Please don't publish my work elsewhere and/or claim it as yours!
NOTE 1: I accept requests, but I can't promise to deliver in record time. My college and work make me crazy most of the day.
NOTE 2: English is not my native language (I'm Brazilian), so please forgive me for any mistakes or whatever.
Por favor, nĂŁo publique meu trabalho em outro lugar e/ou reivindique como seu!
OBS: Aceito pedidos, mas nĂŁo prometo entregar em tempo recorde porque minha faculdade e meu trabalho me tornam louca na maior parte do dia a dia.
â playlist: valentine - laufey, do i wanna know - hozier, cariño - the marias, apocalypse - cigarettes after sex, lovefool - the cardigans, no song without you - honne, mine - jea mira
â summary: In Busan, you and Jungkook grew up trading songs and stories â first love stitched into music rooms and rain-soaked walks home. Years later, youâre a filmmaker chasing your dreams, heâs a musician-turned-bar owner carrying unfinished melodies. When your new film needs a score, you realize the only voice that fits is the one you left behind.
A story of art, memory, and the love that lingers between them.
â word count: 40.6k
â warnings: angst · coming of age · screenwriter x musician!jk · second chance romance · misunderstandings & miscommunication · heavy arguments · reader can be difficult (sometimes) 18+: thigh riding · fluffy/intense love making · kisses & hickeys · jkâs neck obsession · unprotected sex · they literally need each other
âHe sent over more roughs?â she asked, barely pausing as she underlined a section of script.
âYeah,â you said, sipping your coffee. âA couple sketches. Different moods. Heâs⊠working.â
That last word sat strange on your tongue â heavier than it shouldâve been. Hana only nodded, satisfied, already thinking three steps ahead.
And you let her. Because there was nothing you could explain about how late nights in Jungkookâs apartment lingered in your chest long after youâd left.
The next session was in the same space: his apartment, the makeshift studio humming low, cables tangled like vines across the desk. The air felt heavier when you walked in, the memory of ramen still burning faint at the edges.
He didnât greet you beyond a nod. You sat. He adjusted levels.
The first hour passed in fits â clipped questions, shorter answers. You asked about tone, about pacing, about whether a theme should reappear in the closing scene. He grunted responses, scribbled notes, tried one phrase, then another.
And yet, somewhere in the repetition, the air shifted.
You caught it in the small things. The way his shoulders dropped as he layered chords. The muttered hums that slipped from him when he tested a melody. The moment he tossed out, without looking, âToo bright?â â and you found yourself answering without hesitation, like old muscle memory.
It wasnât easy, not really. The silence was still there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing around you.
But by the time the session wound down, something in the room felt different. Less jagged. Almost familiar.
He leaned back finally, stretching, a faint huff escaping his chest. âThatâs two more,â he said, gesturing at the laptop. âCould use polishing.â
You nodded, your own lips tugging before you could stop them. âTheyâre good. They⊠feel right.â
For a flicker of a moment, the quiet between you wasnât heavy. It wasnât awkward. It was easy.
And that scared you more than the silence ever had.
The following week slipped into the same routine â late nights at Jungkookâs place, the desk littered with empty mugs and tangled wires, the glow of the laptop screen casting both of you in pale light.
But something had changed.
The silence wasnât as sharp. He still spoke in short sentences, but there was less bite in them. When you asked for something softer, he tried it without the usual delay. When he replayed a phrase, he muttered to himself, not caring that you could hear.
And slowly, you found yourself relaxing too.
By the third track, you were leaning forward in your seat, notebook forgotten, watching as his fingers tapped out rhythms on the desk. When he paused, frowning, you said, âWhat if it drops here instead?â
He gave you a look â not annoyed, not dismissive. Just thoughtful. Then he adjusted the loop, let it play. The shift was subtle, but it worked.
His mouth twitched, almost like a smile. âHuh.â
The sound of it sent a strange warmth curling low in your chest.
Hours blurred. You lost track of time, caught up in the back-and-forth, in the way his shoulders loosened each time the music landed closer to what it needed to be. It wasnât perfect â not yet â but the room no longer felt suffocating.
Near the end of the session, when he played a full draft from start to finish, the ease between you was undeniable.
You leaned back, exhaling softly. âThatâs it. Thatâs exactly it.â
Jungkook rubbed at the back of his neck, gaze fixed on the screen, but his voice was quieter than before. âYeah.â
The track faded, silence settling in its place. But this time, it wasnât heavy.
For the first time in years, sitting in his space, in his presence, felt easy. Almost too easy.
And that was the most dangerous part of all.
Back then, first year of university.
Jungkook had chosen business as a minor, almost like a safety net under the leap heâd taken with his music major. You told yourself it was a smart choice â something to ground him, give him options. But every time he dragged himself out of a lecture, yawning, eyes glazed over, you wondered if he was actually learning anything at all.
Still, he survived it. He always did. And you were proud. Proud enough to clap him on the shoulder when he passed, proud enough to wait for him outside classrooms he swore were useless, proud enough to stand in his corner no matter how restless he got.
You werenât even at the same university, but you made it work. Weekends on trains, long nights on calls, study sessions in borrowed spaces where the line between homework and music practice blurred. You were boyfriend and girlfriend, even when time barely left room for it.
But dating Jungkook meant more than finding time. It meant rearranging your whole life around his.
And maybe that was the beginning of the end.
Because you didnât mind. Not at first. You loved him. You loved him enough that missing your own club meetings, skipping out on plans, putting off assignments â it felt worth it if it meant sitting in the back of a practice room while he worked. You told yourself it was fine. That it didnât matter if your world tilted toward him, if everything else came second.
He gave it back, too. That was the worst part. Jungkook was never selfish with you. If you needed him, he came. If you asked, he stayed. The sacrifices went both ways â and that shouldâve made it safe. It shouldâve made it balanced.
But it didnât.
Because one day, you stopped outside a professorâs office, waiting for Jungkook to come out. Youâd only wanted to check in, to see how he was doing. Instead, the professor looked up from his desk, recognized your name, and said something you werenât prepared to hear.
âJeon Jungkook,â heâd said with a thoughtful smile. âHeâs got potential. Real potential. Not this year, of course â heâs just getting started. But later, maybe, Iâd recommend him for an internship. Heâs got the voice, the ear. Heâll go far.â
Pride had swelled in your chest, sharp and sweet. But then the professor kept talking.
âHeâll go far, as long as he doesnât spend all his energy elsewhere. A boy like that, heâll do anything for someone he loves. And if heâs busy holding someone else up, well⊠he wonât have hands free to climb.â
Youâd smiled politely, thanked him, nodded like it was just an offhand comment. But the words lodged somewhere deep, right where the sacrifices had been piling up.
Because it was true. Jungkook wouldâve done anything for you. And you â you wouldâve done anything for him.
And that cycle, that endless loop of sacrifice, wasnât going to make him soar. It was going to keep him tethered.
That was the day it began to unravel. Not because of anything he did. Not because you loved him less. But because you loved him too much to watch him limit himself for you.
So you left.
The Velvet Room was nearly empty that night. No crowd, no chatter, just the low thrum of equipment idling and the faint amber glow of the lights along the counter.
Jungkook stood across from you, leaning against the bar with one hand braced flat against the surface, laptop open at his side. He tapped through tracks, head tilted, the glow from the screen cutting across his face.
And you realized â you had never really looked at him. Not properly.
Not since back then.
Back then, heâd been sharp angles and restless energy, all wiry muscle and too-long hair falling into his eyes. A boy still growing into himself.
But nowâ Now he was broader. His shoulders filled the space of his shirt, his frame solid, grounded in a way that felt immovable. A whole sleeve of tattoos curled around his arm, black ink against golden skin, the shapes shifting as his muscles flexed when he reached for the keyboard. His jaw was stronger, cut sharper, the softness of youth burned away into something harder, more defined.
And his presence, that was the real difference.
He didnât just stand in the room. He owned it. The air bent around him, heavy, commanding, even when he said nothing at all.
It wasnât the boy youâd once known. It was a man. And the sight of him â the sheer weight of who heâd become â made something tighten low in your chest.
Jungkook clicked play on a loop, the sound spilling through the speakers, low and pulsing. He closed his eyes, just for a moment, humming under his breath, his hand tapping out a rhythm against the wood.
Your gaze caught on him before you could stop it. The stretch of his arm, the curve of ink over muscle, the slow drag of his bottom lip between his teeth as he listened.
Heat climbed up your neck.
He opened his eyes, caught you staring.
You dropped your gaze too quickly, fumbling with the script in front of you. âThis partââ your voice cracked, too soft, too careful, âI think it should swell here. To mirror the scene.â
He didnât move right away. His eyes stayed on you, heavy, unreadable, until the silence burned. Then he pushed off the counter and stepped closer, one hand landing on the table beside your notes.
âHere?â he asked, his voice low, leaning over just enough that you caught the faint scent of soap, clean laundry, and something darker underneath.
He tapped the spacebar. The music swelled, exactly where youâd pictured it, the bassline deep enough to vibrate through the floor.
But all you felt was him.
Closer. Broader. Different.
And yet, still the same.
You forced your gaze back to the script, your breath uneven. âYeah,â you whispered. âExactly there.â
His hand lingered on the table. His presence pressed against you, filling every inch of space between.
His shoulder brushed yours, the faintest touch, but it lit your nerves like a struck match.
You froze, breath caught in your throat, every inch of you aware of how close he was â the heat of him, the weight of his hand on the table, the ink on his skin just inches from your own.
For a heartbeat, he didnât move. The music swelled and fell in the background, bass pulsing through the air, but all you could hear was the thrum of your own pulse.
And then, just as the air tipped into something dangerous, Jungkook shifted back.
The warmth of him pulled away, the space between you widening again. He straightened, cleared his throat once, his face turning back toward the laptop like nothing had happened at all.
The music looped on. The silence between notes stretched, heavy.
Your chest still burned, your skin tingled where his shoulder had grazed yours, but he gave you nothing â no look, no word, no acknowledgment of the current that had just ripped through the room.
He only clicked a few keys, voice flat when he spoke: âWeâll need a softer layer on top. Strings, maybe.â
Your pulse was still uneven, but Jungkook gave you no room to linger on it. His voice was steady, almost clinical, as he layered another track on the loop. âStrings,â he repeated. âLight. Just enough to sit under the piano.â
You nodded, scribbling a note in your margin that you didnât even read. âMm. Yeah. That works.â
The room buzzed with the sound of the track as he adjusted levels, his fingers moving quick and precise over the keys. The same fingers that had rested just inches from yours a moment ago, steady and unbothered now like nothing had happened at all.
You tried to focus on the music. On the way the new layers wrapped together, the way the theme began to breathe in full. But your body betrayed you â every shift in the air when he leaned forward, every low hum he made as he tested a phrase, pulled your attention back to him.
It wasnât awkward silence anymore. It was worse. Heavier. A silence thick with everything unsaid, everything almost said.
By the end of the session, the track had shape, edges smoothed, the beginnings of something whole.
And yet, when Jungkook finally shut the laptop and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head, all you could feel was the echo of his shoulder against yours.
âSame time next week,â he said simply, his tone unreadable.
You nodded, gathering your notes too quickly. âYeah. Same time.â
The music hung between you, unfinished but alive.
The first day of filming dawned colder than you expected. The sun hadnât fully risen when you arrived on set, coffee warming your hands as crew members hauled equipment, cables, and props across the lot. The script â dog-eared, marked with Hanaâs neat notes â sat heavy in your bag, though you already knew most of it by heart.
Hana stood in the middle of it all, clipboard in hand, her voice cutting through the bustle with calm authority. âScene two goes first. Lighting needs an extra fifteen minutes, so letâs run blocking now. Costumes, please make sure the coat is pressed before the second take. No wrinkles.â
You watched her, a knot loosening in your chest. Hana always made chaos look like choreography.
When she caught your eye, she smiled, brief but steady. âYou ready?â
You hesitated, then nodded. âAs ready as Iâll ever be.â
The cast filtered in one by one, their faces already settling into character. The lead actor â pale under the fluorescent makeup lights, script in hand â gave you a polite nod before Hana whisked him off for direction. Someone called for quiet on set, and the room shifted instantly into focus.
The cameraâs red light blinked alive.
And just like that, it began.
All those months of meetings, late nights, and endless adjustments â the film wasnât just an idea anymore. It was happening, frame by frame.
Between takes, you found yourself drifting to the monitor, watching scenes unfold in real time. The weight of it pressed against you â these images, this story, something you had built from scratch now moving with its own life.
For a moment, you forgot about Jungkook. About the late nights in his apartment, the music swelling like a live wire between you. For a moment, it was just the film.
And then Hanaâs voice cut through again, sharp but pleased: âGood. Thatâs good. Letâs reset for the close-up.â
You exhaled, steadying yourself. This was it. The project wasnât in drafts anymore. It wasnât hypothetical.
It was real.
It was yours.
The home studio was dim, the only light spilling from the monitor and the streetlamp outside the window. Jungkook adjusted a cable, muttered something about feedback, but his focus kept slipping.
Because you were here. Again.
Perched on the couch, script open in your lap, your hair falling forward as you bent to read a note. The glow from the screen caught your profile, painting your skin pale-gold, highlighting the curve of your mouth.
It wasnât new. Heâd seen you like this before, years ago â notebooks between you, music humming in the background. But it felt different now. Heavier.
He wasnât stupid. He knew what was boiling between you. The glances you kept cutting his way, the way your voice dipped when you leaned closer, the charged silence that stretched longer than it should.
He told himself to ignore it. To focus. To keep it professional.
But then you stood, crossing the small room to lean over his shoulder, pointing at the screen. âHere,â you said softly, your finger brushing too close to his hand. âIt should cut off sooner. Leave space before the next phrase.â
Your sleeve brushed his arm. The warmth of you bled into his skin.
Jungkook stilled.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Your hand lingered on the edge of the desk, your body close enough that he could feel the faint heat radiating off you. He smelled your perfume under the faint static of cables and dust.
His pulse jumped, sharp and sudden.
And when you finally glanced at him, your eyes caught his.
The air thinned. The hum of the monitor, the faint city noise outside â all of it blurred. There was only this: the small space between your bodies, the heat coiled tight in his stomach, the pull that had been building for weeks.
He didnât touch you. Not really. Just shifted slightly, his knee brushing yours, the faintest contact, but it felt like a spark had ripped through the room.
You inhaled sharply, your lips parting, but no words came out.
You leaned in over his shoulder, your finger brushing too close to his hand as you pointed at the screen. âIt needs more space,â you said, your voice soft but sure. âIf you cut the line sooner, the silence itself will carry the scene. Thatâs what gives it weight.â
Jungkookâs jaw worked as he tapped the keys again, replaying the loop. He had been sitting here for hours, bent over the same section, tweaking layers until his ears were buzzing, and the last thing he wanted was to hear you tell him how silence should work. He knew silence. He lived inside it. He bled in it.
âIt doesnât need more space,â he muttered, his tone clipped. âIt needs weight. If you cut it early, it dies before it lands.â
You shook your head, still leaning close, strands of your hair brushing against his arm. âNo, listenââ
âI am listening,â he snapped, his voice harsher than he meant, the tension that had been boiling under his skin spilling out in one sharp line. He stilled immediately, the words already sour in his mouth, but it was too late.
Your head tilted, eyes narrowing, meeting his square on. âWhy ask me to be here if youâre just going to ignore me?â
The heat in your voice burned in his chest. It wasnât just the words, it was the way you said them â steady, unflinching, daring him to push back. He leaned away from the screen, his chair creaking under the shift, and faced you fully for the first time tonight. The space between you was nothing. Barely inches. Close enough that the faintest lean forward would close it completely.
âBecause you donât get it,â he said, his voice low, rough. The words werenât entirely true, and maybe you knew that, but they came out anyway, edged with the frustration heâd been holding down for weeks.
You blinked, your lips parting, the faintest flush rising across your cheeks. But you didnât back down. You never did. âI get it more than you think,â you murmured, chin lifting slightly, like you were daring him to tell you otherwise.
The air snapped between you.
It wasnât about the song. It had never been about the song. It was about the way you were leaning into him, the warmth of your body so close to his, the way your voice dipped low, trembling but firm. It was about the coil of something hot and dangerous that had been pulling tighter every time you walked into his space.
He could smell your perfume under the faint tang of dust and cables, could feel the heat radiating from you in waves, could hear the unsteady hitch of your breath when the silence stretched too long. His own pulse thudded in his ears, loud enough that he wondered if you could hear it too.
Without realizing it, he had leaned closer. His chair shifted forward, the tension in his shoulders drawing him toward you like a magnet. His knee brushed against yours, the barest touch, but it felt like fire.
Your eyes flicked down, just for a second, to his mouth.
Jungkook swallowed hard, his throat dry, his words rasping out lower than he intended. âYouâre driving me crazy.â
Your knee brushed his, and the contact felt like fire. He didnât move. He couldnât. His pulse thundered, every nerve stretched taut, pulling him closer when he knew he should pull back.
And then your mouth opened. Just a breath at first, shaky and broken.
âIâŠâ you began, but nothing followed. Your throat worked, dry, your eyes darting between his and the space hovering between you.
âI, umâŠâ The words came in fragments, stuttered and halting. âIâshitâŠâ
Jungkookâs chest tightened. He could see the way your lips trembled, the flush creeping high on your cheeks, the way you couldnât quite look at him straight on.
Your voice cracked, trembling, âJungkook, what are w-we doing?â
He didnât answer. Couldnât. The question snapped something inside him, and before he realized what he was doing, his hands were already on your waist, dragging you forward.
You let out a startled gasp as he pulled you down onto his lap, straddling him. Your knees pressed into the sides of his chair, thighs bracketing his hips, your chest flush against his. The position alone was enough to make your breath catch â enough to make your body hum with the dangerous thrill of being exactly where you shouldnât be.
Then his mouth was on yours.
The kiss was nothing careful. It was hungry. Ferocious. His lips crashed against yours like heâd been holding it back for years, like the dam had finally broken. His tongue slid against yours, deep and messy, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip until you gasped against him.
Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging, pulling him closer though there was no space left between you. He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your mouth, raw and unrestrained. His fingers dug into your hips, anchoring you hard against him, dragging you down until the friction against his thigh made your body jolt.
You broke the kiss for only a heartbeat, your head tipping back, lips parted, breath ragged. Jungkook didnât waste a second. His mouth trailed down your jaw, hot against your skin, teeth scraping lightly at the sensitive line of your throat.
âFuck,â he muttered, voice rough and almost broken, his grip tightening. âYou drive me insane.â
You ground against him before you could stop yourself, the movement small, instinctive, and his breath stuttered hot against your neck.
Then his mouth found yours again, harder this time, more desperate. The kiss turned almost brutal, all tongue and teeth, both of you pushing, pulling, tasting, devouring like you were trying to swallow years of silence in one go.
The studio was gone. The music, the script, the world â all of it dissolved under the sheer force of it. All that existed was this: the heat of his body under yours, the slick slide of his mouth against yours, the ache of wanting that had lived between you for far too long.
Neither of you wanted to stop. And yet, somehow, neither of you could go further.
âJungkookââ his name tumbled from your lips in a hiss as his mouth dragged over your throat, lips searing, breath hot. âUm⊠oh godâŠâ
His hands came up, framing your face, steadying you as if you were breakable, porcelain in his grip. The tenderness of it clashed with the chaos of his lips trailing fire down your neck, with the ragged sounds he made against your skin.
âYou have no fucking idea,â he whispered, voice hoarse. His mouth grazed the spot beneath your jaw, tongue and teeth skating over tender skin. âNo fucking idea⊠I never thought weâd be like this again.â
The words hit harder than his mouth did, sinking deep into your chest, but your body couldnât keep up with the weight of them. You were too far gone, too drunk on the heat of him, the press of his thigh wedged between yours. Your hips twitched, restless, grinding down without permission, chasing a friction so sharp it made your breath falter.
âIââ Your voice broke, spilling out shaky and vulnerable. âI wantâŠâ
He lifted his head, eyes burning into you, his palms sliding down from your cheeks to your jaw, then lower â gripping your hips hard enough that you gasped. He tilted you forward, pressing you flush against him, his thigh positioned exactly where your body ached for it.
âWhat you want, baby?â
The nickname crushed you. Baby. The way he said it was thick with memory, with history, with everything you hadnât let yourself miss.
Your lips trembled. Your hips rolled down harder, helpless against his hold, a shameful moan breaking free before you could stop it.
Jungkookâs teeth clenched, his breath tearing out rough as his grip tightened. He forced your hips to move again, slow, dragging you across the hard muscle of his thigh. The friction bloomed sharp and unbearable, pulling another gasp from your throat.
âThere it is,â he rasped, his mouth crashing back against yours, swallowing the sound. His tongue slid against yours, wet and messy, as his hands anchored you down, dragging you into him, again and again.
You tried to break the kiss, to speak, but he wouldnât let you. His lips chased yours, greedy, relentless, devouring the noise you made as your body stuttered against him.
Your thighs trembled, the pressure coiling tight, each movement against him blurring the line between humiliation and bliss. He held you there, guiding you, forcing you to take what you were too shy to say you needed.
âFuckââ Jungkook groaned into your mouth, the sound guttural, his chest heaving under your hands. âYou feel that? Hm? You feel what youâre doing to me?â
Your only answer was another broken whimper, muffled against his lips, your hips moving without thought, chasing more, chasing everything.
You slumped against him, chest heaving, every nerve still twitching with overstimulation. Jungkookâs arms wrapped around you instinctively, his hands stroking over your back, soothing, grounding, like he wanted to hold you there until the tremors passed.
But the moment clarity crept back, so did the shame.
Your breath caught in your throat. What the hell did you just do? Heat rushed to your face, not from pleasure this time but humiliation. Youâd justâon his thigh, like you had no control, like youâd been desperate enough to throw every shred of dignity aside.
You stiffened, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt as if that could anchor you, as if it could hide what had just happened.
âHey,â Jungkookâs voice came, low, gentle, his lips brushing against your temple. âDonâtâdonât look at me like that.â
You shook your head, burying your face deeper in his shoulder, but it didnât help. The humiliation gnawed at you, bitter and sharp. How could you have let this happen?
His hand came up to cradle your cheek, tilting your face toward him. His eyes were softer now, but there was something else there too â something tangled and unresolved, something that burned and ached all at once.
âYou have no idea,â he murmured again, voice fraying at the edges. âI missed you. I didnât think⊠weâd everâŠâ He trailed off, jaw working, his thumb brushing over your damp skin. âItâs been so fucking long.â
The gentleness cut deeper than anything else. Because you knew it wasnât simple for him either. The feelings were there â the anger, the longing, the history youâd never truly dealt with. This wasnât just about desire. It was about everything youâd both lost, and the fact that touching him like this only tore those wounds wider open.
Your chest ached. Your body screamed to stay, but your mind, your pride, the jagged humiliation â it was too much.
You pushed away suddenly, sliding off his lap, your legs trembling under you. âI canât,â you rasped, your voice shaking, your throat tight. âIâI shouldnât haveâŠâ
âWaitââ Jungkookâs hand reached out, catching at air, his brows furrowed, frustration tightening his features. But he didnât stop you. He didnât drag you back.
Because he knew.
You grabbed your bag, avoiding his eyes, and the in-house small studio door felt a mile away even though it was only a few steps.
The last thing you heard before it shut behind you was the sound of Jungkookâs breath, ragged and uneven, filling the silence youâd left behind.
And you ran.
You shouldnât have let it happen.
The thought looped the second the studio door shut behind you, your chest still heaving, your legs unsteady. Your skin burned where his hands had been, your lips tingled where his mouth had pressed too hard, too hungry. Your body still hummed like it hadnât caught up with the fact that youâd left.
It was humiliating. Humiliating.
What the fuck had that been? What the fuck were you doing, letting him pull you onto his lap like youâd been waiting for it, moving against him like youâd lost all control? Grinding down on him until you shatteredâlike you werenât a grown woman with sense, but someone drunk on something she shouldâve left behind years ago.
But the truth, the ugly, humiliating truth, was that you had wanted it.
Every second of it.
The way his mouth crushed yours, the heat of his hands holding you steady, the rough sound of his voice breaking in your earâit hadnât felt like crossing a line. It had felt inevitable. Like youâd been circling this moment from the second you saw him again, and resisting had only been a cruel kind of foreplay.
Because yeah, there was tension. Sure as hell there was. But it wasnât new tension. It was old, familiar, lived-in. It was exes with too much history, too much love that never burned out, trying to pretend they didnât still want each other.
And failing.
You wanted him. Still. Always.
And worseâhe wanted you. That much was obvious. It was there in the way he groaned against your mouth, in the way he called you baby like the word had been sitting on his tongue for years, waiting to be said again.
You pressed your hand against your face, heat rushing up your neck, shame clawing at your chest. You werenât supposed to feel like this. You werenât supposed to want him.
But you did.
And no matter how hard you tried to shove it down, no matter how much you told yourself youâd never let it happen againâdeep down, you knew.
You would.
Youâd let it happen again.
Because you were still his. Even if you hated yourself for it.
The set buzzed with life, cables running across the floor, the smell of coffee and hairspray clinging to the air. Someone called for sound check, another shouted about lighting cues. It was the kind of organized chaos youâd grown used to, and for once, you welcomed it.
Here, there was no space to think about Jungkook. No room for shame to creep in. No echo of his voice in your ear.
Hanaâs voice cut through the noise, sharp and precise: âReset the mark. Weâll need to go again.â She turned toward you, clipboard in hand, a lock of hair falling loose from her bun. âThe blockingâs clean, but the timingâs off. Can you run through it with him once before the next take?â
You nodded, tucking the script tighter under your arm, and made your way to the actors.
The lead stood in place, pale under the makeup lights, eyes distant until you called his name. You explained the adjustment, walked him through the beats of the dialogue, the pause before the key line. He nodded, following carefully, repeating the motions until the rhythm clicked.
It was small, a detail no one in the audience would think twice about. But that was the jobâmaking the invisible work, making it feel natural.
By the third take, Hana exhaled with relief, lowering her clipboard. âThatâs it. Thatâs the one.â
Applause scattered across the crew, quick and half-hearted before the rush to set up the next shot began. You smiled faintly, the tension in your chest easing, at least for now.
Still, even here, even in the bright glare of the set, your mind betrayed you. You watched the camera frame a close-up, watched the lead deliver his line with practiced emotion, and all you could hear was Jungkookâs voiceâlow, rough, breaking when heâd whispered baby.
You shook your head, forcing the thought away.
This was your world. This was your work.
And you werenât going to let him ruin it.
The days blurred. Call times stacked one on top of the other, notes scribbled faster than you could process, and endless cups of bitter coffee keeping you upright when the hours stretched too thin.
Filming was its own kind of stormâbright lights, too many bodies crammed into too little space, makeup artists darting in with brushes between takes, Hanaâs sharp voice cutting through the air with direction after direction.
You lost yourself in it.
There wasnât time to think about anything else. Not the night at Jungkookâs studio. Not the humiliation curling in your chest. Not the way his voice rasped your name when his hands held you still.
Here, all that mattered was the film.
Your world narrowed to the script in your hand, the movements of the actors, the subtle adjustments you called out when the timing wasnât right. You leaned into the work until it was all-consuming, until the buzzing in your head dulled to static.
âReset the lens.â
âCheck the mark.â
âRun it again, faster this time.â
By the end of the week, you had half a reel of clean takes, a handful of performances that already hinted at the storyâs weight. Hanaâs eyes softened when she looked at you, her usual sharpness edged with something that mightâve been pride.
âYouâre holding it together,â she said one night as the crew began packing up. It wasnât a question, but it wasnât quite a compliment either.
You forced a small smile, hugging the script closer to your chest. âItâs what weâre here for.â
And maybe that was true. Or maybe it was just easier to hide behind the work than admit how much you were unraveling.
Jungkook was twenty-five. Twenty-five, for fuckâs sake. But why the hell did he feel like a teenager again?
After the way you bolted out of his studio, heâd just sat there, stunned, dragging both hands through his hair like that would clear the chaos buzzing in his head. But it didnât. He couldnât think. He couldnât do anything except sit in the chair where youâd straddled him minutes before, heart pounding like it hadnât since he was seventeen.
You were perfect on his lap. Perfect in a way heâd never known back then. Sure, there had been kisses and clumsy touches in high school â hands sneaking under clothes, heat building until someoneâs parent knocked on a door and ruined it. But this? The way you had unraveled against him, the way your hips had moved, the sounds you made with his name on your lipsâ
Yeah. That was something he hadnât imagined. Something he hadnât lived through until now.
And it made him crazy. Stupidly, recklessly crazy.
Heâd cleaned up the place after you left, trying to erase the evidence â the empty mugs on the counter, the papers scattered across the desk. But he couldnât erase the heat youâd left behind. The ghost of your weight on his thighs. The way your face had looked when you came undone, etched so deeply into his mind he saw it when he closed his eyes.
Jesus Christ. He could feel it still. Your warmth, your shudder, the helpless way you clung to him like youâd fall apart if he let go. It burned into his eyelids, into his bones.
And fuck, it wasnât just memory. It was hunger.
He was twenty-five, but he felt like a kid again, restless and strung out on the rush of wanting something he wasnât supposed to want. The difference was, this time he knew exactly what he was missing.
And it was going to drive him insane.
Jungkook was twenty-five, not sixteen. He reminded himself of that as he sat at the edge of his bed, staring at nothing, his skin still buzzing from where your body had pressed into his.
The teenage version of him wouldâve been pacing, climbing the walls, texting you a hundred times until he said something stupid. But he wasnât that kid anymore. He knew better. He knew how to bleed the chaos out of his chest and put it somewhere it belonged.
So he opened his laptop.
The project file blinked back at him, half-finished from earlier that night, but he didnât care about perfecting it anymore. He pulled his mic closer, adjusted the gain, and just⊠let it out.
The first line came easy. Too easy. A rough hum, low in his throat, that bled into words he didnât even think about. Words about heat and distance, about something forbidden, about a touch that felt both brand-new and years too familiar.
He layered it over a bassline, heavy and pulsing, then softened it with piano â notes that sounded like hesitation, like restraint, like the way youâd looked at him when you whispered What are we doing?
It wasnât a song yet, not fully. It was raw, jagged, messy. But it was alive.
And it was you.
Every inhale, every brush of syllables against the mic, every lyric that slipped out without thought â it was you. The sound of your voice breaking, the shape of your mouth against his, the memory of your hips trembling in his hold.
By the time he leaned back in his chair, throat raw, the file blinking red Recording Complete, he felt calmer. Not fixed. Steadier though.
The chaos was still there, but now it had a place. A song heâd never meant to write, one he wasnât sure he could ever let anyone else hear.
But it was yours.
And when he played it back, low and rough in the dim light of his studio, he realized he hadnât failed to get a grip.
Heâd just found another way to hold you.
You didnât expect to be back here so soon.
The hallway smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and old paint, the same as the night youâd run. Your stomach twisted as you raised your hand, hesitated, then knocked once on Jungkookâs apartment door.
For a moment, silence. Then the faint scrape of a lock turning.
The door opened, and there he was.
Jungkook leaned against the frame, hair mussed, a worn black t-shirt clinging to his shoulders, a pair of headphones looped carelessly around his neck. His expression was unreadable, jaw tight, eyes flicking over you in one quick sweep before settling somewhere over your shoulder.
Your stomach dropped, heat rushing up your chest.
âHey,â you managed, the word smaller than you meant.
He stepped back, wordless, giving you space to enter. You did, brushing past him into the familiar clutter of his apartment. The low light spilled across the narrow living room, the open doorway leading into the studio beyond.
It all looked the same. The cables coiled across the floor. The monitors blinking idle. The chair where youâdâ
You gripped the strap of your bag tighter, forcing yourself to breathe.
âHana said weâd go over the draft today,â you said, your voice steadier this time.
Jungkook shut the door behind you with a dull click. âYeah.â His voice was clipped, controlled. âOkay.â
You set your bag down at the table, pulling the script free with hands that wanted to shake. He followed you in, not close but close enough, the weight of him filling the room the way it always did.
For a while, the only sound was the faint hum of the equipment.
Then Jungkook cleared his throat, sliding the headphones off his neck and onto the desk. âI worked on the track you asked for.â
The words were too casual. Too neat. A lie you both could hear.
âOkay,â you said softly, eyes fixed on the script in your hands.
But your body betrayed you. Heat prickled your skin, memories pressing down too heavy: his mouth on yours, his hands gripping your hips, the sound of your name breaking in his throat.
And out of the corner of your eye, you caught the smallest shift â Jungkook leaning back in his chair, his jaw flexing, his gaze sliding toward you just once, sharp and brief, like he was remembering too.
The silence that followed was unbearable.
The silence stretched, thick, broken only by the faint hum of the equipment. You forced your eyes to stay on the script, reading the same line over and over without actually seeing it.
Jungkook leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. He exhaled through his nose, slow, like he was trying to let something go. But then his jaw tightened, and his voice cut through the quiet.
âYou ran.â
Your head snapped up, eyes catching his. He wasnât looking at you, not directly â his gaze was fixed somewhere near the monitor â but his words landed sharp.
Your throat went dry. âIâŠâ The protest died before it left your lips.
He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head once. âGuess some things donât change.â
The words werenât shouted. They werenât even cruel. But they burned, heavy with everything he wasnât saying.
Your chest tightened, breath caught somewhere between shame and anger. You wanted to tell him it wasnât fair, that it wasnât that simple. But the truth sat raw in your stomach.
You had run.
And from the way his jaw worked, the way his fingers tapped against his arm like he needed to move or break something, you knew he wasnât going to let himself forget it.
The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in, until you finally looked back down at the script, your voice barely above a whisper. âWe should just⊠start.â
For a long moment, Jungkook didnât move.
Then he reached for the keyboard, shoulders tense, his voice low but steady. âYeah. Letâs start.â
But the crack had already split the room wide open.
At first, you both tried.
You sat at the table, script spread open, pretending your pulse wasnât racing. Jungkook hunched over the console, replaying loops, pretending his hands werenât twitching with every second of silence. The room filled with the sound of music, notes weaving into each other, but the air between you stayed jagged, raw.
âHere,â you said finally, pointing at the bars on the screen. âCut it shorter. It should bleed into the dialogue, not stretch over it.â
Jungkook didnât look up. His jaw flexed. âNo.â
Your brows furrowed. âWhat do you mean, no?â
âI mean no. It needs to carry through. Otherwise the scene falls flat.â His tone was clipped, dismissive, like the decision had already been made.
You stared at him, heat creeping up your neck. âYou asked me here to give feedback. Iâm telling you what works for the scene.â
âAnd Iâm telling you it doesnât,â he shot back, finally turning to look at you. His eyes were sharp, his mouth set in a tight line.
The silence pulsed. Your chest tightened.
âThis isnât about the fucking song, is it?â you said, your voice low but shaking.
Jungkook laughed, short and bitter. âOh, you figured that out, did you?â
Your stomach dropped. âThen what the hell are we doing here?â
He leaned back in his chair, arms folding, his gaze cutting into you. âYou tell me. You show up, act like nothing happened, sit there with your script like you didnâtââ He stopped himself, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring as he dragged a hand through his hair. âForget it.â
âNo,â you snapped, standing now, anger surging hot in your chest. âSay it. You think I donât feel it too? You think I donât know exactly what happened?â
His eyes darkened, his voice dropping low. âThen why the fuck did you run?â
The words cracked the air open, sharp and raw.
You froze, lips parting, but nothing came out. Heat crawled up your neck, shame clawing at your chest, the memory of his thigh under you, his mouth on yours, flashing so vividly you thought you might choke on it.
âYeah,â Jungkook said, pushing back from his chair and standing, his height suddenly too much, his presence filling the room like it always did. âThatâs what I thought.â
You shook your head, breath coming faster. âItâs not that simple.â
âThe hell it isnât.â He took a step closer, eyes burning into yours. âYou wanted it. Donât stand there and pretend you didnât.â
Your throat tightened. âIââ
âSay it.â His voice was low, almost a growl now, frustration bleeding into something heavier. âSay you didnât want me. Say you didnât want that. Look me in the eye and fucking say it.â
You couldnât. God, you couldnât. Because you had wanted it â more than you wanted to admit, more than you wanted to feel. The silence between you stretched, your chest heaving, your palms sweating where they clutched at the script.
Jungkookâs jaw worked, his hands flexing at his sides like he didnât know whether to shake you or kiss you again. âThatâs what I thought,â he muttered, voice breaking this time, softer but no less sharp.
âStop,â you whispered, your voice trembling. âPlease, just⊠stop.â
But he didnât. He stepped closer, close enough that you felt the heat radiating off him, close enough that his voice hit you like a strike.
âWhyâd you run, then?â His eyes searched yours, desperate, burning. âWhy the fuck did you run if you wanted me as bad as I wanted you?â
The words slammed into you, sharp and demanding. You opened your mouth, but for a second nothing came out â just a strangled breath, your chest heaving, your eyes stinging hot.
âIââ Your voice broke. You swallowed hard, but it didnât help. âI donât know, Jungkook. I donât know, okay?â
He stared at you, jaw tight, eyes hard, waiting.
You shook your head, words spilling too fast, too raw to catch. âOf course I wanted you. I still fucking want you. You think I donât? You think I havenât thought about this a thousand times, about you, about usââ Your throat cracked, your voice collapsing into a ragged whisper. âI wanted it so much it scared the shit out of me.â
Jungkookâs expression shifted, his breath catching, but you didnât stop. You couldnât.
âI ran because I didnât know what to do with it,â you spat, tears of frustration burning at the corners of your eyes. âBecause I knew the second I gave in, I wouldnât stop. Because itâs you, Jungkook, and itâs always been you, and it makes me feel fucking insane.â
The room rang with the confession, the words hanging there, messy and broken, impossible to take back.
Jungkookâs hands flexed at his sides, his throat working as he stared at you like youâd just torn him open. His voice came rough, uneven. âYou think youâre the only one losing your mind?â
You blinked at him, stunned.
He laughed then, short and sharp, running a hand over his face like he couldnât believe what was happening. âJesus, youâre not the only one fucked up over this. You think I slept that night? You think I could forget the way you looked on me? The way youââ He cut himself off, shaking his head hard. His voice cracked low, almost pleading. âI havenât been able to breathe without it replaying in my head.â
The silence between you buzzed, both of you cracked open, the weight of your confessions still echoing in the room.
You pressed a hand to your face, shaking your head, words tumbling out before you could stop them. âI never told you why I left. I just⊠disappeared. And you deserved an answer, but I couldnâtââ
Jungkookâs eyes snapped to yours, dark and sharp, his voice hoarse. âThen tell me. Tell me now.â
Your throat closed, shame biting deep, but the words forced their way out anyway. âBecause you were so in love with me, Jungkook. You wouldâve given up everything if I asked. And I was so scared youâd lose your career, your future, because of me.â Your chest heaved, your voice breaking into a sob you hadnât planned. âI thought I was protecting you. But all I did was break us.â
Jungkook stood frozen, your words hitting him like strikes. His jaw clenched, his hands flexed â and then he moved.
Two steps, and he was in front of you. His hands found your face again, rough but careful, holding you steady. His breath was uneven, his forehead pressing against yours as if he needed the contact to stay upright.
âYou think you ruined me?â His voice cracked, raw and trembling. âYou saved me and destroyed me in the same breath. I loved you so much it hurt, and when you leftâŠâ His hands shook where they held you. âI didnât know how to fucking breathe without you.â
Your eyes blurred, your chest aching, and before you could stop yourself, you surged forward.
Your mouth crashed against his, messy and wet, your hands clutching at his shirt like you were drowning. The kiss wasnât clean. It wasnât controlled. It was desperate, unfiltered â every year of silence, every unanswered question spilling out in the heat of your lips and the tremor of your body pressed to his.
Jungkook groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him like he couldnât stand the space. His kiss was rough but shaking, as if he wanted to devour you and cradle you at once.
âI hate you,â you gasped against his lips, the words contradicting the way your hands fisted in him, pulling him closer. âI hate you for still making me feel like this.â
He laughed, a broken, bitter sound, his mouth chasing yours again. âThen hate me harder, baby.â
Your mouths clashed again, raw and uncoordinated, teeth clicking, breaths uneven. It wasnât beautiful. It wasnât practiced. It was desperate.
Jungkookâs hands slid down your back, gripping like he was afraid youâd vanish again, pulling you so close your ribs ached. Your own fingers twisted into his shirt, knuckles white, terrified that if you let go youâd fall apart completely.
But then it shifted.
The frantic edge softened, his mouth slowing against yours, gentling even as your tears stained his lips. His hands spread across your back, no longer gripping but holding â steady, grounding. His forehead pressed to yours as his breath hitched, a broken laugh caught between his chest and yours.
And suddenly you were clinging. Just holding. Your arms looped around his neck, his shoulders broad and solid under your palms. His chin dipped into the curve of your shoulder, his chest trembling with the weight of everything unspoken.
It felt like collapsing. Like letting go of something youâd carried for too long.
You buried your face against his neck, eyes shut tight, the scent of him so achingly familiar it made your throat close. His arms banded around you in return, strong but shaking, like he didnât know whether to keep you there or push you away before it killed him.
Neither of you spoke. Neither of you dared.
Because in that fragile, breathless moment, words wouldâve broken it.
So you just held on. Two people stitched together by old wounds, old love, and the unbearable pull that had never gone away.
A mess. Together.
And for once, neither of you tried to fix it.
The light was merciless, the kind that made everything feel too sharp, too real.
You stirred first, realizing slowly that you were still pressed against him â his arm loose around your waist, his chest rising and falling against your back. Jungkook.
For one dizzy second, you thought about sliding out of bed, about escaping before the moment had a chance to collapse. But your body didnât move. Your bag sat on the chair across the room, your shoes lined up by the door. Leaving would mean getting up, making noise, turning this fragile quiet into something else.
So you stayed.
Jungkook shifted behind you, breath catching as he woke. His arm lifted, then fell back to the mattress, as if he wasnât sure whether to hold on or let go.
âYouâre awake?â His voice was hoarse, still heavy with sleep.
You hesitated, then nodded, eyes fixed on the thin strip of light cutting across the floor. âYeah.â
Silence. Too long. Too heavy.
You turned slightly, just enough to see him propped on one elbow, hair messy, eyes unreadable as they searched your face. For a second, neither of you spoke. Neither of you breathed.
Finally, Jungkook cleared his throat, voice flat but low. âYou donât have to stay.â
Something twisted in your chest. âI know.â
Another pause. Your stomach knotted. âDo you⊠want me to leave?â
His gaze flicked away, toward the window. âThatâs not what I said.â
The words hung there, clumsy and sharp, impossible to smooth out.
You pushed yourself up slowly, tucking your knees to your chest, suddenly aware of how small the bed felt, how close your bodies still were. The silence buzzed, awkward and unbearable, but neither of you moved to break it.
The silence stretched too long. You tucked your knees to your chest, eyes fixed on the strip of light across the floorboards. Every part of you screamed to get up, to move, to leave â but you stayed.
Jungkook sat back against the headboard, rubbing a hand over his face. The tension in the air was unbearable.
Finally, you cleared your throat. âThe soundtrackâŠâ Your voice cracked, and you tried again. âThe soundtrackâs nearly done. I think itâs finally ready to show Hana.â
Jungkook let out a low hum, eyes flicking to you before landing back on the wall. âYeah. Itâs⊠itâs close.â
âMore than close,â you pressed, words spilling too quickly just to fill the space. âItâs strong. It pulls the story together. Sheâllâsheâll love it.â
He exhaled slowly, the sound almost like a laugh but not quite. âYou sound like youâre convincing yourself.â
Your stomach tightened. You glanced at him, but his expression gave nothing away â just that sharp line of his jaw, the tired set of his mouth.
âIâm not,â you said quickly, maybe too quickly. âI mean it. Itâs good. Youâre good.â
That made him look at you. His eyes held yours a beat too long, unreadable, and you felt your pulse hammer under your skin.
He nodded once, short and rough. âThen show her.â
Later that day, you sat across from Hana in her office, the script spread out between you. She adjusted her glasses, flipping through the notes youâd left her. âSo you think the musicâs ready?â
âYes,â you said, steady. âBut itâs not just me saying that. Jungkook should explain it himself. He knows exactly how the soundâs meant to sit under the dialogue. Itâll make sense when he lays it out.â
Hana gave you a skeptical look â not about the music, but about bringing him in. Still, she sighed and nodded. âFine. Set it up. Iâll listen.â
When the day came, Jungkook sat in the small meeting room, laptop open, wires coiling across the table. He was calm, focused, every explanation clean and precise â this transition under the fight scene, this motif repeating in the softer dialogue, this silence punctuated only by piano to carry the weight of the ending.
