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notlongtolove · 16 days ago

Text

like a lover

he doesn’t answer. he doesn’t even look at you again. he just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. by the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: hurt comfort

content: student!reader gets drunk after a brutal final and spencer is beyond mad. very brief mention of abduction. lowkey spencer is in the right bc #safety but he made reader cry n for that he is found #guilty!!!

word count: 3.1k

note: based off this ask! random fact the last line of this fic was the inspiration for empty my soul but idk why i just couldnt fit it in there, anyways i hope you guys like it! (pls tell me if u do i was struggling with a resolution for this)

a line: Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again.

I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undressing of love. Here. It will blind you with tears like a lover. It will make your reflection a wobbling photo of grief. I am trying to be truthful. - carol ann duffy

You probably should’ve stopped five drinks ago—maybe four if you were feeling merciful. That last Vodka cran? A spectacularly bad idea. But whatever. You earned this. You’re young, you’re fun, you look good, and for the first time in weeks, you have no deadlines clawing at you. The final had been a nightmare. You knew your fate was sealed the second you flipped to question three. What the hell is textual and symbolic environmentalisation? But it’s over now. That’s all that matters.

The wind bites at your bare legs as you stand by the curb, aimlessly kicking a pebble. You hug your arms close, fighting off the chill. Maybe you should’ve brought a jacket. Spencer had suggested it, but you’d waved him off. He’s usually right.

You frown, glancing up at the street sign. He said he’d be here. Right? Your phone’s dying battery blinks at you in its final moments, mocking you before shutting off completely. Definitely should’ve taken his offer of a portable charger, too. You sigh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

A man stumbles by, reeking of booze. You don’t need to look to know.

"Hey," he calls out, voice slurred and gravelly.

You keep your eyes down, pretending not to hear.

“Hey,” he says again, louder this time.

Where the hell is Spencer?

"D’you know when the bus starts running again?"

You hesitate, half-relieved that he’s asking something semi-coherent. "I—I’m sorry, I’m not sure."

He nods to himself, swaying on his feet.

"I told you to wait by the bodega on 3rd," a familiar voice mutters. Spencer’s hand closes around your arm, already steering you away.

"Oh, hey," you say softly, relief washing over you. "Is this not—" You glance at the street sign overhead—4 Maple Drive. Shit. "I—sorry, I thought—"

"It’s fine," he says, but the sharp edge in his voice tells you it’s not.

The car ride is suffocatingly silent. When he pulls open the passenger door for you, there’s no trace of his usual warmth. No soft smile, no gentle tease about your perpetually dead phone. Just a click of the door and the quiet thud of it shutting behind you.

You hate this. Hate the tension humming between you, the way his jaw is set tight as he drives. He was so different this afternoon, greeting you after your final with those cupcakes he knows you love from the bakery on the other side of town, his lips brushing yours in endless, giddy kisses. This Spencer is nothing like that.

"They played ‘Dancing Queen’ tonight," you venture, voice tentative. He knows it’s your favourite. Knows it always pulls you to the dance floor, no matter how tired or tipsy you are. "It was so funny—some guy bought us a round of shots—"

"And you drank it?"

The question lands heavy. His first words to you since he’d started driving.

"Well... yeah?"

"What else did you drink?"

"Not a lot," you say quickly, tripping over your words. "Just vodka, tequila, a bit of wine—"

"You mixed?"

The way he says it makes you bristle. There’s a hint of disbelief, maybe even disappointment.

"Spence," you say softly. "I’m not that drunk, I promise."

Nothing.

His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. The silence in the air is almost tangible, a crackling, oppressive thing. When he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine, he doesn’t move to open your door. He always does that. But not tonight.

You’re pretty sure he’s mad at you, though you’re not entirely sure why. It’s not like you go out that often, and you can’t even remember the last time you let yourself get this drunk. Tonight was an exception, a celebration. He understands, doesn’t he?

You follow him inside, trailing behind like a shadow. He doesn’t head to the kitchen like he does after you get back from a night out—no tea, no toast, no quiet ritual of making sure you’re okay. Instead, he walks straight into the study, his back to you. Yeah, he’s definitely mad.

"You’re mad at me," you say, standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t answer. His hands grip the back of his chair, his head bowed like he’s trying to gather himself. You’re not one to push, usually giving him the space he needs when he gets all broody like this, but the alcohol that’s running through your system is making it hard to practice patience.

"Why are you mad at me?"

Still nothing.

When he finally moves, it’s only to brush past you, heading for the bedroom without so much as a glance. "We’ll talk about this tomorrow," he says, his tone flat, clipped. "I can’t talk to you when you’re like this."

This. The word hits like a slap, sharp and dismissive. It irks you.

"If you didn’t want to come, then you shouldn’t have come," you mutter under your breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "I could’ve gotten a ride—"

"You were slurring on the phone." He stops in the hallway, turning just enough for you to see the tight set of his jaw.

"Yeah, no shit, Spencer. People slur when they drink," you fire back a little too harshly, the alcohol fueling your irritation as you cross your arms defensively.

"Don’t," he warns, his voice low, dangerous in a way that makes your chest tighten.

You glare at him, heat rising in your cheeks. "Don’t what? Don’t point out how ridiculous you’re being right now?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at you again. He just shakes his head and walks into the bedroom. By the time you follow him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it holds the answer to whatever’s boiling inside him. Fine. If he wants to ice you out, two can play that game.

You head to the bathroom without a word, your movements jerky as you swipe at the remnants of your makeup. You grab your moisturizer, fingers fumbling with the cap. A sharp tug and it goes flying out of your hands, clattering to the floor.

"Fuck," you mutter, bracing yourself for a bout of instability as you bend down to retrieve it.

Before you can grab it, Spencer moves. He scoops it up, straightening with an ease that feels almost mocking. When you meet his eyes, they’re unfamiliar. It’s not the Spencer you know. Not the Spencer who covers your eyes during scary movies or kisses your forehead when you’re half-asleep. No, this Spencer feels distant, cold.

"And I’m supposed to believe you’re not that drunk," he says flatly. Your chest tightens, a lump forming in your throat as heat flushes your face. He offers a hand as you steady yourself, trying to rise to your feet, but you brush him off, snatching the bottle from his grip with a bitterness you don’t try to mask.

"What the hell is your problem?" you snap.

"My problem?" he repeats, incredulous. "I’m not the one blackout drunk on a Wednesday night."

"I’m not—"

"Would you—would you just stop!" he barks, the words sharp enough to make you flinch. "You’re slurring your words. You got the streets wrong. You couldn’t even get the damn moisturizer open," he snaps, gesturing toward you harshly with a mixture of frustration and exasperation.

Your knuckles whiten as you cling to the edge of the sink, unsure if you’re holding on for balance or just to keep from breaking. You spin back toward the mirror willing yourself not to cry. The frustration, the confusion, the ache in your chest—everything wells up at once.

"God, you’re being so—"

"So what?" he interrupts, his voice rising as he steps closer. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to say it. "So concerned? So worried? So—"

"So fucking mean!"

The silence that follows deafening. For a moment, he freezes, the hard edges of his expression softening into something else—shock, regret, guilt—but it’s fleeting.

"So what if I’m drunk?" Your voice cracks as the words tumble out, your frustration too overwhelming to contain. "And yeah, maybe—" You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat as you glare at him, "Maybe I’m slurring a little but forgive me for wanting a drink after the final I’ve been stressing over all fucking month."

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration barely contained. "It’s not about you having a drink. It’s about you not knowing your limits—"

"Oh, for fucks sake," you interrupt, throwing your hands up. The movement makes you sway slightly, and you hate how it only seems to prove his point. "Newsflash, Spencer, I’m a university student. Sometimes we get drunk. You don’t get to make me feel like shit just because you don’t drink.”

You push past him, your shoulder grazing his as you move to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and you grip the edge, willing the room to stop spinning.

"You were being reckless," he bites back, the word hanging heavy in the air. "You don’t see what I see. You’re out alone, you don’t—"

"I wasn’t alone," you say, your voice rising to meet his. "I had friends—"

"Yeah, friends who left you alone on a curb at 3am," he shoots back, cutting you off. The words land with precision, a calculated jab, but you refuse to flinch.

"Because you said you were on the way!" you fire back.

His voice is cold now, practically seething. "And what do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t reached you just as that guy was coming on to you?"

"He was asking for the bus!" you shoot back, the words ringing out louder than you intended. You hate everything about this fight. You hate how unfamiliar he feels, hate the part of you that wonders if you’re the one who brought this out of him. "Nothing would’ve—"

Spencer’s expression darkens, his gaze narrowing. "Nothing?" He scoffs. "Tell that to Nina Radha. To Caroline Wrenley. To Mindy Denver. They were all ‘just waiting for a ride home’ last week. And now? All abducted. All dead."

The room goes silent. Your chest tightens, and the fight drains out of you as his meaning sinks in.

"You’re being cruel," your words are barely audible, trembling on the edge of your lips. The tears come faster now, streaking your face, but you don’t bother wiping them away. "Why—" you whisper, weak and watery, "Why are you being like this?"

When Spencer finally turns to look at you, the sight of your tears stops him cold. They streak your face in uneven paths, and he feels something inside him splinter. Spencer never likes seeing you cry—he hates it, actually. It’s not just discomfort or unease; it’s a literal, physical ache. But knowing he’s the reason for your tears tonight? That’s pain in its most visceral form. It’s failure in its purest state.

"I—" he starts, his voice faltering. It cracks mid-sentence, and he stops, swallowing hard. His breath shudders as he exhales, trying to find the words, but all that comes out is a quiet, broken, "I was scared."

Your tears have momentarily slowed, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. The anger in his voice has faded, replaced by something softer, something raw—fear, tangled with guilt, with regret. He takes a tentative step closer, then hesitates, unsure of what to do.

"I thought that… something could’ve happened to you, and I—I didn’t know how to handle it."

After a moment, he lowers himself to your level, crouching in front of you. He lifts his hand, reaching out to wipe away the tears that stain your face. But the instant his fingers near you, you flinch, turning your head to avoid his touch. The movement is small, but Spencer’s heart shatters at the rejection all the same. He hates that he’s made you cry, hates that you won’t let him near you, hates that you won’t even look at him.

"I’m sorry," he says, the words low and weighted with sincerity. He knows it’s not enough, but it’s all he has left to give.

Your tears fall, dripping onto your hands that rest limply in your lap. You shake your head, your shoulders tense, refusing to meet his eyes. The rejection stings, sharper than he expected, but he doesn’t blame you. He knows he deserves this. The room is still except for the sound of your quiet sniffles.

Spencer tries again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. "I just—" His breath catches as he exhales, his hand running through his hair in agitation, the movement more to calm himself than anything else. "When I saw you standing there alone—alone and with that man, I got scared. And I lashed out. I shouldn’t have. You didn’t— you didn’t deserve that."

The silence that follows is thick, but finally, you break it. Your voice is quiet, bitter.

"I’m not them."

You’re still not meeting his eyes, still keeping that distance, but at least it’s something.

"Those girls… I’m not them, Spencer."

"I know, I know. I was—", his voice is low, the regret weighing heavily on every syllable.

"That case was tough on you, I know it was," you interrupt, "And what happened to those girls, it was horrible. But I'm not them, Spence. I'm not…" Spencer watches helplessly as you furiously wipe away a tear from your cheek.

"I'm not dead. I'm here."

“I was projecting, I—” His voice catches, “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,” he admits quietly. You nod, grimly. Another single, heavy tear slips down your cheek and Spencer feels his heart break all over again.

"I know you’re scared. How do you think I feel every time you go out into the field?" You take a deep breath, and say bitterly, "I get it."

Each word is a struggle, but you say it with conviction. He can see how much you’re holding in, the effort it takes for you to keep your voice from cracking.

You pause, swallowing hard as you steady yourself, "But you—You don’t get to talk to me like that." When your eyes meet his, they flash with both anger and sadness. "You don’t get to take that out on me."

"I know, I—That was—I was being horrible, I was an ass," Spencer admits, his voice small. "You didn’t deserve that, honey. God, I’m just—I’m so, so, sorry."

You look at him for a long moment, searching for any sign that he’s being sincere. All you see is regret, raw and heavy. And something else, something softer. Love. He reaches out, and this time you don’t pull away. Just getting to touch you is a brief, bittersweet, blinding relief. Spencer lets his fingers graze your cheek as he wipes away your tears gently, his thumb brushing over the wet path they’ve left behind.

A soft, almost bitter laugh escapes you. "An ass is putting it lightly."

Spencer’s chest tightens, a small breath of relief escaping him, though it’s quickly replaced with guilt. "M’so sorry sweetheart," he breathes out, comforted by the familiar bite in your tone. It lightens the air between you, just a little.

He shifts to sit next to you on the bed. "I didn’t—I really didn’t mean to," he says quietly. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh, the fight slowly draining out of you. Spencer gently takes your hands, cradling them in his.

"I—I never want to hurt you, never want to make you cry. Ever." Spencer's voice cracks slightly as he talks, fingers tracing your palm. "You know that, right?"

You nod, your voice small but steady. "I know."

Shifting, you tuck your legs beneath you, turning to face him fully. Your hands lift to cup his face gently, your thumbs brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw. The touch is tender, almost protective, as you guide his face to meet yours. His eyes can’t hold your gaze for long, shame clearly written across them.

"I was just—I was—" He stumbles over his words.

"Scared," you finish softly, filling the silence for him.

"I—I’m sorry," Spencer’s voice falters, "I’m really sorry honey, I should’ve never—That was—"

Your hands guide his face back toward yours, coaxing him to meet your eyes. This time, he doesn’t resist, his breath shaky as he clings to the comfort you offer. "S’okay, baby. M’not mad anymore," you murmur.

"Sad?" he asks, his voice barely audible, like he’s afraid of what you’ll say.

"No," you smile faintly, shaking your head, "Not sad, baby," you whisper, leaning closer. Your thumb traces the curve of his cheek in silent reassurance. His shoulders relax just a little. "I just—" you sigh as you let out one last, quiet sniffle, "I really hate fighting."

Carefully, he coaxes you into his lap, his arms wrapping around you. "Me too, honey," he says, his voice thick with emotion as he shifts closer. You don’t resist, letting your head rest in the crook of his neck, your breath warm against his skin.

"S’not nice," you murmur against him, your words muffled.

"I know, I know," Spencer whispers, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles along your back. You let out a shaky sigh, sinking further into his embrace. “Was awful, wasn’t it?” he says, quietly.

"Mhm," you mumble quietly, your voice soft but pointed as you lean into his touch. "Made me cry," you say, looking at him through wet lashes to prove your point. Spencer thinks, for a split second, that he’d rather die than ever have to see you cry like that again. After a beat of quiet, he tilts his head just enough to press a soft kiss to your temple.

"I love you, you know that?"

You hum softly, nuzzling your face into his neck with a contented sigh, "Love you too."

"Love you so much, sweet girl," he says again, quieter this time, like it’s a truth meant only for you.

"Sap," you tease, lifting your head just enough to meet his gaze, the faintest hint of a smile on your lips.

Spencer grins, soft and boyish. "Always for you," he mumbles fondly, and before you can respond, he leans forward, pressing a playful kiss to the tip of your nose.

You stick your tongue out at him in mock protest, but he’s already chasing the moment. A kiss lands on your cheek. Then another on the other side. Each one dripping with easy affection.

"Spence—" you laugh, the sound bubbling up. It spreads a warmth through Spencer’s chest.

"My sweet girl," he says quietly, almost to himself.

His smile only grows as he drinks in the sound of your giggles, tears long gone. He presses a fluttering series of kisses across your form until you’re laughing into his lips, each kiss softer than the last.

One on your cheek, two on your shoulder, a thousand on your lips.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: false god by taylor swift moon river by frank ocean

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader comfort

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devondespresso · 4 months ago

Text

Let Me Raise The Bar

T | 3,602 words | Steddie | also on ao3! | Modern AU, Meet Cute, Fluff

This fic is for the @strangerthingswritersguild fic exchange, by @starryeyedjanai and @devondespresso. Thank you to @dreamwatch and @bubblesandink for betaing for me!! <3

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

edit: oh my god i forgot the keep reading the first time im so sorry guys

This night is going terribly.

He keeps telling himself he’ll delete all his dating apps for good, but the prospect of being alone forever always has him re-downloading them.

Right now, he’s remembering why he hates them so much.

He hates Tinder, specifically—guys on Tinder only want to fuck. And if that was what he was looking for, that’d be fine, great even!

But he wants a relationship and guys on Tinder will say they want one too and then turn around and leave right after they get what they want.

At least guys on Grindr are upfront about it being just a hookup—no one’s getting their hopes up or feelings hurt when it turns out to be just that.

Tinder guys will take you on a date and pretend to be interested in you as a person and then won't fucking text back after they leave your apartment the next morning. It’s annoying and it’s frustrating and it’s a waste of Steve's fucking time at this point.

And this guy tonight isn't even trying to pretend. He tried to get Steve to blow him in his apartment building garage before they even left for the date and he really should have taken that for the red flag that it was.

But Steve looks good, and he did his hair routine that takes entirely too fucking long for no one to appreciate it.

His date drives him to this hole in the wall restaurant that Steve must have passed a million times on the bus ride to his job without ever noticing.

He thought he might be able to turn things around when they got there—it’s a small Italian place, a real family-owned type vibe to it. He knows before he even orders that the food is going to be some of the best he’s tasted since moving here.

He tries asking the typical first date questions to get to know him, but his date keeps giving him short answers. So he switches to talking about himself a little, but then he realizes his date’s been staring at his mouth the whole time he’s been talking and Steve finally snaps that he isn't getting into his pants.

Steve breathes out a deep sigh as his “date” gets up and goes to the bathroom. Some fucking date this is—they haven't even gotten their fucking food yet. What a disaster.

“Hey,” he hears their waiter—Eddie, his nametag reminds Steve when he looks up—say after a minute of his date being gone. “I hate to be the bearer of super bad news, but I just saw your date slip out the back door, and I don't know if he’s planning on coming back.”

There's a lilt of sympathy in his voice and Steve can't help but snort.

“Of course he did,” Steve says. “Why can't guys just be upfront about what they want? It would save everyone so much time.”

He’s not looking for an answer, but Eddie's mouth twists and he says, “Guys are stupid. I mean, they’d have to be to give up the chance to get to know someone as cute as you.”

Steve can't really muster up a smile at the pity, so he says, “Well, whatever the case, he was my ride home, so I think I need to call a Lyft now. Can you box the food up and bring me the check?” At least he’ll have lunch for tomorrow, which doesn't feel like an adequate consolation prize for how shitty he feels right now.

Eddie shakes his head and says, “There’s no way I’m letting you pay for such a shitty date.” Steve opens his mouth to protest, but Eddie continues, “Tell you what, my shift ends in ten minutes. Why don't I show you how I’d treat you if we went on a date.”

Steve's heart thuds in his chest, a flicker of hope in this incredibly dull evening. “Seriously?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Think of it as a trial run. See if I rank good enough for a real one.” He winks and Steve finds himself nodding dumbly, still shocked at the rapid turn of events.

“Okay,” Steve says, kind of breathless.

Eddie heads back to finish cleaning up his other tables before he ends his shift, and Steve fills Robin in over text about what happened.

He’s still waiting for a response when Eddie shows back up with two plates of food, setting one in front of Steve and the other where his date sat before sliding into the chair across from him.

He’s wearing a different shirt, Steve realizes. It also looks like he attempted to wrangle his curly hair into something more manageable, maybe sprayed some water on it to smooth it down.

The thought that this guy, this random guy who happened to be his waiter on this horrific night, would put in more effort than his previous date makes Steve's cheeks get hot.

Maybe this night really can turn around.

“Alright, names. Hi, I'm Eddie.” Eddie says, sticking his hand out across the table cartoonishly for a handshake. Steve suppresses a laugh and takes Eddie’s hand with a smile.

“Steve.” He says, and Eddie’s eyes brighten before he takes his hand back.

“So, Steve, what do you do for fun?” Eddie says, leaning forward slightly with vibrant confidence, tone feeling more and more noticeably rehearsed as he goes. “Other than light up the room with that smile, of course.”

Steve huffs a laugh, blushing despite himself.

“You practice that one a lot?”

Eddie shrinks back a little, still smiling even as he messes with the hair on the back of his neck, already starting to ruffle what he’d tried to tame.

“Yeah, it’s uh…”

“It’s sweet.” Steve leans in a little closer himself, trying to match the effort Eddie keeps putting in. “Almost as sweet as the smile you're wearing.”

Eddie flushes pink and lets out a little “Thank you” to cover a nervous laugh—and christ, Steve is already hooked.

Steve hums and grabs his fork to start eating and Eddie mirrors him.

“Thank you for this by the way.” Steve continues, “Tonight's been… ugh, you know.”

“A special kind of shitty?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “So all this is… really nice.”

“I'm glad.” Eddie says, voice soft before he shrugs and continues casually “M’hoping I’ll at least do better than the last guy.”

“Yeah, of course, you haven’t even asked me to blow you yet or anything.”

Eddie turns red and busts out a nervous laugh, looking away immediately. God, he’s so fucking cute.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm not–” Eddie looks back at him, nervous still, but sincere anyway, “That's not exactly my style.”

“You a wine and dine kinda guy?”

Eddie shrugs lightly, then he seems to get an idea, leaning in again with a smile “Actually– ideally, I'm a dine and mine kinda guy.”

A smile takes over Steve’s face that he can’t fully tamp down, a little flustered and a lot amused.

Eddie preens, then continues with a shy smile.

“Though, uh, usually it's more dine and…” Eddie pauses, “Pine. Dine and pine. You know, like pining.”

Steve makes his face relax as he nods and leans back. “Oh, yeah, like the tree.”

Eddie stops and looks at Steve, and soon Steve’s smile breaks out again.

“No, I know what you mean.” He says with a little laugh that Eddie quickly mirrors.

Eddie visibly relaxes, slouching overdramatically to the side with a sigh.

“God, I swear I’m usually good at this sort of thing, words and stories and shit,” He groans, gesturing around almost like he’s talking to himself, “But apparently I meet one pretty boy and suddenly I’ve got screws loose. And they’re all falling out, all across the floor, ‘there they go!’, y’know?”

Steve bites back a snicker and hums a quiet agreement. Eddie notices, though, looks up and sees right to Steve’s amusement, so Steve decides to save them both the embarrassment and move on.

“So your job. You like it here?

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Eddie says, perking up and gesturing as he starts talking, “The owners are really cool, they were our neighbors– Wayne’s—my uncle’s—neighbors when I first moved in with him, way way back, and they were so chill, loved having people over. Then one time in highschool I mentioned saving up ‘cause I’m trying to make it big with my band, and they offered to give me a job here while we get there.”

“That’s awesome. Your band any good?”

“Depends on who you ask.” Eddie laughs, playing with the food on his plate, “Wayne says we’re pretty good, which is probably the equivalent of moms showing up to their toddler’s dance recitals, but it’s something.”

“Where'd you guys play?”

“The Hideout, a couple blocks down…”

Steve nods.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, pretty fun if you ever wanted to stop by.“

“Sounds like a great second date.”

Eddie blushes, playing with his hair again as he smiles and looks away.

“I’ll probably have to wear earplugs– not because of your band or–”

“No, no, no, you’re good–” Eddie says, almost jumping up to reassure him, “It’s metal, that’s normal– good, even.”

“Oh– good.” Steve says, a bit awkwardly, and looks back down to his food.

Eddie leaves barely a moment of silence before he pulls the conversation back together.

“So what about you? You just a professional bad-Tinder-dater?”

Steve huffs and fiddles with his fork.

“Guidance counselor, actually.”

“Oh damn, really?”

“Yeah, Middle school.”

“Oh god,” Eddie groans playfully, “I can't imagine going back there willingly.”

“Yeah, I mean, it can get pretty rough,” Steve shrugs, “It's good though. Kids start thinking about who they are, I get to try and make that a little less shitty.”

“That’s a tall order.” Eddie laughed into his glass. “I respect it though. Hell, just having a queer adult exist around me would’ve made a lot of it easier.”

“God, yeah. I've got practice, at least, for when they need more than just some guy standing around in an office.” he laughed, pulling out sarcastic air quotes for the next part, “ I ‘babysat’ kids in middle school before I graduated. Bunch of little shits but they were good kids– still are good. They're like four years younger than me though, so they're more like siblings than kids.”

“Yeah, bet they don't take well to ‘kids’.”

“Oh, they hate it.” Steve laughed and Eddie followed with him, “Always hated it, but Dustin put his foot down after highschool. Rob and I call them my ‘twenty-somethings’ now.”

“God, wait, how old are you?” Eddie laughed

“Twenty-six.”

Eddie laughed a little louder, a lively and full laugh that looked enchanting on Eddie.

“You'd love them, they're all–

Steve’s phone buzzes.

Both of them look over to it on the table. Steve moves it to the seat next to him, looked up to Eddie with an apologetic smile.

His phone buzzes again.

And again, and soon Eddie’s eyes flick in that direction, eyebrow quirking with barely-restrained curiosity.

Then Steve’s phone starts ringing, the electric guitars of Hammer To Fall creeping up in volume way too fast for comfort.

“Sorry–” Steve cringes, grabbing his phone and answering the call in a furious whisper, “Robin, are you dying?”

“No, but thank you for confirming that you aren’t.”

“I texted you what happened.”

“Yeah and it was vague as hell! I reserve the right to be a worrywart with this shit.”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve sighs, but can’t really argue with her on it. “This was going well, though–”

“Is.” Eddie chimes in, not trying to be loud enough for the phone to pick it up, just for Steve to hear him clearly.

“Is going well.” Steve smiles.

“Oooo okayyy.” Robin hums and Steve can hear her cheeky smile through the phone.

“Goodbye, Robin.” Steve says, failing a half-assed attempt to cover his amusement.

“Oh wait no, tell him if he tries anything I’ll–”

“M’not doing that.”

“I will though, I’ll go after him–”

“Oh woah you’re breaking up, can’t hear you.” Steve deadpans.

“Steve, I know–”

“Love you, bye–”

“Steeeeve–”

“Don’t pull your hair out.” Steve says and hangs up, coming back to the present to Eddie watching him, thankfully looking amused instead of annoyed.

“Sorry about that.” Steve says.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Eddie leans forward again, propping his head up in one hand, “So… friend?”

“Best friend, has to be to get away with shit like that so easily.”

Eddie snorts.

“What was she calling about?”

“I wasn’t clear that this new date thing was gonna be a good thing.”

Eddie nods civilly.

“She worries,” Steve continues, “Fuckin’ tinder dates, y’know?”

“Uh, not really….” Eddie smiles.

“Good for you. They’re all the same asshole in a different haircut.” Steve says, and Eddie smiles, laughing a little with him before continuing with something calmer, a little more earnest.

“Then why keep going to them?”

Steve shrugs.

“Call me an optimist, I guess.”

Eddie hums noncommittally, like he’s thinking more than he’s sharing, and continues the conversation in a lighter direction.

The rest of the date is wonderful. A little less chaotic, especially once they start finally eating their food for real, but what it lacks in eventfulness it makes up for in comfort. They’re not exactly quiet, but Eddie’s energy always comes with a sincerity underneath, like he’s bold and fun because he just is, and not because he’s making himself be.

It’s refreshing. And as the night goes on, it becomes intoxicating.

So when Eddie offers to save him the Lyft fee and just drive Steve home, Steve agrees, just to get a little longer in Eddie’s bubble.

Eddie leads him through the restaurant and out the back into a small parking lot with a handful of cars and one big van, decorated with a clearly hand-painted dragon on the side. Which, of course, ends up being Eddie’s.

“Dustin would love this thing.” Steve says as he hops into the passenger’s seat, not really thinking twice about it as he looks at the interior, eyes lingering on the big fuzzy dice with too many sides hanging from the mirrors.

“So Dustin is…?”

“A Twenty-something.” Steve laughs as he spins the fuzzy dice to see all of its sides. “He’s like my little brother. Loves DnD and science and… all the nerd shit.”

“Nerd shit?”

“Yeah, I mean– it's not my thing but it’s cool. I’ve played with Dustin and them a couple times.”

“Oooo, a bit of a nerd, are we?” Eddie hums in a weird, almost witchy voice.

“Casually.”

“Mmm, but you’re already down the path~~”

“Just drive, dude.” Steve says with a fond eye roll.

“As you wish, your majesty.” Eddie hums in his normal voice, giving Steve a glowing glance before shoving the keys in.

“Alright, I'm about to push your nerd-tolerance to its limits.” Eddie says, pulling out his phone with a grin. He connects it to the car and quickly turns it down before drums and guitar erupt from the speakers, and Steve flinches at the volume.

“Sorry, sorry.” Eddie whispers and turns down the music again.

Steve nods, and after a second of the music playing much more quietly, he finds it much more comfortable. Nice, even. The energy is quick and alive like Eddie is, though the aggressive vocals fit his outward aesthetic more than his borderline goofy demeanor.

“It’s not the music, I promise.” Steve says, saying it casually but meaning it sincerely.

“You’re fine, I get it.” Eddie laughs, a little too cynically for Steve’s liking.

“No, I–” Steve reaches for Eddie’s hand between them, intertwining fingers and bringing both hands up between them, “I’m serious, I like it. My head’s a little sensitive, been hit a few too many times, but it’s nice. It’s bold and very energetic… stuff that I already like about you.”

Eddie blushes hard—a sweet cherry pink—as he slouches, bringing their joined hands closer to his face like he’s trying to hide behind them. Eddie rests his forehead against the back of Steve’s hand and huffs a quiet laugh.

“God, you’re quite the charmer, Stevie.” Eddie says, and Steve finds his face warming too.

“And I’m guessing it’s working?” Steve laughs.

Eddie looks up at him, smiling wide.

“Oh, it’s working very well.” Eddie says, and brings their hands closer to him again to plant a soft kiss onto Steve’s hand.

Steve’s face goes warm again, lights him on fire, and Eddie’s smile turns slightly smug before he looks away.

“Alright,” Eddie says, looking back to the front to drive but not letting go of Steve’s hand. He even reaches his left arm over to change the gears, leaning into how silly he looks to make Steve laugh.

It’s sweet, it's genuine, and it's everything to Steve.

Eddie starts driving, hand still firmly holding onto Steve’s, neither of them willing to let go first. Steve looks at it as Eddie drives, splitting most of his attention between their hands, Eddie’s profile lit up by the colorful city lights, and the road ahead as he navigates Eddie to his apartment.

And if they miss a turn or two because Steve’s tired brain doesn’t want to watch the damn road? Eddie doesn’t mention it.

“Alright.” Eddie says, putting the car into park with his left hand again, though far less comically now.

He sits there for a second, quiet like something’s on his mind, so Steve waits.

“Okay, uh,” Eddie starts, looking vaguely down as he wanders through what he wants to say, “I had fun, I’m assuming by how the nights gone that you did, too…”

Steve squeezes Eddie's hand, and Eddie laughs.

“I had a really great time. And I want to do this again, if you want to.” Eddie glances up at Steve for a second before his eyes dart away again. “But I want to be sure you’re… you’re not being an optimist with me. That you want want this, y’know, because you're an amazing guy, Stevie. I don’t know how you keep having such shit luck but believe me when I tell you it's not because of you.”

Eddie looks back up at him again and keeps his gaze there, looking more relaxed now.

“So, uh, I would love to take you out again.” Eddie says, “If you want to.”

If he wants to, as if that's not the most romantic thing Steve’s heard in his life.

Steve almost says that. He also debates kissing him or pulling him into an awkward hug over the center console that he’s sure would be put up with no matter how uncomfortable it’d be. But Steve doesn’t, because Eddie continues before Steve can make a decision.

“What do you want?”

Steve resists the urge to say a cheesy ‘You’ and thinks about it, really thinks so he can put together words that make sense, so he can give Eddie a real answer.

“I want a long relationship. A real one, y’know?”

Eddie nods.

“And I want to get married, someday. I want someone who’ll stay that long, who will love and let me love them, all cheesy and clingy and shit.”

Eddie hums, searching Steve’s face.

“And?”

Steve looks down at the joined hands between them.

“And I’d love if it were you. You’re sweet, so sweet, but you’re also… alive. Everything you do, you’re…” Steve thinks hard for a moment, working out how to phrase it. “It’s like the world doesn’t weigh you down. And you’re so genuine and you’ll come and say what you mean like it’s nothing, and I think every one of the people in my life—my favorite people—would love being around you almost as much as I do.”

Steve looks back up to him, face hot with another intense flush, and tries to smile casually.

“Hate to break it to you, dude, but you’re kinda my perfect man.”

Eddie huffs a breathy laugh, face painted with disbelief and wonder.

“Okay, then. Case closed.”

“Yeah,” Steve hums, with as much fondness as possible. Steve leans in across the center console, bringing a hand up slowly, trying to signal that he’s leaning in for a kiss.

It takes Eddie a second, and Steve gets to watch him look down at Steve’s hand and look at Steve leaning in, gets to see the moment it clicked before Eddie lunges to meet him halfway and then some, making the hand that was supposed to cradle Eddie’s face hold onto the seat beneath him to keep their balance.

Eddie kisses him hard at first, bringing a hand up to card through Steve’s hair, excited and alive. Then Eddie seems to come back to his senses, moving back but taking Steve with him until they’re both leaning over the center again.

Their kiss softens, intensity melting out into fondness, gentle but passionate, warm and Steve wants to melt from it.

Still, Steve’s going home tonight, going to go upstairs to Robin and tell her all about it. He’ll get to have a good night's sleep in a bed that doesn’t need cleaning, and he’ll get to wake up to the idea of something new brewing fresh in his mind.

Steve pulls back gently and Eddie does the same, eyes flicking open one after the other, a smile on Steve’s face and another lighting up Eddie’s.

Steve catches his breath, feeling lighter now than he has in ages, and Eddie opens his mouth to say something again.

“Does this mean I can get your number?”

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie fluff #fluff #modern au #happy ending #devon's writings

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valerie-is-in-the-cupboard · 3 months ago

Text

Shall we dance? - Viktor x reader

Hi there! With the second season of Arcane on the horizon, I’m excited to start writing for some of its characters. I hope you enjoy this one! ❤️

Words: ~1500 TW: none

"Can you dance?"

Your voice echoed in the lab, making Viktor look up at you with a confused look. He would lie if he said he didn't expect you to say something. Not when you stared at him in the past thirty minutes, your eyebrows slightly furrowed just like they do when something was on your mind.

"Pardon?" he said, his eyes scanning your face. He did hear your question very clearly, but he hoped that maybe you would let it go, feeling too exhausted to deal with you right now.

He never understood why Jayce wanted an assistant. He never asked you to do anything anyway. You just stood there with them, sometimes doing some of his paperwork. But today was one of those days he found himself alone with you, as Jayce was at yet another meeting.

"Can you dance?" you repeated, this time slower, making sure every word got to him.

His expression was unamused, and he looked about as tired as ever: dark circles under his eyes, messy hair from him likely running his hand through it in frustration, and the way he was slumped in his chair like he was about ready to pass out at any moment.

“I don’t dance.” He said dully.

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you could do it," you said, gesturing at his leg.

“No, I can’t.” He said in a tone that clearly told you to drop the subject. You just stood there silent for a moment, your eyes still fixed on his leg. He sighed, relieved that maybe now he could continue his work in silence.

"Have you tried?"

Dammit.

“What part of ‘no I can’t’ are you not understanding?” he snapped, “Why are you fixating on my leg?

"Have. You. Tried?" you ask again, your tone more persistent.

“Of course, I’ve tried.” He said with an obvious annoyance in his voice. He didn’t enjoy talking about this subject. “How exactly do you expect me to dance if I can barely walk in the first place?” he huffed, waving a dismissive hand at his own leg.

You lean back, your eyes scanning him once again. He knew that face - the sign that those little wires in your head are connecting, another light bulb glowing brightly.

"Have you ever danced with anyone?" He placed the pen on the table, a bit harsher than he would've wanted. His eyes locked with yours, not sure what answer you would like to hear from him. "I mean... it's easier to dance with someone than alone."

“No, I haven’t danced with anyone. It’s rather difficult to find someone who wants to dance with someone who can barely stand up without a cane."

"I would."

He was stunned for a moment, his eyes widening at your answer. “You-... Why?” What possible reason would compel you to want to dance with him of all people? You didn’t even like him or at least you acted like this.

"Because I think you might enjoy it," you said, getting up and walking to the phonograph Jayce brought in the lab at some point. His eyes followed you around, a confused look on his face as you looked at some vinyls, trying to pick one.

He turned back to his work as if that would make you disappear... forever, preferably. Your steps approaching him made his heart skip a beat, his brain fogging as your warm hand briefly touched his, snatching the pen he was holding.

"Up," you commanded him, met with a groan of annoyance.

"I'm not getting up," he said as you tugged on his hand slightly. "I have work to do."

"You worked enough."

He hated how fast you answered him like you already knew every word he was going to say.

He sighed as he raised himself from the chair, leaning against the desk as he looked down at you. "Are you happy?"

"Very much so." you smiled, his face slightly heating up at the sight. You placed his other hand on your waist, as you grabbed his shoulder tightly. "Lean onto me," you said and pulled him closer, feeling a bit taken aback by the fact that he was heavier than he looked. "I got you."

He let out a scoff but begrudgingly followed your instructions. “This is stupid…” he mumbled as he leaned closer.

"Well, it is with this attitude of yours! Try to be more positive about it!" you encouraged. "Now, we'll start with the right one, alright?"

He gave you an annoyed look as you continued being overly chipper. He hated how much you were enjoying this. “Right… and how exactly do you expect me to move my right leg without my cane?” he grumbled, waving towards his cane sitting on the desk. You looked at him for a moment, the same look from earlier appearing on your face, as you realised you've mistaken his healthy leg.

"Just... Just lean on me, alright? Pretend I'm your cane."

He stood there for a moment, hesitant. It wasn't that he didn't trust you could hold him as you proved yourself to be more than capable of supporting his weight. He felt vulnerable. He didn't really like depending on someone else, so now, having to trust you completely was a bit overwhelming. You looked up at him, a bit worried at his sudden stiffness. "Hey... If you want to stop..."

“No…” he said, a bit too quickly than he intended. It was obvious that he was trying to avoid your gaze. He took in a sharp breath through his nose, his hand on your waist tightening slightly. He could feel his heart thump in his chest as he looked down at his feet, refusing to meet your eyes. “Let’s keep going…” he finally mumbled after a moment.

You smiled at his words. "Just follow my lead."

With slow steps, he mirrored you, as the music echoed in the lab. Your hands were firm against him, making sure you were not letting him fall, your eyes scanning his body for every sign that he might want to stop. But he didn't.

He didn't want to stop. The more he moved, the more the tension in his shoulders began to ease up.

He hated to admit it, but you were right. It was easier to move with a partner. And having you hold onto him, making sure he could follow your steps… it was something akin to freedom. He didn’t have to worry about keeping himself from collapsing because you wouldn’t let him fall.

That feeling scared him as much as fascinated him.

"See?" you said. "I knew you could dance." you encouraged him, a wide smile on your face.

You looked up to notice a small smile on his lips, a hint of pride in his eyes as he heard your praise.

“Don’t get a big head about it.” he mumbled, “This is still stupid...”

You chuckled as you swayed around the desk. "But you like it," you said, your voice a bit lower.

Oh, how much he wanted to argue with you. "No, I don’t. It’s stupid. It’s pointless." But the way his heartbeat in his chest made it difficult to focus. And he hated how he didn’t want you to let go anytime soon.

"You are such a pain in the ass sometimes, you knew that?" you chuckled, as you moved your eyes back to the ground, making sure you don't step on his legs.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He let out a quiet wince of pain as his leg twitched. It seemed his body was reminding him that he was, in fact, not made to dance, as much as he hated to admit it. “Okay, yes, I’ve had enough.” he said through gritted teeth, “My leg is protesting…”

You slowly helped him sit back in his chair, your hand lingering for just a few moments on his shoulder again. "Hurts too much?" you asked, a hint of worry on your face.

