he returned to the task at hand. It didn’t go unnoticed by you. In fact, you could feel it—the subtle pull between you two, something the team had picked up on too.

You weren’t embarrassed about how the night had unfolded. Not even a little. You’d owned your feelings, and seeing Hotch standing there, the team playfully ribbing you both, only made you more certain of what was between you. If anything, it was fun. It felt natural. But as the case wore on and the work consumed everyone, the playful teasing fell away, leaving just you and Hotch standing side by side, reviewing files as you discussed the finer points of the profile.

At some point, Hotch’s shoulder brushed against yours, and it sent a spark through you—small but undeniable. The room was buzzing with the usual energy of the BAU at work, but between you and Hotch, there was a quiet that felt intimate, even in the middle of the chaos.

“You okay with how that all played out?” you asked quietly, keeping your voice low enough that only he could hear.

Hotch’s eyes met yours, his expression unreadable for a brief moment before he nodded. “It’s fine.”

You hesitated, sensing there was more beneath his calm exterior. Leaning in just a little, you lowered your voice even more, pushing a little, like you always did with him. “You sure? You’re not embarrassed?”

Hotch turned to face you more fully, his dark eyes steady as they met yours again. “Not at all,” he said, his voice soft but sure.

You studied him for a second, feeling that familiar spark of curiosity. “I can be a lot sometimes,” you admitted, your tone lighter now but with a genuine edge. “I know I get under your skin. And I’ve noticed you try to keep things professional, but... am I too much for you?”

His brow furrowed slightly as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He stepped just a fraction closer, his tone serious but gentle. “You’re not too much,” he said quietly, his eyes searching yours. “It’s not that. I’m just... not used to it.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling a little bold. “Not used to what? Someone poking at your stoic FBI boss exterior?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound almost surprising. “That, yes. But it’s more than that,” he said, his gaze softening as he spoke. “I’m not used to someone like you. Confident, brazen, and... beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Coming from Aaron Hotchner, they felt weightier than any compliment you’d ever received before. “You really think I’m all that?” you teased, though your voice was softer now, the playfulness balanced by something more vulnerable.

Hotch gave you a small smile, the kind that was so rare for him but meant so much. “I do.”

For a moment, you didn’t speak. You just stood there, his words hanging between you, the tension both professional and personal at once. You’d been used to teasing him, pushing his buttons, testing the boundaries. But this? This was different. This was real.

“Good,” you said finally, a smirk tugging at your lips as you regained your playful tone. “Because I plan on teasing you about this for weeks.”

Hotch shook his head, amused. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You were about to respond when Morgan walked past, flashing a grin. “Are you two done having your little moment? We’ve got a case to solve.”

Hotch straightened, his professional demeanor snapping back into place, though you could still see the warmth in his eyes when he glanced at you. “Let’s get back to work.”

But even as you returned to the task at hand, there was no mistaking that something had shifted between you. The teasing, the banter, the sparks you’d been playing with for weeks—all of it had led to this. And you knew, even as you both focused on the case, that the connection between you wasn’t something that would just go away.

As the night stretched on, you worked side by side, the teasing and laughter from earlier fading into the background. But every now and then, when the room was quieter and the rest of the team was occupied, Hotch would glance at you again, and in those moments, you saw it—the acknowledgment of what was growing between you.

This wasn’t just another playful exchange, another round of banter. This was real. And as much as Hotch was still the consummate professional, always in control, you could tell he wasn’t uncomfortable or embarrassed. Not by you, not by what was happening. He was simply adjusting, learning how to navigate something new.

When the case was finally wrapped up, and everyone began to head home, you found yourself standing in the BAU’s dimly lit office with Hotch once again. The others had gone, leaving just the two of you alone in the quiet.

“Well,” you said, folding your arms with a grin, “we never got to finish that date.”

Hotch, still composed, gave you a small smile. “I’ll make it up to you.”

You tilted your head, teasing. “You better. I don’t usually let guys off the hook that easily.”

He chuckled softly, the sound making your heart skip again. “I’m not letting myself off the hook.”

You took a step closer, your voice lowering just slightly. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go that easy either.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of the night hanging in the air. And then, in a gesture that felt natural, Hotch reached out, his hand brushing yours before gently intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I’ll pick you up again tomorrow,” he said quietly, his eyes warm.

You smiled, giving his hand a light squeeze.“Old-fashioned, I remember.”

He smiled back, his tone soft but full of promise. “I think it’s growing on you.”

And with that, you both turned to leave, the knowledge that this—whatever it was—was just beginning.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @khxna @rousethemouse

[wandasaura]

LOVELORN AND NOBODY KNOWS

summary — your relationship with natasha is not as black and white as it seems, but you’re in no rush to figure out the logistics of it. when she leaves for a business trip, wanda is your only source of comfort, but you hate her… right?

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, playful banter between three idiots, somnophilia, edging, praise, begging, teasing, oral, fingering, semi-clothed sex, finger sucking, bratty reader, a fuck ton of domestic shenanigans, copious amounts of fluff, essentially hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, mommy wanda 101, so much softness, men/minors dni

authors note — this is actually such a wild ride, and i shamelessly got the slightest bit carried away, but hey, we’re making progress in the wanda x reader department!

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

You saw Natasha at least three times a week, she made sure of it when she could. Sometimes, you were lucky enough to see her every day in some capacity, other times her business kept you apart for an entire week if not longer. Your favorite days were the ones where she’d stop by your dorm room for a quick lunch break. She’d bring your favorite meal and a bouquet of vibrant flowers, and it gave you a taste of what an authentic relationship with her would look like. You never forgot about Wanda. Never forgot that she was already married and had her wife’s explicit permission to be seeing you, but it was nice to pretend anyway. It probably wasn’t the best idea to have a crush on your employer, even if your arrangement was anything but practical, but even still, you should not be crushing hard on the woman who pays you for a fuck. 

You’d seen Natasha four times this week and it was only Wednesday. She’d stopped by your dorm room for lunch on Monday afternoon, holding onto a takeout bag from your favorite Italian restaurant, a bouquet of wildflowers neatly arranged in a tall and elegant vase, and one of her old Avengers University hoodies that had been meticulously sprayed down with her expensive perfume. On Tuesday, you ran into her at your favorite coffee shop where she subsequently stopped you from ordering a triple shot espresso in exchange for an ice water. You’d wanted to be mad, wanted to tell her that you were a big girl and you needed the extra caffeine to survive the long day of studying ahead, but when you’d even thought about challenging her, one look into her green eyes had you melting into the submissive partner she expected you to be. Sometimes you hated how easily she could break your strength without even trying, but you knew that was the biggest lie you've ever told yourself. You adore the control she has over you, you allow her to have that control, but sometimes you just wanted her to remind you of that. She did later that evening when you’d gone to the Maximoff’s residence for dinner. On Wednesday morning, you woke up with a soft ache between your thighs and the remnants of her touch in the form of scattered bruising across your chest. 

Every Wednesday night since you’d signed the contract to be Natasha Maximoff’s sugar baby, you had gone over to the Maximoff residence for a movie night and pizza. There was never a promise of anything sexual happening, but sometimes you just couldn’t help yourself and Natasha would fuck you right there on the couch if you asked nice enough. Wanda wasn’t always a participant in your film marathons. She worked in the office a significant amount more than Natasha did, claiming she liked the fast paced environment more than the peaceful quiet of the house, and her late hours kept her away from you most Wednesday nights. For that you were beyond grateful, but you didn’t always get so lucky. 

Tonight was one of those nights where Wanda had retired from the office earlier than usual, and was already on the couch with a half finished glass of wine before you’d even shown up at seven. The key you kept on your lanyard was practically useless on Wednesdays. If the door wasn’t already unlocked prior to your arrival, Natasha was sprinting to open it before you could even attempt to do it yourself. The gesture made you blush a ferocious shade of red each time, and you wondered if she sat by the window and watched you drive up just so she could fluster you, but you’d never get that answer out of her no matter how prettily you begged. Some secrets were kept tightly underwraps, even if they were merely forged in amusement. You’ve come to learn that Natasha Maximoff loves secrets, even if they made both yours and Wanda’s skin crawl. 

“How were classes, milyy?” Natasha asked sweetly, pressing a soft kiss to your lips in the doorway of the house, not yet letting you enter fully. The warmer days of Spring had finally settled over top of the small New Jersey shore town she and Wanda lived within, and the lick of heat that encased your body was particularly pleasant tonight. Dressed in only a pair of soft pajama shorts and her recently gifted hoodie, you didn’t mind standing outside for as long as she wanted, the moonlight reflecting off of her eyes created its own endless galaxy that you had the pleasure of getting lost in. You’d hate to shuffle inside and lose sight of it. 

“Tiring.” You hummed, leaning into her gentle touch when her calloused palms reached out to cup your cheeks. Your answer sets the mood for the evening even without meaning to, but you don’t mind what you’re getting yourself into. Natasha is always particularly attentive and soft with you if you tell her that you’ve had a long day, and secretly, you’ve been anticipating her coddling since your second lecture that afternoon. “It’s almost done, I just keep telling myself that.” 

“And then you’re mine for an entire summer. Think you can manage six more weeks before I steal you away?” She asked softly, already having a plethora of ideas for how she’d ask you to spend your break. You practically lived at the Maximoff residence during the semester, she couldn’t imagine three full months of your undivided attention and company. It was sure to be bliss. 

“Or I can drop out and we can start early.” You suggested, though it was merely a fabrication of your need for calm rather than any actual intentions of dropping out. You adored your academics, as demanding as they were, you were just reaching a critical episode of burnout. “Never let me overload again. I think my cerebrum is malfunctioning.” 

“That’s a big word for such a little girl.” Wanda’s voice quipped from deeper into the house, a playful edge to her tone but you were in no mood for jokes, especially not from her. You scowled with the knowledge that you wouldn’t even get a handful of hours alone with Natasha now, whining pitifully into the chest of your dominant. Sometimes you wished you could call her more than that, but you’d settle for anything if it meant calling her yours. 

“Be nice, she’s just teasing.” Natasha rewarded you with a gentle kiss, her cold fingers tilting your chin upward until she had your lips perfectly available. You tasted like coffee, and her brows furrowed at the realization that not long ago, probably not even a full half hour ago, you’d consumed caffeine. She always worried about you getting enough sleep at night, and the repercussions of caffeine on days when your anxiety was particularly brutal, but you never listened to her. “How many coffee’s have you had today, milyy?” 

“Please don’t punish me.” You sighed in regret, melting against her chest and forcing her arms to wrap around your waist and support the majority of your weight, the front door still open and allowing the valued cold air that Wanda paid a pretty penny for to slip out into the streets of Westview. “I just needed something to get me through class, and I didn’t want to fall asleep on you ten minutes into a movie so I stopped on the way here. I didn’t even finish it, promise, it’s still half-full in the car. You’re leaving tomorrow. I just wanted to see you.” 

Your nervous rambling was enough to indicate that your head was swimming in thoughts that made no real sense. Truthfully you knew that Natasha wouldn’t punish you for your caffeine intake. She’d be worried, she’d make you drink enough water to refill the ocean if it somehow managed to evaporate, but she wouldn’t punish you. Her consideration for your wellbeing did not warrant a physical punishment for choices you made as a grown adult, even if they concerned her. 

“Is that what this is about?” Natasha quizzed, looking down at you with a fondness in her eyes that made your cheeks flush a shade of pink only she had ever been able to create. When you nodded sadly, still not willing to let go of her waist, the lawyer huffed out a mixture of laughter that was somehow both saddened and amused. “It’s only two weeks, milyy. Fourteen days. How many hours is that?” She asked softly, knowing that you knew the answer. When you had first learned of her inescapable business trip to the Bahamas, which honestly sounded more like a dream than an obligation, you’d gone on a rampage. You’d listed off the number of days and hours and seconds that you’d be apart. You’d pleaded with her not to leave you for so long, and as embarrassed as you felt once you’d sobered up from your state of panic, the fact still remained that you were dreading the time apart. Yeah, Natasha was definitely more than just your contractual dominant, but neither one of you had braved a conversation regarding what the true extent of your relationship was. 

“Three hundred and thirty six. That’s over twenty thousand minutes, Natty.” You whispered into her chest so softly that the howling wind almost drowned you out, but still Natasha heard you and tightened her hold around your midsection, not caring about how warm the house became as a result of the still open front door. She’d melt into a puddle if it meant easing your mind, and Wanda, despite her tendency to poke fun at you, didn’t mind either. 

“You’ll be okay. I have a surprise for you, but I think we need to get some food into this belly and some water into you before we do any of that.” Natasha smoothed the wild flyaways away from your face, cradling your cheeks sweetly and tenderly, almost as if she was afraid if she touched you too hard you’d crumble on her front porch. 

At the mention of a surprise, your attention peaked, and you tried to peer around her body for any indication of what it was that she had. “Now?” You tried to convince her, a lively spark coming back to your eyes. You always loved her surprises. They weren’t all material, and the ones that were didn’t always make your bank account hurt at the mere thought of how much she’d spent on you. Sometimes a surprise meant that she’d take you out for a walk and bring you to her favorite bench by the shore, sometimes it meant she’d found little canvases to paint and had set up a makeshift studio in her office. Sometimes it meant that she had new toys to test and outfits to wear. You never knew what she had up her sleeve, but you adored her efforts nonetheless. 

Natasha laughed at your eagerness, glad that you had come back to yourself if only for a couple of minutes, but shook her head to decline your temptations. “Not now. Come on, inside, baby.” She guided you further into the house, finally closing the heavy front door when you were far enough inside to not be nicked by the latch. She’d made the mistake once, and you hadn’t let her forget about it since. She was so excited about your company that she’d more or less attempted to close the front door on your body, and while she’d apologized profusely, you’d just taken the bait and been able to call her the impatient one for once. 

“Hi Wanda.” You mumbled out pleasantries, knowing that it would make Natasha happy even if you just wanted to ignore the other CEO in the room. The woman was curled up into the corner of the couch, far away from the spot you and Natasha typically occupied during movie nights. Briefly you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, or if that was just the spot she liked to sit in. 

“Hi, darling.” She returned the greeting, though it was significantly warmer than yours. Natasha praised you for your efforts either way, running her cold hands up and down your thighs as she came to stand directly behind you, her chin resting on the crown of your head in the way you despised when anyone else tried to do that same. She was only two or so inches taller than you, but she made up for it in dominance, and it was no help that you shrunk in on yourself whenever she was around. 

“Go sit with Wanda, baby. I’ll bring you out some pizza.” Natasha left a kiss on the side of your head before she pulled away from you entirely and gave you an encouraging shove toward the couch. You pouted not only because of her asking you to keep Wanda company, but because the last thing you wanted was to leave her company after just entering it. 

Wanda laughed at your expression, patting the soft silk cushions of the couch invitingly. You adored their couch. You had made it known on multiple occasions when you all but refused to move into a bed at the end of the night, but something about being left alone with Wanda made even the softest seat feel daunting and scary. “I don’t bite, detka.” Wanda laughed, watching you pleadingly stare at Natasha who promptly ignored the burn of your eyes on her back as she disappeared into the kitchen. Her auburn hair looked like pure fire as she slipped into the brighter lit room, the overhead lights casting spells on her appearance. “She’ll be right back, there’s no need to pout.” 

You huffed at Wanda’s unwillingness to appease your sadness, but shuffled on your feet until you were close enough to the couch to plop down in the way she hated. The cushion sank beneath your weight and the back of the couch welcomed your presence without any additional need to wiggle around and get comfortable, and as much as it felt like a warm hug, your skin crawled being so close to Wanda without Natasha around to mediate. 

“Don’t be a brat, darling. It’s only for a couple of minutes.” Wanda’s scold wasn’t necessarily cold, but it was still laced with dominance that you couldn’t ignore. You huffed, pouting deeper, grabbing fistfulls of the hoodie’s sleeves and holding them over your trembling fingers. Wanda’s reserve melted as she picked up the subtle tells of anxiety, and that indistinguishable gleam reappeared in her eyes that were green like Natasha’s but so so different and unique. “You still have all of tonight. There’s no need for the tears right now, angel. Tomorrow, you can cry all you want, but enjoy what you have in the moment. Can you do that, detka?” 

“I don’t want her to leave.” You mumbled, nervously bringing the cuff of Natasha’s sleeve up to your mouth and chewing on it. Wanda had seen Natasha reprimand you for the action, she herself had reprimanded you for the action, but you looked far too nervous to scold right now, so she let you be. You didn’t know what had come over you. Never would you admit such silly feelings to Wanda, but you figured she would understand your thoughts. Natasha was nothing to you but a piece of paper, even if you didn’t believe that it was still the truth, but Wanda was her wife, and she had every reason to hate this trip more than you did. 

Not making a sarcastic remark like you’d half-expected her to, Wanda merely shrugged sadly and took another long sip of her red. You hated red wine, but the lawyer beside you found it particularly comforting for reasons you’d never asked about. “I don’t want her to go either, but she has to. A long time ago we stopped getting upset about what’s best for our business. It doesn’t do either of us any good if we work ourselves up about the inevitable. She’s come back before, hasn’t she?” 

“Yeah, but– but she’s never been gone this long, and– and, I don’t know.” You shrugged, your words practically incoherent with the thick material still between your teeth, but Wanda had understood you perfectly. 

“I think you do know, but you don’t want to tell me, and that’s okay. It’s okay to need her, malysh. She does a lot for you, yes? More than just providing orgasms like you’d thought you’d be getting into.” There was a hint of a teasing in Wanda’s tone, and her words caused a blush to spread across your cheeks at the implication of her knowing about your most intimate moments. Of course she knew. She’d seen you cum on Natasha’s strap and her fingers, on her thigh and on her tongue, in her bed and on her couch and her dining room table, but still you found ways to be shy about the topic after nearly a year. 

“Shut up.” You mumbled through your mortification, wanting desperately to hide your face and scrub this conversation from your memory. Your cerebrum may be failing in an intellectual sense, but it was working just fine now and you hated to admit that talking about orgasms with Wanda made you needy. 

Wanda laughed at your embarrassment, setting her wine glass down on the coffee table in front of her, her ringed fingers sparkling in the dim lighting of the room. The diamonds on her left hand were particularly blinding, and once again you remembered what you were to them and what Natasha wasn’t to you. 

“Natasha is just as upset about leaving you. She knows this is a stressful time, or did you forget we both went through eight years of law school?” Wanda quirked a perfectly sculpted brow in your direction, her green stare unwavering, and honestly, you had forgotten that they’d been in your shoes once, even if it was years ago now. Your silence was enough of an answer for Wanda whose lips curled upward into her signature smirk of amusement. “I think you’ll like the surprise.”

“You know what it is?” Your head whipped in her direction, and no longer did you avoid looking into her eyes. Your excitement was back, and desperately you bounced on the couch and pulled the sleeve away from your mouth. “What is it?” 

“What kind of secret would it be if I gave it up so easily? You should know better than that, little one.” Wanda laughed, curling her legs further beneath her as she readjusted on the couch, not missing your immediate pout at her unwillingness to even give you a hint. “You will find out soon.”

“I wanna find out now.” You huffed, throwing yourself back into the couch and crossing your arms over your chest. You wouldn’t beg with Wanda, no you still had enough self control to restrain from stopping to such low levels, but maybe you could work Natasha and get her to cave before she made you sit through an entire movie still not knowing. 

“Are you still pouting about the surprise?” The voice of your dominant hadn’t been expected, and you lurched forward on the couch in a desperate attempt to please her. Both women laughed at your stick-straight posture and firmly planted feet, but only one of them leaned forward to kiss your head and for that you were grateful. 

“Yes!” You huffed, throwing your arms out toward your sides in exasperation, narrowly avoiding hitting Natasha in the face as she leaned down to place three plates of pizza on the coffee table. You’d never understand how she could balance so many things at once, but when you’d asked once, she’d just laughed and told you she was a skilled spy in another life. “Please, Natty? I want to know! Wanda knows! You know! I’m the only one who doesn’t know!”

“That’s because A, Wanda lives here, and B, the surprise is for you. Do I need to remind you of the definition of a surprise, or is your brain working enough to remind yourself.” She taunted, not yet moving to sit down on the couch and collect you into her embrace, and it was then you realized that she still needed to go and collect the waters from the kitchen. “Eat. If half of that slice is gone by time I get back, maybe I’ll throw you a bone.” 

Wanda laughed at your deep frown, but she made no other comments that would’ve gotten you into hot water with Natasha when you inevitably quipped back at her. You aggressively grabbed the slice from the plate, biting off more than you could comfortably chew just as a means of expressing your annoyance. 

“Somebody’s fussy.” Natasha merely commented, and you sighed knowing she was right. She was always right, but it never made the pill any easier to swallow when she called you out. “How much sleep did you get last night?” She quizzed, and once again it felt like you were under interrogation as she looked up into her eyes and simultaneously felt Wanda’s gaze on the back of your head. 

“How many hours will you consider a reasonable amount?” You tried to wiggle your way out of trouble, but Natasha was unwilling to budge as she placed her hands on her hips. “Two.” You eventually admitted. “And I had four coffees. I never answered that question. But it wasn’t my fault, honest, Natty!” 

“And how would that not be your fault?” Natasha played your game, even if she so desperately wanted to march your ass up the stairs and make you go to bed right then and there. 

“I had to cover for my group partners for a stupid project that’s literally worth half of our grade! I don’t know how those fucking idiots have even made it this far without being kicked out. I’ve been reaching out to them all semester, but I couldn’t wait to finish it any more. It’s due next week and every time I emailed the professor she just told me to wait a little longer because I still had time before it was due. I left them parts to do so that they could get some credit at least, that was a fucking mistake.” You seethed, your jaw locked as you recounted the events of last night that had definitely ended with you crying yourself to sleep out of sheer frustration. 

“Detka.” Surprisingly, it was Wanda’s voice that called out to you, and you turned to face her with unbridled tears in your eyes. “You are not responsible for the academics of others who do not wish to put in the same amount of effort as you. It was very nice that you tried to save their asses, but if I hear that you sacrificed your own wellbeing again, you will have to deal with me. Not Natasha, and not your professors. Is that understood?” 

You knew that Wanda could punish you if she really wanted to. Natasha had made that clear when you’d been filling out the contract. As much as you were only her submissive, you’d agreed to her proposition of letting Wanda deal with you if she saw fit, and clearly, this was an instance where both of them agreed because Natasha didn’t offer a single defense in your favor. Wanda had never threatened to punish you, not seriously at least, it was more or less just banter between two dominants who sought out different things in a submissive, but now she was beyond serious and your cheeks flushed at the scolding. Your typical snarky response attitude fell away in an instance, leaving only a pliant submissive in the place where sarcasm usually filled. You tested Wanda. You pushed her buttons and bit back at her when she dangled bait in front of your face, but it was always Wanda that you fought with, the woman Natasha married, not the dominant you knew that she was both inside and outside of the bedroom. You had enough respect for her to address her with obedience now, even if you tried to tell yourself you hated her guts. 

“Yes, ma’am.” You whispered, dropping your gaze to your trembling hands in your lap. “I only tried to help them. My professor kept telling me everything was okay.” 

“Your professor is an idiot, and if she doesn’t fail your partners when you tell her that they did nothing to help you, which you will tell her next time you have class, I will deal with her myself. Is that understood, little one?” Wanda’s hand reached out to capture your chin, and although you wanted to flinch away from her touch, scared that it would burn you if that was at all possible, you allowed her to redirect your stare until you were looking into her worried and angered eyes. 

“Yes.” You deflated, hating that your peaceful evening had turned into this. “Can we just drop it? Please? I don’t want to talk about school.” 

“You’ve had a long couple of days, haven’t you?” Natasha cooed sweetly, understanding what you needed even if you hadn’t explicitly asked for it. You wanted to shut your brain off and just surrender yourself to her. You wanted her to take control, you wanted her to make the decisions, and she was more than happy to comply with that request. 

“The longest.” You sighed out, leaning into her touch when she reached a hand out and gently cradled your face. “I didn’t want to be naughty. I didn’t think I was being naughty.” 

“I never laid out academic expectations, you have no reason to feel guilty about breaking a rule you didn’t know existed. You know now, and will you do it again?” Natasha asked softly, getting down on her knees in front of you and softly wiping the pads of her thumbs against your cheeks, wiping away tears that hadn’t yet fallen. 

“No.” You shook your head, an admission that you couldn’t stop from forming on the tip of your tongue. “Wanda’s scary.” 

Natasha laughed at your statement, but she nodded her head softly, not disagreeing with you. She had been on the receiving end of Wanda’s scolding one too many times, and she knew just how threatening it could be. If you thought she was scary now, when she was admittedly being very soft and patient with you, Natasha knew you’d be a gonner the second you actually did anything to piss her off. “She is pretty scary, huh? But it’s only because she cares about you, even though you like to act like a little brat whenever she’s around. You’re a cute brat.” 

“Natalia.” Wanda’s sharp tone caught both of your attention, and subconsciously you leaned in closer to Natasha as if she could protect you from her wife. “Do not encourage her.” 

Natasha cracked a small goofy smile that had you giggling, your guilt and upset long forgotten as you leaned forward to kiss her nose the same way she did to you. “Eat your pizza, baby. I’ll show you the surprise after, okay?” 

“Okay.” You agreed, letting her stand and retreat back to the kitchen to collect the water she would undeniably make you drink entirely. “I’m a cute brat.” You looked back at Wanda, repeating Natasha’s words that would definitely get you in trouble at a later date, but for tonight, Wanda allowed you to feel content with the admission, not wanting to see any more tears in your eyes. She would never tell you, but seeing you upset broke her heart just as much as it did when she saw Natasha upset.

“I am not above spanking a cute brats ass until it’s sore for a week, but yes, you are a very cute brat.” Wanda laughed, not missing the way your eyes bulged out of your head and you quickly distracted yourself with another bite of pizza. 

When pizza was eaten and a significant amount of water was drunk, Natasha kept her promise of showing you to your surprise. Wanda didn’t trail along with you, more than content to let you have a moment alone with the woman you would miss unbearably by this time tomorrow. You held onto Natasha’s hand as she guided you down the upstairs hallway, practically bouncing on your toes as she took her sweet time. 

“Why are we going in here? It’s empty.” You frowned when Natasha abruptly stopped walking and instead stood still in front of the third door on the left; the last door on this side of the hallway. The first two doors led to rooms you knew well, although Wanda’s office was significantly less explored then Natasha’s, you’d still been in there a handful of times when your dominant asked you to place some paperwork on her desk. 

“Finals are coming up, and I know you hate working in the library because college kids don’t know the definition of quiet.” Natasha began, her hand not yet reaching for the gold doorknob. The suspense was killing you, and she seemed to take great pleasure in that fact. “I thought you would like to have a space where you can come and do your work, or just decompress if you need to. Well, it was actually Wanda’s idea, but she thought you’d hate it if she knew it was her suggestion, so don’t tell her I told you.”  

“My lips are sealed.” You giggled, keeping your voice low and hushed, though you were absolutely certain Wanda could hear the both of you perfectly clear despite your mutual efforts to be sneaky. The woman had a strange sixth sense for knowing when you and Natasha were causing trouble, but this time it was at least a good trouble. 

“You have your key. I want you to use it when I’m gone, even if Wanda’s home and you think she won’t want to see you. This might not be your home, but you are welcome at all hours of the day and night.” Natasha kissed the side of your head gently before she reached out for the doorknob and gently led you inside, flicking on the lights when both of you were inside of the room. 

The plain white walls that you were used to were now adorned in all kinds of photographs and prints. Some of the pieces displayed were photographs of you and Natasha that you didn’t even know existed, but some were posters of your favorite places and artists that only someone who paid careful attention would know. You’d droned on and on about Scotland and Moscow one night with Natasha, and you hadn’t expected her to really be listening, nor remember the exact locations mentioned, but the scenic photographs of your favorite towns and cities proved that she had been and that she did. There were little knick knacks and trinkets on the bookshelf toward the back of the room, and your eyes quickly spotted a figurine of a whimsical fairy placed right beside your favorite children's book that brought you comfort on long days. There was greenery in almost every corner of the room. A succulent sitting on your desk with prickly beige spikes adorning its thickest section. You giggled at the pot of choice, approaching it slowly as if you weren’t allowed to touch it. The entire room was magnificent and so perfectly you, you didn’t even know how to express your gratitude.

“This is amazing, Nat.” You breathed out in wonder, sweeping the tips of your fingers along the potted cactus. The pot was a nude color, notably the same shade of pale as Natasha’s skin in the wintertime, and the painted nipples on the pot were comically small and pink. You knew that she’d been the one to pick out that pot, and you could almost imagine Wanda’s exasperation when she’d been shown it. “How much of a fuss did Wanda put up about the pot?” You giggled. 

“Oh she made me cook dinner for three days after that purchase. Something about me being ‘incredibly childish and needing to learn how an adult acts’. I know she likes it though. There’s a matching one in our bathroom.” Natasha’s smirk was smug, and you desperately wanted to kiss it off her face, but you were frozen in place when you realized there was a desktop computer sitting in the middle of your desk that was identical to the one in both her and Wanda’s office. 