Hana leaned back when it was over, tapping her pen against the table. Then she smiled, faint but real. âIt works. It works better than I expected.â She nodded once. âWeâll go with it.â
You exhaled, relief washing through you. Across the table, Jungkook gave the smallest nod, his eyes flicking briefly to yours before he shut the laptop.
And that was it.
With Hanaâs approval, the film rolled on. The soundtrack was locked in, filming neared its end, and soon enough thereâd be no more late-night sessions, no more forced mornings, no more excuses to be in his apartment at all.
When the wrap came, heâd get paid. That would be the end of it.
At least, it should have been.
But the weight in your chest told you otherwise.
The final stretch of filming felt like running on fumes. Call times bled into nights, every inch of the set buzzing with urgency. The actors moved through their scenes with a precision that only came after weeks of repetition. Camera crews shifted quietly, almost instinctively now, hitting their marks without waiting for direction.
You were everywhere at once â crouched behind the monitor, script in hand, signaling cues, scribbling last-minute changes in the margins. Your coffee intake had tripled. Your sleep had evaporated. But none of that mattered.
Because it was almost done.
The last scene wrapped just as the sun began to rise. The clapboard snapped shut, Hanaâs voice rang âcut,â and for a moment the entire set exhaled together. Applause broke out, half-relief, half-celebration. Someone popped open a bottle theyâd been saving.
You stood off to the side, script clutched to your chest, watching it unfold. Pride swelled so heavy in your ribs it nearly hurt. This thing â this story, this film â it had lived inside your head for so long. And now it was real. Tangible. Yours.
For a moment, the exhaustion disappeared. For a moment, you let yourself feel it. The weight of creation, the ache of sacrifice, the sharp, burning pride of knowing youâd built something no one could take away.
Beside you, Hana pressed a hand to your shoulder, her voice softer than you expected. âYou did it.â
You nodded, unable to trust your voice, eyes stinging as the noise of the set carried on.
It was yours.
Even if soon, it wouldnât belong only to you anymore.
The bar was buzzing when you arrived, crew scattered across tables, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. Jungkook was behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, tattoos stark under the dim lights. He caught your eye when you walked in, something unreadable flickering across his face, but he poured the drinks anyway.
Hours blurred. The set wrapped, Hana toasted, the crew drifted out one by one until the noise dwindled to silence. It was just you at the counter now, empty glass spinning beneath your fingertips.
Jungkook leaned on the bar, wiping down a spot that didnât need it. âYouâve had enough.â
You laughed, sharp, bitter. âDonât start with me. We finished the damn film, Jungkook. Let me celebrate.â
He didnât answer, just set the rag down, watching you too closely.
The alcohol warmed your veins, loosened your tongue. âYou know whatâs funny?â You leaned forward, squinting at him. âI thought I left to protect you. To keep you from⊠from throwing it all away for me. But look at us.â You gestured wide, nearly knocking over the glass. âYou own a bar. Iâm making films. Weâre fine.â
âAre we?â His voice was low, dangerous.
You flinched, heat crawling up your neck. âDonât look at me like that.â
âLike what?â
âLike you know better. Like you stillââ Your throat tightened, but the liquor pushed the words out anyway. âLike you still love me.â
The silence after was brutal. Jungkookâs jaw flexed, his hands tightening around the bar.
âYou think itâs that easy?â he asked, voice hard. âThat I could just stop?â
Something inside you cracked, years of guilt bubbling up ugly. âYou shouldâve. God, Jungkook, you shouldâve let me go. You shouldâve hated me after what I did to you.â
He laughed, sharp and bitter. âYou think I didnât try? You think I donât wake up every damn day wishing I could erase you?â His voice broke, raw now. âBut I canât. And you know it.â
Your chest heaved, tears burning hot as the alcohol twisted everything louder, sharper. âThen why the fuck are we here, Jungkook? Why are we still tearing each other apart if neither of us can move on?â
Neither of you had the answer.
The bar sat quiet, heavy, the air between you thicker than the liquor in your veins.
The fight hung in the air, sharp and raw, both of you breathing hard like youâd been running. The silence that followed was heavy, unbearable.
He gestured to the door, already flipping the lock. âClosing up. Youâre too drunk to go home like this.â
You bristled, pushing clumsily off the stool. âI can take care of myself.â
âSure you can.â His tone was dry, flat. He caught you by the elbow when you swayed. âCome on.â
You tried to shake him off, but your balance betrayed you, your body tipping into his. His grip tightened, steady, familiar.
âDonâtââ your voice cracked, soft and slurred, âdonât act like you still get to do this.â
His jaw flexed, eyes dark as they locked on yours. âI donât want to,â he said, rough. âBut Iâm not letting you stumble home alone. So either I call someone, or youâre coming with me.â
Your chest squeezed, the fight draining into something heavier. âYouâre still bossy as hell,â you muttered, but your voice was softer now, tired.
He didnât rise to it. Just slipped your arm over his shoulder, steadying your weight as he guided you out the back door, locking up behind him.
The night air hit cool against your flushed cheeks. The walk was quiet, your steps uneven, his hand a solid weight at your side. Every brush of contact sent sparks through you, even now, even after everything youâd said.
The apartment was dim when he guided you inside, the familiar clutter of cables and papers scattered across the desk in his little studio corner. You stumbled over your own shoes, muttering a curse, and Jungkook caught you againâhands firm on your waist this time, steadying you before you could fall.
âCareful,â he murmured.
Too close. Way too close.
You squirmed in his grip, heat crawling up your neck, the alcohol buzzing too loud in your veins. âI saidâI can handle myself.â
âSure,â he muttered, not letting go.
The steadiness of his hands made your chest clench. You tried to pull back, to shrug him off, but your body betrayed you, tipping forward instead. The sound that left youâsmall, broken, somewhere between a sigh and a whimperâslipped out before you could stop it.
Both of you froze.
Your cheeks burned, humiliation searing through the fog of liquor. His breath caught, his fingers flexing against your sides, but he didnât move. Didnât push. Didnât pull. Just held you there, solid and silent, while the sound hung in the air like a secret neither of you knew what to do with.
Then, slowly, Jungkook exhaled. His hands loosened just enough to guide you toward the couch. âSit,â he said, voice low, rough, but controlled. âYouâll hurt yourself if you keep fighting me.â
You dropped onto the cushion, burying your face in your hands. The alcohol churned in your stomach, your chest tight with the echo of that humiliating sound.
Jungkook disappeared into the kitchen, the clink of a glass and the rush of water filling the silence. When he came back, he set it on the table in front of you, his eyes carefully avoiding yours.
âDrink,â he said simply.
You nodded, too ashamed to argue.
And that was it. Nothing happened. Nothing but the heavy weight of your own body remembering his touch, your own voice betraying you
The night ended without another word. Jungkook guided you to his bedroom, setting you down on the edge of the mattress. You mumbled a protest, but he just shook his head, pulling a blanket over you.
âIâll take the couch,â he said firmly, voice flat. âSleep.â
When you woke, the sun was already streaming through the blinds, soft and golden across the sheets. The headache was sharp, but not as sharp as the jolt of realizing whose bed you were in.
The sound of movement drew you out of your haze. Jungkook was in the kitchen, hair messy, shirt wrinkled, a glass of water and two aspirin in his hand. He paused when he saw you sitting up, blinking at him blearily.
âMorning,â he said. His voice was low, still rough with sleep, but gentler than youâd expected. He crossed the room, setting the glass on the nightstand. âTake these. Youâll feel better.â
You swallowed hard, throat tight. âYou⊠you gave me your bed?â
âYeah.â He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. âI wasnât gonna let you sleep on the couch like that.â
Something in your chest twisted. He didnât owe you this. He didnât owe you anything. And yet here he was, quiet, careful, making sure you were okay.
You took the aspirin with shaking fingers, sipping the water. The silence pressed in until you couldnât stand it. âWhy are youââ Your voice cracked. âWhy are you still like this with me?â
That made him look at you. His eyes were tired, dark, but soft in a way that stripped you bare.
âBecause itâs you,â he said simply, almost like he hated himself for it. âAnd I donât know how not to be.â
The words hit like a strike, your breath catching, your chest tightening until it hurt.
That softnessâthe care in his hands, the quiet in his voiceâwas worse than anger, worse than the fight, worse than every kiss and every touch. Because it reminded you of exactly why youâd fallen in love with him in the first place.
âJungkookâŠâ His name came out as a whisper, broken, like saying it might undo everything.
But then he moved.
Two steps, and he was right there, standing over you, his shoulders broad enough to block the light. His hand came up, hesitating for just a second before brushing a strand of hair from your face. His thumb lingered at your temple, the touch so careful it made your eyes sting.
âYou drive me insane,â he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours. âBut I canât stop.â
And before you could answerâbefore you could breatheâhe bent down and kissed you.
It wasnât desperate like the last time, wasnât rushed or clumsy. It was slow, the kind of kiss that said Iâve been waiting for this since the second you left me. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that only made the heat coil tighter in your chest.
You gasped, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. He shifted, sinking onto the bed beside you, his hand cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking soft over your cheekbone like you were something fragile even as the kiss deepened.
The taste of him, the warmth of himâit was overwhelming. A flood. A relief. A punishment.
When you pulled back, breathless, your forehead rested against his, the space between you gone.
âI was so scared of ruining you,â you whispered, voice trembling.
His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you steady. âYou never ruined me. You just⊠left me.â His voice cracked, low and raw. âAnd I donât think I ever stopped waiting.â
Tears blurred your vision, but you kissed him again anywayâbecause words were too small for what you felt. Because after everything, after all the running, you couldnât bring yourself to leave.
Not this time.
The kiss turned frantic, years of restraint shredding in seconds. Jungkookâs hands roamed your body like he couldnât decide where to touch firstâyour waist, your ribs, the curve of your thigh. Each graze of his calloused fingers set your skin on fire.
You tugged at his shirt, desperate, and he broke the kiss only long enough to drag it over his head. The sight of himâbroader now, ink curling over his skin, chest rising and falling with ragged breathsâmade your stomach flip, your throat tighten.
âFuck,â you whispered, reaching for him like you were starved.
He caught your hand, pressing it to his chest, his eyes burning into yours. âTell me you want this.â
Your lips trembled, but the answer came steady, fierce. âI want you. Iâve always wanted you.â
That undid him.
His mouth crashed back to yours, urgent, hungry. Clothes disappeared clumsily, tossed to the floor without care. The mattress dipped under his weight as he pressed you down, every inch of him hot and solid against you.
When he slid into you, the world dropped out.
You gasped, clinging to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he buried his face in your neck. A groan ripped from his chest, low and wrecked, the sound of years of want and restraint breaking all at once.
He moved with a rough rhythm at first, almost too much, but then his pace softenedâlike he couldnât decide if he wanted to devour you or worship you. His lips found your collarbone, your jaw, your mouth again, each kiss desperate and unsteady.
âGod, you feelââ His voice cracked, his forehead pressing to yours, sweat dripping down his temple. âYou feel like home.â
Tears pricked at your eyes, your chest aching with the weight of it all. âDonât stop,â you whispered, your voice breaking. âDonât ever stop.â
The words sent him spiraling. His thrusts deepened, his hand gripping yours, fingers locking tight as if he could anchor you both against everything that had torn you apart before.
Every sound, every gasp, every touch was messy, unfiltered, too much and not enough.
And when you both came undone, it wasnât clean. It was raw. Shaking. A sob tangled with a groan, your body trembling in his arms as he clutched you tight, like he was afraid youâd slip away all over again.
The room was heavy with itâsweat, silence, the undeniable truth of what youâd just done.
And for once, neither of you ran.
The silence after was heavy, broken only by the uneven rhythm of your breaths. Jungkook collapsed beside you, one arm still clinging tight around your waist, his forehead pressed to your shoulder like he couldnât bring himself to let go.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Your chest rose and fell against his, your skin slick with sweat, your pulse still racing. You wanted to say something, anything, but every word you thought of sounded too small for what just happened.
Jungkookâs thumb traced absent patterns over your hip, slow and absentminded. The touch was gentler than it had any right to be after the way heâd just unraveled inside you.
Finally, his voice broke the silence, rough and quiet. âI donât⊠I donât know what happens after this.â
Your throat tightened. You turned slightly, meeting his eyes in the dim light. They were tired, but raw, stripped of the sharp edges he usually wore.
âNeither do I,â you admitted, your voice just as soft.
The truth sat between you, unfixable, undeniable.
And still, when his hand slid up to your face, cupping your cheek like you were something precious, you leaned into it. You kissed him once more, slow this time, not frantic but deep, steady, as if both of you needed the reassurance that it wasnât just lust pulling you together.
When you finally drifted off, it was with his arms still around you, your face tucked against his chest.
The morning came slow, sunlight spilling across tangled sheets. You stirred awake to the warmth of him pressed against you, his lips brushing lazily along your shoulder before youâd even opened your eyes.
âMorning,â Jungkook murmured, voice still hoarse with sleep.
You hummed, rolling onto your back, and that was all it took. His mouth found yours again, no hesitation this timeâhungry and tender all at once.
You hadnât meant to make a sound, but the moan slipped out anyway, soft and broken against the quiet morning air.
âShit, Jungkookââ
That was all it took. His mouth was on your neck instantly, lips hot and desperate, teeth scraping at sensitive skin until it stung. Almost too sharp. Almost painful. But God, it felt good. It felt like fire licking down your spine.
Your body arched, clutching at his shoulders as he pressed you down into the mattress. His breath was ragged in your ear, every kiss rougher than the last, as if he couldnât get close enough, couldnât taste enough.
You were aliveâtoo alive. Every nerve lit up, every inch of your skin buzzing under the weight of him. And all you could think, all you could feel, was that you had this beautiful man in his bed, kissing you like he was starving, touching you like he couldnât remember where to start.
Because his hands couldnât choose. They roamed everywhereâyour waist, your thighs, your ribsârestless, greedy, leaving heat in their wake. Your skin burned wherever he touched, your chest heaving as the need rose sharp and dizzy inside you.
âGod, youâreââ Jungkookâs voice broke against your throat, his breath hot, his mouth trailing lower, each kiss rougher than the last. His words came out in a groan, raw and helpless. âYouâre so fucking hot.â
The sound of it tore through you, leaving your body trembling. You gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, needing more, needing everything.
His lips wandered further down, mapping a trail across your skin, slow but purposeful. Every graze of his mouth sent sparks up your spine, every scrape of teeth left you raw and aching. He was looking for somethingâlistening to your gasps, the arch of your body, like he wanted to learn you all over again.
Then he hit the spot that made your breath stutter, your hips twitching helplessly against him.
Jungkook pulled back just enough to glance up at you, lips swollen, hair falling into his eyes, a smirk tugging at his mouth. âThis good?â he asked, his voice dark and teasing, but his gaze burned, sharp and hungry.
âYes,â you gasped, too quick, too raw, your back arching against the sheets.
That smirk curved sharper, and then he gave in, kissing, sucking, devouring until you were squirming under him, sounds spilling from your lips no matter how hard you tried to hold them back.
âJungkookââ His name cracked in your throat, a plea and a curse.
âCan you feel how you get me, baby?â Jungkookâs voice rasped against your ear, low and wrecked, every word dripping with want. His hips pressed harder into yours, and you could â the hard length of him grinding against your core with every shift.
His fingers roamed slow, teasing along the inside of your thighs, rough fingertips brushing higher and higher but never giving you what you craved. Your whole body burned, your heart hammering so violently you thought it might burst out of your chest.
âYes,â you gasped, breath catching, âGod, yes.â
And maybe it was the way he exuded confidence, the way his body hovered over yours like he owned every inch of you. Maybe it was the tattoos curling down his arms, black ink stark against golden skin, his muscles flexing as he held you steady. Whatever it was, youâd never felt like this beforeânever felt so raw, so exposed, and yet so incredibly sexy.
His lips curved into the faintest smirk as his fingers skimmed dangerously close, pulling back at the last second. âLook at you,â he murmured, his gaze dragging over your body. âSo desperate for me.â
âPlease,â you whispered, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. Your voice cracked, shaky, almost a beg. âPlease touch me, Jungkook.â
The smirk vanished, replaced with something darker, hungrier. His fingers slid higher, finally pressing where you needed him most. You gasped, hips jerking up into his hand, your body betraying how badly you needed him.
âThere it is,â he muttered, his breath hot against your jaw. âFuck, baby⊠youâre already so wet for me.â
Your moan broke free, helpless, as his mouth crashed back to yours, his tongue sliding past your lips while his fingers worked you open. Every stroke made you burn hotter, tighter, until your whole body was trembling beneath him, completely undone under his touch.
âThere it is,â Jungkook muttered, his breath hot against your jaw as his fingers pressed slow circles over your clit. âFuck, baby⊠youâre already so wet for me.â
Your body jolted, a moan slipping out before you could stop it. His mouth curved against your skin, not just satisfied but smug.
âPlease,â you whimpered, hips rocking up into his hand.
âMm,â he hummed, deliberately pulling back just enough to make you whine. âNot yet.â
You gasped, frustrated, your fingers twisting in his hair. âJungkookââ
He kissed you hard, swallowing the sound, then pulled back, lips glistening. His eyes burned down at you, dark and sharp. âI want to hear it. All of it. Tell me how bad you want it.â
His fingers grazed you again, featherlight, teasing along your folds but never slipping inside. It was maddening, unbearable. You arched against him, your voice breaking. âI need you, please, I canâtââ
âNot good enough,â he interrupted, his tone low, almost taunting, his hand still moving slow and cruel. âSay it right.â
Your chest heaved, humiliation and desire tangled so tight you couldnât tell them apart anymore. âI want you,â you cried, desperate, your hips jerking into his palm. âI want your fingers, I want your cock, I want you, Jungkookâplease, I need it so fucking bad.â
That finally broke him. His smirk faltered, his eyes going darker, hungrier, like your words had ripped the last thread of his control.
âFuck,â he groaned, crushing his mouth back to yours. His fingers slid inside you at last, deep and rough, making you gasp into the kiss. âThatâs it, baby. Thatâs what I wanted.â
Your moans spilled against his lips, every thrust of his hand dragging you higher, his thumb circling until you were trembling apart in his arms, begging louder, messier, until his name was the only thing you could say.
Your body was trembling, your thighs clenching around his hand as his fingers worked you open, thumb circling just right. Heat coiled sharp and fast in your stomach, the pressure building until it was unbearable.
âJungkookââ Your voice cracked, a sob disguised as a moan. âIâmâfuck, Iâm so closeââ
âYeah?â His lips brushed your ear, his voice low and smug. âYou gonna come for me, baby?â
âYes,â you gasped, your back arching, nails digging into his shoulders. âPlease, please, let meââ
But just as the edge crested, just as your body trembled on the verge of breaking, his hand slipped away.
You choked on the sound that left you, somewhere between a sob and a curse. âJungkookâ!â
He pulled his fingers from you slow, deliberate, holding your gaze as he dragged them across your swollen lips before sliding them into his own mouth. His tongue curled around them, his eyes dark, devouring.
âFuck,â he groaned, sucking them clean. âYou taste so good.â
You shook your head, half-crazed, your hips grinding helplessly against nothing. âYouâwhy would youââ
âBecause I want you desperate,â he cut in, his smirk sharp, wicked. His hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. âI want you shaking, messy, so hungry for me you canât think about anything else.â
You whimpered, humiliated by how badly you needed it, your thighs pressing together for friction.
He leaned down, kissing you rough, his tongue pushing past your lips, making you taste yourself on him. When he pulled back, his voice was a growl.
âYou want my cock?â
âYes,â you blurted, no hesitation, no shame. âGod, yes, please, Jungkookââ
âThen beg harder, baby. Show me just how much you need it.â
Your chest heaved, shame and need tangling until you couldnât hold anything back anymore. âI need you, Jungkookâfuck, I need your cock so bad, I canâtâplease, please, Iâll do anythingââ
That did it.
His eyes went dark, the smirk slipping into something hungrier, rougher. He grabbed your thighs, spreading you open wide, and lined himself up without another word.
And then he drove into you in one hard thrust.
You cried out, your back arching off the bed, the sudden stretch stealing your breath. He groaned deep in his chest, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he bottomed out, holding there, savoring the way you clenched around him.
âFuck,â he hissed, forehead pressed to yours, his voice raw. âYou feel unreal. So fucking tight around me.â
You whimpered, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pulled back and slammed into you again, harder this time. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, loud, obscene, as he set a brutal rhythm that had you gasping, crying out with every thrust.
âJungkookââ Your voice broke, high and needy. âGod, donât stop, donâtââ
âI couldnât stop if I tried,â he growled, his pace relentless now. His hand slid up your body, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make you gasp, his thumb stroking your jaw as his hips drove harder. âYouâre mine. Youâve always been mine.â
The words sent a shockwave through you, your body clenching tighter, the pleasure coiling fast, too fast. You sobbed his name, your thighs shaking as he pounded into you, his free hand reaching down to circle your clit with rough, desperate precision.
âCome for me,â he rasped, his voice breaking with the force of it. âI wanna feel you lose it around me.â
You shattered, pleasure crashing through you in violent waves, your cry muffled by his kiss as your body convulsed beneath him. You clung to him, shaking, your cunt pulsing around his cock until he groaned loud and guttural, his rhythm faltering.
He spilled inside you with a curse, hips jerking, his forehead pressed to yours as he rode it out, panting, sweat dripping from his temple onto your skin.
When it finally ebbed, he collapsed against you, both of you trembling, slick with sweat, tangled together in the sheets. His breath was hot against your neck, his arms still wrapped around you like he couldnât let go.
And in the silence after, one truth settled between you:
The room was still spinning when the last tremor left your body. Jungkookâs weight pressed into you, grounding you, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. His cock still pulsed inside you, buried deep, keeping you full as his arms held you close like he wasnât ready to let you go.
It wasnât just carnal.
It was years of hunger, hurt, and love colliding.
Neither of you moved.
Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, wild, too loud in the silence. You expected him to roll away, to pull back and put distance between you, but he didnât. Instead, Jungkookâs hand slid up, slow, almost hesitant, brushing sweaty strands of hair from your face. His thumb lingered against your cheekbone, gentle in a way that made your throat ache.
âBaby,â he whispered, the word raw, broken. Like he hadnât meant to let it slip.
Your breath hitched. You didnât trust yourself to respond, not when your chest was already too tight, not when his voice carried that much weight.
He kissed you then, softer than he had all night. No hunger. No urgency. Just a slow press of lips, tender and steady, like a confession without words.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in. One of his hands stayed tangled with yours, thumb tracing over your knuckles absentmindedly. The kind of touch that said he didnât want to let go, even if he knew he eventually had to.
For the first time in a long time, it felt like neither of you were running. Just lying there, tangled in the mess youâd made, clinging to the fragile quiet while it lasted.
The weight of sleep crept over you both slowly, pulling you under in the warmth of tangled sheets and each otherâs arms.
When you stirred again, sunlight had shifted across the room, brighter now, streaking through the blinds in golden slants. You blinked, stretching against the heat of Jungkookâs body, still heavy and warm at your back. His arm was draped around your waist, his breath slow against your shoulder, steady in the kind of sleep you remembered from years agoâdeep, safe, unguarded.
You let yourself watch him for a moment when he finally stirred. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes, his mouth soft and relaxed in a way you didnât get to see often. He groaned low, his arm tightening around you before he cracked one eye open.
âWhat time is it?â he rasped, voice rough with sleep.
âPast noon,â you murmured, smiling faintly.
His brow furrowed, and then his stomach growledâloud enough to make you both laugh. The sound broke the silence, easing the weight in the air.
âGuess we skipped breakfast,â you teased, rolling onto your back.
Jungkook pushed his hair back, smirking, though his cheeks flushed faintly pink. âYeah, well⊠we were busy.â
The memory of his mouth on your skin, the heat of his body against yours, flashed hot in your mind, making your face warm all over again. You buried it under a laugh, but it came out softer, breathier than you meant.
His gaze lingered on you a second too long, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he knew exactly what you were thinking. Then he stretched, sitting up, muscles flexing as the tattoos along his arm caught the sunlight.
âCome on,â he said, voice lighter than before. âLetâs get something to eat before we starve.â
And just like thatâafter all the years, the heartbreak, the messy night beforeâyou found yourself climbing out of his bed, padding into his kitchen like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The kitchen smelled of broth and spice, steam curling lazily from the bowls between you. You sat on the counter, legs dangling, while Jungkook leaned against the opposite edge, chopsticks in hand, hair falling into his eyes.
For a while, it almost felt normal. Domestic. Easy.
But then you set your chopsticks down, pushing out a breath. âThe soundtrackâs basically done. Hana will get the final cut next week. After that⊠the filmâs over. All of it.â
Jungkook didnât answer right away. His gaze lingered on you, too sharp for the casualness of the moment. Then, finally:
âSo this,â he said slowly, his voice low, careful. âAll of thisâitâs just business, right?â
The words landed heavy, heavier than you were ready for.
You froze, pulse hammering in your throat. It wouldâve been easier to nod, to say yes and put the wall back up. But when you met his eyesâdark, searching, a flicker of something vulnerable underneathâyou couldnât.
Your voice cracked before you could stop it. âNo.â
The word hung there, trembling, too raw to take back.
Jungkookâs brows furrowed, his jaw tightening as he set his chopsticks down with deliberate care. âThen what the fuck are we doing?â His voice wasnât angry, not reallyâjust strained, like he was holding back something bigger.
Your chest tightened, shame and longing colliding until you could barely breathe. âI donât know,â you admitted, barely above a whisper. âI just know itâs not⊠just business.â
The silence that followed was thick, stretching too long, your heart in your throat. His stare pinned you in place, unreadable, like he was fighting every thought at once.
Your throat went dry as the silence stretched, every second heavier than the last. Jungkookâs gaze was fixed on youâhard, burningâbut beneath it was something else. Something raw.
And then he moved.
He crossed the small space in two strides, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as his mouth crashed into yours. It wasnât soft. It wasnât careful. It was desperate, like heâd been holding it back for too long.
You gasped into the kiss, clutching at his shirt as he pressed himself between your knees, pulling you closer until you couldnât breathe. It felt like breaking and coming home all at once.
When he finally tore back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you panting. His voice was hoarse, jagged. âYou drive me fucking insane. Do you know that? I tried so hard to stay away, to treat this like nothing, but I canât. I canât when youâre right here.â
Your chest caved. The words clawed out of you before you could stop them. âI never wanted to leave you.â
He froze, his breath hitching.
âI only did it becauseââ Your voice cracked, the confession tumbling messy, raw. âBecause I knew how much you loved me, Jungkook. And I was terrified. Terrified youâd throw everything away for me. Your music, your future. So I left before you could. I thought I was protecting you.â
His eyes searched yours, wild and pained. âProtecting me?â His hand tightened at your waist. âBaby, I didnât want any of it without you.â
Tears burned your eyes, your throat closing. âAnd I didnât want to be the reason you lost it. I loved you too much for that.â
The words hung between you, naked and trembling. Years of silence shattered in seconds, replaced with truths youâd both buried too deep.
Jungkook cupped your face, his voice breaking. âYou think walking away hurt less?â He kissed you again, softer this time, tasting the salt of your tears. âI wouldâve chosen you. Every time. Always you.â
And suddenly, the kitchen, the ramen, the years between youâit all blurred. There was just him. You. And the words youâd both been too scared to say until now.
The red carpet lights reflected in Jungkookâs tattoos as the two of you slipped out of the cab. It was months later, the film finished, the soundtrack wrapped, your names tied together in credits that would play for the world.
And yet, he stayed close, hand brushing yours as though he wasnât sure if he should hold it. You didnât move away.
The theater buzzed with industry chatter, festival lanyards swinging, champagne glasses clinking. Your heart pounded, nerves climbing higher with every step closer to the screening room.
âYou nervous?â Jungkook asked, leaning close so you could hear him over the crowd.
You laughed breathlessly. âTerrified.â
His lips curved faintly. âYou shouldnât be.â
âEasy for you to say,â you teased, though your voice shook. âI wrote this script. Every word is mine. If people hate it, theyâll hate me.â
That pulled his eyes to you, sharp and steady. âI donât think they will.â
The conviction in his tone caught you off guard.
He paused, considering, then added softly, âI could read you in it. Every line. Every scene. You put yourself on those pages, and thatâs why it works.â
Your breath caught, warmth swelling in your chest, too big for words. âAnd I could hear you in the music,â you whispered back. âEvery note. Every chord. Youâre all over it, Jungkook.â
For a moment, the noise of the festival faded. Just him. Just you.
His hand brushed yours againâgentle, hesitant. This time, you laced your fingers with his, steadying yourself with the contact.
Neither of you called it what you were. Not yet. But the truth hung between you, clear as the script and the songs youâd made together: you werenât just friends anymore. Definitely not.
Description: Johnny Storm is your best friendâs dad. After you break up with your boyfriend, she convinces you to join her on an all paid resort trip with her father. You know heâs forbidden fruit, but after lots of longing stares, midnight beach walks, shared desserts, and a shirtless Johnny jogging along the shoreline, things get too hot between you. He wants to prove he can make your exâs mistakes right himself, and inevitably turns into the guiltiest pleasure you could ever have.
Tags/warnings: age gap, fem early twenties!reader x late thirties!Johnny, beach resort shenanigans, Johnny is a hot flirty menace, but also a gentleman, impossible not to fall in love with. Fluff and comedy. Slow burn, long buildup, lots of pining, tension, sexy hidden encounters. SMUT. oral fem!receiving, piv sex, praising, just fire fire fire.
Song choices are Illicit affairs by Taylor Swift and SexyBack by Justin Timberlake đ„
Note: At first I was debating on making this, but it was so fun to write that the word count clearly got out of control lmao. Iâm very very happy with how it turned out though, one of my favorite things Iâve ever written. I couldnât stop kicking my feet writing Johnny who is an absolute gem in this! Enjoy đ«¶đŒ
Special thanks to @bigtiddythanos, @voidslxt and @breadcheese444 for being the most incredible beta readers for this long fic âš for indulging me on this and helping with amazing ideas. And of course, @nexxen24, who has to deal with my crazy ideas everyday, thanks for putting up with this and hyping me up lmao đ«¶đŒ
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Spring break had just started, and youâd made plans with your boyfriend for the week. The relationship had been rocky for a while, going on and off for months. Unfortunately, old habits die hard, so youâd accepted his last attempt to save it, a roadtrip getaway to a cabin in the outskirts of town.Â
But when you got to his place, suitcase in hand filled with pretty outfits, he ditched your plans for a trip to Las Vegas with his friends. Which couldâve been fine, if heâd actually asked you to come with him, instead of telling you heâd see you when he gets back.Â
And then came the final blow. A text you werenât meant to see, flashing across his phone while he left it on the counter, from a girl who apparently was joining his âguys tripâ, asking him if it was alright their room had only one bed.Â
You told yourself that was the last day youâd waste being with a shitty guy who treated you like an accessory instead of a girlfriend.
You threw the keys heâd given you of his crappy apartment and told him you were done, for real this time. And then he had the audacity to say he was the one dumping you for âbeing too controlling.â
Manchild.Â
Honestly? You shouldâve dumped his ass a long time ago, instead of clinging to the memory of what once was a good relationship. So, even though it was the only thing you could do, walking out left you with a weight in your chest that wouldnât budge. Spring break was supposed to be easy, fun, a chance to breathe. Instead, all you could think about was how you needed somewhere safe, somewhere that wasnât his tiny apartment or your parents house in a different state.Â
So, you texted your emergency contact, Aurora Storm.Â
Long blonde hair, big bright blue eyes, pearly white cheeky smile and a personality as big and fiery as her infamous father. That irresistible Storm charm.Â
Youâd met her two years ago, and in that short time, between being roommates and classmates on an aerospace engineering major, youâd learned to love her crazy ways and soon had given each other the unspoken title of besties.
A few days back sheâd begged you to spend spring break at her place, since youâd never stayed over, but when your boyfriend showed up with his fake golden plans for the two of you, youâd chosen to give him a last chance.Â
Big mistake.Â
When she got the text that you finally called it quits with the trashy boyfriend she always told you to send to hell, she was more than happy to go on with her offer. Thatâs how you ended up in the backseat of an Uber, the suitcase youâd filled with pretty outfits for that asshole in the trunk, making your way to the Stormsâ place.Â
A modern mansion on the edge of New York where Aurora grew up.
You told yourself you just needed to see your friend. To get drunk in her room, hang out by the pool, and forget youâd ever wasted time on that boy. But when you knocked the tall glass door lightly, clutching the handle of your suitcase, you werenât ready for him to be the first one on the other side.Â
Mr. Storm.Â
Youâd only been in their house twice for Auroraâs crazy birthday parties, and on those occasions youâd never exchanged more than a couple of words with him, since he spent most of his time at the Baxter Building, where he worked along with his family.Â
He had Aurora back when he was young and reckless, with some random one night stand. The mother had only been interested in chasing a big check in exchange for the baby. His daughter became the biggest challenge of his life, but with a lot of help from his family, especially his sister, he managed to raise a confident, intelligent, sunshine of a daughter. A reflection of the best parts of him.Â
Now, everyone knew who Johnny Storm was. Hotshot. Astronaut. Occasional model. Basically made of money. The life of every party. And too devilishly handsome for his own good.Â
He was, what women liked to call him, a dilf.Â
So yes, when he opened the door with that signature smile, hand casually braced against the frame, wearing a dark navy shirt that stretched tight across his toned chest, and light cream pants that clung to his legs like they were painted on him, your pulse skipped like you were caught doing something wrong just for looking.Â
âHey, Auroraâs friend.â He grinned, voice already amused. âKnocking so politely. What happened to just walking in like you own the place?â
You let out a nervous laugh. âHi, Mr. Storm. Is she here?â
âNot right now. She went out earlier.â He tilted his head to the suitcase next to you, his grin never faltering. âShe told me you would come, you just gotta wait for her a bit, though.âÂ
âOhâthatâs alright, I can justâŠâ You pointed behind you, but he chuckled before you could finish.
âCome on.â His hand came off the doorframe, gesturing you inside. âNo sense standing out there, youâll be staying here anyways.â
âOkay,â you agreed quietly, thanking him when he took the suitcase from your hands and waited for you to walk in first.Â
Johnny closed the door behind you, his dress shoes padding across the glossy floor as he motioned you toward the modern living room, lifting the suitcase and carrying it in one hand. The open space was framed by wide glass windows, through the panes you could see the shimmering blue of their large pool, warm sunlight slipping through into the velvet couches inside.Â
âSheâll be back any minute now. In the meantimeâŠâ He placed your suitcase next to the couches, his hands landing on his hips. âYou want a drink? Something to eat?â
You almost said no, but when you noticed the way he looked at you expectantly, like playing host was the best part of his week, all you could do was shrug sheepishly.Â
âA drink would be nice.â
âGood,â he nodded, a small smirk tugging at his mouth as he moved toward the sleek bar beside the open kitchen. âIâll mix you something special. Make yourself at home.â
You just smiled at him, and walked across the living room with your arms crossed. You let your eyes wander, taking all the space in. Between the massive flatscreen and the huge speakers, what caught your eyes were the shelves that went to the high ceiling, lined with colorful vinyl records stacked neatly in rows. You drifted toward them almost unconsciously, skimming the titles with your fingers. They were a mix of classic rock, retro blues and even some metal. It was unexpectedly cool, seeing that part of him in the middle of all the sleek glass and steel of the house.
âYou do drink the real stuff, right? Or just prefer some soda and lime?â He asked from his spot, genuinely curious, but his voice never lost that amused tone from catching your interest in his collection.Â
âYeah, sure. I donât mind a little burn this week,â you replied absentmindedly, distracted by the cover of a very worn Elvis Presley album.Â
He hummed in acknowledgment as he reached for a shaker and ice, smiling when he noticed one of his all time favorites in your hands. You put it back on the shelf carefully, deciding to sit before he said something about you being nosy over his stuff.Â
But when you turned back, he was already walking toward you with a fancy glass of a pastel pink drink, crowned with a little white paper umbrella. He offered it to you with his characteristic flourish.Â
âFor you.â
âWhatâs in it?â You took it, eyeing the glass.Â
âMagic.â He smiled proudly, gesturing a spark with his hand. His smirk widened when you narrowed your eyes. âGo on, have a taste.â
You took a small sip. The drink was icey, sweet, slightly tart, perfectly balanced, but no trace of that alcohol burn you were expecting. âThis⊠doesnât have anything in it.â
âBusted,â Johnny admitted, shrugging playfully. âItâs just some fancy juice. Figured youâll have enough of the strong stuff this week.â
You looked at him amused, sipping more of the âfancy juiceâ he prepared for you. âThank you, Mr. Storm.âÂ
He chuckled, shaking his head as he made his way back to the bar. âThere you go with the âMisterâ stuff again. Makes me feel ancient.â Then, from behind the counter, he winked shamelessly. âItâs just Johnny. Donât forget it.â
That wink shouldnât have made your heart skip the way it did. After all, youâd heard the stories about him. Auroraâs childhood friends laughing about how her dad flirted with waitresses, neighbors, basically anyone who looked twice at him.Â
Johnny Storm was a walking menace, a charmer through and through. Winking for him was like breathing. So you took another sip of your mocktail, pretending you didnât forget how to breathe for a second from your best friendâs dad winking at you.Â
But Johnny noticed. Of course he did. The glint in his eyes, that stupid playful grin, the look of a man who understood exactly the effect he had on people.Â
The sound of the front door opening broke the moment, and Auroraâs squeal echoed through the grand entryway when her eyes landed on you. She shoved her sunglasses onto the top of her head, tossed her tote onto the couch without a second thought, and charged straight at you.
You didnât even have time to set the glass down before she wrapped you in a crushing hug. So you just clutched it tightly to avoid spilling it all over her dress.Â
âIâm so happy youâre here!â she exclaimed into your shoulder.
You laughed into her blonde hair, hugging her back just as tightly. âThanks for letting me stay.â
From behind the counter, Johnny chimed in. âAurora, be careful, princess. Wouldnât want to waste a perfectly balanced drink, would we?â
She peeked over your shoulder, grinning at her dad. âYou made her one of your drinks already? You never make me cocktails,â she teased.Â
âNot a cocktail,â Johnny corrected smoothly, already reaching for the shaker to make another one for his daughter. âJust some fancy juice. Iâm not corrupting your friends, relax.â
Aurora rolled her eyes but grinned, her attention shifting to you. âSo⊠what happened?â she asked in a low voice.Â
âWe broke up,â you sighed, voice barely above a whisper. âFor real this time.â
âFinally? God, about time.â She gave your arm a gentle squeeze. âWhatâd he do now?â
You hesitated, aware of Johnny listening just feet away, pretending to shake the drink when you could feel his attention on you. Still, the words spilled out.
âWe were supposed to spend this break together, right?â You started quietly. âBut he wanted to go on this trip with his friends and other girlsâwithout me. And I saw some texts between them. Godâhe was awful, and then he had the nerve to say he was the one dumping me for being too much.âÂ
Her face scowled instantly. âAsshole. I swear, when I see that piece of shit on campus again I willââ
âAurora,â Johnny cut in lightly without looking up, focused on pouring the drink. âWould you like something to eat? murder plots on an empty stomach never end well.â
You couldnât help the small laugh that escaped you, but Aurora kept her focus on you.Â
âYou know what? He never deserved you anyway. You put up with way too much crap,â she said firmly. âYouâre too much for him because heâs not enough for you. He needs to grow up. End of the story.â
âSmart kid.â Johnny said proudly, coming over to your spot with a glass, this one topped with a little pink paper umbrella for his daughter.Â
Aurora beamed at the compliment, happily grabbing the drink from his hands. You, on the other hand, had to look away from Johnnyâs lingering gaze on you.Â
âOkay! Enough moping. Youâre not allowed to sit around sulking in my house when weâve got a pool that looks like a damn resort out there.â She said, tossing her hair over her shoulders dramatically.Â
The next thing you knew, it was hot girl spring break. Swimwear on, sunglasses perched on your hair, and lots of laughter bubbling between you as the warm sun hit your skin as you lounged by the pool.
âOkay, hear me out. We need to do something fun. Like⊠stupidly fun. Something that gets your mind completely off that idiot.â
You chuckled at her, interested in what crazy idea sheâd come up with now. âAnd what did you have in mind?âÂ
âWell, my dad wonât let me go too wild, because he cares too much, blah blah blahâ but maybe a trip? A little getaway? That wouldnât hurt anyone.â
âA trip?âÂ
âYeah! Iâd say beach, or that cabin by the lake Franklin told me about. No boyfriends, no drama. Just us.â She poked your leg with her toe, already beaming. âCome on, doesnât that sound fun?
Inside, Johnny had made himself comfortable on the couch, a notebook spread open in front of him, pencil tapping against the paper as the record youâd held spun low in the background. Heâd told himself he was going to focus, scribble through some of the research notes heâd been putting off all week and Reed kept pestering him about.
But he couldnât. Not when your laughter came muffled through the glass doors, bright, careless, young. It floated to his spot in the living room, pulling at the edges of his attention until he found himself glancing up.
And thatâs when he saw you.
Through the wide pane of glass, just a glimpse at first. Bare skin kissed by the sun, your head tipped back as you laughed at something Aurora said.
Johnnyâs pencil froze mid scrabble.
He forced his eyes back to the page, to the notes, to anything that wasnât the very wrong, very dangerous thoughts trying to push into his head the minute you knocked his door looking like someone just stole your pet.
Johnny let the pencil roll off his notebook, landing somewhere on the couch cushions. His eyes went up to the ceiling, as laughter drifted in from the pool again. Yours, mixed with Auroraâs.
That was the part that twisted the knife. Aurora. His kid. His whole damn world.
Heâd been a lot of things in his life. Reckless, flirty, a walking menace most of the time, but the one thing heâd never failed at was loving her after her mother wanted nothing to do with her. So he raised her, protected her, became the kind of trusting father she could count on. Every decision, every compromise, every change he made for good in his life was for her.
And here he was, fighting for his life, catching himself looking at her best friend like she was some kind of temptation.Â
Sheâs off-limits. Half your age. You donât get to think about herâmaybe just flirt a littleâwait no. Stop.Â
He suddenly had a mini angel Johnny on one shoulder, and a mini devil Johnny on the other, telling him what to do. But against his better judgment, he listened to the wrong one, and his gaze flicked up once more. You shifted suddenly, laughing at something Aurora said, and your eyes landed on him.
He had no idea if you caught him looking, but the risk was enough. Nope. Youâre done, Storm. Game over. He slapped his notebook shut, muttering something about making himself scarce before he got in trouble.
He was halfway off the couch when a sing-song voice came from outside.
âOhhh daaaadââ
Johnny froze. That voice. The one Aurora used when she wanted something. The one heâd been powerless against since she realized heâd figure out a way to get the moon down for her if she asked. So he dragged a hand down his face, plastering on his best charming smile and slid open the glass door.Â
âYes, princess?â
Aurora beamed, already knowing she had him.Â
âSo, my dear best friend here is very sad, and Iâve decided she needs cheering up. Donât you think she deserves that?â
Johnnyâs eyes flicked to you, his smile softened before he looked back at Aurora. âCheering up, huh? Lucky for you two, I happen to be party central.â
âExactly! And I was thinking, remember that resort we went to a few summers ago? I think sheâd love it, so we wanna go for spring break.â
âWe?â
Aurora nodded eagerly. âJust us! A girlsâ trip.â
The smile slipped right off Johnnyâs face. He crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe. âHmm. Two girls. Alone. On spring break. At a resort full of drunk college kids?â He shook his head profusely. âYeah, not happening.â
Aurora groaned, flopping back in her chair. âDaaaadââ
âNope.â Johnnyâs grin returned, smug again, like the argument was already won. âYou forget, princess, I was one of those drunk college kids. I know exactly how that goes.â
Aurora groaned louder, throwing an arm over her eyes. âSo thatâs it? No trip?â
Johnny let the silence stretch just long enough for her to sigh dramatically.Â
âDidnât say that.â
Aurora peeked at him from under her arm. âWhat?â
âI said you two arenât going to a resort alone.â He pointed between the both of you. âBut if âparty centralâ himself chaperones?â His grin widened. âThatâs a whole different story.â
âWait. Youâd take us?â
âWhy not? You two get your little spring break adventure, I get to keep an eye on the chaos, and everybody wins.â He glanced at you. âDonât worry, itâs all covered, all inclusive.â
Aurora squealed, launching herself up from her seat to hug him, but you straightened in yours to shake your head.Â
âWaitâ I canât accept that.âÂ
Johnny turned his head from his daughterâs crushing hug, his smile never faltering. âSure you can, itâs spring break.â
âI canât just let you pay forââ
âCome on,â he cut in smoothly, tilting his head. âYouâre not about to argue us out of something weâve already decided. Right, princess?âÂ
Aurora turned to you, nodding excitedly, and now you had two sets of equally dangerous smiles your way. Two Storms, very blonde and very persuasive.