"Ah, it's nothing really..." he said, already used to the pain he was supposed to endure more often than he liked to admit. A feeling of guilt passed through you, thinking that maybe you shouldn't have insisted.

"I'm sorry..." you said, as you leaned against the desk. "I just wanted to help you relax a bit, that's all..."

He looked up at you, his hand slightly squeezing your arm in reassurance. “You don’t have to apologize. You were right. That was…” He hesitated for a moment on his next words. “…That was nice…” he finally whispered.

A smile appeared on your face at his words. "Next time we'll paint. Maybe this activity will be less... dangerous."

“Paint? Really?” he raised an eyebrow questioningly. “That’s the next one on your list of things to do to get me to relax?”

You wanted to talk, but as you looked at the clock on your wrist, your eyes widening slightly as you realised you were late for a meeting. Quickly you made your way to the door. "Well... I have some other things in plan..." you smirked as you leaned against the door. "But we'll take it slow," you left him alone in the lab, a faint blush on his cheeks.

He sat there completely dumbfounded, staring at the door for who knows how long, intrigued by your words.

Suddenly, the idea of Jayce having an assistant didn't sound so bad anymore...

#arcane #viktor #viktor x you #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #viktor arcane #viktor league of legends

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 8 months ago

Text

My Missing Piece

616!Wanda x 199999!Fem!Reader

Summary: You've lost your wife Wanda. Leaving you alone with your twin boys to try and pick up the pieces. What happens when the Scarlet Witch comes looking for her boys?

Word Count: 10.4K

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, R calls W Mommy, W uses pet names, enchanted strap use, Dom!Wanda, sub!reader, overstimulation, magic restraints, depressive thoughts/episodes.

A/N: Made this forever ago and forgot about it until like two days ago lol. I really liked the idea of this so I hope you guys enjoy~ Also I decided that world 199999 (which was the original MCU world number before MoM turned it to 616) is just a parallel world where no one died :)

Every night after tucking my boys, Billy and Tommy in to bed, I have a bit of me time. Sometimes I watch TV, sometimes I'll scroll through social media on my phone, sometimes I'll write because I was told that was supposed to help with grief, it hasn't so far, what helps the most is when I talk to her before bed, "I miss you Wands...our boys miss you too...of course they love their Mama, but you're their Mommy. You carried them for nine months, you were in labor for just over a day." Tommy was born first 12 minutes ahead of his brother Billy. "You gave so much for our boys and our life here and I wish you had never said yes to that mission after all these years..." I break down, quiet sobs wrack me as I curl up on her side of the bed. It still smells like her.

I let sleep take me as I have the same dream I do every night. Wanda, but not Wanda...some twisted version of her with black fingers, and she just seems off, but she's searching, as if she can see me? She's looking for our boys. Every morning just as she finds me, us, I wake up. Dried tears on my cheeks and my eyes red. The bags under my eyes have never been darker, but I cover them up as I get out of bed to start yet another day without my wife.

The alarm blares through the quiet of the room, jolting me awake from my restless slumber. With a heavy sigh, I reach over to silence it, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Another day begins, much like every other since she left us.

I stumble out of bed, the weight of grief still heavy on my shoulders as I move through the motions of the morning routine. It's a struggle to keep it together, but I have to be strong for Billy and Tommy. They need me, even though every fiber of my being aches for her presence.

As I make my way downstairs, the memories flood back, hitting me like a tidal wave. Wanda was always the light in our lives, her laughter echoing through the halls, her warmth enveloping us like a comforting embrace. But now, there's only emptiness.

I try to push the thoughts aside as I prepare breakfast for the boys, forcing a smile as they bound into the kitchen, their youthful energy a stark contrast to my own weariness. They chatter excitedly about school and friends, oblivious to the pain that lingers beneath the surface.

After they've eaten and headed off to catch the bus, I sink into the solitude of the empty house once more. It's in these quiet moments that the ache is most palpable, the absence of her presence a constant reminder of all that we've lost.

I find myself drawn to her belongings, unable to resist the pull of her memory. Running my fingers over the familiar objects, I'm transported back to happier times, when our love felt invincible, untouchable by the darkness that now threatens to consume me.

But amidst the despair, there's a flicker of something else. A determination, a resolve to keep going, if not for myself then for her. She wouldn't want me to wallow in sorrow, to let the grief consume me. She'd want me to live, to cherish the memories we shared and find solace in the love that still remains.

With a deep breath, I push myself to my feet, wiping away the tears that threaten to fall. Today may be another struggle, another battle against the pain, but I refuse to let it defeat me. For Wanda, for our boys, I'll find the strength to carry on, one day at a time.

The day went by quickly and soon enough the boys were home filling up our home with noise once more,

"Boys homework first or no ice cream!" I call from the kitchen when I hear them start to fight over player one controller.

"Awww but Mama!" They whined.

"So you boys don't want ice cream tomorrow night either I see." I hear them grumble and then the TV go off, the sound of the dining room chairs scraping as I look over my shoulder to see they're working. "There are my good boys." I turn back smiling as I carry on with prepping dinner. Suddenly something feels off. A pit in my stomach starts forming and I feel eyes on me, not the boys though these feel predatory.

I look up and through the window I don't see my own reflection, I see Wanda, the same one I see in my dreams.

My heart leaps into my throat as I freeze, the knife in my hand forgotten as I stare wide-eyed at the impossible sight before me. It's her, but it's not. The twisted version from my nightmares, black fingers reaching out like tendrils of darkness, eyes filled with a hunger I can't comprehend.

I feel a chill run down my spine as her gaze locks onto mine, a shiver of fear coursing through my veins. Instinctively, I reach for the pendant hanging around my neck, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the purple power stone embedded within. It's a comforting weight, a reminder of the power that pulses through me, but even it feels insignificant in the face of this apparition.

"What do you want?" I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. But she doesn't answer, only continues to stare, her presence suffocating in its intensity.

Desperation claws at the edges of my mind as I struggle to make sense of the situation. Is this some kind of illusion, a trick of the mind brought on by grief and exhaustion? Or is she truly here, some twisted echo of the woman I loved?

Before I can gather my thoughts, a sudden crash from the dining room snaps me back to reality. The boys, my precious boys, oblivious to the danger that lurks just beyond our walls. With a surge of adrenaline, I lunge forward, grabbing the nearest weapon within reach.

But as I turn back to face the window, she's gone, vanished into thin air like a wisp of smoke. The only evidence of her presence is the lingering sense of unease that hangs heavy in the air.

I rush to the dining room, relief flooding through me as I find the boys unharmed, their laughter filling the room once more. But even as I hold them close, a sense of dread lingers, a silent reminder that darkness still lurks just beyond the edges of our reality.

"Mama is everything okay?" Billy asks as I hold them, kissing the top of their heads.

"I just thought one of you got hurt. I'm happy you boys aren't." I lie to them as to not worry them, but Billy looks at me trying to search my thoughts. "Hey no mind reading little man." I ruffle his hair. "Everything is fine. If you boys are finished you can play one game, dinner will be ready in 15 minutes." The minutes tick by slowly as I finish preparing dinner, the aroma of comfort food filling the air. I glance at the clock, realizing that my boys are engrossed in their game, blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling within me.

With a heavy sigh, I take a moment to compose myself before calling them to the table. As we gather for the meal, laughter and chatter resuming, I try to push the unsettling encounter out of my mind. But deep down, I know it's not over.

As we eat, the boys share stories from their day, their infectious joy momentarily easing the ache in my heart. I force a smile, savoring these small moments of normalcy in our fractured world.

After dinner, as the boys retreat to their rooms for the night, I find myself once again standing by the window, staring into the darkness beyond. The pit in my stomach returns, the unease settling in as I feel a presence lingering just out of sight.

The room is silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the night. I close my eyes, summoning the courage to speak the words that linger on the tip of my tongue.

"Wanda, if you're out there, if you can hear me, please... don't hide. I don't know what's happening, but I can't face it alone. I need you, now more than ever." My voice trembles with a mix of desperation and longing.

The air remains still, the response elusive. I wait in silence, hoping for some sign, some reassurance that I'm not losing my mind. But the universe remains silent, withholding its secrets.

"Gods I feel like I'm going crazy Wands...how am I supposed to do this without you?" I feel the hot tears in my eyes, streak down my cheeks then suddenly a loud bang from the living room, the sound of a portal. "Stephan? Is that you?" It wasn't uncommon for Stephan Strange to pop in and check on me and the boys. Stephan had lost his love many years ago. Before I reach the living room, I hear the familiar sound of heels clicking on my hard wood flooring. Suddenly I'm standing face to face with the Wanda I've seen in my dreams...."W-Wands?" I questioned,

"A version. I've lost something precious to me and I've come to get it back." I look her over. It's Wanda, but not mine. As I get closer, Her hair is a different shade, her eyes are a little less of an emerald green and more of a sea green, this Wanda has a scar on her forehead, just above her left eyebrow.

"Oh...what has your universe done to you Detka?" I ask softly reaching out and she grabs my wrist with a force.

"It took everything from me." She seethed. "I want my boys back. I'm taking them." She tosses me aside like I'm nothing. Luckily with the power stone embedded in my chest. I push back, barreling back into her. Tackling her to the ground until I'm on top of her and it's then that she notices my stone, "You have the power stone...how? That's impossible. I've seen it kill people that touch it.

"I'm tough that's why my Wanda loved me." I had her pinned and used my own magic to subdue her. "I've been called the Violet Witch here for years. It became my code name."

"That can't be..." I give her a questioning look. "I'm the Scarlet Witch." She tells me, the scarlet witch? Wanda never said anything...? I stumble back off of her, reeling, "The Scarlet Witch." I let out a dry chuckle, "It makes sense, but I can't let you take my boys. If I loose them then That means I've lost my Wanda and them. I might as well die." I tell her,

"Wait so your Wanda is gone?" She asks. I nod,

"She was needed for a mission. I begged her not to go, we had retired from being Avengers 10 years ago when we found out she was pregnant. She told me everything would be fine. She promised me...and then suddenly I have Strange and Parker on my doorstep with Bucky and Sam behind them carry the casket." I feel my eyes blur as I walk over to the scarlet witch, "If you are another her then," I take her hands putting them up to my temples and ease my forehead onto her, letting my memories over the past ten years flood through her mind.

As our minds intertwine, I feel a rush of memories flooding into her consciousness. The love, the loss, the moments of joy and heartache that have shaped my existence since Wanda's departure. It's a whirlwind of emotions, a bittersweet symphony of love and grief that binds us together in ways I never thought possible.

For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding amidst the chaos of her own turmoil. She sees the depth of my pain, the desperation to hold onto the fragments of a life that's slipping through my fingers.

But as quickly as it came, the moment passes, and she pulls away, her expression hardening once more. "I'm sorry for your loss," she says, her voice tinged with a hint of sympathy. "But my pain is just as real. I've lost everything too, and I'll do whatever it takes to reclaim what's mine."

I feel a pang of empathy for her, a shared sense of anguish that transcends the boundaries of our separate worlds. But beneath it all, there's a primal instinct, a fierce determination to protect my boys at all costs.

"I understand your pain," I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging within. "But my boys are not yours to take. They belong here, with me, with their family."

She narrows her eyes, her resolve unwavering. "Then we're at an impasse," she says, her tone final. "I won't leave without them."

I take a step forward, meeting her gaze with steely determination. "Then I guess we'll just have to see who's stronger," I say, my voice echoing with a newfound resolve.

With that, the battle lines are drawn, two versions of Wanda Maximoff facing off against each other in a clash of wills and power. But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remains clear: no matter the outcome, I'll do whatever it takes to protect my boys and honor the memory of the woman I loved.

Her eyes meet mine, a mixture of pain and longing mirrored in their depths. The tear I wiped away lingers on her cheek, a testament to the shared sorrow we both carry. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions, and for a moment, time seems to hang suspended.

"I... I don't know if I can stay," she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. "But the offer, it means more than you can imagine. In my world, everything has crumbled, and I'm left with nothing but ashes and echoes of what once was."

I can feel the weight of her words, the burden of her grief, and I tighten my grip on her cheek, desperate to convey the sincerity of my plea. "Wanda, you don't have to face this alone. You're not just a version of her; you're your own person, with your own pain. But here, in this universe, you have a chance to rebuild, to find a new kind of family."

She opens her eyes, the sea-green gaze locking onto mine. There's a vulnerability in her expression, a crack in the stoic facade she wears. "I'm so tired," she admits, a raw honesty in her voice. "Tired of loss, tired of fighting. Maybe... maybe it's time for a different path."

A tentative smile plays on her lips, and my heart skips a beat. I wipe away another tear, this time a tear of relief. "You don't have to decide now," I say softly. "Take the time you need. But know that here, you have people who care, people who understand loss and are willing to help you carry the burden."

The room seems to brighten, as if the weight of the universe has lifted, if only for a moment. And in that moment, I see a glimmer of hope, a possibility for healing and connection that transcends the boundaries of our fractured worlds.

"I need to know one thing." She speaks, "Is Vision alive?" my brows furrow together.

"Vision? Who is that?" I ask genuinely confused.

"Wait...how did we meet here?" She asks.

"Oh well we met in Sokovia. We were protesting Stark together at a rally. Your brother flirted with me first and I never let him live that down especially when I married you and he was my best man." I smile at the memory. "Anyways, we were approached by Hydra and experimented on. They had the mind stone and the power stone. You and Pietro were exposed to the mind stone and I was too, but nothing happened unlike you two so they put me in a room with the power stone. It decided my chest was it's forever home. I ended up breaking us out from the Hydra base with the help of the Avengers who had caught word of the base. The three of us joined the Avengers and the rest is history." I tell her.

"So no Ultron? Sokovia didn't fly in the air? What about the Sokovia accords?" She throws question after question.

"No idea what you're talking about love. We carried on doing small missions, taking down hydra and radicals, but the three of us spent a long time training before they let us out doing field work." I tell her.

"Three? Is...is Pietro..?" Her voice breaks.

"Alive? Yeah of course." She falls to her knees and starts sobbing.

"Mommy?" Billy is at the middle of the stairs and the look in Wanda's eyes.

"Yeah baby it's Mommy." Wanda opened her arms and the little speedster found his way into her arms." Her eyes spilling over tears.

"Mama said you weren't coming back." Billy whispered.

"Mama didn't think I was, but Mommy always finds a way back to her boys." Wanda pulls back and looks up at me. "I'm staying...how could I say no when this is just about the most perfect version I could ask for?" I smile and start crying again as Tommy joins us before I can even blink. "Our little quick silver." Wanda smiles hugging the boys, her boys.

Tears of relief blur my vision as I watch Wanda embrace our boys, her boys, with a tenderness that speaks volumes. Billy and Tommy cling to her, their small arms wrapping around her tightly as if afraid she'll disappear again if they let go. And in that moment, I realize that this is where she belongs, with us, her family.

I join them on the floor, wrapping my arms around them all, unable to contain the overwhelming flood of emotions that threatens to consume me. "Welcome home, Wanda," I whisper, my voice choked with tears.

She looks up at me, her eyes shining with gratitude and love. "Thank you," she says softly, her voice trembling with emotion. "For everything."

Together, we sit in the warmth of our embrace, a makeshift family forged from the ashes of our shared past. And as the night stretches on, I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness, a belief that no matter what trials may come, as long as we have each other, we can weather any storm.

========================

The days blurred together in a haze of longing and uncertainty, each moment tinged with the ache of what could have been. Wanda's presence in our home was both a blessing and a curse, a constant reminder of the love I had lost and the impossibility of reclaiming what was once mine.

I watched her interact with the boys, her smile forced but genuine, her laughter a melody that echoed through the halls. And yet, beneath the surface, I could sense the weight of her own grief, the burden of a past that refused to let her go.

I tried to be strong, to be there for her and the boys, but every smile felt like a lie, every laugh a hollow echo of the joy we once shared. And in the darkness of the night, when sleep eluded me and the silence pressed in like a vice, I found myself haunted by memories of another Wanda, a version of her that existed only in my dreams.

She was so close, yet so far away, a phantom presence that taunted me with what could have been. I longed to reach out to her, to hold her close and whisper words of love and comfort. But she was gone, lost to me in a reality that no longer existed.

And so I forced myself out of bed each morning, steeling myself against the pain that threatened to consume me. I buried myself in the routines of daily life, seeking solace in the mundane tasks that kept me tethered to reality.

But no matter how hard I tried to push her memory away, she lingered in the shadows of my mind, a ghostly specter that refused to be forgotten. And as the days turned into weeks, I began to wonder if I would ever find peace, if I would ever be able to let go of the love that still bound me to her, even across the vast expanse of the multiverse.

My Wanda and I had always had a policy of no mind reading since we could both do it, but this Wanda pokes at my thoughts constantly. Reminds me to smile through telepathy. One morning after a really good dream with another Wanda I can't get myself out of bed. Everything is too much. I know I had told her I'd be fine, but I'm not.

"Come on Y/N. Time to get up." I turn away from her, curling up into a ball further. "Y/N? What's wrong?" She asks.

"Nothing just tired. Just tell the boys I don't feel good. I need a Mama's day. So they can have a Mommy day. Take them out, get them ice cream. Do whatever you want." I grumble.

"Okay..." I close my eyes, letting myself drift back off just needed to see her again.

I don't know how much time has past when I'm being woken up, "Detka...come on wake up." My eyes blink into focus as I look at Wanda sitting above me and smile, forgetting my reality for a moment before my smile drops.

"What?" I ask.

"I dropped the boys off with their uncle for the weekend." I sit up straight,

"You did what!?" I screech.

"I left them with Pietro for the weekend. He was more than happy to have a boys weekend. Something about taking them to the lake?" Wanda mentions.

"He takes them every summer, usually it's a family thing and we all go." I tell Wanda.

"Well I figured you needed a Mommy and me weekend. I want to take you out. I want to get to know you. I already know my boys, but you. You're different, new, you aren't like Vision. You're human." She cups my cheek, smiling and I know it's a genuine smile. "I'm sure you've been feeling neglected and I wanted to try and do this sooner, but the boys were too excited to have me back." She says as I lean into her touch, Gods how I missed her touch. Though her fingers were no longer black her nails seemed to permanently stay black which made me laugh as I compared it to her emo phase which apparently this Wanda had one too.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice catching in my throat. "For understanding."

She smiles, a warmth in her eyes that belies the weight of her own pain. "We're in this together. You don't have to carry the burden alone."

With her words echoing in my mind, I find the strength to push myself out of bed, to face the day with renewed determination. Wanda's offer of a Mommy and me weekend is a lifeline, a chance to rediscover myself amidst the chaos of grief and longing.

As we spend the day together, exploring the city and sharing stories of our pasts, I feel a sense of peace settle over me, a reassurance that maybe, just maybe, there's still hope for a future filled with love and laughter.

And as the sun sets on our day together, I realize that while Wanda may not be my Wanda, she's still a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder that even in our darkest moments, there's always someone willing to stand by our side, to offer a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on.

With her by my side, I know that no matter what the future may hold, I'll never have to face it alone. And as we head home, the weight of grief feels a little lighter, the shadows a little less daunting, as we embrace the possibility of a new beginning, together.

When we got back home, I pulled her to the couch, "Time to watch sitcoms." I tell her and her face lights up.

"Dick Van Dyke?" She asks.

"No Detka. I want to show you my favorite this time. It's a more modern one. It's an animated sitcom though is that okay?" I ask, realizing this Wanda maybe never experienced animated and only enjoyed live action ones.

"Of course dorogoya." Her accent popping out sent a wave through me that landed between my legs.

"O-okay good." I say and get 'Bob's Burgers' playing. As the show starts I settle in with a slight distance between us, but she pulls me in against her side.

"Is this okay dorogoya?" She asks looking down at me.

"Y-yeah...of course." I move slight, readjusting to get comfortable as we fit together like two missing puzzle pieces and I let out a sigh of relief, that feels like so much weight is taken off my shoulders.

As the episodes of "Bob's Burgers" played on, I found myself relaxing into Wanda's embrace, the tension that had been coiled tight within me slowly unraveling with each passing moment. Her warmth seeped into my bones, a comforting presence that chased away the lingering shadows of doubt and fear.

With her by my side, the laughter that bubbled up from the screen felt genuine, a reflection of the newfound camaraderie we shared. And as I stole glances at her profile, illuminated by the soft glow of the television, I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the moment, the simplicity of just being together.

Her laughter mingled with mine, the sound music to my ears, a symphony of joy that filled the room with warmth and light. And as the credits rolled on the final episode, I turned to her, a smile playing at the corners of my lips.

"Thank you," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "For today. For everything."

She returned my smile, her eyes shimmering with affection. "Anytime. I'm here for you, always."

I sat there staring at her, getting lost in her eyes so much that I don't even realize that she's leaning in until she's inches from my lips, she stops and I can feel her breath on me, my own hitching,

"Is this okay dorogoya?" She whispers in a husk against my lips.

"Y-yes." I manage out as she kisses me softly at first, testing the waters, but soon enough she's kissing hungrily, like she's starving for my taste now that's she's had a nibble. My fingers find their way into her hair, getting tangled in her auburn locks. One of her hands is on the back of my neck and the other is on my hip, gripping tightly, I can feel her nails digging in.

The world falls away as our lips meet in a fiery embrace, a collision of passion and longing that ignites every nerve ending in my body. Her kiss is intoxicating, a whirlwind of desire and need that sweeps me away in a tide of sensation.

I lose myself in the taste of her, the feel of her lips moving against mine with a hunger that mirrors my own. Our breath mingles in the space between us, hot and heavy with unspoken desire, as the intensity of our embrace grows with each passing moment.

Her hands are everywhere at once, trailing fire along my skin as she pulls me closer, her touch igniting a wildfire of sensation within me. I cling to her desperately, losing myself in the dizzying whirl of pleasure that consumes us both.

Time loses all meaning as we surrender to the passion that binds us together, lost in a world of our own making where nothing else matters but the fiery connection that burns between us.

And as we finally break apart, breathless and trembling, I find myself drowning in the depths of her gaze, a silent promise of more to come lingering in the air between us.

In that moment, I know that this is just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, passion, and endless possibility. And as we cling to each other in the aftermath of our shared passion, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected twist of fate that brought us together.

"Bed. Now." Her eyes lit up red for a moment. My Wanda had never been dominate, but this Wanda before me exuded dominance. I didn't waste any time getting up the stairs with her hot on my tail as we crashed into the bedroom, stumbling to the bed in a heat of kisses as she took the leading role.

The air crackled with electricity as we stumbled into the bedroom, our lips locked in a frenzy of passion and desire. Wanda's presence was intoxicating, her aura radiating power and dominance in a way I had never experienced before. And as she took the lead, pushing me onto the bed with a hunger that sent shivers down my spine, I felt myself surrendering to the raw intensity of the moment.

Her kisses were demanding, igniting a fire within me that burned hotter with each passing second. I moaned against her lips, my fingers tangling in her hair as I lost myself in the heat of the moment. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body as she explored every inch of my skin with a hunger that left me breathless.

With each caress, each whispered word of desire, I felt myself falling deeper under her spell, my body responding eagerly to her every touch. And as she claimed me as her own, I surrendered to the overwhelming tide of sensation, losing myself in the ecstasy of our shared passion.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of pleasure and desire where nothing else mattered but the intoxicating connection that bound us together. And as we moved as one, bodies entwined in a symphony of passion, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, lust, and endless possibility.

The sensation of relinquishing control, of surrendering completely to someone else's will, was both exhilarating and liberating. As I basked in the warmth of Wanda's dominance, I found myself embracing a side of myself that I had long suppressed, a side that craved the thrill of submission and surrender.

With each touch, each whispered command, I felt myself sinking deeper into the abyss of pleasure, my mind consumed by a haze of ecstasy that left me breathless and yearning for more. And as Wanda took the lead, guiding me with a firm yet gentle hand, I found myself surrendering to the overwhelming tide of sensation, losing myself in the intoxicating dance of pleasure and desire.

In her arms, I felt safe, cherished, and utterly alive, my body responding eagerly to her every touch and caress. And as we moved together in a symphony of passion and desire, I embraced the freedom that came with letting go, allowing myself to be swept away by the currents of our shared passion.

For in that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful surrender where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our connection. And as we surrendered to the ecstasy of our shared desire, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with exploration, discovery, and boundless pleasure.

"Ah...Wands..." A smack hit my thigh making me jolt and yelp.

"That's not my name Detka." I feel my stomach flip. I call her this all the time. I have for years now, but never in this setting. Another smack and then her teeth find my skin, biting and sucking harshly, marking me.

"Mommy!" I can feel the smirk against my thigh.

"Good girl. Go on. Show me how needy you are baby girl." Her fingers find themselves between my folds as I move my hips against them.

The sensation of her touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through me, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment. I arched my back, pressing against her fingers as they explored the depths of my desire, teasing and tantalizing with a skill that left me trembling with need.

"Please," I whimpered, the word spilling from my lips in a desperate plea for more. Her touch was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body as she pushed me to the brink of ecstasy.

With each caress, each stroke, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of our shared passion. And as she whispered words of encouragement, urging me to let go and surrender to the pleasure that awaited, I felt myself surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our connection. And as I succumbed to the ecstasy of our shared desire, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with passion, intensity, and boundless pleasure.

The sensation of Wanda's magic enveloping my wrists sent a thrill of anticipation coursing through me, a tangible reminder of her power and dominance. I tested the restraints, feeling the firm hold of her magic as it kept me securely in place, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and arousal.

"Safe word. Green, yellow, red. Green is keep going, yellow slow down, red is stop." Wanda husked.

"Green, yellow, red," I echoed, committing the safe words to memory as a reassurance of our mutual trust and consent. With each breath, each whispered command, I felt myself sinking deeper into the heady haze of pleasure, surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation.

As Wanda continued to explore my body with a skillful touch that left me trembling with need, I surrendered myself to the ecstasy of our shared desire, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive.

And as the intensity of our passion grew with each passing moment, I found myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of our connection. In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire.

I don't think there is a place she hasn't marked on me in some way and after hours of edging until I couldn't form sentences she finally let me release. A string of moans ripping through me as the most intense waves roll over me as I drown in them, covered in sweat and her marks.

As the waves of pleasure washed over me, leaving me trembling and spent, I basked in the afterglow of our shared passion, my body still tingling with the echoes of our ecstasy. But just when I thought the intensity had peaked, I felt something pressing against my entrance, a sensation that sent a jolt of anticipation coursing through me.

I gasped, my body instinctively tensing as Wanda's touch ignited a new wave of desire within me. Her fingers teased and tantalized, exploring the depths of my desire with a skill that left me breathless and eager for more.

With each gentle thrust, I felt myself opening up to her, surrendering completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation. The pleasure was exquisite, a symphony of ecstasy that echoed through every fiber of my being as I lost myself in the blissful abandon of our shared desire.

And as Wanda continued to guide me with a firm yet gentle hand, I surrendered myself to the pleasure of our connection, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive. In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire.

Wanda soon enough needed more and so did I, "Faster...ha-ah...harder..." My breath hot against her, panting like a dog and that gave her the perfect opportunity to place her fingers in my mouth, gaging me with them, but I loved every second as I sucked on them, moaning against them as I tasted myself on them from earlier.

The sensation of Wanda's fingers in my mouth sent a thrill of arousal coursing through me, a heady mixture of pleasure and desire that left me panting and eager for more. With each thrust, each gasp of pleasure, I eagerly sucked on her fingers, tasting myself on them from earlier.

The taste was intoxicating, a symphony of desire that heightened the intensity of our connection as we moved together in perfect harmony. And as Wanda responded to my pleas with a fervor that mirrored my own, I surrendered myself to the pleasure of our shared desire, knowing that in her arms, I was safe, cherished, and utterly alive.

With each thrust, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion, my senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of our passion. And as we reached the peak of ecstasy together, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey, a journey filled with passion, intensity, and boundless pleasure.

In that moment, there was only her, only us, lost in a world of blissful abandon where nothing else mattered but the exquisite pleasure of our shared desire. And as we surrendered ourselves to the ecstasy of our connection, I knew that this was just the beginning of our journey together, a journey filled with love, lust, and endless possibility.

As I slowly regained my senses, the cool towel on the back of my neck and Wanda's comforting presence helped anchor me in reality. Her magic gently caressed my mind, offering reassurance and care as I took in the aftermath of our intense encounter.

"Easy, Detka. You're okay," she murmured, and I found solace in the warmth of her embrace. I took the offered water bottle, sipping slowly as she continued to tend to my well-being. The realization that I had passed out from pleasure left me both surprised and amused.

"Thats never happened before," I admitted with a chuckle. "The other Wanda was more of a sub, so I was usually the one in control. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but being on the receiving end is a whole different experience."

Wanda's magic fetched a baggy shirt, and as I recognized it, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It was a shirt from a concert we attended when we were sixteen, a tangible link to our shared past.

"It's good to know not everything is different," I remarked, smiling as she kissed my temple.

In the warmth of our makeshift cocoon, surrounded by blankets and pillows, Wanda's magic weaving a protective barrier around us, we continued to watch 'Bob's Burgers.' However, my focus was no longer on the show; instead, I found myself captivated by the woman holding me close.

A sudden wave of fear and doubt crashed over me as I wondered if this intimate encounter was just a one-time gesture to alleviate my grief. The fear of being tossed aside after a momentary respite haunted my thoughts, threatening to overshadow the joy we had just shared.

Wanda, sensing my internal struggle, gently addressed my concerns. "Hey, woah, Detka. Those thoughts of yours are the farthest thing from the truth. Do not listen to them. I would never do that to my soulmate," she reassured me, her forehead finding mine in a tender gesture of connection.

"I love you, Y/N," she confessed, her words washing away my fears and opening the floodgates to a cascade of happy tears. "I love you, Wands! I didn't think I'd ever get to hear you say those words to me again," I admitted, clinging to her shirt as I sobbed into her.

Wanda's promises echoed in my heart, a vow to cherish and reaffirm our love every day. She kissed away my tears, each tender touch a testament to the depth of her commitment. "I promise I'm going to say it every chance I get. I'm never going to stop. I'm going to remind you every day how beautiful you are and how much I love you, and I promise I'm never going to leave. No missions. Nothing like that. I'll always be by your side," she declared, her own tears mingling with mine.

In that moment, as we drowned in each other's love, I knew that this second chance at happiness was a gift we would both cherish. And as Wanda whispered, "I love you," over and over, I felt the weight of my grief lifting, replaced by the warmth of a love that transcended time and space.

========

In the midst of my peaceful dream, I found myself enveloped in a sense of tranquility unlike any I had experienced in well over a year. Waking up with a smile on my face I turn my head, looking over I gazed upon the sleeping form of Wanda, her features softened by the gentle embrace of slumber, I felt a rush of overwhelming love and affection welling up within me.

With a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips, I leaned in closer, pressing gentle kisses along the curve of her neck. Each tender touch elicited a soft moan from her lips, a melody of pleasure that echoed through the stillness of the night.

Lost in the intoxicating embrace of our shared intimacy, I continued to shower her with affection, reveling in the warmth of her presence and the depth of our connection. And as I whispered her name, a soft murmur of adoration, I knew that this moment, this fleeting glimpse of happiness, was a treasure to be cherished for all eternity.

As Wanda began to stir awake, her voice still heavy with sleep, I couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for her. Her words, though tinged with a hint of warning, only served to deepen the bond between us.

"You're playing a dangerous game, kotenok," she murmured, her voice laced with sleepiness.

"Shchenok," I corrected gently, a small smile playing on my lips.

Her eyes snapped open at the correction, surprise evident in her expression. "When did you learn that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

I shrugged, the memories of our shared past flooding back to me. "I was with her for like 20 years of our lives. I learned most Russian. Also Natasha, she..." My voice trailed off as Wanda's expression shifted, a wave of sadness washing over her.

"Oh my god, I forgot about Natasha. Is... is she alive here?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

I nodded solemnly, feeling a pang of empathy for the pain she must be feeling. Crawling into her lap, I wrapped my arms around her, offering what comfort I could. "You really lost a lot there, dorogoya," I whispered, my voice soft with compassion. "But don't worry, everyone here is safe. We've apparently had it relatively easy here, it seems."

I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, my heart overflowing with love and gratitude for this woman who had endured so much. "Now you have your loved ones back. You aren't alone anymore, and you won't ever be again. I promise."

==============

As the weekend unfolded, Wanda and I remained entwined in each other's arms, our connection deepening with each passing moment. When the boys returned home with their uncle Pietro, the atmosphere was filled with warmth and affection, a tangible sense of family that enveloped us all.

Pietro's hug was tight, filled with an unspoken understanding that transcended words. In his whispered question, "Did you guys finally connect?" I detected a mixture of curiosity and genuine concern.

With a small nod and a soft "Mmhmm," I confirmed what he already knew. This Wanda wasn't his real sister, just as she wasn't the Wanda I had known and loved for decades. But she was here, she was special, and in her embrace, I found a sense of solace and belonging that I had thought lost forever.

==============

As the following Friday arrived, Wanda and I made the decision to gather our friends and family together to share the details of our new lives. It was a momentous occasion, filled with a mix of anticipation and apprehension as we prepared to unveil the truth about our extraordinary circumstances.

Gathering our loved ones in a familiar setting, we began to recount the events that had led us to this moment, explaining the complexities of our intertwined destinies and the newfound connections we had forged. With each word, we sought to convey the depth of our emotions, the challenges we had overcome, and the hope that now burned bright within our hearts.

As our gathering unfolded, the emotions in the room were palpable, each hug and embrace a testament to the depth of our shared experiences and the bonds that bound us together.

Wanda's first instinct was to embrace Natasha tightly, their bodies trembling with sobs as they clung to each other. For both of them, it was a moment of overwhelming relief and joy, the realization that they had been given a second chance to be reunited with someone they had feared lost forever.

Next was Clint, the stalwart friend and ally who had saved Wanda countless times in her timeline, offering comfort and support when she needed it most. As they embraced, the weight of their shared history hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the trials they had faced and the strength they had found in each other's presence.

In that moment, surrounded by friends and family who had become like kin, Wanda and I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the bonds that had been forged through adversity. And as we shared stories and memories, laughter mingling with tears, we knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, drawing strength from the love and support that surrounded us.

As our friends and family listened intently, their expressions shifting from surprise to understanding, we felt a sense of relief wash over us. To have our loved ones by our side, supporting us through this journey, was a gift beyond measure.

And as we concluded our explanation, surrounded by the warmth and love of those closest to us, we knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, united in our shared bond and unwavering commitment to one another.

As the night wore on and the festivities continued, Stephen pulled me aside, his expression grave with concern. "You know what she's done in her universe, right?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

I bristled at his question, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within me. "Do not start this, Strange," I warned, jabbing a finger in his direction. "If I had gone through what she had, this universe wouldn't even exist. What she did, in my eyes, is child's play compared to the horrors she endured."

My words carried a weight of conviction, a steadfast belief in Wanda's resilience and the sacrifices she had made to protect those she loved. And as I met Stephen's gaze, I saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the depth of Wanda's strength and the magnitude of her courage.

"She threw a tantrum essentially. Took over a town for a bit and then went on a killing spree to get here. I saw it through her eyes. I know if it had been me, you'd be lucky if America had still been standing," I asserted, a hint of steel in my voice as I tapped the power stone embedded in my chest.

The reminder of the immense power at my disposal served as both a warning and a declaration. Wanda's actions in her universe were a testament to the depths of her grief and the consequences of unchecked power. In contrast, I recognized the responsibility that came with wielding such force, a responsibility I vowed to use wisely to protect those I loved.

As the weight of our conversation lingered, Stephen nodded in acknowledgment, a silent understanding passing between us. The night continued, but the specter of the past and the potential for the future hung in the air, a reminder that even in moments of celebration, the shadows of our pasts were never truly far behind.

"I don't think you understand, my strength isn't superhuman, it's otherworldly. The precision it requires to ensure I don't break everything around me at any given moment is a delicate balance. With one punch, I wouldn't just put a crater in the earth, I'd break it in half," I emphasized, underscoring the magnitude of the power I possessed.

The distinction between superhuman strength and the cosmic force I wielded was crucial to grasp. While others might possess extraordinary abilities, mine was on a different scale altogether, capable of reshaping the very fabric of reality itself. It was a responsibility that weighed heavily on me, requiring a level of control and restraint beyond what most could comprehend.

As I spoke, I could sense the gravity of my words sinking in, the realization dawning on Stephen of the immense power at my command. It was a sobering reminder of the delicate balance between strength and responsibility, a balance that I vowed to uphold no matter the cost.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I just wanted to remind you-" Stephen began, but I swiftly cut him off, my tone firm yet understanding. "Don't, Stephen. I know you're just trying to help. I don't need the reminder though," I assured him, acknowledging his concern while asserting my own understanding of the situation.

With a nod of acceptance, Stephen backed off, respecting my boundaries and allowing me to return to the comforting embrace of Wanda, who had been engaged in conversation with Natasha and Clint. As I settled back into her arms, the warmth of her presence enveloped me, a reassuring reminder of the love and support that surrounded me.

In that moment, surrounded by friends and family, I felt a sense of peace wash over me, a quiet reassurance that no matter the challenges we faced, we would face them together, united in our shared bonds and unwavering commitment to one another.

As Wanda continued her conversation with Natasha and Clint, her fingers traced delicate patterns on my hip, their touch a gentle caress that spoke volumes of the journey she had undertaken. Once stained with blood, those same hands now exuded a tenderness and compassion that belied the darkness of the past.

Feeling the soothing rhythm of her touch, I couldn't help but marvel at the transformation Wanda had undergone, the evolution from a place of pain and turmoil to one of healing and redemption. It was a testament to her resilience and strength, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, it was possible to find light amidst the shadows.

In that moment, as her touch danced across my skin, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for the woman before me, for the love and forgiveness she had extended, and for the hope that now blossomed within our hearts. And as our conversation continued, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, bound by the unbreakable bond of love and understanding that had brought us to this moment.

As the room suddenly filled with the energetic presence of our children, along with Clint's youngest and Kate close behind, my boys bounded into mine and Wanda's arms with cries for help. "Moms! Save us from the monster!" they pleaded, their laughter filling the air.

I chuckled as I gathered them close, feeling their warmth and energy envelop me in a comforting embrace. Glancing over, I caught sight of Kate playfully tickling Nathaniel, the mischievous grin on her face confirming my suspicions.

With a smile, I joined Wanda in rescuing our boys from the clutches of the imaginary monster, enveloping them in hugs and laughter as we reveled in the joy of family and friendship. In that moment, surrounded by the ones we loved most, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the blessings that filled our lives, each smile and laugh a reminder of the happiness that awaited us in the days to come.

As the boys began to drift off to sleep in my arms, I couldn't help but smile at the sight. "I think it's time to go, my love," I murmured to Wanda, gesturing towards our sleeping sons. Despite their ten years, I scooped them up effortlessly, their weight feeling light in my arms.

A momentary look of surprise flickered across Wanda's face, her gaze lingering on me as she seemed to momentarily forget about my strength. At just 4'11, I was indeed petite for someone with such power, a fact that often caught others off guard.

With a soft chuckle, I gently adjusted the boys in my arms, their peaceful expressions a testament to the love and security they felt in our embrace. As we prepared to leave, I felt a surge of gratitude for the family we had become, bound together by love and the unbreakable bond of kinship. With Wanda by my side, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our shared love and determination to protect those we held dear.

As I glanced over at Wanda, watching the tender expression on her face as she looked upon our sleeping sons, my heart swelled with love and gratitude. The depth of emotion reflected in her eyes filled me with a sense of warmth and contentment, knowing that our family was complete and our bond unbreakable.