“Nat, you didn’t need to do this. This must have cost you a fortune.” Tears brimmed your eyes, but unlike before, they weren’t in the slightest bit sad. You crashed into her chest with a force that threatened to knock her on her ass, but she had maintained upright and had reciprocated the embrace with a tightness that only reminded you about her upcoming departure. “I’m going to miss you so much.”  

“Hey, look at me, angel.” Natasha gently guided your eyes to meet hers, and you were shocked to find that they were just as glassy as your own. Maybe Wanda was telling you the truth when she said Natasha was just as upset about the business trip as you are. “I’ll be back in three hundred and thirty six hours, and then I’m not leaving for the rest of summer. You have me for three full months, can you be my strong girl for two weeks?” 

“Only if you promise that you won't have any fun while you’re gone. And that you’ll drink a pina colada for me, straight out of a coconut, with a pink bendy straw and a little umbrella.” Natasha laughed at your petulant proposition, but she extended her pinky finger in the same childish fashion. 

“I pinky promise I won’t have any fun. It’ll be impossible to have any fun without you, detka.” She whispered, leaning forward to brush her lips against your forehead. “And I pinky promise to drink a pina colada straight out of a coconut with a pink bendy straw and a little umbrella just for you.” 

“I can be your strong girl then.” You wrapped your pinky around hers, pulling your entangled fingers close to kiss them softly and lock in the promise. “I wish you didn’t have to leave.” 

“I wish I didn’t have to leave either, but it’s my turn to be the big scary boss lady. And, you’ll have this space to come to if you miss me. There might be a couple of other surprises laying around, but I want you to find them in your own time, okay?” 

“No super sneaky peeking around.” You agreed, cracking a genuine smile up at her. “Can we go watch the movie now? Wanda hasn’t complained about seeing Cars in a while.” 

“Are you ever going to let her have a moment of peace?” Natasha laughed at your cheeky expression, smoothing it down with a lingering kiss that was nothing but sweet. 

“Absolutely not.” You giggled, already peeling away from her body and making a mad dash down the stairs and toward the living room, knowing that she’d be right behind you. 

-

A fire in your lower belly is the sensation that eventually pulls you from sleep, though the blinding presence of morning sunshine is a close second. It takes only three seconds for you to realize that your hips are pinned to the soft mattress beneath your weight, incapacitating you from attempting to stretch like a newborn kitten, it takes you a further three seconds to realize that the fire in your core was not a result of a wet dream you couldn’t remember, but rather Natasha’s tongue and fingers as she worked you open. 

You gasped at a particularly harsh thrust, her fingers curling into your pussy with a vengeance, seeking out that soft spot within your walls that made your eyes roll each and every time she abused it. If you weren’t so disoriented from sleep, you would’ve had the decency to feel embarrassed about the wet squelching sounds that Natasha draws from your cunt every time she snaps her wrist back toward your mound, but there's no time to think about how desperate your body is for her touch even when asleep. 

“Daddy!” You cry out, your back arching off the bed, attempting to push yourself closer to her face and seek out a deeper pressure on your clit that's being worked over with practiced ease. You briefly wonder how long she’s been between your legs, but it's not a thought that stays longer than a fleeting single second before you're being distracted by her nails digging into your thigh wit the hand thats not fucking your desperate hole. “Please! Fuck!” 

Natasha moans against your pussy, and it’s only when you raise your head to see her clearly that you realize that there's a vibrator clenched between her own naked thighs and she’s actively chasing her own high, her hips rocking against the bulbous head of the purple toy you have a love-hate relationship with. Your fingers reach down to grab at her auburn hair, pulling her closer to where you need her most, begging her to fix the mess that she single-handedly created. 

You can feel the coil growing in your stomach, getting tighter and tighter with each pass of her tongue against your throbbing clit. You come undone so quickly for her, there’s no telling if she’s been between your thighs for mere minutes or entire hours, but the sensation of sunlight against your face tells you that it’s at least ten in the morning, and Natasha’s an early riser, so you know that if anything, she’s been edging you for at least an hour so successfully that you hadn’t even stirred. 

Her lips pull away from your clit far too soon for your liking, and the hill that you’d been climbing slowly starts to fall despite the fingers still practicing a punishing pace as they disappear into your most intimate part. “Do you know how many sweet orgasms Daddy has stolen from you, Princess? Do you know how sweetly you moan when you're still asleep?” 

“Fuck, Daddy, please!” You cry out in desperation, writhing on the bed before her free hand leaves your thigh and reclaims its position against your hips, effectively stilling your movements and leaving you to just accept what she gives you. 

“Five. Daddy’s edged you five times. You must’ve been so sleepy, baby girl. Do you feel all rested now?” She teases, and her mouth is so close to your pussy that you can feel the vibration of her words against your clit. She wont start up again until you’ve answered her, but there's not a single coherent sentence in your brain at the moment. Your senses and thoughts are consumed with one thing; her. “Hm, do you feel better now, baby? You were so tired last night you didn’t even make a fuss when Wanda carried you to bed.”

Your face flushes in embarrassment as you learn about who had been the one to tuck you in so tenderly. You remember red hair and soft lips as they kissed your forehead, you remember a gentle hand brushing against your cheeks as you whined for them to stay with you, but it hadn’t registered that it was Wanda who carried you upstairs and not Natasha. 

“Y-Yes, yes I feel better, now please! P-Please Daddy, make me cum! Let me cum!” You sob rather pathetically, but you're too lost in pleasure to care about how needy you come across. Your fingers that are still threaded into her hair attempt to pull her lips back to your clit and she lets you. If she didn’t want you winning, you know she could’ve easily resisted your grip, but there's something so satisfying about believing that you’ve overpowered Natasha Maximoff. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Natasha hums against your clit, devouring your pussy with purpose. She’s not wasting time on pleasantries, you suppose she’s already done enough of that, and her tongue sets a punishing pace in tune with her fingers as she circles and flicks at your clit with the very opposite of kitten licks like you know she loves to tease you with. 

“Oh! Oh!” You cry out, an orgasm approaching you, but unlike earlier, Natasha doesn’t pull away and she doesn’t slow down, if anything, she picks up speed and hammers into your pussy so harshly you know you’ll be feeling these lingering touches for days afterward. You can’t bring it upon yourself to care though, and your hips attempt to meet her thrusts. “Please! Please!” 

“Hold it.” Natasha sounds desperate herself, and it's only when she increases the speed of the vibrator that you realize what she wants. She wants to cum together. She’s leaving today, in less than two hours, but she’s taking the time to be with you rather than packing her carry-on, and on top of that, she wants to cum together. You're drowning in adoration, blinded by pleasure, completely surrendering yourself to her and whatever she deems you worthy of receiving. “Just a little more, Daddy’s so close, baby. Gonna cum with Daddy? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s face and let her taste you before she leaves? Gonna let me remember the taste of your sweet pussy before I leave for the airport?”

“Please! Please, I want to cum for you!” You cry out, your blunt nails clawing at the skin of her neck and shoulders as you feel yourself beginning to crash over that blissful edge of satisfaction. Natasha doesn’t stop you this time, and with the slightest signal of permission as her fingers tap twice on your belly, you fall over that edge and gush around her fingers. 

“Good girl.” She coos, her breath caught in her throat as she comes down from her own high, wiggling away from the vibrator when the sensations become too much against her sensitive clit. “Such a good girl for me.” She praises you, rewarding you with a soft kiss against your throbbing clit. “Shh, let Daddy clean you up.” Natasha hums, pulling her fingers out of your pussy and replacing them with her tongue. You reach for her hand, knowing how much it drives her crazy when you suck your orgasm off of her fingers, and right now, you’re more than willing to please her in that way. Your tongue rolls between her knuckles, your teeth gently nibbling at her skin. You can barely feel her tongue cleaning you up as you devote yourself to her fingers, but you know she’s satisfied when she leans overtop of you and kisses you slowly, her lips damp with your arousal. 

“Morning, Natty.” You whisper shyly, threading your fingers through her hair in a much nicer manner now that you’re not desperate for release. She smiles and mumbles the same greeting against your lips, and though you can taste yourself on her tongue, you can also taste Wanda, and you have a feeling the Sokovian lawyer in the room just next door was woken up in the same fashion. “Can taste Wanda on you.” You giggle softly, shoving her away from you in favor of cuddling up into her chest and making the most of the next hour and a half. 

“She’s sweet, isn’t she?” Natasha teases, her fingers, still damp from your mouth, trace the smooth embellishments on your cheeks. She adores all of your imperfections, she’s guilty of running her thumb across the jagged scar on your hip whenever you wear shirts short enough to reveal the blemished skin, but something about her right now is so different then the many other times you’ve been in this position. You never want to leave her embrace but you know that you have to. You hate that you have to. “Wanda’s making breakfast. I have time for some coffee and pancakes before my flight.” 

“I don’t want you to leave. I can fit in your suitcase if I really try, I’m sure of it.” You plead with her, but despite her wanting to see you try, she shakes her head and kisses away the pout on your lips. 

“I think that counts as human trafficking. I might be the best lawyer in the world, but even I don’t have a good enough defense to get me out of those charges.” She teases, pulling you into an upright position so you won't fall asleep on her like you want to. 

“Piggyback down the stairs?” You question, rubbing your eyes with closed fists, another one of your habits that both Natasha and Wanda hate, but she doesn’t reprimand you today. 

“Of course, darling. Put your shorts back on and then I’ll bring you down.” Natasha kisses you one last time before she gently forces you off the guest bed and onto your own feet. You make quick work of redressing, forgoing the purple panties you had initially worn over last night, knowing that if she’d taken the time to edge you five times before you’d even woken up, that they were surely drenched and in need of multiple washes. Better yet, you might as well just throw them out. 

You clamber onto her back with a smile on your lips the second your shorts are back into place, giggling manically when she jostles you around and makes a show of running down the stairs two at a time, much to Wanda’s displeasure. Your sensitive core rubs against the seam of your pajama shorts and the muscles in her back, but you pay the tickling sensations no mind, desperate to just enjoy these last few moments in her company to the best of your abilities. 

“Do you still have a voice, malen’kiy? I’m pretty sure the neighbors heard you.” Wanda teased the second you and Natasha entered the kitchen, bringing an immediate scowl to your face. You kicked your foot out in her direction, knowing you’d miss but just wanting to retaliate in some way. “Do not act up with me, little one. Natasha can’t save you when she leaves.” 

“Don’t be a meanie then!” You stuck your tongue out at her, hardly realizing the grave you were digging for yourself. Tensions were high with the promise of Natasha leaving, there was no real malice behind your jabs, but just as your emotions were unruly, Wanda’s patience was thin. Your eyes went wide when she suddenly appeared so much closer than you remembered her being, and you anticipated her next move before she’d even acted, but unfortunately for you, you hadn’t been quick enough to pull your tongue back into the safety of your mouth before Wanda was pinching it between her thumb and pointer finger.  

“I understand you’re upset, but I will not tolerate this disobedience. If you want to join us for breakfast, you will knock it off now, otherwise I have no problem making you a plate and sending you to eat in the living room by yourself. Is that what you want, milyy?” You shook your head, but quickly regretted the decision when you remembered Wanda still held your tongue firmly. You whined, batting her hands away from your face but she was unrelenting, and if anything, her grip only got tighter. “If I see that tongue out again, you’re not going to like what happens.” She warned, and even though you wanted to call her bluff, Natasha’s tight grip on your ankles told you that was not a fire you wanted to play with today. 

You whined, thankful that she had stopped holding your tongue captive and had walked back toward the stove, but now you were left with the sickest feeling of embarrassment crawling up your spine. For as bratty as you tended to be, you hated being scolded. You attempted to hide away in Natasha’s neck, but Wanda seemed to have grown a third eye and was quick to reprimand your fleeting attempts to worm your way into Natasha’s good graces. 

“You do not get to hide. You wanted to be a brat, you can deal with the embarrassment of being reprimanded. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, I am not as lenient as my wife, and I do not tolerate disobedience. Fix your pout, go sit down at the table, and wait quietly for me to finish your eggs.” Wanda pointed toward the already set table with her spatula, only briefly glancing back at you when she made the effort to reach for the salt and pepper shakers. 

“Wanna stay with Natty.” You pleaded quietly, not attempting to hide your face again, but still holding tightly onto your dominant who would be leaving for the airport in forty minutes. You didn’t even have a full hour left anymore. 

“I’ll be right there, go sit down. It’s okay, you’re okay.” Natasha lowered you onto the ground, softly kissing your temple before she patted your bottom and guided your shoulders in the direction of the table just beyond the threshold of the kitchen. Wanda and Natasha were the only people you know that actively used their dining room for every meal they ate together. They even had a breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen with pretty blue placemats and a vase of fresh flowers as a centerpiece, but on the nights that you slept over, you’ve never even seen so much as a book be left on the table. 

You sighed, doing as was asked of you, if only for a handful of minutes before you headed straight back toward the kitchen. You could hear their whispered voices even from where you were meant to be sitting at the table, but what they were saying was practically indistinguishable. They were too far away and far too quiet to make out clearly, but you hoped it wasn’t about you. You hoped that you hadn’t completely ruined Natasha’s last morning at home before her business trip. You sighed softly, deciding against ignoring your anxiety, and slowly approached them again, your hands clasped in front of you. As much as you wanted to run straight toward Natasha and have her hold you, your eyes were trained on Wanda, waiting for her to notice your presence, though you knew she already had. Maybe she was waiting for you to make the first move, or maybe she was ignoring you because she thought you were deliberately disobeying her. She wasn’t your dominant, she wasn’t anything to you, not really at least, but somehow it felt wrong to disobey her so directly.  

“What is it, detka? Wanda asked you to sit at the table, did she not?” Natasha decided to throw you a bone after it was made clear that neither you nor Wanda were going to make the first move. You were both far too stubborn for your own good, but luckily enough, you had her to bridge the gap when neither of you were willing to give an inch. 

Your eyes flickered between both Natasha and Wanda, and softly, so softly, you found the strength to apologize. “M’sorry, Wanda.” You admitted weakly, looking down at your naked feet in a lash ditch effort to avoid her strong stare, not wanting to see her face if she decided to reject your apology and send you away again. “C-Can I stay here?” 

“Come here.” Wanda sighed softly, and you faintly recognized the sound of the spatula being set down and placed on the countertop. When you looked up from your feet, still avoiding Wanda’s eye but no longer trying to make yourself seem small, you noticed that the eggs were done cooking, piled up onto a serving plate and resting near a pitcher of orange juice that you had no doubt was freshly squeezed and organic from the local farmers market, though it lacked pulp much to your delight. Natasha was a freak when it came to how she liked her orange juice, but you were glad to see that at least somebody who permanently occupied a space in this house had some sanity. “I didn’t send you over there as a punishment, detka. You needed to breathe, and now that you have, you feel better don’t you?” 

You nodded your head, because admittedly you did feel a little bit better now that you had taken a couple of minutes to put space between yourself and Wanda and all the big sad feelings you had no choice but to shuffle through. You still wrung your fingers together and looked everywhere but Wanda’s eye, but you definitely felt better. You could see Natasha’s smile in your peripheral vision, and you exhaled softly at the confirmation that you hadn’t completely ruined everything, another weight falling off of your shoulders. 

“Did being over there make you anxious because you could hear us talking and you thought it was about you?” Wanda tested the waters, and your head snapped up to look at her with pure bewilderment in your expression. “Aren’t you the one who calls me a witch, shouldn’t you expect for me to know everything that goes on in that pretty little head?” 

“Yeah.” You grimaced slightly. You didn’t know she had caught onto your less than creative nickname for her, but apparently she had and had just accepted it without complaint, or maybe she had complained to Natasha, but she wasn’t saying anything to you about it now. You felt bad, not normally someone who resorted to name calling when you were around someone you didn’t like, but Wanda just made you so… annoyed, for lack of a better adjective.  

“Good job recognizing that.” She praised you lightly, and as much as you didn’t want to, you glowed beneath her positive attention, your eyes flickering to Natasha as if to ask her if she was actually hearing the same thing as you. The auburn-haired woman laughed at your expression, merely shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. “Ah, not looking at Natasha, looking at me. Good girl.” Wanda gently scolded, and your cheeks flushed at her continuous praise. If someone would've told you that when you’d gotten into this situation that Wanda would be the one dishing out praise while Natasha stood silently on the sidelines, you would’ve laughed in their face. “Come here, I made Natty and I’s pancakes, but you can make yours.” 

“I can help?” You light up at the suggestion, eager to get your hands on the bowl of batter that was waiting on the side of the stove, and you definitely spotted chocolate chips sitting right beside it. Neither Wanda nor Natasha had any specs of brown on their breakfast, so you wondered if those had been taken down just for you. 

“If you promise not to splash batter everywhere.” Wanda hummed, and her eyes flickered briefly over to Natasha who was less than amused at the unneeded comment. 

“It was one time! And it was your fault! Who comes up behind someone in the middle of making pancakes!” Natasha exclaimed in playful exasperation, though her wide smile betrayed her faux annoyance. 

“And what is throwing pancake batter going to do if I had been the intruder you claimed to think I was? Was your plan to avoid being murdered by offering them a nice homemade breakfast?” Wanda rolled her eyes, pressing a kiss to Natasha’s cheek before she focused her attention back to you. “Bring the eggs to the table, Natasha.” 

“Bring the eggs to the table, Natasha. Wash my car in the middle of a snowstorm, Natasha. Find a way to make elephants purple, Natasha.” The woman droned on in an accent similar to Wanda’s, though there was a distinguishable difference in her tone. With her Russian roots, she couldn’t quite master the Sokovian accent, but she certainly tried her best. Her mocking was more or less ignored, though Wanda did threateningly snap a dish towel in her direction and wordlessly pointed toward the dining room. “I thought this was my going away breakfast and yet I’m being put to work.” 

“You have thirty minutes to eat, and unless you’d like me to let you get on a plane starving, you’ll do as I ask.” Wanda rolled her eyes, but her attention was no longer on her dramatic wife. Instead, she was entirely focused on you and guiding you through the motions of pouring the remaining pancake batter into the already hot and sizzling pan. You giggled when the smallest bit of batter splattered out of the pan, landing on the skin of your hand though you were grateful it wasn’t yet hot.

“Can I put chocolate chips in it?” You bounced on your toes excitedly, already reaching for the bag despite not yet having Wanda’s permission. Natasha was strictly against you eating sugary things for breakfast when you had classes to focus on, but it seems Wanda didn’t share the same concerns, because she hummed her approval seconds before your hand dipped into the bag. 

“Do you want some pancake with your chocolate, honey?” Wanda laughed, and for once, you didn’t get offended by her teasing, just craned your neck and offered her the brightest smile you could muster. “If you can’t pay attention in class today, we will not be having chocolate chip pancakes on weekdays again. Got it, dove?” 

“Got it!” You giggled, not really paying attention to her anyways. You were entirely too busy making sure that your single pancake didn’t burn as a result of the too high heat and combined culinary negligence, though every couple of seconds you snuck a handful of chocolate chips into your mouth and hummed as they melted on your tongue. They bought the good chocolate, that shouldn’t have surprised you. 

“I can see you, you are aware of that, aren’t you?” Wanda laughed, but there was no bite to her taunt, and again you found that it didn’t bother you like it usually did. If she had wanted you to stop eating the chocolate chips, she would’ve asked you to, but she quite enjoyed seeing you so carefree and happy with the ongoing promise of Natasha’s departure looming heavily in the air around you both. 

“Do you want one?” You replied coyly, holding up your hand for her to see. There was in fact a singular chocolate chip pinched between your fingers, and while Wanda wanted to roll her eyes and remind you that she had been the one to purchase them in the first place, she settled for simply accepting your offer. Her way of accepting your offer however, had not been what you’d had in mind, and you’d flinched in shock when her teeth grazed the knuckles of your fingers and her tongue corralled the single piece of chocolate into her mouth. “That– That is not what I meant!” You blushed a ferocious shade of red, quickly turning back around and focusing your attention on the pancake that had finally finished cooking. 

“Stop teasing her, Wands!” Natasha’s voice called out from the dinning room where she had remained throughout the entire ordeal, but you could hear the amusement in her tone and wondered if she could see the both of you from wherever she was standing. 

“Yeah, Wands.” You giggled, poking your tongue out at the lawyer before you remembered her earlier words and your face dropped. “Sorry!” 

“She stuck her tongue out at you again, didn’t she?” Natasha’s voice filled your ears, and the sound of her laughter followed shortly after, but you were too mortified to smile at the sound. You turned around to look at Wanda nervously, noting that her hands were on her hips and her perfectly manicured nails glimmered beneath the bright lighting and unfiltered sunlight. Her eyebrow was quirked perfectly, and you wondered how long she had practiced that expression until she was sure it was perfect. She had her intimidation tactics down pat, but you supposed that came with owning the world's most successful law firm.  

“Sorry! I really didn’t mean to!” You pleaded with her to believe you, knowing that the time you could spend with Natasha was slowly dwindling, and you really did not want to spend the last few minutes of contact with Wanda mad at you. 

The stern expression on the lawyer's face melted away like it had never been there in the first place, and Wanda laughed so sweetly you were almost absolutely certain that you’d somehow missed a joke Natasha murmured from the dining room. You pouted in confusion, digging your toe into the hardwood floor and flickering your gaze down to watch. 

“You’re fine, detka. Thank you for apologizing, but I know you were just teasing, huh?” She smiled, lifting your chin to meet your gaze. She kissed your forehead, something she had only ever done when you were half-asleep or entirely fucked out, but you couldn’t deny, even though you desperately wanted to, that it felt nice, comforting even. “Get those pancakes into the dining room before they get cold. Natty only has a couple more minutes before her driver gets here.” 

And once again you were faced with the unavoidable truth. Natasha was leaving for fourteen days and there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

-

The first five days without Natasha had gone as well as had been expected, though you would say you were faring significantly better than she’d ever anticipated. Even Wanda, who you had seen a handful of times throughout the week when you escaped to the Maximoff residence to work in your newly established office, had been surprised at your composure. The older woman of the couple had never been away for so long, usually capping her trips at three to five days, and even that was challenging for you to accept in the beginning of your relationship, but you were handling the distance well and with pride, being her strong girl like you’d promised to be. You talked daily, and though you didn’t hear her voice as much as you would like, she’d made the time to FaceTime twice so far. Just because she didn’t have the time to call didn’t mean you missed out completely on what activities she was up to though. She made sure to send you plenty of pictures of the scenery, and you’d all but gushed over the resort she was staying at when she sent you a picture of the sunset from her room. There were at least twenty pictures of Bahama sunrises in your camera roll now, but your favorite pictures were the ones you got at random throughout the day that were nonsensical and entirely her. She sent you pictures of her outfits and of her drinks when she managed to escape to the bar after whatever meetings had given her a headache. She’d managed to get her hands on a pina colada in a coconut on the second day of her trip, and although the bendy straw was yellow not pink, you forgave her and asked how it was. Your most favorite pictures however, were the ones of her notes. You’d expected the CEO of a successful law firm to take detailed and attentive notes, but every time she sent you a picture of her notebook, the pages were filled with random doodles of flowers and stick people, and yours and Wanda’s name in different squiggly styles. You held those closest to your chest, because even if you were just her submissive, she was thinking about you the same way she was thinking about Wanda, her wife. 

Your academic workload hadn’t lightened in the last five days, but you’d been juggling classes and routine well, somehow managing to balance studying and homework as seamlessly as anyone who made the decision to overload in a Spring semester could manage. You had hours of homework a night, research papers and historical annotations never giving you a break, but the end was in sight, and for a while, that simple fact had been enough to keep you pushing through. You knew Natasha would be proud of your grades at the end of the semester, and you had been anticipating the praise and reward she was sure to provide, but that all came crashing down after your last lecture of the night. Your professor, Sharan Carter, had berated you for your complaints about your group project, but not only that, she had failed you. Her reasoning had been that you did not adhere to the guidelines of the assignment, claiming that you made no effort to work alongside your partners, and even though she had a small novel of proof in her email history that debunked that accusation, she hadn’t wanted to hear your side of the story, and had sent you out of her office with the dismissive shake of her head. 

All you had wanted in that moment of shame and defeat was Natasha, and although you knew she was over a thousand miles away on a tropical island, probably stiff as a board in some multi-hour meeting that she had no real care for, you had gotten in your car and driven straight to the Maximoff residence. Your hands were trembling at your sides, and it would appear to anyone who even glanced at you too quickly that you’d been caught in a sporadic storm with how damp your cheeks were from the tears that defied your attempts to keep them at bay. Your hands were trembling so violently that you couldn’t get the key in the hole, and dissimilar from how the front door remained unlocked until lights out when Natasha was home, you found that Wanda was in the habit of locking it each and every time she left and entered. The thought of the Sokovian lawyer made a sob crawl past your lips, and feverishly you knocked on the door, hoping she could hear you from wherever she was in the house. You didn’t care about how you were supposed to hate her. You didn’t care about the rivalry that existed between the two of you, though it was slowly becoming an afterthought as the days passed. She was the only source of comfort you had right now, and as you waited on the porch, shaking like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane, you yearned for her touch and her citrusy scent. 

When the door opened, and the quickest glimpse of Wanda’s burgundy hair flashed before your eyes, there wasn’t a second of hesitation that crossed your mind before you stepped past the threshold of where their porch met the entryway and dug yourself into the lawyer’s chest, desperately clutching at her t-shirt. Agonizing sobs further shake your already trembling body, and you barely recognize the weight of her hands slinking around your waist and drawing you in closer to her chest as you finally let yourself fall apart completely. 

“S-She failed me.” You sobbed into Wanda’s arms, acutely aware of how silly you probably came across to the businesswoman as you allowed yourself to become so distraught over something as trivial as a project grade, but the combination of academic failure and Natasha’s absence had entirely demolished your reserve. “A-And you told me to t-tell you if she didn’t listen to me! So I am! I did! I’m telling you! A-And Natty’s not here, and I’m so tired, and she failed me and it dropped my entire semester grade to a D! A-And I just, I just wanted Nat, and I don’t even know why I came because I know she’s not here, b-but then I got here and I just wanted you, and-and-and-” 

“Shh,” Wanda soothed you gently, effectively stopping you from working yourself up even further than she thought possible with your practically incomprehensible rambling and heartbreaking tears. Her gentle hands rub patterns onto your back that you were only vaguely aware of in your state of upset, but eventually the combination of her physical presence and dull beating of her heart in your ear calms you down enough to allow you to suck in a sharp gasp of air. “You’re okay. You’re okay, sweetheart. Just take a deep breath for me, okay? Good girl.” 

You melted into Wanda’s embrace as she continued to hold you tight, one of her ringed hands eventually trailing up your spine until it found a home at the back of your head. She pressed your face into her neck, not caring about how your wet cheeks made her skin damp and sticky, just wanting to keep you close until she was absolutely certain that you had calmed down enough to breathe normally. Even if you hadn’t realized how close you were to tipping over the edge and into a full episode of panic, Wanda had, and it scared her half to death to see you so distraught and beside yourself. Up until this very moment, she’d never even considered how she would miss your sarcastic quips and ruthless banter, but opening her front door to find you a mere shell of the woman you usually were had been horrifying and not something she ever wanted to relive. 

Eventually, you pulled away from her embrace, wanting to wipe your cheeks free of tear tracks and mascara, and desperate to breathe in the fresh scent of blossoming spring that surrounded the suburban roads of Westview. Wanda smelled heavenly, she was positively addicting with her coconut mandarin mix, but fresh air was non negotiable in your current state, and greedily you breathed in through your nose deeply until that suffocating feeling in your chest became a simple buzz. It was then that you realized Wanda was wearing her blue light glasses, and your gut clenched in guilt, realizing that she’d been working up until your little meltdown.  

“Fuck, you were working. I’m sorry.” You apologized quickly, a fresh onslaught of tears brimming your eyes. You couldn’t seem to do anything right today, and so desperately you wished that Natasha were here to make it all better, despite knowing the luck of your day had nothing to do with the physical presence of one single person. 

“No more tears. No more tears, detka.” Wanda coaxes you farther into the house, not allowing you to back away and retreat toward your car like you’d been attempting to do since realization sunk in. “Nat told you to come over whenever, I’m glad you remembered that. I know I’m not Natasha, sweet girl. I wish I could bring her back for you, but for right now, why don’t you tell me what you need, hm? Can you do that?” 

“You’re working. It’s important if you're working at home this late.” You whispered shamefully, not wanting to be the reason Wanda falls behind on deadlines. You know it’s her company and she can do whatever she damn well pleases, pushing off a few measly emails included in that long list of possibilities, but you would feel horrible if your childish breakdown caused more work and stress for both her and Natasha in the future. 

“It is important, you’re right about that, malysh. Darcy fucked up big time with a client, and now I need to fix her mess before they ask for her release, and I won’t be able to argue with them if it comes to that, but nothing is more important then your wellbeing, so can you talk me through what you need?” Wanda gently cupped your cheeks in the same manner that Natasha usually does when you're in this state, and you felt a pang of sadness rush through you as you realized the true extent of how much you missed her. You’d been pushing off the sadness and grief that came with her absence, but you couldn’t avoid it forever, and apparently it had decided to catch up with you now. 