You never stood a chance.
The next thing you knew, you were stepping onto a plane you had no business being on a day after.Â
First class. White leather seats that reclined almost flat, flight attendants offering champagne before youâd even buckled in. Aurora with sunglasses into her hair and grinning like a kid on Christmas.Â
You peeked behind your seat to risk a glance down the aisle. Johnny had his seat reclined, sunglasses on, wired headphones around his neck, and his long legs stretched out while he joked something about his pillow to the flight attendant. A glass of champagne dangled loosely from his fingers, and when he caught you looking, he tipped it toward you in a silent toast.
You pulled your head back quickly, taking a long sip of your own drink to prepare you for what this trip was gonna be.
Spring break had officially begun.
Your ride from the airport to the beach was in a glossy black car with tinted windows, and when you arrived, you realized why Aurora was buzzing with excitement. The resort wasnât just a resort, it was the resort. A stunning, sun drenched paradise with infinity pools, white and blue striped umbrellas, and staff who seemed to know Johnny on sight.
The lobby stretched wide with glossy marble pillars and soaring ceilings, the kind of space that made you feel like youâd stepped into a movie where illicit affairs where bound to take place. The staff smiled and moved quickly, offering cold towels and fresh fruit infused water as Johnny led the way to the front desk.
And god, he handled it like heâd done it a thousand times.
He leaned one elbow casually on the counter, flashing that trademark grin, his sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt. The poor woman behind the desk was practically melting as she typed on the computer, Johnny tossing in little comments here and there.Â
âReservation under Storm. Should be two suites with balconies, unless youâre planning to surprise me with something better?â His smirk had the clerk blushing as she checked.
Aurora, who had worn her bikini all the way from home and couldn't wait to show it off, had zero patience for her dadâs shenanigans.
âDad,â she groaned, tapping her nails against the counter. âAre we done? Please?â
The clerk slid two keycards across the desk just as Johnny opened his mouth to make another comment. Aurora snatched them up before he could. âThank you!â she chirped, then turned to you, eyes sparkling. âCome on! Letâs go see the room!â
âWaitââ Johnny started, but Aurora was already dragging you toward the elevators, both of you giggling as you left him behind.Â
âBye, Dad!â she called over her shoulder, unapologetic.
Johnny stood there watching the elevatorâs doors close, and then his eyes landed at the two abandoned luggage bags at his feet, before laughing under his breath. He shook his head, turning back to the flustered desk clerk with a smile.
âGirls.â He shrugged, voice rich with affection, as if that explained everything.
â
The first thing to do was obvious: lounge by the pool. So you walked next to Aurora, sunglasses on, tote bags in hand, and cute coverups over swimsuits. You approached the pool deck, looking at the striped blue and white umbrellas over deck chairs. People tanning, staff handing out drinks, a Sabrina Carpenter song booming on the speakers. And just as the chorus of "When did you get hot" hit, he came into view.
Mr. Stoâ Johnny Storm.
You almost broke your neck doing a double take, triple take.
He was shirtless, stretched out on one of the poolside beds like he owned the whole damn resort. His golden skin kissed by the sun, sunglasses with blue tinted lenses perched on his nose, and a half empty beer bottle sweating beside him. He wasn't even doing anything, just lounging. One arm propped behind his head, and still, every single person within eyesight was trying, and failing, not to stare.
Because come on. He might've been pushing forty, but he easily won hottest man there. The kind of hot that made staff whisper, that made women glance over their shoulders twice, that made you...freak out inside.
You'd seen his body before. Everyone had. How could you forget when your entire dorm had turned into a frenzy when his Calvin Klein campaign dropped. Then came the Coppertone billboards every summer, plastered all around the city with him all bronzed and sculpted. Sunscreen sales going up just so people could get a bottle with his face on it.
His daughter would roll her eyes at all the attention he got from it. But everyone else ate it up. Including you, even if you could never ever admit it out loud.
He was, after all, quite a celebrity.
Sure, Johnny's real work was running the Fantastic SpaceWorks Research company with his inner circle. But with that body and that face, let alone that fiery personality, slipping into modeling was inevitable. Brands lined up with contracts, and he said yes to those who could afford him.
But right now you were seeing the real thing.
Not him on a magazine's glossy spread, not on your phone, not even on a giant billboard, but right in front of you. Just a few feet away, on the very same vacation that he paid for.
What the actual hell was your life right now?
The closer you got, the better the view. Johnny looked like he'd been carved straight out of spring break itself. Like fire and temptation wrapped in one man's body.
Stop it. Keep it together. Heâs twice your age for godâs sake.Â
Aurora, on the other hand, didn't even acknowledge the gushing going around, or your heated cheeks. She plopped onto the bed next to him, pulled her phone out, and angled the camera to take some selfies.
"You're in my background, dad. Don't move," she said, covering Johnny with her body so he wouldn't photobomb her session.
"Wouldn't dream of it, princess." Johnny chuckled, taking a sip of his beer.
Aurora snapped a few selfies, then switched to Instagram to add a video for her story. "Spring break, baby!" she sang, panning the camera to the pool, the palm trees, to you still standing by the edge of the bed next to her.
You smiled at her story, posing like you were having a great time, sunglasses slipping down your nose as you tried to act normal. Like you weren't seconds from combusting just from looking at him.
"You just gonna stand there, or are you planning to join us?" Johnny tilted his head your way, one corner of his mouth curving up in that damn smile.
You finally slid onto the lounger next to Aurora, trying to keep your eyes on the beautiful pool in front of you, ignoring how close you were to him. Johnny moved his eyes to the pool too, satisfied with your reaction. He stretched, biceps flexing, folding his arms behind his head, and with a grin that could've lit up the entire pool deck, spoke loud enough for both of you to hear.
"Girls, drinks are on meâyou two are officially on my tab. Anything you want, the whole week." He announced, making Aurora squeal so loud a few heads turned. "Happy spring break, princess." Johnny tipped his sunglasses down just enough to wink at her, and then darted his eyes at you.
Aurora practically threw herself at him, planting a big kiss on his cheek before flopping back against the cushions, still giggling.
"You're the best dad!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know. But heyâ" He sat up a little, pointing between the two of you with fake seriousness, "Do it responsibly. Got it?"
"Ugh, that's literally why you're here," she groaned dramatically, already waving him off. She then turned to you, rolling her eyes. "Human buzzkill, but with a black credit card."
Johnny clutched his chest, pretending to be wounded when you laughed with her.
"Buzzkill? I'll have you know, I invented half the bad decisions you kids are still trying to learn how to sneak off to."
Aurora just snorted, sliding her sunglasses back up her nose.
"Yeah yeah, whatever. We all know you peaked in college, dad." She joked, knowing damn well her father, much to her misfortune and your own, was still peaking.
He laughed, leaning back again, the sun hitting his chest. And you, stuck between the Storms, thought you better get a head start on that drink offer. You'd need something strong to survive this whole trip.
A while went by as the three of you lounged in the sun. You had your phone in hand, half sipping a drink, trying to act like you weren't melting in the heat, or from the man sitting just a chair away.
"So...what's the plan? Just gonna sit here all day looking pretty, or are you actually gonna touch the water?" Johnny asked, glancing between the two of you.
"We're vibing." Aurora waved him off without looking up from her phone.
Johnny huffed, dramatic as ever, pushing himself up from the lounger.
"Well, if you're not going in," He slid his sunglasses down his nose, flashing a smile. "I am."
And God help you, because the walk alone was a show. Easy, confident, the kind of stride that made heads turn all across the pool deck. He tugged his sunglasses off, tossed them onto the lounger, and dove in with infuriatingly perfect form, like he belonged in the water as much as he did in the heat.
And just as he was coming back to the surface, 'SexyBack' from Justin Timberlake came on the speakers.
God, it was like even the universe knew he was putting up a show.
He broke through the water gracefully, head tilted back, water streaming down his golden skin, blonde hair slicked for a moment before he shook it out, droplets flying everywhere. The sun hit him just right, and every single woman within eyesight went still.
It felt like watching a thirst edit in real life.
Even the waitresses stopped mid step, drinks forgotten on trays, eyes following the rise of Johnny Storm like he was the main attraction.
And you?...cooked. Absolutely cooked.
Internally freaking out about the fact that he was, in fact, bringing sexy back to the whole damn resort.
"Dad's such a show off," Aurora sighed when she looked at him only for a second, her thumbs going back to tap on her screen. "Bet he thinks some people are watching."
You just gulped, fighting the urge to fan yourself. Your gaze still glued helplessly on Johnny, who definitely wasn't thinking some people were watching, he knew damn well they were. But for some reason, he only cared about one.
You watched as he swam up to your side of the pool, reaching the edge directly in front of your loungers. He braced his arms on the concrete, forearms flexing, chest half submerged, and a devastating lazy grin.
"Well, Aurora," he drawled, "can you put that phone down to actually enjoy the pool I dropped a small fortune on for you?"
"I'm enjoying myself over here, dad." She shrugged, without even glancing up from her phone. "Besides, we're not interested in your pool theatrics," she mocked, rolling her eyes playfully.
Johnny laughed, throwing his head back. At this point he wasn't even trying. Everything he did looked four times better with water droplets all over his upper body. You decided to look away before the intrusive thoughts could take over you, and pretended to look for the stupid Coppertone sunscreen in your tote bag.
Because yesâŠyou owned one.
Johnny leaned on the edge of the pool a moment longer, Aurora already lost on her phone again, editing her pictures. You glanced up for a second, just a second, when his eyes found yours. Only for a heartbeat. But it was enough time for him to wink.
Did he really justâ? Again?Â
By the time you'd processed what happened, Johnny was already pushing himself away from the edge. He shrugged, casual as anything, flashing one of his careless grins at a bachelorette group to the side of the pool, watching him stroll leisurely through the water.
Of course.
Forcing yourself to look away, your attention went back to your tote bag. Sunscreen clearly forgotten back at the hotel room, which was better anyway, because if you saw his face again on that damn bottle you would combust. Aurora fiddled next to you and stood, stretching her arms overhead with that same Storm dramatic flair.
"I'm getting stronger cocktails. Don't drown while I'm gone.â She teased, already padding off toward the bar.
You hummed back, but your focus was somewhere else, because across the pool, Johnny had decided to get out.
The Justin Timberlake song was over by this point, but you swore it was playing inside your head as his own personal soundtrack.
He swam one last length, before reaching to the side of the pool where that bride-to-be was. His palms pressed flat to the edge, muscles in his back and shoulders tightening, flexing as he hoisted himself up in one effortless motion.
Every inch of him caught by the sun, water running down each sculpted line like a spotlight. Droplets scattered everywhere when he shook his head, hair slicking back for a moment before falling perfectly into place.
And if he was putting up a show before, this was his grand finale.
Johnny nodded to the bachelorette group again, unbothered while they squealed with every step he made back to his lounger.
He stopped right next to you. Close enough that water still dripped down his body to your spot. He reached for a towel, slinging it over his shoulders, rubbing his hair with one hand, while the rest of him gleamed under the sun. Johnny glanced down with a lazy grin as he dried the back of his neck.
"Huh. Guess you don't even have to get in the water," he said it like nothing, like an innocent comment, but then you noticed the mischief behind his eyes. "It's already dripping 'round here."
Did he just say that Iâ that he made meâ? Oh my God. Oh my God. OH MY GOD.
You went through every single curse word in your head. And the look on his face? Oh, he knew exactly what he was saying. At this point he was not even trying to be subtle anymore.
Satisfied with your loss for words and jaw almost touching the floor, he laughed. He actually laughed. And then, with maddening ease, turned to pick up his sunglasses and beer and made his way out, toweling off as if he hadn't just left you fighting for air in the middle of a crowded pool deck.
Your neck burned so hot you were sure your face was about to explode. For Johnny it was easy to move on like nothing happened, towel draped over his shoulders, beer bottle in hand, humming along to the music playing from the speakers. But you were ruined. Not even cooked at this point.
Burnt.
You shifted on the lounger. God, why is it so hot in here?
Before you could overthink, you shot up from your seat and marched straight for the pool. Sunglasses tossed aside with less ease than Johnny had, coverup still on. Without hesitation, you dove in, the cool water soothing the rush down.
And Johnny? He had definitely noticed. He turned around just in time to see you get in the water. He leaned casually on the palm tree next to him, sunglasses back on, and tipped his beer bottle in your direction with a smirk. Like he knew exactly why you'd jumped in.
And the worst part? He was right. The water running down his body wasn't the only thing dripping 'round here.
Sunset came around.
Aurora was practically buzzing as you strutted down the boardwalk, both of you dressed up after an hour of getting ready in your suite to take some pictures at the beach. Sheâd chosen a silky pink little dress that clung to her curves.
And you? Youâd taken a risk.
The dress was shorter than anything you usually wore, the neckline dipping lower, the fabric hugging your body in ways that made your reflection in the mirror hard to look away from. Aurora had squealed when you stepped out of the bathroom.
âFinally! Thatâs the energy we need. Boys wonât even know what hit them.â
Youâd laughed, pretending it was all for the thrill of spring break, but deep down you knew the truth. If Johnny Storm wanted to tease, then two could play that game.
By the time you reached the beach, the sky was painted in pink and gold, and the crowd was already gathering at the bar. Thatâs where you saw him.
Johnny.
Leaning against the bamboo counter, dressed in white linen. Shirt half unbuttoned, tight shorts, tanned skin glowing under the last streaks of sun. He had the bartender laughing, his hand brushed her arm lightly as he said something, and she tilted her head back, hanging on every word.
Oh he had been doing his best all afternoon.
After the pool, after what he said, after the way you dove in like you were escaping him, the guilt had come back sharper than ever. So he did what he always did when guilt got too loud, he tried to distract himself.
Charming the bartender was easy. She was pretty, sweet, laughing at every dumb line he tossed her way. And for a while, it worked. He leaned in close, let his smile do the heavy lifting, told himself this was safer. This was normal.
And then he laughed at something she said, careless, when something in the distance caught his eye. He half turned, catching his daughter first, and then you, looking like sin itself next to her.
The world stopped.Â
The dress clung to you like it had been made for this exact moment, the sunset painting your skin as you walked beside Aurora. His laughter died in his throat, chest tightening with a heat he hadnât felt in years.
Hot damn.
And it wasnât just you, he was absolutely cooked too.Â
The bartenderâs voice faded into the background, her hand brushing his arm unnoticed as his gaze locked on you. Every attempt heâd made to shove you out of his head crumbled in an instant.Â
Johnnyâs hand tightened on his glass. He shouldâve looked away. Shouldâve gone back to the bartender. Shouldâve done anything but stare.
Damn it, Storm. Sheâs your kidâs best friend. You donât get to look. Youâre not supposed to notice the way she fills out that dressâ but what if she wore it for me?âNo! absolutely not.
But when your eyes flicked up and caught his, just for a second, Johnny forgot all about guilt. His gaze locked with yours, intense, unflinching in a way that made you squirm.
Goosebumps went up your spine, feeling exposed under the weight of his gaze. You couldnât look away, even as something inside you screamed that you should. All you could feel was satisfaction, on how your little dress choice had the effect youâd wanted on him.
Johnny Storm, notorious flirt, fire himself, your best friendâs dad, looked at you like heâd just been set ablaze.
Aurora, of course, didnât notice a thing. Her eyes were scanning the view, choosing the perfect spot for your pictures.
âItâs perfect here! This is it.â Aurora practically bounced in her spot, snapping you out of the trance shoving her phone in your direction.
You laughed nervously and took the phone, letting Aurora pose against the backdrop of the ocean and flickering torches. And of course, she was a natural. Every angle, every smile, every toss of her hair, it all came effortlessly. Just like her dad.Â
Once she was happy with the infinite candids you got of her, she ushered you to take the same spot. Her face lit up when she spotted a bush nearby, and plucked a beautiful white flower from it.
âDonât argue.â She tucked it gently behind your ear, stepping back with a grin. âThere. You look gorgeous. Now stand over there, the light is unreal.â
Over the bar, Johnny was fighting for his damn life. The bartender long forgotten, his attention solely set on the way you posed for the camera. The sunset glowed beautifully across your skin, the flower so sweet on your hair, and he just couldnât look away. Not when you smiled genuinely at Aurora, not when the hem of your dress shifted in the breeze, not when the laughter bubbled up your throat like you didnât even realize how stunning you were.
âGo, bestie go!â Aurora joked, moving her camera so she captured multiple angles. âYouâre doing amazing, sweetie.â
You laughed, trying to focus on her silly lines to hype you up, on the glow of the torches and the sound of the ocean, but eventually, and inevitably, your eyes strayed.
Back to the bar. Back to him. Just for a second.
And that was when Aurora squealed. âOh my god, yes! Thatâs the one!â
You got startled, eyes wide as she walked over, shoving the phone in your face. On the screen, there you were, flower tucked in your hair, beach in the background, lips parted in a soft laugh, and your eyes locked, unmistakably shining at somethingâŠor someone, off camera.
âYouâre glowing! Look at your eyes, they shine. Itâs perfect!â
You stood there smiling awkwardly, because you knew exactly who youâd been looking at.
Aurora, oblivious, was already editing the picture. âThis is going straight to my insta. That bitchass ex of yours is gonna choke when he sees what heâs missing.â
You nodded in agreement, but your eyes were already daring to the bar, again, and Johnny's gaze never wavered. And even in that distance, you caught the unmistakable wink he threw your way.Â
And for the first time all night, the guilt wasnât anywhere in his eyes.
It was heat.
Pure, dangerous fire.
Dinner with Aurora had gone in a blur, and soon you were back in the suite to call it a day. She was locked in the bathroom, doing her fourteen step skincare regime. You hadn't changed out of your dress, nerves still buzzing under your skin from the way Johnny looked at you during your little photo session. So you stepped out onto the balcony instead.
The dark sea stretched endlessly in front of you, moonlight dancing across the waves, the night air warm against your skin. You leaned against the railing, phone in hand, mindlessly opening your socials to distract yourself.
And there it was, as soon as you opened Instagram, the picture Aurora took and posted to her profile. The one she'd taken of you with the flower in your hair. The one where you were looking at him. The likes were stacked high, comments from your friends back from college flooding in.
You smiled, scrolling through the lovely comments, tapping the numbers next to the little heart to check the list of names, but the first one was enough to make your heart leap out of your chest.
Johnny Storm.
He didn't comment, didn't follow your tagged account. It was just his name there, clear as day, sitting at the top of the likes. It might as well have happened a few minutes ago for all you knew.
You locked your phone, unlocked it again, like maybe it would disappear. It didn't. And then, curiosity burned hotter than it should have. Before you could stop yourself, you were tapping his name.
His profile was public. Of course.
You chuckled at the most recent rows. The glossy, influencer style, overly well done shots that had Aurora's touch all over them. Not that you were complaining. You went one by one, him shirtless on a yacht, another one in sunglasses and that signature smirk in a blue convertible, another mid swing at the golf court. His pose was never forced, all he had to do was stand there and let his body do the rest. It was just who he was to the world.
But as you scrolled further down, you came across the less polished ones. The actual him.
Grainy shots of a spaceship launch. A very dim photo of a record spinning on the beautiful turntable you saw in his living room. The skyline at sunset from the rooftop of what you recognized as his family building in Manhattan, his silhouette barely visible in the corner.
They were beautiful in his own Johnny way, but what made you smile was that every other picture had a retro song tagged. You even saved some that caught your interest to check out later.
You kept scrolling, now finding multiple throwback pictures of him holding a toddler Aurora and her baby cousin Franklin, hanging on each arm, or on his lap, or climbing over his head. No matter what they were doing, his smile was brighter than ever.
But also⊠younger. A long time ago.
You sighed. A flicker of that weird feeling trying to resurface, but before you could give it a second thought, a notification popped up.
JohnnyStorm has requested to follow you.
Your body took a screenshot.
And so did your fingers on your phone. The action was almost instinctive, pressing the buttons fast as lighting to save the evidence in case it was an accident and he decided to take it back. You blinked at the screen a few times, like it might change any moment, giving him time to undo it.
But... he didn't.
His name sat there, beautiful and bold and smug, waiting for you to decide. You bit your lip, thumb hovering over the button. Every part of you screamed this was not right. You shouldn't do it. And yet...
Fuck it.
You hit "accept". A mixture of relief and dread tangled in your chest, but it was too late to take it back now. In the end, it was just a followâŠRight?
You gaslighted yourself into believing it was no big deal.
So you kept scrolling, right where you left off. More photos of his family he posted a couple of years back. You recognized all the familiar faces of Aurora's life.
A candid of him and Reed Richards at a conference, the latter gesturing the presentation as Johnny looked at him with unspoken admiration. The caption said something about a groundbreaking discovery they made about cosmic radiation on their first space mission. Another one with his sister Sue, caught mid laugh, her hand attempting to hide her face while Johnny side hugged her to death, his own eyes crinkled with playfulness.
God help you, you were swooning.
And then, you came across the coolest picture you could've seen on anyone's Instagram. Johnny and Ben Grimm in spacesuits, floating inside the F4 station. White helmets suspended in the air next to them, their grins huge as they threw peace signs at the camera, the zero gravity making their hair stick out in all directions.
You knew Johnny was an astronaut. Everyone knew. His family was known for their contributions to space travel and exploration, but it was crazy how someone with a career that serious, was still impossibly him. Johnny. And seeing it, seeing him in that picture, weightless, laughing, living history like it was nothing⊠something in your chest squeezed tight.Â
Without thinking, you pinched the screen to zoom in. His smile had always been beautiful, his eyes always crinkling with pure joy. You wanted to study every detail. From his spacesuit, to the breathtaking view of earth behind them.
But just as you pinched to zoom againâ an accidental double tap.
A red heart popped on your screen.
You weren't sure how your phone didn't end up plummeting down multiple stories onto the sand, considering the gasp you let out. You'd actually liked it. A photo from years ago. The kind that made it painfully obvious you'd been stalking his profile.
"Shit shit shitâ" you hissed, tapping the screen to unlike it as fast as you could.
The stupid little heart disappeared, but the damage, however, was already done. Had he seen it? Had he screenshotted the notification just like you did?
The thought of Johnny Storm knowing you'd been nose diving through his past at midnight made your whole body burn.
Just a few rooms down the hall, Johnny was sprawled across his balcony chair, dinner shirt now fully open, bare feet propped up on the little rattan table. The night air was warm, with just the slight breeze coming from the sea. His phone laid screen down on his bare chest, eyes fixated on the stars above as his head flooded with thoughts he shouldn't be having.
When his phone buzzed.
You accepted his follow request.
A grin came across his face before he could stop it. He opened your profile instantly, sitting straighter like something interesting finally happened.
It was cute picture after cute picture. You with friends at some festival, another one of the sky in a beautiful mix of pink and yellow you couldn't resist photographing, another one of you crouched down laughing as a puppy tried to lick your face. He paused on one at a college game where Aurora had practically climbed on your back, grinning at the camera with her eyes crinkling the same way his did.
"Absolutely crazy, just like me." Johnny chuckled, shaking his head. Like father, like daughter.
But soon that warmth in his chest tightened into that familiar gut wrenching feeling. Guilt.
He shouldn't be doing this. Thinking about you in the way he has been. You were just too young, and he was certainly old enough to know better. Johnny dragged a hand through his hair, groaning under his breath. He couldn't be that guy. He wouldn't. He'd promised himself a thousand times he would be a better man.
He'd raised Aurora to know her worth, to see through bullshit boys, to expect more. And here he was, breaking every rule he'd ever drilled into her, setting the worst example possible.
His thumb hovered over the home bar to close the app. He needed to shut it down before he made it worse. But a notification showed up on his screen.
You liked a photo.
Johnny frowned, then tapped it immediately to see which one. Much to his surprise, it wasn't something recent. Not the yacht pics, not the cocky grin in sunglasses, not the daughter approved shots.
It was the photo.
Him and Ben in full spacesuits, grinning like idiots, throwing peace signs in zero gravity. A picture buried years down his feed, one he saw often since he had it framed on his desk back home.
And your like? Gone. Your name didn't show up on the list anymore.
"Well, well, well..." He drawled, a grin spreading slowly.
There was no mistaking it. You hadn't just stumbled across that. You'd gone deep. And you'd accidentally slipped a little heart on it. He couldn't stop smiling now. The guilt was still there, whispering in the back of his head. But now? Now he knew. You were looking, just like he was.
Johnny leaned back in his chair, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he stared at the photo. Then he let out a dry laugh, smug as hell.
"Guess I'm not the only one digging."
And God help him, because knowing you'd been scrolling through his past didn't make him want to stop. It made him want to see how far you'd go.
The second day at the resort came, and youâd managed to avoid Johnny most of the day, with the excuse of spending more girls time with Aurora. The last thing you wanted was him teasing you about last night, and a part of you just hoped he hadnât seen the like you took away instantly.Â
The resort had outdone itself for dinner tonight. Wood tables lined the beach, tiki torches flickering against the sky while the sun melted into the horizon in shades of orange and pink. Aurora's hand latched onto your arm, pulling you down the sandy path toward the tables.
"Come on. I got the perfect spot, right next to that guy!" She grinned, pointing to the table where a very handsome guy with dark hair and blue eyes sat.
You laughed and shook your head, following her into seats just close enough to her chosen target's table to be coincidental. You looked around, spotting all the pretty faces you could probably set a target on too.Â
Someone your age, probably.
But that thought got snapped away from your head when a warm hand landed on your shoulder, making you jump in your seat. Johnny appeared behind you, mouthing a âRelaxâ before leaning down to plant a kiss on Aurora's forehead, then sliding into the chair across from you with unbothered confidence. Â
The first thing you noticed was his blonde hair, still damp around the edges, a little frizzy from the ocean where he'd apparently been all day. Sunglasses hooked into the collar of his loose maroon linen shirt, a pair of light beach shorts, and a glint in his eye that told you he'd bring up the Instagram fiasco anytime. When you drifted your gaze somewhere else, his eyes dragged down the dress you chose for tonight.Â
Even prettier than yesterdayâs.Â
"Ladies, I've been wondering when you'd show up," he cleared his throat, picking up the menu with a flourish. "What are we eating tonight? And don't say fries, if I flew you here for spring break, you're getting actual food."
"Dad, chill. You know Iâll always want fries." Aurora rolled her eyes, already flipping through her menu.
Johnny hummed playfully, leaning back in his chair pretending to go through the options. You did the same, but the moment you decided to look up, his eyes were already on you, with a stupid little grin that said 'I know what you did last night.â
Christ.
Thankfully, dinner came quickly. Platters of fresh seafood, grilled vegetables, and yes, a side of fries placed right in front of Aurora.
âOh, thanks Dad!â She said as she blew him a kiss before turning back to you. âSee? He canât say no.â She added between laughs, making Johnny pick up a fry and point it at her like a warning.
âDonât get used to it, only because itâs spring break.âÂ
âYeah yeah,â she dismissed him. âMaybe you should test him too. Best friend status gets you some perks.â She elbowed your arm, wiggling her eyebrows at you.
You just bit your lip, ignoring the thoughts invading your head from that suggestion. Johnny watched playfully, picking up his glass of sangria to drink his thoughts away too.Â
âIâll try not to abuse the power.â You cleared your throat, taking a sip of yours.Â
âUh huh,â Johnny smirked, leaning back in his chair, watching you over the rim of his glass. âWeâll see.â
You almost choked on your drink. Aurora, oblivious to the way his eyes lingered on you, was too busy watching the guy at the other table. Every few minutes she leaned into you, whispering commentary like, âOkay, he just laughed⊠oh my God, his smile is so cute,â while you nodded, trying not to focus on the one at your table.
Johnny was back putting on a show. He laughed at all the right moments, charmed the waitresses that passed by with easy jokes, played the part of the laid back dad perfectly while you were internally fighting for your life. After a while a different waitress walked to your table, noticing theyâd been taking turns to walk by just to exchange a few words with Johnny, and handed him the dessert menu with blushed cheeks. Just as he was reading it, the guy Aurora'd been eyeing caught her look, smiled, and gave a nod toward the stretch of beach behind the torches. Her eyes widened, excitement written all over her face. She grabbed your hand under the table, whispering.
âOkay, you have to distract my dad.â
âWhat? No! Iââ she didnât even let you finish, slipping out of her chair.
âOh no!â she said, feigning shock. âMy phoneâs dead, tragic! guess I have to run up to the room to charge it.â
âUh- you wandering alone, this late?â Johnny looked up from the dessert menu, brows lifting as he shook his head. âI donât think so.â
âYeah, Iâll be quick! This place is pretty safe, donât worry dad.â
For a second, Johnny hesitated. Then the waitress cleared her throat to get his attention back, smiling sweetly as she listed her personal recommendations, and his grin slipped back into place. He waved Aurora off with a little flick of his hand.
âFine. Just be careful, princess.â
Aurora nodded profusely, blurting a quick thank you, Dad! before darting off into the crowd, leaving you alone at the table. Johnny straightened in his chair, tapping a finger against the menu as he looked up at the waitress.Â
âIâll have the chocolate cake, simply the best Iâve tried here. Oh, and throw in a couple of sundaes too, make sure they have those little paper umbrella things, please,â He turned on the full Storm charm, flashing a smile. âWhat can I say? Iâm weak for presentation.â
The waitress giggled as she scribbled the order, and Johnny winked before handing back the menu. Then, once she was gone, he turned back to you.Â
âGuess itâs just us now,â he drawled, looking at you with mischief in his eyes. âSo, tell meâŠâ
Shit. This is when he brings it up. What the hell am I gonna say?Â
âHowâs school treating you? Aurora says youâve been buried in work lately.â
You blinked at the question. Certainly it wasnât what you were expecting. Not that you were complaining, though.Â
âItâsâŠfine. You know engineering is busy, but it's fine,â you kept the answer short, fiddling with the edge of your napkin.
âMmmâŠâ he tilted his head, studying you. âYou always say âfineâ. Makes me think youâre not saying everything you want to say.â
You hesitated before answering this time. The thing about Johnny was you never knew if he was genuinely interested in an answer or if he just wanted to watch you squirm, since everything he said always hinted some kind of hidden meaning. He chuckled at your silence, leaning forward, elbows on the table.
âLook, all Iâm saying is,â he stole a fry off Auroraâs abandoned plate. âI wouldnât mind hearing some of that college drama. Right when life is just loud, kindaâŠmessy, you know?.âÂ
âLoud and messy, huhâŠis that how you like it?â you teased, tilting your head. âThe drama, of course,â you clarified, smiling innocently.
Johnnyâs eyes widened, like he wasnât expecting to hear you say something like that, but his grin never faltered. If anything, it got bigger.Â
âWellâŠdonât you?â He teased back, leaning on his chair again. You shrugged nonchalantly. âYouâre in your twenties. If youâre not a little loud and messy, youâre doing it wrong,â He shrugged playfully. âDonât worry, though, you have enough time to make mistakes.â
The tension between you two could be cut with a knife, charged with unspoken words and longing stares, until the waitress returned with desserts, breaking the moment. Johnny flashed her that same charming smile, thanking her warmly, giving you time to exhale a breath youâd been holding.
The waitress set down the desserts, a plate with one slice of chocolate cake drizzled with syrup, and two glass cups of vanilla sundae, topped with those ridiculous little paper umbrellas. He reached for the cake first, pulling the plate closer with a satisfied hum.Â
âNow thisâŠthis is what spring break is about. Forget tequila shots. Chocolate cake at sunset? Thatâs real luxury,â Johnny grinned, cutting a bite of cake with his fork.Â
âIâm not sure thatâs what people mean when they say spring break.â You chuckled.
âThatâs because people donât know how to do it like I do.â He winked, then lifted the bite, but instead of eating it, he held the fork out across the table. âGo on.â
âW-what?â
âTry it,â he nodded, holding the fork closer to you, âBest chocolate cake youâll ever have. Promise.â
You hesitated, heart leaping out of your chest, but his hand didnât waver. Slowly, you leaned forward, lips parting just enough to take the bite off the fork, your eyes never leaving his.The chocolate melted instantly on your tongue, rich, bittersweet, perfect, but you barely enjoyed it. Not when Johnny was watching you with dilated pupils taking over the blue of his eyes.Â
âWell?â he asked, voice lower now, teasing.
âItâs⊠really good,â you mumbled, licking the leftover syrup from your lips. âI guess, itâs a guilty pleasure of mine.â
âThe cake?â He lifted an eyebrow as you nodded with that feign innocence thatâd been driving him crazy the whole trip.Â
âSure.âÂ
Johnny leaned back at last, smirking at the glint in your eye, finally taking his own bite, eyes never leaving yours.
The rest of dinner wound down with empty dessert plates and a torchlit walk back up the boardwalk. Aurora had returned from her encounter flustered, hair slightly out of place, which she blamed on having to rush from her room back to the beach. Johnny just eyed her suspiciously, not entirely buying her story but too distracted with you to pry more into it. So, he just handed her a piece of cake he saved, and then walked you back to the suite.Â
By the time you reached your room, Johnny took the keycard from Aurora's hand, and opened the door with a dramatic bow.Â
âOkay ladies, bedtime. Partyâs over.âÂ
âDaaad, itâs literally not even midnight!â Aurora groaned right back, rolling her eyes.Â
âExactly,â Johnny shot back. âThatâs when the chaos starts, now go to sleep.â He gave her a mock scolding look.Â
âUgh, fine. Skincare time then. Donât wait up!â Aurora groaned again, already heading inside, but Johnny caught her, one arm stopping her in as he bent to kiss her forehead.Â
âGoodnight, princess.â He said, as she squirmed like she was twelve again, squealing.Â
âDad, stoppp.â She wriggled free at last, shoving him off, darting toward the bathroom with her bag in hand.
Johnny watched her disappear, the soft smile on his face lingering longer than he meant it to. Then his eyes slid back to you. You stood just outside the doorway, hands clasped together, heat creeping up your face. Johnny stepped closer, close enough that his voice was low when he leaned down, lips near your ear.
âGoodnight to you too,â he whispered, âAnd, donât stay up stalking people,â he added, smug as hell, and just when he saw the way you tensed, he turned around satisfied.Â
You dragged yourself into the room, heart ringing in your ears, already bracing to pretend you werenât about to lose the rest of your sanity. You expected to have some time to cool off, while Aurora locked herself in the bathroom to do her whole skincare ritual. Instead, she was sprawled across her bed, legs kicking in the air as she texted, giggling like a little girl.Â
âUhâŠwhereâs the skincare?â You paused in the doorway. Aurora glanced up, face lighting up.
âOh my godâyouâre not gonna believe this. He wants to meet up again. Like, right now,â she sat up, shoving her phone at you with the message glowing on the screen.
âAuroraâŠâ
âDonât look at me like that. Youâll cover for me if dad comes, right? Pretty please?â She clasped her hands together, giving you her best Storm puppy eyes. You laughed, shaking your head.Â
âYouâre impossible, but yes, of course,â you laughed, and she squealed.
âCorrection,â she said, bending to rummage through her suitcase, tugging out a shorter dress and holding it against herself. âIâm a Storm.â
âYup,â you agreed, shaking your head amused âJustâŠbe careful, okay?â
âUgh, you sound just like him.â Aurora rolled her eyes, grinning as she ducked into the bathroom to change. A few minutes later, she reappeared, lipstick retouched, hair flipped, outfit perfect. âOkay, the cover story is Iâm asleep, dead to the world, dreaming about fries. Got it?â
âGot it,â you laughed again. Aurora blew you a dramatic kiss, wiggling her fingers in a wave.Â
âYouâre the best. Love you!âÂ
And with that, she slipped out the door, leaving you alone in the quiet suite with your heartbeat thumping in your ears. Because you couldnât stop thinking about Johnny. How heâd looked at you. How teasing, how suggestive, how impossibly hot heâd been. How he made sure you knew he knew about the stupid photo incident. But before you could spiral any further, your phone buzzed. Your ex calling.Â
Of course. Midnight.
And of course, you hit decline. Two seconds later, it buzzed again. Decline again. Then again. He wouldnât stop. The screen lit up with his name over and over until, against every ounce of better judgment, you swiped to answer.
âWhat do you want?â You snapped, and he chuckled.
âRelax. Just wanted to say you lookedâŠwow. That picture Aurora posted? You look beautiful.â
âOkay. And?â You said annoyed, sinking on the edge of the bed. He sighed dramatically, like you were the one exhausting him.
âJesus, attitude.â He whistled low, and then that stupid, dry laugh he made when he was about to talk shit. âIâm trying to be nice over here, how have you been?â
âOh, me? Iâm doing great, thank you. Even better if you stopped calling so I can enjoy myself over here.âÂ
âOhh right, I see how it is. Princess goes somewhere fancy for spring break and suddenly thinks sheâs all that.â
âJesus, do you even listen to yourself when you talk?â You almost groaned. âWhen you saw my picture you definitely thought Iâm all that.âÂ
He chuckled, again. âNahâ just another pretty face. But hey, at least youâre kinda hot. Guess thatâs what matters in the end, right?â
The line clicked dead, just like that, before you could even fight back. You threw your phone on the bed, covering your face and groaning into your hands. His words left a sour taste in your mouth, one that you suddenly decided youâd drown with some strong liquor.Â
If Aurora sneaked out, why wouldnât you?
Before you knew it, you were walking out of the suite as quietly as you could, heart pounding like you were the one sneaking out to meet a boy.Â
A drink, thatâs all you wanted. Just one to take the sting out of your exâs words.Â
You made it to the lobby, arms hugging your body, and just when you rounded the corner to walk toward the beach bar, you collided with someone solid, warm, who steadied you instantly with strong hands on your shoulders.
âWoah thereââÂ
The voice was familiar, too damn familiar, and laced with amusement. You looked up and your stomach dropped, cursing internally. Of all people, it had to be Johnny. Why the hell wasnât he in his room anyways?Â
âWell, well, well. Look whoâs sneaking out,â he dragged, like this was the best thing that happened to him all trip.
âI-I wasnât âŠmy ex called, and I justâŠneeded to breathe, thatâs all,â you fumbled, words tripping out before you could think.Â
The amused grin slipped, just slightly. His eyes searched yours, catching on the uneasiness you hadnât been able to shake. For a moment, you thought heâd tease you again, but he didnât. Instead, he softened his grip before letting go.
âYeah? Is that why youâre wandering the hotel at midnight alone?â He raised his brow, probably questioning why his daughter wasnât with you. You nodded quickly.
âYeah. Auroraâs dead asleep after her⊠like, twenty step skincare routine. Probably dreaming about fries.â You laughed nervously, remembering your cover for her.Â
âThat sounds about right.â He chuckled.Â
You held your breath, afraid he was going to call your bluff about his daughter. He always knew. Instead, he tilted his head, looking at you quizzically, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before his smile came back.
âTell you what,â he said. âYouâre already up. Iâm already up. Wanna go for a drink?â
How your ex dumping you made you end up in a beach bar with Johnny Storm after midnight was far beyond your understanding. But here you were, standing next to him on the sand, while he ordered drinks for you. After the bartender handed your glasses, you followed him to the shoreline, sand cool beneath your sandals as the night wrapped around you.Â
The crowd of the resort had thinned down to only a few people. A couple of drunk groups sprawled near the water, laughing too loud. A pair tangled up in one of the cabanas. Another couple walked hand in hand just ahead.Â
And then there was you. Walking the beach at midnight, sharing cocktails with Johnny Storm. You both walked in silence for a bit, accompanied by the sound of crashing waves. Half your cocktail was gone and it hadnât taken the edge off the way youâd hoped. Johnny glanced at you from the corner of his eye.Â
âSoâŠthat ex of yours,â he started. âWanna talk about it?â He asked softly, like he was testing the waters. You sighed, bringing your drink to your lips once more before saying something youâve been wanting to pour out of your chest.Â
âHonestly?â You hesitated, not wanting to look at him yet. âHe used to be great at first, but as time went on and things started getting more serious, he justâŠturned awful.â
âAwful?â He hummed. âDid he not treat you right?âÂ
âRightâŠâ You whispered, then let out a bitter laugh. âI donât know what ârightâ even means to a guy at this point.â You shrugged.Â
âWell, that's probably because itâs about what it means to you, actually.â He corrected softly, like it was the easiest answer. âHow did he make you feel?â He pushed, nudging you towards opening up.
You hesitated for a second, then sighed. âI donât know, he justâŠhe alwaysâ always made me feel like I was too muchâand the worst part? I let myself believe it for so long,â You shook your head, eyes set on the ocean next to you, âI mean, maybe I was sometimes, butââ
âHeyâdonât.â He cut you off instantly, halting his steps to make you look at him. âIf he didnât treat you right thatâs on him, not you. Donât make yourself smaller because some little boy couldnât keep up with you.âÂ
You looked away, sipping the last of your drink to buy time, but he wasnât letting up until you believed every single word he said. So, Johnny leaned closer to you, softening his tone.
âYou know, I always tell Aurora the same thing. No boy gets to put his hands on her unless heâs earned the right to even stand there in her presence. And respect comes first, always. Thatâs the rule.â He nodded, when your eyes found him again. âYou deserve someone who makes you feel like too much in the best way. Like they just canât get enough of you.âÂ
Heat crawled up your neck, because the way he said it was very âJohnny being a dadâ, but his blue eyes said there was more meaning behind those words than just offering some advice to her daughter's friend.Â
âYou got the fire, you know you gotta own that.â He continued, a teasing grin on his face now. âSo, hold your shoulders higher. You walk into a room, and people should be tripping over themselves just to keep up.â He gave a little cocky shrug, like it was the simplest thing in the world.Â
The problem was, the cocktail was stronger than you thought. The warmth spread through your chest, loosening your tongue, making it harder to keep the lid on everything youâd been holding back.Â
âYeah. Iâve tried the whole âholding my shoulders higherâ thing.â You huffed, eyes on your feet kicking the sand below. âIâd make myself pretty, all dressed up in a nice outfit with something cute underâŠall for a guy who didnât even last, a guy who couldnât even make meââÂ
Your mouth snapped shut, but it was too late.Â
Oh no. Shit. That was too much.Â
You looked up with wide eyes, praying heâd let it slide. But Johnny Storm wasnât the type to let anything slide. He just stared for a second, brows lifted, caught somewhere between surprise and curiosity.
âHe couldnât make you what?â
You shook your head immediately, laughing nervously. âNothing! Forget I said anything.âÂ
You turned around in your heels, making the way back a little too fast over the footsteps youâd left on the sand. Johnny chuckled, amused, jogging to catch up with you. Once he did, he began walking backwards just to see your face while he pried the details out of you.Â
âSo let me get this straight. You said you got dressed up, looking pretty, all for this guy who couldnâtâŠwhat? Couldnât handle it? Couldnât keep up?â
Your eyes avoided his, without slowing your pace, you wished the sand would open up and swallow you whole.
âHey, donât back up now, what did you mean?â
âNothing, Johnnyââ
âOh come on, you canât drop that on me and expect me to let it go.â His grin returned, like this was the best thing that happened to him all week. âWhat did that boy do, huh? Or better yetâŠwhat didnât he do?â He gasped dramatically, making you choke on a laugh, mortified.Â
âIâm not saying it.â
He chuckled. âAlright, alright. Iâll save you the trouble, then.â He lifted his hands innocently, the last of his drink spilling on the sand, but he couldnât care less. He finally stopped walking backwards and joined your side instead. âHe didnât even lastâŠfive minutes? That was it?âÂ
You pressed your lips together, refusing to answer, but that only made his grin spread wider.
âOhhh,â he drawled, excitement in his tone as he held up four fingers. âWhat about four?â
You just kept walking, lips sealed, getting closer to the resort lights with each firm step.Â
Johnny made an exaggerated shocked face, lowering his hand. âNo way! Three minutes?â
You shook your head, hiding your face with your hands. âJohnny, stop it.â
âOh my GodâŠdonât tell me it was less than two.â Johnny slapped a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to stifle his laughter. âHell, two minutes and then bam! Finish line?âÂ
âJohnny!â you hissed, uncovering your face to shove his shoulder weakly, but you were laughing too.Â
âWait, waitââ He shook his head amused, putting his arm in front of you to stop your getaway. âBut by âlastedâ you just meant the actual⊠you know.â He gestured vaguely in the air with his hand. âThe main event. Not the part where he actually got you off first⊠âcause he did that at least, right?â
Yeah. Right. In an ideal world.Â
You stared at him with crossed arms and narrowed eyes. The alcohol had already stripped away your filter, your prideâŠeverything.Â
Fuck it.Â
âOkayâyou wanna hear the messy drama? Fine. Last time he ruined a pair of my most expensive underwear, ripping it off like some romance book. Then he lasted maybe a minute. Didnât even get me offâŠnot like he ever did anyways.â
âMaybe a minute? Not even the whole sixty secondsâwow.â He whistled low. âAnd he never made youâ? Ever?â
âJohnny, it took him longer to rip the lace than to actually finishââ You cut yourself off, covering your face. âGod, I donât even know why Iâm telling you this.â
You thought he would make fun of you, laugh his ass off, but when you peeked through your fingers, he wasnât laughing anymore. He looked shocked. Horrified.Â
âOh my God,â he frowned, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. âThatâsâsweetheart, thatâs not what sex is supposed to be likeâŠIâm sorry but you deserve better than thatâŠway better.âÂ
You didnât know what it was that almost sent you over the edge after that. Maybe the fact that he just called you sweetheart, or the alcohol spreading through your bloodstream, or the fact that he looked like he wished to fix it himself.Â
And maybe you did too.Â
âYou know, most guys your ageâŠtheyâre clueless. No patience, no rhythm, no idea what the fuck theyâre doing.â
You hummed, because you agreed, and the words tumbled out before you could stop them.Â
âYeah, wellâŠâ You whispered, stepping closer to him. âThen lucky youâre not my age, I guess.â You shrugged sheepishly.Â
Johnny stood still for a moment, but that grin slipped right back on like a reflex.