In that moment, as we stood together, surrounded by the quiet stillness of the night, I felt a profound sense of peace wash over me. The love that radiated between us and enveloped our children was a testament to the strength of our connection, a bond forged in the fires of adversity and tempered by the trials we had faced together.

As we prepared to depart, I reached out to take Wanda's hand, intertwining our fingers in a silent gesture of unity and love. With a shared smile, we turned and made our way home, our hearts full and our spirits lifted by the knowledge that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, as a family.

===========

Wanda and I are on the couch when she asks, "Do you have photo albums of the boys?" I look at her, peeling my eyes from the TV as I pause it.

"Of course." I get up grabbing several albums of almost everything of their lives. "After we left the Avengers I took solace in capturing moments so we have a lot." I tell her as she starts through her pregnancy photos one of every month. Then the hospital photos of her giving birth. The look of pure happiness and bliss on both our faces as we held the boys. Both of us having skin to skin contact with them. As Wanda goes through the albums she starts crying.

"I missed out on so much because of my magic..." she whispered solemnly. "They went from babies, to 5, to 10 all because of words I said...Y/N...I missed everything." Knowing that Wanda had used her magic to create our boys in her universe and not anything like how we had here made her incredibly sad. I hate seeing her like this.

"How about I show you. Their first words, their first steps, everything." With a gentle touch, I leaned in closer to her, resting my forehead against hers as I offered her a silent gesture of comfort and solidarity. Feeling her fingers against my temples, I closed my eyes and allowed the memories to flow, every precious moment from the joyous announcement of her pregnancy to the bittersweet final days we shared together playing out before her.

As the memories unfolded like a vivid tapestry, I watched as Wanda's tears began to subside, replaced by a sense of wonder and awe. Through the magic of our shared recollections, she was able to witness the milestones she had missed, the laughter and love that had filled our home in her absence.

In that moment, as we shared in the memories of our past, I felt a renewed sense of hope blossom within me. Though Wanda may have missed out on so much, I was determined to make every moment from this point forward count, to cherish the time we had together and to create new memories that would fill the void left by the past.

With a gentle smile, I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as we basked in the warmth of our shared love. And as the echoes of our memories faded into the night, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our unwavering commitment to one another and to our family.

As I looked into Wanda's eyes, feeling the weight of her sadness and longing, I knew that I had to do everything in my power to ease her pain and make up for the lost time. With a gentle touch, I cupped her cheek in my hand, my thumb brushing away the tears that lingered there.

"Everything with them feels too quick and also a lifetime," I whispered softly, my heart swelling with love and determination. "But now that you're here with us, you'll get to experience it all with me. Together."

In that moment, as we shared in our shared resolve to embrace the present and forge ahead as a family, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. No matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our love and commitment to one another.

With a tender smile, I leaned in to press a gentle kiss against Wanda's forehead, silently promising to cherish every moment we shared and to make up for the lost time in any way I could. Together, we would build a future filled with love, laughter, and endless memories, united in our bond as a family.

Once we put the albums away, shut the TV off for the night we headed upstairs. Stopping to look in at the boys sleeping peacefully before heading to our own room, getting ourselves ready for bed. As I climb in, stretching out, Wanda climbs on top of me. I bite my bottom lip, looking up at her. I can see the look she has. I wrap my arms around her neck, gently trying to pull her down. She doesn't budge.

"Did you want something, shchenok?" Between the look in her eyes, the sound of her voice, and her in just a tank top of sleep shorts I'm weak to her completely under her not just physically.

"Want you. Need you." I tell her trying again to pull and when she still doesn't budge. I pout and whine. "Wands...please.."

As Wanda's hands worked their magic, binding mine above my head with a delicate yet firm touch, I felt a rush of excitement and anticipation coursing through me. With each tug of her magic, I was rendered powerless, completely at her mercy as she explored my body with a hunger that ignited a fire within me.

"Behave and we'll see where it goes," she husked, her words sending shivers down my spine as she pushed up my shirt, her lips finding purchase on my chest with an intensity that left me breathless. The sensation of her teeth grazing my skin, her tongue tracing patterns across my flesh, sent waves of pleasure radiating through me, making me squirm and writhe beneath her touch.

As I felt myself slipping deeper into subspace, surrendering to the heady mix of pleasure and vulnerability, I couldn't help but lose myself in the moment, giving in completely to the sensations that engulfed me. With each kiss, each caress, I felt myself unraveling, consumed by the overwhelming desire that burned between us.

In that moment, as I surrendered myself to Wanda's tender ministrations, I felt a profound sense of connection and intimacy that transcended the physical realm. With her by my side, I knew that I was safe, cherished, and loved beyond measure, and as I surrendered to the ecstasy of the moment, I knew that our bond would only grow stronger with each passing day.

Wanda plays with me and teases me for hours and I can't even remember how many times she's pushed me over the edge of ecstasy. As she brought me to another one as she slammed into me with a magic strap-on she'd conjured up, my mind already drowning in subspace, barely able to form words, but one slips out and then a few more,

"Mommy...gonna...ah-ha...ah..." After my words she sped up leaning down to whisper in my ear,

"That's right cum for Mommy like a good girl. Mommy's gonna cum with you. Gonna fill you up and breed you baby girl." As she whispered those final words in my ear, her voice a husky growl of lust and desire, I felt myself shattering into a million pieces, my entire being consumed by the ecstasy of release. With a cry of pure ecstasy, I let myself fall over the edge, my body trembling with the force of my climax as I surrendered myself entirely to the pleasure that engulfed me. Feeling her fill me up completely made my eyes roll back and the only word I could comprehend was, “Mommy.”

In that moment, as I basked in the afterglow of our shared ecstasy, I knew that I was exactly where I belonged, wrapped in the arms of the woman I loved more than anything in the world.

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop

#ley writes #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximommy #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #the scarlet witch x fem!reader #the scarlet witch #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

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sarastial · 20 days ago

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bus crush

ellie williams x reader

summary: your heavenly perfume catches ellie’s attention on the bus, and she can’t help but stare.

(university! ellie; implied femme reader)

a/n: i’ve been writing for years and this is my first published fic ever lol .. kinda nervy but i hope you enjoy it!

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Ellie Williams was drenched when she finally got on the bus that drove to and from the student housing complexes — drenched and shivering and exhausted. She had been on campus attending her back-to-back lectures all day (Tuesdays were her worst days) without so much as a thirty minute break between classes, and was beat by the time she got to the bus stop. It didn’t help that it was the peak of December, just before finals and winter break. That meant bone-rattling storms that almost shook the shitty old university buildings — which were definitely in need of some TLC, by the way — and Ellie’s overused umbrella getting fucked up with the rain and wind beating it down.

She closes said umbrella as she steps further into the bus, attempting to shake off as much water as she can from its tattered waterproof fabric before glancing up to scan for a seat.

Just my luck, Ellie thinks to herself with an internal sigh, finding every possible seat occupied by one of her equally drenched, shivering peers. She moves over to the side of the bus where there were already a couple of students standing and holding onto the cloth handles hanging from the roof of the vehicle. Ellie opts to squeeze the handrail instead, waiting for the bus to start moving. A few stragglers come in, and the bus finally departs from the station.

Someone moves to stand between Ellie and another student, cramping up the already tight space. Ellie’s about to scowl in the student’s direction when the scent of vanilla and cinnamon hits her nose.

Holy shit, she blinks, inhaling as deeply as she can without looking odd and/or slightly off-putting, Someone smells like a damn bakery.

She dares to spare a darting glance sideways at the person standing next to her … then a second, then a third. There was no doubt in Ellie’s mind that the girl who stood there, leaning into the condensation-riddled window of the bus and gazing down at the small, tattered paperback book in her hands with her old-school wired earbuds in, was the person who smelled so divine. She looked just like she smelled, nice and warm and pretty and yummy and —

Ellie inhales sharply, looking away and biting the inside of her cheek. Her hand comes up to tuck a loose, damp strand of her choppy, auburn hair behind her ear, gaze trained on the view outside through the foggy glass bus door that was right across from where she stood. The sight of the rain pouring down onto the dark, dampened streets of her little college town distracts her for a while. She waits for a few moments before stealing a longer glance at the girl and taking her in — from her long, perfectly manicured fingernails and mixture of dainty and chunky rings to the bootcut jeans she wore that somehow managed to hug her in all the right places.

Ellie feels a bit intimidated by how put-together the girl looks, by how different the two of them are appearance-wise. Her own nails are short and blunt from her nervous habit of chewing on them, and her clothes are baggy — wide legged jeans that are soaked at the bottom hems from walking through puddles all day and a zip-up hoodie with rolled up sleeves to show off her sick new tattoo. But Ellie really, really, really wanted to talk to the girl. She wanted to ask her about what she was reading, about what she was listening to, about what perfume she was wearing and about how the hell she managed to look so pretty after being out in a rainstorm.

She’s definitely straight, Ellie deflates slightly, pressing her teeth into her chapped bottom lip and furrowing her eyebrows, deep in thought.

Ellie doesn’t even realize that she’s still staring at the pretty, nice smelling girl until she’s met with a pair of eyes and a small, confused smile. She freezes up, enthralled by the new angle of the girl’s face.

She’s looking at you …

She’s looking at you! Look away, dumbass!

Ellie clears her throat and whips her head back to face the door of the bus in front of her, blinking fervently and internally cursing herself as she tries to play off her staring. It’s too late, for sure. She’s already made herself look like a creep, watching the girl while she minded her own business.

Damn it. Way to play it cool.. She squeezes the handrail a little tighter as the bus turns, trying her best not to sway in the girl’s direction as the vehicle lurches sideways. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself.

Ellie’s internally pouring over that slightest, faintest smile that the girl had given her when a voice breaks through her thoughts, soft and mellow.

“I like your tattoo.”

Ellie’s mind doesn’t even have the time to process the fact that it’s her, it’s the girl, and that she’s talking to Ellie and she’s complimenting Ellie and that Ellie should reply and say something and —

She turns her head a little too quickly, gaze flickering over to the girl at her side. Sure enough, she’s smiling again. She’s waiting for a response.

“Oh, uh,” Ellie spurts, tucking that damn strand that kept spilling back into her eyes back behind her ear, “Thanks. Just got it a few weeks ago.”

She takes in the girl’s silent nod of acknowledgment, heart pounding in her ear. They just look at each other for a moment. Then, the girl slowly turns back to her book, lowering her gaze and tentatively flipping a page. Her lashes fan out against her cheeks in a way that makes Ellie sure she’s some goddess in disguise sent down to earth to bait a poor mortal like herself.

“I like your smell,” Ellie blurts before her mind catches up, watching as the girl turns back towards her with a small, amused smile forming on her face. “I mean, I like the way you smell. Like, your perfume. It’s nice.”

Ellie winces internally, wanting more than anything to kick open the emergency exit and run back to her dorm and crawl under her covers and die. But the girl laughs — she laughs — and Ellie’s scuffed up boots stay planted firmly on the floor, so she doesn’t move.

“Thank you,” the girl replies, warm gaze sweeping over Ellie’s burning, freckled face. It’s obvious that her laugh wasn’t meant to be a mean one.

Ellie feels heat gather in her face and turns to look at the handrail she’s squeezing, studying it as if it were the most interesting thing on the bus. But it wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t, not with that pretty girl standing so close to her. But she can’t find it in herself to say anything else, so she just keeps staring at the handrail until the bus comes to a screeching halt.

It’s her stop.

Ellie hesitates for a fleeting moment, wanting more than anything to ask for her name or something. Instead, she lets go of the handrail and picks up her umbrella, sparing one last look at the girl — who’s too caught up in her novel to notice — before stepping off the bus into the biting wind and pouring rain.

Unbeknownst to her, the girl peeks up from her book with a small, giddy smile to watch her go just as the bus doors close.

#ellie williams #ellie #tlou #tlou ellie #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie willams x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you

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januaryembrs · 9 months ago

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I CAN SEE YOU | Spencer Reid x FBI!Reader

Request: Congrats on 2k!!! Could you write something based off of ‘I can see you’ by Taylor Swift with Spencer please?

Description: Spencer may or may not have a little thing for the desk jockey on the floor below, and she may or may not have a thing for their silent elevator rides together.

Length: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff?? Season one Spencer in mind when I wrote this (my sweetest boy)

He passed through the lobby at the exact same time every day. Usually with his head dug in an obnoxiously thick book, or fiddling with the strap on his satchel bag, or flicking his long curls out of his sweet, hazelnut eyes. Sometimes with thick round glasses perched on his slender nose, sometimes nothing but a thoughtful, musing frown.

Not that she was obsessed with him.

But it wasn’t hard to acknowledge that whoever the guy on the sixth floor was that seemed to stick to an incredibly tight schedule had the face of a god.

Though she supposed he could say the same about her schedule seeing as they seemed to enter the elevator at nearly the exact same time every single day, never saying a word, a brief nod of hello was about the extent of their interaction. One time he had pressed the button for her floor, number five, for her, and she hadn’t stopped smiling the rest of the day.

Of course there were times he and his team would be away on a case, in which she wouldn’t see him for days on end, while she went to her lonely desk in forensics no matter what case had come up.

In the grand scheme of things, she was a desk jockey, inputting numbers and data and figures, organising files and sheets and loading ink into the printer. She was a nobody and he was part of the BAU.

No one would even notice if she didn’t show up for the day. At least that was what she hoped as she sped walked out of the cab, her hair soaking down her back, her lungs puffing in a crackling wheeze, frantically tucking her tight shirt into her dogtooth pants, limping on her ankle that she’d rolled racing out her apartment building into the raging storm that had overcome Virginia in a matter of hours.

She felt socks wet through as she squelched her way into the elevator, barely noticing the usual passenger that was tracing a bony finger down the page of Pride and Prejudice, quickly flicking over the page in a matter of five seconds.

He looked up when she hopped in beside him, squeezing in as a handful of other people followed her. Trying desperately to even her hair out in the large mirror behind them, it was only then she realised her mascara had smudged down her cheeks entirely, making her look like she’d slept in a pile of charcoal.

“Fuck,” She said loudly, her hand slapping over her mouth when she realise the deadly silent elevator full of federal agents turned to look at her, and she felt her cheeks heat as if her makeup condundrum hadn’t been embarrassing enough, “S-sorry,” She muttered, turning her head to the ground as she frantically wiped beneath her lids with her cardigan sleeve.

Turning to see if he had noticed, she caught him staring right at her, and she could have sworn the heat on her face blazed even harder when she saw he was smiling into his book in amusement.

Fuck. She repeated in her head this time, taking a small sigh of relief when the doors opened on the first floor and half the passengers trickled out onto the finance floor.

She was still fixing her hair by the time they got to the second floor, communications, and even more people got out. By the end of the third floor, it was just the two of them left.

“Bad morning?” He broke the silence, and it was the first time she’d ever actually heard his voice. He was even dreamier than she’d thought, in a boyish kind of way.

“Car battery died, and the bus was full,” She murmured, fiddling with the hem of her sleeves that were entirely sodden, “And then apparently someone up there hates to see pretty girls get to work looking dry and respectable,”

He chuckled properly, and she swore it soothed the ache of the cold rain just the smallest bit.

“Don’t we all,” He mused, though his eyes went back to his book, flicking over the words faster than she figured would be possible.

She figured he didn’t want to be bothered by the drowned rat looking woman that had all but thrown herself into the lift beside him, interrupting his reading with her curses and pitiful glances.

It was only when they reached the fourth floor that he quickly rooted around his bag for something, likely a bookmark since he didn’t seem the type to dog-ear a perfectly neat page. It wasn’t until a soft, moss green sweater was thrust in her face she snapped out of her self loathing daze.

Looking at him wide eyed, he nudged it towards her hands, and it was like Spencer only just realised that offering a stranger your clothes was perhaps not normal, but he didn’t feel like they were strangers.

She was the first person he’d ever met in the building besides Gideon. He remembered the two of them stepping into the elevator, the bashful woman already flicking through files, her lanyard hanging low over her chest as she chirped good morning to Gideon and he did the same, wishing her a good day when she stepped out onto floor five.

He couldn’t help if he was so perceptive he’d clocked her name and position written on her ID, couldn’t help it if he was a huge fan of routine and repetition, that he purposely walked into the lobby at the same time every day knowing she was going to be right behind him just for an excuse to see her.

No, they certainly weren’t strangers, Spencer tried to reason, yet he wasn’t even sure she knew his name.

“T-take it,” He stuttered, watching the doors close and the lift jolt as it ascended to her floor, “You can just bring it back tomorrow,”

“That’s- I couldn’t,” She reasoned, her eyes fretful, “It’s yours,”

“I’m not using it, you must be freezing,” Spencer reiterated it with another nudge towards her, and he saw the longing glance she gave at the promise of warmth.

Number five dinged above them, and the doors slid open.

“Just take it, please,” He said, and it seemed like that was the magic word as she cautiously took it out of his hand, and melted when she realised it was softer than she’d thought, like it was made to feel like a giant hug.

“Thankyou…” She said, heading for the doors with slow steps; she didn’t want to leave whatever moment he’d caught her in.

“Spencer,” He replied, smiling at her with a shy cadence.

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She said, and gave him her own name back. But he already knew it, and he realised he would sound like a complete creepy stalker if he’d said so. So he just nodded, a small wave off as she headed for her office and the doors closed behind her.

He loved how she said his name, he thought blissfully, but he loved even more showing up to work day after to see her waiting by the elevator, his sweater washed and ironed, pressed neatly in her hands and still warm from where she’d tumble dried it.

She handed it back to him with a sheepish smile, and he took it gracefully, catching a whiff of her fabric softener and felt fuzzy inside right there and then.

“Good morning, Spencer,” She said sweetly, and he swore he wanted to kiss her the minute it left her lips, glossed with something rouge and shiny.

But he didn’t, he just said it back, loving how her name rolled over his tongue.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #matthew grey gubler x reader

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sweetinsaniiity · 5 months ago

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My Heart, I Surrender

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - intruder!san x virgin!reader ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜/𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 - smut with plot, age gap of 10 years (but both full adults), sociopathic tendencies but San is a !gentleman, suspense, somnophilia, fingering, hair-pulling, , corruption kink, breeding kink, oral sex (FL receiving), creampie, no protection (do NOT do this!), tit sucking, rough sex, size kink, overstimulation, cum tasting ◄ ► 𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - MDNI, sexual assault, degrading name calling (slut, whore), non-consent sex, reluctance, gaslighting and manipulation to give in ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 16.5K (goal was 14K but oh well) ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - The most unforgettable night of your life happens when an intruder breaks in and steals your body, your innocence, and your heart. ◄

► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - If this is triggering to you, please do not continue. This is a work of fiction not meant to represent the members in real life. I DO NOT CONDONE THIS TYPE OF ENCOUNTER. This is not a go-signal for anyone to do this. This is a fantasy and IT SHOULD STAY THAT WAY. You have been warned. More notes towards the end. Join the taglist here. Title from I Prevail ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @ginger-mingi ◄

The pouring rain has always provided me with a sense of comfort I cannot even begin to explain. I wasn't sure if it was the sound of it hitting the pavement, or even the smell of it as it watered the meadow fields. Oh, the fresh scent of it when it hits my nose when I inhale brings serenity.

So here I stood under a dingy, little waiting shed where I sought shelter from the rain that I claimed to love.

I looked left and right hoping to see a bus coming while I rubbed my arms and my teeth chattered, but nothing. Even the waiting shed did absolutely nothing to shield me from the biting cold.

I sighed, instantly regretting not making it on time here for the other bus. With nothing better to do, I sat back down on the somewhat clean-ish seat that the shed provided and waited it out. If it wasn't for the rain, I would have been busy admiring the lush trees and the beautiful spring flowers that surrounded the area like I always usually did when I waited for the bus.

I perked when I saw headlights to my left through the haze, but I quickly became disappointed when I realized it wasn't my bus, it was just a car passing by.

"Damn," I deflated back onto my seat. dejected at the thought of staying in this shed for longer than I wanted to.

I stared at the oncoming car, suddenly wishing I could drive. I wouldn't be waiting if I knew how. It came faster and faster until I was able to make out its model and its colour - a sleek black.

And then it completely stopped in front of me.

I frowned, confused and then got frightened at what the owner possibly wanted. It could be anything, but the one that struck in my mind was some sick psycho that wanted to do things to me, a lone girl in a deserted area.

I cursed in my mind when I looked around and nobody was around to hear me scream for help just in case. I looked down suddenly, finding my shoes interesting, hoping that the driver would go away soon.

I bit my lip when I heard the distinct sound of a car window rolling down. Oh God, I thought nervously. Was I about to get kidnapped?

"Y/N?"

As if I wasn't nervous enough. My confusion grew not only because I heard my name out of nowhere, but that voice sounded a little too familiar.

I looked up and my heart stopped beating for a second or two. He was the kind of handsome that made me hold my breath and those chestnut eyes that stared already spoke to me before he even said a word.

"M-Mr. Choi!" I blurted out in mild surprise. I stood up and began to approach his car but quickly stumbled when I realized it was still raining. "W-What are you doing here?"

I blushed profusely when he smiled at me, it was heart-melting, especially when his dimples popped out from his cheeks. I mentally cursed myself for being this embarrassing in front of him.

"This is near my workplace," he replied. He slowly raked his eyes from my feet all the way to my face and his smile grew wider. "How long have you been waiting for the bus?"

"Almost an hour," I replied truthfully.

His smile drops slightly and he clicks his tongue. He presses on something and I hear the click of something unlocking. "Get in," he cocked his head towards the passenger seat.

My face heats up even more if that was possible. "Oh," I squeak out. "I-I couldn't possibly impose on you, I'm fine, really."

"Please, I insist," he pauses to gauge my reaction. "I would feel awful if I just left you here stranded."

I was weighing my options, but the reality was, I was afraid he would hear how hard my heart was beating if I was to go into the same space as him, let alone something as intimate as a car.

He sighed when he saw me doubting. "We live in the same complex anyway, plus that bus won't be coming soon," he insisted.

I pursed my lips together, and it didn't escape his attention. He was right, I was the one being unreasonable. Plus, I knew him. I knew he had pure intentions - to simply just take me home.

"Okay," I murmured, finally agreeing to his insistence.

I stopped breathing when he broke out into the widest grin. "Good," he beamed.

I was about to move and get my stuff from the seat when Mr. Choi got out of the car and started to walk towards me through the rain. "You're going to get wet!" I tried to stop him.

"A little rain wouldn't hurt me," he shot me a wink and I almost fainted at the sight.

He passed me and I caught a whiff of his cologne, the smallest hint of it already transporting me into places I don't dare go in. He carried my stuff for me as he opened the umbrella I didn't even notice he had because I was busy looking at him.

"L-Let me carry the umbrella, at least," I offered like a decent human being. I made a move to grab the umbrella, but he quickly moved it away.

I glanced up at him and I was taken aback by the sharp and scathing look he gave me, but it was gone in less than a second. He opened the car door for me and I immediately forget about it. To his warm cologne and his even warmer actions, it was easy to like him.

"Cold?" he asked as he buckled his seatbelt. I nodded, not that I had a choice, I was literally shivering when I got in.

I murmured a small 'thank you' when he upped the heat in his car, and just like that, we drove away from that wretched waiting shed. I held in a satisfied exhale as I sank into the softest and most comfortable seat I've ever sat on.

"You said your workplace was near here?" I began to speak in hopes to fill in the awkward air. "May I ask what you do?"

"I have a startup company along with my friends downtown. You know that 7-Eleven by the corner?" I nodded slowly and he hummed. "It's near that area. I always pass this road to go home."

So that explains the aura he exuded - mature, well-put together. And, by God, the way he always dressed. Today, he wore a business suit that was tailored so well and emphasized his body. It made him look like he had power.

"You?" he continued. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, I just met up with a couple of my friends," I shrugged. "Got a little too carried away and missed my ride."

"No one offered to take you home?"

"They all live on the other side of the city, plus my complex is far. I don't mind riding the bus."

There was a moment of hesitation on his face. "I can drive for you from now on," he offered as he glanced at me side-eyed while he tried to focus on the road.

I watched him side-eyed as well, afraid to turn my head to stare at him head on. My mouth felt dry and I didn't know what to say, and there was a certain gentleness in his voice that made me want to reach out to him.

"N-No, I don't want to be a bother, Mr. Choi."

"San."

"Huh?" I asked, confused.

In an instant, he turned and our eyes finally met. "Just call me San."

"I-I can't possibly do that," I muttered. I felt my heart lodge onto my throat, but I tried to play it cool. "You are my senior."

He put on the most inviting, volatile, and apathetic smirk. It was such the opposite expression to his usual gentleness. "Why?" San raised a mischievous brow. "Your boyfriend is going to get mad?"

I couldn't move, it felt like I would have to muster tremendous effort to do so, and my brain was lagging. I had to think and move well.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend," I finally uttered. His smirk grows bigger, though I chose to ignore it.

"That settles it, then," San chuckled more to himself, the sound of it so low that it brought shivers to my spine.

He noticed it and before I could turn away from him clearly flustered, a grin spread across his face and made him look even more handsome than he already was, if it was possible. I'm pretty sure my face was redder than a tomato right now.

"Are you going to be a dear and think about it, at least?" San looked left and right on the street before driving across the familiar intersection that led to the complex.

At that moment, I felt my body flush warm. I must have made a small sound of agreement because San let it go for now and finally concentrated on driving both of us. I'm not even sure, and I don't want to care right now.

It was silent, the only sound we could hear was the rain hitting the roof of the car and the heater whirring in the air. Outside there is no traffic and the light had finally gone, which might mean that it was almost nighttime. The fragile peace had taken over us, and it gave me moments to think.

Being in the car with the one and only Choi San definitely wasn't in my list of things to do today. He was well-known in the complex we lived at immediately after he moved in a couple of months ago. He wasn't my neighbour, not even close, but even he had caught my unassuming eye.

He was attractive - hot, to be frank. When he walked into the room, it seemed as if conversation stopped to sit in stunned silence, he had all of our attention and he knew it. He knew damn well we all found him attractive, yet he never let it all go into his head. He was the sweetest gentleman who always smiled and helped around without asking for something in return.

I couldn't help the admiration I felt for him, and it wasn't only me who held a high opinion of him, everyone I knew did so that automatically doesn't make my admiration anything special in itself.

Or maybe mine was something more. I quickly brushed the thought away from my mind because I knew that it was impossible. San might not even look or want somebody that was much younger than him. In this case, if I wasn't mistaken, I was a good ten years younger than him.

"You look like you want to say something," San suddenly spoke.

"Do you have a family?" I sputtered out before I could stop myself.

I was waiting for San to laugh or think I'm stupid, or perhaps make a snide remark of how nosy I was getting, but it never came.

"No, I currently don't," he replied, the gentleness he was known for back in his voice.

Which means that he's open to having one in the future.

"I see," I trailed off. I didn't know what else to say, I already got the answer to my question.

I choked on my next breath when I felt San's right hand grab my thigh. Almost robotically, my head slowly swivels to stare at him wide-eyed with unparalleled surprise. He stayed focused on the road, but I saw a ghost of a smirk grace his lips.

"Close your mouth, doll," San whispered, his voice dropping into a husky rasp. "Look away."

It took everything in me to do so and stare straight ahead on the unwinding road. The sudden grab made my heart pound so hard, the way his thumb would slowly caress my thighs left goosebumps in its wake.

"Mr. Choi," I began, trying very hard to keep my voice leveled, but we both knew that it sounded shakier than the sky right now.

He side-eyes me once more, his other hand still maneuvering the steering wheel, and raised a brow. "I told you," he griped. "It's San."

A shaky breath left my mouth when he squeezed my thigh. It was enough for me to feel it, but not enough for it to hurt - not even close. He let go momentarily and drummed his slender fingers on my thighs, instead. I swallowed as I stared at his sinful fingers, the things they could do...

"Say my name."

I snapped out of the indecent thoughts from my head before they could fully form. "Pardon?" I questioned.

He chuckled, this time, those dimples of his popped out again. I could have sworn my heart leapt out of my chest. "I said," San spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "Say my name."

"B-But--"

"Say it."

I gasped when he squeezed my thigh with more pressure. It still didn't hurt, but something else of mine hurt. "Okay, okay," I sighed. "S-San."

His lips stretched into a satisfied grin and he finally let go and kept his hand to himself. "Good girl," he smiled.

The hair on my nape prickled at the way San's voice - deep, thick, and most of all, powerful - but that wasn't even the worst part. He was smiling, and that smile was something he reserved when he was being the sweetest, most precious gentleman everybody knew him to be.

What have I gotten myself into? Was he not who everybody, including me, thought he was? My chest was about to explode, my hands were getting clammy and I was close to hyperventilating as I leaned closer to the door to try and avoid him.

Soon enough, we reached the apartment complex and he had slowly stopped the car in front of my apartment. I don't know how he knew where I lived, but at this point, I was not even going to ask. I might hear something I was not ready to hear.

"T-Thank you," I mumbled and hurriedly grabbed my things so I could get the hell out of his car as fast as humanly possible. There was no way I was staying in it longer - it was suffocating.

I speedwalked immediately away and I was about to be completely out of his sight when he stopped me and called me back. "Y/N, wait."

I cursed under my breath and begrudgingly looked back at him with an expectant gaze. The tremors in my heart upped when I saw that beautiful smile I always found attractive on him.

"I'll see you later, doll," he said with hopeful vigor. Did I want to see him again?

"I highly doubt it," I nervously tucked a stray hair out of my face to avoid looking at him. At the end of the day, he was kind enough to take me home but it ended there. We had nothing in common and there was no way he would look at me like that.

He smirked, the dark look in his eyes made me shrink from where I stood. "You never know."

He definitely doesn't mean that. Right?

I didn't bother to watch his car drive off. I quickly ran into my apartment and straight into the shower in record time to take the grime off of my body and hopefully, relax.

That was wishful thinking on my part. There was absolutely no way I could erase that odd encounter with San from my brain in the next few weeks.

I stood still in the shower and let all the water flow from my scalp all the way down to my toes. Heat filled my entire body when I stared at the section where San had squeezed my thighs. It was slightly pink from the pressure, something that would face away in a couple of minutes.

The way his personality would switch in a matter of seconds creeped the living hell out of me. He went from being so endearing to something else completely that went over my brain capacity.

I frowned, not fully able to comprehend how San was as a person. This is exactly why you should never take a person at face value - they might end up surprising you in ways you never thought was even possible.

I dried my hair, still in a daze. Usually I would spend some time with skin and body care, but tonight I didn't care enough to even make an effort, so after I was done with my hair, I put on my favourite silk nightgown.

I decided to sit down momentarily on the couch to do some deep thinking, but that ended up being a dud. Within moments, I was asleep.

I stirred awake in the middle of the night, I was confused, I was the type who slept like a log once I'm out - this means I usually never wake up in between my sleep, if not, at all. I tried to shake the confusion and moved my arm towards the bedside table to grab my phone.

'4:20 A.M.'

I groaned softly, frustrated at the fact that it's dead in the night and I was sentient. I had to work in a few hours and I never did well when my sleep pattern was disturbed. I willed myself to sleep and put the blanket over my head.

I opened my eyes, startled. Blanket?

I tried to make sense of what my mind was slowly realizing. I was in bed when I knew for a fact that I had fallen asleep on the couch hours ago.

My brain alerted me into panic and this time, I was fully awake. Maybe I had walked to my bed half asleep and I just didn't remember it? Impossible. I was a heavy sleeper, I would have definitely remembered if I got up unceremoniously. So the question was, how am I here, and how long have I been here?

I sat up, rubbing my eyes timidly to will the sleepiness away from me. Maybe I have just been stressed out at work and am blacking out sometimes, which was worrying if that really was the case.

I looked at the couch I was in and everything was fine, except for the dark figure sitting down on it. I stared for a few minutes before shaking my head.

"Definitely tired," I mumbled to myself, disoriented, before laying back down and trying to fall back asleep. I wonder what that was...

My heart dropped to my stomach when I realized what the hell I just saw and I opened my eyes once more, this time, the sleepiness was fading away. A dark figure sitting on my couch?

How long has it been here just watching me sleep? I stiffened, the energy in the room felt absolutely different. I stayed still, listening quietly if something would be moved or if I was really imagining things.

But nothing. Just the thick, sinister silence that enveloped the room. With mild unease slowly creeping up to me, I chose to stay still in fear, hoping that this was only a dream and that thing was a figment of my imagination.

Except that I knew it wasn't. I knew it was a person. I saw that it was a man. He was sitting comfortably on my couch with his arms crossed, watching me sleep.

My worst fears came to life when I heard a shuffle and the distinct sound of somebody getting up from the couch. My heart started beating frantically when I felt the bed dip behind me. I tried not to flinch at the sudden intrusion, I tried not to breathe either.

Who was in my bed? How in the world did they even get in? I was a thousand percent sure I locked the door when I came home too, so how? Luckily, the only other entrance to my apartment - my window - was in my direct view, and my heart dropped when I saw that it was wide open.

'Please, go away, please,' I prayed inside my head, but things never really worked out like that, didn't they?

I felt a large hand touch my leg, its presence leaving a burning feeling upon my skin. It stayed there for what seemed like forever until it gently lifted the blanket up a bit so the hand could slide up my skin.

I tried to remain unmoved as my mind struggled to make sense of what was happening and I almost let out a whimper when I felt the rough hand slowly caress my skin and it wept higher until it stopped at my clothed thigh. His hand was dangerously close to my core and it was terrifying.

I shut my eyes as tightly as possible, the dread of waiting what he was going to do next making me want to pass out in extreme horror.

He did the unexpected - he lifted his hand away from my thigh and I would have been relieved, but I felt the mattress dip even more and I can tell from the movement that he was trying to climb the bed and stay next to me.

Tears started to pool in my eyes, I was petrified in fear. I heard the man sigh softly as he slowly started to stroke my hair in the warmest and gentlest manner. I stopped breathing when his fingers slowly started to trace my face - my cheeks, lips, nose.

"I know you're awake," I heard him whisper, cutting through the dead silence.

I willed myself to open my eyes and it took a while for them to adjust, but the panic seeps into me nonetheless when I saw him. He was sitting tentatively beside me, and since he was against the light, I still couldn't see his face clearly.

But I can tell he was huge. There was no way I could fight him.

"Did you...move me to the bed?" I asked, my voice shaking as I fought the tears from falling from my eyes.

"Yes," he replied, and the sound of it sent shivers to my body. He had a deeper voice, it was unfortunately pleasant to my ears.

"What do you want from me?" I asked next, afraid of what the answer might be. He began to stroke my hair again. "Please, don't do that..."

He tensed, his hand stopping at my head and I was terrified that he would start grabbing my hair, but surprisingly, he does stop. "A lot of things," he cryptically replied.

I suppress a whimper when I feel him move. I was too terrified to move and the intruder took the opportunity to lean down my ear.

I exhaled a terrified sigh when I felt his breath hit my ear. I finally let out a whimper when he blew softly in my ear and more goosebumps flared up on my skin. He chuckled softly, the closeness of his proximity emphasizing how menacing it was.

"For example," I could hear the smirk in his voice. "You, for one."

My eyes go wide, the reality of the situation crashing down on me abruptly, and I realize what his intentions were with me - he was going to assault me.

Tears started streaming down my face, and without thinking, I pushed the blanket off me and quickly tried to roll to the edge of the bed, but I didn't make it too far when I felt my feet being grabbed.

I screamed bloody murder when I was dragged roughly back into the middle of the bed, my hands grabbing I could to stop myself, but it was no use.

I was flipped to my back and I cried harder when he grabbed my arms violently and pinned them above my head as he straddled me.

"Please don't hurt me," I cried, my own pitiful voice getting to me. I closed my eyes as tightly as possible as if that would make the man on top of me vanish.

I flinched when I felt fingers stroke my cheek gently. "Shh, breath," he hushes. "I need you to calm down."

I struggled momentarily underneath him. I gasped when he pushed the hand he was using to pin both of mine on the bed with a pressure that was almost painful. "Stay still," he said, his voice taut.

I tried my luck again but all that earned me was a growl from him. "Stay still," he reiterated coldly, the gentleness in his voice gone. "And shut up."

I listened and I stayed still for what seemed like hours, my position vulnerable. I was afraid of what he'd do if I disobeyed.

I gulped when I felt him leaning forward, gasping quietly when I felt his other hand cup my cheek and give it a gentle kiss, his lips lingering for a while before he started whispering the most soothing words I'd hear for a while.

"Just like that, doll, breathe in and out for me," he mumbled tenderly. He started to soothingly stroke my skin - my face, my neck, my arms. "I am not going to hurt you."

"I'm going to scream if you don't get off me," I spoke in an attempt to threaten him, and it came out sounding pathetic.

He hummed like a gentle parent comforting their child. "There's really no need, I said I'm not going to hurt you, so don't be scared."

"Y-You're scaring me," I gulped, my eyes still closed.

How can I not be scared? He was huge and I knew for a fact that even if I died trying, I don't have a chance of overpowering him.

He planted a small kiss on the top of my head and I caught a whiff of his cologne. I froze, that smelled extremely familiar.

"Am I?" I heard him sigh. "I'm sorry."

I can hear and feel the blood rushing to my ears. Now that my sight is blank, all my other senses are stronger and I am now slowly realizing how awfully familiar his voice was sounding. I just couldn't pinpoint who exactly it was.

"Do I...know you?" I slowly asked, my chest heaving up and down to due my breathlessness.

Unfortunately, he noticed it. My breath hitched when his free hand, the one not pinning mine down, lightly brushed my hardened nipples. I cursed mentally for not wearing a bra tonight.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" he mumbled before he stopped touching my breasts. I breathe a sigh of relief. A couple more seconds and I would have made a sound.

"Maybe you do," he continued. "Maybe you don't."

What a terrifying response. A stranger, an intruder, was in my home and basically holding me captive and I had no idea how far he would go tonight.

I ignored him and my shaky voice sounded, "What do you intend to do to me?"

Fright constricted my chest when he leaned down and gave the soft skin on my neck little bites, pecks, and licks. "What do you want me to do to you?" his husky voice purrs into my ear.

Heat spreads all over my body at the involuntary pleasure I felt from the little of kisses, the small kissing sounds his lips were making against my skin loud in my ears and I ashamedly clenched my legs together. I felt him smile against my skin when my body betrayed me and I gasped a bit when he sucked on my skin.

"I'm going to make you feel good," he murmured, his free hand touching and squeezing my hips and sides, just stopping below my chest.

I whined moving my head slightly in a poor attempt to get him off of me. It was extremely humiliating. "Don't," he warned, his voice rigid and gravely.

Tears started to form again in my eyes. It was so pathetic. Had I been stronger enough, I would have been out of here. I gasp when his hand kneads my breast, and he was doing it so tenderly as if he was afraid that I would burst if he wasn't careful enough.

"P-Please," I arched my back unwillingly towards his hand. I felt him groan deeply against my skin, the vibration sent shivers to my spine.

"Shh, I said stop moving," he held me tighter, more tensely. I got a bit frightened, he was so unpredictable that I didn't know how to act.

My brain can't properly wrap around the situation. He's an intruder, which I can only assume as someone who is never up to any good, but he is excruciatingly gentle, and the way he can make my body react to his touch was alarming.

"Ah!" I squealed when he suddenly pinched my nipple. He laughed huskily and he didn't do it again. My skin was on fire, I have never been more terrified in my life than right now.

"You feel so good, I can't wait to make you mine." he growled. "Not that you weren't yet."

It occurred to me that it must be a nightmare, perhaps I should just go with it, or maybe if she refused he would willingly leave. But that would never happen, he was here to take me.

I snapped back into reality when I heard the worst sound I could possibly hear all night - a zipper being undone.

I began thrashing and resisting again. "Wait, wait, please stop," I begged. "I-I'll give you anything you want, I have money---"

I screamed when his hand wrapped around my neck. "You're testing my patience, doll," he hissed, squeezing on the sides of my neck.