“Water. Natty always makes me drink water after and she… she holds me.” You admitted shyly, afraid of Wanda’s reaction to what you were indirectly asking of her, but all she did was smile at you reassuringly and lead you in toward the kitchen, the wide open front door forgotten about for a few short moments. 

Wanda makes quick work of filling a glass for you, not letting go of your hand for more than a necessary second throughout the entire process, for which you were grateful. You were absolutely certain that if she let go now, you’d spiral back down into that isolating pit of never ending thoughts. She pours herself a glass as well, though hers is taller than yours. She takes a sip before motioning for you to do the same, watching you intently over the rim of her glasses that have started to slip down the bridge of her nose. The cold water feels marvelous on your throat when you finally raise the glass to your lips and take a small sip, having not realized how scratchy and stiff it was as a result of your crying. 

“Would you like to sit in with me as I finish up with the paperwork?” Wanda questions you, her tone indicative of your freedom to decline her offer and ask for something else, but you wouldn’t even dream about saying no to her right now. 

“I can?” You asked meekly, shuffling on your feet nervously. 

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t being truthful, dorogoy. I know you’re worried about me falling behind, so I figured I could hold you in my lap for a while until I finish up everything that needs to get done. Does that sound like a good plan?” Wanda checked in with you, her thumb rubbing comforting circles on your knuckles. Her touch on your hand is a stark contrast from how she’d last grabbed you when you were in the kitchen together, but it feels nice and you don’t ever want to pull away from it. 

“The front doors still open.” You remind her, and she laughs softly at your concern for the door, guiding you back into the living room and toward the entryway. She closes the door with a soft push, making sure that both locks are clicked before she even considers turning toward the stairs and leading you up toward her office. She may be a capable woman, but a home intruder felt like something she wasn’t quite qualified to deal with. 

“There, all better.” She smiled down at you, leaning in just close enough to brush her lips against your forehead. “Do you need anything else before we head up to my office? It might take a couple of hours before I have everything completed.” 

“No.” You decline her offer, shuffling closer into her embrace when you ultimately decided she was too far away. Your free hand was still holding onto the glass of water, and you were careful not to spill any of it as you moved.

“Okay then, bug. Let’s go.” She squeezed your hand tightly, slowly leading the way toward her office despite your familiarity with the route. You didn’t complain about her slow pace, taking the time to really admire the subtle details of her home that you overlooked when you were busy chasing Natasha around. 

The Maximoff residence was luxuriant and abundant to put it gently. There were large windows in both the kitchen and the living room that allowed sunlight to pour in at every hour of the day and coat the furniture in golden hues. There were subtle traces of both Wanda and Natasha’s separate personalities in the decor that filled bookshelves and countertops, but for the most part, their style blended together superbly. It wasn’t obnoxious or over-the-top, no, it was done so tastefully that you thought the interior of the house belonged in some high class magazine that showcased celebrity homes. The accents of black in their appliances and metal hardware that were undoubtedly Natasha’s doing, but you thought it fit perfectly with the presently white walls and light colored wood. Wanda had more to do with the furnishing if her office was any indication. While Natasha’s furniture was practical and bare, Wanda spared no expense in assuring her office was both functional and comfortable. Their subtle differences were what made them work as both romantic and business partners so well, and you hoped that one day you’d be lucky enough to find a love like theirs.  

“You still with me, sweetheart?” Wanda checked in, effectively drawing you out of your head that you’d somehow gotten lost in, but your thoughts weren’t unpleasant, and the ghost of a smile on your lips assured Wanda that you were fine. 

“Did Nat pick the black hardware?” You questioned softly, following Wanda as she stepped into her office and closed the door behind you both. 

The woman laughed at your question, having expected hardware to be the last thing on your mind, but she nodded her head. “She did. I wanted gold.” 

“I like it. I could tell she picked it. You picked the furniture.” You mumbled, glad to be talking about something other than your breakdown. You didn’t know what you expected when you originally sought Wanda out for comfort, but you were glad she was just rolling with the punches as they came. 

“Very attentive, little one. I did.” When she sat down in her office chair, setting her water down carefully a good few inches away from her keyboard, she turned to you expectantly, patting her lap with a silent invitation. She pried the glass of water from your grip, placing it next to hers, and you realized then that she had gotten down two different glasses on purpose. “Get comfy, we might be here a while.” 

You sank into her lap tentatively, unsure of how she liked to be held. You practically koala’d yourself around Natasha whenever she allowed you to keep her company in her office, but you’d never cuddled like this with Wanda before, and you didn’t want to make her feel suffocated with your clinginess. So instead, you settled for resting your cheek against her chest, the crown of your head tucked beneath her chin, and you kept your arms pinned between your chests. You could feel her every inhale as she breathed, and you quickly decided that you liked this position. 

“Before you get too sleepy, I need the name of your professor, malen’kiy.” Wanda rubbed your back with a heavy palm, making note of the fact that you seemed to have forgone a bra when getting dressed that morning. You were just like Natasha in that way, and she found a gentle smile gracing her features at the subtle similarities between the two of you. It was no wonder you fit together like a glove, you were practically replicas of each other in the little aspects of your interests and personalities. 

“Sharon Carter.” You mumbled, entirely too content to really care about how you were basically feeding the woman to wolves with your admission of her name. Wanda would rip her to shreds when she got her claws on her, you were sure of that fact, but she deserved it after the harsh and unnecessary comments she’d made. 

“Carter, huh.” There was something in Wanda’s tone that implied she was familiar with the woman, or at the very least her last name, but you didn’t care all that much about whatever was going through her head. 

“Shh.” You silenced her, snuggling deeper into her chest and clutching the hem of her t-shirt between your fingers, wanting to rest in silence for the next couple of hours. 

Amused with your antics, Wanda pressed a kiss to the top of your head before she got back to business, the only sound that filled the office was the rhythmic clicking of her keyboard as her fingers worked feverishly to resolve the issue that Darcy had created. It wasn’t even a full ten minutes before you were sound asleep against her chest, your deep and even breaths tickling the exposed skin of Wanda’s chest, but she didn’t care as long as you were feeling better. 

Your relationship shifted that night. It wasn’t perfect, not yet at least, but you couldn’t deny that Wanda had somehow wormed her way into your heart, or maybe, just maybe, she had always had a place in it to begin with.

[teamred]

in sickness and in health

✩‌ logan howlett x reader x wade wilson | fluff | 1.6k

SUMMARY | you may be bedridden with the flu and feeling miserable, but you're blessed with two boyfriends to take good care of you. // part of the home sweet home series + requested by anonymous!

WARNINGS | s*xual jokes, none really!

RATING | teen+

It’s early Monday morning when your body feels like utter shit. 

You toss and turn in bed, fighting the blanket away from your boyfriends in a struggle to warm up, only throwing it off seconds after because of how hot you also feel. Your muscles are starting to ache, like you ran a marathon and then some. 

Next to you, Logan’s the first to stir awake, picking up on your restless movements. Propping himself up on one forearm, he gently places the back of his hand on your forehead. 

“Darlin’,” he whispers, brushing the damp hair away from your face. “You should call in sick. Ain’t no way you’re goin’ to work like this.” 

You turn away from him in protest. “No, I’m okay. Just feeling a little tired.” 

Logan huffs and shakes his head over how stubborn you are. 

He suddenly grabs his pillow and hurls it directly at Wade’s head, who’s sleeping on the other side of you. The pillow smacks into the latter, waking him from his deep snoring with a snort and a startled jump.

“What the fuck?!” Wade mumbles, rubbing his eyes and stroking his bald head as if he’s running fingers through his non-existent hair. “If you wanted to fuck this early in the morning, you could’ve just asked, sunshine.” 

An eye-roll from Logan. “Time to wake up, sleepin’ beauty.” 

He gets out of bed and pulls on a shirt, then walks towards Wade’s side of the bed, shoving his head. “Back me up in tellin’ our girl she’s gotta call in sick today.” 

“Huh?” Wade squints at your resting body, but when he leans over and presses his hand to your forehead, his eyes widen in shock.

“Jesus H. Christ, you’re burnin’ up more than the Jonas Brothers did in 2008. You’re staying home, peanut, and that’s not a request. Doctor Deadpool’s orders!” 

You whine. “Do I really have to?” 

“Yes,” they reply sternly in unison. 

Giving into your boyfriends’ commands, you groan. As Logan heads out of the room, Wade hands over your phone.

And you hate to admit it, but you know they’re right because you barely have enough energy to call in sick. To be safe, you ask for two days off, then flop right back into bed. 

Carefully, Wade pulls you into his arms and whispers into your hair, “Need a sexy nurse to take care of you, baby? ‘Cause I think I got an outfit stashed somewhere.” 

You try to laugh, but it comes out as a flat wheeze. “Maybe later, babe.” 

“Awww, you poor thing.” He frowns sympathetically. “You can barely even laugh. Man, you must be dying.” 

A few minutes later, Logan returns, holding a steaming cup of tea and ibuprofen in his other. He sits down onto the bed. 

“Here. Take these and drink this,” Logan orders. Wade releases you as you sit up slowly, wincing as you do, and follow through with Logan’s instructions.  

“You guys should probably avoid being near me,” you rasp. You’ll definitely need to drink more tea to soothe your oncoming sore throat. 

Logan chuckles softly and Wade ruffles your hair.  

“I can’t get sick,” Logan states matter-of-factly. 

“Neither do I,” your other boyfriend adds. “Well, I mean, unless you count cancer constantly fucking me in the ass.” 

In the moment, you’re filled with utmost envy for your superpowered boyfriends and their ridiculous healing abilities.

Wade climbs out of bed, patting Logan on the shoulder as he stands. 

“I’m gonna run some errands for our little sicky princess. Hold the fort down and keep her tied to the bed with those strong arms of yours, yeah?” He squeezes Logan’s bicep playfully and gives him a wink. 

“Pick up more tea for her.” 

“Oh, most definitely. And I’ll get condoms too! You know, they say that fever sex helps you get better faster.” 

“Wade.”  

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” 

He leans down, whispering above you. “I’m not kidding. I’d still do you in your current state, but only if you were up for it. Love you, babe.” He plants a kiss on your head and departs with a wave of his fingers. 

The older of your boyfriends shifts closer to you on your bed. “Do you want me to hold you right now?” 

You groan in negation, shaking your head slightly. You appreciate the gesture, but with your body switching between chills and a fever, Logan’s body warmth would just make things worse. 

“If you need anything, baby, just let me know,” he says softly.  

In response, you hum and nod, allowing yourself to relax as much as you can. Soon enough, you drift off, and can feel a hand stroking the side of your head, soothing you towards your much needed rest. 

“Wade, she’s sick, not on her death bed.” 

You blink awake, the sunlight coming through the window stronger than before. Judging by the position of the light, a few hours have passed since you fell asleep. You’re woken up by the familiar sounds of your boyfriends bickering in the other room. 

To strangers, and even to themselves, it sounds grating. But to you, it’s strangely calming and comforting. 

“Well, excuse me for being an exceptional boyfriend! I just wanna make sure she’s got anything she needs,” Wade fires back.  

A brief pause.

“That’s… thoughtful of you,” Logan grumbles stiffly.  

Wade’s laugh rings through the apartment, and you can envision him standing up with his hands on his hips, shaking his head in amusement. “Wow, that must’ve felt like pulling teeth for you, huh? Wait—why aren’t your teeth adamantium?” 

You think Logan sighs and probably rolls his eyes too. “Go check in on her, dumbass.” 

“Love you too, my lil honey badger,” Wade says, his voice and footsteps coming closer to the bedroom door.  

A soft knock on the door. 

“Feelin’ better yet, honey?” Wade asks, peeking his head through the door. 

“Not really,” you grumble. 

In a flash, he’s right in front of your face, his nose pressed against your cheek. “How about now?” 

That gets a small laugh from you. He grins, leaving a loud, exaggerated smooch on your cheek, holding it down for emphasis. You scrunch your face up at the lovely gesture. 

“What did you get from the store?” you ask with Wade’s arm now slung around your body. 

“Literally everything. Whatever you want, I’ve got it. I’m basically Costco now.” 

You test him. “Diapers?” 

“Okay, I don’t have that,” he admits, deadpan. “But I do have five different flavours of soup, an action figure of myself and Logan for you to play with—or to enact voodoo sex, you know I love a little one-on-one action with our man!—some random German cookies, and a bottle of Chinese herbal medicine the lady down the street swore by. At least, I think it’s medicine? Hard to say. And that’s only a few of the things I got.” 

“Can I have some soup?” 

“Of course. Tomato, cream of mushroom, chicken noodle, spicy nacho cheese, or clam chowder?” 

“Surprise me.”

“Spicy nacho cheese, it is.” 

You grunt in disapproval.

“Chicken noodle soup, it is.” 

After Wade spent some time spoonfeeding you your soup and Logan replenishing your cup of tea, sleep claimed you once more. By the time you wake up again, the room is pitch dark. 

“Logan,” you groan weakly. You immediately hear the TV volume lowered, followed by recognizable footsteps approaching the room.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Logan murmurs gently, sitting on the bed and reaching out to touch your forehead. You’re warm, but it’s an improvement from the morning. “Everything okay?” 

“Is there any dinner?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Is our girl hungry?” Wade hollers from the other room. “‘Cause I’m cooking up a storm right now!” 

A corner of Logan’s mouth quirks up. “I think Wade’s on it.” 

He turns on one of the bedside lamps, the soft light illuminating the room. With it, he catches the pleading look in your eyes, one that he can decipher in a heartbeat. Without hesitation, he scoots closer and pulls you into his chest, embracing you with a tight hug. 

“I feel like shit,” you grumble into him with your arms twined at his neck, inhaling his scent. 

“I know, baby, but it’ll pass. The more you rest, the faster it’ll go away,” he reassures you, stroking your back. “You gonna admit staying home was a good idea?” 

“Mm-mm.” You shake your head, even though you know he was right. 

He looks at you with a smirk. “You’re lucky you’re as cute as you are stubborn.” 

Moments later, Wade, adorning a “Blow the Chef” apron, comes in with a bed tray. You pull away from Logan, allowing Wade to properly position the tray in front of you. At the sight of syruped pancakes, you beam, especially at the attempted heart-shaped ones. 

“Voila! Voici les crêpes,” Wade declares in a decent French accent, but you’re pretty sure he’s mispronouncing crêpes as he says it like crap. 

“Thanks for everything, you guys,” you say, glancing up at your boyfriends. “I feel really bad.”

“Never ever feel bad about being sick, baby.” Wade says, setting in on one side of you. “It just means more time for us to spoil you.” 

Logan snuggles you on your other side, wrapping an arm around you. “It ain’t your fault, and it’s what we’re here for.” 

After being out for so long, you spend your time eating the pancakes and asking how their day was. Logan gets in a word before Wade rambles on how he almost got into a fight with a kid at one of the various stores he dropped by.

With both of them beside you, you finally start to feel a little better, if not from the flu, at least from the comfort they give.

[sincerelybubbles]

i've noticed you

pairing: spencer reid x profiler!reader

warnings: fluff, not proof read (as is the usual oops), slightly slightly suggestive

word count: 2.6k

it's a late night in the office. dim light casts shadows across the bull pen. you squint your tired eyes to focus them on the document in your hand. hours have passed since everyone else went home but you stayed behind. something about pushing into the early hours of the weekend to finish off a long week is better for your mental health than leaving the documents for monday. the totality of closing the folder, marking it complete, and filing it away allows you to push the details of your cases to the back of your mind. you can't forget them entirely, of course, and nightmares still haunt you, but this is the best system you've found to make yourself feel better, even if only marginally.

a call of your name, soft and familiar, startles you. you jump, chair pushing back a few inches. you look up to see spencer standing in the doorway, giving you a confused look. his bag is strapped across his chest, hands clutching it, eyebrows raised. he's dressed more casually than you're used to: a plain blue shirt, khaki pants, his usual dress shoes. his hair is messy and his eyes look sleepy behind the confusion, like he'd only just woken up.

"hey, reid," you say, catching a yawn in the middle of saying his name. "you scared me."

"i could say the same to you. what are you doing here at," he checks his watch, flicking his wrist to right it in a movement that has your chest tightening. "3:46 in the morning on a saturday?"

"i could say the same to you," you mimic him, sending him a wide smile. you lift up your documents when he sends you an unamused look, waving the folder. "just finishing up before the weekend."

"you have over two weeks to have those reports filed, though?"

"helps me sleep better to have them done, i guess. you never answered me, though -- why are you here?"

"ironically, to help myself sleep," spencer answers, crossing the room in swift, long strides to reach his desk behind yours. he deposits his bag and turns to you, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. "i get nightmares and sometimes the best thing to do is try to get some work done. helps my conscious, i guess. or, at least keeps me busy."

you nod and watch him make his way to the kitchen. "that makes sense."

"i'll be back," he calls to you over his shoulder.

you hear his return a few minutes later, eyes trained on your file again. you don't look up this time, now that you know who it is. you're too focused on finishing these last few documents and fully aware that it's sort of hard to stop looking at spencer once you start.

the gentle click of a mug hitting your desk grabs your attention, though, and you tear your eyes from the page to look up.

spencer is leaning across your desk, nudging a yellow mug toward you, smiling widely. your throat tightens, a quick flash of pleasant awareness of him, and you swallow it away.

"what's this?" you ask, reaching for the mug. he doesn't let go as you expected and your fingers brush against each other. he shrugs instead of answering, leaning back against the desk next to yours and taking a sip from his own mug.

"coffee."

you take a sip, surprised to find it made exactly how you like. you can't remember ever telling him what you like and your cheeks heat at the gesture. you're grateful that the only lamp on is yours, hiding the heat from him.

"how'd you know how i like it?" you ask, taking a sip.

"i pay attention," he says, eyes trained on yours.

"to people's coffee preferences?"

"to yours, sure."

before you can properly allow that to sink into your exhausted mind, spencer sets his mug on your desk before grabbing his own files. "mind if i join you?" he asks, dragging the nearest chair over. "at least until you go home for the night."

"yeah, sure, i could use the company," you say, clearing space for him.

||||

5:53 AM

you: [attached image]

you: i promise i'm on the way, just having the worst morning. once i get this tire fixed, i'll let you know

you sigh, throwing your phone in your bag and squatting down to examine your blown tire. you don't know what you hit but you do know it's the start to an already sour morning.

you slept with your window propped open, despite how many times you've seen that go poorly for victims, and it rained, drenching your curtains. you didn't get to pack a lunch after dealing with that and usually, you eat breakfast at the office, so now you're on the side of the wet road, blown tire, and late for the first time in years.

your phone buzzes twice and you stand to dig it out of your bag.

5:55 AM

morgan: bad morning, pretty girl?

hotchner: don't worry about it, stay safe.

you roll your eyes at morgan, chest feeling lighter at hotch's reply. you hadn't expected him to be angry, this wasn't something anyone could foresee, but his answer still lessens the anxiety in your chest.

you climb into your car, turning on the heat and holding your hands to the vent for a few moments. you sit there for a few minutes past when you've thawed, dreading reentering the wet morning to change the tire.

the sound of a car door opening and shutting grabs your attention and you look in the rearview to see spencer walking toward you, hitting the button to lock one of the company vans. he's holding a bag in his hands, walking briskly to avoid getting too wet in the morning mist.

you throw open the passenger door when he gets close enough and watch as he folds himself in the car, shutting the door and adjusting his jacket.

"hello," you say, amused, "fancy seeing you here. did hotch send you?"

"i volunteered, here." he hands you the bag. you look at him for a moment longer, watching as he fixes his hair. you return your focus to the bag when he looks over at you, embarrassed to be caught.

you find one of the kitchen muffins and a banana in the bag. you stare at it for a moment, fully aware that this is exactly what you eat most mornings at work.

"i know you usually eat at work and didn't know if you had anything here," spencer explains.

"you noticed that?"

"i noticed you," he says. your eyes snap up to meet his, heart fluttering in your chest. he doesn't look embarrassed, eyes meeting yours steadily.

you struggle to find words, heart beyond touched by the gesture. you end up muttering, "thank you, spencer."

"you're welcome." there's a moment's pause while you come to terms with the fact that this can no longer be considered one of your worst mornings. "also, there was betting about if you could change a tire."

"ah, so you're here because you didn't believe in me?"

"well," he says, cheeky, smiling over at you. "you are just sitting in your car, decidedly not changing your tire."

"i was working myself up to it!" you say in defense. it's insane to you how quickly he has shifted your mood in just a few minutes.

he shakes his head at you, smiling slightly, and pops his door open, "open the back," he says, stepping out.

you do as he says, opening the trunk and getting out after him.

"i really was going to do it, you don't have to," you say, following him around the back of the car and watching him shift the things around to find your spare tire.

"i got it. go sit in the car, it's cold." he rolls his sleeves up, sending you a look.

you watch his hands as he moves the fabric up, exposing his forearms. you swallow, mouth dry, as he moves to the other arm, wrists flexing and bringing his veins into focus.

"i'm not sitting in my car while you do all the work," you refute, voice wavering, tearing your eyes away from his hands. you feel like a silly schoolgirl, ogling at her crush. or, better yet, like a scandalized victorian man seeing a hint of ankle for the first time, entranced by the barest hint of innocent skin. still, under the heat of embarrassment, you can't stop yourself from shifting your weight from foot to foot watching him lift the tire from your trunk.

"why not?" he asks, carrying the donut under one arm and walking over to the flat tire. you watch him, entranced, as he crouches down to examine the flat.

"it feels wrong! really, spence," you say, walking over to him and leaning down to catch his forearm and get his attention. "you don't have to change it for me, i'm more than capable."

"i know," he says, turning to look up at you from under his lashes. he smiles, still just a hint at the corner of his lips, and nods toward the car. "still, go sit, it's cold."

"spence-" you start and he rolls his eyes, standing up so he can look down at you and crossing his arms.

he says your name lowly, leaning back against the car and raising an eyebrow. "get in the car, this will only take me a minute."

he doesn't wait for your answer, pushing himself off of the car and walking to the trunk to grab the tool kit. stunned and slightly turned on, you slowly walk back to the drivers side of the car.

"good, now eat, too," he calls.

you grab the bag of food when you sit down, letting your legs hang down outside of the car. he stands up straighter to see you over the hood of the car and grins at you, "thank you."

||||

hands sweating and heart racing, you press the button on the elevator and watch the door close. you clutch the little bag between two of your hands, rolling your head back to stretch it and stare at the ceiling.

you're a profiler, you know people, you know that your ever-growing crush on spencer is reciprocated. his face as he said "i noticed you" is the last thing you see before you sleep and you know you aren't misinterpreting the signs. still, anxiety pools when the elevator dings and you step off.

you roll out your shoulders and step into the bull pen with confidence you have to fake, putting a smile on your face and holding the little bag behind your back slightly.

"morning angel," penelope calls to you, swinging around the corner and linking her arm with yours. "did you have any fun hot dates this weekend? please say yes, i am in desperate need of someone to live vicariously through -- my love life is dry in all definitions of the word."

"sorry love," you say, patting her arm and sending her a sympathetic look. "still working on that plan i mentioned a few weeks ago."

"wait," she says, suddenly stopping and forcing you to as well. "really? because you were all gung-ho about maintaining a sense of workplace appropriate behavior and all of that other blah hr speak."

"well," you say with a shrug, smiling at the ground, "i don't know, can't a girl change her mind?"

"she most certainly can. in fact, i have right now!" you look up at her suddenly ultra cheerful voice and see spencer walking into the room, hands in his pockets and heading right for you with a smile as a greeting. "i have decided that i'm not walking you to your desk and we'll chat over lunch instead. bye!"

just as quickly as she arrived, penelope left, scampering away to her office with a grin stretching across her face. she's your best friend, the one person you tell everything, and also the source of your greatest annoyance, leaving you alone in the hallway.

"what was that about?" spencer asks, reaching you and stopping only half a step away.

"just garcia being garcia," you say, shrugging.

"well, goodmorning," spencer says, tucking his chin down to look at you better. "have a good weekend?"

"i did," you say, swallowing in a deep breath to steel your nerves. "i actually managed to go to that bookstore you told me about."

"oh really?" spencer asks, excitement animating his face. "did you talk to the store owner? she's super cool, i actually learned a lot from her about book binding last time i visited. she has a little workshop in the back."

"i did, actually. i had to get her help finding a specific book," you say, holding the bag out to him.

"oh, which one?"

"open it and see."

"it's for me?" spencer asks, looking genuinely caught off-guard. he takes the bag slowly, as if expecting you to rip it away. you nod encouragingly and he takes the cue to lift the paper out of the bag and then the book. "wait, no way. this is so cool! i've been searching for it for ages."

you watch as he opens the book and his eyes widen finding it signed. he slowly, reverently, flips the pages to look at the publication date and his eyes flick to meet yours.

"this is a first edition?"

"yeah."

"this is- how did you know?"

"i noticed you, too," you say, voice soft and hesitant. you take the half step forward so your toes are touching. surprisingly, your anxiety is nowhere to be found as you look up at him, smiling, chest warm and fingertips tingling. "i hope that's okay."

"beyond, actually," spencer answers, voice softer. the hand holding the bag and book falls, his other one lifting to your cheek, hesitant. he brushes his fingers across your cheekbone gently before moving his hand to cup the back of your neck and bringing you in for a hug. .

it's exactly how you expected hugging spencer to be, warm and all-consuming. he laughs, gentle, a vibration you can feel through his chest and into yours.

"what?" you ask, face buried in his chest.

"it's amazing how hard i'm fighting to not kiss you right now. i always thought i would be too nervous - i mean, obviously, i've kissed people before. not that that's what i should be talking about right now, but, i just mean, it's different with you. you make me happy in a way that makes me nervous, you know?"

"i know," you say, softly, cutting off his rambling with a hidden smile. he's still holding you in the empty hallway and you would love nothing more than to hear his rambling but you're also very aware that someone could walk in any moment.

you just hope that whatever this is leads to more of his thoughtless rambles - you've missed them, noticed how he's held himself back more, and you think nothing will make you happier than being the person he turns to with them.

"yeah. um, thank you. but now i'm not nervous, i'm just annoyed we're at work."

you laugh, pushing away from him, fixing his tie. "we have plenty of time, it's okay."

he doesn't say anything, his hand still on the back of your neck. instead, he slowly leans down to press his lips to your forehead. it's gentle, as if he's afraid the wrong move will break you or send you running, and you melt from it.

"plenty."

part two of it's a date will come soon!! i hope!!!! please take this as a peace offering <3 i got the idea of spencer changing a tire on my head and could NOT LET IT GO !!!! like i'm ngl, i made myself blush w this so i hope u all enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it :)

also also!! i usually like to keep my notes short but this is a reminder that my asks/inbox are always open!! and i read every reblog and comment and smile and giggle like a little kid when i see them. you all make my day every day and ily u all

[slightlymore]

deadly kiss

chief architect jaehyun x chief engineer fem reader

genre: office au, enemies? to lovers, dom x dom and trying to force each other to sub, romance, smut, fluff

warnings: +18, alcohol, language, explicit sexual content, oral fem receiving, fingering, random sir kink because i was horny like that, use of pet name baby for her during sex, gagging on fingers and sucking, light choking, raw, sex in office, creampie. 

words: 12k+

have this little something as I warm up back into writing. it was supposed to be longer and with some angst but it has been in my drafts for monthssss and I was sick of it ehaheah enjoy. if some of these things happened to me irl no they didnt :) 

────────────

Present, Monday 2 after the Kiss

That morning you woke up feeling the best you have felt in a hot minute. The sun was shining, the outfit you prepared looked good, you had no trouble putting on makeup that day and your hair looked great. Nothing could have disrupted such a holy morning.

Well, besides a pile of A3 papers on your desk. 

The sigh that escaped your chest as you stepped into your office sounded so defeated that your colleagues turned around in their wheeled chairs to check if you were okay. 

It’s not like you hated to have piles of paper on your desk. That was your job after all. 

It was the owner of those papers that made you roll your eyes so far back in your head that you saw green stars. 

“Can you kindly check these and confirm they’re okay? JJ :)” 

You stared at that yellow Post-it on top of the pile and the smiley face as if they committed a crime.  

“I don’t think you architects have any conception of math or physics,” you said, placing the papers on Jaehyun's desk maybe a bit too harshly. 

The man looked down at them with open palms then he prepared his cocky smile before lifting his eyes to look at you. 

He took his time with that: starting from the waist, going up slowly, shamelessly going over your breasts and finally face. 

"Hi," he tilted his head to one side and rested two fingers on his cheek. 

You rolled your eyes. 

"That project is halfway fucked," you explained, indicating the papers with your chin. 

Jaehyun's expression changed to a fake frown, going as far as giving you a little pout. "Oh, we can't allow that. Projects deserve to be fucked until the end. Just like yo-" 

You interrupted. "I swear if you continue that phrase, Jeong-" 

"Then what?" he interrupted you as well.

His eyes were dark. Eyelids low. But they were sparkling. 

You wouldn’t get intimidated. "I'll get you fired,” you said.

He chuckled. “That’s not what you said last weekend.” 

That’s right. It was all your fault. You’ve been bearing the heaviness of that fault for a few days now, in silence, and Jaehyun was just trying to make it even more difficult.