âLucky for who, though?â His gaze burned through you, dragging down your frame before snapping back to your eyes. âYouâŠor me?â
You didnât answer this time, your silence saying everything the reasonable part of you wouldnât let you admit aloud. You both stood there, caught in the heavy air of what you just said and what you werenât saying. A chill ran though your body, goosebumps in your skin making you rub your arms unconsciously. Johnnyâs gaze dropped, tilting his head.Â
âCold?â He teased, almost concerned.Â
You shook your head softly. âIâm fine.â
Johnny huffed out a quiet laugh. âYeah, sure you are.â He took a step back, forcing some space between you, then tipped his head toward the rest of the path. âCome on, time to head back before you freeze out here.â
You nodded, holding your breath. He took the empty glass from your grasp, barely brushing your skin with his fingers, and set it next to his, carrying them in one hand.Â
The walk back was unbearable.
The torches lit your way, as you tried to keep your faces neutral. Every so often, your arms brushed, too close, yet not enough. Only becoming apart when he stopped by the bar to return the glasses.Â
When you finally reached the building, Johnny held the door open for you with a soft smile, his usual dramatic flourish turned into something more intentional. Itâs like you could see it in his eyes, like he was holding something back. Like he was waiting for something.
One wrong look, one wrong word, and everything could snap.
You stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a soft ding. Johnny stood next to you, leaning against the mirrored wall with his arms crossed, eyes locked on your side profile. And in that reckless blonde head of his, all he could think about was, what could he say to make you squirm a little longer before the night was over?Â
The small curve of a smirk appeared when a thought suddenly crossed his mind.Â
âYou know,â he said lightly, âItâs been a while since I was in space.â
Of course he wants to bring that up right now.Â
ââŠSpace?â You asked, barely turning to him, acting like you didnât know what he was talking about.Â
âMhm.â His mouth grew with that smug, knowing grin. âLast time was with Benâ way too long ago.â He drawled the words dramatically. âLike waaay back.â
Yup. He was totally calling you out. Here we go.Â
âHerbert took this really cool shot of us in our suits, just floating around, acting like idiots.â He leaned forward to catch your attention, eyes glinting. âRing any bells?â
Your gaze turned to the doors again so fast Johnny almost laughed. âFunny thing,â He went on, âHow people always stumble across the old stuff.â He hummed dramatically, pretending to think. âAlmost like they went digging.â
Ding.
The elevator stopped on your floor, but before you could walk out, Johnny stepped in front of you, holding his arm up against the door frame smugly.
âDid you at least find what you were looking for?â He teased, tilting his head amusingly.Â
âW-what?â You said under your breath.
âOn my profile, sweetheart. Deep dive, huh?âÂ
At this point you couldnât even blame the alcohol anymore. Just the pure, unfiltered want to make him break before he made you. If he wanted to play with fire, then both of you were about to take the burn.Â
âBusted.â You shrugged innocently, a reckless smile tugging at your lips. âI guessâŠyou like it loud and messy. I like going deep. Where does that leave us, Johnny?â
Johnny stared at you stunned, then chuckled in disbelief. âMy GodâŠâ he exaled. âDangerous little thing, arenât you?âÂ
His body cut the space between you, taking slow, deliberate steps until your back hit the cool mirror. He didnât even touch you, not yet, just stood close enough that his body towered over yours.Â
âYou know, when you say those things and then look at me like thatâŠyou make my head go places it shouldnât.â He groaned. âI need you to believe meâplease believe me when I tell you I know I shouldnât,â He muttered, trying to convince himself more than you.Â
âBut you want to.â You whispered.Â
He laughed dryly. âWant doesnât even cover it.â He shook his head, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. âI could make a list of all the things I wanna do to you right now if you let me.âÂ
You stared up at him speechless, gripping the elevator railing behind you, trying to steady yourself when you felt your knees going weak. Johnny noticed, of course he did, his hands burning as he held back from steadying you. But he kept them to his side.
Not yet. Not until she says I can.
âYou knowâŠwhat I said back there? About no one putting their hands on my daughterâs waist unless theyâd earned the right to even stand there?â
You barely nodded. The memory was still fresh, but his tone didnât sound like advice anymore.Â
âRespect first, always. You know thatâs the rule.â He continued, leaning in, his mouth hovering over yours. âSoâplease tell me, sweetheart⊠have I earned it?âÂ
You wanted to scream yes in every language. SĂ. Oui. Ja. Da. Sim. Hell, youâd learn it in every single one just to sing it for him if he asked, but all that came out of your mouth was a shaky yes.Â
Johnny finally touched you, and a broken gasp slipped out before you could stop it. His palms on your waist were scorching, like his skin held fire under the surface, searing straight through the thin fabric of your dress. His pupils went wide, blue eyes nearly swallowed whole as he pressed you into the mirrored wall.Â
One hand slid higher from your waist, fingers brushing up the curve of your side before rising to your cheek. He cradled your face gently, so light it contrasted with the way his body pinned you, like he was still trying to tell himself you were something untouchable.
But the way you looked at him didnât say untouchable. It was an invitation, a promise written on every harmless bat of your lashes.
Bedroom eyes.Â
âTell me you donât want this,â He begged. âTell me you donât want this and Iâll walk away right now.âÂ
You leaned into his touch instinctively, shaking your head against his palm. You knew this was wrong. You knew he was twice your age. You fucking knew was your best friend's dad. And yet, the last thing you wanted was for him to stop.
Fuck it.Â
âWant doesnât even cover it.â You whispered his words right back, and that was what snapped the last of his restraint.Â
Johnnyâs hand slid from your cheek into your hair, gripping just enough to tip your head back as his mouth crashed onto yours. His lips were hungry, with pent up fire igniting in a kiss that burned through every rule, every reason, every bit of guilt youâd both been clinging to.
Your hands flew from the railing, clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer. He pressed harder, his body tight against yours, pinning you against the wall. You moaned into his mouth, his tongue sliding in with a groan.Â
His hands finally roamed, grazing your neck, the curve of your back, gripping your hips, like he couldnât decide which part of you to claim first. The kiss broke just long enough for you to whisper, breathless against his lips.
âTake me to your room, Johnny.â
For a split second he froze, chest heaving against yours. Then he let out a dry, strangled laugh. He couldnât believe what he was about to do, but he was going to enjoy every damn second. So, he didnât hesitate.Â
His arms slid under your legs in one smooth motion, lifting you off the floor. You yelped, hands landing on his firm shoulders, but his mouth was already back on yours, swallowing every sound you made.
He carried you out into the quiet hall. When he reached his door, he pressed you against it with his body, one arm still holding you up as he fumbled in his shorts pocket for the keycard.Â
He laughed again, lips brushing yours. âDamn itâhold still.â
You giggled into his mouth, only to gasp when his hips pressed against you when you were slipping, feeling the bulge inside his pants. The lock finally beeped, the door swinging open, and he carried you inside, locking the door behind him. Your back hit the wall, hard enough to rattle a frame, making you laugh against each other's lips.Â
You reached to his shirt, tugging it open wider, running your hands through his unfairly sculpted chest. You needed more of himâŠall of him.
His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging softly, just enough to tilt your head back so he could kiss down your neck. The other hand gripped your thigh, hiking it up around his hip. You couldnât help the little whimpers escaping, hands running through his hair as he placed open mouthed kisses down your collarbone.Â
His hands went to the hem of your dress, but instead of yanking it up right away, his palm slid along the fabric hugging your body.Â
âGod,â he rasped. âThis little dress on youâso fucking pretty.â
You gasped as his mouth trailed along your jaw, his voice rough against your skin. âAll night, I couldnât stop thinking about how good you look in itâŠand nowâ can I?â He pulled back just enough to look at you, still asking for permission, even if his hands itched to take it off.Â
âI only wore this for you,â you said, breathless. âGo on, take it off, Mr. Storm.âÂ
His smirk only grew at the nickname, shaking his head. âThat little mouth of yoursâŠâ His fingers caught the zipper with firm hands. âToo dangerous for your own good, you know that?â
The dress slipped down your shoulders, falling to the floor. His hands stilled, taking the smallest step back, eyes raking over every inch of your skin and the pretty lace over it.Â
He knelt down in front of you. âFuck.â He breathed, thumbs brushing your bare skin. âEven better than I imagined.â
He leaned forward, lips pressing soft kisses across your stomach. His fingers fiddled with the hem of your panties, chuckling against the goosebumps on your skin when he noticed the heat pooling between your thighs. You gasped when his thumb brushed the wet spot over the fabric.Â
He caught it instantly, and looked up grinning like a devil. âToo pretty to tear offâŠâ he snarked playfully. âTo rush something this beautiful? YeahâŠyou take your fucking time with it.â
You flushed, heat spreading through your chest, but his praise only made you ache for more. He finally stood up, his mouth on yours again, harder, messier, as he hooked an arm under your thighs and carried you both toward the bed, placing you softly before him.Â
Johnny hovered over you, almost breathless, pupils wide as his gaze dragged down his real dessert. Heâd seen you in less clothes before, sure, poolside, sun soaked, even teased you just for funâŠbut this?
This was different. This was you spread on his hotel bed. His sheets. Wearing lace so delicate and beautiful it made his chest ache. He let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head as his hand skimmed teasingly over your thigh.
âLetâs get started with that list.â
Johnny kneeled on the bed over you and took his time, even though his body screamed with urgency. His mouth trailed over your skin slowly, your neck, collarbone, the swell of your breast above the lace. Every kiss was worship, every brush of his lips a reminder of how much he was savoring every second of it.Â
âIâm gonna show you how itâs done right.â He promised, his hand sliding lower, teasing, his voice dripping with cocky certainty. âHow someone should really do you.â
Your chest rose and fell in agitated breaths, gasps tumbling out of you with every press of his mouth. Your fingers dug into his shoulders under the half open shirt, trying to slide the fabric down.Â
âJohnny,â you breathed, voice coming out needier than you expected. âTake your clothes off, please.â
Johnny hummed amused, leaning back to shove his shirt off his shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor. His chest caught the moonlight from the balcony, golden and sculpted even in the dark.Â
âFuck.â You cursed under your breath, biting your lip.Â
Yes, youâd seen him shirtless before too, but that impossibly hot body was now on top of you. So fuck, indeed.Â
âBetter?â He teased, but when your hands slid lower, tugging at his shorts, he caught your wrists gently. âNot yet.â
âJohnnyââ
âBe patientâŠâ He drawled. Then he moved back, feet touching the floor as he dragged you closer to the edge of the mattress, until he crouched in front of you, settling on his knees. âIâm gonna get you ready firstâŠshow you what you deserve before anyone ever even thinks about pleasing themselves with you.â
The words alone had you on fire, your body arching into him without thought, and Johnny laughed softly, holding your hips down.Â
âThatâs it.â He whispered. âYouâre okayâjust let me...â
Your pulse raced as his fingers trailed over your thighs, teasing, inching higher until they brushed the soaked lace between your legs, pressing lightly.Â
Johnny smirked, eyes flicking up to catch yours. âAlready ruined for me, huh? And I havenât even touched you yet.â
And then, finally, his fingers slid beneath the lace.
You let out a whimper, your whole body jerking as his touch found you warm, wet, ready for him. Johnny groaned softly, fingers sliding in with ease.Â
âAll of thisâŠwasted on that boy.â He shook his head disapprovingly. âYou donât even know how good itâs supposed to beâŠbut you will.â
His fingers worked you slow, steady, curling just right until your thighs trembled around him. He watched your face as you gasped, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting on moans you couldnât hold back.Â
âThatâs it, let me hear you.â Johnny cooed, âBet he never did thisâŠâ His fingers curled more, hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.
âJohnny-â
âThere it is.â He rasped. The way his name slipped out of you, breathless, made him groan in satisfaction.Â
âGod, you sound so fucking good.â
You just moaned more, clutching the sheets, hips rocking helplessly into his hand. And just when you thought it couldn't get any better, his mouth was on you. Your gasp tore out instantly, hands flying from the sheets to his hair, tangling in the soft, blonde strands as his tongue worked you with the same relentlessness his fingers were.
âJohnnyâoh my Godââ
He groaned at the sound, his hand gripping your thighs to keep you open for him. His tongue circled until your hips bucked, sucking just right, fingers curling inside you at the same time. The combo was loud, messyâŠdeep, as if he was proving every word heâd said, showing you exactly how it shouldâve always been done.
You were almost there, crying out, tugging his hair with one hand, the other clinging to his bicep like youâd fall apart if you didnât.Â
âDonât stopââÂ
Johnny pulled back for half a second, lips and chin glistening, his grin smug. âOf course I wonât, justâhold onto me sweetheart. I got you.â
Your moans grew louder, his name tumbling out of your mouth over and over as your grip in his hair tightened.
He groaned against you, âThatâs it, baby.â He said between licks, not stopping, not even letting you breathe. âGive it to me, come on.â
Your hips rocked helplessly against his mouth, the pressure building impossibly high, until his fingers curled again, hitting that perfect spot while his lips sealed around you.
The world shattered as your first release in a long time ripped through you, his name echoing in the room, your thighs shaking against his shoulders. Johnny groaned proudly, drinking in the image of you broken in front of him, his fingers easing but not leaving you, his tongue gentler now, kissing your wetness through every wave.
When you finally slumped back against the mattress, breathless, he pulled away slowly, lips coated. âGoddamn, what a view.â He praised, wiping his chin with the back of his hand before leaning up over you.Â
Your chest heaved in aftershocks, your eyes hazy, but the smile on your lips told him everything he needed to know.
Johnny pressed a brief kiss to your temple, then to your lips, letting you taste yourself on him.
âHeyâŠyou still with me? How are we doing?â
Your lashes fluttered open, your whole body melting into his. You couldnât form a proper word at first, just a sigh, your lips curving in a dazed smile.Â
âPerfect.â You managed to whisper, running a hand through the hair you tangled before.Â
Johnny chuckled quietly, brushing a thumb over your cheek. âYeah, I can tell.â
But when he leaned back slightly, giving you space to recover, you caught his shirtless torso with both hands, pulling him closer until his weight pressed into you again.
âI want you,â you whispered, raw and breathless, âJohnnyâŠI need you.â
âShit, baby,â he cursed, letting out a dry laugh against your neck. âSay it again.â He begged, his forehead falling to your chest.Â
âI need you.â You repeated, firmer this time, your hips shifting under his, leaving no room for doubt. âJohnny, please.â
You slid your hands down again, reaching for the waistband of his shorts, desperate to see him, to feel him.Â
But Johnny caught your wrists just like the first time you tried, chuckling softly. âOkay, okay, donât worry, I got it.â
He finally pushed up from the bed, thumbs hooking into the waistband, and in one swift motion, his beach shorts hit the floor.
And my God, he was wearing nothing underneath.
You gasped softly, eyes going wide as your elbows locked behind you, holding yourself upright to take him in.
âHot damn.â You whispered before you could stop yourself.
You swallowed hard, your lips parting in anticipation. He was huge. Hard, beautiful, perfect. You didnât even think it would fit, but God, you wanted him to.
Johnny caught the look in your eyes with a smirk as he crawled back over you, his body heavy and hot as he pressed you into the sheets. âDonât worry, baby,â he coaxed against your skin. âIâll make it fit. Promise youâll take all of me.â
You hummed, his hand sliding down your body, teasing at your lace again, âNow, as hot as this is, I canât wait to see how pretty you look spread out in nothing but my hands.â
He reached behind your back, lifting you slightly to unclasp the bra, leaving your chest bare to him. He leaned to press a kiss on each nipple, looking up at you as he did. Then, his hands reached lower to the hem of your panties.Â
âTime to unwrap my present.âÂ
He dragged the lace down agonizingly slowly, knuckles brushing your thighs as the fabric peeled away. When the panties finally slipped free down your legs, Johnny held them up for a second, twirling them around his finger, his grin cocky as hell before tossing them somewhere in the room. You let out a laugh, rolling your eyes playfully at this theatrics.Â
âNow,â he leaned in, that cheeky smile still on his face, âLet me show you what your body was made for.â
Johnny lined himself up with one hand, his tip sliding teasingly against your slick entrance. He hissed under his breath, getting off just in the view.
âYou feel it? Thatâs what you do to me.â His other hand cupped your cheek as his hips pressed forward just enough to test you. âOne more time, baby. Tell me youâre ready to take me.â
Your breath shuddered, your nails digging into his shoulders as you nodded. âIâm ready, Johnny.â
He pecked your lips, jaw clenching and he pushed in, slow, steady, stretching you around him inch by inch.
You both gasped at once, the sound crashing between your mouths. Your back arched, a choked moan spilling out as he filled you, deeper and deeper, until there was nothing left to take.
âShitâlook at you.â
Johnny held himself still for a moment, buried to the hilt, giving you a moment to adjust even as his cock throbbed inside you. âSee?â he groaned. âSuch a good fucking girlâŠI knew you could take me whole.â
Then he drew back, slow, torturously slow. Until just the tip of him was left inside. Your nails dragged down his shoulders, looking up at him with dazed eyes.Â
Johnny locked his eyes with yours, winked, then pushed back in with one long, steady thrust, sinking to the hilt. You both groaned, bodies bouncing.Â
He set a rhythm in deep strokes, dragging out of your walls, then burying himself to the base, grinding just enough to hit the perfect spot. Each thrust made a mess of you.Â
The slow, deep rhythm didnât last.
Your moans came louder, broken, and Johnnyâs restraint shattered. His hips snapped harder, faster, driving into you with a force that had the bed creaking under your bodies.
Johnny groaned into your neck, his words hot and filthy against your skin. âYouâre so fucking tight, so perfect. Bet no one ever fucked you like this.â
You shook your head in the haze, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, but Johnny caught them, pinning them on the mattress to your sides, his fingers intertwining with yours, holding you there, like you belonged under his body.
âRight here,â he growled against your skin, âStay right here with me.â
The bedframe slammed against the wall in time with his thrusts, loud and obscene, every hit rattling through the room. His pace was faster now, relentless, each snap of his hips stealing another gasp, another broken moan from your lips.
âJohnnyâoh fuckâoh Johnny.â
Loud, messy, deep. Over and over.Â
âGod, listen to you,â he growled, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat slick on his temples as his pace grew harsher, âSo fucking sweet, so loud for me.â
And then, suddenly in the haze of it, his lips brushed your ear, his voice lower, demanding.
âCall me Mr. Storm.â
You lifted your head up, mind spinning, half lost in the rhythm, not sure if youâd heard him right. âW-what?â
His fingers tightened around yours, pinning them harder to the mattress, his breath ragged as he growled. âCall me what you always called me.â
The realization hit through the haze, your body shaking under him, and your lips parted before you could think.
âMr. Stormââ
The sound of it, your voice wrecked and breathless around the name, nearly undid him.Â
âSay it again.â
âMr. Stormââ you gasped.Â
He smiled satisfied, feeling the way you were coming undone with his thrusts. His fingers slipped from yours, one hand sliding down to your hip, gripping tight, holding you open for him as his other trailed behind your neck, holding your head up for him so he could see your face when you finally came.Â
âCome onânow say my name, baby. Say it while you come for me.â He coaxed, sending you right over the edge.
âJohnnyââ
He tightened his hold when your head tilted back, watching you unravel around him, your walls clenching tight as he fucked you through it. He didnât stop, dragging your orgasm out until you were shaking and breathless beneath him. When you finally collapsed back onto the sheets, he slowed just enough to lean down, and kissed you softly, in contrast to the way he just wrecked you, his voice ragged against your lips.
âBeautiful, so beautifulâŠâ he praised.Â
You were still gasping for air, your body twitching with aftershocks, when Johnny pulled you up and flipped you onto your stomach.
âNot done with you yet,â he chuckled, his hand sliding down your spine as he pushed your knees apart, lining himself up again.
Your gasp broke into a moan as he slid back inside, your body still sensitive, still clenching from the second orgasm heâd given you. Â
âFuckâso tight, even after that,â he groaned, bracing one hand against the mattress. The other wrapped around your neck, not choking, just there to tilt your head back so he could growl into your ear. âGod, you feel too good. Youâre gonna break me.â
Everything about the way he fucked you, his rhythm, the placement of his hands, the way he handled you, showed you just how right he was about others not having a clue what to do with you.Â
The sound of skin slapping, the bedframe rattling against the wall again, each moan you gave him only drove him deeper, until he couldnât hold it anymore.Â
Johnnyâs rhythm stuttered, groaning as he barely managed to pull out, his cock spilling hot white across the curve of your ass and your back. Thick, messy streaks painted your skin as his head dropped to the back of your shoulder, his chest heaving.
âFuuuck.â He growled, cursing through it.Â
Johnny braced a hand on the mattress beside your head, groaning low as the last of it left him. He glanced down at the mess across your skin, proud of his work of art.Â
He collapsed onto the mattress beside you, dragging you softly with him, with that impossible triumphant smile on his face. âGoddamn.â
âOh my god.â You panted.Â
After a shaky breath you shifted under him, still trembling, and pushed yourself up on shaky elbows. Johnnyâs hand shot out, resting heavy on your hip.
âWaitâwhat are you doing?â
You glanced back, breathless, looking like a complete mess. âGetting myself cleaned up.â You explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.Â
He let out a dry little laugh, still catching his breath, his grin going softer. âNo, noâstay. Just⊠give me a sec.â
He flopped onto his back beside you, chest heaving, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to remember how to breathe. After a moment he sighed, swung his legs off the bed, and walked to his shorts on the floor to put them on.Â
âDonât move,â he warned, pointing at you like you were likely to disobey. âSeriously.â
Before you could argue, he disappeared into the bathroom. You heard cabinets opening and the faucet running. When Johnny returned, he wasnât just carrying a damp towel. Draped over his wrist were both pieces of your lace underwear he picked up from where theyâd landed.
He offered them out with the faintest grin, softer than before. âFigured youâd want this.â
Your chest squeezed as you took them from him, his eyes careful not to linger while you sat upright to slip them back on. The gesture shouldnât have meant so much. But after everything heâd just done with you, it felt like everything. Almost like he couldnât stand the thought of you left exposed like that.
âAlright,â he said once you were covered again, kneeling in front of you. âLetâs⊠uh, get you fixed.â
You laughed, the sound weak but real, hiding your face in your hands. âOh my god.â
But Johnny was careful. He dragged the towel gently across your back, your skin sticky and warm, his movements slow and delicate, only lifting the delicate lace to clean every spot. He didnât tease. Didnât joke. Just cleaned you with such care that it caught you off guard. When he finished, he tossed the towel aside and pressed a kiss on your shoulder, lingering there.
âBetter?â He asked softly.
You lowered your head to look at him and his stupid blue eyes, and for once, his grin wasnât smug or cocky, justâŠJohnny.
âYeah,â you whispered, âBetter.â
He collapsed beside you again, both of you quiet now, the storm of what just happened bringing you both back to reality after the adrenaline was gone. You realized he was still watching you out of the corner of his eye, while you kept your eyes fixed on the ceiling, afraid to say anything.
What on earth did we just do?
Before you could think, you bolted upright, Johnny didnât even get the chance to grab you. Your eyes darted through the dim light, desperate for your dress. You spotted it on the floor, all wrinkled, and snatched it up, stumbling as you put it back.Â
âWaitââ Johnnyâs startled voice called from behind you.
You ignored it, clutching your sandals next to the door in one hand while the other smoothed down your tangled hair.
âJust wait,â he said again, more urgent now. He got up from the bed, his footsteps quick across the room to get to you.
You nearly tripped in the dark on his own sandals, and thatâs when his hands caught youâsteadying you before you could fall. The same warm hands that had just wrecked you.
âPlease,â he begged. âJustâdonât go yet.â
You swallowed the lump in your throat as you reached for the doorknob. You couldnât even look at him. Not with that godforsaken guilt taking over you again.
âGoodbye, Johnny,â you whispered, slipping free from his grasp to open the door.Â
And just like that, you walked out. He just stood there, barefoot in the dark, chest heaving, staring at the closed door where youâd been.Â
Her roommate. His daughterâs friend.
âShit,â he cursed, dragging both hands over his face, groaning into his palms.
The sheets behind him were a wreck, tangled, a filthy reminder of what youâd done. Your dress was gone. Your lace was gone. You were gone. Johnny stumbled back, dropping onto the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.
He could still hear you gasping his name, see the way youâd looked at him in the elevator, feel your coming undone with his hands. Every second was burned into his skin, impossible to scrub off. Because he knew, with sick certainty, that whatever line heâd crossedâŠhe couldnât uncross it now.
Outside of his room, you padded down the hall to your room, sandals in hand, hair a wreck, dress clinging wrongly now. Your chest was still pounding, but now it wasnât lust⊠it was panic. You almost went through your door when the elevator opened.Â
âAha!â
Aurora came out of it stumbling barefoot, her own heels dangling from one hand, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes. Her hair was wild, her dress wrinkled, and a cheeky grin that resembled Johnnyâs way too much for your own good.Â
She skipped until she was in front of you, her eyes dragging down your similar messy state. You froze, as you took each other in. Then, pointing at each other like that spiderman meme, you gasped at the same time.
âWalk of shame!â
You both burst into stunned laughter, half tipsy, half horrified, clutching at your stomachs like it was the funniest thing in the world. Your face burned, but you quickly shoved her toward the open door before Johnny could come out and see either of you.Â
âShhh! Get inside before someone hears.â
Aurora stumbled in ahead of you, still laughing. âUnbelievable! Look at you, Miss good girl sneaking around. Who was it?â
âUh-â you stammered, closing the door quickly behind you, âJustâŠsome cute guy I met.â
Auroraâs jaw dropped, her squeal muffled behind her hands. âOh my god, finally! And here I thought youâd never break out of your little shell.â She flopped onto the bed, still kicking her feet. âTell me everything! Was he hot?â
You forced a laugh, heart leaping out of your chest, your mind still reeling from Johnnyâs hands, Johnnyâs voice, Johnnyâs mouth, Johnnyâs big dâ
âIâm just gonna wash my face- yeah. And then Iâm going to bed.â You excused yourself, slipping to the bathroom.
âOhh nuh uh.â Aurora hopped up, surprisingly steady for someone whoâd clearly been drinking. She caught you by the wrist, tugging you toward the sink. âYouâre not escaping me.â
Before you could argue, she plopped you down right on the closed toilet lid, pulling your hair back from your face. âSkincare first, gossip second. Thatâs the rule.â
Damn Stormâs and their silly little rules.Â
âAurora-â You groaned, laughing nervously.Â
âJust sit still.âÂ
You had no choice but to comply. You knew fighting a Storm was useless, and you barely had any energy left either way. She went through her stuff on the counter, dampening a cotton pad, and lifted your chin up.
"Now, tell me. Cute guy? Tall? Strong? Was he nice?" She asked excitedly, wiggling her eyebrows.
"Yeah... he was really nice," you tried to avoid her gaze, but it was impossible since she was dragging a cotton pad all over your face.
"Mhm. Well, he better... you deserve someone nice," she mumbled, focused on her task.
Yeah, that felt like a punch in the gut. You believed you deserved someone nice after the last asshole you dated, but your idea of nice was very different from hers right now.
She leaned closer to you, her cheeks blushing as she whispered about her own encounter.
"Mine was cute too. Older than I thought he'd be, but like, not gross old, but... you know. Hot."
You froze, your stomach flipping. Why did she have to bring the age up?
"And his hands? Oh my Goood. But anywayâ" she sighed all dreamy, and grabbed her moisturizer, applying a generous layer on your face. "Spill! I told you mine, you tell me yours."
Your lips parted, but panic took over you. And before you could think of a better way to deflect her interest on your night, you decided to flip it on her.
"What was his name?" You blurted the first question that came to your head, but she seemed to have taken bait, excited to talk about him more. But as quickly as that excitement came, she froze, her brows furrowing.
"Shit. I can't remember," she groaned, pressing her hands to her face. She peeked at you through her fingers, mortified and laughing at herself. "God, I'm such a mess."
You laughed, genuine this time. She'd spent all dinner swooning over that guy, hooked up with him, and now she couldn't even remember his name.
"Your turn then, what's yours?" She asked, slapping the smile right out of your face.
Your heart stopped, you knew it was a stupid question. Of course she'd ask back. And of course you knew his name, you'd said it a hundred times tonight. Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. It sat so hot on your lips, ready to slip free.
"Joâ" You blurted, then froze mid name, like you didn't remember either. "...Joseph!" You added, way too fast, voice too high. "Yeah- uh, his name was Joseph.â
"Joseph?"
"Yeah!" You nodded too hard, then huffed like it was the most normal thing in the world. "Joseph."
The silence lasted just long enough for you to panic all over again, until Aurora cracked, bursting into laughter like you just said the funniest joke in the world. "Oh my god. Jo-seph. That's... that's such a serious name! I can't believe it... you? with a Joseph?"
You groaned, covering your face, but shaky laughter came out of you too, a weird combination of nervousness and relief. Because you didn't say her father's name, but someone who probably doesn't even exist in that resort. Or it probably does ... which could be worse.
And before you could stop yourself from making it worse, because yes, this could still get even worse, you blurted another made up fact.
"He actually goes by Joe."
Mental slap.
"Joe? Oh my god, that's even funnier... You and Joe!"
She was having the time of her life, wiping actual tears of laughter from her cheeks, still giggling like the whole thing was hilarious. At least skincare time was over and you could make your way back to the room, throwing yourself onto the bed with a sigh.
She plopped down next to you, giggling and kicking her feet. "Me forgetting mine, you sneaking off with a Joe... we're disasters. Absolute disasters."
The only real disaster here was you. Because while she dreamed about her mystery fling, you were still tasting JoeâJohnny on your lips. Your inner tragic monologue got interrupted by her suddenly shooting up upright with wide eyes.
"WAIT. I remember!" she gasped, clutching your arm like she'd won the lottery. "Sebastian!!"
"What?"
"Sebastian!" she repeated. "That was his name! He goes by Seb." She flopped back onto the bed. "God, I can sleep now. I was dying. Imagine me not remembering Seb." There she was, giggling again.
You let out a shaky laugh, joining in, even as every nerve on your body told you to run away as fast as you could so you will never have to be caught between two Storm's again.
Because Aurora had Seb. And you had Johnny.
But only one of you could ever say the name out loud.
Third day. Breakfast at the beach.Â
The guilt had been consuming you since the moment you woke up. You pushed your plate away, your half eaten perfect looking pancakes now cold, trying to convince yourself whatever this illicit affair was, couldn't go any further.
Okay, that's enough. Forget about him. It was clearly a mistake. He's your best friend's dad. That's forbidden fruit. What the hell were you even thinking?
You sipped your juice, repeating it over and over in your head like a mantra until you believed it.
We're never ever doing that again. Ever.
And then, all at once, a cluster of gasps ran through the restaurant. The girls at the bar clutched their straws tighter, heads turning at the same time in one direction. Even the waitress that was supposed to bring bowls of fruit slowed halfway, her eyes going wide, hands barely holding the tray of food she was carrying.
You frowned, twisting in your seat towards the beachfront. The glass in your hand almost tipped over when you saw ... him.
Johnny Storm, jogging along the shoreline like he'd just been dropped out of a Baywatch episode.
Shirtless, posture perfect, toned chest gleaming golden under the sun. His blue beach shorts hung low enough on his hips to proudly showcase the tan lines he got the day before. His signature sunglasses were in place, phone in one hand, and a white cord of wired headphones trailing against his abs as he moved in that infuriating, effortless pace that told you this was just another morning activity for him. And just like an esoteric joke, there it was, that stupid song again booming through the speakers.Â
Sexyback.
Did they not have different playlists? You looked around, trying to see if anyone noticed it was too crazy to be coincidental, but no one was thinking about anything else than the men putting up a show by the shoreline. The gasps quickly turned to giggles and whispers between tables. Heads kept turning, one after another, following him as he crossed right in front of the restaurant, drawing stares like the sun itself.
Forget the goddamn song. You suddenly forgot what air even was. Aurora just sighed, turning back to her pancakes.
"God, of course. He's so extra.â She said as she rolled her eyes, utterly unbothered, confirming this was just like any other morning for her. The next words were muffled by the pancakes she kept eating." He probably jogged over here like that just to be ogled at."
And god help you, he was being ogled like never before. You just couldn't look away.
And even in that distance, with a stretch of sand between you, the flex of every muscle in his body, the sun against the visible sheen of sweat on his chest, was too damn much. Johnny looked straight up sinful in broad daylight, and the inevitable thought hit you before you could try to stop it.
The body that every woman in that goddamn resort was drooling over, whispering about, looking at shamelessly, was yours to claim last night. You had been pressed beneath it, gasping his name while those tanned muscles flexed above you. God, you were so screwed. You told yourself to look away. You begged yourself to look away...but you couldn't.
And then, he was the one turning his head in your direction.
Turning something so simple into something that set your whole inside on fire. Two fingers went to his temple, flicking away in a lazy salute. His lips curled into that smug devilish smile, like an 'I caught you' smile.
The entire restaurant reacted instantly. Again.
"Oh my god, he waved at us!"
Aurora glanced up from her phone briefly, unimpressed. "See? Extra." She laughed and went back to her phone.
And you? You knew. That 'effortless' jog, that smile, that playful flick of his fingers, ones he'd curled just right last night, wasn't for them. That whole show was for you. And from the way his grin widened as he jogged past, you knew he'd gotten you exactly where he wanted you.
Burning alive under his sunglasses stare.
You finally exhaled when he got out of sight. Around ten minutes went by, and you convinced yourself he'd jogged off, maybe back to his room, maybe somewhere else. Anywhere else but here. But just as you were learning how to breathe again, it happened again.
Heads turned in the opposite direction this time, the entrance of the restaurant. You didn't look straight away. You didn't dare. Not until the corner of your eye caught his frame next to your table.
"Morning, girls." He greeted, casual as ever.
You gathered the courage to turn around and nearly choked. Johnny stood right there, just in those same blue shorts, no shirt, no shoes, and no shame. His phone in one hand, while the wired headphones hung loosely around his neck.Â
But the worst part? His stupidly perfect blue eyes. Ones that told you heâd pushed past all the guilt from last night, and had accepted the fact that youâd inevitably turned into something he couldnât deny anymore. And he was just getting started with you.
You were his guilty pleasure.Â
Fucked.
You were so fucked⊠hopefully.
Part 2 coming soon.
Feedback is always appreciated đ«¶đŒ
If youâve made it this far, thank you so much for reading!! Truly my favorite Johnny Iâve ever written. Let me know if youâd like to be tagged for next part âșïž
Lovely dividers by @/enchanthings & @/saradika-graphics
There wasnât much about you to write home about. You had average grades pretty much your entire school career, a small group of friends that you spent a normal amount of time hanging out with, and a completely typical family with boring jobs and plain personalities.
You were pretty, undeniably even for yourself and you were kind but not more than you had to be. You talked when you needed to, never raised your hand in classes and didnât attend any of the parties or social events you were almost eagerly invited to. There was a slight interest in the way people attempted to persuade you to come but you understood them actually wanting you there versus wanting to be the host of the thing you finally showed up for was a big difference.
Once you reached college, your demeanor seemed to actually have the opposite affect as it did in highschool where you had practically skated by completely invisible. You went from passing by completely unnoticed in the halls to actually be seeked out by peers and people you considered casual friends, something about your lack of care made them feel special when you actually showed some interest.
There had been a handful of times you had caught word of people thinking you were rude and snobbish, harsh whispers painting you like you thought you were better than everyone else and that is why you kept to yourself. It was easier to accept the baseless rumors than to explain that you genuinely felt very little towards lamost every situation. It tired you to react to things, to let the surface level feelings creep any deeper and youâd long embraced that you were just born shut off.
âYou just have to come.â Wonyoung hadnât stopped talking since the moment she stumbled upon you walking to your next lecture but you didnât really mind as much as your face might have showcased. You actually really liked the bubbly and sweet girl, finding yourself almost fasinacted by the way she was so quick to social interaction and emotion. Youâd seen her cry over literal spilled milk and it lit something damn near maternal in you.
You imagined she couldnât tell considering the impassive look you gave her as you stopped on the gravel path to turn and stare at her, your eyes drifting over her shoulder for a second before going back to her face. You figured it would be easier to get this over with now rather than let her follow you all the way to the across campus building.
âI promise it wonât be like last time, itâll be an actually lowkey party.â She was speaking quickly like she had a feeling the two of you only had limited time left to converse before you were fully uninterested and you sighed again. âI think you would have lots of fun actually.â It was said like she didnât even believe it herself and you almost smiled.
âOkay Iâll consider it.â You said gruffly even though you had already made up your mind about not going the second you saw her eager expression when she caught sight of you. For some reason, disappointing Wonyoung made you feel worse than normal so you liked to wait until she was having too much fun to care about your arrival before telling her you werenât coming with a halfhearted cancelation text. âNow who is that?â
âWhere?â She was turning to look behind her where your gaze had fallen beforehand and also now, her face looked equally as surprised as the expression of the boy who was standing there over her shoulder. âOh Jungkook, have you been there long?â
You watched curioulsy as his lips pursed, his tongue prodding at the piercing there in what you assumed was a nervous habit. He shook his head now and your eyebrows raised at the movement, knowing he was lying and that he had been behind her the entire time she had been following you and rambling. You thought harder about it and realized he might have actually veen talking to her before she caught sight of you and darted off.
If he noticed your suspicious look than he didnât say anything about it, barely sending you more than a glance as he looked around awkwardly. She didnât seem disappointed or unnerved to see him, they were obviously familiar and friendly judging by the way her shoulders relaxed and she turned to face him halfway but it definitely didnât seem like she remembered speaking to him just a few minutes prior.
Your head cocked just enough for his eyes to dart to you while she started to bubbly introduce the two of you, words going in and out of your ears without much sticking behind like they typically did when Wonyoung got particularly talkative. His face was familiar but not so much that you could place it and you wondered how many times youâd crossed paths, almost recongizing the way his eyebrows furrowed.
âIs Jungkook going to the party?â You asked suddenly, name familiar on your tongue and Wonyoung faltered in her rambles to look back at you. Her eyes widened a bit, telling you she hadnât expected you to bring up the party again in general, let alone show some interest in who was attending. She looked confused at your question before looking behind her, mouth parting as she looked eyes with Jungkook like she had once again forgotten he was there in the span of a few seconds.
âOh Iâm not sure, are you?â Her voice was soft and now both of your eyes were on him. He suddenly looked bothered and you wondered if it was the attention turning to him fully or if it was the question, the answer coming as soon as you got curious.
âItâs my birthday.â His words were flat and quiet, lingering in the air in a way that seemed to suck all of the energy out of it. For once in her life, Wonyoung seemed to have absolutely nothing to say and you watched as her entire body froze and her face paled at his statement.
There was a few seconds of heavy silence before you were bursting out into sudden laughter, a sound so out of character for you that it took her another couple of breaths to realize where it had come from. Her perfect eyebrows furrowed in your direction and Jungkook had a similar expression even though he looked a bit more amused at your outburst.
âIâm sorry, that is just so terrible.â You were trying your best to catch your breath as you forced the words out and Jungkook was straight up smiling now, biting his piericng like he was trying not to as he looked out at the courtyard instead of at you. Wonyoung looked like she was ready to disappear at your blatant words. âIs it your party?â
Jungkook paused for a few seconds, smile gone and looking slightly guilty like he didnât want to hurt anyones feelings with the answer to that before he was nodding his head hesitantly. Wonyoung looked even more pale at the information, everyone involved knowing that asking him if he was attending a gathering that was quite literally only thrown for him felt like an almost criminal social offense.
You almost felt guilty for the way you stumbled away still laughing but you figured youâd make it up to Wonyoung later considering you had decided to attend the party as soon as you saw that dynamic play out.
Although it is most likely close to the end by the time you arrive and you can see the telltale signs of a party you would not have enjoyed, not at all lowkey like Wonyoung had assured you as she tried to convince you to attend. There is various couples sprawled on random pieces of furniture doing things you feel uncomfortable watching and the frat boys look like they are on the verge of collapse as they take shots in the kitchen.
The music is still blaring but you can tell its been turned down a few notches like one of the neighbors complained or the alcohol is already turning into headaches. Your eyes scan for anyone you might know well enough to approach and you catch a few surprised glances but you keep moving deeper into the house to avoid any small talk.
You can see Wonyoung in the center of the living room and she looks to be in a decent state, much bubblier than you had left her now that her smile has returned and shes chatting animately with a few girls who look like theyd sweated off their mascara hours ago.
You consider approaching her but quickly decide against it when another song begins and she lets out a loud excited screech, her friends grabbing her while they all jump up and down in unison. You almost smile at the display but it slips off when your gaze shifts again and you see the person standing in the opposite corner to you and also observing the party goers in their natural habitat.
The painful shoes you had put on in an attempt to make some effort in your appearance carry you over to him before you can stop yourself and his eyes dont even slightly shift when you press your back against the wall beside him.
âHi.â You say simply and it takes him a few seconds to react, like he wasnât considering himself an option of somebody to be spoken to at the moment.
Jungkookâs already round eyes are somehow even wider when they look at you and his eyebrows raise in surprise at your presence. It annoys you a bit that that seems to be the typical reaction when you show up somewhere but itâs hard to be too agitated considering its a result of your own reclusive behavior.
âHey.â He responds and it comes out in a solid breath.
âWheres the cake?â You muse and glance around the crowd towards the kitchen although you already figured there was nothing there. He looks almost confused until his mouth parts in realization, most likely forgetting there was even a reason to have cake. âHappy birthday by the way.â
âThanks.â He responds quickly, sounding almost touched and you hum as a form of ackowelcgmenet.
There is no reason to ask Jungkook why he is pressed against a corner of, what you assume, is his own house on his birthday with no sign of any presents or decorations anywhere. Nobody even glances at him as they pass by and it could be the number of drinks theyve had or more likely than not the fact they had no idea what they were here for or who he was.
It almost made you feel guilty for finding him so familiar because the more you thought about the more you realized there had been a number of times youd hung out in group settings and yet you still asked his name earlier.
You knew his actual friends were much worse offenders but it didnât feel good to look back in your tagged photos and see him and you in some of the same group pictures together, not even separated by more than a handful of people most the time either.
âDo you want to go somewhere with me?â You ask it so simply it almost slips past him and he takes awhile before he responds, a slow nod of acceptance as he glances over the crowd again like he is admitting defeat when it comes to anybody talking to him.
âItâs my house.â He replies back and you almost laugh a little as the problem presents itself, knowing he wont want to leave it unattended with a bunch of drunk college kids. You brielfy wonder where his family is, not seeing any photos or signs of others frequenting but you stick your hand out towards him instead with your palm facing the ceiling.
He raises an eyebrow at you in confusion. âYour keys.â You say like it was obvious and his eyes flash with understanding, digging into his pocket and dropping them in your hand. They have a cute keychain connected, some sort of bunny and you smile a little before tightening them in your grip and taking a few steps away.
You realize he isnât following and look back over your shoulder with an expectant look that jumpstarts his brain, pushing off the wall as you walk into the packed crowd. You trust he is behind you as you find one of the more obvious people in the group and tap his shoulder, sighing when he whips around to face you and immediately shouts in excitement.
âY/N.â Taehyung nearly bellows and you groan as his hands grip your shoulders. Jungkook must be stepping closer behind you because his eyes trail above your head and you can almost feel him there even though he is not quite touching you, just a brush of clothing. âJK man, when did you get here?â
You sigh again at the question proving your previous thoughts right that most, if not all, of the people here had no idea what they were doing. Jungkook doesnât respond and you dont blame him considering Taehyung is standing in the middle of his living room and questioning his arrival. You jut your hand out towards him, deciding he is sober enough to accept your task.