I choked on little air, I was getting lightheaded before he let me go. I took big gulps of chair as I coughed, scared out of my wits. Oh God, I thought dreadfully. He's going to kill me!

"You move one more time," he whispered menacingly. "I am going to shove my cock in you and fuck you like the little cumslut you are." I whined when he bit my shoulder painfully, I was pretty sure it drew blood. "You understand?"

When I didn't respond, he bit my shoulder harder. "Speak when told to," he growled.

"Yes! Yes! Okay, okay! Please," I cried like a wounded animal, - well, I am now - and he lets my shoulders go.

"Good. If you're a good girl, I won't do anything," he chuckled. He gave me soft kisses on the area he bit. "You poor thing..."

This was much worse than I thought. I hate this, I hate every single moment of this. I had noticed early on that if I did as he said, he would be fine, but the moment I acted up, he would get rougher.

"Anyway," he said sarcastically. "I don't want your money."

"Why not?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

He laughed amusingly. He had an infuriatingly attractive laugh. If only it wasn't too dark, I could have seen his face too. "Because money can't get me what I want right now."

I frowned. "I'm going to call the police on you," I stated, my voice shaking, hoping that he'd get intimidated enough.

"Cute," he chuckled lowly.

"Please, don't do this," I begged loudly.

"Why not?" he clicked his tongue. "I promise that I wouldn't do anything you don't want."

"I don't want you here," I sniffled.

"Don't say that," he replied tensely, his grip on my hands tightening as well.

There was nothing more I wished for right now than somebody to help me. My mind drifted to Mr. Choi. He would have helped me if I asked. I regretted not getting his number like everyone did.

Even with the odd encounter in the car with him, I knew him to be of moral standards and he would help. He was the only one I knew big and strong enough to take this stranger down.

He finally let my hands go and I tensed as I felt him moving in on top of me. I whimpered when his hands spread my legs so he could lay down on me in between them. I blushed both in anger and embarrassment. I had no underwear tonight and I can feel his erection straining through his pants.

His mouth found mine and my eyes flew open immediately. He gave me an open mouthed kiss before pulling away to grasp the back of my neck.

"Look at me," he demanded roughly. I shook my head aggressively and in rebellion and turned my head to the side in spite. He can honestly kiss my ass---

"Oh," I rasped when his hand started to massage and knead my inner thighs. I winced when his mouth started to attack my neck again. This time he roughly bit and sucked, his tongue swirled all over the sensitive parts of my skin as his hands slowly went higher and higher at a dangerous pace.

I was overwhelmed with the odd mixture of pain, fear, pleasure, and hopelessness. The way his hot breath hit my ears was so distracting too.

"Doll, look at me," he whispered against my ear in a tortured voice. "I want to see your beautiful face."

"Please, stop! I really don't want to," I gritted my teeth.

He chuckled. "We'll see."

He lifts my nightgown up to my hips and before I knew it, his nimble fingers grazed my pussy. I was petrified, heat ignited my whole being. I hear his shaky breaths against my ear and I fight off the urge to even breathe, myself.

"Stop it, please, stop," I begged through my broken cries.

He ignored my pleas as he played with little tufts of my hair down there. I didn't shave, yes, but I wasn't expecting this either. He traces my pussy lips with a finger, sliding up and down, and I couldn't stop the moan from my lips when he goes in between.

"That feel good?" he whispered, his voice taut. He groaned when my body shakes beneath him as he circled my swollen clit. "I can give you more than this."

"N-No, please, I-I think I'm good," my voice trembled from the sensation.

"Then look at me," he commanded, his voice back to its kind tone as he coaxed me. "Please, doll."

"I don't know you enough for that type of connection," I swallowed. "Just get this over with."

"But you do know me, have you forgotten?" he mused, his fingers slowing down. I tried to rack my brain for anything, but there was nothing. When I didn't reply, he sighed. "I guess not."

His form went from slight amusement to a detrimental, subtle disappointment. I can feel his despondent stare penetrate through myself, and it was then I realized that he was actually disappointed at my lack of response.

"That man in the car earlier," he began. "Who's that?"

I was confused at first, then I remembered what he was referring to. Terror washed over me, he was watching me when San had taken me home?

"A friend," I curtly replied, making it short and hopefully he'll buy it.

He scoffed lightly and removed his hands from my aching cunt. I was pleasantly surprised when he actually got off me and sat on the edge of the bed with his back turned on me. I breathed a sigh of relief but not for long because he still seemed like he wanted to ask more and I was right.

"A friend, huh?" he scoffed again. "It didn't seem like it earlier. There was definitely a connection there."

I gulped. This man was dangerous. He was watching close enough to know the difference. I had to tell him the truth. "It wasn't like that," I bit my lip. "Mr. Choi has always been kind, he's a key figure in the complex."

His back tenses. "Why? You think you don't have a chance or something?"

"That thought never even crossed my mind," I sighed.

"Why?"

His voice was very strained. I paused, not knowing what to say. It was unnerving and the silence was making me sweat. I stared at his form and I almost gasped when I looked up at his face.

I couldn't see it but the shadows in his side profile blew my mind. This man was clearly handsome, not that it mattered since he was a creep, but I don't know. Maybe I was expecting a drunkard of an imp. Certainly not this one.

He clenched his jaw and I had to restrain the cynicism in my eyes. "Is it the age gap?"

My eyes widened in surprise. How did he know? San definitely didn't look that old from afar. That or I'm the one who looks old.

"W-Well, not necessarily," I stammered. "Though that is a huge factor, yes." I had this urge to tell him the truth, I don't know why. "Plus, there's no way Mr. Choi would look at me in that way."

"How would you know? You never once spared even a glance in my direction."

I was confused at what he was referring to. He did say that I knew him, but I certainly don't remember anyone that I was close with enough for me to look at them. The physical aspect too, this man is big and sturdy, I don't remember...

My brows furrowed in concentration as the man stood up from my bed and my breath halted. That was a lie, I did know someone who looked like this.

He stepped into the light and I audibly gasped. I'd always known he was incredibly good-looking but the light that the moon gave him did him justice. His jawline was exquisite, such a contrast to his cat-like features, and by God, his body.

He stared at me with a seriousness I'd never seen him wear before as he took his grey suit off. He was left with a black turtleneck sweater that did nothing to hide his large biceps from me.

"S-San?" I uttered his name before I could stop myself, sitting up so I could take a good look at him and determine if he was an apparition or not.

I couldn't help the shock and the dread that came over me. The one person, I had been putting up on a pedestal, the one man I had been thinking of asking for help in my dire situation was none other my intruder.

"I am deeply disappointed with you, Y/N. Truly," he shook his head in mock concern and crossed his arms over his chest.

San stared at me as I attempted to cover my almost naked body with my blanket and a couple of pillows. "That's not going to help your case," he smirked.

"I'm going to scream," I said indignantly. San raised a brow in amusement. "I mean it, please get out! I won't tell anyone---"

"Scream, if you must," he shrugged nonchalantly, walking closer to the bed again. "I paid the neighbours for vacation. They're probably halfway across the world now," he grinned sadistically.

I gasped when he put his arms on the bed, leaned on me, and whispered in my ear. "It's just you and me, doll. So go ahead, scream. It turns me on."

I pushed him away from me hastily and edged myself to the corner of my bed. "You're a monster!" I screamed.

San laughed loudly. "Finally," he mused. "I was so sick of playing nice with you. I like you like this. You look prettier."

The way he laughed out loud maniacally and sadistically scared me almost half to death. It was loud, deep, and menacing and it reminded me of how the devil would laugh if it existed.

I was alone, so screaming really wouldn't do anything. And I certainly wasn't going to knowingly do anything that was going to excite him. That was a terrifying thought.

The fact that it was the Choi San - the well-known gentleman, the man who was known to always smile despite everything, the one who drove me home without anything in return, at that time at least, and the person who was beloved by everybody from children to elderly people.

And the one I had admired from afar because of those qualities. I felt betrayed, and it hurt more than I'd like to admit.

We stared at each other for a moment, unmoving. San's icy glare was shrouded with the unmistakable fire of anger and lust, and I was afraid of how he would hurt me if he had become a little too unstable.

"You're a sociopath," I declared after the awkward silence.

He raised his brows in a seemingly displeased manner, but at the same time, I knew he was amused. "Oh? Pray tell, my pretty doll," he mocks. "Enlighten me."

"I mean it," I declared, exasperated. "Y-You can't just break into my apartment like this and expect me to like you afterwards! You're sick in the head!"

He sighed, looking away from and staring at the window he broke into. For a second, I thought he was rethinking his actions, but no. He wasn't the Choi San I knew him to be anymore, I wasn't sure how far his instability would take me.

He side-eyes me, I looked back expectantly. "You can just give in to me or we can do this the hard way," San convinced, his tone calm but persuasive. He knew he had the charm and he was using it to his advantage.

"You took that option away from me when you forced your way in here and touched me in ways I didn't want," I scoffed.

I was about to say more choice words, when San whipped his head towards me fast and I noticed his eye twitching slightly and the veins popping on his forehead while he looked at me long, too long, and hard. I gulped. He was angry.

I know I shouldn't, I know that I'm digging my own grave here by talking back at him but I can't help it. Whether it was the betrayal, one only I knew, or the adrenaline, I wasn't sure.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Y/N," he hid his annoyance with arrogance. It was the first time he said my name tonight and it dripped with venom. "Come hell or high water, I will make you mine."

The conviction in San's voice at his confession was nothing short of astounding and the way he's looking at me right now, I can't stand the intensity of it - he would rather take death than failure right now.

"And who do you think you are?" I was irked, really irked actually. It was the easiest way to hide my panic. "And if I say no?"

San smirked, darkness shrouding his features like he was waiting for me to screw up and say something stupid so he had an excuse to finally say what he's been wanting to say.

"I'm going to fuck you," San dared, no hint of amuse left in his tone. "The plan was to make you submit, but if it's impossible, then I'll just take you. The choice is yours."

I was taken aback. "You wouldn't," I whispered.

San cocked his head to the side. "Would you like to test that theory?"

I can tell he was serious, too. I haven't known him well, but tonight was not the night to test his integrity and if he was a man of his word.

"Can we just do this next time?" I begged. "I-I can come up with a better proposition for us--"

"No," he quickly cut off. "I already called out of your work earlier, anyway. We have all night and morning."

My face contorts in confusion. "What?" I apprehensively asked.

San started to stalk towards me until he was at the end of the bed. I gulped, the way his muscles rippled against his clothes emphasized just how big he was and how powerless I was.

He poked his tongue against the inside of his cheeks as he looked down on me, literally and figuratively. He exuded a power that you can't touch, and honestly, it made me realize how truly dominant he was.

"I know everything about you, doll," he said as he took his wristwatch off and placed it on my bedside table. "I wanted you the moment I saw you for the first time."

I was tense and I watched him take his necklace out next while maintaining eye contact with me. "I kept asking around about you because for some reason, we never were in the same place together. You know what they said?"

I swallowed restlessly when he started to unbuckle his belt next. "You were the sweetest, kindest, and now that I'm up close and personal, the most innocent thing too."

His eyes darkened by the second and it reminded me of that sharp and scathing look I thought I saw on him earlier before I got in his car. It clicked; which one was the real San?

"I know everything about you, my doll, except for one thing," he smirked before he took his turtleneck sweater off. "I don't know how you sound when I'm inside you, yet."

"You can't do this," I whimpered pathetically, trying not to look at how unfortunately beautiful his naked torso was.

His smirks widened. "You asked me in the car earlier if I had a family." Finally, his pants were off too. "I could give you one right now."

I didn't even have the time to look at his body - both in embarrassment and denial - and I let out a loud cry of protest when San grabbed my legs again and pulled me towards him. I kicked to try and stop him from having a good grip, but he was too strong.

"Hey, stop! Get off of me!" I screamed when he got on top of me and pinned me down on my back again. He secured me by pinning my legs as well with his knees. "Stop!"

His hand covers my mouth and my screams drowned into a muffled cry instead. "Shut the fuck up," he hissed. My eyes widened in terror at his threatening tone.

His eyes were so dark, fierce, intense, and domineering and it was then that it sunk in that he really was going to have his way with me. I groaned when he bucked his hip onto my stomach. I panicked, I could tell that it was going to tear me into two.

"Get off me, you bastard!" I growled when San took his hand off my mouth.

He laughed that attractive laugh of his again, the dimples that made me like him popping out once more. "You don't listen well, huh? I told you to shut up."

"And I told you to leave me alone!" I snapped back. His eyes twinkle in amusement. "So both of us are bad at listening then!"

In an adrenaline rush, I spit on him, and my saliva landed directly on the corner of his mouth. He was surprised for a second before he covered it up with annoyance. "You're getting on my nerves," he chuckled without humour.

Without breaking eye contact with me, he stuck his tongue out and slowly, sensually, licked my spit for him to swallow. I feel a gush of wetness between my legs and my cheeks burn in embarrassment while I whine in denial.

He raised a brow, pleased. "Don't fight on this. Your body knows what it wants."

"Go to hell," I growled in refutation.

His eyes narrowed into slits. "What's that?" San spat out in anger.

His hand hastily grabs the front of my nightgown with such force that the straps both broke. I gasped and then groaned in pain when his hand grabbed my exposed breasts painfully.

"Please," I croaked, my voice strained. "Don't hurt me."

A startled cry escaped from my lips when he bit down on my hardened nipple and tears formed from my eyes. He looked up at me and his eyes softened when he saw the pitiful state I was in.

"Be still," mumbled apologetically. "I won't hurt you."

I exhaled in relief but that relief quickly washed off of me at San's next words.

"If you listen to what I tell you, I won't hurt you."

"Please, I can't do--ah!" I yelped when he bit my nipple again.

"I wasn't asking," he hissed. His tone left me no chance to argue with him.

I can feel the fear in my chest waiting to take over at San's threats. But I was a virgin! It's not that I was a prude or I thought I was better than anyone else, no man has held my interest enough and most of them were after my body more than me as a person.

I bit my bottom lip hard when San's mouth started gently kissing my chest and then his mouth closed around my nipple while he played with other.

"Wait," I whimpered when he started to gently suck, his tongue flicking out to lick them and then twirled it around his tongue. It was something new for me and I couldn't help but shake.

"Relax, doll," he murmured in between his sucks.

Tingles filled my whole body, and I felt something tickling down there. Pleasure radiated all over and body in ways I couldn't understand and I started to moan uncontrollably.

I looked down and saw San already looking up at me while he continued licking the sensitive bud. It was such an erotic sight and before I knew it, a wave of pleasure sent my body into shock and I began spasming against San's chest.

San held me in his arms and let go of my nipple with a small 'pop'. I buried my face onto his chest in shame - I had just orgasmed with my nipples, alone.

San gently laid me back and we stared at each other wide-eyed, both of us clearly shocked at what just happened. Surprisingly, San doesn't comment on it. He leans in and gives me a kiss on my forehead.

"Good girl," he murmured. He put my arms around his neck and he buried his head on my neck and rocked my back and forth. "That's my good girl, just relax, okay? I got you..."

The way he was looking at me with such tender eyes and there was an expression in it that I couldn't exactly pinpoint. His soothing voice filled my ears and I let myself get lost in San for a moment.

"My pretty girl, oh, my Y/N..."

"Everything about you is so beautiful to me."

"I adore you so much, you know?"

"You are so perfect, and you are mine."

That hit me like a ton of bricks. I broke away from a confused San and my tears started to fall from my face. This was so wrong, what was I doing? But he felt so good with me...

"Baby doll, please don't cry," he pleaded.

"I can't do this," I started to try and get up. "Please get away from me..."

He releases a sigh and holds me in place. "Listen to me," his voice held an edge to it. I turned my head rebelliously and gasped when he held my jaw tightly and forced me to look at him. "Listen," he growled, eyes glazed in unparalleled anger.

I was having a small panic attack. "I just need a moment---"

San slapped my already aching jaw with a force enough for me to get out of it, but not enough for me to bawl in pain. "Listen to me," he snapped. "Silence. Not a sound from you."

I nodded my head quickly, afraid. "If you resist, I will punish you," he threatened. "And you know how I'm going to do it?"

I held in a whimper, truly afraid since San had this crazed manic expression on his face that I've never, ever seen him have. "Well," he smirked. "Let's hope you don't find out."

He gets up and quickly drags me using my arms to straddle him. "Wrap your hands around me," he demanded.

I did as asked and he grabbed my hips to immobilize me. San looked up at me with such intensity and I can't help but look away. I felt exposed and humiliated and I couldn't help but let out a small moan when I felt his hardness twitch underneath me.

"What was that?" he mocked. "What did I tell you about making a sound, you whore?"

I breathed hard and heavy, my exposed breasts moving about, but I didn't answer him back, scared that my response would trigger him.

"Answer me," he demanded.

"P-Punish," I stuttered pathetically.

"Correct," San grinned and it resembled a rabid animal who was ready to pounce on its unsuspecting victim. "Little sluts like you need to be dominated."

I was wide-eyed when he grabbed my hair and manually moved my head up and down. "That's right," he laughed sadistically. "Good girl."

San leaned in and put his lips against mine in a rough kiss. When I refused, he pulled the back of my hair again until I gasped in pain. His tongue plunged inside my mouth and I tried to turn but he painfully pulled my hair again as he moved away slightly.

"Stop it," he whispered against my lips. "I'm not going to hurt you."

He pushed my head and he kissed me again, this time, more gentle and more considerate. I tried to see what he was going to do if I moved, and true to my suspicions, I felt his hand tightening against my hair again.

Having no choice, I gave in to what he wanted. San groaned in my mouth and pressed his harder, playing with my tongue sensually as he massaged my tits. My skin began to feel warm and my heart began to beat faster and faster and I was pretty sure he felt it. Or was that his own heart beating with mine?

When San touched my cheek with frenzied motions, I hissed and I couldn't help but moan in protest. He pulled back and tenderly touched my face where a bruise was forming.

"What happened?" he asked softly. "Was it..?"

I quickly shook my head. "No, I-I mean, well, I barely felt the slap and you didn't even do it hard."

It was true. I don't mean to defend his actions, he's an asshole for that but even in a haze, I felt him repressing and it was only meant to break my panic attack.

"I'm sorry, doll, please tell me what happened," San murmured apologetically, his words somewhat loving.

I hesitated but the look in his eyes was so soft that I just had to. It was the gentle San that everyone knew him for when everyone would ask for his advice and wisdom. I bit my lip, remembering that there was a time where I almost went to him.

"Earlier in the car," I began muttering. "I didn't meet up with friends, I-I, uhm..."

"Go on," San assured me, tenderly rubbing my arms.

"I didn't meet up with my friends like I said I did," I revealed. "My ex called to try and get back with me. He got handsy when I-I said no."

His hands tighten on my arms and his eyes transform into a murderous glare. He pulls me into a hug and pulls away. "I'm going to fucking kill him," he cursed under his breath intensely.

"And you," he continued, putting my face in his hands. "You will never, ever interact with him ever again. You're going to tell me if he bothers you again, okay?"

I nodded apprehensively, unsure of what to say. "Good," San kissed my forehead. I bit back a cry of surprise when he laid me down on the bed and started to crawl his way down.

"W-Wait, what are you doing?" I panicked when he lifted the other half of my nightgown and lifted my legs to rest on his shoulders.

"I'm going to make you forget about that scum," he declared like he was telling me the weather. "Until you only know me."

I was still confused as he hadn't taken his boxers off, that is, until I finally got a good look at him. He was handsome, the type that can bring you to your knees. His dark hair was disheveled and when my eyes traveled down to his chest, I wasn't surprised to see that he was fit and the muscles on his abdominal area were very prominent.

The arms he used to leave my legs up were massive and I can tell he spent a lot on the gym working them out. However, it was nothing compared to the tent he had on his boxers. I'm not one to usually comment on it, but I can tell he was big. It's super cliche and honestly, it made me cringe to even think about, but I've only heard of that size in the novels I read.

"You look so beautiful," he suddenly said. His stare was so intense and serious that I couldn't help but blush. "I mean it, Y/N. You're beautiful. I'm going to make you believe it."

Before I could say anything, I felt his fingers touch my slit. I bit my lip to stop the moan that threatened to pass my lips, but when San pressed on my clit, I had to let out a muffled mewl.

"Don't hold back on me now," he smirked, rubbing my nub gently at first. "I told you, you will forget everything but me."

My eyes widened when he licked his fingers and went back down there. The roughness of fingers added a new sensation I never thought I'd feel and it was bringing me such shame that I was even feeling this way.

"San, please," I mewled again when he added more pressure in his ministrations.

Suddenly, his fingers were gone and it was quickly replaced by his mouth. "San!" I screamed in surprise.

I felt him laugh and the vibration of it caused me to arch my back and accidentally rub myself in his mouth. San took advantage of this and dove his tongue between my folds, lapping at anything he could get his tongue on.

"Just like that, doll, " he spoke in between his licking and sucking.

I moaned loudly, my hands grabbing on the blankets in pleasure. He kissed my clit and gently suctioned on it, releasing it and doing it again and that tingling sensation from down there came back, but this one felt different; stronger.

"San, stop, it feels weird," I moaned and sighed, closing my eyes involuntarily and shaking a bit against San's mouth.

"Quiet," he murmured, ignoring my plea and continuing on.

I choked on my breath when I felt his finger slip inside my pussy while he still licked. It hurt a bit, but nothing crazy. He pushed deeper and farther, until he stopped unexpectedly and quickly got up to look at my face with the most shocked expression I've ever seen him have.

"You're a virgin," he reeled in disbelief. "You're a virgin?"

I looked at him wide-eyed, embarrassed. My breath was quicker and it made me breathless. "I am," I admitted.

"B-But how? You're so beautiful," he stammered, clearly still in shock.

"I-I've been waiting for the right person."

He closed my legs, leaned his forehead on my knees, and a deep groan that was similar to a suffering soldier sounded at the back of his throat. He laid there for a moment until he got up from the bed and paced around my room.

I was left laying down on the bed as I watched him go through something akin to a midlife crisis. My virginity was the reason why my ex left me and why nobody stayed with me. I wanted someone true, someone I was sure I wanted to be with and vice versa.

San briskly walked around, stopping to face palm himself, then stayed in his spot to raise his head in frustration. He collected himself before he marched towards me with a stormy expression.

He leaned down and gave me a chaste kiss on my forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled away and walked off to where his clothes were and started putting them on.

His gaze was steely when he looked at me. "I'm leaving," he said, voice tight.

I sat up slowly as I watched him put his sweater last and then his jewelry, a little surprised at the turn of events. "You are?" I couldn't help but ask, slightly confused.

San nodded. "I am."

I wasn't complaining at all. This was a blessing in disguise. "I don't get it," I said as I covered my exposed chest with a blanket. "Why now?"

San exhaled a sharp breath, barely controlling himself. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment and he opened them again, he looked so tortured.

"Y/N, I cannot touch you," he whispered. "I want you so fucking bad. I don't just want you. I need you."

I couldn't breath, my chest was so tight. He exhaled a sharp breath again. "I won't be able to stop myself right now if I don't leave. I want to fuck you so bad, stick my dick in you and fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name."

"But not like this," he shook his head. "I don't want your first to be like this. I don't want to hurt you."

I was so stunned at his admission. "So we're...done here?" I asked softly, unsure of what was even happening.

"Yes. We are."

"What now, then? What's going to happen after this?"

San paused. "I don't know. I'll live my life, and you'll go back to ignoring me."

"Alright," I whispered. I was trembling as I tried to mend the straps of my nightgown enough for me to wear it temporarily so I wasn't too exposed in front of San. Not that it mattered, he's seen everything.

I stood up from my bed and San headed through the door to leave when he suddenly paused. He turned around and faced me hesitantly. "Have a good night," he said.

I nodded and turned to look at the damaged window where he came through earlier to break in my room. "How am I supposed to fix this?" I lamented.

He turned and marched towards the window and inspected it closely. I stared at the way he furrowed and unfurrowed his brows in concentration.

He stared me down and back at the window and he definitely got snappy. "I'll pay somebody to fix it tomorrow," he announced tensely.

"Why are you mad?" I asked.

He raised a brow. "I'm not," he denied.

I frowned but I let it go. "There's going to be a storm tomorrow," I sighed. "Nobody in their right mind will come down tomorrow."

"Can you call your parents right now?" San asked gruffly.

I shook my head. "They live abroad."

His brows raise in surprise and curiosity but he doesn't dwell on it. "Friends?"

"I didn't lie when I said they lived in the next city."

He ran his fingers on his hair with annoyance, his tongue poking his cheek with a scowl. "Doll, you can't stay here."

I smiled without humour in irony. I wanted to tell him that technically, this problem I'm having right now is his fault but I don't. I'm too tired to argue.

I heard him sigh. "Get dressed," he said. "I have tools in my apartment that we can both grab so I can do it today, myself."

"Okay," I murmured.

San nodded. "I'll wait outside."

When I was done, I saw San leaning towards my doorway and I had to suppress staring at him. He looked good, but he looked aggravated when he saw me, and he reached down for my hand and he began walking us through the complex.

I breathlessly tried to keep up with him. This is going to be the first time I'm seeing where San's apartment is. His hand felt warm in mine and without pausing, he walked both of us to the furthest part of the complex.

"No wonder we barely saw each other," I couldn't help but state. "You live on the other side."

He didn't reply. He took one glance at me and continued walking. I followed him obediently without question.

I had an idea where he was leading me. The complex was split into three parts - the regular kind, the modernized kind, and the luxurious kind. I lived on the second one, and true to my suspicions, San lived on the third kind.

"You live here?" I asked in awe.

I was so fascinated with this area and the fact that San was known to everybody. People here barely interact with anybody, that would mean that San would go out of his way to go join and seek out the people in the regular part.

I was so taken aback by my own thoughts that I didn't realize that we were by his door.

"Yes, almost two years now," he replied flatly. "After you."

Unsurprisingly, the interior looked grand and deluxe, albeit a little empty. It made sense, San seemed like a minimalist person and it showed both in how he dressed and designed his home.

He tilted his head towards a door at the end of the hallway. "Tools should be over there," he said, not looking me in the eye. "Let's go."

It was obvious that this was his bedroom when we both went in. The room was large, there was a king sized bed in the middle of it and a couple of pictures hung all over the area. I went and inspected them closely and saw that he was with a couple of people.

"Family?" I asked.

He hummed in response while he took his suit off and hung them somewhere. "Sort of. They're lifelong friends."

He stepped towards the bedroom door, closed it slowly, and turned the lock before he faced me. I was confused, when he looked at me, his eyes were the darkest I have ever seen.

"Get on the bed," he commanded. "I'm going to fuck you."

I didn't fully understand what he said. I thought I heard him wrong, but he was dead serious. "W-What?"

His eyes never left me as he stalked towards me like a predator. "I said," his tone was grim. "Get on the bed."

My eyes widened and the wind was knocked out of my chest. "B-But you said you weren't going to touch me," I whimpered.

"I know what I said," he snapped, his jaw clenching hard. "I'm taking it back."

San stepped forward and stopped a couple of feet away from me. I stared at him wary and not knowing what to do. I'm sure my eyes held terror. "Don't do this," I pleaded.

I yelped when San pushed me on the bed. He stood by it and watched me scramble to get up. I was truly frightened at the person in front of me. He leaned over and placed his hands on the bed while he stared at me.

"You don't get it do you?" San grimaced. "There are no tools. At least, not in my bedroom."

My eyes widened in realization. His eyes narrowed in veiled anger as he continued. "Why would you come here with me? I broke into your apartment and almost took you against your will! Do I look like the safest person to be with right now?"

My chest fell and ragged breaths escaped me, but he wasn't done yet. "Don't you think with your brain?" San hissed. "You are at my mercy right now. If I want to take you, no one would know."

"Are you going to...?" I whispered.

His scowl deepened. "Yes."

It all happened too fast and I had no time to dispute him. My shirt and pants were off in less than a minute and he slammed me against the bed.

"San, wait---"

I gasped when he slid a finger inside me quickly and I was unable to stop the small whimper of pleasure I felt. That felt a little too good. I didn't even notice that his clothes were gone too, and I couldn't help but look down.

My suspicions were unfortunately right - he was not small. And he was hard. I may be a virgin, but of course I knew what dicks looked like. It was very imposing, it made my heart beat with hesitation and a little fear.

I tensed when he got on top of me and I felt him kiss my forehead softly. "I'm sorry," I heard him whisper.

I subconsciously pressed my fingers on his shoulder, trying hard not to look up at him or even inhale. The scent of him, alone, was driving me mad. I felt him hot and hard, pressing against my hole, and he thrust in bit by bit.

"Oh God, San, I can't," I cried out. The pain was so intense that it brought hot tears to my eyes. I heard him groan when I clawed his back.

"I'm sorry, I'll be careful," San cooed as he gave me tiny, little kisses here and there.

A strangled cry was torn from me when I felt him move again. His pleasure filled moans hit my ears, the vibrations from his chest sending tingles to my spine. "San..."

"Just a bit more, baby," he whispered. "You can take it, I know you can..."

He made small, gentle thrusts and I couldn't help but applaud the patience he had for this. I can feel how he was dying to just thrust in one go. I groaned again, fully wrapping my arms around his neck, in pain. I knew it was painful for the first time, but this pain was a bit too much.

"Fuck," he hissed, looking down at me with lust in his eyes. "I'm sorry, are you alright?"

I nodded and he took it as his signal to push in a little more. When he completely bottomed out, I couldn't help but moan loudly. The pain felt like the good kind.

"Oh fuck," he groaned. "Your cunt was made for me."

He pressed a hot kiss on my shoulder. The dirty talk was making me dizzy and I felt warm tingles spread all over my skin. San stayed inside me, unmoving, for a while and we decided I've warmed up enough, he began thrusting.

"San, it hurts," I yelped in slight pain. If I was being honest, it felt unbelievably good.

"Just take it for now, baby, it's going to feel better soon, I promise," he pecked my lips before he buried head on my shoulders.

And he was right. I swallowed a moan when San began to pick up the pace a bit. I didn't realize that I was moving my hips to his pace until I heard San whisper the dirtiest things in my ear.

"Y/N, fuck, Y/N, Y/N," San moaned my name like a prayer with each vicious thrust of his hips. "Doll, please tell me I can go faster than this, please."

I moaned in response, not being able to formulate a single word. San goes from fully gentle to straight up rearranging my insides. "San, San, t-too fast!"

Each thrust of his cock sent shockwaves through my body and it didn't take too long for my laboured breathing to turn into wanton moans with the way he went in and out with his quick rhythm. I felt him twitching, pulsating, inside of me and I squeezed.

"Don't do that, baby," San groaned. "God, you feel so fucking good…”

He pushed onto me and took my mouth in a stormy, demanding kiss. I felt his hand reaching from my hip to my front and his fingers pressed up to my clit.

"You like this, doll?" San asked tentatively.

I nodded my head and kissed his neck. "I do, don't stop."

His fingers stroke me, his thrusts not slowing down. Tears from the slight pain and pleasure combined fell from my eyes and his speed built back up, slamming into me so hard, I screamed loudly over and over again.

"Just like, Y/N, come, yes, come for me," San bit my shoulder and it was over.

It was my first orgasm from fucking and my body spasmed against him so hard, San had to hold me down.

"Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so fucking good," San's muffled moans felt intense against my skin. "You're mine, okay?"

"S-San, oh, San---"

I screamed when he grabbed my hair and bit my ear. "Say it," he growled. "Say you're fucking mine."

"San---"

"Say it, goddamn it, fucking say it!"

His thrusts got more brutal, ferocious, more ruthless. "Okay, okay!" I moaned. "I'm all yours!"

"Fuck," he got out and thrusted back in roughly. I saw stars then and there. "You're mine, you're mine, fuck.”

His thrust went even faster than before, the bed was squeaking very loud, and the slapping of skin against skin more obscene than before. It was agonizing as I was still sensitive and I felt another wave of pleasure come, but this time, there was no pain.

"S-San, f-fuck, I-I can't---"

"I want my cum in you," he abruptly cut off, slamming into me so hard I was afraid I would bruise just from his thrusts alone. "God, I want my fucking cum in you."

"Please," I cried. "I-I can't do this anymore---"

He shushed me gently, slowing his thrusts down, but it was worse because he was doing long, deep thrusts instead. "One more, baby," he murmured. "Give me one more and I'll stop."

He kissed me hard. "I'm going to fucking pump you full of cum, doll, I'm going to breed the fuck out of you, fuck, this body deserves to be filled up..."

His words did something to me and I just came without warning. I screamed, my body shaking, shuddering beneath him. I felt warm liquid gush inside me and San's deep groans hit my ears and it felt more intense than the last.

"Good girl," San gave me a hot kiss on my neck and I shuddered.

I moaned when he pulled out, though it stung a bit. I felt his fingers dip back in there and when he put it up, we both groaned at the sight of his cum glistening and stringy against the light.

"Open up," he murmured. I hesitated but did as told anyway.

He put his cum-stained fingers inside my mouth and I grimaced at the salty, bitter taste. "I don't like it," I complained.

San laughed out loud and crashed on top of me, exhausted. I almost fell asleep when I felt him get up and leave the room. It hit me of what I have just done, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

I groaned in protest when I felt something cold and wet down there and I opened my eyes to see it was San concentrating on cleaning me up like he was getting paid to do it with a damp towel gently and slowly.

"Thanks," I murmured. "I...should get going."

He stares at me, all traces of roughness, maliciousness, and sociopathy gone on his face. He looked like the San I'd come to admire from afar before all of this happened.

He titled his head. "Why?"

I frowned. "Isn't this customary? I'm not sure if you want me to stay. People will see, it's already morning."

"Let them see," he shrugged. "Of course I want you to stay. Plus, it's not like it's much of a secret, anyway."

That piqued my curiosity and all traces of sleep went away. "What do you mean?"

He finished cleaning me up, discarded the towel in the nearest bin, and tucked my legs back in the softest, most comfortable blanket I've ever laid down on. It probably cost more than my whole bed set.

I blushed when he smiled at me. It wasn't a fake or imposing one - it was genuine. "I'll be right back, okay? Then we'll talk."

True to his words, he went back, but this time, he had a glass full of water and two shirts. He guided me up to sit down and brought the glass to my mouth, the only thing I had to do was make an effort to swallow. I had to suppress a satisfied moan when the water hit the back of my throat. All the screaming before and after sex...

"Arms up," he coaxed. I was confused but did so anyway. He put what I assume was his shirt on me, and then put the other shirt on his own body.

I let him do what he wanted, the resistance felt so tiring to me. This was the man that violated me in every way possible, yet why do I feel this pull towards him?

I already knew the answer - there was always something there. Now that he had taken my virginity, the pull has increased tenfold, and the way he was so sweet to me was a mystery on its own.

"So, how many?" I asked when he laid down next to me and put my head against his chest.

"How many what?" San asked.

"You know," I gestured between the two of us. "How many girls have you done this to?"

I was referring to the break in. He frowned and shook his head. "I am deeply offended, but I understand so I can't be mad. The answer is zero."

"You expect me to believe that?" I deadpanned. "You were an expert in being a criminal."

"It's not that," he sighed. "I can't count the times I stayed awake in this very bed and pretended you were mine. That was enough practice on its own."

He kissed the top of my head. "And I told you," he continued. "It's not a secret."

"What do you mean, San?"

"I wasn't subtle about it, everyone literally knew I liked you," he chuckled. "No offense doll, but you're dense as fuck."

"Funny," I muttered, unimpressed.

San laughed. "No, seriously. I did everything to try and get your attention, I sent flowers to your doorstep every Friday, for God's sake."

My eyes widen and I look up at him. "That...was you?"

"Who did you think it was?"

I paused, hesitant, remembering his words earlier. "M-My ex..."

It was the reason why I even met up with him in the first place. I thought he was trying to win me back using his cheap ways. San stared at me, and I could see the anger slowly rising in his eyes, but alas, in the end he ignored it, thankfully.

"Hmm," he hummed. "If he tries something, tell me. I'm not just saying this just because of what happened between us, but as a human being concerned for another's well-being. What he did was wrong."

I nodded. That seemed fair for now. I tried to suppress the blush that was threatening to flare my cheeks up. His words make it difficult for me to hate him, for now.

"Having said that," he cleared his throat. "I tried to chauffeur you too, at the bus station."

"And I meant it when I said I didn't want to impose," I mumbled.

"The point is, anyone with two eyes can see it, doll. I always seeked you out of everyone," he sighed.

He cupped my face in his hands and looked straight into my eye. "I know you have feelings for me, and it's driving me crazy that you haven't realized it yet. I'm sorry it had to be this way."

"But what you did was wrong," I frowned, putting my small hands on his to push him away so he wouldn't see how distraught I was because he was telling the truth. "Just because I'm not putting up a fight, doesn't mean I'm happy. Why did you do it?"

San looked so crestfallen and I hesitated for a bit. "I...don't know," he admitted. "I'm so, so sorry, doll. Please don't push me away."

"You don't even know anything about me besides the basics" I sighed.

Held my hand tenderly. "Then let's try now," he smiled tightly, hopefully. "You said your parents were abroad, where?"

I stared at him, giving in eventually. "Yes. In London," I replied tentatively. It was a lie, but he won't know.

"Ah. Migrants?"

"No, I laughed a bit. "I was actually born there."

"So you have that accent?" San teased.

"Maybe, you tell me," I said with the said accent.

I reveled in his surprised face. "So why are you here, then?" San asked, genuinely interested.

"We went here for a vacation but I fell in love being here and yeah, I stayed," I chuckled. "It's probably why I caught your eye, because I moved differently."

San shook his head at me. "No," he said. "You would've caught my eye, regardless, United Kingdom or not."

He hesitated, pausing. "I know you're lying."

It was my turn to be surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Why you're here," he said. I was about to say something when he cut me off. "It's okay, you can tell me when you're ready."

I smiled at him. "Maybe one day."

"I'm just a little concerned about the age gap for now," he confessed. "And I know you are too."

"It's not that," I clarified. "Someone your age would prefer looking for someone your age, not someone ten years younger."

"Does it bother you?" San raised a brow.

"No, not in the slightest," I replied truthfully.

For the first time after we were done, San gave me a genuine smile. It was the type that reached his eyes; the type that reached a part of my heart I've been denying.

The next day, I woke up alone in San's bed on what seemed to be in the middle of the afternoon.

I couldn't suppress a hiss when I sat up. Besides my pussy, my entire body felt sore. I'm not surprised, we literally went straight into it. It made me realize that I was so out of shape and I needed to catch up.

When I felt the side of the bed, it was still relatively warm. San must've gotten up half an hour before me.

Which wasn't a bad thing. Now that I'm alone in my thoughts, I can focus on thinking about what to do from here not just for me and San, but for myself without him. I couldn't deny that the sex was mind blowing, but I had basically forfeited any real chance I had to erase myself from San's life and vice versa.

Giving in was a no-brainer. No matter how hard I tried, I knew all my efforts would have been proven futile in the grand scheme of things. I screwed myself up, however. And now, I want more.

After some more thinking, I decided to get up and talk to San. I put back on my underwear but I didn't bother wearing some pants, and San's shirt was large anyway. I just have to be careful not to bend over.

I was instantly hit with the smell of food when I got close to the kitchen, after much exploring, and my stomach began to rumble uncontrollably.

San was sitting by the kitchen island drinking a cup of coffee. He typed away on his laptop with furrowed brows. I watched the man I spent the night with - he wore a black shirt paired with black jeans yet he still managed to look good.

My heart palpitated when I realized he was wearing a pair of glasses. I've never seen him wear glasses before. He looked sophisticated, more chic, more attractive.

"Working?" I said out loud when he still didn't notice me.

San finally lifted his head up to look at me and his eyes slightly widen. I suddenly felt self-conscious when he started slowly taking in body slowly from head to toe until his eyes reached my face. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he gulped.

"Morning, well, afternoon," he snapped out of his trance. "Come sit. I ordered some food for us."