You leaned down slowly, looking around with circumscription but none of his crazy architect colleagues were paying attention to you two. If usually they’d be drinking champagne at 11 am discussing a building that breaks every law of gravity, they were weirdly dead inside that day. The project was probably kicking their ass too. 

Jaehyun stared at your cleavage underneath the dangling necklace you had around your neck before looking back up into your furious eyes. 

“Only because we made the mistake of kissing while drunk that Friday night, it doesn’t mean you can be unprofessional. Do you understand me?” 

The man’s eyes flickered and his cocky expression didn’t leave his pretty features. But he nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You straightened your back and cleared your voice, ignoring how that reply made your stomach churn. You blamed it on rage. Hearing his deep voice so up close made you irrationally mad. 

“Look again at that proposal of yours and the adjustments I made. I can give you a physics crash course if you need it.” 

“Really? Would you?” 

“I was being sarcastic. Do you think engineers in this place have time to babysit you little artsy people?” 

“Maybe I can give you something back for the effort?” 

You scoffed and crossed your arms, expecting some usual Jeong Jaehyun bullshit, like ‘a kiss’, ‘a date’, ‘my cock’. But he stood up and pulled down his dress pants on the thighs before getting the papers you gave him back and stacking them well together. 

“Like some artistic eye since you clearly lack that,” he said. 

You felt your jaw tighten at the insinuation. 

He got closer, his lips almost touching your ear. “There’s no need to be rude to me only because you think I’m attractive,” he lowered his voice, the little smirk never leaving his face. “I can play this game too.” 

You opened your mouth to reply but the swoosh he created by walking away made your hair get into it. 

“Thank you for the review,” he added already a few meters away. 

────────────

“It’s a theme park.” 

You licked your lips with furrowed eyes, your tongue still faintly tasting the hair conditioner. The meeting of the day was to announce the new project the firm was about to take on. One of the many you've been going crazy over lately. Of course, you had to be the one to take notes that day. You enjoyed the fair share of responsibilities your company had, but sometimes you really missed having a little secretary to do the little jobs for you. 

You sighed as your nails tapping on the keyboards accompanied the voice of the speaker. 

“There will be a few main rides we’ll be responsible for. Our engineers are great and I have huge trust in you all. For this task, you’ll have to work with the architecture team though.” 

Your typing stopped. A few of your colleagues murmured. Engineers were usually complete individuals. They could build rides for a theme park themselves with no need from the weirdos of the other office. They usually needed the engineers, never the opposite. 

“I think we’re capable of working on this on our own, sir,” you said.

The man sighed as if he expected the resistance. 

“This is just to ensure the theme park will also be-” he hesitated, “pretty.” 

The murmurs got louder. 

“Sir, you’ve seen my portfolio,” someone argued. 

“I designed a theme park on my own for my final university project and last year I-” somebody else added. 

The man lifted his palms like a tired father. “I know, I know. And your work is ideal. It is, however, very boring. Ugly colours. Mechanical innovation, yes. Is it interesting to look at? No. You’ll work with the architects. Meeting closed.” 

────────────

Jaehyun didn’t have to ask anyone why you all were mad as fuck after exiting the meeting hall. The rumour of the firm taking onto the project of a theme park has been whispered around in the CEO’s office for a few days now and he was lucky to have a charming personality and become friends with him. From the look on your face, you didn’t know and Jaehyun would have wanted to stop you and ask if you also wanted a coffee, maybe clown you a bit, but he didn’t manage to. He brought the white cup to his lips instead and blew the steam, going back with his mind to the Friday night, when you were doing the same. 

────────────

Past, 2 weeks ago, the Kiss day

“Coffee so late at night?” Jaehyun asked, getting closer to the drinks table. You were resting your red-wrapped hips on it, looking bored. 

“I had too much to drink already. Trying to sober up,” you replied and your voice came so muffled that Jaehyun had to stop and look at your face. 

You weren’t bored. 

You were completely drunk. Absolutely shit-faced. 

That wasn’t the most surprising part though. Everyone was drunk at that office party. Jaehyun himself was feeling too lightheaded for his liking. It was something else. 

“Are you acting cute right now?” he asked with a mix of shock and amusement. 

Your lips were pouty on the brim of the cup you were holding. You shook your head. 

Then you tried to take another sip from the steamy coffee but your wavering hand missed your mouth and the dark liquid slowly descended from your chin towards your chest instead. 

“Shit,” you looked down at your dress.

“God, are you okay?” Jaehyun was quick to grab a napkin. “Did you burn yourself?” 

He took the cup from your hands and put it on the table behind you before gently tapping away at your neck. 

“No, it was just warm,” you assured him. “It’s very sticky though. Poured too much sugar. I’ll go wash up,” you announced and placed your palms on his chest to gently push him away from your path. Jaehyun watched your back as you tried to walk towards the corridor but the way you were dangling to one side and then the other in your high heels made his anxiety go through the roof. 

“Wait, I’ll help you,” he wrapped your shoulders with one arm. 

You hummed as if appreciative and Jaehyun blinked a few times, squinting then relaxing his eyes to try and read all the signboards and see where the hell the bathroom was on that floor. He was also almost shitfaced from the suspicious wine the office brought, but also, he forgot his glasses home that day. 

What a couple of losers you two were. 

“Listen, I think we need to go down a few floors. I have no idea where the hell the bathroom is here.” 

You hummed again and leaned with all of your weight against Jaehyun’s chest. Your eyes were closed as if about to fall asleep. 

Jaehyun sighed, a little sarcastic “great” huffing from his chest. He let his arm fall from your shoulders to your waist for better support and he hit the lift button with his knuckles. It was fortunately already there and Jaehyun had to half drag you and half push you inside of it. For a moment he felt relieved, but then your weight pushed him against the wall and he had to wrap his arms around you again to not make you slide down. 

“Can you just hold yourself up for a second?” he felt irritated. 

But his expression relaxed as you lifted your face. Your half-closed eyes and open lips made him gulp.

“Can you smile for once? I really like your dimples,” you replied and poked one of his cheeks. 

Jaehyun was flabbergasted. The stuck-up, boring, and work-obsessed chief engineer was poking his cheek while her coffee-shined tits were pressed against his tie?  He felt like seeing you for the first time. 

“Ah, come on!” you added, grabbing his face with your hands and making him pout. “You never smile.” 

“I smile a lot, you just never look at me,” he tried to speak while your thumb was digging into his cheek. Unfortunately, he thought, but he kept that to himself. 

You tried to say something else but the ding of the elevator made Jaehyun look towards the opening doors towards a dark corridor. You turned his face towards you again and leaning in, you pressed a chaste kiss on his plump pink lips. 

Jaehyun’s eyes widened and although drunk, you looked surprised as well. “Shit, sorry,” you tried to take a step back but Jaehyun’s palms on your waist didn’t let you go. 

He slid one hand on your neck, right below the ear and pulled your face back to meet his lips again. You hummed, closing your eyes and firstly grabbed at his jacket before you finally decided to wrap his neck with your arms and abandon yourself in the kiss. Your lips tasted like sweet coffee and Jaehyun hoped it could sober him up as well because he felt suddenly very dizzy. And when you slid your tongue inside his mouth he almost moaned, letting his palms caress your spine before groping at your soft ass. Your body got even closer to his and he had to move just once to pin you against the elevator wall. You grunted and Jaehyun wondered if he pushed into you too harshly, but then you kissed him again as if you could not get enough and he relaxed, welcoming the leg you lifted on his hip. Your skin felt soft under his fingertips and it felt even softer under his lips as he started to kiss your jaw, going down your neck following the coffee trail and cleaning it up with his tongue until it reached the chest. Your eyes were closed and your hands in his hair were making his half-hard cock throb too much. With an enormous almost inhuman force he stopped, hands resting on both sides of your head, chest lifting and falling quickly. Your sensual gaze made him gulp and when you talked, he could barely hear it. 

“What?” 

“I said, what department are you from? Sales?” 

“I’m an architect. Jeong Jaehyun?” 

Your face fell so fast that Jaehyun had to take a small step back. 

“God,” you furrowed your eyebrows, “not an architect.” 

Jaehyun had to remain still for a few minutes after you left to process the whole situation. 

────────────

Past, Monday 1 after the Kiss

Monday morning came quicker than you expected and with it the memories of Jeong Jaehyun the architect’s tongue inside your mouth. The elevator you were taking was the same and with the corner of your eye, you could exactly pinpoint where he pushed you against the wall to give you the best make-out session of your whole life. You shuddered and looked away. You psyched yourself to forget everything the whole weekend, or at least, to stop worrying about it, but it was very hard when you knew you would end up seeing him at work. You tried to drink from the cup you were holding but the taste of coffee made your brain buzz with the memory of Jaehyun licking up the sweet and bitter liquid from the swell of your breasts as if he was doing it at that moment too. 

You really drunkenly kissed a coworker? An architect? Your university friends would probably laugh at you for the rest of their lives. 

You didn’t know much about him so you hoped that by not seeing him often every embarrassment would soon die out. 

But apparently, he knew a lot about you. 

The shoes you chose that day were flat and comfortable and you were quick to reach your desk and sit down, avoiding everyone that might have seen something. 

Clearing your throat you turned on your computer right before a shadow in the shape of a man could obscure the keyboard. 

You looked up and Jaehyun smiled politely, the head to the side like a little bird. 

“Good morning,” his voice was deep. 

You opened your mouth and you felt your glasses slide down your nose. “Good morning?” 

The man blinked at you for a moment as if waiting for something. “Well?” 

You slowly looked around, darting your gaze across the room to understand what the hell was going on. Was he there to talk about the kiss? Was he a little boy who thought you were dating? Did you promise something? Did you offend him and he was waiting for an apology?

“Do you need something?” you pushed your glasses back and gulped at his sudden chuckle. 

“Yes. The projects for today,” he replied with both hands politely extended towards you. 

“Huh?” 

You took in the view of the man talking to you. Wasn’t Jeong Jaehyun the architect dude with sick tongue skills, and that’s it? Why was he talking to you as if he knew you? 

Then you felt as if the gods themselves hit you in the back of your head. 

“You’re-” you covered your mouth with the fingers, “you’re Jisung?” 

The man’s smile disappeared to make space for confusion. He furrowed his eyebrows while thinking about what he could reply to that. 

“You do call me a different J name every time so, I guess that’s technically true for you.” 

You took off your glasses because you were afraid the sudden heat wave to your cheeks and chest could melt them off. 

“I thought you were-,” you started, “I thought you were some assistant. You’re the Architect team chief Jeong Jaehyun? The man that I kis-”, you stopped yourself. 

Jaehyun couldn’t conceal a sudden chuckle but you also saw the shadow of annoyance in his dark eyes. 

“You had no idea who I was all of this time we worked together? We talk all mornings and you hand me the projects.” 

You were too stunned to speak. 

“We’ve been doing this for months now,” he added. 

You felt your mouth dry. 

Jaehyun scoffed and placed his hands on your desk, leaning down as if having a secret to share. 

You gulped and looked around but no one paid you any mind. 

“You need Architects to make out with you for you to remember their name and face?” 

His whisper made your skin shiver and while you were previously looking at his eyes, you had to stare at his necktie instead after that phrase. 

“Why do you keep coming to my office? You have nothing else to do? Send some assistant over from now on,” you blabbed. 

Jaehyun straightened his back. 

“Okay.” 

You nodded as if you just somehow resolved that embarrassing issue. 

“You’ll come to my office starting tomorrow and hand me the projects instead.” 

“What?” your voice was louder than you expected and a few heads turned around. 

Jaehyun’s lips stretched in a lazy and cocky smile. “I’ll get them. For today,” he grabbed the pile of papers from your desk. “Thank you.” 

His back looked huge as he turned around and exited the office. 

────────────

Jaehyun was fuming. 

He threw the papers on his desk with such violence that two poor interns jumped in place with their little coffees. 

“Everything is under control. Go back to work and mind your business,” he barked at them. 

He forgot he styled his hair that morning and when he tried to pass one hand through the fringe his fingers got stuck in the wax. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he sat down and unbuttoned his sleeves instead, rolling them up. 

You really had no idea who he was. 

He was shocked, embarrassed, and so fucking offended. 

No, he felt humiliated. 

All of those mornings of him longing- no. He would not admit that to himself. All of those mornings of him working with you and you couldn’t even remember his name, let alone his face. 

Was everyone just a nameless and faceless pawn around you? He has never seen a more arrogant and rude person in his whole life. 

And the fact he was still burning with desire for such a conceited woman was driving him insane with rage. 

────────────

Your fingers were a bit trembling after Jaehyun left. That was possibly the most embarrassing experience of your entire existence. 

You rested your forehead on your palms and waited for a few minutes to see if you could get your shit together and start working. 

And you kissed. For fuck’s sake. 

The mewl that escaped your lips caught the attention of some fellow engineers who were kind enough to stop and ask if you had some sort of stomach ache. 

You lifted your head to look at them in the eyes and you realized you had no idea who these people were. 

Your parents have always told you to stop overworking yourself and start having a bit of fun too, especially in school. It shouldn’t have been such a huge issue, but realizing you made zero close friends or even acquaintances because you’ve been staring at your desk and computer for all of that time was a shocking realization. 

You cleared your throat and gave your coworkers the kindest smile you could pull off. 

“I am fine. Thank you very much.” 

The people whispered something between themselves and walked away with awkward nods. 

“She’s definitely sick. She smiled.” 

“You know when people are about to die and they change personality all of a sudden?”

“She never looked me in the eyes before. I felt like getting turned to stone after seeing Medusa.” 

You felt your glasses slide down your nose again at the gossip and you exhaled deeply. 

Jeong Jaehyun - and his tongue - made you realize people considered you the worst bitch in the universe. 

────────────

The HR secretary furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean, all profiles?” 

You were tapping your thigh with one fingertip in front of his desk. 

“I need all profiles of all workers in the company to choose the- uh- the best team for this huge important project, yeah.”

The young man wasn’t impressed but he wasn’t going to deny the desires of the notorious Chief Engineer. 

“I will send you the credentials to access the files, ma’am. Anything else I can do for you?” 

“Thank you. That’s all,” you gave him a small nod and turned around. “Actually,” you stopped in place and hesitated. “I know this is not your job but could you talk to someone and bring coffee to the Architets’ office?” 

The secretary blinked. “Coffee, ma’am?” 

You gulped down the irritation. “Yes, please. Don’t say it’s from me. Please.” 

────────────

“This coffee is a gift from Chief Engineer Y/N,” the HR secretary announced as he accompanied the interns carrying a tray. 

Jaehyun was groaning and extending his arms above his head when he suddenly heard the commotion. 

“I think she’s punishing us for something we did,” one person said, grabbing a cup of coffee and looking at it suspiciously. “This is also so expensive.”

“Well, even if she spit in it, I will drink it, you know what I mean,” another winked and got shoulder hit by his cackling friends. “What? She’s scary but she’s hot.” 

“She’d probably bite your dick off.”

Jaehyun got closer and stared down the iron tray. 

“You said Y/N sent this?” he asked the secretary who seemed just as baffled, Jaehyun realized. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Did she say why?” Jaehyun grabbed a cup and smelled it. Normal coffee. 

“No clue sir. She instructed me to not tell you she sent it but-,” he interrupted himself and got closer. Jaehyun leaned towards him to hear. “-we need to track who’s giving what food to whom, you know. It’s right for you to know if perhaps something bad happens to all of you.” 

Jaehyun winced. The jokes about you being evil were funny only when he made them. 

“You don’t think she would actually do something to this coffee, right?” Jaehyun asked. 

The secretary straightened his back and although Jaehyun had no idea what expression he had on, the other man felt somehow intimidated because he stuttered a tiny “no, sir.” 

“Good. Why did she ask you to do this?” 

“Oh that, she came over to ask the profiles of all the people working at our company.” 

Jaehyun’s head was hurting. You were so convoluted. 

“Why?” 

“No clue, sir. She said something about making up a team.” 

You had no business reading the info of all of your coworkers for that. The idea of you wanting to learn more about him after the terrible interaction you had that morning made him roll his eyes in annoyance at how good it felt for a second. 

────────────

You felt like a thief although you got the info of everyone legally. You cleared your throat and started to scroll through all the profiles, mildly interested. You opened the first one and tried to read but then you puffed your cheeks and closed it. 

The J was in the middle and you pretended to have accidentally stumbled upon Jeong Jaehyun’s profile instead. 

Alright alright, you yelled at yourself in your mind. You were interested. God, his kiss was so good and his face, wow. You couldn’t forgive yourself for not looking at him once in all of those months. 

And you’ve been so rude to him. You shivered. 

Jeong Jaehyun 14 February 1997. 

You rolled your eyes. That birthday must have been made up. It’s impossible for a man like him to be a Valentine Boy. 

You tried to remember what you knew about Aquarius but your astrology knowledge was too limited so you hoped that would be compatible with your sign. 

Pause no. Why were you thinking about astrology compatibility? Maybe you were actually dying?

Tsk, graduated cum laude, the rascal. He wasn’t just pretty but also smart. 

Your eyes slowly darted across the page, eating up all the info the company could legally allow you to read and you had to admit that his projects had been insane even before coming to your company. 

And the ones he had under his belt afterwards? Well, they were all projects you also worked on. You felt sick. 

Were you really such a bad person?  

You sighed and closed his profile, starting to read the others. 

────────────

Jaehyun’s day has never felt longer. He thought he should probably go to the gym because the pain in his back was only getting worse and he should probably extend those muscles somehow. 

His brain was going over the menu for the dinner as well when he heard your voice in the main hall. He exited the lift and saw your smiling face greeting some of your fellow engineer colleagues. 

“Good work today, Minnie.” 

Poor Minnie smiled back as if the queen herself greeted her and almost tripped against the poor man who got blinded by your sudden kindness. 

Jaehyun stopped in place and sighed, trying to suppress the cackle. 

“See you tomorrow, ma’am,” the man added. 

“Have a nice evening, Yeonjun.” 

Jaehyun lifted one eyebrow at Yeonjun’s glossy eyes and walked over. 

He saw you sigh and turn around right into his chest. 

“I see you’ve done your homework.” 

You gasped and took a step back to be able to see him in the face.

“Do you remember my name too?” Jaehyun added with a cocky smile and you exhaled, crossing your arms on your chest. 

“Of course, I do.” 

Jaehyun buttoned up his jacket with a smile. “Good. Don’t forget to come to my office with the projects tomorrow.” 

“Listen,” you stopped him as he tried to walk around you. “I am- sorry for what happened this morning. I am very embarrassed about it.” 

You couldn’t look him in the eyes and Jaehyun had to tighten his fist inside his pants pocket at how cute you looked. 

“But-” you lifted your gaze on him. It was piercing. “-you have no right to treat me like this.” 

“Like this how?” 

“You’re punishing me.” 

Jaehyun opened his mouth then closed it at the accusation. It was true but he didn’t like for you to know about it. 

“I am not.” 

“You are.” 

“Coming to my office and seeing my pretty face is a punishment in your opinion?”

You put your tongue in the cheek with a scoff. “This. You’re- so cocky. You’re annoying.” 

Jaehyun’s dimples made an appearance. “You think I’m annoying? You didn’t know who I was after months of working together. That’s annoying.” 

“I apologized.” 

“Very insincerely so.” 

“I learned everything about you.” 

“Stalker.” 

You scoffed again, putting your hands on your hips. His everlasting smile was driving you nuts. 

“Alright. See you tomorrow, then. In your office. I’ll gladly hand you your work as you clearly burn with desire for me to do.” 

────────────

Back to Present, 2 weeks after the Kiss

The following days rolled on fairly easily. The annoyance and anxiety about going to Jaehyun’s office died slowly as you realized you only had to walk over, say hi, and place papers on his desk. 

If he thought you were rude by not small talking it wasn’t worse than not remembering his name and face after months of working together. 

Everything went back to normal and you started to be also decently popular in your office. Shocker, but if the chief is in a good mood and treats everyone with kindness, everyone works more efficiently. That’s the only good thing Jaehyun brought into your life. 

Well, that was until that day and the stupid yellow Post-it sticker on your desk. 

“Can you kindly check these and confirm they’re okay? JJ :)”  was still in front of you on your desk after the meeting about the Theme Park. 

There’s no need to be rude to me only because you think I’m attractive, was also still rolling in your brain and you wanted to go back to his office and yell that he was not attractive at all. He was just an annoying prick who had the upper hand because you embarrassed yourself in front of him once. 

But there were limits to all and he was starting to be too much. 

────────────

Jaehyun expected an Engineers and Architects meeting to happen at a certain point but he didn’t expect for it to be only the two of you. 

“So, I guess you’ve heard but we’re tasked to work together on a theme park.” 

You were alone in the huge meeting hall, one in front of the other, the large shiny desk separating you. Jaehyun looked at your white button down snuggly covering your breasts and the tiny bit of lace adorning your bra pocking out made him swallow dryly for the fourth time in one minute. 

“Yes,” he simply said. You moved and the shirt covered the lace. He sighed. “We can finally have a pretty theme park.” 

You rolled your eyes and Jaehyun wondered if you’d roll them the same way while he’d pound you into the mattress. 

His crush on you has been annoying him for a while now, but the recent development and the fact you didn’t even know who he was for a long time while he was under the impression that you might fuck soon has been a very low blow to his self-esteem. 

Now, he was trying to fight the attraction so badly but his cock had a brain of his own apparently because even if he found you arrogant and annoying, he really liked the soft side you showed him multiple times and that turned him on too much to ignore. 

“Engineers also have taste.” 

“Well you kissed me so I guess you do have a bit of taste, I’ll give you that.” 

You let the pen go and crossed your arms on your chest. “Can’t you keep it in your pants for one second so we can discuss this like normal adult coworkers?” 

“It is in my pants.” 

“You’re being inappropriate.” 

“You brought up cock talk.” 

“You brought up kiss talk.” 

“You kissed me first.” 

Jaehyun smiled at the victory and you leaned back in the chair. 

“Can we please stop talking about that and pretend it never happened?” 

“Actually you owe me another apology.” 

You waited with a lifted eyebrow. 

“You basically said ew architects after kissing me that night.” 

You scoffed. “And I stand by that. I’m not apologizing. Are baby architect’s feelings hurt?” 

Jaehyun licked his lower lip in annoyance. “Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why do you hate architects so much?” 

“Why do you hate engineers?” you resorted. 

“I don’t hate you.” 

“You do.” 

He lowered his voice. “I don’t. You want me to hate you, maybe.” 

“Why would I want that?” 

“That’s your homework for the day. Think about it.” 

“If you’re under the impression that I pretend to hate you because I secretly like you so I secretly would like for that to be the case from your part too, well, you’re wrong,” you smiled although you started to feel the muscles of your thighs shake ever so slightly under the desk. The building was almost empty and the lights were getting turned off one by one leaving you and Jaehyun alone in the huge room, faces illuminated by the blue screens of the computers and the constellation of lights of the skyline. 

“That’s a very convoluted thought. Of course, you don’t like me. You don’t even know me.” 

“You can stop rubbing that in. I know you now.” 

“Well, then it’s a matter of time before you start liking me.” 

“You’re so arrogant.” 

“I am arrogant?” 

“Well, I don’t have the presumption that everyone in the building is onto me.” 

“How do you even know I’m like that? You don’t know me.” 

“You walk around like you have a 9 inches cock.” 

Jaehyun widened his eyes for a second then leaned forward to laugh. His eyes closed and his perfect teeth shone on display. You realized he got whiskers when laughing hard. It pissed you off. 

“And if I do?” he tried. 

You scoffed with a smile. “That’s not human.” 

“9 is a lot, I’ll give you that, but it's not inhuman.”

“Well, I hope you don’t have 9 because I’d be worried about your lower back carrying that around.” 

“Holy shit, I do have back problems. You think it’s that?” 

“For fuck’s sake, Jeong Jaehyun. Please let’s get back to work.” 

Jaehyun stopped talking and you started to actually explain the new project. You both liked the little smile that remained on each other’s lips. 

────────────

Jaehyun was not at his desk that morning so you bit your lower lip, slowly putting down the files for the day. You had no reason to see each other or talk about anything else since both teams had to work on their share of tasks before meeting again but you just wanted to- you had no idea what.

You looked around and touched a few of his desk items before noticing his phone silently blowing up. You looked around the office to see if he was coming but he was nowhere to be seen. The walk around the desk felt natural but also stealthy and you hoped no one was looking at you. You sat in his chair and the jacket he kept on it smelled like him. 

You sighed. Ew men and their hot cologne, right? 

The phone’s screen had no time to turn off as text notifications rolled on the screen again and again underneath your gaze. You wondered if he was part of many active groupchats before realizing they were all private messages both from registered numbers and numbers with no name. 

You felt your throat itchy upon realizing they were mostly from women trying to chit-chat. You scoffed, staring the phone down. He was that popular huh? And he wasn’t replying to any of them? He was so arrogant-

“Fuck!” you whimpered, bringing one hand to the back of your neck and finding someone’s cold knuckles. “What do you think you’re-” you grabbed the hand and turned around. Jaehyun’s perfect eyebrow was lifted. 

“What are you doing at my desk?” he asked, interrupting your question. 

“I came to give you the files,” you stood up and looked at your hand still holding his fingers. You let them go in the same instant. 

He hummed and sat down before realizing you were still there. “Is there something I can do for you?” he turned towards you in his chair. 

You cleared your throat. “I need your phone number.” 

You had no idea why you said that but it was too late. You tried to maintain a neutral face.

Jaehyun’s expression didn’t tell you anything about what he thought. 

“You have it. It’s written on the file all workers have-” 

“Your personal cellphone number,” you interrupted him. 

The man’s eyes were piercing but you didn’t want to look away. Your brain was running quickly to make up some excuse about why you wanted it but he didn’t ask. 

He extended one arm to reach the pen holder and got one, clicking it. When he turned around he searched for your hand, the same holding his fingers before, and grabbed it gently, palm towards his face. 

“Why are your hands so cold?” you mumbled as he started to scribble on your skin. 

“Because my heart is warm,” he replied without missing a beat. “Also, I just washed them.” 

You rolled your eyes, watching him write his number slowly. His fingers were on your pulse and you hoped he could not feel how quick it was starting to get. Why was he writing on your hand instead of a piece of paper? And why didn’t you just take your hand away? Being around him made you feel and act stupid.

One strand of hair fell from his hairdo, obscuring his eyes from your gaze, but then he finished and looked up at you, the neck extended showing a single vein popping out from his tight collar. 

“There you go,” he added. 

You slid your hand from his hold and fought the urge to tighten it in a fist as if to hide something shameful. 

“Thank you,” you replied and exited the office. 

────────────

That night you were at your home desk, head in hands, trying to come up with a problem about the project you could text Jaehyun about. 

Everything could be an email and bothering coworkers outside of working hours was abhorrent, but he was Jaehyun and you didn’t care if he got mad at you. 

No. You wanted him to get mad at you. But why?

You couldn’t think of anything at all so you let your phone go and walked towards the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. 

Last time you got drunk you kissed him, you remembered. The glass was cold and the wine fresh and you tried to drown the memories of his lips on yours because they made you shiver in embarrassment. Or desire? 

Your growling stomach communicated the need for a snack too but the only thing you could think of making were chicken nuggets so you threw them on an oven tray and hoped for the best. 

When Jaehyun heard his phone ring he was about to jump on the bed, kicking his feet and giggling before realizing he was a grown man with cock and balls. 

“Hello?” he talked into it calmly, after clearing his voice. He knew you'd call after that awkward encounter in his office and he paced the apartment the whole evening.

“Hey,” your voice on the other line sounded muffled. “You answer surprisingly well for someone that gets calls and texts from women 24/7.” 

Jaehyun smiled and sat on the bed. “So this is what it was about, huh.” 

You didn’t reply for a moment and he desperately wanted to know what expression you had on. 

“I’m calling because of an issue with the project,” you mumbled after a bit. 

“Y/N,” Jaehyun called calmly. 

“Yes.”

“Are you drunk?” 

“I am not drunk. I am working right now!” 

“Every time you’re drunk you think of me?” 

“I said I am not drunk.” 

Jaehyun kept ignoring you. “Well, you can’t deny it’s a weird coincidence.” 

“Fuck-” you suddenly said and Jaehyun stopped talking. 

“Oh, shit-” you repeated and dropped your phone, probably on the ground. 

“Y/N, what’s happening?” 

Jaehyun could not make sense of any of the sounds on the other side but it didn’t seem anything good. 

“Y/N, everything is fine?” he spoke again but you probably couldn’t hear him. 

“My fucking nuggets-” he heard your whimper as if far away and the moment the smoke detector went off and you mumbled something about a fire extinguisher Jaehyun got his shoes and ran outside his apartment. 

────────────

Your voice got cut off as soon as you opened the door after the endless incessant doorbell rings from someone clearly very panicked. You opened and his arms were so strong that your breath went missing and you were forced to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck by the sheer force of his embrace. You’ve never seen him with soft unstyled hair and the worried expression underneath his fringe just made him even cuter. 

“You’re just-,” you heard Jaehyun’s deep voice on the crown of your head, “-so fucking stupid.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows but he went on. 

“So irresponsible. I am shocked at how you could have let your fucking oven burn when you have the brains to build a whole city.” 