âKick everyone out at three.â You say to him firmly and his eyes go back to you, flashing with interest and determination. Taehyung is one of your most tolerated out of the frat boys that seem to follow your friends around and youve had enough interactions with him to know he is responsible and caring, especially when given a specific enough task that his drunken brain can still focus heavily on it. âAnd lock up on your way out.â
âYeah for sure, no problem.â He says quickly and the way he stuffs the keys deep into his jean pockets actually makes you halfway believe him.
You know there is still a large chance that Jungkook will either return to a house full of passed out people or his house cleared of its valuables after they all stumbled away and left it unoccupied and open, including his keys in Taehyungs pocket. You dont want to assume so you look behind your shoulder at him to ensure it is okay with him and he stares down at you for a brief moment before nodding.
âDont throw up in the plant pots.â You say flatly and Taehyung laughs, either at your comment or the way you clap your hand down on his shoulder, its hard to tell.
Jungkook chuckles behind you and you halfway smile at the sound of it, pushing through the rest of the sweaty mass of people until you leave the same way you came only a few minutes ago. It isnât lost on you that you barely attended the party but it still counts in your book and you find yourself hoping Wonyoung appreciates your effort.
âDo you have a car?â Jungkook questions as you step onto the yard and you slow down your pace enough for hin to walk beside you instead of trailing behind you like a shadow. Hes looking at you as you walk and you dont look back although you can feel it on the side of your face.
âToo good for public transportation?â Your voice is still monotone and he takes a breath like hes about to defend himself and his harmless question before he laughs a little and seemingly shakes his head judging by the way his hair moves in your prepherial vision.
You walk in silence until you reach the nearest bus stops and luckily you know the area enough to know which one to take and where you are going, finding yourself wondering if you had somehow been to his house before. You quickly decide you hadnât but you aent sure if thats due to your growing guilt or something else.
âDoes that happen alot?â YOu find yourself asking and you finally look at him even though its his turn to avoid your gaze.
He looks like he is actually debating your question but the fact he didnt ask you to specify what you were talking about is an answer in itself. You both know you are referring to the way people barely acknowledge him to such an extreme extent that you are starting to think you have officially gone crazy and you are just imagining him.
It makes less sense to you considering Jungkook does not look like someone who would easily disappear in a crowd of people. He is almost jarring to look at, refreshingly attractive in such a natural way that you keep noticing yourself almost uncomfortable and overwhelmed by the sight of him. Not to mention his choice of clothes and body modifications, not exactly a rare sight in the people at your school but still adding to his appeal even more.
He is a bit quiet but still seems personable from what you can tell and everyone who actually notices him seems very fond when they talk to him, excited to see him even if he had been standing there for hours before they paid attention.
âI guess.â He finally says and you had almost forgotten what you asked by the time it fell from his lips.
Your hair blew a bit in your face as the bus approached, not even noticing the headlights lighting up his face and filling the dark neighborhood with a yellow glow. You glanced back at him as you boarded and scanned your bus pass twice for both of you, nodding at him when you saw the subtle way he bowed in thanks.
There was another round of silence that hit and you sighed softly as you relaxed into the seat, scooting over enough that he could sit next to you without bleeding over into your small section and having to press against eachother.
âWhere are we going?â He cleared his throat before asking and you smiled a little at the fact he was only just now asking you despite the fact you led him all the way from his house and onto a city bus. âOr are you the type to emjoy surprises?â
âDo I seem like that type?â You retorted, a typical defense for you to respond to a question with another one instead of actually answering.
It was a mixture of trying to avoid giving out any deemed unnecessary information about yourself but also a bit of a challenge. You liked ot know how people perceived you and it was so rare anyone willing offered that information let alone would be honest about it.
He hummed a little like he was trying to hold in a laugh and you found yourself more interested in his lack of answer than whatever it might have been. You had expected him to be shy or bashful but he seemed to have no issue in bantering back to your difficult personality and you once again wondered what exactly everyone else was not seeing.
âI hate to have to ask this but how many times have we met before?â You pushed out as you kept your tone casual and now he actually laughed at you and the awkward look on your face. âCut it out. Just break it to me, how bad of a person am I?â
âCould be worse.â He shrugged and looked at you from the side of his eye, laughing again when your hand shoved his arm. He dramatically leaned into the aisle like the force of your nudge was going to send him flying and he was done laughing by the time he sat back straight although the smile stayed on his face. âI mean it. Weâve hung out like twice but I keep to myself and you always leave early.â
You knew it was mostly the truth but you caught the lie as soon as he said it, seeing atleast half a dozen instagram post that contained the two of you. Jungkook didnât seem like the type to forget details no matter how small and you figured he was just trying to spare your feelings like he had attempted to do for Wonyoung earlier.
âYouâre a dogshit liar.â You said simply and he shrugged softly before laughing a little again at the way you rolled your eyes.
âFine, we are bestfriends.â He shifted his body a bit so he was facing you more and you stared at him blankly as he spoke. âI eat brunch with your mom every Sunday, I helped you move into your dorm, and I even was at your birthday this year. I handmade you a cake and held it while you blew the candles out.â
Your mouth parted as he continued to list things, not because they were true but because you had not expected such a big personality to present itself so suddenly. He was, of course, not accurate in any of his information and was just trying to mess with you but you felt so genuinely humored that you were shocked at yourself and the way the laugh erupted from your chest.
âYouâre sick.â You sat up and pointed at him, finger landing on his chest and only briefly noting how hard it felt. âI am so going back to ignoring you after we get you a cake.â
âOh, is that what we are doing?â He ignored your jab and raised his eyebrows at you with a tired smile that made you suddenly wish the bus would eject his seat out of the ceiling so you could stop looking at it. You dramatically cursed yourself for spoiling the surprise even though it wasnât intended to be one and he laughed again.
You squinted at the sound of it and luckily he was looking away and didnât have a reason to question the suspicious look on your face. It wasnât directed towards him necessarily but at the overall feeling of familiarity growing in you as you easily bantered and laughed.
Although he had lied a little bit about how many times you had met in a mutual setting, you knew it didnât go far beyond that. You were not a terrible person and you may be bad at names when surrounded by people you knew more than casually but you had decided you would have remembered ever speaking to Jungkook, especially if it was anything like this.
So the suspicion was more towards yourself and where this comfortability came from. You were not the type to just simply click with somebody and it almost bothered you but the bus pulling to a stop removed you from that train of thought.
You nudged Jungkook to let him know this is where you were getting off and he was moving into the aisle, backing up a few steps to let you scoot infront of him so you could lead the way. You had left the suburbs behind in favor of your average sized cities, buildings filling the air around you but not quite tall enough to be anything remarkable.
âWhere are you from?â You found yourself asking as you began to walk side by side again, eyeing him from the side so you could make sure you didnât miss a turn and get him lost on his birthday.
âBusan.â He replied with a small hum that almost sounded proud.
Your feet froze and your body jolted to a stop, staring at the back of his head as he kept walking for a step or two before realizing you had abruptly halted. He turned to give you a concerned look that only seemed to grow when he saw the way your eyebrows were furrwored as you glared up at him.
âNo you are not.â You said firmly and now his eyes widened at your tone and the way you shook your head.
âPretty sure I am.â He squinted a little and shoved his hands into his pockets, overwhelmingly boysih and charming in a way that made you want to hightail back onto the bus and just leave him there.
âIâm from Busan.â You retorted and pointed your finger to yourself like there was anybody else you could possibly be referring to. Now it was his turn to look at you suspiciously, gaze narrowing as his head cocked and he stared at you like he was waiting for you to say you were just kidding. âIâm serious, stop looking at me.â
You let your accent slip into your words now, something you had practiced getting rid of for about a year straight before moving for college. Your mother had advised it so you would come off more welcoming but you also figured youd have better luck at blending in if you didnt have any identifiable traits or accents.
His shoulders slightly relaxed at the sound of it coming from you and you briefly wondered if it had been as long for him since he heard it as it had been for you. It wasnât the most rare occurrence to meet somebody from your hometown considering the sheer size of it but it felt like a bit of a cosmic joke for you to have that in common.
âYou practiced that.â He kissed his teeth and turned around to keep walking, your jaw dropping both at the comment and the way he left like he had any idea where he was going.
You jogged briefly to catch up with him and you shoved your shoulder into his side as you joined back into the same stride, a stupid smile on your face that somehow gave you the feeling of secondhand self embarrassment.
âFor what reason? To impress you?â Your eyebrow raised and he was smiling similarly to you and now you were hoping he would stop walking again so you could see it a bit better. You quickly got rid of that idea and sighed soft enough that he wouldnt be able to hear unless he was really listening.
âTo lure me into a false sense of safety.â His voice was flat and empty in a way that made you want to double over with laughter but you thankfully only produced a small chuckle that seemed casual enough to not give away how funny you found him.
âIâve already managed to get you this far away in the middle of the night.â You replied simply as you gestured around you at the scenery and he gave you a look that implied you were the strange one here.
The two of you bantered until you got a small corner store and you beelined for the entrance, figuring he would follow behind you through the aisles. You picked up a small single serving slice of cake in a plastic container and presented it to him, waiting for his raised eyebrow to turn into a look of approval that made you nod happily.
You smiled and brought it up to the register, sliding it over wordlessly.
âHappy birthday.â The clerk said in a bored tone and you shook your head as you gestured behind your shoulder at where you assumed Jungkook was lingering with a half humiliated look on his face.
âItâs not my birthday, itâs his.â You corrected and the man nodded in understanding despite the obvious expression showing he didnât actually care. This was proven by the fact he didnât say anything after and your eyes narrowed at him. âWish him a happy birthday.â
You could hear Jungkook breathing out a laugh behind you and you glanced backwards to see him running a hand over his mouth to reveal a lopsided smile.
âUm.. happy birthday man.â The clerk eventually pushed out as he slid the bagged cake slice back over to you and you smiled now, grabbing it quickly while Jungkook thanked him softly in a quiet mumble.
You ventured back onto the city streets and Jungkook was back to walking alongside you instead of lingering behind like he was afraid of taking up too much space, your eyes shifted over to him with furrowered eyebrows and he took a few seconds to notice before his lifted in a silent question.
âHe was rude.â You said simply and the half smile returned on his face. It was crooked, boyish, and beyond devastating so you looked away in favor of glaring forward at the sidewalk and holding tighter onto the plastic handels of the bag.
âHe was probably tired.â Jungkook replied easier and it frustrated you further because you could tell he didnât even believe that and yet he was still making excuses for a stranger. This phenomenon surrounding him was starting to really confuse you but you figured it would be a bummer if you brought it up again.
So instead the two of you got back on the bus, sitting in the far back this time and passing the cake slice back and forth while you shared a fork. Jungkook laughed softly with pink tinged cheeks when you quietly sang happy birthday and your head felt floaty when he mumbled a soft thank you when you reached his stop.
You didnât get off with him this time and he stood at the bus stop so he could wave as it pulled away, your body turning so you could look out the window as long as possible.
-----
The next day there was an assembly on campus and you had fully prepared to ditch it until you saw some of the professors standing near the exit and making it very clear that it was a mandatory event. You had admitted defeat pretty early and circled back around casually like you hadnât been attempting to flee, eyes scanning the crowd for an empty space.
Your gaze paused when you saw a familiar face, already looking at you with a casual expression that morphed into light surprise when he saw you staring back. Jungkook must be a creature of habit because he looked behind him like he was expecting you to be looking at someone else despite the fact you had spend time together last night.
You rolled your eyes at his obliviousness before making your way over to where he was sitting, two empty chairs on either side of him like he had the plague.
âThis seat taken?â Your eyebrow raised as you asked it and you were already sitting before you finished the sentence, more so just teasing him and not actually wondering. He thankfully seemed to find it funny judging by the breathy laugh he gave you. âI shouldâve just made a run for it.â
âIâm sure it wonât be that bad.â He said softly and both of you watched as the school mascots started to climb on stage with various banners and props, a sigh leaving you while he nodded his head and kissed his teeth. âI stand corrected.â
You fell silent and he was glancing at you in a way that made it clear he was trying to not be so obvious about it. You halfway wanted to turn and stare back at him just to see his flustered reaction but you kept your gaze forward as you crossed your arm.
It was announced it would be starting soon and your foot began tapping just in time for Wonyoung to walk in and lock eyes with you, her entire face brightening as she rushed over and took the empty seat on the other side of Jungkook.
She leaned her body forward so she could see you better and you sent her a sideways glance before sitting up a bit, realizing youâd slouched down so far you were halfway laying down from your boredom.
âTaehyung said he saw you last night.â She said in a friendly tone, expression excited like she had caught a rare bird species doing something extraordinary. âYou should have said hi to me, I would have loved to see you.â
âWe were a bit busy.â You answered, voice soft in the way it always got when you talked to her. She looked a little bit confused at the plural pronoun before your arm nudged against the boy beside you.
Her eyes widened in realization and you could see a million questions run through her head from the implication of your words. Jungkook himself looked like he was wondering why you had said it like that and you smiled at him a little bit, purposefully having left it vague and a halfway innuendo.
âJungkook, I didnât see you there.â She was chirping out and he actually audibly sighed at that, both of them tensing up at the sound.
It was rare, in your short experience, Jungkook expressed upset when somebody ignored him so you werenât sure if he was just done hiding it or if the noise had slipped out of him by accdient. You figured it was the latter considering how red he turned and you felt a bit pitiful watching the interaction, clearing your throat and diverting the attention back to you.
âIâll make sure to say hello to you next time. You looked like you were having fun.â You quickly supplied and this seemed to cheer her up, eyes twinkling again as she looked at you and smiled softly. You figured by now that you both knew your promise of ânext timeâ either didnât exist entirely or was far in the future so you threw in the second comment to give her atleast something to work with.
Jungkook was watching the two of you talk curiously and you figured he was wondering how such different people came to be friends, especially considering you didnât seem to treat anyone in the same regard you did with Wonyoung.
You met his gaze for a second and offered a small shrug that made his teeth poke out as he smiled, your eyes immediately snapping awya at the blinding sight of it. You really were beginning to feel like you were losing your mind and you started to question why you even sat by him in the first place.
The assembly started with loud obnoxious music and the sound of one of your professors screaming into a microhpoen to try and get the energy up, the students around you looking just as bored as you felt. You almost were starting to feel a little bad until you felt an elbow pressing into your forearm.
Your gaze turned back to Jungkook who was watching you with a blank expression, hesitating before leaning closer and speaking quietly. You raised an eyebrow, unable to hear anything he had said which made him sigh as he took a second before repeating himself.
âAny plans after this?â He had said in a weird tone and you gave him a look that made him look even more awkward, the amusement evident on your face. He sat back straight in his seat like he was giivng up before you even answered and you laughed softly.
âAre you asking me to hang out with you?â Now it was your turn to lean into his space and speak near his ear and he kept facing forward, only sending you a quick sideway look before he was shrygging his shoulders.
You didnât move, watching him expectantly until his body was deflating and he fully nodded as he gave you the confirming answer you actually wanted. You sat back with a grin on your face, wanting to laugh more at his awkward way of inviting you to spend some time together but deciding against it consideirng he looked like he was about to run through the crowd to get away from you.
âThat sounds nice.â You said softly and the tone clearly surprised him considering the way he turne back to look at you with mild shock, gaze lingering for a few seconds before his eyes narrowed in a halfway glare that made you start to smile.
âAre you always like this?â His voice was flat again and it almost made you laugh for the dozenth time since you sat down. You wondered briefly if Jungkook realized he was this funny and then wondered if he actually was or if you were just truly out of your mind.
âLike what?â Your head cocked like you didnât know what he meant even though you had a pretty good idea judging by the way he was rolling his eyes.
âDifficult.â The word came out so simply that it actually did pull a laugh out of you now.
âYes.â Your body tensed for a second as Wonyoung answered instinctively, not even realizing she had been paying attention to your conversation considering she was staring forward with a bored expression as she watched the assembly unfold. Her eyes widened just enough for you to understand she most likely hadnât meant to answer that, insulting you slightly in her raw honesty.
She took a few seconds before she was shifting in her seat to glance at you and you held eye contact for a breath before your lips curled up and she relaxed at the sight of you being amused at her light diss.
Jungkook didnt say anything else, much to your disappointment since you would have really enjoyed the distraction from the droning assembly. He sat with his arms crossed and his eyes focused on the stage, like he had forgotten you were sitting next to him.
It bugged you that you found yourself annoyed by that and you sighed internally, trying to think of anything other than whatever this was. You were far too old to have a crush on somebody just because they made you laugh and happened to have an incredibly charming boyish smile and demeanor.
Thankfully it didnât go on for too long and you were standing and filing out with the large crowd in a little over an hour, noting the small wave goodbye Wonyoung gave you before she was disappearing off with some of her actual friends. Your eyes tracked her for a moment as she joined them, greeted with cheerful smiles and bright expressions.
You were only cut off from your observations by an elbow nudging your arm gently and you glanced to the side to find Jungkook, watching you curiously as he joined you in your slow and lazy strides. One of his hands held onto the strap of his backpack that was practically dangling on his side and the other was tucked into the pocket of his jeans.
The trees on campus were browning with hints of autumn as the air grew chillier day by day and you thought you saw him shudder from the cold when you softly nudged him back.
âWhats the plan?â Your eyebrow raised even though he couldnt see it anymore, back to facing forward so he didnt step on the ankles of anyone infront of you. The crowd was still slightly tighter than you were comfortable with but it gave you some time to pry.
âNo plan.â His shoulders raised and now it was your turn to stare at him judgementally like he had been doing not too long ago.
There was really no point in telling Jungkook that you were not the type of person who enjoyed not having a plan, not because you thought he wouldnt care but moreso due to the fact you didnt necersailly feel the same bud of anxiety you would under any other circumstance. You actually, dare you say it, felt a bit of excitement at the loosely formed scenario.
You walked silently for a while and it felt comforting after the amount of noise you had to endure for the last hour and a half, although you were suddenly wishing you had brought your coat with you.
He didnât seem to be feeling the same effects of the fall air wrapping around you and you briefly wondered if he was the type to enjoy the cold weather over summer, immediately picking the thought up and placing it in the part of your mind where a dozen other Jungkook related questions were currently rotting.
âCan I ask you something and you donât make fun of me for it?â He finally said and the sound of his voice surprised you a bit, your body jolting out of thought as you shifted your head to watch him as you walked slowly. He didnât wait to hear your answer and you couldnât tell from the way he was staring ahead at the trees if he had seen the small nod you gave him. âWhy are you being so nice to me now?â
You didnât miss the clear intention of the final word, making it known that your previous encournters might not have been as friendly. You didnât really have a good answer for that because you were never purposefully rude or standoffish but it was just how you came off to strangers and you couldnât blame him for possibly being curious about it.
It annoyed you that you couldnât remember any specific time you had spoken or existed in the same space togehter, hoping his question was in the general sense and not because you had actually done something to upset him.
âAs opposed to?â You couldnt help but inquire more, not wanting to brush him off with a teasing remark like you typically would.
He didnt reply for a few more sidewalk squares and your feet went over a patch of grass until you were on a small playground, or atleast a sorry excuse for one. It was just an old climbable tube and a few swings, most of them with rusty chains or torn leather on the seats. He sat in one and you easily followed, kicking your feet lightly and letting them drag through the woodchips.
âI dont know.â He shrugged but you could tell by the tone that he cleary did have an answer and he just didnt want to say it. You didnt reply, staring at the side of his face as you silently gave him another chance to be truthful. âLooking right through me?â
You knew he was aware of the strange phenomenon that seemed to follow him arumd but hearing it so blankly announced made you feel guilty now that you faced the reality you had somehow participated in it. You once again felt ridiculous because it didnt make much sense to you that you wouldn thave paid him any attention before, ontop of the dozen people youd encountered so far that did the same.
Had he always had the same captivating smile or easy nature that made the tension in your shoulders go as quickly as it came? Maybe you were as snobbish as some of the rumors about you had said because it only could have been cruelty that stopped you from sitting down and talking to him like this before.
There really wasnât much that got to you, tears few and far between and anger not something even on your emotional radar. Jungkook seemed to be making his way onto the small list of things that did, sitting right between the bubbly girl who latched to you freshman year and the homesickness the smell of salt water brought you.
âI dont have an answer that would make any sense to either of us.â Is eventually what you came up with and he paused his soft swinging at that before nodding like it actually was a good response, the sight not doing much to ease the tension in your chest.
âDont look so guilty.â He finally looked at you now and it was followed by a gentle smile that made your forehead crease, watching him without responding because you had no idea how to retort to that without sounding so stupid. âI am used to it.â
It took you a few seconds to think about what you wanted to say to that but he looked like he felt a bit better so you figured it was a decent time to try and break the tension that was filling the air.
âYou sound like a loser.â
The half breath before he responded left your chest feeling tight and you were just starting to prepare an apology when he let out a heavy laugh that almost bounced off of you. You smiled at him as he started to actually swing and it wasnt long before the two of you were competing for who could get the highest, forgetting about the difficult topic.
Jungkook arrived in your life and then he didnât seem to ever leave it again, something you were apparently more prepared for then you realized because you stopped feeling the urge to run away whenever he smiled at you and you even found yourself looking forward to seeing him.
You rarely went a day without having a lighthearded and teasing conversation and now you had a genuine excuse to avoid Wonyoungâs party invites on the weekends, not even having to lie as you told her you were busy with whatever you and Jungkook had decided to do together. She still seemed bummed but less so considering the look on your face whenever you said it, sheepish and half embarrassed in a way that made her grin happily.
Then would come the reassurance that there was nothing going on between the two fo you and you were just friends hwo had alot in common but you couldnt deny the feeling in your stomach whenever she suggested the idea.
You certainly werenât dating Jungkook although you imagined this is what it would feel like to somebody who would. Theyâd probably be just as flushed whenever his eyes lingered for a few seconds past casual and you figured theyâd be even less immune to the lowness that creeped in his voice whenever your talks went past sunset.
The confused feeling surrounding his lack of social life only grew and grew tbe more time you spent with him because you simply could not forget Jeon Jungkook, no matter how hard you tried.
Fall was at its full force now and youâd taken your scarfs and thicker jackets out of storage, pumpkin scented candles lining your desk and your nose always a little sniffly from the dropping temperature. Youâd imagined somebody like Jungkook would be absolutely radiate in the summer time, tanned skin and crooked smile that still made you feel pretty close to throwing up occasionally, but you were finding yourself pretty fond of him in the autumn.
He had a tendency to layer his hoodie with a flannel in a terribly boyish way and you caught his habit of kicking at fallen leaves in your path on one of your many walks through campus together. His laugh intertwined with the shaking of the trees and youâd begun to think he must always have a cinnamon latte before meeting up on the weekends because you could smell it on him whenever he would sway closer in your direction.
These were all very normal things to think and you most certainly did not get stuck on the idea of what it would be like to date Jungkook.
It actually did bother you and not in the way that you could just brush off as mild annoyance but genuine irritation stuck under your skin and coursing the entire expanse of your body. You had spent a long time attempting to be nobody, avoiding certain situations and demographics of people just to be able to skate by unnoticed by the general public and now you were something to the only actually invisible person on campus.
You werenât sure what that something was exactly but he called you every free Friday he had and spent half the day texting you updates you never once asked for.
Even now you were sat side by side at another school event although this one was a lot less mandatory, if you didnât count the way the bubbly girl of your nightmares had looked at you when she invited you. Wonyoung had always been your weak spot but recently she was straight up your god damn kryptonite, a few eyelash filled blinks before you were sighing and agreeing with terms and conditions.
Top of the term list included an invite for Jungkook which is why he was currently staring blankly at the field with a thin straw between his lips. You liked when he made this expression, eyes a little wide and mouth parted enough for you to see a sliver of his large front teeth, telltale signs of somebody who was showing genuine interest towards something incredibly stupid.
Wonyoung had infact warned you it was some weird cheerleading ritual but she seemed so proud of it and you couldnât deny her once again although you certainly werenât going to be singing her praises. This social aspect of college life had completely flew under your radar apparently so you were having a hard time processing the way the girls were running around in glittery tutus and chanting together.
âIs she being hazed?â Jungkook asked suddenly and he sounded so genuinely curious that it made you laugh a little bit.
âShes so sweet I donât think sheâd even realize if she was.â You were both staring at her just in time for her eyes to land on you in the scarce crowd amongst the stands. She waved enthusiastically and jumped onto her tip toes a few times so youâd see her clearly.
You could feel Jungkookâs eyes turn to your side profile but you ignored him for your own sanity, pretending the way your cheeks heated up was just due to the cold nipping at your skin. The woods behind the old field was vast and it was easy to focus on something other than the way he was silently looking at you, a bit harder when you heard him take a starting breath.
âItâs so interesting.â He sounded quieter now and you almost couldnât stop yourself from turning your head to look at him, eyes a bit wide and too eager in your curiosity for it to be anything other than ridiculous. âYou two being friends.â
âBecause shes perfect?â Your eyebrow raised as the response came easily like it was something youâd thought about a lot before. You realized that you actually might have although you didnât realize how bitterly until it was leaving your lips and sounding uncharacteristically envious.
âNot quite.â He replied as he stared back at you with an unchanging expression. He didnât specify whar he meant and you didnât ask for clarification, both because you werenât sure you could handle it and because you wanted to be somebody who could read between his lines.
Wonyoung invited you to eat a local diner with her and her frisnds after so you found yourself pressed against Jungkook in another location today, cursing the tiny booth and the buildings heating system for taking away a few of the layers youâd had for the outside. You could feel every breath he took beside you and you kept begging the universe to not let him similarly feel your racing heart.
âYou okay?â His voice was soft next to you and clearly attempting to be discreet for your sake, your head turning to him and your cheeks flushing a bit when you made sturdy eye contact. You werent sure what small sign he had pickedd up on but you felt embarrassed so you nodded your head, watching as his eyebrows furrowered with the knowledge you were lying. âWe are gonna head out.â
He was looking at you as he said it but it was cleary meant for the group and your eyes widened a little at the sudden announcement, feeling a little dizzy at the way he grouped you together in his decision. Only Wonyoung made a small pouty noise of upset while the rest seemed to not hear him at all, only reacting when you were sliding out of the booth and he was helping you put your jacket on.
You made eye contact with Wonyoung as he looped your scarf around your neck and it was hard to not audibly laugh at the excitement on her face, pointing at him and forming a heart with her hands that made you roll your eyes. He seemed to catch the expression and his hands faltered for a second on the final loop, only continuing when your gloved hand touched his wrist softly in reassurance.
The silent exchanges between you definitely didnt help your denial that there was anything going on and you knew Wonyoung would be thinking the same thing so you made sure your goodbye to her was nothing but a quick wave as his arm looped in yours and you made your way outside onto the street. It was dark now and you started to sniff almost as soon as you made it down the street, nose turning pink and cold limbs shuffling to match his long strides.
âThanks.â You breathed once it felt like it wouldnt be awkward but it still came out a little weak and strangled. Your arm tightened where it was thrown around the bend of his elbow and it accidentally tugged him a bit closer to your side even though he didnt seem to mind considering he didnt add the distance back when he straightened up.
âGonna tell me whats wrong now?â He said softly, always so softly whenever he spoke to you, and you didnt even feel guilty for shaking your head in denial. You had discovered that you didnt like keeping things from Jungkook but there was just no way you could ever even attempt to explain to him what your problem was.
You didnt even think you really knew considering nothing had happened to ruin your mood and you still felt just as floaty and dazed as you always were with him lately. Maybe the confusion was bugging you or the doubt in the back of your mind although you were almost certain you werent going crazy.
More than certain considering the way he was now stopping and unlooping your arms, waiting for you to turn back in confusion before he was grabbing the long side of your dangling scarf and pulling you closer to him. Your eyes widened when the tips of your boots touched his shoes and you stared up at him in silent question, watching as he studied your face and took a long breath.
Jungkook was not shy when it came to touching you and another people he seemed casual with, big on back hugs and high fiving a little more than what the situation actually called for but you still felt a rush go through you as you continued to delude yourself that this was special.
âYou donât have to tell me.â He was suddenly saying and it took you a few seconds to even remember what you had been talking about. He looked serious but as gentle as always, his slightly pink nose and furrowred eyebrows making you feel the urge to go lock yourself inside your dorm room for the rest of time. âBut I want to make sure you are okay.â
âIâm okay.â You breathed easily and you meant it when you said it. You didnt realize he was still holding your scarf until he rubbed it between his thumb and pointer finger, keeping a light grip on you that made your head spin.
Your hand landed on his wrist and you could almost feel the pulse through your thin gloves, focusing on it when his own free hand came up to push some of your wind swept hair behind your ear. You werenât a hopeless romantic but you also werenât stupid and now you were almost positive that this was not a very friendly thing to do with someone.
Then he was clearing his throat and offering you his arm again, cutting the tense moment off and barely hesitating before starting back into mindless banter as you walked back to campus.
You decided a few nights later that you needed to put an end to whatever this weird thing was. No more going to social events just for a reason to be seen with him and no late night walks that always felt like you were forgetting something important when you parted ways. You didnt necessarily full on avoid Jungkook but you left more and more of his text unanswered and you stopped neglecting your studies in favor of getting a sweet treat with him.
He clearly noticed but didnt outright mention it for the first two weeks and you wondered if that was because he was just too nice to confront you or if because he was feeling just as weird. You put that thought in the back of your mind with the rest of your Jungkook related inquires.
Then it was the first week of December and there was an almost panicked knocking on your door, your eyes widening and waiting in silence to see if any of your roomates were home and planning to answer. You jumped when another round of bangs echoed through the room and now you got up and hesitantly opened the door, sighing in relief when you saw it was just Jungkook and then tensing all over again when you saw the look on his face.
He was standing there with melting snowflakes in his hair and his eyebrows were furrowred, more pained than angry. You could see his chest rising and falling beneath his black denim jakcet and you had half the urge to ask him if he had ran there, instead sielntly stepping aside so he could come in and get warm.
âWhy are you ignoring me?â He started as soon as the door clicked closed and you felt thrown off by how bluntly he had broguht it up. You thought about denying it but you knew it was useless so you sighed and let your shoulders deflate, his eyes darkening at that with the realization he had been correct. âWhat did I do wrong?â
You took a few steps closer and your hands extended in the air like you were going to reach for him, immediately deciding against it and letting them hover for a second or two before lowering them back to your side.
âNothing Jungkook, you did absolutely nothing wrong.â You said in one single breath and it was honest, you genuinely had no reason to be upset with him and that wasntg even how you would label the strange way you felt.
âThen what?â He snapped and his anger surprised you but you felt like it was justified considering how awful you mustve made him feel. Youd never seen him show any real negative emotion and it made it so much worse that you had caused it. âI thought we were⊠I thought we were friends and then you just go back to acting like I dont exist.â
You had the feeling his anger wasnt fully directed at you but the way everyone around him seemed to just forget about him the second he was out of eye sight, or worse and theyd ignore him to his face. You had barely gotten over the guilt of being one of those people accidentally in the past and now it hit you that you had done it intentionally and you suddenly felt wobbly on your feet.
âI dont know.â You whispered, voice wavering and his shoulders dropped at the sight of it. Jumgkook was so unstoppably kind that he was stepping forward to hold your face gently like you were the one hwo had been hurt and not him. âIâm sorry, I donât know whats wrong with me.â
âThatâs fine.â He said lowly and your eyes flickered to lock with his, searching for any sign of that lingering anger that seemed to just vanish as quickly as it came. âBut lets figure it out together, okay?â
You found yourself nodding immediately and you let out a relaxed breath when he pulled you into his sturdy chest, pushing your face into the warmth and feeling incredibly stupid for ever thinking the hurt this brought wasnt worth it. Your confused mind and longing heart was a fine price to pay if it meant you got to have him in any way and you quickly erased the idea of ignoring him.
It shocked you how easily things went back to normal, the next day finding yourself sitting next to him in the cafeteria and laughing at something he was showing you on his phone. Neither of you noticed Wonyoung sliding into a seat on the other side of the table until she smacked her books down.
âJeon Jungkook.â She said sharply and you both raised an eyebrow, his phone slowly lowering between where your heads had been nearly touching. âCare to explain?â
She was pushing a piece of paper over to your side and he seemed to already know what it was, staying still and shrugging at her while you sat up and pulled it towards you. Your eyes scanned it and your expression grew more confused until you were looking at him and his loose smile.
âWhat the hell?â Your voice was equally as sharp as hers now and he laughed softly, only stopping when your hand pushed his shoulder. âYou play ice hockey?â
âHes the captain.â Wonyoung accused eagerly and you audibly gasped, eyes widening in upset as you stared at him for an explanation.
âCo captain.â He corrected casually and he was answered with another hit against his shoulder while Wonyoung scoffed. âOkay relax, I just didnât think it was a big deal.â
You both scolded him at the same time, voices overlapping as you yelled at him for not telling you the extremely relevant information. Hockey season was starting in only two days and the school had been making a huge deal out of the first game so to find out Jungkook was not only playing but performing an important role felt jarring.
âWe are your friends. You should have told us.â Wonyoung exclaimed and it seemed to surprise all of you at the same time that she included herself while referring to his friendships. Jungkook gave her a soft smile and she looked bashful when you and him exchanged knowing glances before clearing her throat and going back to scolding him to stop the touching moment.
Your pout stayed the entire conversation, unwavering when Wonyoung eventually had to leave for a lecture and still apparent on your face as you walked back through the now snowy campus. Jungkook was right beside you as always and you could feel him watching the side of your face and the way your lips jutted out in upset, not at all surprised when his hands were grabbing your elbow to stop you from walking. He turned you to face him and you kept the expression even when he smiled down at you.
âYouâre really upset with me?â His voice was smooth and airy and you naturally took a step closer to him. Both of you were completely bundled up due to the bitter air and his bangs were barely poking out from under his beanie, your hands coming up to push them inside the hat just for an excuse to touch him.
âI just donât get why you didnât tell me.â You said softly and he stared at you so intensely you somehow managed to feel warm despite the snow surrounding you. âYou must be practicing hard for the game and I had no idea.â
âIâm sorry. I really didnât think it was anything important, itâs just a hobby.â He sounded so apologecitc that you just wanted to believe him but you shook your head and sent a lighthearfed glare.
âCollege ice hockey is just your hobby?â Your tone was accusatory and he stared at you for a few seconds before he was nodding his head in agreement, only barely dodging your hand as it went to shove at his shoulder.
Jungkook apologized by buying you a drink from your favorite coffee shop on the way back to your dorm and also formally inviting you to his first game.
You felt nervous as you entered the cold rink and you were glad you had Wonyoung with you because you had zero idea of what to expect. Youâd never so much as seen a hockey game although it was a bit of a big deal around your small town, almost more important than your schools football team.
Wonyoung had insisted you wear the school colors and you felt a bit ridiculous as you shuffled in to find your seat, the bench beneath you cold and sending a shiver down your spine as you adjusted your earmuffs. The stands were less packed than youâd expected but quite a lot of people had turned up for the event and you found yourself sitting up in your seat and trying to search for Jungkook.
You wondered if he was feeling as nervous as you were but you figured he probably was as calm and collected as usual. There was light knowledge of the sport floating around in your head and you knew enough to know how intense it could get, finding it hard to imagine your sweet mellow friend being able to keep up with the rowdy hockey boys.
Apparently you didnât know Jungkook as well as you thought.
Sure, he didnât come out hooting and hollering like the rest of the team as they skated onto the ice but his approach was almost worse. He wasnât wearing his helmet yet and his eyes were sharp and cold as they focused on the other team, skating gracefully and looking completely unintimidated or bothered.
You knew Jungkook was fit, something youâd noticed about a month ago when his shirt lifted as he removed his hoodie and hadnât been able to stop thinking about since, but he looked particularly imposing in his gear. Your heart fluttered when he got steady in place before finally letting his intense gaze scan the crowd.
They landed on you and your body was stiff, completely straight and locked up when he sent you a smirk before he was looking away.
âWhat the fuck?â Wonyoung breathed next to you and you made a strangled noise of agreement as you both stared at him on the ice, pushing his messy bangs out of his face before sliding his helmet on. âIs Jungkook hot?â
You knew better than to answer the question, both out loud and inside your head but your stomach tugged almost painfully and suddenly you were really regretting coming.
Jungkook was fast and large in stature on his skates, moving swiftly like he was light on his feet and then stiffening up and ramming into people as if his weight had doubled. It was beyond fascinating to watch and you found a sudden interest in the sport blossoming, nothing to do with the way your friend looked whenever he took a break and removed his helmet for some water.
If you thought you were screwed before then it was really over now, his bangs sweaty and hanging in his face as he panted roughly. He looked like an entire different person and your jaw quite literally dropped as you stared at him.
The game took a pause and he was skating over to you and Wonyoungs side of the stands, skidding to a stop and giving you a boyish smile that did very little to help you forget the intensity of his eyes.
âThese guys are tough.â He was saying casually like he hadnât just shifted your entire perception of him and you and Wonyoung didnât respond, staring at him with shock. âWhat?â
âDude.â She breathed and any other time youâd laugh at how he managed to bring out a less feminine side of her, your eyes shifting to her and the way she leaned forward to really drive home her next statement. âYouâre like sexy.â
His eyebrows furrowed as he laughed and scrunched up his nose, looking down at his feet and letting his bangs hang for a second. He was squinting and smiling when he looked back up.
âReally?â It was cute, far too cute sounding for the sight in front of you and you couldnt stop the way you audibly sighed. His gaze immediately shot to you and his posture stiffened just a little. âYou think so?â
âI..â You mouth opened and closed a few times as he waited for your response and you were quite literally saved by the bell or rather the coaches whistle demanding his attention.
He watched for a few more seconds like he was hoping youâd respond but your lips pursed and he was pushing off the wall to skate back to the center of the rink. You groaned and buried your face in your hands with incited a laugh from Wonyoung.
You were starting to get used to the sight of him and your heart stopped pounding every time he glanced in your direction until the end of the game approached. Tensions were high and there had been a handful of screaming matches throughout the entire thing, Jungkook and who you assumed to be the captain being the ones to step between whoever was arguing.
Theyâd push them apart, pat their teammates encouragingly on the shoulders and get right back to the game.
You werenât sure what changed or what was said that made this round of shit talk different but Jungkook had been sending you a soft wave, his fifth in this half of the game alone, when suddenly his head was snapping to the side towards the other team. Your eyebrows furrowed, wondering if something had happened that you had missed before he was pushing off on his skates and getting into the space of one of the other players.
This seemed to activate your schools team in a worse way than before, all of them rushing over just as Jungkook was throwing off his gloves and helmet. It hit the ice with a loud echo and you were sure it had chipped the plastic.
You and Wonyoung sat up in your seats as the crowd gasped and you felt her gripping your arm tightly. It felt like it suddenly got silent in the entire building as they inaudibly yelled and then the other teamâs player shoved Jungkook by his chest, sending him stumbling back hard.
You could see his shoulders tense, stuck on the way his jaw clenched and his hands curled into a tight fist. You were so focused on the little details that you missed the way his entire body pulled back until you heard the sickening sound of the impact against the boys jaw.
He dropped to the ground and then it was bodies on bodies, Jungkook getting lost somewhere in the bottom of the dog pile of flying punches and gloves being thrown off. Youâd never seen somebody actually be punched like that in real life and your stomach was turning as you stood to your feet in a panic.
You were halfway considering running down there when the coaches were interfering and then it was over, Jungkook spitting out something that looked a lot like blood as he skated over to the penalty box without even being told.
From what you could gather, it was rare for the co captain to be involved in any of the regular scuffles and some of the most dedicated fans seemed at a loss as he sat on the bench and roughly pulled his gear off. The time on the clock was too short for him to get to play again this game but luckily youâd gotten far enough that you figured theyâd win without him.
âOh my god.â Wonyoung was finally exclaiming after things had slightly settled down and you couldnât even look at her. âThat was scary. Iâve never seen him like that.â
You groaned like you had earlier and collapsed in on yourself so your chest was resting on your thighs as you folded, earmuffs falling forward at the incline. You could feel her staring at you and you hesitantly turned your face to look at her, cheeks pink and giving away exactly what youâre thinking.
âYou found that hot.â She accused immediately, finger pointing towards you and laughing in disbelief when you groaned again.
The game ended and it seemed your problems were only just now beginning considering you now had to actually face Jungkook like he hadnât just ruined your entire life in the span of two hours. He looked like he was in a much better mood when he saw you and your eyes zeroed in on his split lip.
âDid you have fun?â He said softly and you felt like you were getting whiplash. You nodded your head after you felt an elbow nudging you and thankfully Wonyoung was willing to fill the silence as you all walked to your car, chatting about the game and how cool it had been to see him in action.
Having Jungkook in your passenger seat wasnât an unusual occurrence but having him sweaty and glowing from the victory definitely got added to your list of things youâd willingly eject out of a car for. You knew he had noticed how quiet youâd gotten, he always did but he didnât mention it as he talked with Wonyoung.
Then you were dropping her off and it took everything in you to not bang your head against the steering wheel right in front of him. Now the weird unusual silence was glaringly obvious and you could literally feel his anticipation as he waited for you to say something although it never came.
He made no move to get out when you arrived at his house, driveway empty like it always was when you would drop him off or pick him up. There was a handful of times you wanted to ask him about his family, about the lack of photos on his walls and his indefinitely empty refrigerator and you figured you were past the point of closeness where it would be okay but you never could find the right moment.
âYouâre being weird.â He said softly, both of you staring ahead at the dark road.
âNo Iâm not.â You replied immediately and it sounded like a complete lie considering you both knew it absolutely was. He laughed a little at your answer and you turned your head to glare at him, upset he found your unknown inner turmoil humorous.
âYou canât just say youâre not.â He pointed out as he looked back at you, so boyish and impossibly charming which translates to you as insufferable and the current bane of your existence. âIt doesnât work like that.â
âIt does.â You countered again and he didnât laugh again but he did keep that soul crushing smile, eyes creasing a little.
You sighed deeply, fingers tightening around the wheel a little and now his smile was sliding off his face at the sight of you genuinely seeming upset. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and you gave him a heavy look, feeling guilty for making him be concerned and so so handsomely clueless.
Your hand was outstretching across the middle console to touch his jaw and you dared to let your thumb run over the cut in his bottom lip. It was slightly swollen and his eyebrows furrowed in a pained wince when you smoothed over it.
They didnât go back to normal and the sight of him with that expression as he practically nuzzled into your touch, body leaning over his seat and looked larger than you remember, almost actually killed you. You had to take the longest breath of your life to prepare for taking your hand away from his jaw and his mouth and for a second it looked like he was following after you.
âDid I scare you?â He asked softly and you had never heard him sound like that before. It took you a minute to think about what he was talking about, his tongue flickering over the red cut reminding you.
âNo.â You breathed and it was honest but you knew it made room for more questions. What about the fight had you so torn up and out of character if it hadnât unnerved you? You were sure he knew the answer but you were grateful he didnât ask.
Instead he turned and wished you a goodnight, thanking you for coming to his game and promising he would tell you when the next one was. You watched as he walked inside, the person in front of him holding the door for a girl and releasing it as Jungkook approached like he hadnât even registered another person approaching.
You frowned the entire way home and tried to convince yourself you didnât care when you screamed into your pillow.
ââ
Ignoring Jungkook clearly wasnât the answer but lately being around him was torture and you were beginning to think you would have to move schools (potentially countries) for a semester to get over this. Then youâd see him walk into a room and quickly realize that no amount of time was going to fix whatever was wrong with you.
You were almost a little devastated by the sudden interruption, doing anything you could to reverse the effects he had. Youâd give him every opportunity to hurt your feelings somehow, presenting multiple set up scenarios just to try and find a time or place where you didnât fully like his actions or point of view. It was a bit ridiculous of you but you were getting desperate and even more so when he continuously failed to not impress you.
The winter hit you hard because suddenly he was all pink nosed and giving out heart felt gifts to you leading up to the holidays. Youâd find a bag of your favorite snacks dangling from your dorm doorknob or he would appear at lunch with two matching scarves, placing one over your neck and smiling as he did his own like he wasnât killing you.
Wonyoung was amused by all this and she seemed a bit honored to become the person you went to every time you had a Jungkook related crisis, which was basically everyday at this point.
Hockey season continued full force and youâd sit in the stands each game, most times by yourself but occasionally with Wonyoung. It was even more frequent recently considering she had taken interest in the captain of the team but you didnât necessarily mind being alone, almost preferring it over the teasing your red cheeks got you.
Jungkook would come up to you eagerly after each game and search your face for something, always looking so disappointed when he apparently didnât find whatever it was he wanted.
âYou seemed so impressed the first time.â He had explained one of the nights you were walking to your car after a game. You had demanded him to stop looking at you like that and just ask whatever he was thinking. âI guess it wore off.â
âShe liked it when you punched that guy.â Wonyoung said simply, mid bite of concession stand popcorn. Her hand froze in the air as she seemed to realize what she said and your eyes were full of heat as you stared at her.