"This is a lot," I murmured when I sat down and tried to pick what I was going to eat. "Why did you order this much?"

"I didn't know what you wanted," he shrugged. "And I didn't want to wake you up to ask, better safe than sorry. Coffee?"

I nodded awkwardly. It was harder to be normal around him than I thought. San seemingly wasn't affected at all - he was still the confident, undaunting, self-assured, and bold man I knew who I was always careful with even before all of this.

He sat back down on his chair. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"Yes."

"That's good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I cringed at how awkward I was acting. Not that I wasn't before, but I was more so now that we've far more things that normal acquaintances do. San smirked widely at my predicament, clearly enjoying the effect he has on me.

"I'm leaving in an hour," he said. "Something came up at work, but I'll be back before sunset."

He looked at me to gauge my reaction. "I would like it if you were still here when I come back, I'll take you out to dinner. If not, I understand."

I had to stop the urge to smirk, myself. Wasn't dinner supposed to come first before the sex? This is going nowhere, I thought. It's either I talk to him now or I won't do it all. It was now or never.

"Uh, San," I cleared my throat. He looked at me expectantly and I almost backed out. "Can I talk to you?"

All the humour and mirth disappeared from his face and he became so rigid and tense right before my very eyes as if knew what I was going to say. In hindsight, we both knew he did.

"Okay," he mumbled.

I took a deep breath and laid it all out on him. "You don't need me to tell you again that taking me against my will whether or not we had sex was wrong."

San listened attentively. "You hurt my feelings," I croaked, my appetite suddenly going down. "You violated me, you couldn't approach me like a normal person? You could have knocked on my door."

Tears started to fall from my eyes but San looked twice as hurt as I did, if that was even possible. "Doll, please," he pleaded, reaching out to hold my hand but I didn't let him. He looked even more hurt. "I'm sorry, please don't say you're going to leave--"

"San, 'sorry' isn't going to cut it," I interjected rather harshly. "They way you went about this was so, so wrong. What were you even thinking?"

He didn't say anything for a while. "I don't know."

I saw red. "You don't know?" I scoffed. "What do you know?! Which one is the real San?"

"I know that my feelings for you are very, very strong," he answered without any hint of deception in his eyes. "You know who I am, Y/N."

"I wouldn't say that, you genuinely scared me last night."

He sighed before burying his face in his hands and groaning softly in frustration. "I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry, my doll, I'm so, so sorry. I truly am. I don't want to lose you, not like this."

When he looked up at me again, I held back a gasp of surprise when I saw his eyes glistening with tears. "I was wrong, I know I'm a piece of shit," he sniffled. "I'm sorry for scaring you, you were right, I was sick in the head. I don't know why I did what I did, and I have absolutely no excuses for it."

I felt limp and San took that opportunity to hold my hand in his and repeatedly kissed it and my heart ached. I felt lighter though, I know the apology was shit compared to what I went through, but the acknowledgement was much appreciated on my side.

"I'll make it up to you, okay?" San guaranteed. "You said you were waiting for the right person?"

He gave my hand another hot kiss. "I'm going to prove I'm the right person for you, Y/N, I promise you," he assured with desperation. "Even if it takes a lifetime, please baby, just one chance..."

Call me a bitch, but I intended to make him stew a little bit.

"One chance, San, just one," I whispered. "If you screw up, I'm going back to London."

I won't go back to London though, that was the last place I'd go, but it was just a just-in-case type of a thing if he does screw up.

San buried his face in my hand in an attempt to cover the silent cry he was pouring out of his system. "Thank you," he whispered. "Can I hug you?"

I shook my head firmly. "No," I denied. "You don't deserve anything."

San pouted, and damn it, it was cute. "Okay."

He wasn't the only one screwed anyway - I may honestly be more screwed than him. I've liked him for so long but I was always afraid that he wouldn't look at me. When he found out I was a virgin and he stopped, I fell for him a bit more. If only he didn't fuck me afterwards.

The fault wasn't his own though. I didn't push him away. For now, it was better this way so I can gauge his sincerity, especially about why I wasn't in London in the first place.

A couple of months passed since that fateful night, and true to his words, San did everything and anything possible to get into my good side.

We were the talk of the whole complex. San wasn't exactly the most private person when he was trying to show his affection. It was uncomfortable since the whole complex seemed to cheer when they found out San was trying to woo me, but I slowly got used to it.

Sometimes I would even look forward to it. I do feel a little bad sometimes because maybe I was power-tripping a little bit but the tiniest complaint from me and San would get into action.

"How was your meeting?" I asked when he entered my apartment.

He sat down on the couch with a heavy sigh. "Terrible," he groaned. "Bastards are trying to haggle from us with at least 30% of the original price. It's ridiculous."

I never denied him of time either. I knew I liked him so it wasn't difficult at all for me, so we would hang out at each other's places, though more him in mine than vice versa.

We were in an odd spot, we were technically together but not at the same time because we never got intimate or held hands or kissed. Not ever since that night.

"So what did you do?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Oh. I said yes."

I raised a brow in surprise. "You did? That's a huge percentage, San. "

"Don't worry," he brushed off with a smirk. "You know me, doll, I always have to get something in return. Wait here."

He went outside again and he was gone for approximately half an hour before he came back again, this time, he was carrying a box.

"What's that?" I asked out of curiosity when he set it down at the dining table.

"It's for you, my doll," he smiled. "Open it."

I hesitated, staring at him apprehensively, to which he laughed. "Seriously," San insisted. "You'll like it, I promise, there's no bugs in there or something."

I picked it up and turned it slightly. It was a lot heavier than I thought. I raised my eye to San, and he had this look that was a mixture of pride and fear of rejection. Carefully, I lifted the covers of the box and was surprised at what I saw.

"Yubari King!" I exclaimed in genuine surprise. I looked up at San and he beamed ear to ear at my expression. "San? How?"

"That 30% I was talking about earlier, I exchanged it for these babies," he carefully tapped the expensive melon. "Our client had Japanese connections, you'll get more of these soon."

When San asked if he could get me something, I mentioned these in passing because I know they were extremely difficult to find in Korea and are on the expensive side as well.

"Y-You didn't have to," I said, feeling extra guilty.

"I told you," he smiled, grabbing my hand to kiss me. "I meant it when I said I'll do anything for you."

"Thank you, San, I really appreciate it," I murmured, giving him a small hug. "You're going overboard, I'm telling you."

"I'm really not," he teased. "How about you slice that for us? I kinda wanna try it."

And that I did. The moment I bit into it, I couldn't help but moan out in satisfaction. It was so crunchy, the middle of it the sweetest I have ever tried, and it really put it into perspective why these were very expensive.

"Holy fuck," San exclaimed. "I can't believe this actually tastes good."

"What were you expecting anyway?" I teased.

"I was hoping they'd taste like shit so I couldn't justify the price," he rolled his eyes playfully.

"So thanks to you, we're eating good shit," I chuckled.

"Yeah?" San smiled. "Would it be possible to get a kiss, at least?"

I froze, my arms and legs becoming a bit rigid. San notices and visibly panics. "No, I'm sorry--"

"We agreed that I was going to do this on my own time?" I was frowning, trying very hard to keep my voice leveled, but I was shaking a bit. I put the last slice of the melon and chewed on it rather roughly.

"You're right, baby---"

"Don't call me that," I hissed.

San deflated, looking visibly upset. I felt so bad, but I can't help the way I felt. "Sorry," he whispered.

This wouldn't be the first time I had snapped at him. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I wasn't ready for any sort of intimacy with him even though I did want to give him a chance. Maybe it was the small trauma he inflicted.

Deep down, I knew it was because I was scared that once I let him in, he would stop because maybe he only wanted me for the thrill I gave him and my body.

"I'm going to take a nap," I sighed as I got up from the couch and tried to head to my room.

"Ba--Y/N, please, please, I didn't mean to make you mad," San pleaded. "What can I do to make you feel better?"

"San, I don't know, go pick some four-leaf clovers, or something," I spat, finally closing the door behind me.

When I laid down on my bed, I felt a bit lonely and cold. Today, San was supposed to sleep here. Yeah, for people not dating, we would sleep in the same bed. It was my sick way of dealing with my bad memories of him; so I can replace them with good ones.

At the far corner of my room, my eyes landed on the bouquet of the most beautiful jasmines I have been taking care of for weeks now. My eyes teared up, San gave them to me and I was floored. They were very rare where we lived.

I hit an all time low depressive state today. It had been two weeks since San and I started trying for each other and a week since I last saw even his shadow.

Oh, I was pissed alright.

I sighed, I suppose I was right in not giving him a full chance because where was he? He literally disappeared, it was infuriating. It was one thing if he talked to me before and after, but no, absolutely nothing.

But behind all that anger, was sadness. I thought we were going to have something real despite the horrible start we had.

I sighed deeply and was about to go to my room and try to sleep everything out, but my doorbell suddenly rang. I was confused, I wasn't expecting anyone.

My eyes widened. Unless it was my parents. I got nervous, I wasn't ready to face them yet after running away.

I took a deep breath and opened the door, only to be face to face with someone I thought I'd never see again.

"San?"

He thrusted a bouquet of flowers in my hand. "Hi," he whispered.

"What the hell, Choi San?" I gritted my teeth. "You disappeared for a week without telling me where you were! I thought you left for good!"

"I'm sorry, doll, I really am," he frowned. "I didn't have service in Virginia."

"Virginia?" I raised my brow in genuine surprise. "What on God's green Earth were do you doing there?"

He smiled widely, looking proud of himself. "I bought you your favourite flowers."

"What are you talking about? Those are---oh my God," I gasped audibly when I took a good look at the bouquet.

They were blue jasmines, a very uncommon species of flowers mostly found in the United States. My eyes started to tear up. "San," my lips quivered.

"I'm sorry I took so long, but you deserve the best," he assured, his smile growing bigger. "I told you I'd do anything for you."

I woke up all of a sudden, the pitter-patter of the rain hitting my windowsill loudly interrupting my nap. Suddenly, my mind went to San immediately.

I went out of my room to check if he was still here. I felt horrible for snapping at him and I intended to apologize. I was confused when I didn't see him because his jacket and phone were both still here.

"San?" I called out of nowhere while I tried to look at every nook and cranny in my room, but he was nowhere to be found.

I decided to go in my small backyard, knowing San wouldn't be there anyway, but my feet took me to my destination in my half asleep state.

I was about to leave after looking around, but my head quickly whipped back around to do a double-take. My jaw dropped instantly, I was wrong, San was here.

"Oh God," I whispered, horrified.

There he was, the big and strong man kneeling down the soaked grass searching for something in a way so concentrated, you would think he was looking for gold underneath the soil.

He was looking for a four-leaf clover. What have I done?

Without thinking, I quickly ran towards him in the pouring rain, not caring if I wasn't wearing any slippers or carrying an umbrella, I just wanted to get him out of there.

"San, you idiot!" I screamed in frustration, quickly kneeling beside him to try and get him up. "Stop it!"

He was startled at first. "Doll, you're going to get sick," he frowned. "Go inside, I'm sorry I can't find any---"

"Forget it, I didn't mean it like that, please," I begged in exasperation. "I don't want you to get sick!"

We both stood in the middle of the grassy yard, not caring if the rain hit us. "You care about me?" San asked quietly.

"Of course I care about you!" I exclaimed, stomping my feet on the ground as if it would help me explain my thoughts. "I care about you a lot, you dummy."

He revealed a dimpled smile - a smile that was only reserved for me. "I'm glad," he spoke, grabbing me by the arm, then the head, and then leaned in to give me a kiss.

I kissed him back with equal desperation. It was everything I needed right now and the sparks that traveled through our bodies were intensifying the unspoken feelings between the two of us. Yeah, intense would be the word I'd use.

Before we both knew it, our clothes were gone and we were a mess trying to have each other on my bed, not caring if we were both wet from the rain. It might sound ridiculous, but there was no other way to describe what we were doing but making love.

"This is something you want, right?" San asked. "You'll have me, and you're going to want me to have you."

"More than anything in the world," I replied.

"Y/N, I mean it," he kissed my lips. "I want all of you, not just your body."

"Show me," I whispered.

All our pretense and doubt went out and the world melted away into nothing. Everything was raw and intense, every breath fast and both our hearts were finally becoming into one. This was only our second time being this intimate, and maybe I was delusional, but this one felt better than the first. Maybe because I had feelings for San this time. Everything happened as quickly as it started.

"I won't let you down," San murmured, hugging me and giving me a tender kiss on my forehead once everything was said and done. "My feelings for you are deep."

"As mine are," I tilted my head to meet his lips. "Just don't break through my window again."

San laughed loudly. "I won't," he turned to the window he fixed up quite well. "On one condition."

"The audacity," I playfully rolled my eyes. "What is it?"

"Be my girlfriend?"

I frowned. "I thought that was a given?"

"Oh," he shrugged. "I wanted to ask anyway. Is that a yes?"

I nodded and was about to say something witty to him, when my phone rang loudly in the background. Without thinking nor looking at the screen, I answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Oh, Y/N, it's about time you answered," my dad's irritated voice sounded from the phone.

I yelped in surprise and stared at a curious San. "Ah, D-Dad, can I c-call you back in a minute or two?"

I hung up before my dad could even say no. I hit my forehead frustratedly with my fist while mentally how dumb I was.

"Doll? Is everything okay?" San asked, worried. "Why'd you hang up? This wouldn't be the first time either."

I peered at him cautiously. "You noticed, huh?"

"Is it related to why you don't want to go back to London?"

"Yes," I sighed. "I'll explain later, let's get dressed first."

I dressed hurriedly because knowing my father, he would call back if I was even a second or two late from the promised time. If San and I were going to be together, he needs to know why I'm here. It's just a shame that he had to find out this way.

"It's okay, doll, I'm here if anything," San assured while the phone rang. "Oh, he picked up."

I panicked a bit and positioned the front camera to my face and out of San's. "Dad!"

“I'm disappointed that my only daughter doesn't want to talk to me," my dad's face held a little sadness, but nothing crazy. "Mingi and mom say hi."

"Who's Mingi?" San hissed. He winced a bit when I kicked him on the leg.

"I'm sure my brother," I glared pointedly at San. "And mum is fine."

My dad rolled his eyes dramatically. I guess that's where I got

my bratty attitude from. "They'd be better if you came back home," he sighed dejectedly. "Next time you don't answer your phone, I'm cutting off your allowance."

"Dad..."

"I'm serious, Y/N, I'm getting old," he began to say, and I got nervous because I knew what he was about to say next. "If you could just give my friend's son a chance, you might make a connection with him."

San's gaze went from curious to immediately pissed. He gave me a flat look of annoyance. "Don't say a word," I mouthed silently at him.

"Dad, you know I want to be with someone I truly liked," I sighed exhaustedly. "And I want the relationship to be natural, not because we were matchmarked with one another."

"I didn't tell you to marry him on the spot, sweetie," he said with a frown. "I'm not going to force you, but all I ask is an initial meet up and see where it goes from there."

When I didn't answer, my dad continued his tirade. "And what do you do, you rebellious child? You run away when you know we can't reach you!"

I glanced at San with a tight smile and a mutual understanding passed between us. Now that the truth was out, San looked weary and I got extremely nervous.

"I've met him plenty of times, he's a great guy, Y/N. Very polite, intelligent, and easy on the eyes too."

"I'm sure he is, dad," I chuckled nervously when San glared hard at the phone. He glared at it so hard I'm surprised laser beams haven't shot out from his eyes yet.

"If only you gave him a chance," my dad hummed thoughtfully. "He's a bit older than you are, but I'm sure you'll be in good hands."

"You know I'm not into older men," I mumbled under my breath. San had the gall to look extremely offended.

I muted myself really quickly and lifted my phone up so my dad couldn't see my annoyed face. "I'm just making excuses, don't give that look," I hissed at San. He just rolled his eyes like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"He's not that old," another voice said from the background who wasn't my father. He must be out with his friends somewhere.

San raised a tentative brow and slowly sat up, but I ignored him. He can stew for all I care. It's cute that he's jealous but this wasn't the right time, my dad might ask me to separate with San and I wasn't ready to get heartbroken yet, especially since we just made up.

"Ah, that's my friend, Cheol," my dad said. "Actually, it's his son that we were hoping to pair you up with---"

"Give me that shit, I can't take this anymore," San hissed and roughly grabbed the phone from my hands. I was about to protest loudly but when he gave me that especially terrifying glare of his, I sat back down.

"Please don't say anything stupid," I pleaded.

He raised a brow and rolled his eyes. He's really pissed, oh my. He cleared his throat and positioned the front camera properly towards his face. My dad must be so confused right now.

"Sir," San started with the most polite, but firm voice I've ever heard him speak. Spoken like a true business. "I'm your daughter's boyfriend and with all due respect, I really like---dad?"

I was so startled at San's voice but apparently so was he. It was like he saw a ghost with how pale and how wide his eyes have become.

"San? San! Is that you?! Give me that real quick, Hyun Sok..."

I swiftly sat beside San so we were both in the camera. I was so surprised I couldn't even say a word. We heard quick shuffles from the other line and another man that looked just like San, but older, also had this shocked expression.

"That was your dad?" San looked at me.

"That was your dad?" I shot back.

"What are you doing in London, dad?" San managed to say despite the shock.

"Never mind me, son, what are you doing there?" his dad queried. I saw my dad shuffle in the camera and if it wasn't for the situation, I would have laughed at how priceless his shocked expression was.

"I knew that voice sounded familiar," San grumbled.

"Well, since it came to this," San sighed. He held my hand and brought it up to the camera for both our fathers to see. "Dad, this is my girlfriend, Y/N. Doll, this is my father, Choi Jongcheol."

"Y/N? Is this true?" my dad inquired. I nodded in confirmation, afraid of his reaction, but instead me and San had the surprise of the lifetime when they started laughing loudly and chaotically.

"I gotta hand it to your son, Cheol, he sure gets the gold, know what I'm saying?"

"I taught him no less than that! Shit Sok, this was even better than we were hoping for!”

"Didn't even need to set them up for a dinner date, my God."

"Definitely went straight to dessert."

"Aye!"

"Okay," I spoke slowly and awkwardly. "Dad, what's going on?"

"Your boyfriend," he chuckled. "That's who I wanted you to meet a couple of years back!"

I was surprised, and so was San, with the new information. Now that I think about it, everything fit. The timeline of when San moved here, especially, and one time he did mention his father trying to set him up with someone but he also denied the offer.

"I thought you didn't want someone older?" my dad raised a brow mischievously.

"Some things change," I shrugged, trying hard to hide my blushing cheeks.

"How did you two meet?" Jongcheol asked curiously.

"You don't wanna know," San chuckled nervously. I blushed harder when he kissed my cheek in front of both our dads and both of them had this shit-eating grin on their faces.

"Well, we don't want to hold you guys," my dad said awkwardly and not making eye contact. I was confused until he said, "Your hair is messy, and San's shirt is on backwards."

I groaned in embarrassment and covered my face as I ducked away from the screen in order to save face. San chuckled softly at my demise.

"Well, be careful you two," San's dad teased and I heard my dad laughing in the background. "Use protection, Choi San, but not too much. We don't mind grandkids soon---"

"Dad! Ugh, so embarrassing!" San screamed and hung up.

He tossed the phone away somewhere on the bed as if it was the plague, itself. We both burst out laughing at the irony of the situation for ten minutes straight.

"Had I known it was you," I chuckled as I laid my head on his shoulder. "I'd have agreed immediately."

"We both didn't know, it's okay," San hummed. "We both ended up together anyway, didn't we?"

"True. The irony of it all, I can't believe this," I smiled. "Still, we could have met sooner."

"Sooner than that," he sighed. "Your brother has been trying to invite me to your house back then too. I just always said no because we were both busy trying to start the company."

I was startled. "You know my brother?"

I hadn't seen my brother, Mingi, for a while now. He was the reason why I was successful in moving here, though I never told him why. And my parents never told him either because I knew they didn't want to stress him out for his---

The realization hit me. Mingi was also ten years older than me, I was a happy accident, you see, and he was also trying to start a company with his friends here!

"Yes," San confirmed. "He's one of my best friends, didn't you see the photo by the doorway?"

I knew the photo he was referring to. It was the one that hung in his room, one of the very few decorations he had, that I was looking at where I thought it was his family at first and he said they were lifelong friends.

"I-I don't remember what it looked like," I admitted. San whipped out his phone and showed me the picture and my jaw hung open when I saw Mingi at the very top corner of the photo. "I've never seen Mingi with pink hair before, how was I supposed to know?!"

Needless to say, I was definitely going to call Mingi later. San laughed out loud at my expression and once again, we were laughing together.

"This fate thing is crazy," I giggled. "Do you regret anything?"

"Never," San shook his head. "I say we celebrate this new found information."

"And how do you propose we do that, Mr. Choi?" I teased.

I screamed when San got on top of me and he hovered over me with a playful smirk on his beautiful face. "I can think of a few ways," he pecked my lips. "What do you say?"

I giggled uncontrollably and nodded. We might not have started on the right track and some people might think I'm dumb for giving the man who forced me to his will a chance, but something tells me we're going to be fine.

By all means, San isn’t perfect and neither am I, but sometimes we need people who aren’t perfect to help us achieve what’s good for us, not what is right.

#ateez #ateez smut #kpop smut #san smut #san x reader #choi san #ateez hard hours #ateez au #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez imagines

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earthtooz · 2 years ago

Text

x : NO FEAR :*+ﾟ i wanna love you with no fear !

in which: itoshi rin rejected you, so why isn't he handling your avoidance well?

warnings: 5k wc, fluff with minor angst, jealous!rin, food cw, swearing, reo is reader's best friend, COLLEGE!AU, gn!reader, non-canon complaint

a/n: happy valentine's day !!! shoutout to @ryekoo for finally giving me inspo on what to do for the rin fic of my event - u rly saved my life <3

↳ 5K EVENT MASTERLIST ༉‧₊

you:i’m going to end you. <reo3: i’m too pretty to die ._. you: and you told me i was too pretty for itoshi rin to reject!?!?!?! <reo3: oh... <reo3: i’m sorry. <reo3: condolences fr.

with a disappointed sigh, you pocket your phone, decidedly ignoring the next few messages that reo sends as you wait for your bus. he owes you a million yen for the amount of grief and distress he’s currently putting you through, especially with the way he shattered all hopes you had with your love life.

well, hopes that you were stupid enough to feed into because this was itoshi rin you’re talking about; possibly the most standoffish, calculated, and devastatingly gorgeous man you’ve ever met in your life. yet, despite his detestable personality, you still found yourself falling hook, line, and sinker for the man, despite his insults, cold comments, and dismissive attitude.

maybe it’s masochism.

now that you look back on it, rin’s rejection seemed almost inevitable. even if you lead yourself to hope with all the times you caught him staring at you, the prompt replies to your messages, and willingness to somewhat tolerate you during group projects, it was rather obvious that this would be the outcome to your heartfelt confession.

‘i don’t see you like that’.

it’s cringeworthy simply thinking about it. now you’re going to have another memory that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.

recalling the expression he made after your confession; eyebrows scrunched and lips tugged into a slight frown, was traumatising enough for you to wish for the ground to swallow you whole. his face will plague you for an uncertain amount of time because today truly, was so very humbling.

the sight of your bus approaching your stop rouses you from the crevices of your thoughts and after you jump on and settle yourself into a seat in the relatively empty carriage, you bring your phone out to text reo again. he’d sent four messages since.

<reo3: this doesn’t make any sense we all thought rin was into you <reo3: like DOWN BAD into you<reo3: everyone on the team has literally made bets on you two <reo3: i’m sorry :c r u okay? you: yeah. just gotta take the L and move on you: hey at least i’m free for valentines <reo3: LET’S GOOO we’re definitely doing something <reo3: i’ll be a better valentines than r*n you: you’re sexier too babes xoxo <reo3: duh!

maybe you’ll let reo see another day.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

your university schedule was never the same after the ‘itoshi rin’ fiasco.

it was never an amazing schedule to begin with since a few classes were quite inconvenient, and there’s only so much to enjoy out of your seminars. the fun part about them was being able to sit beside rin and talk to him whenever you could without getting waved off, but since his heartless decline of your feelings, acting ‘buddy-buddy’ wouldn’t be acceptable. so you resorted to sit by yourself in a section of the space you’ve never really occupied before, busying yourself on your phone as students walked in to class.

despite the temptation to look at the door to see when rin would come in, you do not budge one bit, eyes glued to your phone screen (which had nothing entertaining on it). this meant that you couldn’t see the confusion on his face when he didn’t see you in your normal spot and how it merged further into a look of offence when he instead spots you across the room.

reluctantly taking his usual seat, rin’s gaze lingers on you, hoping to meet your eyes at least once. but upon your insistence to pretend your phone was more important than him, he sits down, practically flopping onto his chair with his backpack cushioning his fall.

sitting here feels a little empty. rin can’t help but think how it used to be much better when you insisted on being next to him.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

<;reo3: you can come now rin isn’t here yet

you: kk b there soon

the trek across campus towards the university’s soccer field, although long, is harmless enough, especially since you were doing a favour for your best friend by bringing the soccer guards and water bottle that he left at your dorm. the harmful part was the looming threat of itoshi rin’s presence and your fear that you would encounter him on your way.

all you needed to do was drop in quickly and leave.

when you get to the field, nagi’s the one who sees you first from where he was lounging on the bleaches, changed in his soccer gear.

“oh, y/n,” he mumbles, sitting up. “hello.”

“hey nagi. are you trying to nap before practice or something?” you ask.

“yeah.”

“won’t that drain you though before practice starts? you’ve got like… five minutes.”

“still classified as a power nap. wanna collect a power up before startin’.”

amusing as ever, he is. “sure. hey, you know where reo is?”

“he’s changed, probably warming up with isagi and bachira and whoever else.”

“shouldn’t you be doing that too?”

“not until reo forces me to.”

as if on cue, a friendly and very familiar voice calls out nagi’s name and you’re delighted to see the purple-haired in question. you can finally give him his stupid stuff back; the ones you’ve been holding in your hands this entire time like an idiot.

“come on nagi!” reo exclaims, jogging over. a smile appears on his face when he sees you. “yo! y/n! thanks for bringing my things.”

“‘s not a problem. next time i’ll burn them so don’t leave them again,” you counter as the purple-haired takes his things from you with an eye roll. “i filled up your water bottle for you.”

he places his things down before sitting beside nagi to put his guards on. “so considerate even whilst terrorising me.”

“of course.”

“seriously though, thank you for bringing my things.”

“not a problem. i’m gonna head back to my dorm to study so i’ll see you later. bye reo, bye nagi,” you wave at the two, fixing your backpack strap before turning around to leave the field, only to bump face-first into someone.

the apology that surfaces on your tongue quickly withers away when you lock eyes with a pair of steely, teal ones, partially hidden by strands of dark hair. he looks at you like he has something to say.

but you’re not ready to hear it.

“uh, hi rin! gotta go!” you squeak before stepping to the side and running away, leaving rin to stare in bewilderment after you.

part of him has the urge to run after you.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

<reo3: isagi’s invited a bunch of us to the on campus screening of spirited away

<reo3: wanna come?

you: ykw why not

you: not like i have essays to write

<reo3: FUCK THEM ESSAYS!

you: YOU’RE RIGHT SPIRITED AWAY IS BETTER !

if you knew that this would lead you to be seated (uncomfortably) between reo and isagi, who acted as the only barrier between you and an-unnamed-man (rin), then perhaps you would’ve dedicated yourself to your essay rather than a fun opportunity to hang out with your friends.

1500 words sounds better than having to pretend like there wasn’t an icy cold stare penetrating the back of your head every time you turned to talk to reo, or isagi trying to keep his interactions up with rin so the latter wouldn’t try to talk to you.

you owe isagi a vending machine drink after this because a ‘thank you’ will never suffice.

it’s easy enough to forget about rin when the movie plays and isagi begins whispering little pieces of commentary to you from time to time, eliciting giggles from you that you try to suppress to not annoy those around you. however, each sound that slipped past your lips was enough to make the dark-haired boy scrunch his face in disgust, an ugly, green monster climbing up his throat when he catches a glimpse of how happy you seemed with someone that wasn’t him. it kills him to see how easily it is for you to just ignore him like your friendship never existed.

since the campus movie was scheduled during a cool but bearable, autumn dusk, you severely underestimated how cold the night would get. heating wasn’t the best in the gymnasium so the committee had instructed everyone to bring their own blankets and warm covers, yet in your haste, you couldn’t bring adequate layers.

so after a while of trying to warm yourself up and convincing yourself that you were warm enough with a measly sweatshirt, rin notices from the corner of his eye how you kept rubbing your arms.

he doesn’t hesitate to take off the fleece jacket that he was wearing over his university jumper. sure, it will be significantly colder without his outer layer, but rin’s willing to suffer as long as you were okay (when has he ever been this considerate?), except he stops when he sees nagi handing you his very oversized jumper. you accept it with a gracious smile and the white-haired boy merely shrugs before going back to watching the film. rin, on the other hand, feels a cauldron of rage brewing within him.

the sight makes his chest twist, wringing him dry as he stares dejectedly at how snug you seem in someone else’s clothes. the green monster inside of rin bubbles in contempt, a being that makes him want to rip the hoodie off you and replace it with his own for you to wrap yourself up in. he wants you to be content with him- happy because of him, not because of another.

you confessed to him only two weeks ago- barely even two weeks ago, so how could you so easily forget about him and move on? pretend like his rejection didn’t shatter you and him when he saw a devastation like no other on your pretty face?

rin doesn’t know how much longer he can live like this.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the following tuesday, you’re already seated in your new spot for your seminar, busy setting up your laptop in preparation when rin walks in. you see him from the corner of your eye, backpack slung around his shoulder, hands tucked unassumingly in his pockets as all 185cm of him saunters towards the seats. however, when you notice that he bypasses his normal spot and walks even further out of your peripheral vision, alarms blare deafeningly in your head.

you freeze when you hear someone take the seat behind you.

there’s a hard gaze on the back of your head, one that roots you to your spot and wills you not to turn around.

sneaking out your phone from your bag, you hide it so that rin can’t see it from his angle.

you: RIN IS SITTING BEHIND ME OH NO

you: terrible start to valentines day smh

<reo3: WHAT!??!!???!???! fr.

you: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY I’M GOING TO DISINTEGRATE RIGHT NOW

<reo3: maybe *don’t* do that????

<reo3: WHY’S HE SITTING BEHIND YOU?????

you: FUCK IF I KNOW IT FEELS LIKE HE’S THROWING DAGGERS AT MY HEAD

<reo3: WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?

you: CRY???????????? IDFK???????????

you: oh fuck class is about to start

you: i’ll let you know if anything happens

<reo3: STAY SAFE

you tuck your phone away with fear and dread looming over you, personified through the form of itoshi rin, who sits so indifferently behind you, head propped on his hand. you hear his pen click behind you and you don’t even need to see him to know that he’s taking out that stupid notebook of his since he preferred to take notes by hand. you want to turn around and rip said book into shreds.

as the professor starts the class, you try your best to shake rin out of your thoughts, wanting to leave him behind in the depths of your mind so you can concentrate on this damn elective. none of the notes you were typing onto your document made sense and it felt like everything the professor was saying went in one ear then out the other. curse rin for having this effect on you.

at least you get to gossip with reo after this.

though your seminar was only 60 minutes, it might as well have been 60 years because of how significantly older you feel at the end of it. the weight of rin’s stare was heavy on your shoulders when you hurriedly grab your things and make a dash for the exit.

well. you try to make a dash for the exit because somehow, rin gained the ability to teleport and beat you there, grabbing your wrist unceremoniously before pulling you into the hallways. you fumble with your phone, hurriedly texting reo.

you: UHH MAYDAY I MGHT NEEE TO SKIP OUR PLANS

<reo3: WHAT’S HAPPENING?????

you: RIN IS DRSGGING ME SIMEWHERE IDK WHERE

you: MY LOCARION IS ON LIFE360

you: I LUV YOU STUPID WHORE

<reo3: WHDJFWIJAIDJFAWHAT THE FUCK????

“hey!” you exclaim, helplessly being pulled by rin’s long strides, shutting your phone off as you try to match his eagerness. he could at least be a little more considerate and lighten up that grip of his on your wrist. “rin- what? where are we going?”

“you’ll see,” he responds gruffly.

your mind blanks despite the hurricane of questions that circulate your mind. how did you get here? is the delirium finally hitting you after countless sleepless nights? you stayed up until 2am last night to make valentine’s chocolates for your friends so maybe it’s the sugar and the sleep deprivation.

as rin pulls you through the hallways, you think about how weird it is to allow him this close to you again- well, you didn’t exactly allow him, he kind of just… invaded your personal space. but after a whole week of not talking to him, responding dryly to his texts, avoiding your regular hangout spots, and overall pretending like he doesn’t exist, being exposed to his intimidating presence once more is… exhilarating? unreal?

“wait, can we stop for a second?” you demand, breaking out of your funk when you step outside as if the harshness of the sun’s rays woke you up. “i’m so confused right now. where are we going?”

“we’re going to have lunch together at that café you’ve been wanting to try out,” he tells you with a serious expression, not breaking his usual aloof and stern personality.

rin doesn’t give mixed messages: no, he gives messages that have completely been lost, fallen astray somewhere along the path of communication.

shifting your weight between your feet awkwardly, you tell him: “well, i kinda had valentine’s plans.”

his mask of coolness and uninterest cracks, exposing all the emotions he’s been withholding from surfacing for the past weeks; jealousy, envy, greed, they all manifest through the helpless scrunch of his face. “with who?” asks rin, tone a lot harsher than he had intended, matching the crease of his eyebrows and the frown he was wearing.

it’s the green monster in him talking.

if you were going out with someone else, someone new, rin’s not too sure what he’d do. determination and pettiness can only take a man so far before his resolve cracks and you have the power to crush his heart with a single stomp, extinguishing his flames in one, swift sweep.

“with reo,” you confess. the dark-haired relaxes again, his face returning to a neutral expression.

“okay. ditch him then.” his audacity is baffling.

“i can’t just do that!”

“why not?”

“cause that’s a shitty thing to do!” you say, before murmuring under your breath, “not that you’d know the first thing about being polite.”

“i don’t care, it’s reo, you two hang out everyday. tell him to give me a turn.”

“you’re a horrible person, rin,” you murmur, ignoring the butterflies that erupt in your stomach.

he doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely eyeing you expectantly, waiting for your next step. huffing, you reluctantly take out your phone as a sign of surrender under his suffocating pressure, muttering complaints under your breath as you find reo’s contact - literally your most recent one, to send him a quick message. almost instantly, your best friend responds with a thumbs up paired with a smirk and you almost want to block him then and there.

“done.”

“perfect,” rin goes to grab your hand again but you retract from him just in time. when you look up to meet his gaze once more, you see his unimpressed expression whilst he keeps his palm extended towards you expectantly.

“i don’t need your help walking places,” you grumble, not liking how fast your heart was racing.

he gestures to his open palm once more. “i know.”

after a moment of silence, you give in, hesitantly placing your hand in his. with a small grin, rin intertwines your fingers before pulling you to his side. without another word, he begins walking, leaving you to merely follow the brutally fast pace he’s set.

you must’ve looked ridiculous to other people. being dragged around by an 185 cm man, how humbling.

the place rin led you to was not too far from campus; a totally manageable distance for the two of you to remain in silence during the walk. you try to bypass the awkwardness of it all by focusing on other things, like how warm rin’s hand is and how you hope he doesn’t mind your sweaty hands. he seems to be content from what you’ve observed, happily walking beside you whilst sparing a few occasional glances over; ones that you pretend you don’t see whilst admiring the cityscape around you.

there are various valentine’s decorations hung up around the insides of the cafe that made you cringe slightly. although they were very cute, you feel humiliation climbing up your throat, serving as a reminder that you were currently spending a day of love and romance, or whatever, standing beside the very man who rejected you.

this is the cruellest version of a sick joke.

“welcome!” a cheery voice greets, breaking you out of your thoughts. “table for two?” rin nods. “perfect! are you here for valentine’s day because couples get access to a special menu on top of our regular one.”

when you open your mouth to reject her offer, rin beats you to it. “we’ll take the valentine’s menu.”

“okay, right this way,” the waitress guides you to an empty table for two that was right by the corner. the atmosphere of the place was cozy with various candles and statement pieces to really bring it together, but you have no time or brain space to appreciate the aesthetic of the café.

it’s not until the waitress leaves that you speak up, utterly confused. “why’d you get the valentine’s menu, we-”

realisation hits you like a truck.

“-are we on a date right now?”

rin’s unmoving, save for the purse of his lips as he stares at you. you feel a little foolish right now.

“yeah, we are,” he answers, curtly and concisely.

alarms are blaring in your head, the earth is tremoring below you, there are distant screams somewhere in the back of your mind and all you can manage out is a simple ‘oh’.

“get what you want, i’ll-” rin begins before you abruptly cut him off.

“-no, hold on, i’m so confused right now,” you rub your temples, staring at the stupid valentine’s day menu decorated with pink and hearts and chocolates. “why?”

“why what?”

“why are we on a date?”

“because it’s valentine’s day?”

“well- i know that part,” you murmur under your breath. “it’s just, y’know, people celebrate this day when they like each other.” and not when one party is miserable because the other rejected them.

“we do like each other though.”

there are no words to describe the shock you feel. really. not even an anvil dropping on your head could wake you up from whatever dream you are conjuring right now.

“no, we don’t! i like you, you don’t like me.”

he looks away, the tips of his ears turning red. “that’s not true,” he murmurs, no louder than a whisper, yet your jaw drops all the same at his confession. “i do like you.”

“a week ago you didn’t!”

“a week ago i wasn’t ready to get into a… relationship… or whatever.”

“oh,” you fix the strap of your bag, feeling slightly awkward. “and you’re ready now all of a sudden?”

“yeah.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“the fuck? why?”

“you don’t really seem like the type of guy to turn around on yourself like this. what changed?”

rin won’t ever tell you about how much he missed you during these two weeks and how it was his jealousy and greediness that spurred him to act on his feelings. instead, he simply slides the menu to you, pointing to a milkshake-‘lover’s brew’, and since the menu was decorated with pictures on the side, you could see what the concoction consisted of. whipped cream, heart sprinkles, topped with a caramel heart and fairy floss.

“the milkshake?” you ask, trailing off towards the end. “you hate sweet things and this especially looks like it could give you diabetes.”

the dark-haired shrugs. “so? i thought you’d like it.”

“sure, but it is kinda pricey for a milkshake.”

he shrugs again, putting his elbows on the table which causes his sleeves of his turtleneck to roll down a little, exposing the shiny silver of his, no doubt expensive, watch. “i’ll pay for us, it’s fine.”

“hold on-”

“i’m paying. end of argument.”

it’s an offer you can’t really reject. being a university student and all, funds are limited, so wherever you can, you want to avoid withdrawing money out of your account. that said, it doesn’t mean that you don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about draining rin’s, but with how long you’ve been friends, you know that once he’s set his mind to something, it’s hard to change it.

“if you insist,” you grumble, straightening up your spine as you awkwardly fiddle with your shirt. you feel so scrutinised under his gaze, even as you reach for the jug of water and pour two cups of water. “what else should we get?”

the waitress then comes around to take your orders and when she’s gone, conversation flows easily, reverting back to how things were between the two of you (to rin’s relief). he listens as you talk animatedly about the unfortunate series of events you had with your professor the other day, how cute your encounter with the campus dogs were, and the really unfortunate run-in you had with a guy from your shared tutorial classes.

(the dark-haired boy makes a face when you mention another man’s name before his usual face of indifference melts back in.)

“here’s your milkshake,” the waitress says, placing the drink in the middle of the table before walking away, “you guys are really cute by the way.”