“I was distracted,” you spoke softly into his shirt. It smelled like laundry detergent. His mix of insults and compliments weirdly made you giggle.

Jaehyun let you go and grabbed your face with both hands, finally looking at you frantically and squishing your cheeks. 

“I am okay,” you assured him. “Everything is under control.” 

The man sighed deeply as if slightly placated but the line between his eyebrows didn’t get smoothed out. And when he finally looked behind you and assessed the tragic situation of your burned-out oven covered in white foam he had to close his eyes for a moment to gather his shit. 

“It’s okay! It was an old oven anyway,” you turned around, trying to ignore that he was still holding your hand. 

“Your house could have burned down with you in it.”

“How do you even know where I live? And you called me the stalker?” you confronted him. 

“It’s written in your profile.” 

He let go of your hand and got closer to the kitchen, looking at the mess with hands on the hips like the embodiment of a dad. It made your guts tingle. 

“Sure. And you know all the addresses of all of your coworkers,” you followed him, resting your elbows on the island. 

“Of course, I don’t. I don’t like them. Stop talking nonsense and let’s clean this out.” 

You had no idea in what capacity you helped because at a certain point Jaehyun just gave you a glass of water and told you to sit down. 

You didn’t feel that well. 

Both because you were kinda tipsy and you went through all stages of grief putting out a fire, but also because he was there, and he said he liked you. Right? Jung Jaehyun said he liked you. 

And not only. 

"I know you're capable of dealing with this alone. You don't need my help but I'd like to help," he said as you tried to push him to the side and clean the mess yourself. No one talked like that before and a weird fuzzy sensation softened the muscles in your legs making you sit down. 

You sipped on the water without talking back, staring at the way his forearms were flexing while cleaning out your oven and the surroundings.

“No need to be meticulous. They’re coming tomorrow to change it anyway,” you tried, feeling awkward as no one did you any favours before. 

Jaehyun didn’t reply and you realized he looked very handsome when focused. Well, not that he was ugly when unfocused, but the way his jaw looked sharper and his gaze darker made you sigh and take another sip of water. 

“Is your hair bothering you? I can give you a headband,” you tried again. 

“You are bothering me.” 

You scoffed. “I am trying to be nice right now. Your hair is pretty long. Doesn’t it go in your eyes?” 

You were expecting some witty flirty reply back, along the lines of you pushing it back for him, but Jaehyun didn’t look in the mood. 

The truth was that you felt very embarrassed about the situation; as if you failed at something and Jaehyun was scolding you. That was new for you. 

“Fuck, this could have been a tragedy,” he mumbled, as if almost on cue. 

“I am sorry to have worried you.” 

Jaehyun stopped to look at you. “Why are you apologising to me? You’re the one surviving a fire.” 

“But I am okay. You seem much more shaken than me.” 

Jaehyun kept silent and when he stood up you realized he finished cleaning up the foam and the dark burning spots. You stared at the back of his head as he washed his hands in the sink. 

“Also thank you for being here,” you added. You didn’t know what else to do so you got up and walked towards him. Was a hug weird? Should you just shake his hand and call him a pal? 

His body stiffened a bit feeling your timid arms around his waist. “You’re still drunk?” he simply said, patting his hands dry with your kitchen towel.  You stopped and slid them away. 

“You said you like me,” you mumbled against his back. 

“Yep, still very drunk.” 

He grabbed your hands to be able to turn around and face you, resting his hips against the kitchen cabinet. 

“You said there were issues about the project when you called,” he added. 

You blinked at him. “You really want to talk about work right now?” 

Maybe he did. He was your coworker after all. And he certainly didn’t come over to “save” your sorry ass if you didn’t call him about it. 

Suddenly you felt very embarrassed. 

You kissed the man in an elevator after not even remembering his name and then asked for his number and now you wanted to make out with him in front of your destroyed oven? 

You gulped and took a small step back but your breath stopped as his hands holding yours grabbed your waist instead and didn’t let you move away too much. 

“I am buying some time,” he explained. 

Your voices got so low that you barely could hear him, but your gaze on his lips helped you understand what he was talking about. 

“Are you scared to kiss me again?” you asked. 

“Are you going to ask me to forget it happened Monday morning again?” 

His fingers were delicate on your skin for a moment you remembered you were wearing your pajamas. The thin top definitely didn’t hide anything from his gaze and the midriff being exposed to his knuckles made you shiver. 

“I won’t ask to do that if you don’t make it awkward.” 

“Fucking your coworker is always awkward.” 

You blinked at him as if suddenly realizing you were standing half naked between your hot coworker’s thighs (who was an architect!!) “I didn’t say I was planning to fuck. Just-uhm kiss.” 

Jaehyun smiled and your eyes darted to his dimples then back to the white flash of his teeth. 

“You think you’ll be able to stop after one single kiss?” 

You stepped back and crossed your arms on your chest to feign confidence but mostly to hide the tremor in your arms. "Try me."

Jaehyun took a moment to let his gaze slide on your features. “You get very cute when you’re drunk, you know that?” 

“Well, to quote someone, I guess the stick I have up my ass disappears.” 

“I can put it ba-”

You put your fingers on his lips. “You will not continue that disgusting phrase,” you warned. 

Jaehyun smiled wider and his lips rubbed on your skin. He kissed the spot then he kissed one of the fingertips. You inhaled, eyes trained on his gaze, unable to move away anymore as the room suddenly got sucked of any sound besides your own breath. 

He grabbed that hand and kissed your wrist, this time closing his eyes for a moment as if savouring it. You gulped. And when he locked eyes with you the shiver that went down your spine manifested in a little exhale. Jaehyun smiled again, a little curve on his plump lips you felt on the softness of your fingers. 

The kiss felt the same as the first one you exchanged in the elevator after he pulled you closer towards himself. But this time you took your sweet time, letting your palms feel his chest, the skin on his neck, the thick hair on his nape. He did the same, caressing your back with his knuckles, rubbing your thighs with his blunt nails, and grabbing your ass in your flimsy shorts. 

You whimpered in his mouth at the feeling and he hummed back, a low sound, almost a growl, your lips apart but tongues still swirling until you dove back in. 

“Can’t you be like this in the office too?” his murmur made your eyes open. He was licking his lips while his fingers intertwined with yours in a slow dance of pushing you back towards the couch. 

“You want me to get called by HR?” 

He flashed you a small chuckle. “That secretary is so scared of you by the way. He thought you poisoned the coffee.” 

The couch’s arm dug into your thighs and you sat on it, pulling Jaehyun closed by the waistband of his sweats. His eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him, then again as you dragged your palm upwards underneath his shirt. 

“And you think I didn’t?” you tilted your head to the side. 

“I am still alive.” 

“Not for too long. I might suck the life out of you," you placed a single wet kiss on his hip bone making him hiss. “Take this off,” you tugged at the shirt. 

Jaehyun’s hum was low. “Shit. Ordering me around?”

You looked up. “Please take this off?” you changed your tone but you couldn’t hide the mockery. 

He exhaled amused and did it in a second, pulling it by the collar and throwing it on the ground. But you didn’t have time to do what you intended to because the torso you so desperately wanted to see disappeared from your sight - Jung Jaehyun Chief of the Architect Department fell on his knees, savouring the delicate skin of your inner thigh. 

You gasped at the sensation and the anticipation of what was actually going to happen made you suddenly dizzy. 

You wanted to grab his hair to support yourself, physically or morally, but his head jerked back and with the most angelic and devilish smile, he pushed you back on the couch. 

“You should be respectful,” you chuckled at the manhandling. "I'm a senior." 

Jaehyun grabbed your ankles with one hand as a reply while the other swiftly slid your garments off your body. “I will be respectful after I am done,” he murmured. “For now you will have to take the disrespect, I’m afraid.”

You tried to think of a witty phrase but your legs were being directed on his shoulders, his knees were on the carpet in front of you now and his voice came from between your thighs. Oh, and you were naked. 

Too much work for your brain. 

“Thought you were a gentleman.” You didn't like your shaky voice. You didn’t like any of this. Didn’t you make some kind of bet just moments before? You forgot anything you two said to each other already. 

“I am a gentleman who knows when to not be gentle.”

And you soon realized what that meant. 

You had no idea if other men's tongues have felt that velvety before or if you were just developing the fattest crush on Jeong Jaehyun the Architect as he was devouring you and making you biased. But fuck he knew how to eat pussy. And you made sure he knew that. 

Jaehyun hummed appreciatively at the praise, his deep eyes covered by his long eyelashes making you unable to look away. So you slid your hand in his luscious hair, pushing it away from his face and pulled a bit. His arms and back muscles flinched and he visibly enjoyed your breathy moans when he increased the pace of his tongue's movement. 

"Shit, Jaehyun-" you curled your toes against the smooth skin of his spine then gasped, feeling his long fingers rub your slick before swiftly sliding inside of you. It was wet and messy and loud and the moment he let go of your clit with a dirty plop to start kissing your stomach instead you knew that night wasn't going to end with just that. Should you stop him? Should you continue? Would you be okay tomorrow? 

"Where are you?" Jaehyun curled his fingers and you bit your lower lip. 

"I'm here," you replied against his wet lips, body rocking back and forth on the couch as he fingerfucked you, the veins popping on his bicep making you swallow dryly. 

"I need you to focus on me. What are you thinking about?" he leaned down to rub his nose against your ear before outlining it with his tongue. 

You shivered underneath him and your nails probably left some indents in his pristine skin. 

"About how much I want your cock inside of me," you exhaled. That was the truth. 

Jaehyun hummed deeply and his breath became more shallow. 

"And?" he kissed your neck slowly, so different from the pace of his wrist to make you dizzy. 

"And I'm thinking of the consequences," you curved your spine, raising the tone of your voice on the last syllables. "Fuck, Jeong, this is-"

"Yeah?" he came back to your mouth, letting you whimper your moans against his lips. "You want me to stop then? No orgasm, no consequences."

"If you stop-"

"Then what?" 

You shuddered, frantically palming his hard chest then going down to loosely grab his moving wrist. 

"Are you going to beg for it? I'm kinda curious to see you like that," he added. The roughness in his already deep voice sealed the deal and you couldn't do anything but let your head fall back and bite down a scream as you came around Jaehyun's fingers. It was too late. It was already too late the moment you pushed him against the damn elevator wall. 

He let you decide when he should stop moving his fingers and you felt yourself clench rhythmically around them as you desperately tried to calm down. His lips were on your throat and you realized that he was talking, murmuring something so sweetly that for a moment you wished for him to just hold you until you fell asleep. 

"Good girl," he placed a kiss on the tender skin, then on the corner of your lips as you opened your eyes to look at his gorgeous face. His cheeks and ears were dusty pink and it made your heart skip a beat. 

You pulled him down and kissed him again, slowly and deeply. Then he smiled, stopping your hand from reaching underneath his sweatpants. 

"Tonight is all about you," he whispered. 

You furrowed your eyebrows but the mind-blowing orgasm blew your mind so well that you had no reply. 

"Why?" Your voice was a quiet waver. 

"I don't want you to regret anything," he replied. "And I don't want you to think about the consequences." 

Somehow it made sense. Waking up tomorrow and realizing you let him fuck you with his tongue felt better than realizing he came down your throat. 

Were you really that proud? Maybe you did have a stick up your ass. 

"Don't argue with me," he gave you a crooked smile as he got up on his knees. 

"I'm not arguing with you."

"You have a specific look in your eyes when you're about to debate me." 

You crossed your arms on your chest mostly to cover up given the sudden disappearance of his body from on top of you. Then you sat up and closed your legs. 

"That's not true. You're making things up." 

Jaehyun collected his shirt with another smile and you stared at his long back and the way his sweatpants sat low on his hips. 

The fucking consequences. 

"I really need you though," you whispered. 

Jaehyun wore his top. "How do you want me?"

"Riding," you replied. 

He chuckled. "Of course you do. You can't possibly let an architect force you to your knees, can you?."

You curled your toes at his words. "No, sir." 

Yes, he fucking could. 

Jaehyun leaned down again to slide his hand on your jaw and almost kiss you. But he whispered instead. 

"I'll let you ride me if you keep calling me sir." 

────────────

You didn't notice when Jaehyun left your apartment that night. You thought that the way he took you to your bed bridal style and let you nuzzle into his chest would roam your brain the whole night and would prevent you from falling asleep yet you had the best night's sleep in months.

And you hated to admit it but waking up that morning you felt embarrassed out of your mind but you'd probably have crawled out of your skin if you actually fucked him until the end.

"Hope you got home well," you texted him. Maybe that was how adults did stuff. Maybe that’s what he wanted from you in the first place. Just fucking. Yet why was he so considerate? 

"Yes :)", he replied with his stupid smiley face a second after. Was he not busy? How did he even see your texts in the middle of the hundred he was getting? That made you almost kick your feet and you realized you were slowly descending into madness. 

"And I slept as well as you did after taking care of your gift," he added. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What gift?"

"My boner" 

You sighed so much that you thought you had turned into a horse. Then you had to pass one hand on your face as flashes of Jaehyun's hand fucking his cock while thinking of you entered your brain. 

"It was you who stopped me from taking care of it myself." He was driving you insane. Your coworker - an architect (!!!). 

"I wasn't blaming you :)" 

"You're a bit of a masochist"

"I'm everything when I'm with you" 

"Barf"

"Honestly I thought you wouldn't even want to talk to me today" 

"Well we both know that you have poor judgement" 

"Maybe I should have let you ride after all :)" 

"Okay byee I'm turning off my phone" 

"Or suck me well"

"I'm blocking this number" 

"Or let me blow your back" 

"Sending this to HR" 

"Andy, if you're reading this, the Chief Engineer let me fuck her with my tongue and she liked it"

────────────

Texting and fooling around was one thing, but seeing his polished figure while sober and in the middle of the workplace made you almost have a panic attack.

"Good morning," you trilled, hands already pushing the files on his desk. 

"Hey," he lifted his face and gave you a warm but professional smile. 

"See you around," you nodded once and turned towards the exit hoping not to hit the glass door with your face. 

He let you go.

Then you came back the day after. And again. And again. No further exchange. Give papers. Take papers. See his face. Lose your mind at night with your hand between your legs and his name on your lips.

Then your name, pronounced by those lips you’ve been staring at as he pretended to sleep the previous weekend, made you stop in place and close your eyes. You swallowed and got ready to turn around. 

He was already there, standing right behind you and you inhaled his cologne as you took a step back. 

His shirt was open enough for his collarbone to peek through and the way his half-exposed arms looked, crossed on his chest, made you almost angry. 

“Would you like to have lunch together?” he asked. 

You lifted your gaze to meet his eyes the looked around his figure. Jaehyun smiled, tilting his head to the side to get in the middle of your gaze. 

“Don’t look at them. Look at me,” he added. 

“It’s easy for rumours to start forming,” you murmured, imitating his pose. Your fingers grabbed your arms perhaps a bit too hard. 

“It’s just a normal lunch.” 

“I don’t do normal lunches. It would look weird.” 

“At least you’re self-aware.” 

You snorted and turned around. “The last floor is always empty,” you only said as you walked away. 

────────────

Jaehyun didn’t actually expect you to be there. Somehow he thought the way your voice would waver when he was around, or the way you melted under his touch back in your apartment, the noises that you made because of him, all because of him, was just some incredibly orchestrated big joke. You didn’t try to speak to him after that weekend and you didn’t linger around his desk anymore. Hell, you didn’t even text him. 

He had to do something or he would go insane. 

Yet you were in the last room of the upper floor, sitting down on the only couch inside of it, staring at your little plastic container with your lunch and waiting for him. 

You were adorable. 

He had to stop in place before entering to gather his shit. 

Then he knocked two times on the glass frosted door and your head snapped. Your eyes looked so pretty that he felt his fingertips tickle. 

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” you replied. 

Jaehyun closed the door behind him and he could sense the way your spine tensioned. He wanted to pass his palm on it, he wanted you to curve it as he’d grab your neck to pull you up against his chest as he’d pound into you from behind again and again until you’d break. 

“What have you got?” he walked slowly and sat down. The couch was sturdy enough. He made a mental note. 

You looked down at your container as if seeing it for the first time. “Cold pasta. What about you?” 

Jaehyun licked his lips. There you were, looking at him as if hoping for him to devour you. 

"Don't look at me like that."

You closed your mouth. “Like what?” you smirked.

He exhaled. 

"Should I close my eyes then?" you giggled. 

Jaehyun opened his lips to breathe and your gaze fell on them.

"Do you know what would keep my eyes closed?" you asked with a lower voice.

The man's eyes darkened and a whiff of air dilated his nostrils as he leaned in and knocked the air out of your lungs. The kiss was rough and its rhythm erratic. His palms were on your jaw and cupping your head. Yours were on his chest, grabbing at his shirt. You had no idea where your food containers disappeared because suddenly your hands were full of him and your legs straddling his body as he plopped you on his lap. 

You opened your eyes a little when you felt him pull away to let you breathe, the air flowing between your lips still brushing against each other. You looked at them, they were flushed and plump and you desperately needed to taste them again. His gaze was on your eyes and his deep voice surprised you.

"You opened them again." His voice was so deep that you felt it vibrating in your chest. 

You met his eyes.

"I guess you'll have to keep kissing me, then."

His palms on your waist felt wide and so warm that when he slid them on your ass to pull you closer you felt like mewling. Close so close it was so close and you were at work. You were kissing at work. You were sitting on his lap, on his sexy black dress pants, fingers sliding in the slit of his shirt, feeling his chest, his neck, his jaw, his hair. Fuck. 

“We need to slow down,” you exhaled, pulling yourself away from him.

“Why? You’re afraid you’re going to cum too quickly?”

His arms wrapped around you even tighter and his amused and warm mouth attached to your throat instead. You felt your eyes roll back in your head as he nibbled on your skin, peppering wet kisses all over it. And when he scooted his hips forward, his palms on your ass pulling you closer until your chest hit his face, you inhaled feeling his hard cock underneath you. Jaehyun looked up, drinking in your reaction. 

“Show me how much you want this. Show me that you don’t care about the damn consequences.”

Like a spell, your hips started to move on their own, rubbing yourself on him. You were desperate, humping him like a mad woman and his choked moan as he let his head fall back on the couch, extending his throat, was the final thing about his maddening presence to fully break your mind.

"Does it feel good, sir?" you didn't hide the mockery in your tone, feeling your control sliding back in your hands. 

But then Jaehyun shattered it again.

"Ride me."

His eyes were two dark cuts under his scrunched eyebrows and his command made your whole center boil. You stopped your movements and you shuddered on top of him. 

His chest was expanding and shrinking under your palms and when you pushed into it to be able to stand his Adam apple shifted in his throat as he swallowed. 

"Undress me."

Your order made his tongue poke his inner cheek and you smirked, mirroring his expression.

Jaehyun sat closer to the edge of the couch to reach your body and your skin shivered with goosebumps the moment his long fingers unbuttoned your pants. His gaze never shifted away from your face and it made you boil with need. 

The fabric hit the floor and you scooted it to the side, the pant legs so wide your heels just passing through, leaving you and your naked and elongated legs for Jaehyun to touch with his wide palms. They were warm as they slid up your thighs, your breath hitching as you looked at his open lips, his own breath stuck in his lungs and released only when he pulled you towards him. 

You bit your lower lip, feeling his mouth on your stomach, and then you let your head fall back as his fingers trailed your sides, lifting your top until reaching your breasts. You lifted your arms and Jaehyun stood for a moment to help the fabric away from your limbs and before you could kiss him, he sat down, with your between his knees, and unclipped your bra. You gulped, helping yourself stand by placing your hands on his wide and firm shoulders. 

“This is so inappropriate,” you whispered, muffling a whine as Jaehyun kneaded your soft breasts, looking at the skin fill the gaps between his fingers. 

“Yeah? Is being naked like this in front of me making your sweet pussy achy and wet?” Jaehyun’s deep voice made your stomach shiver as he spoke on your skin, trailing open wet kisses down your navel.

You were about to reply, your hazy brain still able to formulate some snarky comment, but when his hands cupped your ass, and one slid to your thigh to lift it on his shoulder, your hearing flatlined. You felt your underwear being pushed to the side and his luscious tongue making you gasp. 

“Jaehyun-” you felt your legs suddenly wobbly and his grip on your body tightened, his mouth licking and sucking at your clit making you grab his perfectly coiffed hair and pull. 

His groan travelled inside of you and his blunt nails dug into your soft skin before he let you go, sporting shining lips and heavy breath. 

He didn’t speak, and he only grinned as he sat back on the couch, his arrogant face making you quiver almost as much as his tongue inside of you. He patted his lap. 

You scoffed trying to hide a laugh but before you could roll your eyes at him, his hands were on your waist, making you sit flush against him. 

“If you dare to roll your eyes at me, I’ll give you a real reason to do that,” he murmured against your lips. 

You kissed him, deeply and messily, grabbing the short hairs at his nape with one hands, and cupping his balls with the other, making him hiss. 

“Oh yeah?” you whispered back, massaging him through the tight dress pants he was wearing. 

His adam apple bobbed in his throat but his eyes shone with mischief. He nodded, not for one second intimidated. It infuriated you. 

So you undid his button and slid his zip down, feeling the wetness of his precum adorning his expensive boxers. 

“And yet, look who made a mess,” you cooed, sliding your hand underneath the elastic band and making him close his eyes and extend his neck back. 

“God,” he groaned. 

He was long and thick, his skin velvety and soft, hot with need. You jerked him with your hand slowly, swallowing at the thought of having him inside of you, splitting you apart. 

Maybe you made a sound, or maybe he saw your expression as you opened his eyes but he smiled faintly. 

“Come on, end this torture. You want me as badly as I want you, chief engineer,” he said. And you would have had another ounce of brat in you if only he didn’t say the following things. Just one word, and it made you dizzy with desire.

“Please,” he murmured. 

Your hand shook as you felt his bigger one on top of yours, directing his pretty cock towards your aching core. You let it go and Jaehyun aligned himself, lifting his gaze with a heavy breath to see your lustful expression as you sat on it slowly. 

You both exhaled, his deep growl and your higher pitched breathy sound, until you reached the base, his girth making you see stars. 

“Good girl, take it all,” he breathed out, letting you adjust. 

“Fuck, Jaehyun-” you gulped, feeling your skin hot, as you lifted yourself once before sinking deep down again. 

He hissed, “I know, baby, I know.”

The petname worked as a spell, throwing you into a fast haze, riding his cock as deep as you could. Jaehyun wrapped one arm around your waist, while the other hand raised to shove his fingers inside your mouth. 

“I’d love for the whole company to hear how good my cock makes you feel, pretty girl, but we don’t want a call from HR, do we?” 

You gagged on them at first, then sucked, trying to turn down the noises you didn’t even realize you were making. 

And when your movements became sloppy and you felt on the verge of losing your mind, Jaehyun’s hips snapped, thrusting up inside of you and making you fist his pristine shirt. 

“That’s it, baby, take it like a good girl.” 

You let go of Jaehyun’s fingers to whine, but then you choked again as his wet hand warmly grabbed your throat instead, making you steady yourself on his wrist instead. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he pulled your body even closer to himself, squeezing your breasts against his expensive wristwatch. It would probably leave a bruise and for some reason the thought of being marked by Jaehyun made you quiver on his cock so hard that with a few deep thrusts you came undone, shaking in his arms and calling his name again and again and again. 

Jaehyun’s warm breath tickled your face and his muscles were pumped with tension as he forced his hips to still, feeling your clenching walls tighten around him rhythmically. 

“Baby, I need to cum or I’ll pop a fucking vein,” he chuckled breathlessly, the hand previously on your throat cupping your face instead. 

“Then cum inside of me,” you replied, ears still ringing from the raging orgasm. 

Jaehyun groaned and snapped, drilling into you so fast that you didn’t have enough force to fully oxygenize your lungs, his arms tightly around your soft body and his face buried in the crook of your neck. 

The sounds were dirty, the tall windows of the small office were getting foggy, and you wondered how long you’ve been fucking like rabbits over your lunch break when Jaehyun’s hips stilled, lifted ever so slightly from the couch, deep inside of you, and you felt on the verge of another orgasm seeing him dig his fingers into your flesh. 

“Fuck-” he exhaled, and you bit your lower lip, whimpering as you felt his spurts of cum coating your insides. Then his hips moved again, prolonging his high as much as he could, the vein on his forehead showing you just how much blood was pumping inside of him. 

You’ve never felt like that and you’ve never seen him lose control just as much as you did. 

“Jaehyun- I think I’ll-” you pressed your palms into his hard chest and he rested back on the couch, looking at your with dark eyes and plump lips. 

“Give me another one, beautiful,” he murmured, his cock sliding out of your and his fingers collecting the cum before shoving it back inside. 

“Shit-” you closed your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of his fingers pumping in and out of you and your spine curved making you bite your lower lip until almost tasting blood when he added his other hand, rubbing your sensitive clit. 

“I can’t-” you mumbled, “I can’t- please-”

“Yes, baby, cum all over my hands,” he urged, his gaze never leaving your face as if bewitched. 

And you did. 

────────────

You were grateful for Jaehyun not abandoning you in the office’s bathroom alone to clean up the mess you asked for but the one he did. 

“You know I can technically use my cock to take the cum out,” he tried again outside the door. 

You rolled your eyes amused. “I said, no thanks, I got it.”

“The tip is anatomically made so that a man is able to take out the cum a previous man-” he started to ramble but his words were cut off when you opened the door. He blinked staring at you and you noticed his ears were a dusty pink. 

“Do you always share fizzy drinks bottle cups facts when embarrassed?” you finished adjusting your clothes. 

He cleared his voice. “Do you think there would be sex facts on the cups of fizzy drinks? Also, why would I be embarrassed?” 

You crossed your arms on your chest for a moment, taking him in. 

“Do you perhaps have a little crush on me, Jung Jaehyun?” 

He scoffed, putting his hands in his pockets. “No.” 

You expected him to say that but the sudden confidence threw you off. 

He leaned in. “It’s not a small crush. I thought it was obvious.” 

He then straightened his back and opened the office door. “Come on, chief, I think we might get a call from HR anyway because we had a 3 hour long lunch.” 

You shook your head, trying to conceal the little giggle your body apparently wanted to let out. 

“You have too much faith in your skills. We went at it for like 15 minutes at best.” 

Jaehyun stopped in place and turned around slowly. 

You stopped too. 

And when he grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, giving your ass a good spank, the yell and laugh that escaped you was probably heard in the whole company. 

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (03) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 14.8k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: I've been thoroughly enjoying your asks and replies about this story (sorry I can’t get to each one!) I see that a lot can relate to what OC's going through and I'm sending you hugs! 🤗 Again, I appreciate your love and excitement. And uh... Golden JK in that white tank. YUP. 🤭 Hoping you enjoy this one!

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

The spring in your step tightens the closer you get to Jungkook’s penthouse the next Monday. Walking here to start another week, there’s a mix of emotions you’re carrying with you. 

You got to spend a proper weekend. On Friday, you made yourself some cold noodles and then watched a movie with Jimin and Soomin on video call, who’d said they’ll be visiting you in a week. You took the train to Daegu on Saturday, went to the park, then stayed in to enjoy Min-woo’s cooking and the girls’ stories about school and their youth clubs. You then buried yourself in your mother’s embrace as you told her about your week. You didn’t want to say too much, not wanting her to worry that her daughter isn’t being treated well at her job, but you suppose you said enough. 

“I wish I was strong enough to protect you from everything,” she’d told you softly. “All I can do is just give you hugs and say words of encouragement that might not even mean much.”

“And you still are, mom. I look forward to being with you because of those hugs. But more than that, you were strong enough to protect me from the bad guys,” you’d assured her. “Jungkook is many things but he’s not a terrible person. I can handle him.”

And you meant it. He may be hot-tempered sometimes but he’s not evil. But just because he made you go home early last Friday, it also doesn’t mean he’s suddenly redeemed in your mind. Sure, he didn’t email you at all over the weekend unlike last time, but he also still didn’t apologize to you nor show remorse. 

Perhaps that small nod after he called you telling you that you could go home was his way of saying sorry, or maybe it just isn’t in his vocabulary. You wonder if Hoseok had told him off but even then, it’s a pretty quick change, if you could call it that. 

Regardless, you felt like a human being again these past few days; you just wish Jungkook woke up on the right side of the bed this morning and doesn’t find a reason to complain about you. 

Unlocking the door, you’re surprised to hear silence - there are no grunts and deep breaths nor the sound of leather hitting leather from his morning workout. You scan the floor before walking around - a habit you’ve developed after finding that laced underwear last week - and then peep into the door on the right, only to find untouched equipment and no other traces of him. 

You’re in the living room when you hear another door close, prompting you to turn around and see a woman appearing from the hallway on the other side of the penthouse. Her hair’s a bit disheveled and she’s wearing one of Jungkook’s coats that you saw in his closet. 

“Uh, who are you?” The woman scoffs, her arms crossed and eyebrows raised now. 

Taken aback, you just stare at her, until you realize she’s not wearing anything underneath so you look away.