Jungkook didnât respond for a half a second that felt like an eternity and then he was finally opening his mouth, dread hitting you square in the chest, when a teammate from across the parking lot was calling out his jersey number. There was a blur of high fives and hands patting backs as they briefly recapped the final goal but then he was right back to you and your embarrassing fact Wonyoung had presented.
You waited for him to bring it up, to tease you about it and further ruin your life but instead he softly chuckled and said how the teammate had gotten his name wrong and it was forgotten.
Atleast you had assumed so.
The next game was a short five days after and you were back in the stands, without Wonyoung this time and feeling a bit colder as you shifted on the bench seat. Jungkook looked excited as always to see you and he was routinely skating over to your side for a quick chat or just to send you a smile from under his helmet.
It was going smoothly and you were barely paying attention when they situated themselves in the middle again, either side of the puck and tensions high as the game started to come close to the end. Jungkook paused, spared a glance at the score board that showed them extremely in the lead, and then you could see the posture of the other teamâs player change.
His shoulders squared and he lost his starting position, standing to his full height and skating closer to Jungkook. He passed the line and your home team seemed on high alert at the sight of it, all of them skating closer while the captain sent the referees nervous glances. You felt confused and panicked before realization hit you hard.
Had Jungkook said something to provoke him on purpose?
The boy was the first to remove his gloves but Jungkook followed immediately after and this fight seemed a lot more evenly matched than the first one. This time nobody jumped in and egged them on and there was sharp punches thrown back and forth until the referees were skidding across the ice and sending them both to the penalty box.
You couldnât see Jungkookâs expression but you knew exactly what yours looked like.
It was a silent car ride other than Jungkook softly requesting to go back to your dorm instead, not too unusual but particularly devastating tonight. You ended up both sitting on your tiny twin mattress, your body turned towards his as you pushed a bag of frozen strawberries against his eye and ignored his groans of pain.
âYouâre an idiot.â You breathed out.
âI didnât know he was on the wrestling team.â He replied swiftly and you sent him a sharp glare that made the amusement in his eyes fade away. âPlayers fight all the time.â
âNot you though.â You were practically whispering now and his shoulders slumped at your statement, knowing you were right. âYour coach said these were your only two fights ever. Heâs worried about you.â
He wrapped his hand around your wrist and lowered it until the bag of fruit was resting on the bed and you were letting your fingers release it. Your eyes were locked on him as he sighed and avoided looking at you for a few seconds.
âIâm fine.â He finally replied and you wanted to protest before he continued. âGod forbid a guy tries to impress a pretty girl.â
Your eyebrows furrowed automatically and he watched you closely as he studied your reaction to his sudden comment.
âWonyoung wasnât even there. What are youâŠ.â You cut yourself off before you could even complete the thought, both connecting the dots yourself and because of the confused expression he was throwing at you as soon as your friendâs name left your mouth.
Oh. Jungkook was talking about you.
You felt like the small room was suddenly forty times tighter and you almost wanted to shift away so you could possibly manage to catch your breath but the thought of Jungkook getting the wrong idea made you sick.
You were sure he must know. He had to know right? Jungkook was a smart guy and despite the weird phenomenon that caused people to almost forget to register him as a person, he was sociable and charming when he spoke. He had managed to befriend you and your antisocial brain within only a few conversations and he had never mentioned a girlfriend but you figured nobody who looked like that was inexperienced.
So he absolutely had to know that your flushed cheeks and dazed expression that only showed up when you looked at him had to mean something.
âOh.â You finally breathed and you assumed you looked a little pained at how jarring it sounded.
âYeah.â He smiled in return, as casual and warm as he always was like he hadnât just placed something so heavy on the weight of your already taut friendship. âOh.â
You took a few steady breaths as he just stared at you as he waited for you to say something else, his eyes fond and patient like he had all the time in the world for you and your awkwardness. Then your hand was coming up to touch his bruised eye again but this time you didnât have the frozen fruit in your hold, fingers lightly grazing the purple skin.
âYou donât have to get into a fight to impress me.â You nearly whispered and it was as much of a confession as you could give him.
Jungkook smiled and then the hard part was over. He asked to spend the night and that still wasnât too unusual but climbing under the sane blankets was and you were halfway glad you had such a pathetically sized bed because he had no choice but to press against you in some way. Of course he is Jungkook so he took the opportunity to wrap an arm around you completely and tug you back against his chest.
Being in this weird sort of platonic limbo with Jungkook was better than nothing at all and certainly felt better than having absolutely no idea he even thought of you in any special way let alone to the point he would walk around with a black eye for two weeks in an attempt to wow you.
It still didnât make it any easier to be around him whenever he laughed and you had a hard time looking at him head on but atleast he was around.
Winter continued on at full force and you didnât miss a single one of Jungkookâs games, especially after he gave you his practice jersey to wear on the stands. You had more luck ignoring Wonyoungs knowing glances if it meant he would keep offering you the distraction of smiling at you like that from the ice.
There was a dance at the end of winter, a small mock homecoming-esque event that the student committee had thrown together. It had a low budget and even lower attendance but the concept was cute enough to garner some attention.
You had never been the dancing type which you were sure wasnât too big of a surprise to anyone who knew you and youâd only attended your prom after your mom begged you for weeks so you didnât plan to go. Apparently your clear disinterest in it didnât extend to any after party extending from the event or maybe it was just the soft way Wonyoung invited you that made you agree.
Now you were only halfway regretting it, sitting on the top of a lookout hill and nursing a slightly warm drink that was making the barrel of your throat feel sore. It helped that a familiar frame was shoulder to shoulder with you, his warmth rivaling the one of the fire Wonyoung and her friends were laughing around.
You and Jungkook were further back from the group although you were certain nobody had noticed anyways. One guy had stumbled over about half an hour ago and asked Jungkook in a slurred voice if he had the time, as formal as he could manage with the frat accent mixed between.
He had given it to him and then softly whispered to you that they actually had four classes together, corner of his lips turning up when he heard you laughing.
Youâd barely had half a can but Jungkook was surprisingly getting slightly past the point of tipsy, becoming a lot more talkative than youâd ever heard him and going on tangents that made your cheeks feel warm with affection. It was a little too cold away from the fire but it was worth it if you got to hear him speak so openly like this.
âMaybe we shouldâve gone to the dance.â He breathed out after a rare moment of silence and you turned to look at the side of his face. The small city and its handful of tall buildings were too far away for it to provide any light but you thought you could see a light twinkle in the reflection of his eyes.
âYou think so?â Your voice came out softer than youâd meant it to and it sounded far past friendly.
His large shoulders rose and fell in a loose shrug as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. His nose was red from the cold and his hair was almost falling in front of his eyes, wind swept and messy in a stupidly charming way.
âMightâve been nice.â He rasped and you watched him intently, feeling like youâd be a fool to miss even a single second of whatever this show of vulnerability was. You wondered if he was drunker than you thought or if he was just tired of playing a constant guessing game with your ever changing dynamic. âIf we went together I mean.â
âTogether like as a date?â You donât know why you said it and you felt stupid immediately but his sideways grin smoothed over the nasty emotion as soon as it came.
âYup.â He popped the P and nodded his head firmly like he had it all planned out for his past self. You let yourself actually imagine it for a second, the two of you back in Busan and him coming to your front door with a nervous gulp and a slightly too large suit. âCorsage and everything.â
âOh wow.â You laughed again at the image and the smile seemed permanent on his face now at the small sound. âIâm sure weâd be a big hit. You might even be prom king.â
You were attempting to poke fun at him and his lack of popularity but he sent you a sheepish sideways glance that made your mouth part open with shock. He looked away and chuckled under his breath at your expression.
âNo way.â You blurted and you couldnât even stop to be embarrassed. The idea that Jungkook back in Busan was so different that he had actually been the prom king was making your head spin a little bit, trying to stop yourself from wondering if you even knew him at all.
âWay.â He countered and nodded slowly like he was also confused how he had gotten to this point of invisibility. You let yourself continue to paint the mental picture of what teenage Jeon Jungkook had been like, who he was when he back home with his friends and before he was coming home to a seemingly empty house and being ignored by his peers.
You could see him with a crown on his head and a younger version of the boyish smile you couldnât stop thinking about.
âI wouldâve liked that.â You said softly, settling for a response that didnât tear your heart in half. He was finally looking at you fully and now his smile was smaller but still there, directed at you and making your head spin until you felt sick. Snow collected on his bangs and you only then realized the weather was changing, groans from near the fire making it obvious you werenât the only one who noticed.
Your feet were steady as the others stumbled down the lookout hill and you werenât sure how you felt about Jungkook being one of the wobbly ones.
Maybe a bit better when his soft hand was grabbing yours to keep him standing upright and then a whole lot worse when you dropping him off at home and watching his expression change when he noticed the porch light on. Youâd brought him back dozens of times and this was the first time you were seeing any sign of life, wondering for a second if he was going to turn and ask to come back with you.
Instead he sighed and got out, wishing you a goodnight that sounded a lot more sober.
You didnât see Jungkook for two days after that which wasnât anything concerning especially given the amount of snow that had fallen the last few nights. It still didnât soothe the stomachache you got as soon as you opened your door on the third day to the sight of his face a lot more bruised than you had left it.
You knew the black eye was far too fresh to be from his hockey fight and youâd stared at the healing split lip enough to know it was opened again sometime recently. Youâd sighed to stop yourself from gasping and taken his hand to tug him inside and out of the cold.
Jungkook sat on your twin bed as you tended to him, similar to the other night except now you were standing between his legs with his hands clenched into fist on his knees.
Now would be the perfect time to get all of your questions out, the ask him the dozen things you had been wondering since the party at his house and figure out whatever way you could help him.
What came out instead was, âCome home with me for the holidays?â
So Jungkook spent the next week and a half at your house in Busan with you and your mother and her half a dozen cats. He laughed as she told rambling stories that made little sense and he ate her mediocre food like it was the best meal he had ever had.
Then he would climb into your childhood bed with you that was somehow even smaller than the one you had in your college apartment, tucked under your old princess sheets with his arm thrown around you and his face buried in your hair.
Somewhere around the second to last day you realized you might be dating Jeon Jungkook.
He had met a few of your extended family members and greeted the men with firm handshakes and a smile that was a lot less boyish, played with your little cousins for hours after the rest of the adults gave up and came outside with you in the cold whenever you felt like it was becoming too much to hear your mothers anxious speeches.
The morning before New Years, he had somehow worked it out with one of your uncles to borrow his truck. It drove better in the snow then your old car and Jungkook refused to tell you where you were going the entire time, bringing back your age old comment at his birthday about being the type to enjoy surprises.
It wasnât much of a surprise considering you recognized the drive halfway through but it did ignite something in you to realize it was just as familiar for him. The beach was snowed over and silent as your boots crunched over the frozen sand and you wondered if you and Jungkook had ever been here at the same time before now.
You were a few steps apart but his hand was extending out towards yours and you accepted it willingly, wishing you could remove your glove to feel his skin without making it too obvious.
âAre you having fun?â He asked softly and it wasnât the first time he had asked it during your break but he sounded more sincere now, almost nervous like he was worried you would change your mind at some point.
âI feel really happy.â You whispered back and the honesty shocked both of you, his hand squeezing yours on instinct as he tugged you closer. Your feet crossed in the sand and it was only a few breaths before you were standing much closer to him then you had before, chests practically flushed together as his gloved hands went behind your back to hold you still.
He was staring down at you with a gentle smile and eyes full of⊠something heavier than just fondness and for the dozenth time you had to stop and wonder if this was something more than you realized.
His hand cupping your cheek did the opposite of offering you clarity and you let out a shaky breath, one you could see considering how cold it was standing by the water. The waves were louder than your pounding heartbeat so thankfully he wasnât able to hear it but you figured it didnât matter considering he had to have already known.
There was no possible way he did not know. He had to see it on your face, in the way you stood and everything about the way you moved around him.
âMe too.â He whispered back and youâd almost forgotten what you had said in the first place considering how suspended in time this conversation felt. âIâm glad you invited me here. I canât thank you enough for all this.â
âYouâd never have to thank me.â Your eyebrows furrowed at the idea of him doing so, not able to comprehend a world where you would ever not want him around. You didnât go out of your way to bring him home with you, it had just been the only scenario that made any sense to you at all. Of course he would meet your family and of course youâd eat Christmas dinner together with shy glances sent across the table.
Of course you would go back to school and spend your weekends in your tiny bedroom, forgetting to focus in class in favor of chatting quietly, and accepting invitations you dreaded just for the excuse to spend more time with him somewhere new.
He had a wooly black hat over his head that was pushing his bangs against his forehead, stopping just above his eyes that looked a lot bigger than they had earlier. His cheeks were pink from either the cold or your hushed conversation and you thought for a second that he looked years younger back in Busan than he did in your small college city.
You could feel the material of his hat pressing against your skin as he leaned his forehead against yours and now you figured you were really breathing hard, much more noticeable than your racing heartbeat.
You could think it over a hundred times and never know who had been the first to press your lips together but you supposed it didnât really matter, all thoughts escaping your mind the second you felt the light touch.
It didnât stay soft for long because a certain desperation took over you that made you push into him even harder, hands gripping his winter coat and keeping him tugged so close you almost lost your balance a few times. His hand stayed on your cheek as he led you in the kiss and your mouths moved together slowly and bordering on something more emotional.
Youâd not been a big enough idiot to pretend you didnât notice the way Jungkook looked at you or how whatever it was that had been floating between you for months certainly wasnât friendly but you definitely had stopped considering a path where this was possible.
You had been content being stuck in your weird inbetween until one of you got too exhausted or too jealous and shattered the fragility of a longing filled friendship.
Instead the universe has apparently decided to cut you a break just this once and give you something that was undeniably yours and so special it made your heart ache, giving him somebody who saw him whole heartedly and could pick him out of a crowd of millions.
The cold beach felt a little warmer when you were pulling out of the kiss and leaning your forehead against his, laughing in slight disbelief as the waves teased the soles of your crossed boots.
Summary: Namjoon knows youâre a stubborn human being. (Birds of a feather, and all that.) Heâs been with you long enough to know exactly what that looks likeâwhether youâre fighting for him, against him, or just for the sake of it. (Which, if heâs being honest, might be his favorite.)
So when you insist that the so-called aphrodisiac pills are nothing but placebo, he doesnât really argue. He just gives you little push...
Now, thatâs not to say he expected you to overdose on them just to prove a point!
But you do. Because thatâs the kind of person he goes for, apparently.
What follows is...messy. Hot. Deasperate. Hilarious. (But only after he makes sure you arenât going to go into cardiac arrest)
word count: almost 12K
Genre: Just Smut. Â Established relationship.
Warnings: Explicit smut scenes. drug use? aphrodisiac use. oral sex. Borderline rough sex. Namjoon is just a tad bit mean. multiple positions.
masterlistÂ
author note: i have no words for myself. Thank you @callmenoona25 for the betaâš
You and Namjoon have always gotten along well. Your relationship was built on trust and mutual understanding, underlined by open communication and the uncanny ability to read each otherâwhich, in a way, translated into love. Because he could sense when something was wrong with you and fix it before it took root, the same way you could read the subtle shifts in his voice or expression before he ever said a word.
It worked, because you worked. Not without effort, but with care.
Now, thatâs not to say the two of you went without the occasional fight over the years. In fact, you were both incredibly stubborn human beingsâitâs just that you were rarely on opposite sides of the problem.
Still, it happened.
Sometimes more seriousâarguments about time, priorities, what counted as enough. When one of you carried too much of the weight and the other didnât notice soon enough. When love didnât always translate to action. When frustration built up. Not from a lack of affection, and sometimes not even because either of you was at fault. Just from life. Because thatâs how life, and relationships, sometimes are.
But you both agreed on one thing: that arguments, when handled right, could bring you closer.
And other times, it was merely for shits and gigglesâbecause how else would the bullheaded get off, if not by âwinningâ an âargumentâ.
Which is exactly how you ended up in the back of a sex shop in Itaewon , tucked between the flavored lube and glow-in-the-dark condoms, deep in debate with your boyfriend.
âCome on babe,â Namjoon picks up the little box like itâs going to help him prove his point, brows raised.
âSo youâre telling me thisââ he waves it a little, ââdoes nothing?â
You glance at it. Pink packaging, some cartoon flames, a lot of suspiciously enthusiastic font promising the adventure of a lifetime and a pink kitty cat in the corner.
âPlacebo. At best.â
He snorts, reading the label. âItâs got, like... plants. Herbs. Natureâs Viagra. Medicine or whatever.â
You give him a look. âNamjoon. Horny goat weed is not real medicine. That sounds like something a medieval witch made up after a weird dream.â
He grins. âYouâre so cynical.â
âIâm realistic,â you say, crossing your arms. âYou know what gets me in the mood? Good sleep. Respect. Decent lighting. You.â
Namjoon laughs. âNot... powdered maca root and ashwagandha?â
You roll your eyes. âIf plants actually worked like that, donât you think more people would be out here orgasming after every smoothie?â
He considers that, smirk tugging at his lips â...Honestly, that would explain a lot about your blender phase.â
You smack his arm. âIâm serious. This stuff only works if you think it will. Thatâs the point. Sugar Pillsâ
He leans over you, about to drop the box in your little basket, âSo you wonât mind if I get them?â
You eye the box hovering over your basket. Make eye contact with the cat, then you eye him. âAre you really gonna spent twenty thousand won just to prove a point?â
Namjoon shrugs, far too pleased with himself. âWhatâs the point of being in a sex shop if weâre not buying something ridiculous and unnecessary?â
âI thought thatâs what you were for,â you mutter, reaching up to snatch the box from him. He laughs, that soft, warm sound that always hits you right in the ribs.
But he doesnât let go.
You tug once. He holds firm.
âAre you going to take them just to prove me wrong?â He challenges, and you immediately arch a brow.
âLet me get this straight,â you say. âYou donât even know whatâs in it. You just want to feed me questionable powdered plants on the off chance Iâll get handsy?â
âThatâs not the only reason,â he says, smiling as he tugs it back toward himself. âAlso, I think itâll be really funny when you pretend itâs not working and then end up climbing me ten minutes later.â
You scoff. âPlease. Iâve climbed you for less.â
He grins. âExactly. So you wonât be able to prove anything.â
You narrow your eyes at him. âYouâre just mad Iâm right.â
âAnd youâre just scared youâre not.â
Your fingers are still wrapped around the box when a store employee strolls by, glancing between the two of you and very obviously pretending not to hear any of it. Namjoon clears his throat. You stifle a giggle.
He lets go first.
âFine,â you say, tossing the box into the basket. âWeâll try your magic sex dust.â
âYes!â He does a little victorious fist pump, but you roll your eyes.
âAnd weâll be abstaining, just so you eat your words.â
âHey! No, waitââNamjoon lunges forward, eyes wide, but youâre already turning on your heel, basket in hand, laughing as you walk towards the cashier.
~~~
You definitely didnât abstain that night⊠But you also didnât take the pills.
Because honestly, you kind of forgot about them the moment you chucked the entire bag into your spare bathroom cupboard. They got lost somewhere beneath bottles of shower gel, shampoo, flavored condoms, and that one lube youâd meant to toss out, because apparently âlong-lastingâ actually meant ânumbing.â
It wasnât until weeks later that you found the pills again.
There you were, elbow-deep in the cabinet under the sink, fully immersed in your playlist and in full-on cleaning mode, wearing bright yellow latex gloves and halfway through your spring cleaning, when you stumble across the baggieâcompletely confused.
You pull it out.
Immediately the kitty cat grins at you, still just as smug.
You blink.
Then laugh and reach for your phone to snap a picture and send it to Namjoon.
Heâs gone for the week, attending some important meeting or other in Busan, and youâve never been one to hold back from teasing him, even when away.
You: [attached image]
Look who I found hiding in the cabinet.
Namjoon đš: Oh my god
Theyâve been there the whole time???
You: Yup. Untouched
Namjoon đš: đ Betrayed by the pink kitty
You: She died in obscurity. As she deserved.
You smile, still crouched by the cabinet, phone in one gloved hand, the absurd little box in the other. His reply doesn't come for a while, so you go back to your cleaning. Five minutes later, your phone buzzes against the floor.
Namjoon đš: Check the date. Maybe theyâre still good.
Could be fun.
You: You want me to take expired jungle juice pills?
Namjoon đš: I want to believe in miracles
And horny goat weed đđż
You canât help but giggle at that, still you glance at the tiny print on the back of the box, squinting at it as you scrub away at the counter.
You: Expires in two years.
So technically, still good. Still useless, but âgoodâ.
Namjoon đš: Well, thatâs reassuring. They should start marketing them as âtimeless pleasureâ :)
You: More like âtimeless disappointment.â
Namjoon đš: Nah. Iâm imagining you wearing just those gloves, def working for me. đ
You burst out laughing right there on the bathroom floor. Honestly, you shouldâve known heâd be dramatic about it. You shouldâve known texting him the picture would start something. Still, youâre grinning as you set the box down next to you, blowing hair from your face before pulling back on one glove with a satisfying snap.
Another message lights up your screen:
Namjoon đš: AnywaysâŠ
What if you took it? For science. đđŠ
You: I'm blocking you.
Namjoon đš: Babe.
you: What do you want?
Namjoon đš: You know, for someone so adamant about them being placebo you sure sound scared.
You: Iâm not scared. I just have pride.
And Iâm not giving you the satisfaction.
Namjoon đš: So you admit it might work
You: I admit youâre annoying and probably bored out of your mind in Busan.
Namjoon đš: Correct. Now send me a pic of you holding the blister. Real submissive and skeptical-like.
You: Absolutely not.
Namjoon đš: Iâll send you one tonight. All sweaty and yearning how you like me.
You pause, teeth tugging at your bottom lip.
âŠDamn him.
You: One photo.
You: And only because I look hot in my cleaning gloves.
You glance down at the ridiculous box. Then sigh, pull your other glove halfway off with your teeth, and hold it up for a quick, unamused selfieâwearing cleaning clothes, hair unwashed, brow arched, expression flat, pink kitty clearly visible.
You: [image attached]
Namjoon đš: Jesus Christ!
Iâm going to die in this conference room.
Do not take the pill while Iâm not there to supervise.
I canât be responsible for what happens then.
You: Oh no. You caught me!
I was just about to pop one and start humping the mop.
Namjoon đš: IT BEGINS!!!
You: Delete my number
Namjoon đš: Delete your mop
You cackle, heart light. The ache of missing him doesnât go away exactlyâbut it softens. Gets dressed in jokes and affection and emojis typed too fast. Which, honestly, is how itâs always been with you two.
You lean back against the bathroom cabinet, still smiling at your phone.
The pink kitty grins up at you. You glare at it.
âShut up.â you mutter, shoving it away with your foot.
~~~
You take two.
Because you're certain it wonât do anything.
Because youâve decided a few hours ago that Namjoon needs to be taught a lesson, for leaving on that trip in the first place. And teasing you with selfies of him in that pretty tailored suit.
Because heâs getting home later tonight, and what better way to be absolutely infuriating, if not by strategic abstinence to prove a point you both forgot about for a couple of weeks?
Because variety is the spice of life?
You even dry swallowed them, like that might somehow prove your superiority over weeds and fungi, and went about making dinner like normal.
Now youâre lying in bed, reading some boring financial book. Freshly showered, shaved and moisturized, dressed in Namjoonâs old t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts. The room still smelling faintly of citrus and laundry detergent from the new sheets you got out.
The box is sitting on your nightstandâstaring back at you like it knows.
You donât feel any different. Not suddenly wild with need. Not mindlessly frenzied. Not even a little tingly.
Just⊠normal.
You glance at yourself in the dresser mirror once, then again, just to check if your pupils are blown or if youâve grown devil horns or something.
You even do a little test: scroll through your phone and look at Namjoonâs latest selfieâthe one he took in his hotel room mirror, shirt collar undone, sleeves rolled, hair still a little messy from the dayâand...
Okay.
Okay, yeah, fine. He looks really good. But not mop-humping good. Not climb him like a tree and never come back down good.
...Well, maybe a little.
But thatâs not the pills. Thatâs just him.
You glance at the time again. It's nearly 9 p.m.
His train gets in around 10. He said heâd be home by a quarter past, if trafficâs not a mess.
You took the pills at 7. So you can officially declare yourself victorious.
You: Just so you know
I took them.
Nothing happened. Just like I saidâš
Namjoon đš: You WHAT??
Babe
I am on a moving train
Do not get horny without me >:(
You snort, grinning.
You: Not even a little horny.
I feel exactly the same.
Iâm reading about taxes actually.
Namjoon đš: Disappointing
but scientifically fascinating
Thank you for your sacrifice
You: Thank you for being wrong đ
Namjoon đš: Never.
The goat just needs a little time đâš
You roll your eyes.
You: Do you need dinner?
Coz youâre not getting anything else from me tonightâš
Namjoon đš:Wow
wow wow wow
so I leave ONE time.
Also yes, dinner pls! Something with rice. Or noodles. Or mercy.
You: Oh hush, it's for science. đđŹ can't make you feel good and have you thinking it's the pink cat when weâre done.
Udon's on the stove btw.
Namjoon đš: And my mercy???
You roll your eyes, toss your phone on the bed, and settle deeper into the pillows picking up your book again. Youâre not sure what you were expecting, really. Maybe some strange buzz, or warmth, or at least a little placebo-fueled edge. But all you really feel isâ
âŠWell. Warm.
Okay. Slightly warm.
You frown.
Could be the blanket.
You make a move to shove it off.
Nothing changes.
You slap your book closed and sit up, crossing the room to open the window. You stand there for a moment like an idiot, waiting for a gust of wind to shake you back to normal.
NothingâŠ
Still warm.
Your gaze slides to the little pink box.
No. Itâs goat parsley and mushrooms.
There is absolutely no way that cheap, natural, organic aphrodisiacs could have that kind of effect.
In fact! Youâll prove it.
By finishing the dessert you started making earlier!
Because you are completely fine.
You scrape the bowl of the ice cream maker. Humming to yourself as you drizzle a little condensed milk over topâbecause Namjoonâs sweet tooth is the stuff of legends. And if heâs going to be a dramatic baby about abstinence, he can at least do it with something cold in his mouth.
The creamâs been sitting in the ice cream maker for an hour already; this is just a little extra step before chucking it in the freezer to set.
Still, the kitchen feels...weirdly muggy.
You look at the AC working overtime in the corner of the room.
And yet, youâre flushed. The back of your neck is damp.
Maybe the apartment is just hot? Maybe you left the stove on?
You shove the ice cream into the freezer so it gets a chance to actually âiceâ by the time he gets home. Then pivot towards the stove, already bracing for the heat of a forgotten burner.
It's off.
The room temperature? Absolutely normal.
You slide the condensed milk into the fridge and grip the counter to regroup.
Your heart rate is normal. Your breathing is fine.
Thereâs just a little buzz in your fingertips. A pulse low in your belly. An ache you hadnât noticed untilâ
âOh, come on,â you mutter.
This is so dumb.
Itâs all in your head. Youâre just a little warm because you got up and moved around and your hairâs still damp from the shower and youâre needy because youâve been staring at Namjoonâs stupid forearms all day. Thatâs it.
Except.
The moment you straighten up, your heart actually goes erratic in your chest. That makes you do a full stop.
Because this suddenly turned from playful teasing into a possible medical emergency. And that is not how you want to spend your Sunday nightâexplaining to an ER nurse how you took horny pills to prove a point to your boyfriend.
You press a hand to your sternum, trying to slow your pulse by sheer force of will. Breathe in. Breathe Out.
You stand completely still.
Wait. Count your pulse.
You barely make it to the bedroom and you curl up on the edge of the bed, fingers wrapped around your phone, stomach fluttering as you tap out a search:
âAphrodisiac pill heart attack?â
Your finger hovers over âSearchâ for a moment, because God, you feel like youâre going to stroke out any second. And then you press.
The results pop up, clinical and boring, but with bullet points at the end.
Headache
Nausea
Temporary erectile dysfunction
Nope. That's not it.
âViagra can be dangerous for someone with low blood pressureâ. But you didnât take Viagra. And you don't have low blood pressure.
You drop your phone on the mattress beside you with a dull thump and flop back against the pillows. The ceiling fan spins lazily above, doing absolutely nothing to cool your now-feverish skin. You blink up at it, trying to decide whether the weight in your lower abdomen is physical or just deeply, irritatingly psychological.
You huff an irritated laugh, biting your lip. Your fingers are warm. Your thighs are warmer. You curl them a little tighter together, and immediately you stifle from the pins and needles, heart doing the thumpy thing in your chest.
You: I think I'm dying
Namjoon đš: ???
what???
WHAT???
is this a sex thing or a real thing
do i need to call someone?
You: Iâm serious.
I took 2 pills.
That confession feels like an admission of stupidness. Like all your pride and silly games have finally caught up to you and now youâre paying way more than you ever should for being such a petty, stubborn human being.
You bury your face in your hands. You can feel the heat blooming now, licking along your skin in a way thatâs⊠definitely not just psychological anymore. Itâs not mental. Itâs not the shower. Itâs not even Namjoonâs selfie.
Itâs all you. It's your stupid plan backfiring in real time.
Itâs a kind of horny you didnât know existedâthe clawing at the sheets kind. The Crying to be folded like a lawn chair and have someone rearrange your guts kind. The kind, in which, if Namjoon doesnât get home soon youâre going to hump furniture and do something unspeakable with the shower head.
Namjoon đš: you took another one???
You sigh.
You: No. Both at the same time... I think itâs hitting me full force now.
Namjoon đš: WOMAN. NO.
Two at the same time?
The fuck is wrong with you? đđđ That is not how aphrodisiacs work. This isn't mario cart. You donât stack horny mushrooms for boosts. Why are you like this?
Is this a cry for help?
You wheeze out a laugh that immediately turns into a groan. Curling tighter into yourself like that might contain the ache pulsing low in your belly ânow insistent, beyond needy, humming in your blood like a song with way too much bass.
You: I was trying to prove a point.
Namjoon đš: what are you feeling?
You: I'm not sure but google said I have an erectile dysfunction now.
Namjoon đš:Please be serious for half a second.
Alsoâi donât think thatâs how that works.
You: Well tell that to my non-existent erection and my rapidly melting brain.
Namjoon đš: okay okay okay
What are your actual symptoms?
Like the real ones
How's your heart?!
Is your vision okay?
Can you stand?
Are your thoughts still in full sentences?
You glance toward the ceiling fan again, watching the blades blur into a lazy, hypnotic spin. Your whole body feels like itâs being slow-roasted over an open flame made entirely of Namjoonâs stupid face and rolled-up sleeves. The ache has deepenedâthick, steady, wet at the edgesâand you swear you can feel your pulse between your legs now.
You can hear it echo in your ears.
You: I'm warm
Fuzzy. Tingling . Horny in an itchy way.
God Namjoon I'm so fucking wet come hom please :(
My pulse is all fluttery
I'm still thinking in words. They're justâŠ
sluttier now.
I think my uterus is vibrating.
You groan. Refusing to read back the utter filth you had to type out. But it's true. Your pajama bottoms are completely ruined. Whatever cute lacy thing you were wearing underneath to tease him turned into your own biggest downfall because now every fabric felt like torture against your skin.
You shift to pull off your shirt but you end up tied up in it somehow, wrestling it for what feels like an eternity as your phone continues to buzz on the bed.
Namjoon đš: Good God, woman! I'm in public.
Just made direct eye contact with an Ahjumma after reading my uterus is vibrating.
Why are you like this?
You finally rip the t-shirt off over your head one triumphant, if breathless, pull, tossing it to the floor. Your skin immediately prickles under the cool air, but it barely lasts a second before your core flares again, the sensation running up your chest and down your thighs at the same time.
You: Honestly??? Unclear.
âFuck me.â You mutter into the pillow, and you brain is too far gone to even register just how weak your voice is, how ragged your breath is, how youâre desperate to get the now irritating lace off of your chest.
Your whole body has gone into full emergency meltdown and youâre dying in the process.
The phone buzzes againâNamjoonâs name flashing like a lifeline in your haze. But you donât reach for it right away. Your limbs feel heavy and electric all at once. Every nerve ending alive, skin practically burning where itâs touched.
The cool sheets under you, the lace of your underwear, the braânone of it brings you any relief. Instead its a raw, itchy fire that crawling across your skin and burrows deeper into your core.
You press your face into the pillow, biting back a pathetic moan you donât even have the energy to feel embarrassed about.
Your breath comes quick and shallow, and your fingers twitch, desperate for something, anything, to ground you.
Namjoonâs next message blinks again.
Namjoon đš: okay.
Iâm texting our driver now
telling him to floor it
I AM COMING
*HOME
but also maybe coming?
eventually.
If i don't pass away on the highway because my girlfriend is sexting me in the weirdest way ever.
If my girlfriend doesn't pass away coz she randomly decided to over dose on a Tuesday. đ
You let out a helpless noise. Itâs halfway between a laugh and a whimper, your body too wrung out and wired to know what response is appropriate anymore.
Because the only thing sexier than the sheer panic crawling up your spine, is the fact that heâs still joking through it.
You: Tell him if he hurries he can watch. đ«Ł
(I'm joking. Plz donât. I wont be able to look Mr. Cheng in the eye no more.)
Namjoon đš: I already canât look him in the eye and I havenât said anything!
You shift againâawkward and twitchy, like you canât settle, because nothing helps. Your thighs are slick and trembling, and your hands are practically useless against the bra clasp. Every time you move, your body lights up like itâs been plugged directly into a wall socket. And still, you can't stop squirming.
Your fingers slip again on the clasp. You whimper in frustration, trying to twist your arm behind your back, but everything is too muchâyour skin, the stickiness, the stifling lace cutting tight across your chest, pressing uncomfortably against your nipples. Youâre burning and dizzy and soaked through, and all your body wants is Namjoon, naked. Now.
And heâs still not home.
You fall forward into the bed with a breathless curse. Legs slick and twitching, the sheet beneath you practically ruined. You shift your hips once, pressing hard against the mattressâjust to try to relieve some pressureâand itâs a mistake. You gasp, body jerking, your own movement enough to spark another wave through your cunt.
This is pathetic.
You do it again.
Your breath hitches as you drag one palm across your stomachâjust below your navel. The muscles there jump under your nail grazing, and you shiver so hard it rattles the bed frame.
The phone buzzes again, but youâre done in, fingers slipping under the fabric, palm flat, desperate to get any semblance of relief.
Your hand shake, your movement clumsy, not at all teasing like usual, not slow and sure like youâre used to. It feels like its the first time all over again, and you have absolutely no fucking idea what youâre trying to do.
But you canât afford to take your time. Not when every second without his dick in you feels like punishment. Not when every atom in your body is screaming for relief. When all you have is your own useless hand, and the memory of his touch in your head.
You whine when your fingertips brush slick heat, slightly embarrassed and definitely amazed at how wet you actually are. Like, a body shouldn't be able to do that from a pillâŠokay, two pills.
But still. Still. This is criminal. You're actually dripping.
They were supposed to be just plantsâŠ
You shift again, arching into your own fingers moving against your clit like it might help, like you might get some traction. But it just makes things worse. Better. Worse.
Your hips jerk once, twice, chasing friction, chasing anything. You donât even realize youâre grinding down into your palm until you hear yourselfâwhimpering, bitten off and strangled against your clenched teeth.
The edge is terrifyingly close, too close. Everything is too hot and too moist, every breath scraping like fire down your throat. The lace is digging in where it shouldnât, soaked through and curling at the seams. Your legs tremble again, useless, and your wrist aches from how tense you are, fingers sliding around.
But none of it matters, because it does absolutely jack shit for you.
The phone buzzes again and you canât even open your eyes to look at it.
You keep going, sloppily nowâdragging the heel of your palm up against your clit, hips stuttering into the motion like your body canât decide if it wants to run or fall apart.
And when you feel the knot tighten, when the ache coils impossibly low in your belly, when your heart slams against your ribsâ
Your thighs snap closed on instinct, your whole body locking up with the pressureâand nothing fucking happens. No release. Just a cruel surge of heat that breaks over you and then hangs there, hovering just out of reach.
âFuuuck,â you whimper, biting down hard on your lip, trying not to cry. You grind harder, faster, desperate to chase it down, but the second you even start to get close again, it just slips away.
You're broken. You single handedly ruined your entire sex life because you were too stubborn. And now you had to pay by faking orgasms for the rest of your pitiful, miserable, unsatisfied sexless life.
You claw the bra off with a ragged noise, not even caring if you rip it. Tossing it somewhere, maybe at the wall, maybe at the lamp, whatever.
Your nipples stiffen in the air, painfully sensitive. You run your palm over one just to give your other hand a break. But it just adds to the overload.
Your chest stutters, mouth parted in a silent cry as your hand works harder, fasterâdesperation replacing any rhythm. The slick sounds echo, lewd in the otherwise quiet room, and it only feeds the heat in your veins.
You canât stop. You donât want to stop. Youâre so close you could taste itâbut every time it starts to crest, it dissolves through your fingers, just out of reach.
You bite down on the pillow, trying to muffle another helpless moan. Your fingers are cramped, your thighs trembling like they might give out entirely. But none of itâs enough. Not even close.
You blindly grab at your phone to try and tell him to hurry the fuck up. That you need him. That youâre dying. That this is the single most embarrassing way a person can pass away, and youâd rather not.
But texting with only one hand proved to be impossible when deranged, so you ended up recording a half-breathless audio message. Where youâre whimpering more than actually saying human words.
âJoon. I canâtââ you moan. âIt wonât work. I need you, i need you, i needââ
Your voice cracks at the end, dissolving into a broken gasp as your hips jerk helplessly into your palm. The phone slips from your hand and thuds to the floor, buzzing once before going still.
Then silence.
Except for your panting. The slick drag of your fingers. The crinkle of sheets beneath your thighs. The occasional weak whimper stolen from between your lips.
And thenâ
Thud.
The main entrance door.
Footsteps. His keys still jingling in time with his steps.
You barely register it, brain too fogged. But your body reacts anywayâspine arching, breath catching, heart thudding in time with every stomp down the hallway.
âJesus Christ,â Namjoon breathes when he spots you, framed by the door. His eyes wide and chest heaving, like maybe he ran up the building stairs instead of taking the lift.
âNamjoonâ you weep, voice thin and wobbly.
And heâs at the bed, leaning over you, one large hand pressing lightly to your forehead, then to your chestâright over your frantic pulse where a new kind of heat is smouldering. His brows pinch in concern. His palm is cold and grounding, holding you like heâs trying to piece you back together. You lean into him, shuddering, overstimulated and so under-fulfilled that even this feels like itâs too much.
âPlease,â you moan.
âBaby,â he mutters, eyes flicking over your clammy skin, your damp thighs, your fingers still circling your clitâto the bruised swell of your lips, your blown, wild eyes. âYouâre burning up.â
âI told you,â you rasp, clinging to his wrist like that might do anything for you. âI took two of emââ
âDo you need water?â he asks, pushing the hair clinging to your forehead back.
Youâre not even sure what he asked, you just agree.
He nods, already movingâquick but gentle, like heâs afraid youâll burn away if heâs too rough. You hear the fridge open, the clink of glass, the hum of the water filter, all from where youâre sprawled and wrecked on the bed, trying to finger yourself, chest rising and falling in frantic waves.
By the time he returns, youâre barely upright, slumped against the pillows like that ikea bear, but way less innocent, still looking just as sad.
He grabs your wrist, and you whimper, too weak to fight him, as he cradles the glass to your lips, tilting it carefully.
âSlow,â he warns softly. âJust a sip first.â
You take itâcool water against your tongue, down your throat, grounding in the best way. You gasp as it hits your stomach, then groan, letting your head fall against his chest.
Namjoon strokes your back, the glass now abandoned on the nightstand. âStill fluttery?â
You nod, pupils blown wide. âIs that bad?â
âNo,â he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. âJust breathe.â
âI tried that.â
âI know.â He squeezes your sides. âYouâre okay.â
You blink fast, chest still rising too quick for comfort. âWhat if I gave myself a heart attack?â
He grins. âYou didnât.â
âYou donât know that, Namjoonââ
He leans in, presses a kiss to your flushed cheek. âOkay, well, if you did, itâs the sexiest medical emergency Iâve ever seen.â
You groan, and the moment he lets go of you, you plop back into the pillows, covering your face with your arms. âYou are not funny.â
âAnd yet, youâre laughing.â He pushes your arms back, kisses your temple again.
âStop it,â you mumble, squirming weakly, but youâre grinning now, helpless, wrecked, and delirious, but still grinning.
Namjoon kisses the corner of your mouth this time, then pulls back to study you again. âHow are you feeling? Any better?â
You hum, dragging your hands down your face, wiping away some of the droplets of sweat collecting in your hairline. âLike a peach thatâs been dropped down the stairs.â
He snorts. âSoft and bruised?â
âSticky and tragic.â
âStill sweet though.â
You blink at him. âAre you seriously flirting with me while Iâm this weak and canât defend myself?â
âI missed you.â Namjoon hums, shameless. âAnd itâs not flirting if itâs true.â
You narrow your eyesâor try to. They donât quite cooperate. âYouâre taking advantage of a woman in distress.â
âYou took double the dose of aphrodisiac and tried to go full olympic solo before i got home.â
ââŠFair.â
He grins. âIâm just trying to help you.â
âBy teasing me?!â
âBy fucking your brains out.â
You let out a soundâhalf a laugh, half a moanâbefore it fizzles into something desperate again. The way heâs looking at you doesnât help. Steady. Amused. So goddamn calm, while you're soaked and shaking and one more teasing word away from actually dying.
âThat is only if you want it,â the smug bastard continues. You can see the glint in his eyes. He even has the audacity to wink at you, his grin slow and unbothered as his thumb brushes along your ribs, âI mean, I wouldnât want to overstep on your whole abstinence spiel.â
You grab his wrist before he can move. Or try to, at leastâyou mostly just slap at it with jelly limbs. âDo not dare.â
âYou said you made udon, right peach?â He smirksâquiet, low, maddeningâand starts to rise from the bed like heâs actually going to leave you there. Like youâre not halfway feral and foaming at the mouth for him. Like the loss of contact doesnât short-circuit your entire brain.
âYouâre not funny!â You make another attempt to grab at him, but just end up weakly smacking at his chest.
He chuckles, like heâs finally found that one merciful bone in his body, and still decided to ruin you.
He moves slowly, rolling his sleeves up his arms, making a show of it like you aren't already delirious with thoughts of him twisting you like a pretzel. If you didn't feel this weak you might consider pouncing on him.
Or strangling him.
His hand finds your knee, gently pushing it open so he can move in between your legs, and just from that, you sob, hips hiking up immediately.
âOh, fuck,â Namjoon groans, raking a hand through his hair as he drinks you inâtopless, aroused and sweaty, legs spread and wet, the lace of your ruined panties stretched taut over your inner thigh. âBaby, you look wrecked.â
âI am.â
Namjoonâs eyes flickerâgenuine now, none of the teasing smugness from before. Just focused, reverent. A little wrecked himself. âFuck. You really werenât joking huh?â
He exhales through his nose, steadying, and strokes his hand up the inside of your thigh, slow like heâs afraid youâll break at his touch.
And in all honestly? You might.
âThis might be the best âwelcome home giftâ ever.â
Your breath shudders. Your hips twitch toward him again, just as involuntary as the first time.
He swears under his breath again.
âJesus, woman.â
You whimper. âI told you. Itâsâitâs not funny anymore.â
âIâm not laughing,â he says softly, leaning in to kiss your knee. Then again, lower. âIâm just trying to figure out how to undo what you did to yourself without making it worse.â
âYou are making it worse!â
âI am?â He trails his lips down your thigh, slow and lazy, voice low and warm. âI havenât even touched you yet.â
âYou haveââ You gasp as his breath ghosts over your cunt. âYou are touching me now! Namjoon, please, please, pleaseââ
âOh, now youâre begging?â He murmurs, but thereâs nothing cocky in it this time. âNever knew you to be one to stoop so low. You usually just take what you want.â He sits back on his knees to look up at you, fingers smoothing slow up your hips, your waist, as if trying to calm you down from the inside, but only making it worse.
Your eyes flutter shut, the last neuron you have firing off warnings that maybe you should be embarrassed about all of this. Still, your breath trembles under his touch, and every inch of your body is vibrating in time with his palm stroking over your ribs.