“thanks,” rin says calmly, a stark contrast to your flustered reaction.

two straws stick out from the milkshake and when you put one in your mouth, you almost choke when rin takes the other one, causing your noses to bump in the middle. the look he gives you is nothing short of mischievous before pulling away, a knowing smirk playing along his lips.

“ew. that is really sweet,” he mutters before leaning back, crossing his arms.

“yeah,” you cough. “it is really sweet.”

recovering from your embarrassment, the rest of lunch goes by quite seamlessly. he goes to pay for everything with a confident tap of his card, causing you to stand awkwardly behind him, keeping all complaints to yourself as it goes through. thanking the waitress, you leave the café hand-in-hand once more.

“thanks again for paying,” you repeat and rin gives a hum of acknowledgement whilst you two walk aimlessly on the path. “what do you want to do now?”

“i don’t know. do you have anything you want to do?”

“i might have an idea.”

leading him in the direction of a nearby store that just opened recently, you come to a stop in front of a shop that had neon-lights illuminating its inside and claw machines filled with adorable plushies lining along the walls.

glancing at him, there’s a glimmer of amusement in rin’s eyes as his lips turn upwards into a small smirk. “really?” he asks, looking over at you.

“really. this’ll be fun!” you promise before walking in, the dark-haired following suit as you stop in front of a token-purchasing machine.

from the corner of your eye, you can see him taking out his wallet already and you immediately put your hand on your wrist, ceasing his movement.

with just one glance, a whole conversation passes between you two. “if you pay for me i will sock you.”

“i’d like to see you try,” he deadpans, quirking a brow before pressing the ‘20 tokens = $19’ button on the machine, “but i’m paying.”

then the sound of his card meeting the reader and the transaction being approved rings through the air, followed by the deafening noise of coins clashing against metal. the look he gives you is nothing short of proud.

“come on babe, bet you won’t be able to get any prizes,” challenges rin as he brushes past you, the pet name causing your stomach to churn as insults rest on your tongue, offended by his declaration.

he’s gracious enough to give you half of the coins, allowing you to play four games each. you only manage to win on one of them and even then, you were astonished at your own achievements, excitedly grabbing the plushie and hugging the stuffed toy to your chest protectively. rin, on the other hand, comes back to you with two in both hands and the gawk you let out was completely against your will.

“how did you do that?” you ask, a little stupified at the sight (it was kinda hot though). although at this point, you shouldn’t really question how itoshi rin works since he takes the meaning of ‘march to the beat of your own drum’ to a whole other level.

instead of answering, he hands them over to you and you have no choice but to take them, your arms now overloaded with three stuffed toys.

before you can even open your mouth to ask if he broke into the machines, your phone buzzes with a notification and the second you open it, you’re met with a familiar ‘⚠️bereal’ banner, one that makes you excited over the impeccable timing. rin raises an eyebrow at your sudden surprise.

“bereal! quick, pose!” you demand and rin obeys, raising a peace sign with a slight smile before the camera turns around to you and the many stuffed toys you’re cuddling.

how adorable you are might just kill him.

the dark-haired shakes the thought away before taking out his phone, instructing you to smile. you pose for the photo, hugging all the plushies closely to your chest whilst rin gives his usual deadpan stare into the camera. he then gives you his phone to check if it was okay to post and when you approve, you press the ‘post >’ button for him.

shutting off his phone for him, it’s at the same time that the bereal notification pops up again, this time detailing how one of his friends had posted but that’s not what caught your attention.

it’s a certain photo that made your heart thump loudly in its ribcage.

“am i your lockscreen?” you ask, pride and flattery swelling in your stomach, manifesting through the warmth of your cheeks.

the slight widening of his eyes give you all the answers you need. “you weren’t supposed to see that.”

nothing could stop the slow grin from erupting on your expression. it’s ridiculous to say so, but it almost feels like a weight is being lifted from your chest, the pains of the last few weeks erasing themselves completely with this one detail.

that’s how you know rin was meant for you.

“out of all pictures of me, you chose this one?” you question, gesturing to the selfie that you once sent him during your study sessions. your hair was messy, there was a semi-crazed look in your eyes, but at least the moisturising lip gloss you had reapplied then made you look somewhat put together.

looking at his phone once more, you feel a little warm.

“i like it,” he mutters shyly, unable to look you in the eye. despite his embarrassment, his statement fills you with endless relief, providing gratification for your relationship with rin that you didn’t know you needed.

though you’ve been friends with him for quite some time now, you feel as though you don’t really recognise the man in front of you. past perceptions you’ve had of him has now been shattered by his flustered gaze, the relentless blush coating his cheeks, and the uncharacteristic way he slumps, as if defending himself from any judgement you might throw at him.

luckily for him, that’s not what you’re interested in doing.

unlocking your phone, you hand it to him. “take a matching selfie so i can make it my lock screen too.”

at least you have all the time in the world to get to know him all over again.

(rin will never tell you that he only has been active on bereal so he could see what you were up to. except it backfired every time because instead of satisfying how desperately he was longing for you during your two weeks of no contact, it only made him want you more. he wanted to be there with you through your intense study sessions, he wanted to be going on walks with you, he wanted to be there with you when you were watching one more episode of your favourite tv show before going to bed, he just wanted to be there with you.

now he has all the time to make sure he is.)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[@y/n’s BeReal]

@ karasu69: @fruityninjaotoya YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS 　　→ @fruitninjaotoya: Shut your micropenis up

@ yocchan: Y/N WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS 　　→ @ nagixxxxxxxxxxxxx: ratio 　　→ @ yocchan: DON’T RATIO ME RN

@monsterbachira: omg are y’all 😍❤️😍 rn 　　→ @y/n: wut. 　　→ @itshrin: Yes 　　→ @monsterbachira: y/n rin is actually a good kisser 　　→ @y/n: thanks for letting me know meguru! 　　→ @itshrin: i’m going to end you.

@bbgreo: i’m glad y’all had fun but no itoshi rin on our platonic date pls! 　　→ @y/n: would never dream of it luv <3 　　→ @itshrin: Sleep with one eye open, Reo 　　→ @y/n: that’s my best friend :( 　　→ @itshrin: You don’t need him 　　→ @y/n: reo and i are one you can’t separate us 　　→ @itshrin: Ok fine 😒 　　→ @bbgreo: yay! 　　→ @y/n: yay!

<reo3: told you you were too pretty to reject xx

#itoshi rin x reader #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #itoshi rin fluff #blue lock fluff #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock rin #itoshi x reader #blue lock itoshi rin #itoshi rin drabble #itoshi rin #itoshi rin bllk #blue lock

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kingofbodyrolls · 26 days ago

Text

Doughn’t Go Baking My Heart (m) | ksj

This Christmas season, you’re back in the kitchen, whisk in hand and determination in your heart, entering the annual holiday baking competition once again. The goal? Finally beat your long-time rival, the infuriatingly talented Kim Seokjin. But as the ovens warm and the ingredients come together, you realize it might not be just the doughs rising this year… Will the holiday spirit bring you closer, or will the heat of competition drive you further apart? 😜

→ Pairing: seokjin x reader (female) → AUs: baking!au, competition!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: enemies to lovers �� Genres: fluff / smut / romcom / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 16.5k → Warnings + triggers: an insane amount of stupid and bad jokes with sexual undertones (like it borders on cringey), tension and a lot of it, sexual frustration, pettiness (briefly), jealousy (briefly), baking jokes turned sexual (I’m sorry, not sorry), unprotected sex in the form of oral (female and male receiving), missionary and very vanilla sex, kissing, tender but also a tiny bit rough (not really, lol), big dick Seokjin, nipple play, nipple sucking, breast play, creampie, multiple orgasms, mention of aftercare (but not described), other sexual encounters that aren’t described in detail, pet names (he calls her princess). → Author’s note: hiiiii!! Hello! Long time no see! I was in a Christmasy mood (written in the end of October lol), and I’ve written this cute and tension filled Christmas love story for my dear friend @allie-in-the-moon 💜 Thank you so much for always reading, commenting and loving my work so much; it means the world to me!!! 😭 So I hope that this story shows my deep gratitude for you—I hope you, and everyone else enjoys it ✨ Please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think with a comment, reblog and even an ask. I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just you spamming the keyboard or lots of emojis. There’s a lot of bad jokes and puns in this and you get bonus points if you know what song inspired this pun of a title! 😂 (also, I did not proofread this, I know there’s some mistakes, but I’m too lazy to fix them lol). → Read the spoiler? [JINtastic subreddit] → Read on AO3? [link]

With your duffel bag slung over your shoulder, you tread the frosted path from the bus stop to the towering silhouette of the grand castle—the heart of the annual Great Christmas Bake-Off. The castle looms before you, its turrets crowned with glistening snow, twinkling lights casting a soft glow in the winter twilight. For three years now, you’ve returned to this place, yet this time, the air feels different, charged with a deeper longing. You clench your hands inside your pockets, the icy wind biting through the fabric of your jacket, as if the cold itself is testing your resolve. If only this could be the year—if only you could finally claim victory, or at least break into the top three.

But as your thoughts drift toward victory, a familiar dread settles in your chest. Kim Seokjin. Your long-time rival, the thorn in your side, always there to ruin your focus with his relentless, groan-worthy jokes. Of course, he’ll be attending again, as smug as ever. A sigh escapes your lips. Can you endure four more weeks of his puns? The mere thought grates at your nerves like a dull knife. Still, you take solace in the fact that there are other contestants—ten, to be exact. Perhaps you can avoid him altogether this year, lose yourself in the company of kinder souls. The thought lifts your spirits, and before you know it, you’re humming a soft tune to the melody of a Christmas song that drifts on the edge of memory—its name lost to the blur of countless holiday seasons, but its warmth still familiar.

Footsteps crunch behind you, but you pay them no mind, your gaze fixed on the castle doors. You can only hope that this time, luck will favor you with a decent room—not like the first year, where you were stuck in a damp, windowless chamber that smelled of mold. This year, everything must be better. Especially now that the world will be watching, with the competition broadcast live on national television. You can’t help but smile, a flicker of excitement mixing with your breath in the cold air, as the castle draws closer.

This time, you tell yourself, things will be different.

The castle stands as a relic of a bygone era, its weathered stones whispering tales of the past, likely from the 1800s or older—though you’re not quite sure. Normally, this place serves as a museum, preserving its history, but every December, it transforms into something magical. As the first of the month dawns, the grand structure becomes home to the Great Christmas Bake-Off, and its ancient walls are filled with the warmth of ovens and the thrill of competition. Surrounding the castle is a scene straight out of a holiday dream: towering evergreens, their branches heavy with snow, stretch towards the sky; a silver stream winds through the rolling hills, and the fields spread wide, blanketed in pristine white. It’s a vision of Christmas perfection, and you can’t help but love it, the landscape glowing with the enchantment of winter.

At last, you make your way up the gravel-strewn path, each step crunching beneath your boots, until you reach the enormous wooden doors of the castle. They are old and heavy, carved with intricate designs, and it takes all your strength to push them open. Inside, a familiar warmth greets you. The space is draped in festive splendor—rich red and gold hues, a plush crimson carpet underfoot, and ancient paintings adorning the white walls, their gilded frames thick with history. You step up to the reception desk, where a handsome blond man stands, his name tag reading ‘Park’. His eyes, a warm hazelnut brown, twinkle with mischief as he catches your smile. “Hi, I’m here for my room key. I’m part of the competition,” you say, offering him a smile that becomes even brighter when you sense the shadow looming behind you. You know exactly who it is without turning around. Determined not to give him any attention, you focus on Park, your smile sweetening as you push aside thoughts of the man behind you.

Park’s lips curl into a grin as he hands you a key. For a brief second, your fingers brush his, and the warmth of his touch is a small comfort against the cold that lingers in your hands. “I’ve given you the best room,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes, “the perfect room for someone as lovely as you.”

Your cheeks flush despite yourself, and you chuckle softly. Oh, he’s sweet, and trouble, you think. But you feel a surge of relief—finally, you won’t be stuck in the dreaded moldy room. Behind you, a familiar scoff cuts through the air, and you roll your eyes. You don’t need to look to know who it is, and you breeze past him, a skip in your step as you make your way to your room.

Finding it easily, you unlock the door and step inside. It’s small, yes, but far more comfortable than your first year here. A single bed sits in the center of the room, draped in dark green linens that match the heavy curtains cascading down from the tall window. The pillows, a deep crimson, add a touch of festive warmth to the space. Exhausted, you drop your duffel bag to the floor and fall onto the bed with a contented sigh, your eyes slipping shut. Tomorrow, the competition begins, and you know you’ll need every ounce of rest you can get.

When you wake, your muscles ache from the journey, and your face feels puffy from sleep. Groaning softly, you gather your things and shuffle down the hallway toward the showers, your fluffy slippers barely making a sound against the cold stone floor. The warm spray of the shower jolts you awake, and by the time you’re dressed, with fresh makeup and a clear mind, you feel ready for the day ahead. With a steady heart and your baking utensils in hand, you descend the grand staircase toward the great hall, where the scent of cinnamon and sugar will soon fill the air. The competition calls, and this time, you’re determined to make your mark.

The main hall is vast, its high ceilings echoing with the murmur of anticipation. Twelve baking stations stand neatly in two rows, six on each side, gleaming under the soft glow of hidden lights. The air hums with energy as cameras are discreetly tucked in the corners, their lenses poised to capture every moment, while the judges’ table—grand and imposing—commands attention at the front. A producer, dressed in black with a headset and microphone, guides you to your station, and you carefully set your supplies on the smooth surface. The shelves beneath the counter provide just enough space to stow away your ingredients and tools, your hands moving methodically as you prepare for what’s to come.

But then, your heart sinks as you catch sight of him—Kim Seokjin. To your horror, the producers direct him to the station right next to yours. You feel a knot tighten in your stomach as he flashes you that signature smile, all too sweet and saccharine, with the familiar mischief sparkling in his crinkling brown eyes. “Fancy seeing you here,” he quips, as he ties his apron around his slender waist, his movements annoyingly graceful. “Back to get your ass kicked again?” His chuckle is low, smug, a sound that makes your blood boil beneath your skin. You clench your jaw, forcing yourself to inhale slowly. Calm. You need to stay calm to bake well, you remind yourself, even as the heat of irritation rises within you. “Yeah,” you grunt back, your voice low with restrained anger. “I plan on wiping the floor with your face.” Why, of all people, do you two have the front row benches?

Around you, the hall grows busier. Cameramen move quietly through the room, adjusting angles, capturing every nervous glance and confident grin. The judges have arrived—Yun Christina, a legend in the baking world, with her sharp eyes and warm smile, and Kim Taehyung, whose playful charm hides a discerning palate. At the side stands the commentator, Jeon Jungkook. His tall frame is hard to ignore, built like an athlete with a face so soft it seems to contradict the sleeve of tattoos he wears with pride. There’s something effortlessly captivating about him, and his smile draws as much attention as his ink.

“We’re live in 10 minutes!” a producer announces, and the familiar flutter of anxiety churns in your stomach. No matter how many times you’ve done this competition, the nerves never quite fade—especially with the weight of live television hanging over you. The thought of making a mistake, of becoming a viral meme or the subject of a Reddit thread, haunts the edges of your mind. Seokjin knows this pressure all too well—he’s practically an online legend. His Instagram is filled with stunning images of his creations, each post a curated masterpiece, and he even has a subreddit dedicated to his handsome face and corny jokes. ‘Don’t get Jinxed,’ they call it. You’ve definitely never visited the site, but the stories of his fandom are everywhere, impossible to ignore.

The judges step forward, their presence commanding immediate attention. Christina beams at the group, her hands clasped in excitement, while Taehyung grins with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Welcome, everyone,” he begins, his deep voice resonating through the hall. “Today, we’ll start off easy. Your challenge is to create regular buns, but with the sweet taste of Christmas in them.” His smile broadens, and he pauses dramatically. “You’ll have one and a half hours to present Christina and me with six perfect buns. Let the magic of Christmas guide you.”

Christina claps her hands together, her joy infectious. “We can’t wait to taste what you create! Ready. Set,” she says, her voice lifting the room, and then— “Bake!”

The word slices through the air, and the competition springs to life. Your heart pounds as your hands move instinctively, the ingredients becoming your allies in this battle of skill and precision. Seokjin hums beside you, the sound grating against your nerves, but you push him from your mind. There’s no time for distractions—not today. Today, you’re here to prove yourself, to create something more than just buns. You’re here to craft a masterpiece, with the essence of Christmas baked into every bite.

In a flurry of motion, you gather everything you might need at your station—the gleaming kitchen machine ready to knead the dough, bowls stacked high, the flour, sugar, and baking powder measured with care. Your mind races as you dash to the refrigerators at the back, the cool air biting your cheeks as you grab fresh yeast. Spices linger nearby, their rich aromas filling the air, and you make a swift decision—cinnamon and apples. The sweet warmth of cinnamon paired with the crisp, tart apples is a classic, a comforting blend that whispers of holiday mornings by the fire. With practiced hands, you quickly dissolve the yeast in lukewarm water, watching the delicate bubbles rise before adding it to the flour and oil. The kitchen machine hums to life, its rhythmic kneading a soothing counterpoint to the buzz of the room. Time is your greatest adversary—dough needs to rest before it can rise into perfection, and every second counts. While the machine works, you gather crisp apples, their skins glistening under the lights, and grate them roughly, the scent of fresh fruit mingling with the warm spices around you.

As you’re focused on the task at hand, Jungkook appears beside you, his presence radiating calm curiosity. “What are you making?” he asks, his voice smooth, as the camera zooms in on your hands, catching every careful movement. You glance up, giving him a soft smile, though your mind is racing. “Apple cinnamon buns,” you reply, juggling ingredients with a steady hand. His smile broadens. “A classic combo,” he says approvingly before moving to Seokjin’s station.

Your heart sinks as you hear Seokjin’s voice, his tone confident and infuriatingly charming. “I’m making pumpkin buns with cinnamon sugar on top,” he announces, and you can almost hear the smug grin in his words as he adds that he’ll be shaping them like pumpkins. Like pumpkins are even a Christmas thing? You roll your eyes, irritation bubbling as the camera lingers on him far longer than it did on you. It’s not that you’re jealous—not exactly—but it’s hard not to notice how much more attention he gets, how the spotlight seems to favor him, casting everyone else into the shadows.

Returning to your dough, you add the shredded apples to the mix, the machine whirring gently as it blends them in. When the dough is ready, you pull it from the machine, feeling the weight of it in your hands. There’s something grounding about working the dough with your fingers, shaping it, molding it—your hands know the rhythm of this dance well. You sprinkle flour across the table, working the dough slowly, savoring the texture, your hands moving in steady, practiced motions.

“Careful with that dough,” Seokjin pipes up from beside you, a playful glint in his eye. “I wouldn’t want you to get too kneady.” His pun hangs in the air, and you cringe, resisting the urge to groan as the cameraman swoops in, once again capturing his every move.

“That was so bad,” you mutter under your breath, rolling your eyes as you divide the dough into six even portions. Each piece is dusted with flour, your hands working quickly, forming the dough into perfect rounds. A glance over at Seokjin reveals that he’s somehow ahead of you—some of his buns already resting, a smirk playing on his lips as if he knows exactly how much this irks you.

He chuckles, his voice low as he works his dough with casual ease. “You should watch yourself,” he teases, “or you’ll end up spread out like this dough.”

You stifle a groan, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you grab a baking tray, your movements quick and efficient as you line it with parchment paper. Carefully, you place your apple cinnamon buns down, spacing them out before covering them with a cloth, allowing the yeast to work its magic as they rise and puff up. Your eyes dart back to Seokjin’s station, and you can’t help but notice how far ahead he still is—his bench already wiped clean, his buns resting, as if he’s been playing this game for far too long.

But you remind yourself—it’s not about speed. It’s about the buns. And yours will be nothing short of perfect.

You glance at Seokjin again, feeling the weight of his presence beside you, and rush to clean your bench with hurried hands. His voice cuts through the noise, playful and sharp, “You keep staring at me like that, and I might think you’ve forgotten what we’re actually baking here,” he says, his laugh spilling out in waves—full-bodied and obnoxious, like a windshield wiper squeaking through a storm. God, how you hate it. That laugh grates on your nerves, scraping at the last of your patience.

With your bench spotless, there’s nothing left to do but wait. You cross your arms, eyes wandering, trying to ignore the anticipation that hums in the air. Jungkook is moving through the room, his voice soft but firm as he interviews the other contestants. You tune out Seokjin’s interview, determined not to let him rattle you, focusing instead on calming your breath. When it’s your turn, you speak with a quiet passion about your love for baking—how each year you come back, driven by the dream to win, just once, to finally claim the prize that has always been just out of reach.

The minutes trickle by, and after what feels like forever, you lift the cloth to reveal your buns, risen and perfect, their golden promise waiting to be fulfilled. Seokjin pulls the cloth off his buns at the same time, his voice dripping with mischief as he grins your way. “You really know how to get a rise out of me... or is that just the yeast talking?” His laughter fills the room again, and this time, it spreads like wildfire. You hear the other contestants chuckling behind you, and your stomach tightens with frustration. So lame. The joke was painfully lame, and yet they laugh as if he’s a comedy genius. You push forward, determined not to let him get under your skin. Brushing your buns with a delicate layer of egg wash, you sprinkle chunky sugar over the tops, watching it glisten in the light. The oven waits, hot and ready, and with practiced ease, you slide your tray inside. For a moment, you linger there, sitting in front of the oven like a camper before a flickering fire, watching as the buns slowly turn golden. You know this process well, the way the dough will puff and brown in exactly eleven minutes, and you double-check the timer, feeling a quiet confidence bloom in your chest.

When the timer beeps, you pull the buns from the oven, their perfect golden sheen filling you with a rush of pride. They look beautiful, warm and inviting, just as you’d imagined. To your right, Seokjin is already plating his buns with a flourish, his hands moving with an ease that makes you grit your teeth. You rush to do the same, arranging your apple and cinnamon creations with care, each one a testament to your skill.

The competition timer rings, and the tension in the room snaps like a wire pulled too tight. One by one, the contestants are called to present their work. When Seokjin’s turn comes, you can barely contain the roll of your eyes as the judges swoon over his pumpkin-shaped buns, praising his technique, his creativity. He stands there, soaking in their compliments with a smile so smug you can almost feel it radiating across the room. He eats it all up, every word, while you silently seethe, waiting for your moment.

And then, it’s your turn. You walk to the front, presenting your apple cinnamon buns with steady hands, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Christina and Taehyung inspect your work, and you hold your breath, but to your relief, their expressions soften into smiles. Compliments flow your way—no critique, no hesitation. They love the warmth, the balance of flavors. Satisfaction warms your chest, but you keep it inside, holding your victory close, knowing there’s still a long road ahead.

At the end of the round, a contestant is eliminated—a guy named Kwon, whose face you barely remember. Only eleven remain now. Ten more to beat.

The cameras finally stop rolling, the tension in the room easing as everyone begins to disperse. You head toward your room, eager to review your baking books, one of them authored by none other than Kim Taehyung himself. But just as you’re about to retreat into the quiet of your thoughts, you feel a hand on your arm. You turn, and there’s Seokjin, his smile sharper than before, his eyes glinting with something like challenge.

“Good luck tomorrow,” he says, his voice smooth as silk, but with an edge that sets your teeth on edge. “Just remember, there’s only room for one winner here. But...” he pauses, his tone growing sweeter than honey, “I might let you take a bite of my victory… if you ask nicely.”

You clench your fists, resisting the urge to respond with the fire burning behind your eyes. Instead, you offer him a tight-lipped smile, letting your silence speak for you. You won’t let him win—not this time. Tomorrow, the real competition begins.

A good night’s sleep can cure almost anything—but not, it seems, the stubborn ache in your back. The new room may be a small upgrade from the first year, but the bed springs creak like old bones, refusing to offer even a whisper of comfort. You sigh, stretching your stiff limbs, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue.

Yesterday’s competition left a flurry of emotions behind, but instead of retreating to your room, you spent time mingling with the other contestants, laughing, chatting, doing your best to dodge the dark-haired Seokjin whose presence you’ve come to despise. There are so many fresh faces this year, and a few familiar ones from the past—some that carry the weight of past victories. You’ve even found yourself thinking, more than once, that there should be a rule: once you win first place, you shouldn’t be allowed to enter again. Let someone else have a shot. Let you have a shot. It’s a wish that flickered through your conversations with the other women, murmured over cups of tea and shared frustrations. But rules are rules, and here you are—still in the shadow of Kim Seokjin.

But not for long.

With newfound determination swelling in your chest, you stride down the grand staircase, each step echoing your resolve. The camera crew is already in place, their lenses trained and waiting for the drama to unfold. Not today. Today you won’t be sent home. You can feel it in your bones. You glide to your station, pointedly ignoring Seokjin’s casual wave and sugary smile—he won’t distract you, not this time. You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep your focus sharp. Today, you’re here for one thing, and it’s not his attention.

The judges enter with a quiet authority that pulls everyone’s gaze. Taehyung, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, claps his hands together and greets the room in that deep, melodic voice of his. “Good morning, everyone! Today’s challenge is another easy one, yeah. We’re keeping it simple—cookies.”

Cheers ripple through the room from contestants behind you, their excitement palpable. But you know better. Cookies aren’t just cookies. There’s an art to simplicity, and you can’t afford to underestimate it. As Taehyung speaks, Christina steps forward, her voice soft but full of warmth. “You’ll be making two varieties of cookies. Six of each, so twelve in total. The flavors are up to you, but they need to complement each other,” she says with a gentle smile, her eyes scanning the room, lingering on the possibilities.

Off to the side, you catch a glimpse of Jungkook—tall, tattooed, and sharp-eyed—ready to start the competition with his usual flair. Before he even has a chance to utter the word “bake,” your mind is already alive with ideas. Chocolate, orange zest, cinnamon, almonds—flavors begin to swirl together in your thoughts like sugar in a mixing bowl. Your hands itch to begin, your mind races, and your heart pounds with the thrill of creation.

This is your moment. You’ll make it count.

Before your mind has fully settled on a plan, your hands are already in motion—grabbing bowls, spoons, and flour the moment Jungkook’s voice announces the start. The familiar rhythm takes over, and you quickly turn the oven’s dial, ensuring it will be heated just in time for your dough’s transformation. Under the bench, you find a block of chocolate, its dark richness calling to you. With swift, practiced motions, you chop it into large, satisfying chunks, the knife’s steady rhythm keeping pace with your heartbeat. Chocolate chip cookies—simple, but timeless. Your grandmother’s recipe is legendary, the kind that lingers in memory, and you know it will speak for itself on the judges’ tongues.

Adding chopped almonds for texture, you blend the sticky dough, your hands moving as though by instinct. Soon, the dough is portioned out in neat mounds on parchment, each one promising gooey perfection. Into the oven they go, disappearing behind the hot glass, and already your mind is leaping ahead to the next batch. Orange zest, you decide—a bright, citrusy contrast to the chocolate, something both bold and nostalgic.

As you stir the second dough, the spoon moving lazily through the thickening batter, you catch sight of Jungkook and two cameramen gliding over to Jin’s station. You roll your eyes, already anticipating the onslaught of Reddit posts, memes, and fangirls swooning over whatever nonsense Jin is about to spout. No doubt, he’s ready to charm the cameras.

“So, Seokjin, what kind of cookies are you making? Just from the batter, they look really delicious,” Jungkook says, trying to sneak a taste from Jin’s mixing bowl like a kid caught in a cookie jar.

“I’m making candy cane cookies with vanilla, and a batch of chocolate peppermint crunch,” Seokjin replies smoothly, his voice practically dripping with the satisfaction of knowing all eyes are on him.

“Amazing! Can’t wait to taste,” Jungkook beams, while Seokjin slides his tray into the oven with a showman’s flourish. A burst of steam escapes as he shuts the door, and he turns to the cameras with that signature smirk of his. “Is it hot in here, or is it just the oven? Or maybe…” He pauses, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Maybe it’s just you?”

You scoff, even though your gaze lingers on the scene longer than it should. That was painfully predictable, but no doubt, the fangirls will swoon. You shake your head, refusing to admit you’ve ever spent a moment browsing through Jin’s subreddit—no, not you.

Jungkook, ever the charmer, saunters over to your station just as you pull the first tray of cookies from the oven. The golden-brown chocolate chip beauties rest on the tray, and the smell of warm, melted chocolate fills the air. His eyes widen in anticipation, practically salivating. He reaches for one, but you gently swat his hand away, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. “Careful,” you warn, “they’re hot—and there’s only six.”

Jungkook pouts, his lips forming a playful smile. “They look incredible,” he admits, his gaze still fixed on the cookies as though they were treasures freshly unearthed.

Before you can respond, Seokjin’s voice cuts through the moment from your right. “Looks like your cookies aren’t the only thing heating up in here,” he quips, his deep laugh filling the room—rich, unrestrained, and annoyingly confident.

You grit your teeth, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, unsure whether it’s from the oven’s warmth or Seokjin’s infuriating presence. His words swirl around in your mind, making your blood simmer, but you refuse to look his way. Not today. You won’t let him distract you. Not now.

Christina and Taehyung appear beside your bench like a pair of deities, their presence as magnetic as it is intimidating. Up close, Taehyung’s beauty is striking—flawless skin, eyes that seem to hold secrets, and a calm that makes your pulse race. You can feel beads of sweat gathering at your temples, heat rising not just from the oven, but from the thrill of standing before this legend. “What kind of texture are you aiming for in your cookies?” he asks, his voice rich and velvety as he watches you deftly portion the orange zest dough before sliding it into the oven.

You swallow, trying to steady your voice. “I’m going for crisp on the outside, soft and sweet in the center,” you say, cheeks warming under his intense gaze. Damn it. Get it together. You silently pray the blush on your face isn’t betraying you on national TV, even with the camera zoomed in on your every move.

A sudden, familiar laugh breaks your concentration—Seokjin. You glance over, and there he is, obnoxiously close, standing at your bench as though he owns the space. His broad shoulder nudges yours, his smirk devilish. And of course, he can’t resist. With a wink at the camera, he adds, “That’s just how I like my women.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his audacity. Is he really doing this right now? In front of the judges, in front of Taehyung? He’s hijacking your moment, stealing the spotlight you’ve worked so hard for—and making a joke at your expense. Your blood simmers.

“Go away, you jerk,” you mutter, shoving him back towards his own station, but the damage is done. You catch Taehyung and Christina exchanging glances—subtle, but there. You let out a sigh, feeling your frustration simmer just beneath the surface. Tackling Seokjin to the floor and giving him a piece of your mind sounds so tempting, but no. You rein yourself in, forcing a smile instead.

Seokjin, ever the provocateur, throws a wink at the camera and grins. “Impressed, Y/N. Not everyone can handle this much heat. Guess I’ll have to turn it up,” he says, his voice light but layered with something more. And as if to punctuate his words, you watch him out of the corner of your eye—he’s actually turning the heat on his oven higher. What on earth is he playing at? The hall feels warmer, sweat prickling your skin as the competition wears on. Is he talking about the ovens? The tension between you? Or the way he’s managed to catch up to you despite the chaos?

The cookies are nearly done, and you wipe your brow, wishing you’d made both batches at once instead of one after the other. Jin’s smugness only deepens when you realize he’s managed to bake both varieties simultaneously, and now, somehow, he’s neck-and-neck with you. Damn him.

With the final timer ringing out, you pull your cookies from the oven—golden, perfect. You carefully plate them, arranging them with precision. The judges make their way through the line of bakers, and soon it’s your turn. Walking up to the front, your heart pounds, but the praise that follows is worth every ounce of effort. Even if they’re ‘simple’ as Christina put it, the execution is flawless. You let out a quiet breath of relief, but before you can celebrate, Jungkook swoops in and steals a cookie right from Taehyung’s hand. The whole room erupts in laughter, and for a moment, the tension breaks.

Seokjin, of course, gets his perfect feedback too. Not that you’re surprised. The two of you are safe for another day, though as the announcement rings out, your heart sinks a little—Eun, one of the kind women you chatted with yesterday, is the one sent home. As she leaves, the weight of the competition presses down on you. Eight more people stand between you and victory, and among them, the one person you refuse to lose to—Seokjin.

The next two days blur together, a whirlwind of meringues and bread dough, flour dusting every surface like snow, batter splattered across your bench. Somehow, by grace or sheer luck, you’ve managed to hold your place in the competition. Now it’s the second week, day five, and the pressure is palpable—only seven of you remain, each step closer to the edge, and everyone is fighting harder, knowing the next misstep could mean elimination.

As you descend the grand staircase, the tension in the air feels heavier than before. You’re the last to arrive, the others already poised at their stations, judges watching with eagle-eyed precision. When you reach your bench, something catches your eye—a sprig of mistletoe hangs conspicuously in the center aisle, like a trap waiting to spring. You make a mental note to steer clear of that festive lure, no time for distractions, no matter how innocent.

Christina’s voice rings out, warm and inviting. “Today, you’ll be baking pies! Crisp edges, soft centers, and a filling that sings of the season.” Her smile is comforting, but Taehyung’s nod is all business, his eyes gleaming with expectation. “The filling is your choice, sweet or savory, but it must be in line with the spirit of Christmas,” he adds, his deep voice resonating in the hall like the toll of a bell.

You nod, the vision of your pie already clear in your mind—a memory-laden apple-pear lattice pie, passed down from your grandmother. The tart bite of apples softened by the sweetness of ripe pears, all tucked beneath a delicate lattice crust dusted with sugar. Nostalgia and tradition baked into every bite. You know this pie by heart—it’s your connection to the holidays, the warmth of home wrapped in pastry.

As soon as Jungkook announces the start, your hands move with purpose. You reach for the flour, the butter, the cold water—crafting the crust that will hold your memories together. Focused, you’re already mixing the dough when Jungkook’s voice cuts through the air. “Notice anything new?” he chuckles, pointing to the mistletoe overhead, “A little extra something to trip you up—or maybe bring you some luck!”

You roll your eyes, brushing off his playful tease. You didn’t come here for kisses or games. Your eyes flick to Seokjin, who’s snickering under his breath, ever the one to play along. But you push the sound of his laughter away, focus sharpening like a knife’s edge. He won’t trip you up this time—not with jokes, not with smiles. Your hands work swiftly, shaping the dough into something beautiful, knowing that every moment counts in this relentless competition.

No matter what mischief brews beneath the mistletoe, your eyes are on the prize.

As Jungkook drifts behind you, interviewing the contestants in low, animated tones, you’re relieved for the momentary quiet, allowing you to pour your full attention into the pie crust. This is where it all begins—the delicate balance between flour, butter, and water must be perfect. The crust is the foundation, the soul of the pie. You flick on the oven, feeling the heat radiate in waves, and start toward the supply table to grab a mold. But before you make it halfway down the aisle, you slam right into a solid wall of warmth. Seokjin.

“Sorry,” you mutter, trying to collect your scattered thoughts. You sidestep to go around him, but Seokjin clears his throat, and you feel the annoyance bubble up inside you. You glance up at him, your lips tight. “What?” The word slips out sharper than you intended, but your patience is wearing thin.

He doesn’t respond at first, just raises a finger to point above your heads. You follow his gaze—mistletoe. Of course. The sight drains the color from your face. The mistletoe hangs above you like a mischievous sprite, and your heart drops into your stomach. No. Not with Seokjin.

“I’m not kissing you,” you hiss, crossing your arms defensively, feeling a wave of heat rise in your cheeks. The growing number of cameramen hovering around doesn’t help. You can practically feel their lenses zooming in, capturing every moment of your horror.

Seokjin’s smirk grows, and he shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s tradition,” he says, his tone infuriatingly playful. “Don’t you believe in tradition?” His eyebrow quirks, daring you.

Damn Seokjin and his ridiculous smirk. You grit your teeth, a storm brewing in your chest. “Fine!” you snap, voice tight with frustration. With a huff, you step up onto your tiptoes, grab his annoyingly perfect face with flour-dusted hands, and plant a quick, perfunctory kiss on his lips. A fleeting touch—just enough to meet the demands of tradition, nothing more, nothing less. But the moment your lips brush against his, something stirs inside you, unbidden and unexpected. You pull away like you’ve been burned, cheeks blazing scarlet, heart racing as if you’d sprinted a mile. The cameras catch it all, zooming in on the moment—your moment with Seokjin, under the damn mistletoe. Your mother is probably watching this unfold, and you already dread the mountain of messages awaiting you back in your room. And Seokjin’s subreddit? You can only imagine the wildfire of jealousy that’ll sweep through it.

Mortified, you dart past him, heading for the pie mold like it’s the only lifeline left. Behind you, Seokjin chuckles, completely unaffected, while you feel like the floor might as well swallow you whole.

You slam the mold down on your bench, your body still buzzing with the embarrassment of it all. In a haze of frustration, you glance over at Seokjin’s bench. The idea forms before you even register what you’re doing. With a swift motion, you turn the dial on his oven a notch higher, a small, petty act of vengeance. Maybe that’ll teach him to stop messing with you.

“If you wanted me under the mistletoe, you didn’t have to bump into me, you know,” Seokjin’s voice floats over, teasing, unbothered. Before he gets back to his station, you’re already back to yours as if nothing happened.

Your fingers move automatically, rolling out the dough with steady precision despite the flutter of irritation still coursing through you. You lay the crust in the pie tin, pressing it gently into place, trying to focus on the task at hand. As you slide it into the oven for a quick pre-bake, your gaze drifts to Seokjin. He’s melting chocolate at his bench, completely at ease, while you’re still trying to get your heart to stop racing.

What the hell is he baking? You wonder, shaking your head. But whatever it is, it better not be good enough to outshine your pie.

Taehyung and Christina make their way around the room, their presence like an elegant breeze passing through the charged atmosphere. When they reach Seokjin’s station, Taehyung flashes his signature boxy smile, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “So, what are you baking today, Seokjin?” he asks, voice smooth as velvet.

Seokjin grins, the kind of smile that holds a touch of mischief. “I’m making a Mississippi Mud Pie,” he declares proudly, his tone thick with confidence, as if he’s already envisioning the applause.

“Interesting choice,” Taehyung remarks, his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. “I hope you manage to keep that pudding silky smooth.” His words hang in the air, a challenge wrapped in playful encouragement.

Seokjin nods with a flash of determination before turning back to his task, while you continue preparing the glaze for your apples and pears, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he’s making something as bold and obnoxious as a Mississippi Mud Pie. Always grandiose, always showy. You stifle a smirk and push forward, focused on your own pie.

With nimble fingers, you weave the lattice atop your tart, dusting it generously with chunky sugar crystals before sliding it into the oven. The warmth of baking apples and pears is already beginning to dance in the air, a comforting scent that feels like Christmas itself. You glance over just as Seokjin slides his pie into his oven, and the question tickles the back of your mind—did he even notice the temperature?

“I thought Christmas was all about giving,” Seokjin’s voice floats over, snapping you from your thoughts. “How about giving me a break and stop staring like that?” There’s a teasing edge in his tone, and for a moment, you falter. Had you been staring? Damn it. You avert your eyes quickly, but the truth is, you’re curious to see what havoc that tampered oven might wreak on his precious pie.

Time slips by, and as you clean your station, a faint smell begins to curl through the air—something acrid, something burnt. You can’t help the small, wicked smile tugging at your lips. It’s coming from his bench.

Before you can enjoy the moment, Jungkook materializes in front of Seokjin, all wide-eyed and concerned. “Uh, Seokjin... I think your oven might be burning something.”

Seokjin waves him off with the casual arrogance of someone who never second-guesses his skills. “No, no, it’s fine,” he says confidently, but Jungkook pushes further.

“Just check it, mate.”

Finally, Seokjin opens the oven door, and a thick cloud of scorching hot air bursts forth, like an accusation made of smoke. His expression falters. “Shit!” he exclaims as he rushes to pull out the pie, his face darkening with frustration. It’s burnt—not ruined entirely, but the edges are crisped more than they should be. You bite back a laugh, wishing it had turned to charcoal.