You try to make sense of who she is and how you could get out of this situation. You know for a fact that Jungkook doesn’t have a girlfriend, at least that’s what Lucas had told you, but who knows what Jungkook’s been up to since he got back? There was that red laced underwear from last week after all. Maybe he does sleep around like what Do-hyun said. Maybe this woman just doesn’t know Jungkook has a female assistant. Maybe he’s—

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” she says, sounding more annoyed now. 

“Oh. Uh, I’m Mr. Jeon’s—”

“She’s my assistant,” Jungkook answers, catching you off guard, given that you hadn’t noticed him walk in. 

He’s not in his usual workout attire, although him in a white tank top and gray sweatpants with mussed hair somehow seems more overwhelming than him in nothing but gym shorts. You glance at him as he stands next to the woman, whose face suddenly lights up. Not wanting to look at her, you shift your gaze towards the ceiling, trying hard not to look awkward as you’re rooted in place. 

The woman looks at you from head to toe and you feel her judging you, assessing you, while Jungkook stands there, yawning and combing his hair with his fingers.

“Just your assistant?” She asks, sounding incredulous. 

“Yeah. What else would she be?” Jungkook answers nonchalantly. Looking at you, he nods ever so slightly that you almost miss it, another hint of acknowledgement you’d seen last Friday. “Just eggs on toast. And coffee.”

“Yes, Mr. Jeon,” you say, exhaling the breath you were holding and then walking to the kitchen to start on his breakfast. 

“I don’t know, another one of your girls? I see you with a new one every time,” she huffs, sounding bitter, but Jungkook doesn’t sound amused.

“What are you still doing here?” He asks, walking to where you are then taking the glass of water you prepare for him. “I called a service for you last night.”

“I was too tired,” she says, and you don’t miss the sultry tone of her voice now. “You tired me out, Jungkook. I could barely get off the bed.”

“And why are you still here?” He asks, clearly not having it with her teasing. 

“Because I’m still tired,” she smirks, having followed him to the kitchen. 

You feel tense once more; you definitely don’t want to be part of this conversation in any way nor be privy to it, especially given what obviously happened between them last night. And especially not with Jungkook looking and sounding the way he does this early Monday morning.

“And I was thirsty,” she continues. 

He sets his glass down and opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of water that he hands over to her. 

“Ugh, how romantic,” she rolls her eyes, finishing it in a few gulps. 

“I have to go to work,” he tells her, frustrated that she’s being stubborn about not leaving when he no longer seems to want her around. 

“Actual work, or, you know, work?” She says, gesturing towards you.

You make the mistake of looking at her smug face, the insinuation not lost on you. It’s insane how she can just make claims like that, and you feel that just like you, Jungkook’s getting pissed.

“Can you just leave?” He says much more sternly now. “I can’t start my day with you still here.”

“Ooh, how rude,” she giggles. “Should’ve expected you’d be like that even outside of bed. I like that.”

She walks back to the room, leaving you and Jungkook on your own. You continue to work on his eggs while he stands by the counter, rubbing his temples. You’re unsure if it’s because of her or from last night’s alcohol, but you get aspirin and also a bottle of energy drink and set them in front of him before returning to preparing his meal. 

The woman comes back shortly in last night’s attire then walks towards Jungkook.

“I’m leaving,” she announces, tilting his chin so he would face her. “I’ll see you again, yeah?”

Jungkook turns away and does not respond, leaving her to laugh as if there’s a joke that only she’s in on.

“Going all quiet on me now, huh?” She says. “You weren’t like that last night. I can still hear your moans, actually. Fuck, they sounded so good and so loud.”

You almost hit your finger as you slice the apple, clearly not expecting for this stranger to say something so intimate, knowing there’s another person in the room with them. You don’t know if she wants to intimidate you for whatever reason or maybe just make you feel uncomfortable. Whatever it is, it’s working, as you’re unable to focus on the task at hand now. 

Jungkook still doesn’t say anything, and it’s what prompts her to finally say goodbye. 

“Fine, I’ll leave now,” she whines. “But that was an amazing first time. I hope it won’t be the last.”

Her giggle annoys you for some reason, even more when you mistakenly look her way. Her smug face unnerves you as she holds your gaze while she says, “I’ll see you again, okay? I’ll make sure you’ll scream my name next time,” the words obviously directed at Jungkook. 

She finally exits the penthouse but she doesn’t take the tension with her because in this large apartment with you and him, you feel a little too hot, a little too alert, yet somehow a little too curious.

Jungkook groans now as he finishes his energy drink, and he doesn’t know what he’s more frustrated about - the fact that the woman whose name he doesn’t remember didn’t go home, or that you’d found out about it in the most embarrassing way and he’d done nothing to stop her attempts at making you feel uncomfortable because that’s definitely what she was doing. 

He doesn’t know how it affected you but even he can tell that it wouldn’t have been good. Not that he’s ashamed of his lifestyle but it’s different when you, of all people, get to see what that looks like. You did see the laced underwear on his kitchen floor last week, and he knows you definitely tried to pretend you hadn’t. Perhaps the image of arrogant, playboy Jungkook just solidified in your head and the fact that maybe that’s what you think of him is making him feel uneasy. 

Not that he cares about what you think - he definitely does not - but he just doesn’t want that to affect how you would treat him in a professional sense, as if he’s some reckless man who works too hard and parties much harder, even if that’s kind of what he does. 

The hangover doesn’t help at all; he shouldn’t have chugged that wine while the woman was giving him head, which was amazing, he reminds himself. He just knows he won’t be seeing her again after this morning because she’d been stubborn and shameless, and definitely not because of how she spoke to you and the insinuations she made.

“Mr. Jeon, your breakfast is ready,” you inform him, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

He takes a seat on the table and you sit next to him, taking out your iPad to start your rundown of last Friday’s meeting and this week’s schedule. 

“So—”

“Wait, give me a minute,” he stops you, and he realizes just how little sleep he actually got and he’s gonna have to push through today’s busy schedule despite feeling physically out of it. 

“Okay, sir,” you say softly.

He munches on his toast with his eyes closed, and when he opens them, his gaze falls on you, sitting upright on the chair looking clean and proper in your blush blouse and beige skirt. You seem to be reviewing the reports from last week, your eyebrows scrunched as you scribble on the screen. He knows you took the hours-long trip to and from Daegu over the weekend; the visit, just like any, must have been tiring. Yet you come to his place everyday without fail, ready to do what he needs you to do, and he doesn’t even know if you’ve had anything to eat yet. 

“Have you had breakfast?” He asks.

“E-excuse me?”

“Breakfast. Have you had it?”

“O-oh. Yes, I had some crackers and fruit on the way. I ate on the bus,” you respond.

He remembers your address from your staff profile. You live about 40 minutes from him, almost double if you commute. You come at 6:30 everyday, so he can only imagine what it’s like for you every morning. 

“Why don’t you drive?”

“I don’t have a car, sir.”

“Shouldn’t that be part of your contract? Or a benefit of some sort?”

“It isn’t. I believe only the CEO’s assistant does,” you respond. 

“Bitna has a company car.”

“Ms. Jung requested that when she was still President.”

“Then I’ll request one for you. It's… it’s too early. And you can’t always be assured of public transportation. There could be delays. Or an emergency that would require you to drive.”

Of course, he’d want you to get a car so that you’re more accessible to him. Just when you thought there’s actually a bit of his heart working this time, he reminds you why there isn’t.

“That’s true, but nothing has happened so far. And there are other options should there be,” you say. “I also don’t know how to drive so there is no need, Mr. Jeon. I leave my apartment early enough to make sure I get here on time, and I’ll let you know if I will be late.”

Jungkook just hums, even if there’s more he wants to know. What about late nights? What if there’s a storm? Well, he does know - he did see you miss out on taxis and then just walk last Tuesday; he wonders how you got home then, and how many hours of sleep you had after all that. 

He lets it go; it’s too early to think about this.

“Good. We can run through the minutes now,” he says.

So you do, stating the points and confirming your actions for each one and then noting down his as well. You try to focus, and you’re able to for the most part, but it’s not easy when he sits just a few feet away from you, with his bare arms propped on the table that’s just hard to look away from. 

You’ve always liked tattoos on other people, and the art on his right arm looks so delicate and personal; you wonder what someone like him would value enough to ink permanently on his skin. Even his untouched arm is mesmerizing, toned like every other part of him, with beauty marks that you spot as well. It doesn’t help that his slightly long hair keeps falling over his eyes, prompting him to comb them with his fingers every time. 

What also doesn’t help are the woman’s words from earlier, as she’d managed to make you think of Jungkook in a very different way, given her descriptions of how he’d been last night. You don’t know what she intended by doing that, but you didn’t miss her insinuations about your relations with him, which are definitely far from the truth. Learning that he’s rough and loud in bed is also knowledge that you could’ve done without. Somehow, he sounds like how he looks - expressive of negative emotions, and the type to drain the other person. 

He also sounds like the guys you’ve slept with.

The thought alarms you. These are things you shouldn’t be thinking about your boss, about the man who pays you, about the one who makes you miss meals and buses and who makes you angry because of how he treats you. 

You try to dispel these ideas by coughing - the loud sound helps, and you also want to distract yourself from how distracted you are at your task because somehow he keeps getting more and more attractive after every glance. 

He stands up, and just when you thought he’d be angry after your disruption, he surprises you by placing a glass of water in front of you.

“You can drink, you know? You can make yourself a cup of coffee. You can even cook yourself breakfast if it’s just crackers you eat in the morning,” he says. 

Yes, you think to yourself. You’ve been wanting to try his coffee because of the fancy machine but breakfast sounds… too domestic. 

“Thank you, but I’m okay. I mean, the snacks fill me up just fine.”

“It’s not proper breakfast, though,” he argues. 

“With all due respect, sir, eating takes time away from all the things I have to do. I manage just fine.”

Expecting an annoyed expression from him because you did just imply that you do too much, you instead see the tiniest hint of guilt on his face, as if he actually feels bad that you’re unable to take care of yourself because of him. 

“You’re not a servant, Ms. Cho. You’re not disallowed to do basic things just because of your job.”

“You have standards, Mr. Jeon,” you say, throwing his words back at him. You don’t expect to see his face fall a little, and you’re surprised that you seem to care. “I need to meet them, and I’m still familiarizing myself with how you want things done, and that takes time. I don’t mean to imply that you treat me like a servant because you don’t. I just… I want to be able to do things right and I’m still learning.”

The words hit Jungkook. He knows he’d been too critical during these first weeks, and that’s more because he’s unable to manage the initial attraction that he’s trying so hard to temper. He could’ve gone on correcting you constructively, with no need for harshness the way he did with Lucas when he started. 

You’ve also been doing this for a few years. You’ve been working for the VP’s office longer than he has - you know the people and the processes more, yet you’re the one claiming you need to learn and do things right. Even he thinks his father, whom he never thought was the best at looking out for his people, wouldn’t be angry at those below him for irrational reasons. Somehow he thinks he’s worse than his old man now. 

But the word sorry isn’t in his vocabulary. He’d rarely ever said it, and the only reason he’d heard it a lot growing up was because people caused his inconvenience, and not because they’d hurt his feelings. He doesn’t know what that’s like - forgiving and wanting to be forgiven. They’re foreign to him, but somehow those are what you’re making him want to know. 

“I—”

“Can we move on, Mr. Jeon?” You interrupt him. “You have a scheduled check-in with your father before the 8:30 team meeting.”

“Right, that’s today,” Jungkook says, letting go of any form of apology he could muster. 

He nods then stands up to head to his bathroom, and you follow shortly after to arrange his outfits for the week. You clean up in the kitchen after and wait for him to come out, with you reflexively walking up to him to fix his tie and make sure all the creases on his clothes are fixed. 

Jungkook tries to remain still as you, like everyday, make sure he looks proper. It always took him a long time to get ready because he used to do all this on his own, but with you taking on the unofficial stylist role - which he admits you do a great job at - he’s relieved of that added stress of looking the part of a Vice President. It just also means that every morning, he has to look unaffected as you stand close to him like this, with you tightening his tie and your fingers grazing his clothed chest.

You smell like roses. It feels warm and nostalgic, like it’s familiar but also something new. It’s refreshing on you, and it wafts through his nose and paralyzes him a little. He tries to hold his breath like always, only briefly glancing at your focused eyes as you make sure he looks impeccable. 

He’s caught off guard when you look up and meet his gaze. He doesn’t react, but he does linger and surprisingly, so do you. He wants to apologize but he doesn’t know how to. He just hopes you feel it somehow with how he looks at you; he’d like to think you do, as you gently bow and step back, taking your things to go down. 

You go through his schedule while in the car, noting his dinner meetings and that the food tasting for next month’s event with the art industry professionals that you’re both organizing has been moved to next week, freeing up his Thursday lunch hour.

“I’ll schedule my visit at Taehyung’s tailor shop that day then,” Jungkook states. “I’ll have a few suits done.”

“Noted, Mr. Jeon,” you reply, adjusting his calendar. 

He doesn’t say anything after. He takes his leather notebook and sketches like he often does, looking out his window only a few times as he’s engrossed in his drawings. Even with all that he is, you can’t deny Jungkook’s talent. You only know he took an architecture course but you don’t know if he actually practices it. 

You start to wonder if Jungkook wanted that to be his profession but couldn’t pursue it because he’s expected to manage the company with his cousin. You wonder if he’d always been into drawing and the arts, if it was an outlet the way reading picture books was for you; you’d wanted to become an illustrator but your mother couldn’t afford drawing classes and that profession just didn’t seem like it could sustain you financially. You wonder what Jungkook thinks when he sketches and what his subjects are, if he feels at peace the way he looks, if he hopes he could just spend his days doing this. 

The seeming warmth in your thoughts about this man concerns you, prompting you to turn away from his direction and stare out the window instead. You remind yourself that this is the same person who’d made the past two weeks miserable for you; he doesn’t deserve warmth from you in any form, even if, for the briefest moment earlier after you fixed his tie, that’s what you gave him. You learned that he’s quite mesmerizing when he doesn’t talk or when he isn’t scowling. You also learned you’re quite quick to fall into it when you let your guard down a little. 

You groan internally. There’s a lot you don’t know about him and you don’t really care to know more; what you know is enough to put you off anyway. And so these moments of weakness - of curiosity, of concern -  should not happen again. 

Except, they do happen, over an hour later after Jungkook returns to his room from his check-in with his father. He sits on his chair, his eyes closed and jaws clenched, unmoving for a good few minutes, and you watch from your seat, wondering what transpired that’s got him this disturbed. 

It happens again an hour later. He moved the team meeting to the afternoon and he’s now furiously typing on his desktop, making calls, sketching, making calls again, then sitting still with his eyes closed once more. Hoseok walks in, merely nodding at you, then enters the room and speaks with the younger man. Jungkook closes the blinds, and you’re left to wonder what’s going on behind closed doors and what’s got him angry and frustrated.

You take your chance at finding out when Hoseok emerges, asking him if everything’s okay, if Jungkook is okay.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Hoseok says, a half smile on display, something you’re only a tad familiar with. “He’ll manage.”

He rushes out, saying he has a meeting to get to, and you nod, glancing at the closed door and blocked window, wondering what troubles Jungkook is handling on his own. If it’s personal, it’s clearly not your business. But if it’s work-related, then it is. You’re there to make things easier for him, after all. You also don’t want to be surprised and be bombarded by new tasks just in case, so it’s better to know if there’s something you can help in resolving things as well.

You walk in his room then place the ginger lemon tea on his desk, a common home remedy for hangovers, just in case last night’s events are still affecting him. You inform him that you’ve sent the reports already for his sign-off, and he responds that he’ll get to them tomorrow.

Glancing at his drink, he halts his typing to look at you. 

“Do I look hungover to you?” He asks pointedly.

It’s clearly not what you meant, but you suppose the insinuation isn’t what he needs right now. You want to be swallowed by the ground. He was already calm towards you, civil even, and now there’s another reason for him to be upset at you. You wanted to avoid any possibility of that as much as possible, and now you’re here, at the verge of being told off again, just because your stupid brain decided to care the tiniest bit.

“I, uh, no, Mr. Jeon,” you stutter. “I just…”

You don’t have a reason. Clearly, you can’t tell him that he hasn’t seemed okay all morning - whatever that means - and that just in case it’s last night’s alcohol affecting him, there’s a cure. You stare back at him with worry, but instead of challenging or questioning you, he just sits back with his eyes closed again and dismisses you. 

“You may leave,” he instructs. 

“What about lunch, sir?” You ask. 

You’d never cared before, why the change now? 

“I’m fine,” he responds. “Call me when the meeting’s about to start.”

Your stubborn self takes the box of biscuits from the coffee table and places it in front of him. You’re pushing it, you think, but there’s a meeting he’ll be leading and he can’t be unfocused; when he is, it’s all the worse for you. 

He doesn’t react and you walk out. When you enter an hour later to call him, you spot the empty cup and the crumbs on the saucer, and you can’t help the tiny smile that you make internally.

It’s short-lived though, as that whole afternoon, he acts unusually - he barely makes comments at updates, he doesn’t make eye contact, and doesn’t ask further questions. He just nods when you say you’re heading out at 6PM, giving you no added tasks to keep you from leaving.

You enter his penthouse the next morning to the banging of leather hitting leather, prompting you to jerk from the loud sounds. He’s grunting and panting heavily, and you just know that whatever it was that transpired yesterday, he’s releasing all his emotions right now, through this. 

He exits the gym and walks to the counter where you are, finishing the water you laid for him in three gulps. 

“Do you need that tended to?” You ask. 

He looks surprised. You gesture towards his hands and he looks at his bruised knuckles; he really let it all out this morning, it seems. 

“I’m fine,” he shrugs. 

You didn’t think those two words from him would ever make you feel discouraged, but one thing you’ve come to learn about Jungkook is that he easily expresses his anger and frustration towards other people. It’s when he keeps things in that they seem more serious, and you wonder what words he heard yesterday that might have made him this closed off, this quiet, this much more distant.

But fortunately, your feeling of worry fades with each day that passes, as he slowly returns to his normal self after - the focus, the perpetually serious look, the attention to detail, the sketching on his notebook. Perhaps Jungkook just needed a particular kind of release and he’s maybe handling things better now. 

For his sake and yours, you wish the issue has been resolved, otherwise another blow up might happen and that wouldn’t be good for your newfound dynamic that’s a lot more civil than anything. 

It’s Thursday when you get a call at 5 in the morning, just as you’ve woken up to get ready for work, and Mr. Ri’s voice greets you on the other end.

“Hi, ___. How are you this morning?”

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you yawn, curious as to why he’s checking up on you this early. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he hums. “I was instructed by Mr. Jeon to pick you up today.”

“Why would CEO Jeon ask that?” You wonder, as you sleepily walk to the bathroom to wash up.

“He didn’t. Jungkook did.”

You stop on your tracks. You don’t recall being informed about this, nor do you know of any particular reason why you should be at his place so soon.

“Oh, uhm, okay. I should be ready in–”

“I’ll be there in about 50 minutes,” Mr. Ri interjects. “Sleep in a bit more and have some breakfast. I’ll see you shortly.”

You try not to think about what prompted Jungkook to have you picked up, so you focus on getting ready and then whipping yourself some fried rice using the leftover seafood from last night. You won’t lie, it tastes delicious. It might be that you just haven’t had proper weekday breakfast in a while, but it could also be that you’re energized enough and not pressed for time that you’re able to make this as good as it is. 

You decide to bring some to Jungkook’s place just in case you get there late. Sure, Mr. Ri will be driving you, but you don’t know how the traffic is at this time, and this change in schedule is somewhat making you anxious. But then again, there’s always bread or cereal for him to eat; you just think that a little act of thanks wouldn’t be so bad.

Mr. Ri arrives exactly 50 minutes later and he assures you that he’ll get you to the penthouse in half an hour. You trust him of course; he’s been with the Jeons for decades and he knows these streets like the back of his hand. Seated in the passenger seat, you try to figure out what about today has got your boss a little kinder than usual. 

“I arrived five minutes late yesterday,” you wonder out loud. “Is that why? He has a meeting with a local artist in the morning and he doesn’t want me to be late. That should be it. Ugh, stupid,” you groan. “I should’ve taken the first bus I saw, but it was so full and–”

“___,” Mr. Ri stops you. “Five minutes isn’t much. Plus, you always arrive 10 minutes before 6:30 and then just wait at the lobby. I don’t know why you do, you could always just go up to the penthouse when you get there, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Mr. Jeon has boundaries and clearly likes keeping his distance. Going to his penthouse before I’m supposed to be there feels like I’m intruding,” you argue.

“You’re literally his assistant, and you go to his bedroom and his closet, fix his things, prepare his meals… there’s no intrusion happening,” Mr. Ri counters. “I know the man. He’ll probably just look at you curiously then go about his routine.”

“Well, since you know him so well, then why did he have me picked up this morning?”

There’s a brief silence before the man next to you responds.

“He did note that you were late for the first time, but that wasn’t his issue,” Mr. Ri says, appeasing you before you react negatively and think that your tardiness was a big deal. “He asked if I knew how you got to Hoseok’s place before and I said you would just take the bus; it was closer to your place so it was fine. They have someone to make his breakfast, too, so you didn’t need to come early; plus, you only went every Monday.”

“What a change, huh?” You attempt to poke fun at yourself and the new arrangement you’re in. 

Not that you’re complaining; you know of other executive assistants who do much more for their bosses and what you have with Jungkook isn’t even that bad. But it is quite the shift compared to what you did for Hoseok. You’ve figured out your own routine, though. And the commute isn’t always terrible, for as long as you’re not one of the unlucky ones, given the recent incidents. 

“It’s quite the change. I don’t think he realized that until yesterday. He also asked me if I know if you eat properly in the morning. Maybe he thinks you don’t?”

“I’ve skipped meals…” you trail. “And well, I told him that I just eat crackers on the bus. Maybe he thinks I’m losing focus some days.”

“Maybe he’s just concerned.”

You snort at the absurdity of the statement. 

Mr. Ri sighs. He knows that Jungkook hasn’t been his best self since he arrived in Seoul, and especially towards you. He’s noticed the young man’s indifference, the occasional passive remark, the frustrated looks, and the tension every morning. He’s noticed your faraway eyes, too, your constant anxiety, and unusual lack of confidence in your usual tasks, given that you look to be second-guessing everything you do. 

As someone who’s worked for the Jeons for so long and who’d watched Jungkook grow up, he’s used to the detachment, but it was always because the young man often lived in his own head. There are always lots of thoughts and ideas, and lots of feelings he keeps bottled in. 

But he’s also seen Jungkook’s kindness that he doesn’t always show, the guilt and anger that restrain him from expressing his emotions, and the care that he seems to put a brake on when he shows too much of it to someone, and so it isn’t much of a surprise to him to him when the young man gave this specific instruction to pick you up, not just today but everyday moving forward.

“The news on the radio reported on the robberies and complaints of sexual harassment against female commuters last night,” Mr. Ri continues. “They attack at any hour now. I’m sure that’s why. He wants me to drive you home everyday, too.”

“Mr. Ri, that’s too much,” you protest. “That’s not part of my contract and it isn’t his responsibility.”

“Maybe, precisely why I think he’s concerned. It isn’t about making sure you’re not late to work or anything. He’s worried that something might happen to you. And I agree. It isn’t safe, ___.”

“It’s not safe for me anywhere. I just… it’s too much,” you sigh. “I don’t need this kind of service. I’m not entitled to it.”

“He’ll insist though. Will you argue with him over your own security? I mean, it’s either this or he’ll pay for your driving lessons and then request for a car for you to use.”

You sigh, knowing he has a point. You don’t think you deserve it but you also can’t deny that the concern makes you feel a certain kind of way for him; gratitude, for one, and something else you can’t exactly name. 

“Okay,” you say softly. 

“Good. It’s about time he makes it up to you,” he chuckles. “Boy’s been a brat these past weeks. I wanted to just knock some sense into him.”

“Hmm, not like I expected any less,” you huff. “He just looked grumpy or disinterested during the times I’ve seen him before. Unhappy people like that aren’t always the kindest. Has he always been that way?”

“I wouldn’t say he has. I mean, he just wasn’t joyful or expressive, not like his brother. Jungkook liked to keep to himself; Hoseok often tried to push him out of his comfort zone but the boy wouldn’t really budge. I think as he grew up, that just amplified. People who prefer being alone have their reasons, don’t they?”

They do. You know this just like anyone, perhaps as much as Jungkook. It’s comfortable being alone; there’s no one to hurt you and no one you could hurt. You wonder if his reason is the same, and if, like you, he feels the loneliness creep in every once in a while. 

You nod in silence and the conversation doesn’t continue until you arrive at Jungkook’s building. You have five minutes to get to his unit and you get there in three. When you enter, you hear grunting from the gym, and it’s shortly after when he exits and drinks the glass of water on the counter.

“What’s that?” He gestures at the plastic container next to you.

“It’s fried rice. I made it this morning because I had time to eat breakfast at home,” you say, softly smiling and then bowing at him to show your gratitude. Whatever his reason is, the act was appreciated. 

“And you’re gonna eat again?”

“I was actually–”

You stop midway. You actually meant to serve it to him in case you arrived late, which you realize is pretty ridiculous. 

“Actually what?” He asks, leaning forward on the counter now, with his bare arms from his tank top blinding you a little. 

“I didn’t know what time I was gonna get here so I thought as a last resort, I’ll bring this to heat up and serve to you but then I realized that that’s pretty stupid because it’s leftovers and definitely not high-quality ingredients and it’s… just silly. Plus, you don’t eat rice in the morning.”

With his scrunched brows, he asks, “is it good?”

“It’s pretty delicious,” you say. “I mean, I liked it. I don’t know how sophisticated your palate is… Mr. Jeon.”

You smack yourself internally for rambling. 

“What’s that got to do with anything? If it’s good, then it’s good.”

“I’m an ordinary person, Mr. Jeon. I have normal people’s taste buds.”

“So that makes me, what? Abnormal?”

“No… I–” you unknowingly pout. You shouldn’t have brought this in the first place. 

Jungkook is disarmed again at the sight of your pouty face. If this is your way of thanking him for this morning, he’ll take it. The fact that you’d brought something you cooked from your own place to feed to him is already enough to make him feel hazy, which is why he needs to get away from you right away.

“Just heat it up. I’ll have that. There’s not much food in here anyway,” he says, walking away, leaving you no room to resist.

You do as you’re told, not wanting to overthink and change anything. You do check the cupboard and see a stashed pantry, and you wonder if he’d wanted to find something to criticize about your cooking, too. 

He walks in and lets you fix his tie again, and for some reason, you feel more nervous than you normally do today. You sit and busy yourself with responding to emails as he eats his breakfast, careful not to look at him while he does.

“It’s good, a little better than how I do mine,” he says, surprising you.

“You cook?” You ask too quickly.

“Of course,” he frowns, looking a little offended. “I lived on my own for years. How do you think I survived?”

“Hiring people to do it for you,” you shrug. 

Peeking at him once again, you see that he’s almost finished with the dish, and you can’t help the little smile on your face at the thought that he might actually enjoy it. It’s just fried rice, but you let yourself feel the shallow happiness from this. He’s at least not berating you or anything.

He finishes his meal as you go through yesterday’s meetings. There’s not much about the Arts Center he says, just like yesterday and the day before, and you start to wonder if the issue with his father has anything to do with that. 

You let it go, opting to just follow his pace and let him talk about it when he’s ready, if he ever will be. 

The morning goes by smoothly. Jungkook meets with Yoongi in his office then reviews the reports you’d sent last Monday. He sends you an email, saying that they’ve been approved and for you to attach his signature for sign-off and dissemination, leaving you perplexed at the lack of any other comments again. 

He goes for a quick lunch at the dining hall while you eat a sandwich at the pantry, and not long after, you’re back in the car to head to Jungkook’s appointment with his best friend.

Kim Taehyung’s tailor shop boasts of classic European design. It’s elegant in all the ways that he is, as he stands by the desk in his working space, a smaller room on the mezzanine floor with an exquisite couch and displays of his work. He’s donned in an orange suit that you think only he can pull off, while his brother, Seokjin, sits on a chair in an impeccable black 3-piece. 

You know as much that Jungkook grew up with both men, but while the brothers are often a hot topic on the news because of their wealth, their successful businesses, and colorful dating lives, you now wonder how Jungkook managed to stay out of the spotlight despite being a lot of the things that they are. 

You bow at them after Jungkook introduces you as his assistant, and you’re surprised when Seokjin reaches out his hand to shake yours, bowing as well and offering you a kind smile. Taehyung does the same, and you can’t help but feel the warmth on your cheeks. They’re clearly incredibly handsome men with amazing styles, just like your boss, but they’re obviously respectful and gentle, unlike him. 

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Cho,” Taehyung smiles. “So, what events do I need to dress my best friend for?”

He looks warm, friendly, and you can’t help but mirror his smile as he offers you a seat and some tea. You take out your calendar and enumerate at least three big events in the next months, which would require standout designs. Jungkook also wants four additional everyday classic suits, and Taehyung starts sketching on his pad as you speak. 

“Make one for my event, too,” Seokjin says. “I’m launching my traditional alcohol brand in Singapore in September. It’ll be a big thing so Jungkook needs a fancy piece for that as well.”

“That soon?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah, it got pushed early,” Seokjin replies.