âI did try,â you whisper, almost ashamed. âI tried so hard. IâI sent you a voice message.â
Namjoon raises a brow, then huffs a soft laugh. âYeah. I got it. Itâs my new ringtoneâ
You cover your face with both hands, groaning. âDelete it!â
âNot a chance,â he says, pinching a nipple. âIâm keeping that forever.â
Youâre too wrecked to argue, too lost in him to care. Heâs everywhereâhis weight anchored between your thighs, his scent flooding your senses, his mouth dragging slow, reverent kisses down your stomach. One hand steadies him beside your hip, the other slinks lower⊠and lower.
You jolt when his fingers graze the soaked fabric between your legs, your breath fluttering.
âGod, sweetheart,â he breathes, voice thick. âYouâre dripping on the sheets.â
âI do the laundry! Iâm allowed.â You try to argue, but it comes out as a weak pant, hips rising with his touch.
His head drops onto your stomach, just for a beat. Like heâs trying to compose himself. But you feel itâhis quiet laugh rumbling against your skinâand you whine in protest, embarrassed and turned on in equal measures.
âGod, youâre bratty when youâre desperate.â His voice is all amusement and heat, and he punctuates it with another sharp little pinch to your side.
You whine again. His name, stretched and broken, climbing high in your throat. You try to move, to grind against him, but his hands are firm and unmoving, holding you exactly where he wants you.
âGo back to begging,â he murmurs, tasting the way your restraint crumbles.
You donât. You canât. You just shake your head and sniffle, blinking back tears you donât fully understandâraw and stinging, dangerously close to something that feels like overstimulation. Which doesnât make any sense. He barely touched you. He's only teased.
And still, your body is already coming apart at the seams.
âYouâre so mean.â
Namjoonâs fingers press into your hipbones, holding you perfectly still as he leans now, mouth brushing over the damp lace of your panties one last time before dragging them down slowly, watching the fabric reluctantly peel from your skin.
âYeah, well, youâre a brat.â He says, breath hot against your core. You whimper when the air hits you, and he just shushes you gently, tossing the ruined lace somewhere off the bed. âFuck, youâre soaked. YouâreâJesus, baby, youâre quite the view.â
You canât even answer. You can barely keep your eyes open. Your vision blurs with heat, and you sob when his thumb finally presses against your clit, like its exactly what you needed.
You jerk, crying out, hands flying to his forearm like youâre afraid heâll pull away.
âOhhh, baby,â he breathes, stroking soft, slow circles with maddening care. âYou really fucked yourself up, didnât you?â
âI couldnâtâI neededââ Your words disintegrate into gasps as he slides two fingers through your folds, just barely pressing in before pulling out again, spreading your slick up to your clit and back down.âI canât come. I tried. IâI couldnât. I think I broke myself.â
His eyes drop to your core, swollen, to his fingers, soaked in you and glistening under the soft light, and smirks.
âNo, baby,â he reassures, âYou just need me.â
And finally, finally, finally, he presses the tip of his tongue along your pussy in a slow, deliberate stroke.
Your entire body arches. The sound that comes out of you is closer to a sob than a moan, raw and full of relief.
Namjoon groans low in his throat, lapping at you again like heâs starving, like heâs been waiting for this just as long, just as desperately. He flattens his tongue and drags it up from your entrance to your clit in one long, sinful stroke before closing his lips around it and suckingâjust once, gently.
And youâre gone.
It hits like lightning. Your hips jackknife off the bed, a guttural cry ripping from your chest. Raw, helpless release that hits too fast and too hard and leaves you shaking like an earthquake.
Namjoon stills. Eyes wide. âHoly fucking shit. You justââ He looks down, at your cunt clenching around nothing, and then back at your face. âThat was instant.â
You hiccup. âTold you I was stuck.â
He swears again, softer this time, watching you twitch through the aftershocks.
And then, instead of retreating, instead of being a good loving boyfriend, he ducks right back down like a menace. Except, this time, thereâs no more teasing.
He locks his arms under your thighs, pulling you down the bed, anchoring you against his mouth like heâs intent on undoing every second of frustration youâve ever suffered. His lips wrap around your clit, firmer now, more purposeful, while his tongue strokes in relentless, perfect circles.
Your scream catches in your throat. Your hand flies to his hair, fingers curling in tight, and he groans when you tugâdeep and rough, the sound vibrating through you like a second mouth on your skin.
âJoonââ you gasp, the edge of another orgasm already boiling in your belly, coiled so tight itâs almost painful. âToo much! Too fastââ
âYou can take it,â he growls against you, voice gravel-thick and dark with want.
He dips his mouth to your entrance, sucks hardâuses his fingers to push your release onto his tongue like heâs a man starved. Like he canât get enough. Like heâs about to very willingly ruin you.
And itâs nothing he hasnât done before. Not some new technique or secret code that promises to have any woman cumming in five minutes or less.
But right now, it feels completely new, raw and min-blowingly overwhelming.
And still not enough.
Maybe itâs the pillsâamped up arousal turned to lightning under your skin, pulsing hot and endless through your nervous system. Maybe itâs the week long build-up, the nights of cold showers and dirty photos, whispering dirty things into the phone speaker because he left for that stupid fucking meeting.
Or maybe itâs just him.
The way he knows your body. The way he listens. How he adjusts his pace every time you flinch, how he flattens his tongue and grinds it just right against you when your hips twitch in that telltale way.
Either way, youâre begging.
âMore! More! Don't stop! Namjoon. Don't fuckingââ Your voice is foreign. So are the words, but still they leave your lips like a chant and a prayer wrapped in one.
And godâgodâheâs thorough. He doesnât stop when you cry out, doesnât even slow down when your thighs start squeezing his head. He just wraps his arms tighter around your thighs and keeps going, lapping up everything you give him like he earned it, like he deserves it, like heâs missed it too.
âNam-Namjoon!â You gasp again, already screaming through your next orgasm, âFuck. Fuck, fuck. I canâtââ
Itâs brutal, this one. Fiercer than the first. Your nails dig into his scalp and he moans, devouring you through the quake of it, never letting up. He doesnât stop when you come again. Doesnât stop when your body twitches and tries to wriggle away. Doesnât stop when you cry out, wrecked and trembling and unable to think.
âYes, you can,â he says, dragging his mouth up your body, voice rough and gleaming with pride. His lips shine. His chin soaked. His cheeks are flushed. He looks wrecked, like heâs the one whoâs been fucked senseless. âYou did, actually.â
Your head drops back against the pillow, tears streaking hot down your cheeks now. Your legs wonât stop shaking. Your breath wonât even out. Every inch of you is flushed and trembling, heartbeat thudding so hard in your ears itâs all you can hear.
âOkay,â Namjoon murmurs, catching your face in his hands. He leans in, kisses your temple, your cheek, the corners of your mouth like he remembered he might like having his girlfriend alive. âOkay, baby. Shhh. Breathe.â
You try. You do. But he's still pressed between your thighs, hard and aching and fully dressed with another stupid tailored suit. While you lie there bare and wrecked and dying. And his voiceâgood sweet god his voice.
âToo much,â you whimper, but itâs a lie and he knows it, because the very next thing that leaves your mouth is a whimpered âNamjoon. My baby. Love. Please. Please fuck me. Thoroughly. Hard. Now.â
He closes his eyes. Breathes once, slow and deep.
âSay it again.â
You donât hesitate. Youâre past shame. Past pride. Past whatever you ever had against begging and drag his face to yours. Wild eyes meeting his.
âI need you to fuck me.â
And you make sure to accentuate every word, on the off chance he might feel funny again and decide to actually put you in a grave early.
âGod. I might need to record you.â
There it is. Bastard.
Still, he sits up, long enough to strip. His shirt goes first, buttons half undone and the rest dragged overhead, tossed somewhere blindly. His pants come next, revealing the line of his body in full. His broad chest flushed and heavy, abs flexing with restraint, cock hard and heavy and angry red where it juts out against his stomach. Your mouth waters at the sight of it.
Of him actually.
At the way his hand wraps tight around the base like heâs barely holding himself back.
He strokes once, slow and deliberate, watching the way you clench around absolutely nothing and cry out. All high and wrecked and already too close to the edge again.
Itâs humiliating how little it takes, how just seeing him undo himself make your thighs fall open like a reflex, like muscle memory. Lizard brain.
âFuck.â Namjoon breathes. âYouâre still shaking.â
âYes! I know.â You whisper, hips titling up, offering everything, desperate and unashamed. âPlease, baby, please. I need you.â
Your single brain-cell had just one thought left and it was âfuck namjoonâ. In all senses of the word.
And maybe he hears it, because he doesn't make you wait anymore.
One hand slides behind your knee, and he drags you to the end of the bed, hitching it high around his waist as he sinks into you slow, and deep, the stretch borderline sinful. He groans low in his throat, a rugged thing, like even he canât believe how wet and tight the pills got you.
Your mouth falls open, no sound escaping at first. Just the raw stretch, the fullness of it, the dizzy pressure as he bottoms out in one long, shuddering thrust. The burn is instant, bright and devastating, but you chase it, legs locking tighter around him, hips lifting off the bed, like heâs the only anchor left on earth.
âShit,â Namjoon groans, low and stunned. âYouâreâgod, youâre gripping me.â
âI canât.â You pant, nails digging into the sheets, âJoon, I canâtâIâm gonnaââ
âYou can,â He laughs, pressing into you, grabbing the arch of your spine to keep you from falling, the weight of him glorious and crushing and perfect. âIâve got you. Iâll fix you. Just hold on.â
And then he moves, drags out of you with aching slowness, just enough to make you feel every ridge, every vein, every impossibly thick inchâbefore slamming back in. The slap of skin on skin echoing sharp in the room. The bed jerks. You do too.
âJesus, baby,â he grits. âYouâreâfuckâyouâre so tight.â And he pauses just as fast. âFuck. Look at that.â He mutters it like heâs half-cursing, half-worshiping, his palm pressing flat against your lower belly.
âRight there,â he whispers, voice tight with awe as he rocks his hips forward just enough to feel the weight of him push back against his own hand in this position. âYou feel me? Right there, babyâso fucking deep.â
You whimper, nodding frantically, hips twitching beneath him. You feel impossibly full, stretched and trembling, every inch of your body slick with sweat and burning with a passion. âDonât do that now!â You gasp, trying to push him away. âGodâJoon, I feel you everywhere.â
He gives you a dopey grin, all dimples and dark intent, like heâs proud of himself for figuring it out. Then he moves, just slightly. A lazy roll of his hips, enough to make you jolt, breath catching as heat coils tight and sharp at the base of your spine.
You whimper, all nerves and no shame, because heâs right. Youâre too wound up to make sense of anything anymore. All you know is the ache, the pressure, the stretch of him inside you.
Your nails dig into the mattress as he fucks you open, slow and hard, his hips grinding at the end of each thrust to press just right against every oversensitive spot inside you.
You canât even speak anymoreâonly moan, only hold on. You even lost the ability to hold yourself up properly. Itâs all him. He keeps you there, hitched up with strong veiny arm under your ribs and ridiculous forearms and muscle groups you don't remember the name of.
You're not even sure what part of you is trembling anymore. Just that he hasnât stopped and you never want him to. Not when it feels like this. Not when he sounds like thatâall low and breathless, half whispering praises and swearwords above you like heâs that close to getting overwhelmed too.
âEvery time I move,â he pants, âI feel you pullingâfuckâitâs like your bodyâs trying to keep me inside.â
You cry out at that, broken, overwhelmed, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Fingertips clutching at his forearms, his shoulders, whatever you could reach, nails dragging across skin like youâre trying to anchor yourself to him. And his fucking hand moves again, right there over your belly, driving you absolutely up the walls.
He watches you with heat in his eyes, then leans in, pressing his lips to yoursâsloppy, desperate, as if he needs it just as badly. His voice ragged against your lips, threading between thrusts. âThatâs it. Let go. Iâve got you. Iâve always got you.â
And sweet heaven on earth, his mouth is hot, sweet, and familiar. Exactly what you needed. The very thing that shatters you. The way he tastes like something youâd forgotten you were starving for.
You missed this.
You missed him.
And fuck him for only kissing you now.
He fucks you right through your nth orgasm, hips grinding into yours, a thick ring of cum at the base of his cock as he works you into complete, obliterated bliss. Up until he canât move anymore. Until your body clenches too tight around him. He just groans, caught between holding on and falling apart right there with you.
Youâre no longer able to say words. Just syllables that's merely semblance of his name, strung together like a mantra you canât stop repeating.
And somehow, youâre still begging him for more.
Even though your thighs are dough. Even through your body feels like itâs been torn open and rebuilt around him. Even through every stroke now feels like too much. Too sharp, too good, too deep. You still want it.
Need it.
He pulls back just enough to look at your face. His brow is damp, jaw clenched, eyes wild as he makes sure youâre okay, before going right back at it. âYeah? you want more?â
You nod so fast itâs practically a sob, mouth falling open like a fish out of water as he drags out just enough to make you feel empty, before slamming back in.
He cusses once you tighten around him again, your pleasure a constant build you no longer have the mind to announce now. Whatâs the point when youâre constantly there?
But he feels it. The way you twitch, the way you babble his name and trash against the mattress like youâre trying to hold on and let go at the same time.
And this asshole, this absolute jerk, this mean, mean, mean man you love leads you back to the edge, and then pulls away at the last second, completely ruining your orgasm.
You screamâraw, desperate, tears spilling hot and uncontrolled as your voice cracks into broken sobs. âNoooooââ
But Namjoon smirks, breath ragged, chest damp with sweat, his hands already gripping your hips tight. âCâmon,â he rasps, flipping you with so much ease it makes your head spin. âYou wanted this. You asked for this, remember?â
You're too fucked to react. Too dizzy to register just what heâs doing, or when heâs shifting, dragging you along with him.
Youâre on top now, straddling himâbut youâre trembling, useless, barely able to hold yourself upright. Your thighs are sodden and weak, your arms shaking as you try to brace on his chest, the last thread of control slipping away.
âGo on then,â he says, teasing but tender, watching you through lidded eyes. âRide me.â
You try. You do. But itâs patheticâyour knees buckle, your hips twitch uselessly forward, and you let out this pitiful, breathless sound of defeat before your upperbody decides to go boneless and melt into his.
Namjoon groans. âJesus, woman.â He sits up, pulling you in until your chest presses to his, his hands splayed wide across your back. âYou really are gone, huh?â
âBaby,â you whimper, helpless. âPlease. I canâtââ
He silences you with a tender kiss to the temple, all sweet and softâthen suddenly, without warning, he trusts up into you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs.
You jolt, hands scrambling uselessly at his shoulders as your entire body clenches down around him. âFuck! Namjoon!â
His mouth is at your ear now, hot and panting, voice shredded. âLook at you. Taking all of me like you were made for it.â
You canât do anything but cling, legs barely hooked around his waist as he fucks youâdeep and hard, using the leverage of his arms wrapped tight around your back to keep you in place, chest pressed flush to his.
âJ-Joonââ you sob, no longer even pretending to participate. Youâre just there⊠held up entirely by this man.
âI got you,â he grits, pace stuttering only slightly as you clamp down again. âShitâfuck, I got you.â He moans, before shifting, âJustââ
And then he groans low in his throat and pushes you back. You donât have half the brain to even brace yourself. You just flop. Legs still spread, arms flopping weakly at your sides, a total wreck as he stays inside, braced over you on trembling forearms.
You canât think. You canât move. Youâre justâŠopen. Shaking. Flattened against the sheets and pantingâ barely the shadow of the woman you once were.
Your bodyâs twitching, over stimulated and overwhelmed, but heâs too far gone nowâhis thrusts hard, measured, brutal in how slow they are.
âYou begged for it,â he reminds you, voice dark and tight, his hips grinding in deep until you cry out again. âYou said please and everything, remember?â
You nodâor try toâbut your mindâs gone syrupy and mushy, melting under him.
Tears are collecting at your temples. That lingering ache in your belly still humming, the knot in your absomen barely giving, and youâre just as overheated as you remember.
And truth be told, itâs only his relentless teasing that kept you tethered, stopped you from completely losing it and passing out half-way.
Even if he is impossibly evil for it.
Though, youâre pretty sure youâve disconnected from reality. At least a little bit. Long enough for him to reposition you again.
Before you can process it, your face is buried in the pillows, and his hands are on your hips, lifting your ass up, just soâbut you slide back down.
You hear his laughâlow and breathless, completely undone. âFuck, baby,â he pants, dragging a hand down your back. âStill with me?â
You canât even answer. Donât even bother. Youâre drooling into the pillow, arms sprawled out limply, trembling all over. The only sound you manage is a whimper when he shifts behind youâlining himself up again, one hand steady on your hip, the other gripping the back of your thigh to hitch it higher.
âCanât even hold yourself up anymore,â he mutters, not even teasing nowâjust wrecked, amazed. âYouâre so fucked-out I could do anything I want.â
And he does.
He sinks in again, thick and slow, watching the way your back arches for him, the way your whole body breaks down into shivers. You twitch around him the moment he bottoms out, another ragged cry punching out of your lungs.
âStill so tight,â he groans, thrusting once, then again, and again, each stroke pushing you further into the mattress. âAnd so wet.â He says it like itâs a compliment. âBaby, youâreâshitâyouâre dripping down my thighs.â
You sob into the pillow, thighs trembling as your body gives out completely, splayed and helpless and used. âC-canât,â you gasp. âToo much, Joonââ
Or you think you do, because he never responds, he just grinds in deep, not giving you a second of peace.
âLast one. I promise.â
His hand slides under your belly, palm flat against the tremble of your skinâholding you up, holding you stillâas he fucks into you, deep and mean and unrelenting. His chest is plastered to your back now, breath hot against your neck, lips brushing your ear every time he exhales.
âYou can do that, right?â He challenges, voice hoarse but somehow still fond.
You moveâbarely. Itâs pathetic. Youâre wrecked, ruined, a soaked mess beneath him. But you manage a broken little noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sob.
He chucklesâlow, rough, breathless. âGood girl.â
Your fingers twitch where theyâre splayed against the sheets. Your mouth is open but no sounds come now. Just air. Just heat. Just the slick drag of him inside you, thick and relentless and perfect.
And then his fingers find your clit.
You screamâa raw, cracked sound that rips through your throat like your body doesnât know how else to respond. Youâre already right there, already fluttering and gasping and barely consciousâand still he circles it, slow and cruel, groaning when your walls clamp around him again.
âThatâs it,â he pants, almost shocked at how hard you come. âFuck, baby, youâre squeezing the life out of me.â
You spasm beneath him, legs kicking uselessly, toes curling, nails scraping weakly at the sheets. You donât even feel the tears anymore. You just shatter.
And NamjoonâGod, Namjoonâhe doesnât stop. He presses you down, one hand on your back, the other still working your clit, chasing his own high now as you whimper through the aftershocks.
He groans when he feels you weakly squeeze him, each trust growing more desperate than the other, like heâs finally arrived at the end of his sanity. And you feel everything.
Every pulse, every drag, every wet, filthy sound your bodies make when crashing togetherâhe stutters, slams in deep, and stays there, groaning raggedly into your shoulder as he finally lets go.
Itâs hot. Itâs deep. Itâs endless.
You died and went to heaven.
Heaven is sticky and salty and dripping down the back of your thighs. Heaven is you squeezing the life out of him and milking him dry him. It's the rugged cry that sounds like you stole it straight from his chest.
Itâs the way his arms wrap around you and hold you close to him, like he canât bear the thought of being even an inch away from you.
And when he finally stills, he collapses forward to bury his face in the mess of your hair.
âYou alive?â He mumbles, voice gone.
You think you nod.
Eventually.
Maybe.
Namjoon laughs againâbarely breath, barely sound. Just a puff of warmth against your shoulder as he kisses the curve of it, soft now, reverent.
âYeah,â he whispers. âYouâre alive.â
He doesnât pull out. Doesnât move. Just stays there, draped over your back, one arm tucked underneath you to hold you close, the other smoothing over your side like heâs grounding both of you. His thumb strokes idle patterns into the sweat-slick curve of your hip.
You twitch, and he stills instantly.
âToo much?â
Your body jerks in responseâmaybe a whine, maybe a shiver. Maybe both.
âOkay, okay,â he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your spine. âIâm sorry. Iâve got you.â
He eases out slow, careful, whispering quiet apologies into your skin when you whimper at the stretch. You feel the wet slide of him between your thighs, the obscene mess cooling against your skinâand then the weight of the bed shifting as he finally pulls away.
âIâm gonna clean you up, alright?â He says, already reaching for tissues or a towel or whatever he can find, voice hushed like heâs afraid to scare you off the edge of consciousness.
You groan in response, more of a gurgle, face still mushed into the pillow.
He huffs a soft, fond breath. âYouâre gonna kill me one of these days.â
You donât even have the strength to smirk. But maybe, just maybe, you manage to reach for him blindly with one handâfingers curling in the direction you think he is.
And he catches it immediately.
âGot you,â he says again, like a promise. Like a fact. Like he always will, kissing your knuckles.
When he returns to wipe between your thighs, heâs almost maddeningly gentle. You flinch at firstâoverstimulated, sore, still twitchingâbut he hushes you softly, kisses your temple, and takes his time.
Eventually, after an entire lifetime, you find your voice again. Cracked. Shaky. Thread-thin.
âJoon?â
âMm?â
âI will kill you.â
He snorts. âYeah. Iâll browse for coffins in a bit. Right after I hydrate you and carry your limp ass to the shower.â
You open one eye. Just barely. âYou broke my legs.â
âYou asked me to.â
You try to scowl. Fail. âI was delirious.â
Namjoon just grins, dimples flashing as he leans in to kiss your forehead, sweaty and salt-warm.
âYou were beautiful,â he murmurs, mouth still pressed to your skin. âYou still are.â
And somehowâsomehowâyou manage to smile. Even if youâre still lying there like a starfish. Even if your brainâs mush and your thighs ache and your lungs don't remember how to work.
Namjoon doesnât rush you.
He could. Heâs already done unspeakable things with his mouth, his hands, his cockâbut now, he moves like heâs afraid the whole moment might shatter if he breathes wrong. Like heâs suddenly remembering youâre human. Fragile. Made of muscle and bone and too-soft fucked-out nerve endings.
You feel the warm weight of him between your legs again. One hand cups the back of your thigh, gently easing it to the side to clean you better.
You groan faintly, half-protest, half-exhausted praise. âYouâre⊠thank you.â
Namjoonâs hand stills. Just for a moment.
Then itâs on your hip, firm and grounding, his thumb pressing lightly into your skin like heâs memorizing the shape of you.
He leans in, voice lower now, rougher with something that sounds suspiciously close to adoration. âYouâre welcome, baby.â He lets his breath go shaky through his nose. âYou shouldâve seen yourself.â
âI felt myself.â You mutter, cheek still mushed into the pillow. âI felt you too. Every inch. Repeatedly.â
A breath of laughter stirs your hair.
Then, quietly, âYou scare the shit out of me sometimes.â
You hum. âI scared the shit out of me too this time.â Then you shift, painfully sore, just enough to meet his eyes. âIâm never arguing with you ever again. Youâre right.â
âAbout what?â
âWhatever you like,â you mutter.
He huffs, soft and stunned, his expression somewhere between pride and disbelief (because he knows who heâs dating, afterall).
âOh yeah?â He murmurs, brushing your hair back from your damp cheeks. âThatâs all it took? A few orgasms and a psychological rewrite?â
âSo many orgasms,â you groan. âI think II saw God.â
âPretty sure it was me.â
âShut up.â
You try to glare at him. You really do. But your face is too slack with afterglow and your bodyâs too wrung out to hold any expression. It melts halfway, leaves you grinning against your will, all content and defeated.
Namjoon watches you like heâs trying to soak you in. Memorizing you like thisâpliant and undone but still cracking jokes, still sharp underneath all the softness. His thumb traces the line of your ribs, warm and slow.
âCâmon. Bath time.â
âNo. I donât have legs.â
Namjoon laughsâreally laughs, breath hitching with the kind of post-sex giddiness that only comes when youâre both totally, utterly wrecked. âIâm well aware,â he says, tossing the towel somewhere vaguely behind him. âThat was kind of the point.â
You grumble something unintelligible into the pillow, but heâs already sliding one arm under your knees and the other around your back. And when he lifts youâlimp, boneless, ruinedâyou let out a tiny, pathetic squeak.
âOh my god,â you gasp. âYouâre just rubbing it in now.â
âYou love it,â Namjoon says, smug as hell, voice all syrupy and fond as he cradles you against his chest.
âI hate it,â you whisper, face burrowed into his shoulder like you havenât just been absolutely desecrated.
âSure.â He presses a kiss into your hair. âThatâs not what you were screaming twenty minutes ago.â
And he doesn't stop smiling, not even when your head lolls against his shoulder and you pretend to bite him. You don't have the energy to commit to it though, not really. He laughs anyway, smug and a little breathless.
You feel it in his chest, under your cheek. The way it rumbles. Warm and content.
You grumble something that might be fuck off, but itâs lost in the thick haze of goat weed and whatever catastrophic chemical cocktail heâs left wrecking your bloodstream.
He carries you with irritating ease, like you donât weigh a thing. Like he didnât just demolish you in every position except missionary, and maybe even invented a few new ones in the process.
Namjoon pushes open the bathroom door with his foot, flicks the light on with his elbow, and sets you down on the counter like some fragile, sacred thing. His eyes scan your face, still glazed and heavy-lidded, and then flick to your chestârising a little steadier now. You can tell he's checking. Again. Like heâs memorizing your pulse just in case you decide to have a random cardiac arrest.
âIâm fine,â you mutter, but your voice is still slurred and cotton-soft. âYou broke my back, not my heart.â
He gives you a look. Stern. Fond. âYou sure?â
You nod, and then wince, because apparently nodding also uses a muscle group he absolutely obliterated earlier.
He swears under his breathâaffectionate, worriedâbut still laughs at your pain. Because you deserve it. Because he knows you know you deserve it.
He gently cradles the back of your head with one hand, steadying you like you might just tip over from a particularly sharp exhale. âYou're a menace,â he murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead, slow and deliberate. âA very sexy, very broken minx.â
You hum, eyes fluttering shut. âYouâre the one who overdid it. I was just a passenger on this ride.â
Namjoon scoffs. âYou brought us here.â
âUnder the influence,â you mumble.
He huffs a laugh through his nose and turns on the faucet, letting the tub fill while adjusting the water temperature with the practiced ease of someone whoâs done this for you before. His bare back moves with every reach, broad and golden under the soft bathroom lights, and you take a moment to shamelessly ogle him through your post-orgasm haze.
âI can feel you looking at me.â
âYouâre pretty,â you say, unapologetic, cheek pressed against the mirror. âI missed you.â
Namjoon glances at you over his shoulder, hair tousled and lips still pink from everything heâs done to you. He narrows his eyes playfully. âYouâre not allowed to be horny again.â
âIâm not,â you lie, blatantly. âIâm just admiring my choices.â
âWhich ones? Overdosing on aphrodisiacs?â
You hum. âNo. The one where I decided youâre taking them tomorrow. Youâre a big boyâyou can handle it without the risk of heart failure.â
He laughs and shakes his head as he walks back to you. âDonât say shit like that unless you want roundâŠwhatever the fuck weâre on.â
Your lips tilt up. Your body is beyond wrecked, but your mushy brain? Already plotting the comeback as he steps between your knees again, hands settling on your thighs like heâs already forgotten about the bath.
âIâm just saying,â you murmur, feigning innocence âI need to bring some balance back in this relationship.â
âAre you saying you want to ruin me, baby?â he murmurs, dragging his palms up, thumbs tracing the bruises blooming on your hips.
You grin, teeth flashing. âNo, Iâm saying I will.â
"exercise will give you more energy" gets said a lot as a common piece of health advice but I think it needs to be expanded into "exercising will make you tired while you do it, and you will continue to be tired immediately afterwards, sometimes even the next day too, but over months of consistent exercise, your muscles will get stronger and therefore get less tired out by everyday activities, making you feel like day-to-day life takes less physical energy than it used to"
nothing, and i mean NOTHING, compares to joining a new fandom and reading through all the ____ x reader tags. itâs akin to opening gifts on christmas or recieving a package in the mail. actually, scratch that; itâs th equivalent of ascending to the heavens
Summary: Sometimes shadows tend to dance too close to the light and get found, especially when they are from the past. This is the case of Y/n Belvie, one of the marked ones and the new Cadet arriving along Sloane and Aaric in Violetâs second year. From what is known, this girl is Imogenâs foster sister, deadly, elegant, and beautiful. Word says she used to dance for the Royal Ballet Comitee, so why did her name cause so much tension when her name was brought up in a conversation with Xaden? Why did his eyes flash in hurt, longing, and regret?
Authorâs note: This one is one of the shorter ones , mainly cause itâs one of the last ones I wrote of the bunch and I wanted something short and nice. It will only have 10 chapters. <3
Synopsis: Waking up in the middle of the night to you missing, Xaden finds more home than he could imagine in his own kitchen.
Tags: Fluff, domestic life, Xaden X Reader, Tyrrendor Week Day 2/3
WC: 2.5K
Thank you so much @empyreanevents for putting this week together :)
Waking up to echoes of clanging from deep in the Riorson house was not new for Xaden. Patrols happened at all hours, and the middle of the night was no exception. Despite the initial annoyance of a disturbed sleep, the noises were almost comforting, a reminder that he wasnât alone in the huge house, an announcement that everyone had made it back from their flights safely.
Reaching over to pull you closer to him and finding your side of the bed empty and cold, however, was anything but. He shot up out of bed, eyes immediately adjusting to the dark and his need to scan the entire area. Your side of the bed had the covers laid down flat, no sign of a struggle out of them, which allowed a little bit of oxygen back into his lungs. Your flight jacket remained as it always did when not in use, hung up on a hook you installed while he was gone one day, a permanent addition of you into his house that, on a normal night not taken over by panic, would bring a smile to his face. Still analyzing, he found your boots lined up neatly next to where he had kicked his off after hours of meetings that day, worn down soles knocking into your smaller ones next to the door he was now up and moving toward.Â
As his hand hit the handle, his gaze met the desk you had been occupying for hours at a time recently, also empty. Not just of you, but of all of the books that had been making themselves home on the surface all week and his own flight jacket that he had tossed onto the back of the chair.Â
He opens the door, his shadows darting out and through the house before he does. They spread out, checking every possible area as Xaden looked for anything out of the ordinary. The top floor was pitch black, and each of the rooms were silent. He crept towards the stairs, eyes sweeping for any movement his shadows werenât catching, and then he heard it.Â
A yelp sounded from the kitchen, one that he could know from miles away to be yours, followed by an avalanche of clattering.
His own footsteps joined the horrific orchestra as he thundered down the steps to reach you. His heart beat louder with each one, roar in his ears from the panic drowning out any other sounds as he approached. He slid around the corner into the arch of the room, grabbing the stone wall to stop him before fully entering at what he saw.Â
It was a warzone in there, but, thankfully, not the kind on the borders that he had anticipated with the panic in your previous yelp. All of the counters were covered in something, not a single ounce of space unoccupied.Â
On the island, piles of flour surrounded different consistencies of dough in varying sizes and colors. A lumpy tan one was neighbors with a wheat like powder and a concerningly dry rock of mixture. Further down, the dough sections became smoother, but their colors began to vary, some more yellow and othersâŠgreen? He noticed flecks in some and while others wore the color throughout the entire mound, all united in how they were rolled into palm shaped spheres.
Inside the fire pit alcove in the wall had a large stone pot. He could hear sizzling from inside, hinting at more solid contents than the typical liquid the pot suggested. Flames danced up the side of the high gray walls and smoke hugged the space around it, yet not escaping the inside of the space, causing his head to tilt to the side and eyebrows to furrow in confusion at how.Â
Looking at the pot closer, he could see looped etchings in the stone. Swirls of interlaced divots ran diagonally across it in connected, scratched knots. They were jagged and shallow at best, obviously etched by a novice, but still clear in their natureâold Tyrrish cooking runes he hadnât seen since childhood. His eyes widened in surprise, looking above to see their inked form on paper taped above the alcove, edges jagged and ripped from the journal he had seen you hurriedly writing in all week. Beside them were more pages plastered to the next, all with the light penciling of your handwriting but too far to make out the words.
On the counter next to this lay more bowls than he knew the Riorson house even held, all filled with differing vegetables cut in different ways. Sweet potatoes were cut into discs in a clay pot adorning damp fingerprints against the red siding in the same spacings of your hands. In shallower bowls were a variety of different green herbs that he had seen with the dough, some fully powdered in black stone dishes and some with its individual leaves separated from thin stems in wooden saucers. Next to them, all uncut except for the darkest of the bunch, was probably every pepper ever grown on The Continent, he thought.
Beneath them, on the floor, is where Xaden finally found you. His flight jacket swallowed your form, its black leather covered in a light dusting of white on the sleeves. Your hair had been hastily managed, pushed back from your face but with pieces frizzing in every direction in the back. Sweat stuck the edges to the sides of your face and matted slightly with chunks of the green dough. One of your hands, dripping with water, was pressed up against a closed eye while the other was picking small round seeds off from where they had been stuck on your cheek.Â
He kneels down on the floor next to you, dusting more flour off your forehead and smiling as your uncovered eye flickered over to him in surprise
âWhy arenât you asleep?â You ask, removing your hand from your eye and blinking a few times. It was red and irritated, but you could thankfully see fine now.Â
âHeard some noise down here and you werenât in bed. Had to make sure you were alright,â He brushed more hair from your face, getting a better look at you, âWhy are you in the kitchen floor?â
You look away sheepishly, picking up the end of a pepper and a discarded knife that had clattered to the floor as you had. âI got pepper in my eye.â
He took the knife from your hands and stood to set it on the counter, pushed back out of reach. Taking your hand in his, he gently pulls you from the floor and rubs his hand down the side of your arm.Â
âWhy are you even anywhere near peppers right now? What are you doing down here?â
You drop your head in defeat, playing with your own fingers nervously. âIt was supposed to be a surprise, but looks like I couldnât get that right either.â
He takes your hands in his, stopping your fidgeting and getting you to look up at him. Slight concern covered his features, furrowing his brows and tightening his lips into a small frown.Â
âWhatâre you talking about, love?â
You sigh, stepping back but keeping your hands in his to lead him around the kitchen as you talk. You start at the stove, gesturing to the pages.Â
âYou kept saying how it felt weird to be back here with things so different, so I wanted to try to do something that made it feel like it did back then.â
Finally close enough to see, he read all of the notes on the papers.
Each one held Tyrrish written in your own handwriting with rough translations underneath, copied from a recipe and then attempted to be put in words you understood. There were question marks taking up more spaces than words, whole words crossed out and rewritten on top of. Beside a few, he noticed familiar names, including his own.
âNone of the recipes I found said what kind of pepper it was, just that there were peppers in it. And Iâm not even sure if that is even trueâ
Looking down at the variety on the counter, he glanced back at the recipes above him.Â
Imogen said spice here meant like seasoning, but down here it means like heat? Like peppers? She didnât know what kind. Canât believe I took her patrol shift for this.Â
Stepping toward the dough, you look at the different pieces in disgust, picking the most promising candidate up in your free hand and holding it to Xaden like a science specimen.Â
âDoes this even look right? I remember you saying it was an herb dough, and I figured out that part, but nothing explains how the herb was in the dough.â
Confirmed with Bodhi and a few other readings that the herb is definitely basil, but he still didnât know what âin the doughâ meant? Is it like sprinkled on top? Chopped up in it? Or is it like, mainly herb and no flour? That canât possibly be right. What about old recipes make them the perfect candidate for gatekeeping.Â
Approaching the pot is when you sigh the loudest, breath making the smoke inside the alcove sway as it billows up.Â
âAnd I ruined this pot with runes that only work half right. Iâm sorry.â
He pulls you to him tightly, wrapping his arms fully around you and pressing your head into his chest as he reads the final note, heart warming up more than the fire in front of him.Â
Xaden said the meat was his favorite part when he mentioned the dish in the dining hall last fall. Lamb for sure, and definitely smoked based off of all of the other customary preparations in everything else Iâve read. Thereâs no smokers around anywhere, but something about a rune? To add the smokey flavor? Guess Iâll have to man up and ask Cat to teach me the rune. FML, but itâs his favorite part and heâs my favorite, so Regina George it is
âItâs perfect,â he whispers softly into your hair.Â
You pull back slightly to look up at him, scoffing slightly. âDonât humor me. I didnât even get halfway through the dish. There is no dish to be perfect. I couldnât figure out what even goes in it, let alone how toââ
He dips down and slams his mouth on yours, shutting you up. He presses at the base of your back, melding you to him as he does, and cradling the back of your head softly despite the intensity of the kiss. You grab the sides of his waist for balance as he leans you back, deepening it before pulling back, smile evident in every part of his face.Â
âItâs perfect,â He steals another kiss, brushing hair behind your ear and rubbing his thumb against your cheek. âYouâre perfect.â
Your face heats up, blushing as you shove him playfully. He grabs your hand as you do, tugging you back to the island.Â
âIt means folded in.â
âWhat?â
He turns and grabs the bowl of basil leaves that have been chopped and a chunk of dough from the original mixture. Clearing an area from the cluttered space, he sets the two down and stands behind you.Â
âThe basil is folded into the dough.â
He grabs your arms from behind, leaning his chest in to your back and resting his chin on your shoulder as he guides your hand to the dough. He flattens it out into a rectangle, sprinkling the basil onto the layer before folding it into stacking layers. His voice rumbles through you as he speaks, soft tone making its home in your ears.
âThe balling comes right before it's cooked.â He turns you to look at the spheres you had scattered all down the line.Â
âTyrrish recipes, especially ones originating in Aretia, explain preparation ingredient by ingredient instead of chronologically to help prevent waste of leftover parts,â He explains, one hand drifting from your arm to wrap around you and squeeze lightly as he presses a reassuring kiss to your temple. âThatâs why you were having so much trouble figuring out what goes where. Recipes were more of a shopping list, in a way, while the making part was more of an oral process.â
Rotating in his grip again, you see him smiling faintly at the mess of a kitchen. His eyes were calm, nostalgic as they scanned the familiar bowls and ingredients interwoven with all things you. Your slippers were discarded next to the wooden trim of the kitchen where he had traced his fingers against the grooves impatiently waiting for dinner growing up. Next to the knives was your favorite pencil, one you had made him grab for you many times from the bottom of the bag that sat in his favorite stool by the breakfast nook.
And then you. In his arms, in his kitchen, smiling at him in a place where many had yelled. Filling a space that was frequently empty in later years, fending for himself as adults were busier and busier with plans and consequences. Here you were, decoding languages you didnât understand and going out of your way to try everything to make a dish he mentioned once just to make him happy. Just for him.Â
You press your lips to his, breaking him out of his thoughts.Â
âWell then whatâs the rest of the process? Tell me more, Chef.â
Xaden leads you around the kitchen as he explains each step of the dish, not breaking contact with you the whole time. Arm around your waist as he explains how you figure out which pepper to use when, hands jokingly covering your eyes as he cuts them, legs slotted between yours when he sits you down on the stool next to the alcove as you wait for the dish to finish cooking.Â
He takes one out, blowing on it to cool before offering it to you. You take it from him, pulling it apart to observe the inside. You smile excitedly when you see the dough has cooked perfectly, holding the meat, peppers, and sweet potatoes roasted nicely inside.Â
âIt looks delicious,â You turn it out to face him, âDoes it look right? Like you remember?â
He stares. His flight jacket has slid down your shoulder to expose one of his thread worn shirts you love to wear to sleep beneath it. Your eyes shine up at him, twinkling with the wave of the fire next to you. Your legs cage one of his to keep him close, and you hold the food, one he has been wanting again for years, out for him to have a bite first, always putting him first.Â
âYeah,â he says, looking right into your eyes.Â
You know that your boyfriend Clark is Superman but he doesnât know that you know, naturally you pretend to have a crush on everyone in the justice gang to annoy him into confessing. Based on this.
âThe way I see it when youâre in a relationship you can browse the menu as long as you donât orderâ you hand him a coffee. âLike yes youâre my boyfriend but that doesnât mean I go blind and suddenly stop finding Tom Hardy attractive.â
Clark pouts âso thatâs why you wanted to watch that movie with me?â
âGuilty as chargedâ you shrug âbut you have no room to talk, what about Natalie Portman?â
âWhat about her?â
âYou switch the channel whenever the commercials come on, unless itâs that Miss Dior ad.â
He flushes, perfectly falling into your trap. âAnyway even if I could switch off my attraction to celebrities I couldnât possibly stop having a little crush on a certain superhero. I mean gosh, who doesnât?â
He looked pleased then, ears perking up âwell I guess I canât blame you for that oneâ he says puffing up his chest subtly âeven I can admit Superman is pretty darn attractive.â
âSuperman?â You ask with perfectly acted innocent confusion âoh no heâs not my typeâŠlittle bit dorky donât you think? I mean underwear over the trousers? Câmonâ
âWell I think it looks cool.â
âEh. If thatâs what youâre into I guessâŠno I was talking about Mr Terrific I mean gosh heâs just soâŠTerrific isnât he?â
âMrâŠMr Terrific? You have a crush on Mr Terrific?â
âYepâ you popped the p âI mean heâs soooo smart and tall isnât he? A real dreamboat.â
Clark sulked for the rest of the night and you mentally gave yourself a point.
_______
âDid you see superman found that little girls missing cat?â Clark asked suddenly. Real subtle you thought, considering that your boyfriend knew of your love of cats.
âMmm pretty sweet of him.â
âMakes him rank above Mr Terrific donât ya think?â He asks.
You laugh âare you still hung up on that? I think Iâve gotten over my Mr Terrific obsession now. A new super powered guy has captured my heart.â
He sighs with relief âwell Superman has a knack for that doesnât he-â
âSuperman? I meant Guy Gardner, heâs just so dreamy donât ya think?â
Clark squishes the can in his hand so hard a spurt of soda bursts out âGuy Gardner?â He repeats his voice squeaking a little âgreen lantern dude with a bowl cut?â
âYeah thatâs himâ you pretend to sigh dreamily âI mean on anyone else that haircut would be horrible but he pulls it off you know?â
âIâŠI heard heâs really arrogant!â
âYeah, kinda hot not going to lie. That dude can Green my lanterns any day if you know what I mean.â
âGet therapyâ Clark mutters huffily and you laugh and peck his cheek âyouâre still my number one.â
~~~~~~
âIve been having a bit of a crisisâ you sigh.
âOh?â Clark instantly comes to sit beside you squeezing your hand gently âbaby what is it?â
âYou promise you wonât look at me differently?â
âNever, you know that, you can trust me.â
âWell I think I might be bisexual.â
He blinks âreally? Well thatâs great honey. Itâs nice to see you exploring and accepting parts of yourself. Howâd that come about?â
âItâs just Hawkgirlâ you sigh âsheâs just soâŠI mean youâve seen her Clark isnât she hot as hell?â
Clark pauses and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing right then and there. God he was just so easyâŠone more push and you think heâd reveal his secret to you right then and there.
âHawkgirl?â He asks voice low and deadpan âthe woman who flies around screeching? She triggered your bisexual awakening?â
You nod sagely âyes I think I must be into assertive women or something.â
He pinches the bridge of his nose âand superman?â
âWhat about him?â
âWell youâve worked your way through the justice gangâŠheâs like an honorary member of themâŠdo you think youâll start to like him next?â
You pretend to think about it ânahhhh, heâs just not my type really.â
âWhy not?â
You shrug knowing that not giving him a specific answer will drive him even more crazy. âI dunno, heâs just not for me I guess.â
Clarkâs eye twitches. âYou know baby maybe you should interrogate why youâre so obsessed with me having a crush on superman. Look inwards like I did, maybe youâll discover something about yourself, maybe youâre in love with him.â
The look on Clarkâs face had you laughing so hard internally it caused a coughing fit. One day, you thought, heâll admit it one day soon.