His gaze snaps toward you, sharp and piercing, like he knows exactly who’s behind this little mishap. “Well, well,” he smirks, eyes glinting. “Looks like someone’s been naughty instead of nice, messing with my oven temperature just to throw me off.”

You blink innocently, batting your eyelashes as you offer him your best impression of sincerity. “I’m so sorry,” you say, voice dripping with faux sweetness. Both of you know the truth—it’s anything but an apology—but you can’t help but find this moment deliciously funny.

Seokjin chuckles, the sound rich and unbothered as he begins to assemble the other components of his pie. “Oh, I get it now. Sabotage me, burn my pie, and then you try to sweet-talk your way out of it?” His words are playful, but there’s an undercurrent of challenge beneath his voice.

You turn back to your own creation just in time to pull your pie from the oven, golden and perfect. The scent of apples and pears wafts toward you, warm and inviting, and you feel a surge of pride. Perfect.

Seokjin isn’t done yet. “Nice try, though,” he says, not missing a beat. “Your little ‘sabotage’ just makes me want to beat you even more.” Then, with a glint in his eye and a smirk playing on his lips, he leans in slightly. “Maybe even taste what you’ve got cooking.”

Your breath catches for just a second, heart skipping a beat at the unexpected flirtation. Did he just say what you think he did?

You quickly shake it off, focusing back on your flawless pie, hoping that his burnt crust might just seal his fate. But fate isn’t that kind, and as the day’s competition ends, Seokjin survives. Someone else, with a pie more disastrous than his, is sent home. You’re both safe for another day, and as you walk back to your bench, you can’t help but feel both triumphant and a little unnerved.

This isn’t over.

It’s the third week, the seventh day, and you’re already halfway through the competition. You stand at your bench, hands clasped gently in front of you, fingertips brushing and fidgeting, a small effort to calm your jittering nerves. Why you’re nervous is beyond you—yet there it is, that flutter, pressing into your chest.

Across the room, Taehyung, Christina, and Jungkook step up to the judges’ bench, their faces alight with matching mischievous grins. An ominous spark flickers in their eyes, and you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. Whatever’s coming won’t be easy. Jungkook claps his hands together, a low, resonant sound that carries across the hall, his eyes sweeping over each of you.

“Good morning, everyone!” he greets, his voice cheerful and commanding. “I hope you’ve all rested well, because today, you’ll be making—sourdough bread!”

The words hit you like a chill down your spine. Sourdough, of all things! Your breath catches in a gasp; you’ve made sourdough before, but never with a timer breathing down your neck. The very essence of sourdough is its patience, its slow, careful fermentation.

Before the panic can take hold, Jungkook flashes a grin, his bunny teeth peeking out as he adds, “Luckily for you all, Taehyung has prepared a batch of sourdough starter so you can skip the fermentation process.”

Relief trickles through you, the tension easing in your shoulders. A starter made by the Kim Taehyung himself—a legendary boost if ever there was one.

“All you need to do is turn it into a flavorful bread of your own design,” Christina chimes in with her warm, encouraging smile.

Taehyung nods, his voice soft yet firm. “But don’t forget—this is a Christmas competition. Bring those holiday flavors to life.”

With the judges’ call to begin, you spring into action, finding the precious sourdough starter tucked neatly under your bench. As you run through flavor ideas, one combination settles in your mind—walnuts and cinnamon. Yes, you think, a spiced walnut bread sounds just right. Your hands move almost of their own accord, gathering ingredients: flour, eggs, oil, walnuts. You fire up the mixer, combining everything with precision, your gaze flickering momentarily to your right. Seokjin, just as focused, seems to be neck-and-neck with you. You quickly turn away, determined to keep your attention on your dough. Yet as you slide the mix out of the bowl and start kneading, a creeping dread begins to gnaw at you. The dough doesn’t feel right; instead of that soft, slightly sticky texture, it’s dense and tough, refusing to yield beneath your palms.

Your heart skips a beat. Damn. Something’s off. You must have slipped up somewhere with the ratios. You press on, kneading harder, trying to bring life to this obstinate mass, hoping a little coaxing will do the trick.

But then you hear a soft chuckle from beside you. Seokjin, watching with a gleam in his eye, can’t resist the jab. “I hope you’re better at making out than you are at making dough,” he quips, his tone light yet cutting. “Because, judging by that disaster, you’ll need something to make up for it.”

Your blood boils, cheeks flushed with irritation. He has no idea what kind of kiss he missed under that mistletoe, when he only got a peak. His smirk grows as he turns back to his own bread, perfectly unbothered, and you clench your teeth. If he thinks he’s seen the last of your kitchen skills, he’s in for a surprise.

Focus, you tell yourself, hands pressing into the dough with renewed intensity. If anything, his teasing will only push you to rise—just like this stubborn dough is about to.

You knead the dough with an intensity that borders on frustration, each push and twist a quiet vent for the anger bubbling beneath the surface. The dough yields under your hands as you work it harder, almost punching it into shape. Suddenly, Jungkook appears by your bench, his brows furrowed as he takes in your struggle.

“Trouble?” he asks softly, voice edged with concern. You’re too caught up, too irritated to even answer, so you only grunt in response, lifting the stubborn dough and shoving it back into the mixer. A splash of water might save it, you hope, and you watch the machine turn, willing it to obey.

Jungkook and the camera crew linger a moment longer, their lenses capturing every sigh and furrowed brow, then slowly drift down the line toward Seokjin. The camera’s absence leaves a little more space to breathe, but as you finally check the dough, your heart sinks. It’s too sticky now, clinging uncomfortably to your fingers, almost mocking your efforts. Damn it.

With no time to start over, you grab the flour, dusting it like a lifeline as you fold and press, trying to bring it back from the brink. Gradually, with each turn of the dough, it begins to take on the consistency you need. Relief washes over you as you shape it, finally, into the pan and slip it into the oven. You bend and arch your back to set it carefully on the rack, breathing out a sigh, satisfied at last.

“Damn, Y/N—if you’re trying to turn me on, you’re doing a better job than the oven right now.” Seokjin’s voice floats from your right, low and casual, but with a playful glint.

Your mouth drops open before you can stop it, caught off guard as his words settle over you. Did he really just make a sexual comment about my body—right here, on national TV? Anger mixes with embarrassment, but with the cameras still lurking, you only manage a scowl and a sharp roll of your eyes. He grins in response, clearly enjoying your reaction.

When the oven timer finally dings, you take a steadying breath and pull the bread from the heat. It’s risen beautifully, with a golden crust that promises all the flavor and fluff you’d hoped for. But the moment you start to slice into it, dread tugs at you. The knife cuts clean through with too much resistance—too easily. You pull the loaf apart, and your stomach drops. No airy holes, no soft webbing—just a dense, compact mass.

Damn it all.

Your heart sinks as you stare at the thick slice, the reality settling in.

Fuck.

You let the knife slip from your fingers, a dull clatter as it meets the tabletop, and you sink to the floor, unable to hold back the weight that’s been pressing on you all day. Tears blur your vision, slipping down your cheeks as silent sobs shake you, and you curse the cameras that have flocked to capture every moment of your breaking. You hate that they’re filming this—that you’ve sacrificed an entire December, each day on display, competing beside someone you’d rather avoid.

Just then, a gentle hand rests on your back, tracing soft, steady circles that ease the storm a little. Surprised, you look up to see Seokjin crouched beside you, his face soft with a kindness you didn’t expect.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his gaze moving from your dismal bread to meet your tear-streaked face. “I’m sure it still tastes good. And remember—that’s what matters most.”

You blink up at him, catching his eyes for what feels like the first time. Have they always been this warm, this deep? Rich shades of caramel that seem to melt right through you, gentle but somehow grounding. Your chest tightens as something new stirs, fragile and unfamiliar, even as you brush the tears from your cheeks. He doesn’t crack a joke, doesn’t tease, just holds you there in the quiet of his presence.

Your heart hitches, and you take a deep, unsteady breath. He’s right. Taste is what matters most, you tell yourself, though you know the truth—that texture, that mouthfeel, plays an equal role. But he seems so sure, and you let that comfort settle in for a moment before he gives you a last reassuring nod and returns to his station. You rise, still shaken, hoping someone else fumbled more than you did. In the end, it’s Leah who leaves, but that close call leaves a tremor in your chest that keeps you restless long after the day ends.

Sleep evades you that night, leaving you tossing beneath the weight of everything that happened. You can’t stop replaying that disaster on national TV, the sourdough fiasco, your tears on display. Dread tightens your stomach, the idea of what Instagram or Reddit might be saying about your meltdown twisting your mind in knots. You don’t want to know what people think, how foolish you looked. And then there’s Seokjin, adding to the confusion.

You’ve been avoiding him ever since that kiss under the mistletoe, as fleeting as it was. His lips were warm, soft as clouds, and that one moment had left you breathless. And yesterday, instead of pushing you with his usual banter, he was gentle, almost... tender. It’s left your heart skipping, the memory of his face, his touch, stirring something unnamed and unsettling.

Is he just being nice, or is there something more? Don’t be ridiculous, you tell yourself. Maybe this is just his tactic, trying to throw you off your game, to make you lose your focus so he can swoop in and claim victory. But as you lie there in the dark, his kindness replays over and over, leaving you uncertain. Something’s shifting inside you, something you can’t quite grasp yet—and whatever it is, you can’t afford to acknowledge it now. Not when you still have a competition to win.

Exhausted but determined, you stand at your bench on this eighth day of the competition, avoiding even a glance in Seokjin’s direction. Just the thought of him, of how good he must look, sends your stomach into a whirl.

“Boy, have we got something special for you today!” Jungkook announces, his grin wide and electric. Taehyung chuckles, adding, “It’s team challenge day!”

Your heart sinks. You’ve dreaded this day since the start, hoping for the luck of a decent partner, as you had in past seasons. But as the names are read off, fate delivers the unexpected.

“You and Seokjin,” Christina calls, her voice carrying a mischievous note as your eyes meet Seokjin’s. There he stands, dark hair framing a face that’s far too perfect. He smiles, and your heartbeat quickens, rebelling against every ounce of sense you’re trying to hold on to.

“Do you want to know what you’ll be making today?” Christina beams.

The room’s voices echo in eager agreement—all except yours. You’re rooted to the spot, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Seokjin’s shoulder, aware of every traitorous thump of your heart.

“You’ll be making gingerbread houses!” Taehyung laughs, a spark of holiday pride lighting up his face. “We can’t wait to see your creativity—and bring that warm, familiar taste of home to life.”

The start bell chimes, and you and Seokjin exchange a nod before quickly settling on your plan: simple but elegant. As he dives into mixing the dough, you turn your focus to the sugar glaze and icings, choosing Christmas colors—red, green, and white. You work side by side, silent but close, the unspoken tension filling every touch and glance. Whenever your shoulders brush, heat flares up your neck, and you can only hope the cameras don’t catch it.

Then, in a moment of calculated ease, he leans in close, his shoulder pressing against yours. “See, I don’t need mistletoe to get you right where I want you,” he murmurs, voice low and warm.

You’re not sure if he’s talking about the gingerbread or something else entirely, but your cheeks flush, and the world narrows down to the steady beat of your pulse. Words escape you, leaving you flustered, almost dizzy, as you help him press the dough into shape, trying desperately to calm the storm he’s stirring within you.

He turns his head just enough to lean closer, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your neck, sending an electric shiver down your spine. His voice, low and edged with something you can’t quite decipher, murmurs, “I can’t tell if this tension is from the competition… or just from you being this close.”

A hard swallow catches in your throat, and suddenly the room feels far too warm. Damn him for making you lose focus like this.

You manage to cut the dough into its final shapes, sliding them into the oven to bake. As they brown, you check on the icing, spooning through the white, glossy peaks to make sure it’s the right consistency.

“What do you think of this texture?” you ask, holding the spoon high as the icing drips, thick and slow.

His gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long. “Thick and creamy, just how we like it,” he replies, a smirk pulling at his lips. A wink flashes your way, and your face flushes hot. Thick and creamy. You banish the unbidden images forming in your mind, inwardly scolding yourself to get back on track.

When the cookies finish baking, you and Seokjin move in tandem, retrieving the trays and setting the cookies on racks to cool. Golden brown and perfectly crisp, they gleam in the warm light. “They look perfect,” you say, smiling, and Seokjin nods in agreement, arranging the pieces with careful precision.

With the cooling underway, he whips up a fresh batch of icing, the new bowl of white peaks tempting you. “Mind if I taste it?” you ask, reaching toward the bowl. “Just to make sure the sugar’s balanced?”

He raises an eyebrow, offering the spoon. “Go ahead,” he murmurs, tone laced with mischief. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you find yourself craving more.”

The suggestion hangs heavy in the air, and your pulse races, a current of anticipation tightening your chest. You take a taste, licking the spoon, but a little too quickly; icing slips over your lip and trails down your chin.

His eyes darken as he watches. “I must say,” he says softly, his smile curling with intrigue, “you look pretty with liquid dripping down your chin.”

Your cheeks burn, and something inside you clenches unexpectedly. The heat rising within you is almost too much to bear, and for a second, all you want to do is escape his gaze, escape this overwhelming feeling—run, hide, anything. But no, you won’t back down now. Not today.

Why the fuck are you getting turned on right now?

You shove your dirty thoughts aside, convincing yourself he couldn’t have meant anything suggestive. This is the competition, after all—focus. You set to icing the cookies, carefully piping along the edges as Seokjin holds each piece of the gingerbread house steady.

“You’ve got a real talent with that icing…” he murmurs, voice thick with suggestion. He raises an eyebrow, that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Want to see how good I am at licking it off?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and your voice escapes in a half-choked laugh, “No!” Yet you’re left wondering—did he really mean just the cookies? Your heart races, and by now, you must be as red as a ripe apple.

Seokjin leans in, his shoulder brushing yours, eyes glinting playfully. “Better let me handle this,” he whispers, “unless… you’d rather things get a bit messy.”

The closeness is dizzying, and a startled cough escapes you just as Jungkook wanders over, asking if you’re alright. You manage a nod, praying for the day to end so you can escape this charged atmosphere, your flustered nerves, and his honey-laced teasing.

You glance up to find Seokjin’s gaze locked on you, his eyes dark and glinting. “Keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs low, “and I might just let you have a taste of my frosting.”

A jolt shivers down your spine, heat pooling in your cheeks—and elsewhere, much to your horror. You exhale shakily, fingers trembling as you finish icing the final wall of the gingerbread house, praying for the cameras to cut so you can flee.

Finally, the house stands complete, a festive masterpiece that brings a surge of pride and relief. With a quiet thank-you to the heavens that you’ve made it through the day, you’re spared elimination. The moment filming ends, you bolt from the hall, the steady beat of your heart pounding like a drum in your ears.

Reaching your room, you swing the door open, craving solitude. But just as you go to close it, a hand stops the door, and a familiar foot wedges into the gap, preventing your escape. Seokjin appears in the doorway, his presence filling the room as he nudges the door open. You turn, surprised, meeting his gaze as he scans your face, concern softening his eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice low and gentle, and you catch a hint of genuine worry.

“Y-yeah,” you manage, feeling your pulse skip. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing you both in this moment. He steps forward, his gaze drifting around your room, but you instinctively retreat until the edge of the bed presses against the backs of your legs. Caught between him and your own mounting desire, you feel strangely exhilarated, breaths uneven as anticipation rushes through you.

“You just seem…” His voice trails off as he draws nearer, his eyes tracing your features, “a bit… out of sorts.”

You swallow, trying to steady yourself, but his intuition sees right through you. “I’m… I—” You start to speak, but words falter. Say the truth, or shield it?

His eyes narrow slightly, his voice dipping into a whisper. “You’re a little… wet, aren’t you?” The question drips with suggestion, and heat floods your cheeks. Your breath catches, and he smiles knowingly—Seokjin has never been one to miss a tell.

He’s so close now, his scent, warm and intoxicating, fills your senses. His lashes flutter as he leans in, and for a breathless second, your eyes lock. Without thought, driven by the longing pounding in your chest, you reach for his face, pulling him down to meet you in a kiss that’s anything but tentative. It’s intense, melting away whatever barriers you held, a wordless confession pressed from your lips to his. You lean into him, drawn, tethered by an undeniable need.

When you finally part, his dark eyes are fixed on you, filled with astonished heat. “Princess,” he murmurs, voice husky, “do you really want this?” He searches your face, looking for any hint of hesitation.

“I do,” you whisper, your voice raw with desire, “I don’t know why… but I need you, right now.” Your own need sounds urgent in the quiet of the room, and his gaze flickers, a grin tugging at his lips as he pulls you close once more.

You pull him close, kissing him deeply, wanting nothing more than to feel him everywhere, his warmth mingling with yours. Your hands trace the lines of his body, and he lets out a soft, knowing chuckle. “Well, princess is in a rush,” he murmurs, a teasing smile playing on his lips. You can’t help but giggle—he’s always had that look, one that riles and draws you in. His beauty, so effortless, had once made him feel like a thorn in your side. His charms seemed unfair, his confidence so maddening. But now, in his arms, all of that melts away; there’s no room for anything but this want, this anticipation.

“Call me that again,” you say, breathless. “I like it.”

“Princess,” he breathes, voice low and laced with desire. Your hands glide lower, feeling him pressed against you, hard and wanting. You bite your lip as you savor his reaction, and he smirks, lifting a hand to brush your cheek, before leaning close to press a kiss on your forehead, soft and unexpectedly tender.

“Let me taste your cream,” he whispers, eyes dark with mischief and longing.

A laugh bubbles up from you. “Really, Seokjin? Is that your best line?”

He chuckles, his gaze unwavering. “I’m serious. I’ve wanted you since we set foot in this castle.”

The admission catches you off-guard, your heart skipping as you meet his gaze, feeling that familiar, disarming warmth. “Wait… Since the start of the competition?”

He shakes his head, voice dipping to a whisper. “No. Since the moment I first saw you.”

His eyes, rich with longing, hold you captive. Corny as it is, it’s so him, and there’s something so undeniably real in the way he looks at you that you’re left breathless.

“You mean it?” you murmur, still stunned, but unable to resist his pull.

He answers only by lowering you back onto the bed, his touch gentle, yet urgent, and you sink into the softness beneath, wondering if somehow, in his presence, everything feels warmer, softer, more alive.

Seokjin gazes down at you, his eyes twinkling with that familiar, infuriating smirk. “Oh, I know you’ve felt this too. The way you look at me says it all.”

Your lips curl in defiance, though your pulse betrays you, hammering under his gaze. “I looked because I thought you were ridiculous—and infuriating,” you murmur, heart skipping as he leans closer, closing the last sliver of space.

“Yet here we are, and still… you want me,” he breathes, his words brushing your lips just before they meet. His kiss is deep, a slow surrender, and you moan softly, hands curling over his broad shoulders as though anchoring him there. Your kiss is hungry, desperate, as though he might vanish, and when he pulls back, you laugh breathlessly, “Yes, alright, I want you—even if you’ve been an ass.”

He grins, all smug satisfaction. “I do have a good ass, and so do you might I add.” His gaze glints mischievously as he traces a line down your body, catching the edge of your pants and slipping them down your legs. “Let’s take a proper look, shall we?”

The fabric slides away, leaving you in a sliver of lace. He inhales sharply, admiring the delicate pink, and you can feel his gaze linger as he teases, “Pretty soaked for someone who’s supposedly annoyed with me.” His hand hovers, like he’s savoring the moment, his voice low. “What would I find, I wonder?”

Breathless, you lift your hips, letting him pull the last barrier away. His smile softens as he takes you in. “Oh, princess,” he murmurs, voice thick with appreciation, “you’re glistening. Like a rare gem.”

Heat pools in your cheeks, heart pounding at his words. No one’s ever looked at you like this, and he senses your shy retreat, gently catching your arm before you can shield your face. “Don’t hide from me now,” he whispers, pressing a warm kiss to your wrist. “It’s just you being beautiful. Let me see you.”

Then he’s there, lips trailing down the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving a fire in their wake. You feel your body hum in anticipation, every nerve aware, waiting.

“Don’t tease me,” you murmur, fingers threading into his soft hair, tugging gently.

He looks up, a satisfied glint in his eye, the corner of his lips lifting. “Oh, but I’m going to. Because this moment, with you… I want to savor it.”

Slowly, he draws closer, his breath warm against your most sensitive skin, his gaze heavy with intention. The first ghost of his lips on your pussy sends a shiver through you, drawing out a helpless moan. Instinctively, you arch toward him, craving more, but his hands are there, steadying your hips, holding you in place with gentle strength.

Then, his mouth descends, and the first touch of his tongue on your clit sends you spiraling. He moves with a softness and rhythm that leaves you breathless, and when he begins to press his tongue in slow, unyielding circles, a molten heat spreads through you, curling your toes. Each movement feels like a practiced art, his mouth relentless as he savors you, tasting every bit of your arousal with unhurried devotion. The pressure builds inside you, your breaths quickening, pulse pounding.

Your fingers clench in his hair as you gasp, “God, I’m already so close… How are you this good?”

He says nothing, only hums in response, and the low vibration nearly sends you over the edge. He keeps working, drinking you in, savoring every quiver and moan that slips from your lips. You can feel yourself cresting, a torrent of sensation washing over you as you tighten your grip, and he knows—you’re almost there, and he’s right there with you, groaning in satisfaction as he tastes every pulse of pleasure.

The release is all-consuming, a rush that lifts you, dizzies you, blurs the edges of the world. You’re floating, flying, a haze of pure sensation that fades only when you’re utterly spent.

You meet his gaze, dazed, and whisper, “Let me taste you too.” He smiles, standing to pull down his pants and underwear, and you sit up, eyes widening as he’s revealed, long and thick, every inch of him somehow as beautiful as the rest. You slide to your knees, your palms pressing into his hips as you look up at him, your lips parting. With one hand, you wrap around him, earning a sharp hiss as you bring your mouth to him. You start with the barest of kisses at his tip, savoring the salt and warmth of him, a hum of pleasure escaping your lips. His moan deepens, and you smile, swirling your tongue over him with languid strokes, focusing on every place that draws out his breaths and soft curses.

His eyes darken, his breathing growing ragged, and you feel the tension between you deepen, pulsing in rhythm with every touch. You want to make him feel everything he just gave you, and as you lose yourself in the rhythm, you know that the night is only beginning.

He’s breathless now, each exhale a shiver against your skin as you take him deeper, letting his pleasure guide your every move. His fingers rest in your hair, gentle but firm, grounding him as he struggles to hold back a moan. His voice is rough, ragged as he stutters, “Engh—princess…so good with that tongue.”

You glance up, catching his gaze, and hold it with a mischievous spark. In that moment, you give him a slow, deep pull that has his eyes fluttering shut, a strangled groan slipping free. Encouraged, your hand finds its way to his balls, caressing, and you revel in every new sound he makes—each one sending warmth surging through you, building your own need.

But just as he seems ready to let go, he stills your movements, framing your cheeks with both hands as he catches his breath. His thumb traces your skin, his eyes darkened with desire, and he breathes, “You’re incredible, princess, but…I need to be inside you.”

He hesitates, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “I don’t have a condom—do you?”

You pull back, a glistening thread connecting you for a moment before you smile, whispering, “It’s okay. I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.” A small laugh escapes you as you add, “Besides, this wasn’t exactly on my itinerary for tonight.”

Relief softens his features, and he runs a hand through his hair, tousling it further as he laughs with you. “Same here. And I’m clean too.” Then, without another word, he gently lifts the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until it catches briefly in your hair, pulling you both into a shared, breathless laugh as it’s tossed to the floor.

For a moment, he just gazes at you, taking in every curve, every rise and fall of your breath. His hands slide behind you, unhooking your bra, and as it slips away, his gaze drinks you in. “You’re…beautiful,” he murmurs, voice soft with reverence, as though seeing you like this has stripped him of words.

You arch into him, and he cups you, his hands warm and reverent, kneading your skin with a tenderness that has your heart thudding. His fingers trace slow, teasing lines down to the soft, sensitive peaks, barely grazing them, sending delicious shivers racing through you. A moan slips past your lips, urging him on, and you feel his lips close over one, hot and soft, his tongue swirling in ways that leave you trembling. He alternates, his other hand grazing, then gently pinching, teasing out sparks of pleasure that arch through your body.

“Jin—oh god, it’s…” you gasp, but words fail as his mouth closes over your other peak, his hand tenderly attending to the first, each touch adding fuel to the fire raging between you.

He lifts his head, lips parting with a quiet sound as he whispers, “Good?”

“More than good,” you breathe, feeling yourself melt under his touch.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, so close it’s dizzying—but just as you reach for it, he pulls away. A fleeting pout crosses your face, only to be replaced by awe as he sheds his shirt, and god, he looks like a masterpiece. The warm glow of his skin, rich and golden, calls to you; the strong line of his shoulders tapering down to his narrow waist, and below that, his cock—full, hard, and yours to claim. The thought alone makes your pulse race. Every bit of him leaves you breathless, and suddenly, there’s nothing you want more than to feel all of him.

He leans over, guiding you down, covering you in gentle, feverish kisses that send giggles tumbling out between your sighs. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, his dick grazing against your thigh, and your pussy throbs in answer, sending shivers radiating out from your core.

“I want you, Jin,” you whisper, offering yourself to him, fully and freely.

“Oh, I want you too, princess,” he murmurs back, the words a caress against your collarbone as he trails his lips up to your cheek. Slowly, he guides himself to your entrance, positioning himself carefully. His voice softens, “Ready?”

You bite your lip and nod, heart pounding, as he begins to ease into you. You feel every inch as he stretches you, filling you so deeply that it borders on overwhelming. You hadn’t prepared yourself, a detail you remember only now, and for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut. He pauses, his brow furrowing in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asks gently, searching your face.

You chuckle, half-apologetic, “I forgot to prep. It’s…been a while, but keep going.” Despite his hesitation, you nod reassuringly, opening yourself to him fully. He holds your gaze for a heartbeat, and with a final glance for confirmation, he presses deeper, sliding into you with a controlled tenderness. The ache as he stretches you only heightens the pleasure, a sensation that grounds you in the here and now, and you find yourself craving even more, wanting him to lose himself with you.

“You’re so tight,” he rasps, still pressing in, his breathing labored.

A shaky laugh escapes you. “I did say it’s been a while. You’re so big—I think you’re almost splitting me in two.”

A chuckle slips from his lips as he strains to control himself, stilling inside you. “Oh? Now you’re joking?” he asks, amusement lighting his eyes.

“Maybe a little,” you whisper, breathless, “but it does feel incredible.”

Finally, he’s fully seated within you, filling you completely. He takes a moment, his breathing uneven as he absorbs the sensation, and then he begins to move, a slow, intoxicating rhythm that has you clutching at his shoulders. Each glide ignites sparks that streak down your spine, stars already dancing before your eyes. Your toes curl, and that familiar knot tightens low in your stomach, winding tighter with every thrust, unraveling your senses until you’re completely, blissfully lost in him.

His whispered, “Fuck,” is thick with pleasure, a low groan as beads of sweat glisten on his forehead, catching the dim light. He hovers over you, breath warm against your skin, hands planted firmly on either side of your head, grounding you in his intensity. He moves slowly at first, each thrust deliberate, unhurried, yet powerful, the rhythm coaxing cries of pleasure from deep within you as his body presses into yours.

“Seokjin,” you pant, voice trembling, each syllable tangled with need.

“Princess,” he echoes, a rough murmur that makes your body pulse in response, clenching around him. He falters, groaning at the sensation, and his eyes darken as he slides his hand beneath your thigh, lifting it to rest over his shoulder. The change is immediate; he fills you even deeper, his movements reaching an intensity that makes every nerve sing. The new angle has you gasping, clinging to him as he strikes that perfect spot, driving you toward the edge with relentless precision.

“Right there!” you cry, vision spotting, as he picks up the pace, his breaths sharp and stuttering. Your whole body is alight, toes curling, heart pounding, the pleasure mounting too quickly to contain. He grins as he watches your desperation, his hand dipping between you to find your swollen clit, fingers circling and pressing, amplifying every sensation. You’re drenched, his fingers slipping over you easily, driving you higher as your breath hitches, your body shuddering, head thrown back as the climax crashes over you. His name escapes your lips, a cry filled with release, as you feel yourself clench tight around him.

You open your eyes to his face, gorgeous and utterly captivated, his gaze locked onto you, stunned and transfixed. “You…damn, that was beautiful,” he rasps, still circling your sensitive flesh as your body trembles in the aftermath. His own body tightens, breaths quickening, and he leans closer, groaning your name as he thrusts deep, finding his own release. A final shudder ripples through him, and he lets out a sound of your name you’ll remember, deep and raw, filling you with warmth.

As he pulls back, breath heavy, he reaches to sweep a damp hand through his hair. “That…that was amazing,” he murmurs, grinning, his face flushed and bright.

You can’t help but smile back, a quiet chuckle escaping, “I agree.”

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he whispers, tenderly withdrawing as he reaches for a cloth, gentle as his hands linger. You lie there, chest heaving, slowly returning from the edge, the two of you savoring the haze of satisfaction between you. You’d just shared something unforgettable with Seokjin, the man you once called an enemy—but now, that feels like another lifetime away.

Morning’s first light glows softly against the frost-covered castle walls as you step outside with a steaming cup of tea, hoping the chill might clear your mind. The steam from your cup swirls like a small, fleeting cloud in the crisp winter air, mingling with your breath as you stroll along the snow-dusted path. Massive evergreens stand cloaked in fresh powder, their branches heavy with snow, while the castle behind you sparkles with delicate strands of Christmas lights that flicker with a nostalgic warmth. The decor, the quiet beauty—it all fills the air with a festive, dreamy charm.

You wrap your hands tighter around the cup, its warmth spreading into your palms as your thoughts drift back to last night. Seokjin had come to your room, and the memories of the intensity between you still linger, bringing a flush to your cheeks. You can’t help the way your stomach flutters when you remember his touch, the way he melted through every wall you’d built around yourself. There’s no denying it anymore—you like him. Maybe you always have. Maybe all that tension you held against him was just your heart speaking the only way it knew how, because acknowledging these feelings felt too risky. But now it feels even messier. What are you supposed to do with this, with him, here, in the midst of a competition where every moment counts?

Lost in thought, you don’t even hear footsteps approaching until a familiar voice murmurs behind you, “Having regrets?”

You turn, surprised, and meet Seokjin’s steady gaze. He’s watching you intently, something unreadable in his expression, but the glint in his eyes makes your heart skip. Regrets? Not a chance. “No… Never,” you say honestly, the answer flowing out of you without a second thought. The surprise in his face softens, and he steps closer, his brow furrowing as he studies you.

“Then what’s on your mind?” he asks, voice low as if he’s afraid to break the quiet between you.

You hesitate, blowing gently on your tea as you gather your words. “I… like you. I like you a lot. But I don’t know what that means here, now, while we’re both still in this competition. I just don’t want to mess things up.”

Seokjin nods, a small, understanding smile spreading across his lips. “Well, I like you too,” he says simply, and his sincerity warms you even more than the tea in your hands. “We don’t have to make it complicated. Why don’t we just take things as they come? Let’s be in this moment, here together, and not let it get in the way of anything.”

You consider his words and feel a sense of ease settle over you. His simplicity, his kindness—they’re exactly what you need. ��That sounds perfect,” you whisper, heart lightening.

He grins, reaching forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I��m glad,” he murmurs, and the moment feels as close to magical as the glittering snow around you.

For a while, you simply stand there together, absorbing the quiet. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft but determined. “I’d better go in and get ready for the semi-finals. Coming?”

You nod, catching one last look at the snowy landscape before following him, feeling strangely certain that whatever happens, this memory, this moment with him, is yours to keep.

Inside the grand, echoing hall, the atmosphere thrums with anticipation—third week and it’s the semi-finals, and only four contestants remain. It’s another sourdough challenge, and the thought knots your stomach; but this time, you feel armed with everything you’ve learned, determined to redeem yourself from the last round’s missteps. You’ve reviewed every ratio, every technique, certain you won’t make the same mistakes twice.

Across the room, Seokjin catches your eye, flashing a small wink your way that sends warmth rushing to your cheeks. You look down quickly, hoping the cameras miss your blush. You can already imagine the uproar if anyone notices the subtle shifts between you and Seokjin. His fans would be livid, and part of you shivers at the thought. But another part is thrilled—glowing, even—that his glance lingers on you alone.

Taehyung’s voice cuts through the quiet as he announces the start. You reach for your premade starter, blending it with flour, water, salt, and crushed walnuts. A familiar recipe—but this time, perfected. As the machine kneads, you steal a glance at Seokjin, working at his own station. He looks over and smirks, nodding to the dough in your hands. “If you keep kneading it like that,” he murmurs with a glint of amusement, “I might have to admit I’m a little jealous of it.”

Your cheeks flush deeper, and you stifle a laugh, hoping the cameraman didn’t catch the exchange. You’ll knead him later, if he’s lucky. The thought amuses you, and you bury your smile, adjusting your focus as you work the dough in your hands until it reaches that perfect, silken elasticity.

Moving through the contestants, Jungkook stops by Seokjin. “That’s a beautiful dough,” he says, nodding approvingly.

Seokjin grins, a mischievous spark in his eye. “Thanks. I know this is a baking competition, but you can stop flouring me with compliments every time.”

Jungkook’s laugh echoes through the hall, and the room feels warmer somehow, each exchange brimming with camaraderie and friendly rivalry. You cover your dough to let it rest, feeling a swell of satisfaction as the texture is just right. Wiping down your station, you shift your focus to the next challenge—cupcakes, of course, because the semi-finals wouldn’t be complete without multiple recipes in one day.

You dive into the batter, drawing on the festive mood with a blend of cinnamon and shredded carrot for a Christmas touch, and creamy frosting chilled in the fridge, each detail meticulously planned. Into the oven go the cupcake molds, filling the hall with a warm, spiced aroma, blending with the yeasty scent of sourdough proofing.

Across the bench, Seokjin is working with a similar quickness, his gaze drifting to you with a gentle intensity that you can’t help but return. As you work side by side, sharing the small glances that carry more meaning than words, you feel a strange harmony, both within yourself and with him. You’re in the competition—but in these moments, everything feels like a rhythm, an unspoken bond both fierce and gentle, pushing you toward something extraordinary.

In goes the frosting to chill, waiting patiently in its piping bag, and now it’s back to the sourdough. You uncover the dough, marveling at its perfect rise, feeling a surge of confidence and—well, maybe a touch of mischief. Glancing over at Seokjin, you call out, voice low and playful, “You know, the only thing that should be rising faster than this dough is the tension between us.”

He lets out a deep, warm laugh, a sound that wraps around you and settles deep in your stomach, stirring something close to admiration—maybe even more. “Touché, Y/N!” he grins, pulling the cloth from his own dough with a wink. “Though, this dough isn’t the only thing that’s rising around here…” His words hang in the air as your mouth falls open. You give him a quick look, half-worried he’s serious, but you don’t find him popping a boner and instead find him grinning, reveling in his joke. The mischievous glint in his eye is impossible to resist, and you can’t help but laugh, enjoying the banter you two have woven between the flour and dough.

Focused, you place your dough on a baking tray, score a precise line along the length with a sharp knife, dust it lightly with flour, and slide it into the oven alongside your baking cupcakes. You’re quick to pull them out once they’re golden and perfect, setting them on a rack to cool as time dwindles. The kitchen hums with activity, everyone moving at a near-frantic pace, yet somehow you feel steady with Seokjin beside you. You glance at the clock—just fifteen minutes remain. The bread has to finish, and the cupcakes still need their frosting. Seokjin catches your anxious glance and gives you a reassuring smile, dashing to the fridge for his frosting. His calm steadiness eases the pulse of worry in your chest, and you follow suit, gathering your frosting bag and applying smooth, swirled peaks to each cupcake, finishing them with a sprinkle of walnuts.

As you pull your sourdough from the oven, the loaf is everything you hoped for—golden, hearty, the cut expanding beautifully along its edge. With a sense of quiet pride, you plate everything just in time, arranging the warm, rustic loaf and delicately frosted cupcakes into a small but satisfying spread. Relief washes over you when the round ends without either you or Seokjin being eliminated—though the victory feels bittersweet as Kevin packs up his station.

Exhausted but exhilarated, you and Seokjin retreat to your room to unwind, sharing stories and laughter until words give way to the kind of silence only the two of you can understand. And as the evening stretches on, he leaves you breathless in new ways, your bond deepening with every heartbeat shared between laughter and tantalizing touch.

With each passing day since the competition began winding down, you and Seokjin have become tangled in each other’s warmth, his presence as comforting as the scent of baked bread. But today—today is the final. Just the two of you remain, locked in a dance of rivalry and something deeper, unspoken. It’s week four, and the pressure sits heavy in your chest. You’re here to win, driven as ever—but some part of you almost wants him to take the victory, too. How strange, this tug of ambition and affection, both pushing you forward and grounding you at once.

The vast hall feels somehow larger with only two stations now, each of you taking your place under the blinding lights. Cameras linger, catching every nervous inhale, every flicker of emotion, and you steel yourself as Christina addresses you, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Today is the finale, and we can’t wait to see what you’ll make. We’re asking you to prepare three distinct Christmas desserts.”

Your heart skips a beat. This isn’t just any bake—it’s a final act, a moment to define the entire journey. Taehyung steps forward with his trademark grin, “You’ll be baking the same desserts, so we can judge them side by side. They are: a chocolate raspberry roulade, a traditional Christmas pudding trifle, and finally, profiteroles.”

Profiteroles. You feel a pang of dread—choux pastry, your nemesis. But there’s no time to overthink it. You exhale deeply, eyes darting to Seokjin, who meets your gaze with a soft, reassuring smile, and you offer one back, letting that silent exchange ground you. Whoever wins, it won’t be for lack of trying.

“Bake!” Taehyung shouts, clapping his hands, and the clock starts ticking. You dive in, gathering ingredients, organizing every move in your mind like a well-choreographed routine. Pudding layers, roulade filling—everything goes into the fridge and blast chiller to set, and you work swiftly, feeling beads of sweat prickling on your brow. Seokjin keeps pace beside you, and you can’t help but catch the gentle gleam of his focus. As you fumble with a pat of stubborn butter, Seokjin’s voice lilts beside you, “You think you’re so tough, but I bet you’d melt faster than butter in my kitchen.” His teasing catches you off guard, and you laugh, cheeks flushed, just as a cameraman swoops in to capture the moment.

Then, a murmur fills the hall—a door opens, and suddenly a chorus of voices drifts through. You pause, glancing up, and your heart stumbles as you see them: your mother, sister, nieces, and nephews, all holding balloons, flags and waving, their faces beaming. Behind them, an older couple you recognize from photos as Seokjin’s parents stand with pride lighting up their faces. More familiar faces follow—the eliminated contestants, cheering, their hands clapping, adding an electric energy to the air.

The crowd reminds you of what brought you here and what’s at stake, and it fills you with a quiet determination. It’s down to the two of you, and you intend to give it everything, heart and soul, even if it’s the final push in more ways than one.

“Welcome, everyone!” Jungkook calls out, his voice brimming with excitement. “We’ve prepared seating just over here, so you can sit, relax, and enjoy watching the grand finale.”

Your heart pounds as the realization settles in—you’d forgotten about this moment, the pressure of having every pair of eyes on you in the throes of your work. You’ve never reached the finale before, and the weight of the audience—family, friends, past contestants—is suddenly heavy, a slight quiver of doubt creeping into your hands. But before you can spiral, Seokjin darts over to your bench, leaning close enough for his warmth to steady you. “Take it easy,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your nerves. “You’re doing great. But who would’ve thought baking with you could feel this... intense? Not that I’m complaining—I’ve always liked a challenge.” He throws you a wink before returning to his station, leaving you with a small, fluttering smile. Seokjin’s usual banter never fails to ground you, even if he’s technically still the competition, both of you eyeing that coveted trophy and the hundred-thousand-dollar prize. A part of you can’t help but think, though, that he’s won enough already—why should he get this one too?