Jungkook asks you to check his calendar for any activities in the Singapore office, and you state that there’s nothing scheduled during that time. 

“There’s a landscape designer I want to meet while I’m there. Schedule one with her later,” Jungkook instructs you, and you make a note to coordinate with Lucas, who will continue to serve as the assigned assistant for the Vice President’s Southeast Asia trips. 

Taehyung finishes the rough designs quickly, given that he’s already familiar with the style his client wants. He’s done a lot of Jungkook’s suits, which you know from all the weeks of preparing his clothes, and you do admit that he looks best in these custom-made pieces.

As Taehyung takes Jungkook’s measurements - given that, as per his words, Jungkook has gotten wider since the last time - he asks if you have something to wear for those big events, too. 

“Uh, yes,” you say. 

“Are they from company events from before?” Taehyung asks.

You nod shyly. It’s not like you’re paid enough to afford a new one every time nor can you wear them anywhere else; there aren’t exactly regular fancy dinners and social occasions you get invited to.

“Have new ones made, then,” Jungkook says, his back turned to you.

“Uh, there’s no need, Mr. Jeon. The gowns still look new and they’re well-made,” you insist.

“Store-bought?” Taehyung asks, his eyebrow cocked.

“Uh, yes, Mr. Kim.”

“Nothing beats custom-designed ones though. And I must say, I’m kinda good at them.”

“I, uh… it’s really not necessary,” you stutter, feeling a little too shy and definitely undeserving. It’s Kim Taehyung; his name is the brand.

“I believe it is,” Jungkook says now, turning to you. “They’re big events and we’re organizing one with the arts professionals. Some dignitaries will be coming, too, including the culture minister. I’d prefer if you looked the part of working for the Vice President, Ms. Cho. You represent me in that way.”

“I… uh, okay,” you sigh, knowing you don’t seem to be in a position to turn him down. 

“Great. Start thinking of designs, then!” Taehyung beams.

It’s some minutes later when Jungkook’s measurements have been taken and Taehyung calls for you. You sit on the chair facing his desk not far away while Jungkook and Seokjin talk about sports and this new club that opened in Gangnam. 

Seated in front of you, Taehyung takes his sketch pad and starts asking what design you want.

“Something simple and comfortable since I’ll be moving around,” you say softly. “And nothing form-fitting or revealing since, uh…”

“I understand,” Taehyung smiles, revealing a gentle side of him that the paparazzi and tabloids clearly don’t capture. 

He starts drawing your silhouette, glancing at you then at Jungkook before speaking.

“So, he’s been in this role for a few weeks now. Has he been nice?”

“Define ‘nice,’” you respond, earning you a chuckle. 

“I guess that’s my answer, then.”

“I don’t mean to say he isn’t,” you backtrack. “Mr. Jeon just has a different leadership style as Mr. Jung’s, that’s all.”

“I suppose that’s quite a difficult adjustment for you, huh?”

You purse your lips and Taehyung laughs, the soft way he does it is something new and refreshing to you. You didn’t realize how deprived you are of such gentleness, of such acts or sights as simple as a smile. Hoseok is no longer your source. Your team hasn’t been as jolly these past weeks. The only other person you talk to regularly at work is Yoongi, and while he’s definitely been smiling more, it’s a lot more teasing than it is comforting. You’ve been missing your best friends more because of that, you think - Soomin’s smile is blinding, Jimin’s is sweet and infectious. Perhaps it’s why you haven’t been smiling much yourself. 

“I won’t tell, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures you. “I just wanted to check on him. This whole move has been tough but he doesn’t say much. I’m guessing he doesn’t tell you, either, but he’ll definitely show it.”

“He has, actually,” you say softly, knowing now that even with his closest friends, Jungkook tends to keep things to himself. “He’s pretty stressed most days, always working and stuff. He’s been a little hard on me but I guess that’s a natural reaction for some.”

“That’s not an excuse though.”

“It isn’t, but… it’s okay. I can handle it.”

It’s not as much of a lie anymore as it used to be. Jungkook hasn’t been overly critical about things as he was just last week. He rarely makes comments on your minutes now, doesn’t correct the reports you reviewed, doesn’t talk over you or doesn’t yell. There’s been a change, definitely, and you wonder what triggered it. 

“He doesn’t really smile, does he?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Taehyung’s laughter is one of disbelief and pure amusement, catching the attention of the other two men but he waves them off. 

“He still does, just not as much,” he responds. “It kinda stopped after the breakup with Chaerin but I guess that’s what heartbreak does, right?”

“I… wouldn’t know. I’ve never experienced it,” you shrug.

“Lucky,” he hums. “I don’t wish it on anyone.”

You glance at Jungkook, briefly letting yourself imagine a version of him that’s a lot more carefree, relaxed, perhaps happy. Maybe it’s the loneliness and that you’d understand; that, you’ve experienced. It’s both liberating and isolating. You wonder if that’s how he’s been feeling all these years since then.

“I’m done,” Taehyung announces, showing you three designs that are exactly what you asked for. 

“These look nice. And way out of my price range,” you laugh.

“Perks of having a rich boss,” he winks. “I don’t want you to worry about anything, okay? You’re my client and I want you to wear these with confidence. Now, if you’re okay with all this, I’ll get one of my female assistants to get your measurements.”

You nod in response. There’s absolutely nothing you would change about those designs. And if you’re being honest, you now can’t wait for those events just so you could wear them. Hoseok had obviously paid for the gowns you had to wear for the big events, but those were store-bought that A-yeong helped you choose. Some were your own purchases, but this is the first time that you’re getting measured for custom-made clothing designed by Kim Taehyung. 

You walk towards the fitting room at the corner where one of his staff meets you. She’s meticulous, which is why it takes longer than usual just to get this done. With her silence, however, you’re able to hear the conversation happening outside, with the brothers now asking Jungkook about the same thing you’ve been wondering about.

“By the way, what was up with you last Monday?” Seokjin asks. “I thought that was gonna be night 4 of you going home with a new woman. But you passed out before you could even ask. And that was just 9PM.”

“Four nights isn’t much, though,” Taehyung laughs. “Didn’t he do that with seven women on seven straight nights when he was in Singapore? That was wild. Was it that stressful there? Or were there just so many to choose from?”

“Shut up. I’m not proud of that,” Jungkook groans. “And that was one time. It never happened again.”

“It never happened seven times straight again,” Seokjin corrects. “You were really living your life out there, huh? Stressful job, a rooftop bar in your apartment building, chauffeur and butler services 24/7, women from all over the world begging to sleep with you…”

“It’s called the post-break up stage,” Taehyung says. 

“For six years?!” Seokjin asks incredulously. “It’s either you loved Chaerin that much, you blamed yourself too much, or you just really sucked at moving on.”

“I vote all of the above,” Taehyung states.

“Me, too,” Seokjin claims.

“Fuck you both,” Jungkook groans again. 

“I think he also just missed us too much,” Seokjin adds. “Lucas was cleaning up your messes every time, not snapping you out of it. But we’re here now so I guess three straight nights is as far as you’ll go.”

“Two, if you stopped me last Sunday,” Jungkook points out. “You both always insisted that Sundays are a no-no. You were too busy with your own women.”

“May we remind you that you didn’t even make it to our table. You stepped foot in the bar then left five minutes later,” Taehyung says. “But really, what was it about Monday? You seemed angrier than usual.”

“Just… a bunch of things my father said,” Jungkook huffs.

“Did he tell you off again?”

“Not really, surprisingly. He just delivered a message basically, about what the board members were saying about me and my project. Bullshit stuff, you know? I just wanted to forget about it.”

“Did you?”

“Sorta,” Jungkook says. “I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“But it’s still happening, right?” Taehyung asks worriedly. “The Arts Center, I mean. You’ve been wanting to work on that since the building was abandoned five years ago.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook responds. “I guess. We already put money into it. I’ll just have to make concessions if my father doesn’t side with me on this. I hate to think he’s buying into what those old folks are saying.”

“Ms. Cho, we’re all done,” the staff member tells you, muffling the conversation outside that you couldn’t help but hear. 

It felt quite intrusive, hearing how life was like for Jungkook in Singapore, but then again, his personal life seemed to be the topic in the office comfort rooms, and you don’t know how to feel about getting confirmation about those rumors. It felt sad more than anything though, living that kind of life away from friends and family. You wouldn’t know what moving on from a breakup feels like, but you suppose people grieve a lost love in their own ways; you can’t blame them for how they choose to repair the parts of them that broke. 

But the bit about his conversation with his father is what bothers you. You’d hate to think that there’s a possibility that Jungkook’s plans won’t be fully realized, and whatever the reasons for that are, you hope they didn’t break his spirit too much. You know the plans now like the back of your hand and the more you learn, the more you believe in it. You hope Jungkook continues to believe in it, too.

You exit the fitting room, catching the end of a conversation where Seokjin suggests a wholesome weekend for the three men of just dinner and drinks. The two other men agree, and they all turn to you once you make your presence felt.

“All good?” Taehyung asks you.

“Yes,” you bow in thanks. 

“Great. The gowns will be ready at the same time as Jungkook’s suits will be. I’ll just let you guys know, okay?

“Sure,” Jungkook says. “But anyway, we have to get back to work. Thanks again.”

The brothers bid you and Jungkook goodbye, and you head back to the office with not much words said. Jungkook seems less frustrated, but the worry you feel suddenly returns. It’s the thought that maybe he doesn’t feel supported, that maybe what he’s doing isn’t enough, and that more than that, it's him choosing to deal with all this on his own, not even looking to his friends to comfort him.

Jimin and Soomin meet you for lunch at a restaurant that Saturday afternoon. The drive from Busan took longer than expected, they said, but you say you don’t mind. They’re visiting you like they always do every month, regardless of how busy they are back in their hometown, which was your home for a few years, too.

You were in the same class; your mom worked at the school, which was the only reason why you were able to attend a prestigious one in the first place. Even when you moved back to Daegu, you remained in touch with them. Despite the distance, none of you wanted to just let the friendship fade, and even when they had to stay back and you made a life out here in Seoul, they made sure to visit you as much as they could.

They’re why you were excited for the weekend to come and now, you’ll be enjoying a hearty meal, getting your nails done after, lounging at your apartment, and then heading to a club for a night out, which you only do whenever they’re around. 

“So, has the boss situation improved?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and laced with worry “Or should I storm the jerk’s house and give him a piece of my mind?”

“It has,” you chuckle. “So no need to call him names or fight anyone. I’m okay.”

“Well, you did call him a grumpy old grinch with nice hair the other week,” Jimin points out. “So… did he get a haircut?”

“No,” you laugh again. “And that was in the heat of the moment. I… I mean, he’s still grumpy but he’s not… as grumpy or unbearable. He’s been—”

“Oh hun, please don’t say he’s been kind and then give him a pass for how he’s been to you,” Soomin reprimands. “Mean people don’t just become nice all of a sudden. And if they do, that’s a controlling tactic - they want you to think they’re capable of change so you’ll soften up to them and then give them a pass every time they do asshole-y things again.”

“You watch too many shows,” you frown, although knowing her statement isn’t wrong; it’s just not something you can relate with Jungkook.

Sure, he hasn’t been the nicest, but he also hasn’t been the meanest. He’s just been… him, you suppose - a bit in the middle; frustrated at worst, quiet at best, stoic on most days. He does seem to live in his head a lot, and while you won’t go so far as characterizing him as kind, he definitely hasn’t been insufferable these past few days. 

“I’ve just dealt with too many assholes, ___,” Soomin corrects. “They’re all the same. Men are shit.”

“Except for Jimin,” you correct.

“Except for Jimin,” she concurs. 

“I accept the honor,” he bows. “But seriously, ___. How has it been? You… you seemed really sad last week and I would’ve driven here then if we didn’t have that work emergency.”

“I’m okay, I mean it. I’ve experienced worse,” you try to assure them.

“You do know that having experienced something worse doesn’t mean it’s fine for you to experience something bad again, right?” Soomin points out.

“I know, but it also means that I know my threshold for bad behavior,” you say. “Jungkook was in a lot of stress and I did mess up. But I think he’s making up for that.”

“By apologizing, you mean?” Soomin cocks an eyebrow.

Your sigh tells her that’s definitely not what Jungkook has done. 

“Well, he approves my minutes and reviewed reports much quicker,” you reason. “And he doesn’t comment as much. But actually, I think he just pities me. And that’s worse.”

“Why would he pity you?” She asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I said that a tree fell on our roof and that mom got injured the weekend before my mishap,” you explain. “And then he found out how early I start my day just so I can get to him on time. He’s made adjustments after those and I… I think he’s guilty or something. And he’s just not being his usual angry self around me to make it up to me.”

“So in short, he’s still kind of an asshole,” Soomin says, prompting Jimin to snort and you to pout. “He could always just apologize if he’s guilty and realized he should treat you better.”

“Some things aren’t easy for other people to say, you know?” You say softly. 

“That’s not an excuse,” she points out.

“It’s an explanation,” you counter. “Or one of them, I guess. I don’t know him well enough, but it’s better to think that he’s a decent person who just struggles with emotions than someone who willingly makes people’s lives difficult. I mean, that’s easier to manage and accept.”

“If that helps you deal and he’s indeed improving, then maybe I won’t have to storm his place then,” she smiles, taking your hand and kissing it as she likes to do. 

She knows your habit of pressing your nails onto your skin, and she always said she likes to remind you that you deserve gentleness, too; she’ll give it if you can’t give it to yourself. 

The rest of the afternoon goes as you planned, with all the banter you’d expect from your best friends amid the pampering and then the chick flick in the background as you get ready in your tiny apartment. 

You smile at your reflection in the mirror. The high-waist trousers and sleeveless top ensemble is a refreshing sight for you, as you only really dress up like this for a night out. You’re in your usual pencil skirts and blouses otherwise, and in jeans and tops or oversized jumpers on a normal day. 

Soomin’s done your makeup and Jimin compliments you as he looks on, and soon enough, they’re ready as well to head out. 

“Where’re we going?” You ask from the passenger seat as Jimin navigates the busy streets of Seoul on a Saturday night. 

“Some new restaurant the guys discovered,” Soomin responds. “I think it’s not far from here.”

“Okay, good. Hajoon’s been texting, asking what time we’ll get there,” you tell them. 

“Geez, you were already with him last night. Tell him to be patient,” Jimin rolls his eyes. 

Soomin laughs from the backseat as she teases that he’s just being jealous, to which he points out that he just hasn’t seen you in a while so the man can wait. And you assure Jimin that you’d gladly skip a night with Hajoon to be with your best friends, no questions asked. 

You get there eventually, and you immediately spot the group because of the laughter coming from their table. There are four men; the two women are Soomin’s friends, which is how you got involved with Hajoon in the first place. You met some time last year and you’ve been hanging out with him since then - among other things - and you’ve been enjoying it, given the simplicity and lack of drama when he’s not being moody. He’s a warm body who knows how to use it and you’re a good type of relief, as he’d said; there’s really not much more you need as you just try to survive through life and make something out of yourself in however way you can. 

Hajoon waves at you from his seat, gesturing to his left to say he’s saved that spot for you. You head there after greeting your other friends, with Jimin and Soomin following you. 

Right as you sit down and greet the man next to you, you’re caught by surprise when he kisses your cheek and snakes his arm around your waist. 

“Hey, I missed you today,” Hajoon hums, smiling at you the way he did last night and this morning; it definitely wasn’t this sweet when he left for a work trip last month.  

“I… saw you today,” you frown, earning you a chuckle. 

“I know; I was still thinking about you, though,” he says. 

You give a smile - as genuine as you can make it - and then turn towards your friends to your left who are trying to hold in their laughter. 

You order a beer after he offers you a glass of wine, and then go for the pork belly when he says the salmon here is good. 

“Just craving for meat, that’s all,” you tell him. 

“Is there anything else you want? Just let me know, okay?”

You hum your yes and then turn back to your friends after Hajoon makes jokes with his.

“Since when was he this sweet to you?” Soomin whispers with wide, curious eyes. 

“Since never,” you reply. “I mean, we’ve never been affectionate outside of bed…”

“Is anything else different?” Jimin wonders, careful not to bring attention to your conversation.

You look back at how things were before Hajoon left and how it was when he was away. Nothing seemed different. You hung out at his place before he flew out, then you messaged each other every now and then during the one month he was abroad. He was more interested to talk, but given the time difference and the pressure and stress you’ve been under the past weeks, you didn’t bother much, neither did he. 

But you also think back to last night - how he picked you up from your apartment, which he’s never done before, and how he prepared a luxurious dinner. He made you breakfast this morning, too, whereas you both usually just sleep in in tangled limbs and then separate once you wake up.

“He cooked me fancy stuff but I just thought he wanted to show off what he learned during his cooking masterclass,” you shrug. “And well… he seemed sweeter than normal.”

“Maybe he hooked up with someone while he was away and he’s guilty about it,” Jimin suggests.

“He didn’t say anything about it and he knows I wouldn’t mind,” you say. “We’re not exclusive, even if I don’t hang out with other guys.”

“Maybe he’s over the fucking and wants to do the loving bit now,” Soomin offers. “I mean, he always seemed more into you than you were into him.”

“He’s hot and decent when he’s in a good mood; that’s all I need,” you admit. 

“But honestly, that’s probably it,” Soomin continues. “I think he’s hinting that he wants to be more.”

“But I don’t want to,” you whine. “I’m not ready.”

“You’re 30! When are you ever gonna be ready?” Soomin whisper-yells.

“Never!” You pout now. “I mean… Not with him.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to tell him soon, then,” Jimin sighs. “Before it gets messy. And you hate messy.”

“What if men just don’t have feelings?” Soomin wonders out loud. “That way, you can’t hurt them.”

“So that way, they can hurt you?” Jimin points out. “No. I’m not letting any men hurt either one of you, okay? I love you both too much.”

“We know,” you and Soomin say at the same time. 

“But I agree with Jimin, ___. You’re gonna have to let that man next to you, who’s thankfully deaf, go. And then just find another person who can give you what you need,” Soomin continues. “Like, uh…” 

She looks around the semi-packed restaurant to find some random man to just point to, her eyes widening in awe as she spots a table close by with the type of men she was just thinking about. 

“Like them.” 

You laugh at her, not taking her seriously, but still, you look towards the direction of her cocked head, only to feel your throat dry up and your heartbeat speed up. Your eyes widen in reflex as they meet the piercing gaze of the man who’d given you a headache for weeks. He also happens to look unfairly handsome in his white top and slicked back hair. 

“Shit, I would totally go for them,” Soomin adds, “and I only even like men a quarter of the time.”

Your best friends look at you as they wait for a response, only to see a nervous look on your face, as if you’re seeing a ghost or something, and the way you turn to them and stutter almost seems like you are.

From the other table, Jungkook pants quietly. You finally looked his way, and he didn’t know what to expect your reaction to be - maybe a bit of shock, but definitely not this worried. Granted, you’re out with your friends at a restaurant that he and his friends frequent. It’s not the type of place they’d normally go for - this is a lot simpler, less private, and more accommodating than the exclusive restaurants and hotels they go to for dinners before heading to a club. But Jungkook loves their pork belly; he orders it every week, and tonight, he was craving for this specifically before going to a private party of one of Taehyung’s clients. 

Jungkook had seen you when you sat down, and he’d been taken aback when the guy to your right immediately kissed your cheek; it seems he’s barely let go of your waist since then, too. Perhaps the man is your boyfriend - and Jungkook doesn’t know what made him think you wouldn’t have one - but it also seems that the one to your left is into you, too, at least based on how he smiles at you sweetly but rolls his eyes at the affectionate guy to your other side. 

But other than the embarrassing obvious affection that both of them are directing at you, what made him lose his senses is how you look, and you’re even more beautiful than he imagined. Your hair is styled, your makeup is bolder than usual, and he won’t even start with how you’re dressed. It’s a lot more skin than he’s used to - you’re out, after all, and if he’ll go by what your companions are wearing, he supposes this is your stop before heading to some club to party, too. Whereas when you’re at work, you have the skirt and long-sleeved blouse ensemble that you wear everyday - still pretty, perhaps just a lot more reserved than what he’s seeing now. 

He can’t take his eyes off you, even as you entertain your suppose-boyfriend, even when you engage in hushed conversation with the man and woman to your left, and even when you stare back at him, the initial shock now wearing down to a look of curiosity. Perhaps you’re wondering why he keeps glancing at you, too.

“I told you he’s got it bad,” Taehyung laughs from the other side of the table. 

He’s noticed how his friend hasn’t said much in the last 10 minutes, his gaze directed at the loud table close by. One glance and Taehyung knew why. 

“Well, we told him,” Seokjin corrects. “He only ever acts out when he’s threatened and he’s apparently threatened by his pretty assistant.”

“I’m not acting out,” Jungkook scowls, finally breaking the staring contest with you.

“You’ve never been this much of a jerk,” Seokjin says. “So yes, you’re acting out.”

Jungkook ignores them, his eyes turning back to you, and finds you downing two shots of tequila consecutively, then using the beer as your chaser. His knuckles unconsciously clench when your suppose-boyfriend scoots closer, whispering something in your ear, his lips grazing your skin. 

Jungkook exhales deeply, trying to get a grip of himself. He’s acting foolishly. You obviously have a life outside of work, and it obviously includes going out for dinner and drinks with friends, having a boyfriend, and enjoying your youth the way he is. There’s a world outside of the routine you’ve both created, of the silence you both share, and the time you spend together, unknowingly learning about each other without meaning to, without wanting to.

“___,” Soomin calls your name one more time. 

“Huh?” You answer, finally tearing your eyes away from Jungkook, who’d unfortunately captured your attention after you noticed he was there. 

You’ve been used to his impeccable looks in his fancy suits; you’ve even gotten used to his tank top and sweatpants post-workout outfits every morning, and while you’re still not immune to that look, his night out wear fit for a party leaves you more choked up than normal. 

Maybe it’s the black jeans that you spot as he sits on the edge of the couch, or the white button-up top with the rolled sleeves up to his elbow, or his haircut that makes him look a little more mature. Maybe it’s all that and the way he’s gazing at you, the look in his eyes something you can’t quite read. Perhaps like you, he’s surprised to see you here the way you’re shocked that he’d chosen this place to eat; it’s not exactly a fancy restaurant you know he likes eating at. 

But he’s here, and so are you, and suddenly you feel exposed, as if the world outside of work that you’ve kept to yourself is baring open to the man who stands at the center of what you do everyday. And you’re not sure how you feel about that.

“I was just saying… those men are pretty hot and they look interested, too,” Soomin wiggles her eyebrows. “ I mean, they keep looking here.”

“One of them is my boss,” you finally say. “Guy on the right. That’s… uh, that’s Jungkook.”

“Holy fuck, hun,” Soomin chokes on her drink. “Why did you leave out the part about your rude boss being a fucking god?”

“Does it matter?” Jimin scowls. “He’s still rude.”

“It’s different when the guy’s hot. It makes the anger more intense, you know?” Soomin says. “Attractive people elicit more passionate feelings sometimes.”

“Excuse me, that’s not why I was angry,” you pout. “He was really being unfair.”

“Well, he was. But I think my point also applies,” Soomin argues. “I’d just like to warn you that workplace hotties are a menace. Except for Yoongi - he was heaven sent. ”

“Ah, the man who could’ve been,” Jimin sighs. “We at least knew he wouldn’t hurt you. He didn’t seem like the type.”

“Yeah, this dude over here is hot but he’s mean. And that’s your type,” Soomin smirks.

“Can we… not talk about this while he’s there? And while this other dude is right next to me?” You glare at your friends, especially at Soomin whose insinuation wasn’t lost on you. “It’s so… weird.”

“Hey, we’re here for you, okay?” Jimin softens as he looks at you. “Just let us know if one of them makes you feel uncomfortable. We can always just stay at your place and watch horror movies until morning and you and Soomin can lose your voices from screaming and then I’ll lose my hearing because of it.”

His words make you laugh. There’s a tenderness in Jimin that you’ve never heard from anyone else before. Even when he’s telling you to stop yelling because you live for the thrill of a jumpscare, he says it so tenderly while laughing before pulling you both in his embrace. 

“I’m okay. I’m just… I don’t know, probably just not used to seeing him somewhere that isn’t the office or his home,” you reason. “And I feel a bit exposed, I guess. This is my world and his is… right there.”

You wrap your arms around your body subconsciously, realizing only you’d done it when Jimin asks if you’re cold, offering his jacket then taking it back because Hajoon might smack him or something.

You turn it down, knowing you actually feel hot more than anything. You’re dressed up and definitely dressed in less, and somehow having Jungkook see you like this is oddly making you shy, perhaps a little too conscious.

“Just don’t mind him,” Soomin advises. “It’s a restaurant. You obviously have a social life and he can’t fault you for it, nor make you feel weird about it. Just focus on us, okay? Or on Hajoon, if that’ll happen.”

You follow her words and try to block out Jungkook. You do slightly nod at him, as well as at Taehyung and Seokjin just to acknowledge their presence, but you continue on with your meal, as the dishes arrive soon after. 

The pork belly is a winner; you’ll probably come back here for that alone. You do manage to dodge Hajoon’s attempts at feeding you, and your other friends engage with the three of you at the other end of the table. It’s going well for the most part, until Hajoon starts to act a little wary, a little tense.

“Hey,” he says, leaning close to you. “The guy on the other table has been looking at you all night. It’s kinda annoying.”

You glance at Jungkook’s table and he looks away when you do. “Oh, just don’t mind him,” you wave Hajoon off. “Maybe I remind him of someone or something.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel him tense even more, as you look up and see that he’s staring down the man on the other side. Hajoon’s had a bit to drink, and you know he tends to be cocky and irrational when he is. You groan once he shakes his head, saying he’s gonna give “that stranger” a piece of his mind because “he can’t be looking at my girl like that.”

The initial annoyance you feel turns into panic once he stands from his seat and storms to the other table. You follow him, with your friends just looking in worry. His friends are more encouraging of what he wants to do though. 

“What the fuck is your problem staring at my girl like that?” Hajoon mumbles, acting all tough when he’s never threatened nor confronted anyone like this, even when he’s drunk. 

Jungkook seems taken aback. Perhaps it’s the aggression he didn’t expect, or maybe it’s finally having to acknowledge your presence in the restaurant, just in an unfortunate way. 

“Your girl?” He scoffs. 

The way the man is speaking to him is quite annoying, but he also knows your boyfriend is slightly drunk, so he dismisses him because Jungkook doesn’t need this drama tonight, especially not in front of you. 

Hajoon hates the way this stranger is looking at him and not taking him seriously. He’d seen how he kept glancing at you, perhaps trying to get your attention away from him, and he’s really had enough. His words are slurring but this is the courage he needs to stand up for you. You’ve said before how unwanted attention makes you uncomfortable, and he’s gonna do something about it before the man gets to try anything with you. 

“Yeah, my girl. You seem to have a problem with that, don’t you?” Hajoon grunts. 

“My only problem is you making a scene right now,” Jungkook shakes his head. “You’re drunk and insecure and you’re embarrassing yourself in front of your girl.”

Not that you expected him to back off, but you didn’t actually think that Jungkook would further press Hajoon’s buttons. The man is drunk and insecure and indeed embarrassing, but getting told so is a blow to the ego, especially in your presence. And so you’re not surprised that this just makes him angrier, and since you’ve never dealt with this version of him before, you don’t know how to pacify him.

You didn’t actually think that Hajoon had a daring bone in his body despite being the way he is, but when he attempts to lunge at Jungkook, you’re left in disbelief. You’re quick enough to pull Hajoon back before he lands a fist on the other man’s face, but he’d been worked up enough that he hits the glass of wine on the table, knocking it over and causing the drink to spill on Jungkook’s thin white top. 

“Mr. Jeon!” You shriek, pulling Hajoon back more forcefully before pushing him to the side so you can get ahead. 

You take the napkin from the table and wipe Jungkook’s wet clothed torso, slowing down immediately as you realize what exactly it is you’re doing. 

“I… uh,” you stutter, standing straight up and mirroring his questioning eyes. 

It was a reflex for you, considering that you constantly make sure that he’s dressed impeccably. 

“You know him?!” Hajoon asks in disbelief, tugging on your hand now so you’ll turn to him.

“He’s my boss, you idiot!” smacking him on the chest as you glare at him. “And you just put my job in jeopardy and for what?”

“Well, what can he do?” Hajoon challenges. “Get you fired because of me? Does he own the company and shit?”

“My father does,” Jungkook responds. “And I’m the Vice President.”

Hajoon just rolls his eyes but you aren’t amused. You glance at your table and gesture for one of his friends to take him, so one of them does. He stands up and pulls Hajoon away before he can do or say anything else.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Jeon,” you say, your head bowed down as you apologize. “I…” 

The mess on his outfit is too much; the red has stained the white top and you know he feels sticky. He looks like he has somewhere to go after this and that makes it worse.

“I– I can call Mr. Ri to get the car in here. I can get extra clothes from your travel bag,” you say, knowing that Jungkook always has a bag filled with clothes for emergency flights or check-ins. 

You get your phone and make a call, telling Jungkook that his chauffeur will be here soon. You glance towards your friends who are still pacifying a drunk Hajoon, and you decide that they can handle all that. Right now, your priority is Jungkook.