Returning to your tasks, you finish mixing the batter and pour it onto a tray, sliding it into the oven just as the judges approach, their expressions curious and bright. “How’s it going, Y/N?” Taehyung asks, his familiar warmth and calm demeanor making you smile despite your nerves. “Pretty good,” you answer, focusing on the profiteroles. “I just need to pipe the choux and bake it, and then it’s on to assembly. Just hoping to finally beat Seokjin for once,” you add with a sheepish laugh. It’s no secret—he’s always been the one to catch, and your admiration, even begrudging, is genuine.

“Think I’m playing hard to get, do you?” Seokjin’s voice calls out from his station, his tone teasing, playful, earning a burst of laughter from the audience. “Princess, I’m just giving you a taste of what’s coming.” At the word ‘princess,’ your breath hitches, a warm flush creeping over your cheeks. You chance a look toward him, and his eyes meet yours, a mischievous glint dancing in them. Thankfully, no one else seems to catch the slip, and you focus back on your profiteroles, steadying your hands and your thoughts.

As you start piping the choux, you toss a look back his way. “Well, Seokjin, I’ll have you know I’ve got a secret ingredient in my roulade this time—I’m feeling pretty good about taking first place.”

He chuckles, your exchange laced with that familiar, easy banter you’ve shared a thousand times, though now it simmers with something deeper, something unspoken. “Oh, a secret ingredient, huh? Cute,” he replies, amusement thick in his voice. “But I already know your weakness, princess…,” he pauses for effect, the words rich with mischief as he slides his profiteroles into the oven. “Me.”

The words strike a chord you weren’t prepared for, and your hands still, feeling exposed as his eyes flicker with a knowing gleam. He’s right—damn it, he’s right. He is your weakness, more than you’re ready to admit.

“For someone who talks a big game, you sure seem distracted by me,” he laughs, returning to his work. The sound pulls you back to reality, and you move to your next step, hoping the blush has faded enough to go unnoticed. Glancing toward the crowd, you catch sight of your mom’s watchful eyes, and you can only pray that neither she nor the cameras caught the moment.

You slide the roulade from the oven, transferring it to cool on a fresh tray, each step a carefully orchestrated dance of urgency and precision. Raspberries glisten in their bowl, their color vivid against the creamy filling you grab from the fridge, and you can’t help but smile—chocolate and raspberry, a classic match. I hope it’s perfect, you think as you roll the delicate sponge, sealing it with care before tucking it away in the fridge.

The hours slip by in fragments, your family’s cheers a soft echo at the edges of your concentration. Nearly everything is done: the roulade chilled, the profiteroles cooling on the tray, the trifle assembly is next with a bit of hope and a dash of doubt. You’re so close. You portion the trifle into gleaming glasses, slipping them into the fridge, then temper the final swirl of chocolate for your profiteroles, adding a whisper of orange zest for flair. Each element comes together like pieces in a puzzle, one you hope will capture the hearts of the judges.

Finally, you and Seokjin finish almost in sync, both of your creations plated to perfection. The judges, standing at their table with anticipation, gesture for you to present your roulade first, then Seokjin’s. Side by side, your roulades look like echoes of each other—his, perhaps a bit more precise, but the judges praise the flavors of yours, and you breathe a little easier. When it comes time to present the trifles, nerves flutter in your chest. Pudding has always been your challenge, and it shows. Taehyung’s gentle apology about its grainy texture confirms what you feared, and you nod, feeling the sting despite the kindness in his voice. It’s not over yet, though. The final moment comes down to the profiteroles. Watching the judges savor each bite, their expressions inscrutable, feels like holding your breath underwater. Did you get the texture just right? Are the flavors enough? You can’t tell if they favor yours or Seokjin’s, but the judges step back to confer, and the wait stretches on. Seokjin catches your eye, and the slight squeeze of his hand around yours is like a wordless reminder: Whatever happens, you made it this far. The audience hushes as the judges return, smiles lighting their faces.

“Seokjin is the winner,” they announce, and the room erupts in cheers, the joy swelling around you even as your heart sinks. You give a soft smile, watching as his family rushes to his side, while yours gathers around you, their hugs and warmth softening the ache of coming so close.

Taehyung clears his throat, addressing the crowd. “Honestly, Y/N, it was such small details that set you apart—mostly the pudding texture and the choux consistency.” You nod, grateful for the explanation even as disappointment lingers, a reminder of how hard you tried to make this win your own.

As your mom wraps you in a warm embrace, she whispers, “It’s alright—second place is still something to be proud of,” her voice gentle but consoling. You can’t help the small eye roll, even as you know her heart’s in the right place.

Suddenly, there’s a familiar arm around your waist, steady and reassuring. Seokjin pulls you close, leaning his head onto your shoulder before pressing a tender kiss to your neck. “How are you feeling, princess?” he murmurs, voice low and meant just for you.

But the entire room seems to freeze. Conversations fade, and a hush spreads as everyone looks on, your mom’s jaw slack in surprise, cameras hovering so close they might capture the racing pulse at your throat.

You let out a breath, half-laughing as you shrug. “Honestly… a bit deflated,” you admit, feeling his warmth steadying you, “but I’ll survive.” You lean into his embrace, letting it soften the lingering ache of the moment.

Then he turns you toward him, his gaze intent, before he kisses you—fully, deeply, with a confidence that leaves you breathless. A soft sigh escapes, and you can hear whispers ripple through the room, a wave of disbelief from everyone watching. They had no idea that this quiet affection had been growing in secret all this time.

Seokjin pulls back, his eyes shining as he holds your gaze. “It’s okay. You can beat me next year,” he teases, a hint of laughter in his voice.

You pout, rolling your eyes with playful sass. “Oh, I plan on beating your ass next year,” you reply, certain and unflinching.

He chuckles, leaning down to kiss you again. “I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmurs, his words a soft thrill against your lips. Then he pulls back, a sudden tenderness in his expression. “But… there’s something I want to ask you first.”

Curious, you tilt your head, waiting. “How would you feel about going on a date with me and spending Christmas together? Maybe somewhere special—a resort in the mountains, all-inclusive?” His words tumble out, eager, a little nervous.

“Trying to buy my love, are you?” you tease, grinning as you hear your sister muttering behind you, “Go! It’s all-inclusive!”

Seokjin stammers, his eyes widening in flustered surprise. “What? No, princess, I just—”

You press your hands against his chest, silencing him with a soft smile. “I’m joking. Yes, I’d love to. To date you, officially. And spend Christmas with you. I like you. Might even love you a little,” you add, pinching your fingers close to show just a little, even though you know it’s more than that.

The smile that lights up his face is nothing short of radiant. His arms tighten around your waist, and he lifts you, spinning you in an impromptu waltz that has you laughing breathlessly as he plants a quick kiss on your forehead. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever,” he says, his voice low and thrilled against your ear, his warmth filling you from head to toe. You hum in agreement, already lost in the certainty of it.

Seokjin may have claimed the trophy, but with him by your side, you know you’ve won something even better. And as the room erupts in applause, you realize this Christmas will be the start of something unforgettable.

→ Taglist: @back2bluesidex @yoontaethings @ktownshizzle @closer-to-jungkook @tea4sykes @myspi2010 @luaxjin @dazzlingjade @lachimolalajeon @agustverse @mrs-ksj @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @ajoonniice

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice

→ Author’s endnote: what did you think??? Please let me know. This one was so fun to write and I laughed multiple times. I hope you had fun reading too 🥰

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ultravi0lence14 · 2 months ago

Text

Crush

dean winchester x fem!reader

2.6k | angst, fluff

summary: operation, have you and dean actually get along. that is all sam begged and pleaded to happen. though, it worked better than he initially had hoped.

sam believed that if he rolled his eyes anymore, they’d get stuck at the back of his head. he loved you, don’t get it twisted. it’s just that when you and dean were in the same room, things seemed to get a lot more. . . aggravating, to say it lightly.

the winchester brothers had met you around three years ago on a hunt in washington. a pesky demon is what brought you all together. well, it was more or less you and sam. dean was just an added on bonus that wasn’t really a bonus because you wanted to slap him across the face every ten seconds.

you and dean winchester hadn’t gotten along since the jump, and sam could easily vouch for the statement since he’d been in the middle of the lengthy feud for many years. dean was cocky, stubborn, and always had to be right, something you couldn’t stand. as someone who strived on being independent, a man like dean was a thorn in your side.

for years, anytime sam called you to help on a case, or you three were in the same place at the same time, you and dean would always end up in some kind of fight. whether it be his idea was better than yours or dean’s constant need to blare his music in the car it didn’t matter. you would always fight and sam would always dream of cutting his eyes out with a blunt butter knife

this hunt wasn’t any different. a witch had been using the residents of a small town in mississippi as her personal test dummy’s. droppings bodies left, right, and centre. so with a call from sam, you hopped on a bus and met the two brothers at their motel in kentucky, ready to join the hunt.

dean always teased you for not having a constant form of transportation, but you weren’t a douche who rode in a classic muscle car. especially one who was attached to it as a baby is to their bottle, so his digs just went completely deaf to you.

knocking on the winchester’s motel room door, sam greeted you with a gleaming smile on his face. arms extended for a hug, you cuddled into his chest and rested your head by his shoulder, catching a glimpse of dean shovelling a mini pie into his mouth.

when the older brother caught your eye, he just scoffed. hands moving to cross over his chest as you stepped away from sam and did the same.

“we really don’t need her help sammy.” dean practically snarled, mouth tilting up in a devious smirk. “she’s probably already got plans with all her little pals on the bus.”

sam just sighed, already mentally prepared for the kindergarten level digs you two were going to throw at each other. he almost left the room as he watched your shoulders square and your jaw clench. “oh very funny dean.” you retorted, hands resting in your pockets so you didn’t choke the man. “why don’t i just go slash all your tires? then maybe we can be bus buddies.”

“don’t you dare even think about touching my baby!” dean’s finger had lifted in the air in a pointing motion at you, and sam felt his hands lift up and slap against his thighs. “oh dear god, you guys are killing me! there’s people who need are help, and you two fighting like an old married couple isn’t going to help them.”

the sour look on your face when sam mentioned you and dean in the same sentence as married couple could’ve been made as a reaction photo, yet sam and dean didn’t acknowledge it as they led the way outside and to the infamous chevy impala.

nothing could ever prepare sam for the long car rides with you and his brother. it was either copious hours of bickering or a tense silence that had sam so uncomfortable he questioned if walking was a good idea.

this time the silence was so thick, sam genuinely reached his breaking point. Years of breaking up your arguments and having to be the middleman drove him to a dire conclusion; he needed to get you and Dean to like each other.

the plan was truly fool proof. force the two of you to work on the case together and boom, all the arguing and petty fights would be a faraway memory. sam had to contain his grin when he mentioned that interviewing the families is more of a one person job than going to the morgue. his grin didn’t leave his face even as he mentioned that he was better with comforting grieving families than either you or dean.

no words were spoken between you and dean in the car ride towards the morgue. in all honesty, you never knew what to say to the man. he was always angry, finding something to get mad about and always finding a way for it to be your fault.

truthfully, maybe that’s why you hated him. he never let you explain yourself, always jumping to conclusions and blaming you for the smallest things. if it wasn’t for his quick temper and communication issues, you’d probably have a huge crush on the man.

it was dean winchester at the end of the day. and as much of a dick as he was to you, you witnessed those moments he had with sam or with a family member or victim on a case where he wasn’t an absolute dickhead. it was sad really, how much dean hated you. sam spoke up and down that you and dean would be a great duo, yet you never got to prove him right or wrong since his older brother couldn’t go five minutes without arguing with you.

although, something you weren’t aware of was that dean’s thoughts were very similar to yours. he didn’t know why you got under his skin, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about you for weeks after you would leave.

the man knew there was nothing wrong with you. he was just stubborn, and pushing people away before he got too close to them was his specialty. what if you became someone special in his life? what if because of that, you died, and then dean would blame himself for the rest of his life.

it was easier to keep you at an arms length than to get too close, and yeah sam would say he was being childish, but dean didn’t really care. you hating him and staying alive was better than him meaning something to you and that being the reason you were dead.

the trip to the morgue was awkward for the better part. you were trying to rid your mind of any thoughts you had on dean in the car and the man in question was trying his best to remain a good foot away from you. both of you could tell that something had shifted in that stupid ten minute car ride, but neither of you wanted to bring it up.

sam knew something was up when he met with you and dean again. it wasn’t even close to his end goal, but he knew that he was getting close to the feud between you and dean to finally be over.

his final shove was suggesting that you and dean check out the home of moira carlson while he goes to talk to the sheriff in charge of the murders. an argument raged on, but begrudgingly, you and dean left together to go investigate the number one suspects home.

dean had gotten to the home in under ten minutes, and now you found yourself and dean sneaking around the back of mrs carlson’s home to slip in the back door.

a scoff could be heard behind you. and as you turned around, you saw dean with an exasperated look on his face. “jesus woman, can you breathe any louder?”

the pettiness of dean’s complaint just had you rolling your eyes, turning back so you could make your way to where the sliding back door was; unlocked thankfully.

moira carlson’s home definitely screamed evil witch who enjoys killing people. occult items and witchy like items were sprawled around the living and dining room. a big pot in the kitchen alongside weird looking herbs also tipped you off. you would’ve mentioned how cliche all of this was if dean didn’t drop and shatter a statue like a dumb ass.

“are you serious!” you exclaimed, whipping around to look at dean’s hunched figure, trying to clean the broken pieces of the statue in a hurry. “can you not be a complete oaf for one damn second?”

the eldest winchester just laughed humourlessly, standing back up with all the broken pieces in his hand. “i’m not the one stomping around like an ogre. she can be home for all we know.”

“coming from the guy with the cinder blocks for shoes.” you scoffed, both you and dean looking down at his monstrous boots. “all of this complaining is really rich coming from you, dean winchester.”

it seemed that at that very moment, dean had enough of your guys’ bickering. with a wild look in his eye, dean flew off the handle in a way that you probably wouldn’t be able to describe in full accuracy ever again. he started off with a disbelieved “really!” and then ranted on for longer than you ever could’ve pictured.

“how is it possible that you think i’m the one always complaining, miss whines a lot.” your eyes buggered out of your head as you looked on past dean. “you know, i’ve been keeping my cool for sammy’s sake but you are really a piece of work. i know i’m not the best person to be around 24/7 but cmon, can you not try and be civil for once?”

he kept going. yet you weren’t focused on whatever dean was saying, for moira carlson, in all of her evil witchy goodness, was coming up behind dean with a spell on her tongue that did not look friendly at all.

“dean.” you muttered, watching as the now ghastly looking woman got closer. he didn’t listen though, just threw his arms in the air and let his hands reside on his hips like a child. “oh so mature y/n. go on and interrupt me-“

“get down you idiot!” your body smacked down to the floor just as the witch threw dean across the room. poor bastard didn’t even have time to turn around. attempting to take shelter behind the sofa, you grabbed on to dean’s sprawled body and shuffled across the floor while trying to shoot at mrs carlson.

somehow, you got the two of you behind the sofa, propping dean in a sitting position before resting your body over the couch so you could take a shot. dean was frantically texting sam, warning his brother about what danger you two were in while wheezing in the air that got knocked out of his lungs.

with a mighty wave of her hand, the witch blew the couch into two pieces. dean’s body slumped back to the floor, too bruised and in pain to allow the man to even move a muscle. a loud cackle could be heard as mrs carlson moved in on dean, ready to deliver her final blow.

she was about to, if it wasn’t for your gun going off at the perfect time and striking her right in her forehead. the woman slumped to the ground beside dean, the man in question shimmying as far away from her as possible before you rushed over and propped him up on the nearest wall.

“oh god.” you mumbled, watching as dean nearly coughed up a lung. you knew he was okay, he took worse beating than this. it was just the fact of seeing him get thrown around like a rag doll that had an emotion bubbling to the forefront of your mind. one you never thought you’d experience towards dean.

waving you off, dean sat himself up straighter and took a deep intake of air. “i’m okay y/n, it’s fine. though you probably just saved my life.” dean all of a sudden had the realization that he didn’t need to be so closed off all this time. you could easily handle your own, and having someone like you would probably be the best thing that ever happened to him.

a sheepish blush rose to your cheeks as dean stared at you longer, and suddenly, you realized that maybe the man wasn’t as bad as you initially thought. deep down, you cared about him. yeah, you two could fight like cats and dogs, but so does everyone. at the end of the day, you would always be there for dean and he’d do the same for you.

“i’m sorry for how i’ve treated you these past couple of years.” your random word vomit had dean snapping his head up, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared at your nervous features. “i know you have your own way of doing things and i shouldn’t pester you about everything. it sucks that you probably still hate me, but can we please work on us-“

“i never hated you.” dean cut you off so quickly it was almost like he couldn’t bare hold down those words any longer. your nervous face turned shocked, and suddenly dean had the confidence to say what he always wanted to. “ever since i was young, every person i’ve ever cared about either leave’s or dies, and i somehow just knew that you were special the first moment i met you.” a somber smile appeared on your face, and you found yourself moving closer and closer to dean as he continued to speak.

“i’m sorry i never gave you a chance sweetheart, but would you give me one now?” you didn’t have to be asked twice, for in an instant you perched yourself in dean’s lap and smashed your lips onto his.

dean didn’t take long to reciprocate your actions. hands moving to go around your waist and nestle in your hair while your own gripped tightly onto his t shirt. dean’s mouth was exploring all the places he wished he could’ve kissed you sooner. your soft lips, all around your face. when he moved on to placing sloppy kisses on your neck, you felt the vibrations of his voice against your skin as he kept mumbling. ‘so perfect’ and ‘you’re so beautiful, everything i could ever dream of.’

unknown to the two of you, sam had just walked in the front door and was ready to defend you all against the destructive witch. though to his surprise — and slight disgust if he was being honest, he stepped into the living room to see you and dean behind a destroyed couch. the two of you were heavily making out and dean just put it upon himself to wrap his one arm around the underside of your ass, hoisting you further up on his body and giving it a firm squeeze in the process.

“well fuck.” sam mumbled to himself, slightly gagging up his salad from lunch as he watched dean pull your head back by a tuft of your hair and start leaving trails of hickeys down your neck.

“yeah, that’s enough of that.” the youngest winchester just silently mumbled to himself as he walked back outside the front door, leaving you and dean in the middle of a random house to sort out all of your pent up feelings in a way he definitely shouldn’t be seeing.

#supernatural #imagine #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural x reader #fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x you #dean

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cinhomi · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: best friend Han Jisung x fem reader

��𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: there's a thunderstorm outside and you don't have an umbrella. luck wants that you're near you best friend's apartment complex and you decide to wait for the rain to stop and your clothes to dry while watching a movie with him... but things escalate after the tension between you two finally snaps.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, smut, friends to lovers

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: play-fighting, swearing, soft dom Jisung, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, no protection (boo-hoo), multiple orgasms, creampie, messy making out, hint of slight choking, dry humping, tiny bit of possessiveness, praise, dirty talk, slight manhandling, overstimulation, spitting.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8K

I don't know if anyone can tell but I'm actually in love with this man

The sound of the doorbell ringing resonated in your ears, feeling already relaxed by the familiar pattern of the short melody. The veins of the wooden door too, you knew them by heart, and istantly felt less tense by looking at them: you were soaked from head to toe and were feeling kind of dumb standing by his apartment in your state, cold and shaking, but you knew you'd be welcomed and he would take care of you no matter what. You heard hurrying footsteps approaching the entrance and in a second the shining smile of your best friend appeared in front of you, just to drop one second after.

"Oh my god baby, are you okay?"

Baby, he always called you that but every single time your belly tingled as if it was the first. Was it necessary? Not really, but you didn't want to stop him from saying that. It was so sweet and intimate and you enjoyed it when your cheeks would start to feel warm because of the petname (a bit too much maybe).

He gently wrapped his hand around your arm and pulled you inside his apartment, leaving you at the entrance for a second, running away just to come back with a towel.

"Were you outside? Didn't you bring an umbrella? Aaah you're so dumb sometimes..." he didn't even wait for your reply, he just threw the cloth over your head and started rubbing it gently to dry your hair just a little bit.

"I was doing some errands around here and I decided to walk instead of taking the bus, but it suddenly started raining like, heavily, and I wasn't able to search for a place to run into... so I just accepted my destiny and took a stroll until I came here" you sighed, dramatically taking a hand to your forehead and closing your eyes, not really able to hide the growing smile on your face when you heard him chukle and gently caress your face to take away the remaining droplets of water. He lowered down until his eyes met yours, then he tilted his head to the side as his gaze softened.

"You dummy... hope you didn't catch a cold or I'll be the one that will have to take care of you y'know!?" he started to take off your jacket, his hands lingering on your arms with his soft touch, then putting aside your shoes before placing the same towel on the floor for you to step on it. "Now, go take a shower and I'll search for something to give you while I wash your stuff, okay baby?"

At your nod he went ahead and with his finger he gestured you to follow him through your giggles, while the warmth in your belly started spreading even more hot than before. He made you feel so loved and special, always a priority, and you cherished little moments like these, it filled your heart with joy being in his presence... and for him it was the same, you both knew.

"Leave your clothes outside the door angel, I'll pick them up later" he said, before giving you a kiss on your forehead and handing you what he chose for you to wear.

"I'll wait in my bedroom with a movie ready to watch～" a wink and he turned around, his shoulders seeming a little more broad and muscular... did he start to go to the gym again? The terrible heating of your face crept under your skin again by the thought of him doing his excercise routine. You saw him once when you tried to do it together, all sweaty and panting and eyes half closed, that time you nearly planted your face on the cute light blue-flowery-patterned mat he gifted you with lewd thoughts racing in your head during your thirty seconds plank.

The question accompanied you in the shower anyway, where you couldn't really think about anything else but how much love you felt for him and how you were desperate for him to know already.

All your friends encouraged you to get together but you never understood if Jisung's reaction was positive or negative whenever they teased you two.

And you knew you've always loved him, you became his friend just to get close to him after all, but things escalated and you were never really able to escape the situation and just confess, so you kind of went along with it until you decided not to risk ruining everything.

Because you had something really special going on, connected on a deep level. It was like you two had your own little world, where you were comfortable and safe in each other's presence.

Your thoughts went by as you finished showering, finally putting on his clothes, heart reacing when you saw your reflection on the big mirror in his bathroom. Hair still wet falling flat on your head you quetly stepped into his room in the dim light, the screen of his laptop flashing his face with different colors as he was still searching for the right movie to watch.

Jisung saw you with the corner of his eye, so he lifted his gaze not really expecting the sight that was waiting for him.

If only you knew how excited he was while searching in his wardrobe for some of his clothes for you. It wasn't the first time, no, but it always made him feel giddy and soft.

This time though, he couldn't predict that familiar and quite scandalous sensation in his lower abdomen to appear.

Jisung hated himself in these situations. You were there, looking perfect, innocent, angelic, and he was only looking at the quite accentuated tug of your nipples through your favorite shirt of his; how your sexy curves were hidden by the oversized article of clothing leaving his immagination wilding, how his damn boxers weren't even visible on you so your legs appeared naked in front of him, his brain much more quicker than his sense of shame and imagining how would it be if you weren't wearing anything at all under there.

He was already about to explode when he picked up your cute panties and bra to wash. His favorite color, little lace details decorating them, so simple yet so tempting he had to palm himself to find some relief. But now...

"Sungie you okay?" suddenly you were beside him, kneeling on the bed and scooting closer to him, the cutted collar of the shirt hanging low due to the lazy movements you were making, exposing your collarbones. Jisung had to swallow and blink twice before processing everything that was happening.

"Oh, yeah, totally fine y/n. Come here..."

He lifted his toned arm and delicately took you closer, and without putting too much thought into it, you placed one leg over his lap, snuggling onto his chest that was heavily lifting and dropping all of a sudden.

"You look amazing with my clothes, you know that? So swag" he smiled, trying to concentrate elsewhere that wasn't the ache he felt whenever he accidentally let his fantasies about you take control of his thoughs. But how could he refrain himself when he got to see you get flustered like crazy? It was so satisfying, but frustrating at the same time because he didn't know if he would ever be able to go further with you, like he always wanted. He hated being your friend, because since day one he wanted to be a partner to you, and he lost his chance many times in the past so he also lost hope for something romantically serious between you two.

"Ji, nobody says 'swag' anymore... gosh you're so old" you rolled your eyes in fake annoyance, and he gasped, disdain showing on his face as his free hand took place on his chest, near his heart.

"I'm offended. Make it up to me now, immediately in this right moment or I'll make you regret it"

A challenging gaze was now plastered on his stupidly beautiful face, all the extra acting dissipating from him. Who were you to back up? But truth was that you absolutely couldn't say "no" to him nor fight him too much: it was just a matter of time before he would have you under his control, always, so you just didn't see a point in denying that anymore.

"What do you want?" your tone was firm, unamused as you straightened your back and faced him properly.

"You have to let me kiss your ugly face whenever I want for the rest of the night"

You squeezed your eyes shut just to open them again and see him with a serious expression.

"It's only fair" he adjusted an immaginary pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose and puckered his lips while his brows raised, gaining a light slap on his chest from you while you started laughing.

You loved this about him, how he could make you smile and feel good effortlessly.

"Alright... everything for you Jisung"

Your voice was soft now, and despite the fun atmosphere your words were very serious. Jisung didn't stop looking into your eyes, not even for a second while your lips moved and pronounced his name that way. Only you did this to him. He couldn't help but imagine how you would sound if he made you feel good, use his tongue on you, his fingers and more...

You on your part were now feeling the weight of his arm wrapped around you and his hand hanging loosely over your shoulder, his fingers brushing the skin of your neck, goosebumps raising from your back.

Jisung finally detached from your stare and returned his attention to the screen positioned in front of him. "I thought this movie would be alright. I'm not sure about it but while I was looking for other things it kept popping up so I guess it's a sign. You okay with this?"

He was always so considerate of your opinion, on everything, and that made you feel heard and validated. So sweet, so rare of someone to be so fond of what you think.

"Mhmh" you nodded, leaning your head on his chest as he pressed 'play'.

The movie wasn't that interesting, not that one of you cared though. You and Jisung were teasing and annoying each other while the dialogues and the music (lowered few minutes before) served just as a background noise. Much louder was the sound of the rain and the thunders outside, and you smiled remembering yourself few hours before, all alone walking in the rain.

But now you were in the arms of a person you adored, all cozy and comfy with your heart fluttering nonstop while he stroked your bare thighs, scratching them lightly with his colored nails. It was you that painted them, chose the nail polish, did the design... it was during one of your nights together the week prior.

You came back to reality when Jisung started leaving few pecks on your right cheek, that trailed down your jaw making his lips snap loudly, almost abnoxiously against your skin.

"What are you... doing?"

You tried to shove his head off of you but he didn't even want to consider stopping.

"I thought we had an agreement? Are you that type of person that doesn't respect agreements? Nah that's not possible, you're a good girl... am just cuddling after all, hm?" he purred with his lower voice, a hint of a sly smirk appearing on his lips, you could feel it when he brushed them over your sensitive spot again and again. You knew he was in a playful mood, it happened quite often, but you were fearing for your little whimpers to slip and accidentally be heard.

"Ji... Ji it tickles stop..."

His hands moved and he was now menacing to place them on your sides. You thought he finally ceased with his intententions, but when you let your guard down Jisung started to move his slender fingers all together and felt your muscles tighten beneath his hold. Oh, oh it was sexy.

With a bit more force he moved your leg with his, flipping you on your back so he was on top of you free to access whatever part of your body he felt like would be a vulnerable spot.

The pc was long forgotten on the edge of the bed about to fall, but the only important thing in that moment was the battle for your survival.

Laughter filled the room while you tried to kick him with your feet, to grab a pillow and throw it on his face, to plea him to give you a chance to fight back.

He was enjoying himself, a lot. Your contorted expression made his chest tighten, as well as his sweatpants even if he felt like a total pervert.

"Sungie ple-please s-top! Can't-" you didn't even have enough strenght to form a full sentence, the feeling of his touch all over you being too intense and exciting. Were you being inappropriate? Probably. But you really loved having him all over you.

"Have- have mercy!"

Jisung's hands stopped their movements and rested on your sides, with his fingers caressing your skin, the same fingers that slipped under your shirt the moment the situation became chaotic.

Your legs were caging his middle, bringing his hips closer to yours. You both weren't sure about how you ended up in such position but you weren't complaining either. His cheeks tinted with a shade of dark red at the realization of the hardest erection he's ever had brushing your groin. It was impossible you weren't feeling it, and, after a few seconds, as he expected, your eyes widened and looked directly at him with the istictive action of your teeth catching your lower lip.

"I'm... I'm sorry y/n you know sometimes it's random andー" the fake excuses he wanted to give died in his throat when you moved against him. It was delicate but the faint friction of your barely clothed cunt against his bulge made his breath hitch.

"Baby please don't... I'll just get off and we'll keep watching the movie" but you moved again, this time firmer, a bit more confident; the wet spot on his boxers that you were wearing was by now too evident to hide. He too, was starting to leak from the tip, staining his grey sweatpants.

Jisung abruptdly got off of you, chest struggling to follow his breath.

"What are you doing, baby?" his voice was now trembling, eyes scanning your whole body searching for any sign of discomfort.

"Sungie... Sungie please forgive me I don't know whyー"

"Do you want to keep going?" it was him that interrupted you this time. Not a word was dared to be spoken for a few seconds, only leading sound the one coming from the movie, that seemed so distant in your ears. Fear, terror went through his whole body when he realized what he actually said, all blood gone somewhere else that wasn't his brain.

"I do" you nodded, doe eyes looking up at him, that was coming back closer to you.

Jisung stared at you for what seemed like an eternity, all while slowly closing the distance between your bodies.

"Are you sure? I mean you want to... me and you?" almost whispering, he looked at you so intensely you could've fainted.

You nodded, slowly, unsure where to look since his gorgeous, handsome face was mere centimeters away.

"Can I kiss you?"

So close you didn't even register him moving and colliding his lips with yours after your whispered "yes".

Immediately what were a few pecks became open wide kisses, that let your tongues explore. Jisung lifted your shirt enough to expose your breasts, hands flying to feel them, squeeze, roll your nipples between his fingers; you gasped at his sudden decision, letting him kiss you deeply, starting to suck your tongue. It was becoming so messy and sloppy, but it wasn't enough dirty to him.

"Open your mouth, open" one hand grabbing your face, thumb parting your lips and resting on top of your tongue. You saw him purse his lips a few times, just to harshly spit in your mouth soon after.

"Swallow it angel" he said, softly, and so you did, before starting to suck on his finger eagerly, making him groan and deliver an harsher thrust up your groin. Jisung resumed the kissing, still spitting every now and then, making a mess all around your lips that he was biting from time to time.

You too were grinding on him, using his hard on to relieve the suffucating feeling in your core, roughly pressing yourself against him, making him stay attached to you by closing your fists around the fabric of his shirt. Soon he removed it, too hot and sweaty to be comfortable in such situation, the only way to keep him closer being scratching his back while trying to grab his muscles.

When he pushed you away from him down on the matress confusion took place in your face, but before you could question him Jisung was already flat on top of the covers, head between your thighs, delicately removing those useless boxers by sliding them down your legs. Seductive was the right word to describe his behaviour: seductive in the way he caressed every inch of your skin with his fingers, seductive how he discarded the piece of fabric on the floor carelessly, seductively staring at you, always, every second of it. And Jisung sighed, he felt relieved when he finally saw your cunt, so pretty and glistening for him. You almost blushed at his reaction, at his whispered curses and praises.

He was teasing you, and he was teasing himself too since all he wanted in that moment was to take you. You were wet enaugh, he could've stretched you with his cock, but he waited too long for it to be just that, just sex.

"Jisung..." your voice angelic to his ears, he closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate and engrave it in his mind forever. It wasn't like the many other times you said his name, this one was special, so special he was almost afraid to forget it.

"Say it again baby. Say my name again..."

"Jisung, Jisung, Jisung..." your faint smile with your half lidded eyes made his cheeks flush. You were truly the most beautiful thing in his life.

Your hand reached the top of his head, going lower to rest on his cheek, stroking it, just to receive a kiss on your palm.

"We're still in time if you want to stop"

"You spat in my mouth and you're practically breathing against my pussy, Sungie, I don't think I want to go back" you chuckled, making him follow you. Even in a moment like that, you two managed to laugh. And it was so special, to see his genuine smile like that, that reflected in his eyes as well.

Without further doubt, he took his nose to brush your inner thigh, leaving a trail of kisses that led him to leave a testing lick on your sex, tongue flat touching everything at the same time. The hand that was back on his hair grabbed a few strands, making him hiss from the pleasurable pain. His arms locked your legs up his shoulders, dragging you closer until no space was left between you two.

"Taste so good baby, so sweet" you hear him mumble down there, starting to drag his tongue along your folds, parting them, finding your clit and kissing it gently. You started to squeeze his head, timidly grinding against his tongue but failing because of the restrained limbs.

Jisung started lapping your juices as if it was the only thing able to keep him alive, all while humping his bed desperately. It felt so good, he didn't even care if he was struggling to breathe, but it was becoming harder to move so he parted your legs further pressing them down. Jisung lifted his gaze, detaching from your cunt only to give you an order, after literally drooling over it.

"Don't move angel. Be good and stay still"

He made you so flustered, he made you chew your lower lip from embarassment, he made you cover your face, always, but in that precise moment it was as if every word of his set you on fire. And with that, he returned to his ministrations, two fingers magically appearing to play with your hole, prodding at it, teasingly making an in-and-out motion just with the very tip. A torture, he was torturing you. You already felt so close.

"Sungie please..."

Jisung smirked without ever leaving your pussy; he started to flick your clit from every direction, circling it, sucking like he would've done with a lollipop, while he started to insert his fingers properly. They went in easily, curling them aroud to find your sweet spot. He had to restrain himself from moving or he would've come, imagining how your insides would feel around his cock in a few moments.

Once found (he could understand that from the pornographic moan you let out), Jisung kept hitting on that delicious place pumping his digits without stopping even after your desperate pleading to slow down. Slow down for what? He was loving every second of it, the wet sounds echoing in the room covering the ones of the voices behind the screen of the movie still playing.

He was making you feel like you had never felt before, all of your senses conducing to him and whatever he was doing to you. You suddenly started to see stars, throwing your head back, whines and moans constricting your lungs.

"Let go baby, make a mess, cum f'me" voice muffled and low as your legs came back around his head, making him whine. Jisung loved the way you were reacting, moving and writhing everywhere, feeling so proud in the way he was pleasuring you by slurpling everything you gave him.

"Oh shit, Sungieー fuck Jisung!" a particular snap of his fingers, that hard suck, his moans vibrating inside of you, his eyes fixated on yours... you couldn't take it anymore, letting go of all the tension and letting your body fall even if you didn't know you were lifting yourself high up, tugging his hair impossibly tight. You clenched hard around his fingers forcing him to let them stay still pressing firmly, increasing the pleasure.

Jisung stayed there for a moment licking you clean to not waste a drop of your cum, almost sending you into overstimulation making your clit sting; he kissed it again one last time before freeing himself from your hold, quickly checking if he came too without noticing due to the heated moment. It was possible, since he was feeling as good as you.

And you still wanted more. You had one of the hardest orgasms of your entire life and you wanted him again.

"Want you inside..." you managed to blurt out, your hands trying to reach his figure.

"Yeah baby? Want me? Wait a second, I'll go grab aー"

"No... no need, 's okay" you pouted at the idea of having him far away from you even for a second, not wanting to let him go. Jisung though, felt his still restrained cock spurt a little at your words, cold sweat running down his back.

"Come inside Ji, want your cum!" you added, voicing the fantasies you happened to touch yourself to before all that.

His stare, intense and penetrating was making you tear up from anticipation. It was as if you awakened something in him, pupils darkening while lowering his pants and underwear all together. When they reached down enough his dick beautifully slapped against his groin, tip red and abused by the restricting fabric.

Jisung smirked to himself and got embarassed at the same time, taking silent notes on how your jaw faintly dropped, your eyes got wider... on how you didn't stop looking at his length even when he was directly in front of you, softly stroking it near your pussy. He too, couldn't stop looking at your body, shirt still crumpled up under your chin that he carefully provided to free you from. So cute under him, vulnerable and helpless, he wanted to protect you from every bad thing in the world.

He aligned himself to your entrance teasingly even if you were still sensitive, getting on top and propping himself up to not crush you.

Jisung kissed your forehead, making you smile widely. He then kissed your nose, both your cheeks, and lastly your lips, slowly, savoring every second of that sparkling sensation only you two could make.

"Mine. You're gonna be mine" he whispered against your kiss, starting to move forward.

Just the tip was larger than his two fingers, the new stretch making you whine and search for his eyes. Brows furrowed in concentration, he noticed your request of ressurance and patted your head, combing your hair.

"You're doing amazing baby," he got a bit further, continuing to kiss your face: "I know you can take it all, you're my good girl"

He quickly bottomed out as you gasped, the trimmed hair on his pube sticking to you. You couldn't stop whining while touching him all over, tracing your hands on his chest, back, arms, not knowing where to rest them. You lastly opted for clutching them around his neck pulling him against you, still hard nipples grazing his chest making him moan.

You were his weakness, he didn't know how he could last that long. Your touch made him go crazy, it had always been that way, so he got surprised by himself. Maybe it was the thought of making you feel good for as long as possible, maybe the desire of not wanting to waste such opportunity so easily... but he was starting to surrender to pleasure. Jisung wanted you to be the star of the night, but your words, the sounds you were making for him, your walls tightening around his dick, your neediness, everything was screaming to him that in reality he wasn't a strong man, not in that sense.

He started to focus a little bit more on his pleasure, getting lost in the feeling of your velvety walls sucking him in everytime he pulled back. It didn't help that whenever he reached the limit of his length, he touched yours too, kissing your cervix gently. Jisung was making love to you in a way that made you feel wanted, appreciated, taken care of, and you could never have enough of it with that rhythm.

You both started to meet each other halfway his thrusts that were becoming progressively more fast, squelching sounds making your face become impossibly hot and his lips curve upwards. His brows were still knitted together when he silently brought one hand around your neck and the other resting on one of your tits. His thrusts got sloppier, losing their precision; you could feel your breath hitch, his hold being gentle but still tightening and releasing fast enough to let your high pitched moans out. Jisung started to snap his hips against you, his own whines and grunts accompanying yours.

You both were getting closer, desperately chasing your highs as if you never had one before.

"I'm close Ji!" you said with all the strenght you had in your body, gathering your coscience to let out that phrase.

"Gonna cum together yeah baby? Yeah? Want me to make you mine?" he asked between sharp thrusts, rolling his eyes when he could catch a glimpse of you nodding.

Few other thrusts, a feverish kiss and a mutual whispered "I love you" was enough to make your vision blank: muscles contracting for who knows how long, his cum filling you to the brim, strangled moans dying in your throat.

Jisung stayed inside of you until he was soft, not daring to move or alter in any way that sacred moment. You two shared a tender kiss before he rolled on his side, but holding you so that you could get on top of him, still connected.

The ending credits of the movie started to roll, quiet music guiding his strokes on your lower back. You slowly started to calm your panting, comfortably leaning on his pecs, listening to his steading heartbeat.

"So... are we, like, together now?"

You looked up at him without moving and sighed.

"I don't know, not sure..." your joke wasn't that effective, since you couldn't hide the shy smile forming on your lips.

"Not sure she says, while being full of my cum"

"Jisung!!" a slap was landed on his bicep in opposition to his laughter, that you too were holding in.

"I love you baby"

"I love you too, baby"

The storm outside stopped, leaving you two in a comforting silence, in which you celebrated and accepted your blosoming love.

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