You walk out towards the car that’s on hazard mode outside the restaurant and pick out the top that’s most appropriate for a night out, which happens to be a semi-loose black button-up. You head back inside, with Taehyung and Seokjin informing you that Jungkook has gone to the washroom, so you scurry towards there and knock at the door.

“Mr. Jeon, I have your black long sleeves here,” you say as your knuckles tap on the wood. “Just tell me–” 

You’re interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, the sight of Jungkook in his jeans hanging by his waist and his unbuttoned white top catching you by surprise. His hair’s a bit damp and so is his bare torso, as you see that he’s tried to clean the wine off his body. 

You catch yourself looking longer than you should, and you immediately look away as you hand him over what he needs. 

“Please let me know what else you need, sir,” you say, your eyes glued to the pretty wallpaper as you awkwardly stand outside the washroom. 

“Jungkook,” he says, earning him a curious look. “I mean, you don’t need to be formal. We’re not at work.”

You nod, realizing it does sound weird to address him as such in a casual setting. 

“Okay… Jungkook,” you mumble, but even the way it rolls off your tongue is a bit odd. You’re not used to it, and you hope you won’t ever be. 

He closes the door and you take this time to calm yourself down. You’ve been so worried since you saw the glass tip over and mess up his outfit, and given his hot-headedness, you’re a little surprised that he didn’t fight back. He does have a reputation to uphold but even then, stopping himself from punching Hajoon must’ve taken a lot. 

The door opens and you sigh in relief; his outfit still looks good and he’s fully clothed, so there’s no lingering looks this time anymore. You take the top that he gives you, and you take the chance to apologize.

“I’m so sorry,” you start. “I don’t know why he— I mean, he’s a bit drunk and he’s not usually like this.”

“You’re not the one who should apologize so don’t,” he responds. 

“Well, he won’t apologize so I will.”

“You didn’t spill the drink and you didn’t come at me. That was him,” he counters. 

You just shrug, choosing to just concede. “I’ll just return this to Mr. Ri.”

He calls your name before you turn around to leave. 

“I didn’t mean to cause a rift between you and your boyfriend,” he says, much too low and too gentle than you’re used to. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you answer softly. “We just, uh, we just hang out.”

You don’t know why you feel the need to correct this misinformation. Maybe you just want to remind yourself because you’re not anyone’s anything; hearing Hajoon claim you as yours made you want to just create that distance even more.

Jungkook wants to push it, to ask more. The man clearly acts like he’s your lover, given the physical affection and the way he tried to stand up for you. But there’s a bit of shame as you state that you and the man “just hang out,” and there’s that wonder he feels - how can you be with someone without being with them, and if turning away people who are clearly into you is a tendency you have. There’s Min Yoongi, after all, who’d liked you enough to remain as your friend when you needed one despite how he felt.  

“Okay then,” Jungkook nods. “And your job’s not in jeopardy. Don’t take responsibility for a stupid act you didn’t do.”

You bow in thanks, not much used to this side of him that’s understanding and even calm. You suppose he’d seen you worry about your job, had seen you look embarrassed over something that you didn’t even do, and perhaps he saw the discomfort over how Hajoon was talking about you. 

You’re about to walk out of the hallway when his call of your name stops you again, prompting you to turn around.

“About earlier… did I… did I make you feel uncomfortable?” He asks, the worry in his voice surprising you. 

You debate over playing it down or telling the truth, but you go with the latter. 

“A… a little,” you admit, looking away. 

You hear him sigh, and there’s a look of guilt in his eyes as you turn to him. 

“I’m so—”

The footsteps of another diner in the hallway disrupts him, and you both make way so he can use the washroom, too. Perhaps you and Jungkook had taken so long, and you don’t want others to conspire about what’s happening, so you walk out and tell him again that you’ll just return his clothing to Mr. Ri. 

From your table, Soomin and Jimin watch the awkwardness of your parting of ways, with you scurrying out the door and Jungkook returning to his seat with a deep sigh before glaring at Hajoon.

“He does sound and look like an asshole, aside from being hot,” Soomin observes. “That’s totally ___’s type.”

“Are you saying she likes her boss?” Jimin asks incredulously. 

“I’m just saying that’s her type, not that she likes him,” Soomin corrects. “There’s a difference. I still hate him for making things hard for her. I wish he would stop treating her like that. You and I know she won’t quit anytime soon. Especially because he’s a Jeon.”

“I know,” Jimin sighs. “I wish we could protect her from all this, too. But she’s always done what she wanted to do. And we wait for her to tell us when things are hard; we just hold her hand whenever it is.”

“That’s all we can do, I guess,” Soomin responds. “Sometimes though I wish she’d just… let someone else do more than just hold her hand, you know? It could’ve been Yoongi, or even Hajoon before all this mess. It could’ve been you.”

“You know that’ll never happen,” Jimin laughs bitterly, with Soomin knowing exactly what he means. “You’re only ever just her friend or her lover; you can’t be both.”

Soomin hums in agreement, as she’d seen you draw the line with the men you’d come across with. You’d make it clear if friendship is all you want; you’d be straightforward if it’s just sex you’re seeking. You give either just your heart or your body and you’re always careful not to give both. There are parts of you that you don’t want to share, that you don’t want to expose to them; there’s a kind of hurt that you don’t want to experience. 

They watch you walk back inside and then head to their table, where you sit next to a buzzed Hajoon who still has half a mind to look at you guiltily. 

“I think I’ll head back home after this,” you tell the group. “Kinda not in a partying mood anymore.”

Your other friends apologize on Hajoon’s behalf, proceeding to ask you if that was really your boss and if he’d threatened your job because of it, remarking that it would be such an asshole move of him to do that or to even get mad at you for something you didn’t do. 

You come to Jungkook’s defense; he didn’t say anything to that effect at all. Perhaps you’d been the unfair one who assumed that he would - that he’d demand that you apologize, that he’d use this against you. 

“He’s… not like that,” you say, meaning it. You turn to your best friends who have disagreeing looks. “He… he tried to apologize for making me feel uncomfortable,” you say softly. “No one’s ever done that before.”

“Look, ___,” Hajoon starts, but you cut him off. 

“I don’t really wanna talk about it,” you sigh. “I’ll just pay my bill and head out.”

You, Soomin, and Jimin all pay accordingly and then leave the restaurant, with you turning to Jungkook and his friends, bowing as a form of goodbye.

“Hey, why don’t we buy desserts at a convenience store and have our own party at your place?” Jimin suggests as you all settle in his car. 

“That would be nice,” you hum. “This outfit wouldn’t be such a waste then.”

So that’s what you do, as your best friends treat you to all the snacks you love - a usual occurrence, really, as they used to do that back in Busan to cheer you up during the days when you were feeling sad. It’s one of the things that you allow them to spoil you with and they take advantage of that, as you go home with weeks’ worth of goods for you to enjoy.

You also picked up some drinks on the way, so you play some music and dance around with your wine glasses and take shots in between. It’s too early to be drunk but 11PM might as well be 3AM. You’re all seated snugly in your tiny couch as you watch some variety show on mute, laughing at the hosts' antics even if you can’t hear anything. 

“Tonight wasn’t so bad,” you huff, leaning on Soomin’s shoulder as you doze off. “Both of you are all I need. Thank you for never disappointing me.”

They know you don’t always let yourself be this sentimental. They also know that when you do, all you want is for them to listen and to hold you. And that’s what they do, as you eventually clean up and fall asleep on the mattress with them, the events from earlier slowly fading away.

Series Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @sherlynxx @di0rgguk @thequeen-kat​ @fan-ati--c  @cravingforhotchocolate​ @adoraminie​ @helenazbmrskai @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @gukssunshine​ @kookxin​ @petuliii @yoursthv​ @libra04​ @fancycollectormoon​ @twixxxpie @ignoretheskies @ohmydarlin-g @bids97 @minyoongiboongi @main-bangtansmauyeondan @bora-bae7 @investedreader @petalsofink @jvngkooker @stopeatread

Series Taglist: @xhazmania @ash07128 @rinkud @junniesoleilkth @junecat18 @peachytokki @baechugff @coralmusicblaze @jalexad @pamzn @hoseoksluv89 @familiarlikemymirror3 @kookies-n-spice @hyuneyeon @thisartemisnevermisses @jk97bam @nadzzzblog @xyarinx @megnugget98 @shameless-army @jkslvsnella @lvr2seok @nayashalouiseburrows @peterstarkchrishiddleston

[spencereidluver]

D is for Diana

august 25, 2008

summary: You overhear Spencer calling his mother and telling her about you and how he's finally found someone like him and who can understand him.

word count: 675

warnings: none, just fluff and spencer crushing

It was a normal Monday morning. The sounds of files rustling and pens against paper filled the room as people filled out their weekly paperwork. The only thing off was the slow speed the certified genius across from you was working. There was something on his mind, but from the look on his face, you could tell he wasn’t in the mood to share.

“Hey Spence, I’m gonna go make some coffee in a little bit, do you want some?” You asked, trying to find a way of cheering him up without trying to pry at him. 

“I’m good, thank you though.” He said without so much as looking up from his desk.

You let him work for a little longer, before you finally let it get the best of you, and you just had to ask him. “Okay, Spencer,” you said, finally getting him to look up at you for the first time this morning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he responded. “I’m just waiting on a phone call from my mom.”

That made sense. Spencer always got nervous when his mother was brought up. His phone rang moments later, seemingly right on cue. “I’m gonna take this in the conference room, I’ll be back.” 

Spencer opened his phone as he stood up, greeting his mother with a warm “hello.” He quickly ran up the stairs, nearly hitting himself with the conference room door as he entered. You giggled to yourself before getting up and making your way to the kitchen to make the coffee you’d thought about earlier.

_____

With a freshly made cup of coffee in your hand, you couldn’t help but follow your unconscious lead to the conference room, leaning against the door to make sure Spencer’s conversation with his mom was going well. You weren’t trying to be weird or creepy, you just were trying to look out for your friend. You knew sometimes his mom said things that hurt him, mostly without realizing it.

As you reached the conference, you heard the squeaky giggle you’ve heard so many times come from behind the door. You almost left it at that, but curiosity got the best of you as you leaned your ear against the wooden door.

“No, mom. She’s perfect,” you heard Spencer say. “Everything about her is perfect.”

There was a pause, Diana was talking. You wondered who he was talking about. Spencer hadn’t talked to you about a special lady before. Maybe you’d stick around a little longer.

Spencer began to speak again. “No, she is the nicest person I’ve ever met. She’s gorgeous too, mom… No, I haven't asked her out… No, no she doesn’t have a boyfriend… I just don’t want to ruin our friendship. And I don’t want to make work awkward if she says no.”

Work? The girl he liked was at work? 

“I can’t just ignore her if she says no mom. Our desks are right across from each other. I’d have to face her every day.”

Oh my god. He was talking about you. Your face turned a shade of red so dark it might be classified as maroon. Your stomach had so many butterflies it felt like it was migration season. 

You heard Spencer begin to tell his mom he’d have to be going soon, and you decided you’d better hurry back to your desk so he didn’t know you were listening. He’d die if he knew, you thought.

You thought for a second, before returning to the kitchen and pouring another cup of coffee in Spencer’s favorite mug. You knew he’d said no, but you also knew, especially now, how much it’d mean to him if he came back to a warm cup of coffee on his desk. You add 5 sugar packets to the small mug, just how he liked it. 

You returned to your desk, sitting your mug on your desk and Spencer’s on his. You grabbed a sticky note and a pen and wrote: "For Spence <3,”before sticking it to the mug and returning to your seat.

_____

next chapter: E is for Even Guys Like Me?

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

_____

a/n: i'm so glad that this group of stories has been so well received :) i've worked so hard on them and am trying my best to get ahead so i can release new parts at least every other day. i love reading all the comments you guys have left too... thank you all for the support. i'm so proud of the next chapter, it's definitelymy favorite one in the series so far. it's pretty long, but in my own opinion, it's worth it. the chapters are going to start getting more relationship centered, starting next chapter!

_____

Have Recommendations? visit my recommendations page to submit your suggestion, no matter how big or small!

_____

taglist: @universallyblizzardlove @ms-ks-world @justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology

[taegularities]

colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would  remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere. 

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck. 

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins. 

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New. 

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life.  And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—” 

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder. 

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all. 

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

[ramp-it-up]

... As Hard as I Did

Photo credit

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and knocked him on his face. Now he knows he wants more than just one night with you, so much more. Do you feel the same?

Word count: 1.9K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic is connected to the Knock You Down AU, and comes immediately after KYD IV, but I feel it can be read as a stand alone. It is in answer to this ask. Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run is making me feral. I can write these two ALL DAY!!!! Y'all are gonna have to deal with this for a while, sorry not sorry.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Bucky is in love. The angst! The fluff! The morning after! Bucky wakes you up the best way he knows how, thorough female receiving oral sex, edging, manual sex, teabagging, squirting, nipple play, begging, use of Daddy, bukakke, cum play, Bucky cooks for you, google translate Romanian, the "L" word, allusions to cock riding.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

James Bucky Barnes had slipped and fallen in love.

Steve was so right.

It came out of the blue last Monday when he met with you about a painting, and here he was the very next Sunday morning, holding you in his arms. The ruse of him being a fully legitimate art dealer and not a crime boss had been quickly done away with by the media and your friends, and the fantasy of wooing you met the reality that you did not come to play.

You called Bucky on his bullshit and that made him fall even harder for you. He was honest about his plan to go legit and careful with your feelings, not immediately turning to physicality as he did with every other woman. There was something special about you that was worth the wait.

The five days had been an eternity for both of you, and Bucky had been like a teenager, unable to last very long. He was determined to set that right today, and also to tell you how he felt.

Bucky Barnes knew very little fear, but wondering if you returned his feelings was shaking him to the core.

He held to his original dream of making you smile at him forever, but those dreams had grown to thoughts of a life together, a home you could build together, and the thought of what kids together might look like.

Bucky smiled and held you closer as you snuggled deeper into his embrace and threw your leg over his hip. He caressed the soft skin of your thigh as he argued with himself. He was too old for this; he would be an old man when your kids were just going to college, but that didn’t stop him from making Steve go with him to Cartier yesterday after your event.

Steve grumbled, but he was still smitten with you from his conversation with you yesterday, so he didn’t protest the 5 carat purchase that Bucky made. His best friend just asked Bucky some pertinent questions like:

Had Bucky told you that he loved you?

Did you love him?

Did you even want to get married? To a criminal?

Did you want to have kids with Bucky?

Bucky just stared at Steve, creating the opportunity to goad him.

“But all that aside. If you don’t lock her down, I just might. I’ll close the deal swiftly.”

That left Bucky’s blood to boil while he prepared for dinner last night, but when he opened the door and saw you standing there, every negative vibe left his vicinity.

And now, you were here, warm and beautiful, and naked, in his grip. He was going to take full advantage of the few hours you might gift him today. He didn’t want to risk you running away after he told you his feelings.

He lifted your thigh and positioned himself most where he needed to be.

—--

You moaned in your sleep. You dreamed that Bucky was eating you out again, but you couldn’t quite feel his kisses and slurps to your folds, only whispers of sensation, like air. It was so frustrating, so you grabbed Buckys’ hair and scratched his scalp, trying to encourage him to be rougher.

He moaned and you smiled, calling his name.

“James, please….”

Your eyes fluttered open to the unfamiliarity of Bucky’s bedroom in the morning light. Your legs were spread wide and Bucky’s head was pillowed on your thigh, his hot breath teasing your pussy. 

“What are you doing?”

You looked down to see him staring at your most intimate parts and smiling.

“Mmmm. Good morning Frumoasă. I’m about to check an item off my long list of what I want to do to you…”

He pursed his lips and softly kiss your lower ones. You shivered and continued playing in his hair. You laughed, music to Bucky’s ears. He smiled up at you.

“Oh, so you have a list, do you?”

“Yes, an extensive one at that. I will show you later, but right now…”

Bucky moved to kneel and shoved his hands under your ass, serving you up to him as on a platter. His eyes moved from your fluttering cunt up your soft belly and your beautiful breasts to your face. He leaned forward to give you a sound smack on the lips.

“I was wondering if I was going to get a good morning kiss.”

That eyebrow arched and he moved down your body again.

“That’s all in my plan, Frumoasă. Just be patient. ”

You pulled Bucky’s hair as his long, thick tongue licked through you to your soul. You shuddered and Bucky smiled, then those lips took hold of your clit and sucked ruthlessly as he brought one hand up to push two fingers inside you, the squelch of your wetness so gloriously obscene. He stopped and just pumped those fingers inside you, listening.

“Hear how wet you are for me? It’s a dream come true.”

You reached with grabby hands for him to stimulate your clit as all he did was fuck you with his fingers and hold you open for him. You were on the edge of madness. And it seemed that was where Bucky wanted you.

“Jamie….”

“Atât de nerăbdătoare Frumoasă. savurați momentul.”

Somehow, you knew he was telling you to wait. 

“Please, please, please James. Eat your pussy please!”

Bucky’s eyes rolled back into his head. You begging was his weakness, what he wanted to hear from since day one. Then he realized what you’d said.

“... Did you say… that this pussy was mine?”

You smirked at him, feeling the brat.

“Maybe…”

Bucky frowned and slapped your clit, causing sparks of pain and pleasure to roll up your spine and wetness to gush out over his fingers.

“Ow! Yes! Yes! This pussy is yours, Daddy, please eat it.”

Bucky clenched his jaw and his cock, which was hard against his abdomen, jumped.

“Seems you know the magic words, Frumoasă.” 

Bucky rewarded you with his mouth clamped over your clit and his eyes locked on yours as you watched his tongue working in his jaw. He was eating you out like a professional. You arched into his face, clit hart and throbbing, ready to give him…

He pulled away as you gasp/screamed in outrage, then whimpered and pouted.

“Please Daddy!”

“Oh, you’re ruining me, I can tell. But tell me, Frumoasă, tell me…”

He regarded you now with a new possessiveness. Impossibly, it made you wetter.

“What else of yours is mine?”

You squirmed under his attention and he rewarded you with another finger in your cunt and all three curled against that electric spot within you.

“What about this ass?”

His pinky bullied into your tighter hole, and you arched as he leaned down to suck your clit like saltwater taffy.

“Oh shittttttt! Yes! Fuck yessss.”

Bucky was grinding his cock against the sheets now, possessed by the sight, taste, and feel of you in his hands. He could actually taste that you were close now, and he wanted it almost as much as you did, but he abandoned you again. He looked up at your body.

“What about those glorious tits?”

He reached up to pluck both of them of them ruthlessly over and over as he continued to finger fuck you. His breath was ragged and his face a mask of desire, but he still had a modicum of control.

“They are next on my list.”

“W-what do you mean?” 

You were thrilled and scared at the same time.

“Nu-ți face griji pentru ea frumos, doar ai răbdare.”

And his face was busy again between your legs, which were shaking around his ears. He held one down with one hand as he fucked you with the other.

“Shit, Daddy! I’m gonna….fuck! I’m gonna…”

Bucky nodded and looked up at you, then he told you to cum with his fingers and you shattered, gushing into his mouth and all over his bed.

Bucky leaned up and groaned as he played in your wetness, using that hand to begin to jack himself over your shuddering body.

“Can I come all over you, Frumoasă?”

“Yes, Daddy…”

Bucky groaned and then manhandled your nipples.

“Cum all over me, Jamie.”

Then he roared as you moved so that you could suck his balls.”

“Holy, shhhhhhitttttttt!”

You were circling your own clit as the first hot drops of his cum sprayed over your already heated body. You came one more time as he focused on your breasts and left a hot, sticky mess all over you.

Your eyes were closed as your shivered because Bucky’s hot mouth was sucking his spend off your nipples. He alternated between kisses, bites, and laps against your skin.

“James! Gotdamn! I–”

“I know, I know, Frumoasa. But I can’t get enough...suportă-mă, iubito…”

—---

Later that Sunday, around noon, you sat, twice showered, marked, edged, and fucked to within an edge of your life as you ate the brunch that Bucky made you. You were ensconced in one of his plain white tee shirts and some of his boxer briefs and socks, and he was looking at you hungrily.

You laughed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Bucky smirked, happier than he’d been in a good while.

“Do you want more…?”

Despite the debauched things you’d spent the morning doing, you blushed and looked down at your plate. You felt like a slut. But in a good way. You loved sex with Bucky. It seemed like even his pleasure was focused on you. It was unlike any other relationship you’d ever had.

“I’m sorry. Do you regret it?”

Bucky stopped eating and tipped your head up by your chin with his fingers. He looked worried and you melted. You bit your lip and decided to go for it.

“No. Because I love you.”

Bucky’s fork clattered to his plate and his eyes grew wide while your bright smile faded. Then he frowned.

“Fuck.”

He looked mad.

“I- I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s too soon. I’m sorry, just forget that I said that.”

“No! Shit…”

Bucky grabbed your head and kissed you, the strawberries and cream from the waffles flooding your senses as his tongue found yours. When he was done, he grinned at you.

“I was pissed for a second, but not at you. What you just said is all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that I love you, too and here you are, saying it first.”

You rolled your eyes, although your soul soared. You pulled away and took another bite of food.

“It’s not a competition, James.”

You said it through a full mouth.

“Hmmmm. Maybe not. But I do love you more.”

He took another, bigger bite of food and you shook your head at him.

“You are insufferable.”

Bucky grinned.

“Get used to it if you’re gonna be my girl.”

“Your girl? Oh?”

Bucky wiped his mouth, then picked you up and placed you on his lap.

“Y/N L/N. I love you. And I want to figure this thing out between us. I want you to be my girlfriend while I figure out how to be the best man for you. Then maybe… “

You stopped him with your finger on his lips.

“Listen. One step at a time, Jamie. I love you too, James Buchanan Barnes. You are the best man for me. My man. I’m along for the ride.”

Bucky kissed you, then stood up and threw you over his shoulder as he moved to his couch.

“Speaking of riding. There’s my list to attend to.”

You screamed and laughed as Bucky slapped your ass. 

——

Next part Here!

All feedback is golden, babies! Let me know how you feel. ✨

[alwaysanundertone]

Why try? | poly! marauders x fem! reader

tag: @staarflowerr @mooonyxoxo @liviessun

fluff / slight angst if you close an eye

word count: 1.5k

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three , chapter 4 will be coming soon

CW: negative self talk, cursing

TW: mention of skipping meals!!! Be safe please bestie 🩷

It’s been a couple of days.

A couple of days of you hiding in your dorm room because you just can’t bring yourself to talk to them. The worst thing is that you can’t even talk about it, because nobody knows that you’ve been dating them.

So your roommates just think you’re going through some type of depression.

Thankfully, being the weekend, you don’t have any lesson to go to, so you can just stay in bed and cry all you want.

You don’t even know why you’re making such a big deal out of a single comment, you are painfully aware that you can’t even fight over this small thing, but it still hurts.

That single comment brought out your first two years in Hogwarts, when nobody really was looking forward to become your friend, when you felt like a wallflower in every social setting, when you felt like somebody to be tolerated, not somebody to be loved.

The problem is, you haven’t eaten in two days, and even though you aren’t necessarily hungry, you know that you’ll have to have breakfast on Monday. You aren’t even sleeping well, this mix isn’t really helping your mood, nor the headache that doesn’t seem to pass. You just hope you’ll feel better tomorrow morning.

“Sirius you can’t just barge into her room, for God’s sake” James was sitting on his bed, head in his hands.

“Yeah, Prongs here is right. We aren’t even here boyfriends”

“So what? We’re gonna ignore the fact that she hasn’t been eating for two days straight and pretend that she is fine? Because she is not, I’m telling you. Remus you told us that she seemed strange in the library, yes?” Sirius was pacing anxiously back and forth in their dorm room. He just couldn’t understand why you had been in your room for two days straight, they thought they should have given you some space, but it was getting ridiculous, and Sirius hated space, he wanted you here with his two boyfriends.

Remus shook his head “Maybe she has been eating? How do you know she hasn’t left her dorm room?”

Sirius blushed “I may or may not have checked the map every five minutes since Friday night, and I wanted to remind you that she hasn’t eaten a thing even then! Herbology my ass, you don’t get that upset over herbology! She’s a little genius, I don’t think she has ever struggled since the first year, I won’t believe she is struggling with some stupid plants”.

James and Remus shared a look. Sirius didn’t usually care that much about anyone apart from them. They suddenly realised that they couldn’t loose you, not when Sirius was already going through so much with his family, he would simply break.

“You’re right Sirius. If you’ve checked, she has to eat. It’s a miracle she hasn’t fainted yet”

“Tomorrow morning. We have potions together, right? We’re gonna talk to her, and we’re gonna fix… whatever this is.”

Except you didn’t make it to potions. You were late, the night before you’re brain just shut down, and you woke up on Monday evening, skipping a day of class and, most importantly, three meals. This unplanned fast was getting ridiculous, even to your own eyes.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N” Emmeline was trying to wake you up. “I brought you some food. I don’t know why you’re so upset, I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need to talk to someone, or if you just want somebody to be there for you.”

You sighed. She was the only friend that stuck with you since the first year, and she was an angel; always there for you, always ready to listen and give advice, but you just couldn’t manage to talk about what was going on in your head.

“Thanks Em” You smiled, then she exited the room, and you looked at the plate. You ate something, but you were just too exhausted to finish everything.

You didn’t actually go to class since Thursday.

Truth is, you felt like a coward. You didn’t want to face the boys, too afraid of what they would think of you, of what they would say to you, and every day it got worse. You knew that they thought you were avoiding them, and you weren’t even sure why you were doing so, but every time you tried to get up and go outside, you just couldn’t.

Each day, Em would bring you something to eat, you just took a bite of everything, not really finishing the food you were given. Everyday, Em would tell you about how the marauders were looking differently, and how they stared at them throughout the meals, and you really felt guilty.

So, even though you skipped breakfast, having woken up late, you decided to go to class and to talk to the guys, at least to try to. You didn’t want to end something that didn’t even have the chance to start just because you were overthinking.

You were walking to the Great Hall when all of the sudden your vision became blurry, Em was telling you something about the upcoming herbology test, when every sound became sort of muffled, and your head suddenly felt so heavy, and now your legs weren’t cooperating anymore, and then you just fainted.

The marauders, which were catching up to you in the corridors, saw you falling to the ground, and suddenly they didn’t give a fuck about your brother anymore. He wasn’t there to help you anyways.

“Y/N!” Sirius rushed to you, Em staring at him with wide eyes.

Remus was quick to raise your legs in the air, while Sirius promptly made sure that the position wasn’t suddenly flashing the whole student body, while making sure you were smelling his strong cologne, putting your wrist under your nose. James was running to Madam Pomfrey.

Little by little, you started to gain consciousness. You didn’t make sense of the situation at first, so you just nuzzled into Sirius touch.

“Love, have I ever told you that I love your cologne? It smells really great, I want to bathe in it” You looked up at him dreamily. He chuckled.

“Well, sweetheart, thank you. You could have told me so without having to faint, giving me an heart attack.”

And then you realised the position in which you were in. You were in the middle of the corridor.

The students were all looking at you.

Em and Aurora were looking really funny, Em with her eyes open wide, Aurora practically fuming.

But Remus didn’t give you the time to think about this, hauling you in his shoulder and rushing to the infirmary.

They hauled you on a hospital bed, James and Poppy waiting for you.

“Well, what happened?” You tried to speak, but the boys didn’t let you.

“She fainted in the middle of the corridor. She hasn’t been eating for five days” You looked down, embarrassed. How did they know?

“I actually did eat a little” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“I think we have a diagnosis. You’re a smart girl, you should know better than to starve yourself. If you feel like it, I think you should go have lunch. I don’t think we have to conduct further examinations, if you don’t have anything else to tell me?”

You shook your head.

“Is it okay if I carry you, darling?” James looked down at you softly. You blushed, nodding.

So he carried you, and you made your grand entrance: James carried you in his arms bridal style, Remus and Sirius walking at your sides. You could hear the students gasping, a buzz suddenly starting to raise in the common room.

The boys ignored it, sitting you next to them, their friends eager to get to know you.

“So you are the famous Y/N!” Peter was smiling at you, you blushed.

“How do” You cleared your voice. “How do you know my name?”

The boys and their friends started laughing. “How could we not know your name? They’re talking about you 24/7!”

“You should have seen Sirius this weekend, he was so tense that we barely could stop him from lashing out on a poor first year” Lily was smiling, you looked over at Sirius, who was feigning ignorance.

Remus filled your plate with mashed potatoes, some kind of meat, lots and lots of veggies and definitely too much bread.

“Eat. First you eat, then you talk. Please?” You nodded, feeling slightly ashamed, he looked really concerned, they all did.

“So anyways, how did you guys meet? And, most importantly, how come an angel like you got herself tangled up with them”

James shoved lightly Regulus, who was grinning, while you nearly choked on your food.

“Leave the poor girl alone, will you? You already know everything about how they met her, her eyes were sparkling in the sun and she had this-“ At this, they all said in unison “pink sundress flowing lightly and her hair were put in a perfect ponytail”

You could feel your ears burning, the guys all smiling at your shyness.