Contains: explicit sexual content, unprotected p in v (but Azriel is on contraceptive tonic because yes males can take it too), flour (nothing weird donât worry), light shadowplay, choking, light size kink, fingering, finger sucking, creampie, light cumplay
a/n: I havenât written anything since last September so Iâm sorry if this is shoddy đđ I literally only have 2 sentence structures đ plz dont laugh at me
Soft hues of golden light washed over Velaris in the early morning, the reflections sparkling off the Sidra. The city was still waking up, and Azrielâs boots hit the stones of the road as he walked to his destination: The same bakery he came to as often as he could, ever since he found out that the owner was his lovely mate. You didnât know that yetâyet it mattered little to him. You expressed your interest for him, too, which was the most he could ask for.Â
The gentlest glow shone through the wide windows of the bakery, as if it was a beacon guiding Azrielâs footsteps. He pushed the wood framed-door open despite the handwritten CLOSED sign sitting between the glass panels. You had yet to start baking for the day, and hence he was met with only the tinkling chime of the bell by the door and not the scent of freshly baked bread. Which he didnât mindâit meant more time alone with you before you opened the shop.Â
You were preparing the bakery, making sure the tables were set and chairs straight before you started baking the first batch of pastries for the day. As soon as you felt Azrielâs presence, your features lit up, and your beam only widened when you saw him. âHi!â His shadows immediately rushed over to you affectionately and brushed up against your arms.Â
âGood morning,â he greeted in that smooth timbre of his, his fingers gliding over your hip as you walked past him with his shadows nipping at the heels of your satin slippers. Azriel followed behind you as you walked into the back of the bakery where you baked your produce.Â
His subtle smirk widened when you tied your apron over your simple pastel-colored gown. Soon enough, your equipment and ingredients were laid out on the wooden countertop, your hair twisted up into a loose bun that let Azriel admire the curve of your neck highlighted in the warm light. Really, he just admired everything about you. His beautiful mate.Â
âAre you aware,â murmured Azriel, âhow lovely you look today?âÂ
âYou always tell me that.â Leaning over the baking station, you reached for a handful of flour to dust the countertop. It didnât matter that you hadnât prepared the dough yetâyou loved setting up your workspace this way. The flour particles settled onto the clean table, and you dusted your hands over the floor before getting to work.Â
Or, tried to, at least. The male behind you seemed to have other plans, his warm palms finding your hips over the soft material of your dress. âThatâs because you look lovely everyday.â
âYouâre going to have to do better than that,â you teased, whirling out of his grasp to search for the measuring cups you had forgotten to take out.Â
âBetter than that?â His eyes stayed trained on you as you stretched to reach the cabinet and as you came back. Like magnets, his hands returned to your hips. He delighted in touching you, you delighted in his touch. âI missed you. Missed your smile, missed the way you look at me.âÂ
You were pulled away from the table as his arms wrapped fully around you, pulling you back into him and resting his cheek against the back of your head. Flared, his wings cast a shadow over your table that only served to bring your attention to the erection that was pressed against your lower back. The familiar scent of clean leathers and cedarwood infected your olfactory senses, and you quickly found yourself leaning into Azrielâs embrace.
âOkay,â you said, attempting to unlatch his strong, veiny arms from around your body. âI have things to do.â Trying to sound stern, your little grin betrayed you.Â
He hummed and loosened his grip but refused to fully release you. You always fit so perfectly in his arms, so why would he ever want to let go when you felt like the missing piece of him?Â
Reaching for the sugar, you grumbled, âThis is why I hate when you come so early in the morning.âÂ
âHoney, Iâm only trying to help.â
âHelp distract me.â
âItâs still helping, is it not?â
You shot him a glare over your shoulder, to which he planted a quick kiss to the corner of the scowl on your lips. Your heart stuttered in time with your surprised blinks that had Azriel chuckling. âYouâre so easy to fluster.âÂ
âShut it.â Returning to the sugar and the measuring cups, you tried to keep your hands steady even as Azriel dragged his up to your waist, down to your hips, up againâŠcombined with the sleepy swirls of shadows curling by your ankles, it was making you dizzy.Â
He did shut up, but only to attach his lips to the side of your neck and sink his teeth into the spot. The slow burn of need began to build inside of you when he leisurely dragged his tongue across the skin to soothe the bite. Something flipped in your lower stomach but you suppressed the feeling, pouring the first cup of sugar into the large mixing bowl.Â
âDonât ignore me,â Azriel complained, his hand sliding from your hip to your thigh to give it a squeeze over your dress.Â
Sugar spilled from the container when you tried to pour it into the cup again. âYouâre being distracting.âÂ
âBut sweetheart, I havenât even started yet.âÂ
His fingers curled around the material of your skirt, clutching it in his fist so that your dress was just above your knees where his shadows had inched up to. You could feel his warm breath on your neck, raising goosebumps on your skin and causing you to clench your thighsâan action Azriel immediately picked up on, his eyes lighting up deviously.Â
âAzriel, stop, Iâm busy.â You added the second cup of sugar into the bowl, about to go for a third when Azrielâs knuckles skimmed the underside of your breast and made your breath catch in your throat.Â
âStop? Do you really want me to stop? Because I can smell your arousal, honey, andâŠâ His fingers tightened on your skirts as he inhaled slowly. âGodsdamn. You fucking want me, donât you?âÂ
âNotâŠnow,â you said, but lowered the measuring cup in defeat anyway.Â
You could feel Azrielâs low hum reverberate in his chest, his hips pinning yours to the counter.Â
âNot now?â he repeated, lazily grinding himself against your ass. Gasping, your arm jerked out and sent the bowl of sugar careening to the floor until the white crystals were scattered on the tiles.Â
Flour stuck to your forearms as you leaned them on the tabletop. âAzâŠâ
âMm, you were saying?â Azriel kicked your legs further apart, fisting more of your dress in his hand while the other held your hip. âStill want me to stop, honey?âÂ
You shook your head resignedly, sticking your ass out for him when he stopped his movements.Â
âWhere are your words?âÂ
âFuck me, Azriel.â The words came out breathless, needy. But it was only fair that they did when your clit was begging for any sort of friction. A sigh fell from your parted lips when his shadows slipped up your skirt and rubbed soothingly against the material of your panties.Â
At Azrielâs frown, the rebellious shadows reluctantly slid away to dance around your thighs. Satisfied with your discontent whine, he leaned over you so that his warm chest was to your back. His hand traced its way up from your hip to your ribcage to your breast, palming at it and earning a shaky exhale from you.Â
With his lips by the shell of your ear, he asked, âAre you comfortable with this?â
Comfortable with this? You wanted to scream, but instead opted for nodding. âYes, pleaseâŠâ
âHavenât even done anything and youâre already not thinking straight,â Azriel teased, kissing the side of your head. âPretty girl, what am I supposed to do with you?â
Desire stirred warm under your skin at the deep, sultry tone of his voice. Azrielâs shadows tugged your sleeves and bralette straps so that they fell off your shoulders for Azriel to pepper kisses on. You could feel every inch of your skin, from Azrielâs firm lips on your shoulders to the phantom touch of his shadows along your arms and legs, and the fact that you were wearing too many clothes.Â
âAzrielââÂ
âDonât worry, honey. Iâll make you feel good.âÂ
Then he was pulling back, hitching the skirt of your dress up to your waist to reveal the dainty pointelle fabric hugging your hips and the curve of your bum. The shadows were quick to rush up to your hips, feeling you for themselves. Meanwhile, Azrielâs hand slid between your thighs, his smirk widening when he felt the damp material of your panties and when you rocked your hips back onto his hand.Â
âYouâre so needy, sweetheart, arenât you? Youâre fucking soaked. You want my cock inside of your pretty pussy?â
Your forehead dropped to rest on your arms and you bit down on your lip. âYes, please.âÂ
His scarred fingertips traced up to your clit, pressing snugly to make your body surge in response and draw another whine from your lips. The front of your skirt fell back down as he released it in favor of grabbing your throat with that hand, pulling you upright so that he could kiss his way from your cheekbone to your lips.Â
His mouth clashed messily with yours, lips warm and greedy to match the need burning in the both of you. His fingers never stopped their motions against your clothed cunt, feeling as more wetness seeped into your panties. It was hard to keep up with his devouring kisses when your mind was going fuzzy and the only thing you could think about was how badly you needed to feel his cock inside of you.Â
âTell me what you need.â The words were murmured into the side of your mouth, his grip around your throat still tight.Â
Even in your state, you forced out a string of words. âIâ donât know, need you, Azriel.â
âNeed me where?â He smirked. He was so tempted to just shove your panties aside to feel how wet you were on his fingers, but was willing to wait for the sake of teasing you.Â
âAnywhere. Everywhere.âÂ
âHoney,â Azriel pressed his lips to your exposed shoulder, âyouâre going to have to be a little bit more specific than that.âÂ
âInside me.â Your slippers squeaked against the floor as you tried to shift to better grind yourself down on his hand.Â
âInside where? Your mouth? And what do you want inside you? My fingers?â he continued to taunt.Â
You shook your head, dizzy with desire. âNo, you knowâŠâÂ
âMy sweet darling girl, youâre going to have to use your words if you want something from me.âÂ
âPlease, I want youâ your cock, in my pussy.â Youâd tapered off into a whisper, but Azriel was satisfied.Â
âYou do? You want me to fuck you, hm?â He released your neck and you leant forward on your elbows. At your frantic nod, Azrielâs shadows began to drag your panties down. Each second it took felt like eternity, but was worth it once his fingers ran through your folds.Â
âAzrielâŠâ
Azriel himself was trying his damndest not to lose control and scare you offâhe couldnât afford to do that now that he quite literally had his hands on his wonderful mate.Â
Your hands clenched into fists as Azriel pushed two fingers into you, which slid in easily with how wet you were. It was deliciously snug, slightly stinging, and you craved for more. But Azriel took his time, drawing his fingers out before filling you again, making your hips rise desperately to meet his hand.
He smacked your clit with his fingers lightly, causing you to flinch. âAh-ah. Patience, honey.â
âAzriel, please.âÂ
Once again you could feel the blissful press of his long fingers against your inner walls, lips pressing into a thin line of annoyance because he wasnât doing this to pleasure you, and you knew that. Instead he was prepping youâwhich could only make you wonderâŠ
Your overheated skin was soothed by cool whispers of shadows that kissed your bare shoulders. Then you felt Azriel lean down, one of his arms resting on the floury countertop while the other continued pumping in and out of you, as he asked, âDo you want my cock inside you? Want me to fill you up, sweetheart?â
âYes, yes please, Azriel, please give it to me.âÂ
âSo sweet.â He planted a kiss on your temple and straightened. When he pulled away from you, you whined, head falling to rest on your arms.Â
Azriel undid the laces of his trousers, wrapping his hand slicked in your wetness around his aching shaft. Your hips pushed back, letting out a needy whine. His shadows wouldâve complied if Azriel didnât swat them away, favoring sliding the head of his cock against your leaking cunt instead.Â
âPleaseâŠâÂ
âYeah?â He taunted, pushing the tip just past your folds. âYou want me to fuck you, pretty girl?âÂ
âYes, please,â you nodded, glancing at him over your shoulder.Â
Azrielâs lips quirked up into a little smirk. âMmâŠhoney, I donât know if you can take it. I donât want to wreck you completely yet.âÂ
âI can take it, I can take it, please give it to me.â Leaning your hips back, you pushed him just a little deeper into you, making you bite down on your lip at the subtle stretch.Â
Azrielâs grin widened as you attempted to take what you needed, his hand still tangled in your skirts to hold it by your hip. As much as he wanted to bend you over the counter and have his way with you, he wanted to prolong itâand couldnât deny that this was fun. So he let you rock your hips against him, but never fully let himself enter you.Â
âAzriel, please fuck me,â you whined, his shadows dancing over your skin making your lashes flutter.Â
âOnly because you asked so nicely.âÂ
In one swift motion, you were impossibly full, fingernails pressing into the flesh of your palms and features pinched as you bit out his name.Â
âWhat?â He revelled in the way his hips were pressed flush against your ass. âYou did ask. Unless you donât want that anymore?âÂ
âNo- yes, I meanââ you stuttered out, having to remind yourself to breathe.Â
âWhatâs that?â Azriel drew himself back excruciatingly slowly, causing you to whine at the emptinessâonly for it to melt into a moan as he slid back in just as unhurriedly.Â
You bit down on your lip, leaning forward on the counter. âFaster.â
âFaster, honey? What happened to you being busy?â he mocked, hips still keeping that languid pace, in, and out, in, and outâŠmaking sure you felt all of him as he pressed into you. It created a delicious friction, but not what you were looking for.Â
âBusy with you now,â came your retort that pinched into a gasp when his hand reached over to find your aching clit.Â
âWell, thatâs not such a bad thing to be busy with.âÂ
Your arms were on the countertop, fingers splayed out to steady yourself with each thrust you were given. Azrielâs hand readjusted your skirts and hitched it higher over your hip, pressing you harder against the counter. His shadows swirled over your aching breasts and tight nipples, enjoying the feel of you just as much as Azriel was.Â
You raised your head to support yourself on your elbows and arch your back as you pleaded breathlessly, âMore, give me more.â
âMm? What do I get if I give you more, pretty girl?âÂ
âJustâ pleaseâŠâÂ
Azriel hummed in thought before leaning down so his chest was nearly pressed to your back, fisting your skirt more messily as the other hand wrapped around your throat. Like this, he was flush against you, deep inside you. Warmth and strong arms wrapped around you, sealed with a kiss to the side of your head.Â
âThis alright?â asked Azriel as he ground his hips into yours. At your nod and airy agreement, he picked up the pace, drilling himself into you firmly, making sure you felt all of him. Gradually, you could feel your hair unravel from its bun, sliding down to curtain your bare neck and shoulders. Eager shadows toyed with your hair, twirling and pushing it back.Â
You wouldâve collapsed against the tabletop if not for Azriel holding you up, his hips pinning your own to the counter with each thrust until you were basically tiptoeing, heels not touching the floor and slippers so close to sliding off.Â
His breaths were hot by your ear, soft grunts of âthatâs itâ and âyou can take itâ making you clench even tighter around him. From your throat, his large hand trailed down, grabbing a handful of your breast and squeezing.
Your hands searched for purchase on the counter as he pounded into you, instead sweeping over the surface and knocking down corked bottles and the open bag of flour. You gasped as it clouded, but Azriel only chuckled. âMessy girl.â
âDidnât mean to,â you managed to get out between each press of his hips.Â
âLemme see you,â he murmured, turning you around, grabbing you by the hips, and hoisting you up onto the counter. With a soft huff, your hands landed behind you to hold yourself up, one of them landing in the pile of flour. One of his hands landed on your inner thigh, spreading your legs again, while the other guided himself to your entrance again. âReady?â His shadows swirled lightly around your hips and shoulders, feeling your skin for themselves.
âYeah.â You barely had time to register how handsome he looked, bathed in the soft sunlight with his wings spread and hair messy. This time, he pushed in slow and deep, until your breath hitchedâand he didnât stop. Lashes fluttering and head tipping back, you let out, âYeah, just like thatâŠâÂ
âJust like that? You like it?â Cockiness oozed from his words.
âMm hm, donât stop.â
âNot stopping,â assured Azriel, pushing your skirts up so your dress stayed pooled around your torso. The hand that rested on your thigh moved closer to your centre, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing circles into it.Â
Letting out a profanity, your mouth fell open, and he took the opportunity to slide two fingers into your past your lips, pressing down on your wet tongue. âIf only you could see yourself, sweetheart, so pretty all fucked outâŠâ
To that, you could only manage a whine around his thick fingers. He increased the pressure on your clit, letting out a grunt when you bit down. You could feel yourself nearing the edge, wrapping your trembling legs around him to lock him in.Â
âClose?â He grinned at your weak nod. âCome on, pretty girl. You can do it. Cum for me. Come onâŠâ His fingers left your mouth to palm your breast, rubbing and pinching at your nipples.Â
Your core tightened as his body expertly pushed you onto the edge, your breaths coming out louder and faster. When you opened your eyes to glance down where the both of you were connected for just a moment, the sight sent your lashes fluttering shut again as white exploded behind your lids. âAzrielâ Azriel, fuck, fuck, fuckâŠâÂ
âYeah, thatâs my good girl. Cum for me. Great job, sweetheart, fuck, youâre so tight, you feel so good around meâŠride it out, Iâve got you.â His thumb eased on your sensitive clit as you clenched around him, coaxing you down from your high. âThere we goâŠâÂ
Slowly, Azriel began to rock into you again. When your eyes finally opened, you were met with a small, unapologetic grin from the male. âStill with me, pretty girl?âÂ
âYeahâ yeah.âÂ
At that, his pumps got harder again, this time to drive himself closer to climax. His hands moved down to grab you by the hips, giving himself easier leverage to thrust into you. By your head, his shadows cooed, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear.Â
Bit by bit, the sensitivity melted into a cresting pleasure again.Â
âAhâ fuck, you feel so good. Iâm so fucking closeâŠâ His already solid grip on your hips tightened, basically pulling you onto his cock as his momentum increased sloppily.Â
Knowing he liked it, you clenched around him, making his breath catch on another swear.Â
âIâm gonna cumâ lemme cum inside you, please, fuck, Iâm on the tonic, I swear.â The pleading words fell from his mouth drenched in need. âPlease, sweetheart pleaseâŠâ
Youâd be lying if you said his begging words didnât turn you on even more. Shifting, you let one arm wander down to rub at your clit, feeling the pressure coil again, the other wrapping around his shoulderâand leaving a dusty streak of flourâto get closer. At your soft âinside meâ, Azrielâs let out a deep groan, finding your lips with his.Â
âThank you.â His words fell hot against your skin.Â
âCome onâŠâ you mimicked his earlier words, less confident than he was, but no less effective.Â
With a string of curses, Azrielâs rhythm stuttered. He was as close to you as possibleâyou held him as close to you as possible as his warmth filled you up.Â
âFuck youâre so perfectâŠâ he mumbled, tilting your chin up to kiss you slowly again as he moved lazily. Both your arms looped around his shoulders, one tangling in the messy hairs at the nape of his neck.Â
As he pulled out, Azriel couldnât help but want to make sure you didnât leak his essence. Perhaps it was his one-sided mating instincts that wanted to mark you as off-limits to everybody else. With no resistance, he slid his fingers into you before you could even leak his release and pushed his fingers deep.Â
Only once he realised you were on the brink of another orgasm did his fingers start rubbing at your innermost walls a little more forcefully, his thumb returning to your clit. âGonna cum again for me?â
You nodded against his shoulder where your head rested. His fingers curled, his lips found your neckâand worked you gently over the edge.Â
After a few more lingering kisses and unhurried movements of his fingers, he pulled his hand away, wiping his fingers on your thigh. His cheek was still pressed to the side of your head when he whispered, âYou alright?â
âBetter than alright.â You wrapped your arms around him firmly, resting your chin on his shoulder. Soothing hands rubbed your back as he continued to pepper kisses on your head.Â
As your senses returned, you could feel the grainy flour stuck to your skin. The rumple of thick skirts around your waist. The warm sunlight kissing your sticky body.Â
Azriel and his shadows held you like that for a long momentâhis arms wrapped around you comfortingly, and for that moment you felt at home.Â
Then he was easing you off the counter. Smiling at your dishevelled appearance, at your rumpled dress and tousled hair and flour dusted skin.
Azriel smiled to himself. The Spymaster's secrets now included the shape of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the exact shade your eyes became when caught in the sun.
âYouâre the most beautiful female Iâve ever seen,â Azriel said, reverence coating his words.Â
You just smiled and shook your head, fixing your dress sleeves over your shoulder again. Azriel shook his head at your reaction. âItâs true.â
âIf you say so.â
âI do.â
His trousers were already laced back. At some point his shirt was lost too, probably to feel your skin on his, but his shadows carried back his discarded shirt, your apron, and your panties. He helped you get dressed again before helping himself.
Out of the corner of your eye you spotted the other shadows tidying up the pile of sugar on the floor, and the mess of flourâ âOh my gods, Azriel!â
At your outburst he seemed a little alarmed. âWhat is it, sweetheart?â
âThe counter, I bake on that counter! Do you think I need toâ disinfect it? I canât have any of my pastries tasting likeâŠâ you stopped to frown at him worriedly, âyou know!â
âIf itâs any consolation,â he offered, âI think that table just became the most memorable part of your bakery. And at least youâve got one creampieââ
Summary: You and Jungkook have known each other your whole lives. Childhood best friends turned almost something more. Heâs charming, popular, and scared of commitment. Youâre ambitious, guarded, and tired of being a maybe.
After one kiss changes everything, you realize wanting him isnât enough if he wonât choose you back. But walking away is easier said than done.
University brings distance, jealousy, and new people. Youâre ready to move on. Heâs finally starting to realize he canât. Not when itâs always been you.
pairing: childhoodbestfriend!jungkook x (fem) reader
genre: angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, kinda toxic but delicious, mutual pining, fluff & eventual smut
rating: 18+ (mdni!!)
word count: 3.4k đ
warnings: emotional whiplash, jealousy, possessive behavior, fear of commitment, unresolved tension, mutual obsession, brief mentions of sex, hurt/comfort, pining, lots of yearning
A/N: I finally hit post!!!! AAAAAAAA Iâve always been anxious about sharing anything I create, so I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it hehe. This is my first fic (kinda), so please be gentle with me. Iâm also lowkey new to Tumblr, so Iâm just going off what Iâve seen other fanfic creators do, hopefully Iâm doing this right. I donât have too many solid plans for this story yet, but I truly hope you stick around. Also hope this lives up to the hype the teaser got heheh đ€
Happy reading! - Ivy â^. .^ââł
please like, reblog, follow & scream into the void for more! (˶ᔠᔠá”˶)
KISSME!MOODBOARD | KISSME!PLAYLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST â.á
(One Year Ago)
Youâve known Jeon Jungkook since the day he was born. Your moms were best friends before either of you even existed, girls who grew up together, fell in love with life side by side, and then raised their kids side by side too. You were born in February, and just like fate, Jungkook followed in September, just six months behind you, and from that moment on, it was the two of you. Always.
You were inseparable. Friends before you even understood what friendship meant. Sleepovers, scraped knees, shared snacks, birthday candles blown out together, all of it.
And then high school happened.
You drifted. Slowly, painfully. The way people sometimes do when the world starts asking more of them.
You went to a top-ranked all-girls private school, the kind with uniforms pressed to perfection, essays that weighed as much as bricks, and girls who competed to see who could have the best grades. Jungkook ended up at the local public school. It was louder, messier, freer. His parents wanted him to have a social circle outside of the snooty prep school one.
You started moving in different circles, living different lives. And somewhere along the way, your daily texts became weekly, then monthly, and then⊠nothing at all.
So when he invited you to a house party at his friendâs place, you were shocked. And maybe a little bit hopeful. Maybe this meant something. A bridge being rebuilt.
You dressed carefully that night. A pale pink tweed dress with gold buttons, white stockings, and shiny Mary Janes. Definitely overdressed for a house party, but you didnât care. You wanted to look good. Maybe even wanted him to notice.
He didnât.
He barely looked at you when you got in his car. Just a casual nod. No compliment. No hug. No "I missed you.â Or just a simple âHowâs life?â To catch up.
It stung.
You quickly realized the only reason you were even invited was because his mom insisted he bring someone she trusted in order for him to go, and that someone was you.
As soon as you got there, he ditched you, disappearing in the crowd. You stood awkwardly by the drinks table, sipping a Coke Zero, the cold fizz sharp on your tongue. You didnât know anyone. Everyone else seemed to know everyone. Loud laughter, inside jokes, bodies swaying to the beat.
You felt overdressed, overlooked, and completely out of place. People stared. Girls whispered. But you held your head high like your mom taught you.
You searched the crowd for Jungkook and when you found him, your heart sank.
He was on the couch, some girl straddling his lap, his hands gripping her waist, her fingers tangled in his hair. Mouths moving like they were starving. Oblivious to everyone else in the room.
Your stomach twisted so hard it felt like it was trying to fold in on itself. A bitter sting crawled up your throat, sharp and sour, like youâd swallowed regret.
Suddenly, the air felt too thick. You werenât supposed to be here. You shouldâve said no. You just wanted to spend time with him.
Thatâs all.
You pushed the patio door open, letting the cool night air wash over you. Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, fighting off the chill and the burn in your chest. It felt like stepping into a different world, darker, quieter, with the distant thump of bass bleeding from inside. You leaned against the railing, trying to relax a bit.
âHey,â a voice said behind you, soft but close. You jumped, your spine going stiff as you turned.
âDidnât mean to scare you,â the guy said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. His lips quirked up, amused. âThough⊠Iâm starting to think you scare easy.â
You startled and turned fast, your pulse kicking up.
âYouâre real smooth,â you muttered, narrowing your eyes.
He grinned. âSmoothâs better than sleazy, right?â
âYou always approach girls like that?â
âOnly the ones standing alone in expensive shoes.â
You glanced down at your Mary Janes.
âAnd what if Iâm just lost?â
âThen I guess Iâm lucky.â
You tried not to smile, but failed.
âWhatâs your name?â He was handsome and looked like the type that would break your heart. Why not let him entertain you for a while?
âEunwoo,â he said, shifting closer. âAnd youâreâŠ?â
âY/N.â
âPretty name,â he said, leaning one elbow against the railing beside you. âLet me guess. St. Michaelâs?â
You blinked. âHowâd you know?â
âYouâve got that energy,â he said. âPut together. Fancy. But kind of annoyed to be here.â
You let out a dry laugh. âThat obvious?â
âOnly to someone whoâs also pretending to have fun.â
You smiled. He was disarming, in that effortlessly flirty way that made you want to roll your eyes and lean in closer.
âYou donât seem like the house party type either,â you said.
âNot when half the people here still think fart jokes are peak comedy,â he replied but you could tell he only says that to impress you.
You let out a soft laugh, for real this time. âYouâre not wrong.â
He tilted his head at you. âSo, whatâs your deal? You here with someone?â
You hesitated. âI got ditched the second we got here.â
His expression flickered, just for a second. âAh. That makes sense.â
You narrowed your eyes. âWhy?â
âBecause youâre way too pretty to be standing out here alone if you werenât.â The compliment caught you off guard.
âDo you always flirt like this?â you asked, half teasing.
âOnly when I mean it. I can keep you company, if you want.â
You hesitated, then smiled faintly. âIâd like that.â You were done feeling lonely at this dumb party.
You chatted for a while, nothing too deep. Just a little bit of distraction from the ache in your chest as you sipped on your drink.
âSo, do you have a boyfriend?â he asked suddenly, eyes searching your face.
You shook your head. âNo.â You could have but going to an all girls school made that kind of social circle a bit more difficult.
âReally? Thatâs hard to believe.â
You laughed softly. âIâm not interested in that sort of thing right now.â
He tilted his head. âInteresting.â He just wanted to know if you were single or not.
You looked up at him. âWhat about you? Do you have anyone special in your life?â
âGot dumped this morning.â He admits.
You look surprised as he says that, you would have never guessed with the way he was talking to you right now.
âOh. Sorry.â Your tone is a bit regretful. You hadnât expected him to respond with⊠that.
He shrugged. âWe didnât click. Guess I was meant to be alone.â
You echoed his earlier words. âI can keep you company, if you want.â
He grinned. âYeah?â
You nodded. âYeah.â
âAnd how would you do that?â
You didnât know what came over you, but you said it anyway.
âWhat if I said you could kiss me?â
He blinked, then smirked. âI'd ask if you were serious.â
âDoes it look like Iâm joking?â You lean in.
He leaned in, slow, deliberate. âYouâre trouble,â he murmured.
You tilted your chin up. âDo you like trouble?â
âDepends on the kind.â he murmurs and then he kissed you.
He kissed you. Gentle at first, then hungrier. You kissed him back, maybe out of loneliness, maybe out of spite. You werenât sure. But for a brief moment, it felt nice to be wanted.
You didnât notice the group of boys by the pool bar watching.
Didnât see the money exchanging hands.
Didnât see Jungkook stepping out on the patio.
Jungkook stepped outside just in time to see it. The way your hands clung to Eunwooâs collar, how his fingers were brushing the hem of your dress lowering to your ass like he had every right to. The kiss was already too far gone. His pace slowed down, eyes narrowing.
A group of his friends stood nearby, some grinning, some groaning, throwing bills into a baseball cap at the poolside bar. His gaze flicked to the hat full of crumpled bills.
âWhatâs going on?â Jungkook asked, his voice low, guarded.
Mingi didnât even look up. âWe bet Eunwoo he wouldnât be able to kiss the rich girl in under an hour.â They were watching as if to see what would happen next, ready to add more money into the hat.
âHe did it in 45 minutes, he a real sweet talker,â Mingyu added with a chuckle, popping a chip in his mouth like it was just another Friday night. "I wonder if she'll sleep with him.." he thinks out loud.
Jungkookâs nostrils flared.
They made a bet for a kiss and now he might take you to bed?
His eyes flicked back to the hat stuffed with cash, to the smug look on Eunwooâs face, to your soft smile, the one you used to give him when you were kids.
It reminded him of summers in your neighbourhood, you in your silly sandals and ribboned braids, waiting for him on the porch with two popsicles, always saving one for him.
That smile used to be his.
He remembered it like a favourite song, sweet, familiar. But now? Now you were smiling like that at someone else. And it burned.
You werenât the girl on the porch anymore; you were all grown up, and now someone completely new got to see that side of you. Someone else got to make you laugh like that. And it made his chest tighten in a way he hated.
He felt something shift in his chest, like his heart had just dropped straight into his stomach. Was it jealousy? Was it disgust? At them or at himself? For leaving you alone? For bringing you here in the first place?
He couldnât even name what it was, but it felt wrong.
He was moving before he even realized it.
He stormed across the patio, clearing his throat loud enough to slice through the moment.
You broke the kiss first, startled. Eunwoo smirked, the kind of lazy, satisfied grin that made your skin crawl. He knew exactly what heâd done. He had gotten under Jungkookâs skin. He had won the bet, he kissed the girl.
âY/N,â Jungkook snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise. Heâs standing stiffly just a few feet away, strong arms crossed over his chest. "Let's go."
You blink at him, lips still parted, confused by his sudden intrusion.
âWhat? I was just starting to have fun.â You grumble like a child.
His jaw tightens.
âKissing strangers is fun?â Thereâs something biting in his tone. Not just judgment, jealousy, too. Thinly veiled and barely contained.
You scoff, heat rising to your cheeks.
âYou do it.â You just saw him. That girl on his lap, his hands all over her. You didnât know if they had history or if they were dating but he never mentioned her to you, he never even brought up having a crush.
Heâs one to talk.
His eyes flash.
âNo, I donât.â Itâs not a lie, not exactly. But the way he says it, quiet and defensive, you know he means something else.
âRemind me. Was that your girlfriend or just your entertainment for the night?â Your voice is cold, sharp as glass. You're not just asking. You're accusing.
He knows exactly who and what you're talking about. You saw him back there. Hands all over her like you werenât even there.
His jaw ticks, but he doesnât deny it. Doesnât even look surprised.
âTrust me,â he mutters, voice tight. âI know her.â
You laughed bitterly.
âYeah. That makes it better.â
He looked like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.
âCan you just leave me alone?â you muttered, voice tight as you brought your arms up around Eunwooâs neck. Maybe out of spite, maybe out of pain.
If Jungkook could ditch you for some random girl, then why shouldnât you do the same thing to him?
âNo.â Jungkook grabbed your shoulder, firm, pulling you back to face him again.
Eunwoo chimed in lazily,
âSheâs fine with me, man.â His hands slid to your lower back, hands lowering a little too low for Jungkook's liking.
That did it.
Jungkookâs jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened as he stepped forward, closing the space between them.
âGet your fucking hands off her,â he growled.
One arm moved around you, yanking you out of Eunwooâs grasp and behind him like you were something to protect and to claim.
Eunwoo smirked. He liked this. Getting under Jungkookâs skin like it was part of the game. As if he knew Jungkook had the hots for you.
But wasnât it already obvious?
âStop,â you snapped, louder this time, your voice cutting between them. âBoth of you.â You didnât want to cause a scene. Especially since you already stood out in this crowd.
Jungkook turned to you, jaw tight.
âY/N. Go to the car.â
It wasn't a suggestion, it was a command. He was pissed.
You didnât argue this time. You were tired. You wanted to leave anyway. You turned, heading out to the driveway without sparing a glance at either of them. You probably wouldnât see Eunwoo ever again, so you didnât even bother saying goodbye or give him a chance to ask you for your number.
Once you were out of earshot, Jungkook took one threatening step closer to Eunwoo, voice low and sharp. âIf I ever catch you making bets about her again, Iâll break both your fucking legs. Got it?â
Eunwoo rolled his eyes and lifted his hands like he was innocent. But the message was clear.
He didnât move. His fists stayed clenched, like holding on could stop everything else from slipping. He was angry. At Eunwoo. At you. Maybe at himself.
But beneath it all, shame was twisting in his gut.
And something else he didnât want to name.
Something that felt a lot like heartbreak.
Jungkook found you outside, standing by his car with your arms wrapped around yourself, the cool night air brushing against your legs.
That dress, as pretty as it was, wasnât built for cold air, or this party.
But you already knew that.
And now someone else had touched you. Kissed you.
His stomach turned.
What the hell were you thinking? Letting some stranger put his hands on you like that? Letting him taste you like it meant nothing?
You werenât like that. At least⊠you never used to be.
You werenât just some girl. You were his best friend. Or⊠you had been.
So why did it feel like he was already losing something he never even got the chance to have?
You didnât look at him when he approached.
âWhat was that about?â he asked, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.
You shrugged, eyes fixed on the pavement. âWhat?â
âKissing that guy?â
âI donât know,â you muttered, voice quiet.
âMaybe I just wanted to have fun.â Your tone was sarcastic.
He let out a sharp breath, stepping in closer.
âEunwooâs not a good guy. He cheated on his last girlfriend like six times.â
âHow was I supposed to know that?â You grumble, hugging yourself from the cold.
Jungkook scoffed. âWell, heâs not. They were making a bet to see if Eunwoo could kiss you and probably take you to bed right after! Are you that easy, Y/N?â
His voice was laced with anger, sharp and bitter, the words cutting before he could stop them.
You scoffed, shaking your head. âWow. So now Iâm easy? Is that what you think of me? Just some spoiled girl who jumps at the first guy who calls her pretty?â
He clenched his jaw. âWell, it seems like it, doesnât it?â
You took a step back, your voice rising. âWhatâs your problem? Why are you getting so mad that I kissed some guy? I donât care if it was a bet, I was having fun. I wasnât even supposed to be here, was I? Your mom needed me to keep an eye on you, huh?â
His eyes widened slightly.
You hit a nerve. You read him like an open book.
You turned away, angry, pulling at the handle of the locked car door.
He exhaled, voice lower now. âYou werenât supposed to come⊠but I brought you anyway, didnât I? You were supposed to hang around me. Not those other guys, you donât know what their intentions are.â He scolds you.
That made you snap your head toward him. âWith you?â you repeated. âYou invited me, then ditched me the second we walked in. I didnât know anyone. You knew that!â You exclaim angrily.
âI didnât thinkââ
âExactly,â you cut him off. âYou didnât think.â
You blinked at him, heat rushing up your throat.
âI looked for you. And I found you with some girl practically dry-humping you in the middle of the living room.â
He dropped his gaze, jaw clenched.
You shook your head, laugh bitter. âI felt so stupid. I thought maybe you invited me because you wanted to see me. Like maybe weâd talk. Catch up. I dressed up and everythingââ
He interrupted you. âI noticed.â
âNo, you didnât.â
âI did, Y/N.â His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it made your breath catch. âYou look beautiful.â
Your arms dropped from around yourself.
âThen why didnât you say anything?â you huff, your voice vulnerable.
It wasn't about the compliment. It was about him acknowledging you, him making a stupid comment about how you were overdressed just like he would before.
Jungkook looked at you then, really looked. And there it was.
That flicker in his eyes. That quiet ache.
The one that said everything he didnât know how to say.
You shook your head, voice softer now. âI felt like you didnât even want me there. Like you were embarrassed to be around me.â
He stepped in. âThatâs not true.â
âThen what is?â you say, staring at him, waiting for him to say something, anything.
He didnât answer, though. Instead, his hand reached for your arm, just lightly, just enough to ground you both.
You let out a breath. âWe used to be best friends.â
Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. âWeâre not little kids anymore, Y/N. That whole best friends thing? It doesnât work like that.â
Your jaw tightened. âNo, it does⊠you just stopped knowing how to be one.â Your words hung in the air, sharp and defensive.
âYouâre the prettiest girl here,â he added, softer now, like that would change the ache between you. Even he wasnât sure who he was trying to convince. He said it suddenly, quietly⊠like it slipped out before he could stop it. Like he was only just realizing it himself.
You scoffed, stepping back.
Your voice rose, raw.
âPretty? Please. Is this a bet too? You invite me out here, ditch me, get pissed when someone else kisses me like it matters, and now you call me pretty like that makes it okay?â
He flinched. Your words hit harder than you knew, because heâd already asked himself those same questions.
What the hell was he doing? Why was he so mad when he was the one who messed up first?
Your voice cracked, and your hands shoved at his chest.
âTell me, Jungkook. Are you doing this just to see if Iâm really that easy? Or do you mean it? Do you really care about me?â
You hit his chest again. Once. Twice.
You hit him again, and he didn't stop you, not until the ache in his chest became unbearable.
Then, gently, he caught your wrists. His touch wasnât rough. It was careful but cautious.
He swallowed, his jaw tight.
His heart was pounding so hard it hurt.
And then, when your eyes finally met his⊠it hit him all at once.
The fear.
The guilt.
The jealousy.
The truth.
He was afraid of this⊠of you, of what this could mean, but more than anything, he was afraid heâd already lost you.
His gaze dropped, unable to hold yours.
His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
âI mean it.â
It wasnât slick or charming or sure of itself.
It was broken open and vulnerable, scraped raw and trembling with something too big to name.
You froze.
Something in you shifted.
He lifted his eyes again, slowly, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the boy who had always been your best friend.
The boy who still cared, the look on his face stole the breath from your lungs.
Regret.
Longing.
Fear.
Hope.
All tangled in one unbearable glance.
And then, like everything in the world had been building to this, he kissed you. Not like a mistake. Not like a dare.
Like a promise he was too scared to speak out loud.
And you kissed him back because despite everything, part of you had been waiting for this your whole life.
It was sudden and deep, full of everything neither of you had the guts to say.
His hands cradled your jaw, warm and trembling slightly, like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go. His lips tasted faintly like spearmint gum and bad decisions, and your knees nearly buckled.
When you pulled away, lips tingling, you whispered,
âI thought I wasnât supposed to kiss random boys.â You teased.
Jungkook leaned in again, his forehead pressed to yours.
âYou know damn well Iâm not a random boy.â
The second kiss was messier.
Needy, deep, slow, desperate.
Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.
One moment you were in the driveway, the next, in the backseat of his car. Your heart was racing. His touch was careful but confident, his fingers memorizing every line of you like a secret only he got to know.
And even though it scared you, how fast it was happening, how much it meant, it didnât feel wrong.
It felt like the beginning of something you didnât quite understand yet. But it was yours. His, too.
That night, in the backseat of his car, under the streetlight glow and distant hum of a party you didnât belong to, you gave yourself to him for the first time. The windows fogged. The car rocked gently. And for a while, nothing else mattered except the quiet gasps, the whispered names, the fingers grasping for something real.
And for a moment, just one, it felt like maybe he belonged to you too.
â playlist: moment's silence (common tongue) - hozier, love me harder - ariana grande, honey - kehlani, adorn - miguel, don't - crush, waves - dean
â summary: After two weeks apart, you come home from Bali sun-kissed and full of storiesâexcept none of them compare to the warmth of Yoongiâs arms. He wrote you a song. You brought back tequila, a TikTok trick he has no idea about, and a plan you executed after a terrible week strictly for morale.
Yoongi never stood a chance.
â word count: 9.9k
â warnings: lovey dovey couple, they're so in love, little fluffly at the beginning but they're always horny (i get them), established relationship, tequila shots?, yoongi missing oc, oc missing yoongi, unprotected sex, dirty talk?, cunnilingus, little rough, multiple orgasms, jealous yoongi if you squint.
â note: HELL YEAH! so this was fun to write because it was born, like most of the things i write, from a personal experience with tequila shots. wanna thank miss salma hayek for letting us know The Trick to get a man like that. i miss you yoongi (thank god he'll be back soon). FIRST YOONGI ONE SHOT BTW CROWD CHEERED.
Yoongi has always been sure of two things. Wellâalways is a strong word. Maybe lately is more honest. Certainty doesnât come easy to him; itâs something heâs had to fight for, inch by inch, thought by thought. But here, in this quiet momentâhis fingers idle on the keys, a half-finished verse echoing in his mindâhe knows these things like he knows his own name.
Two: he really, truly, fucking loves you. Itâs terrifying, how real that is. How permanent it feels. Like itâs carved into him somewhere deep. You came into his life without warning, without fanfareâand now youâre in the pauses between his breaths, in the silence between his notes. He doesnât know when it happened, but loving you feels inevitable now. Like it always wouldâve come to this, no matter the path.
Threeâwas there a three? Yeah because now, standing here at the airport, watching you walk toward him, duffel slung over your shoulder, smile cracking through the jetlagâhe knows something else, too.
Heâs really fucking glad youâre home.
You nudge him gently, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his hoodie sleeve as he sits hunched over his laptop, headphones around his neck, the room bathed in dim yellow light and the faint scent of coffee and something else uniquely him.
âYoongi,â you say, voice soft with that teasing affection only he ever gets to hear.
He glances over, the corner of his lips twitching into a tired smileâone of those barely-there ones that still makes your chest warm. His eyes, though, tell a different story: they flicker with something like relief. Like seeing you in front of him makes the past two weeks fall away.
âI wanna hear the full song?â you ask, and then you hesitate just a beat, voice quieter, more vulnerable: âMissed you.â
Thatâs when he turns fully, shutting the laptop with a quiet click. His eyes donât leave yours.
âI missed you, too,â he says, and itâs not just wordsâhe means it. His voice carries that low, slow sincerity you know he only lets out when heâs too tired to hide anything. âHouse felt empty. Bed felt colder.â
You laugh softly, settling down beside him on the couch, your thigh pressing lightly against his. âYou couldâve texted more, you know.â
âI know,â he murmurs, and his hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. âDidnât want to bother you. You were having fun.â
âI was,â you admit, leaning your head on his shoulder. âBut it didnât feel right without you. Kept looking over like I was gonna see you sitting next to me.â
He lets out a breath, quiet and shaky. âI kept hearing your voice in my head when I was working. Thought I was losing it.â
You grin. âMaybe you are.â
He finally laughsâlow and real. Then he squeezes your hand and says, âLet me play you the song. I finished it... the night before you came back. Itâs about you.â
Your heart skips, just a little. âOf course it is.â
And in the soft silence that follows, he slips the headphones over your ears and presses play, watching your face as if every beat and lyric matters more now, because youâre home. And so is he.
The music washes over you like a waveâwarm, layered, intentional. Itâs him in every note: the way he composes with feeling first and logic second, the subtle textures, the pause right before the chorus that somehow says more than words.
And the lyrics? God. Theyâre not even overly romantic, but they are himâhonest and understated and impossibly vulnerable. Thereâs a line in the second verse that pulls something tight in your chest. Something about âempty spaces filled by the weight of a laugh I forgot I needed.â And another one, quiet, tucked into the bridge, that just says: âYou made room where I didnât know I had any left.â
When it ends, you donât say anything for a moment. You just breathe. His hands are resting on his thighs now, and you can tell from the way heâs chewing the inside of his cheek that heâs nervous.
You blink a few times, then take off the headphones slowly, setting them aside. âYoongi,â you say, voice soft, caught somewhere between awe and teasing, âare you trying to kill me? Be honest.â
He raises an eyebrow. âEmotionally or musically?â
You snort, nudging him with your shoulder. âBoth, obviously. That was⊠wow. I donât even have the words.â
âThatâs ironic, coming from someone who works with words all day,â he says, smirking just slightly, but his eyes are searchingâworried.
You look at him. âIâm serious. That was beautiful. It felt likeâŠâ You pause, pressing your lips together before letting the truth out: âLike you cracked open your chest and justâlet me see everything.â
Yoongi shrugs, but itâs the kind of shrug he does when heâs trying to be chill and failing. âYeah, well. Took me long enough to say all that. Figured Iâd just put it in a track before I chickened out.â
You lean in, forehead touching his. âYouâre still such a coward sometimes,â you whisper, smiling against his skin.
âI know,â he murmurs. âBut you waited for me anyway.â
You both go quiet for a second. The kind of silence that doesnât ask to be filled. The kind you only get with someone who knows you inside out.
âI was gonna say,â you continue, pulling back just enough to look at him, âfunny how this all started with you awkwardly avoiding eye contact that night we met at Hobiâs thing.â
Yoongi groans. âDonât remind me. I was not avoiding eye contact.â
âYou literally stared at the floor the whole time.â
âI was tired.â
âYou were shy.â
He rolls his eyes, but thereâs no heat behind it. âAnd you were so annoyingly composed. Sitting there with your editor brain probably judging my entire existence.â
âI was not judging,â you say, laughing now. âI was intrigued. You were the only one in the room who looked like they wanted to be somewhere else.â
He smiles againâsmaller this time, realer. âYeah. Then you sat next to me and started talking about existentialism and short stories and somehow I didnât want to leave.â
You grin. âAnd then we spent the next year pretending we werenât falling in love during every 3 a.m. conversation.â
Yoongiâs hand finds yours again, and this time he lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. âYou didnât pretend very well, by the way.â
âOh?â you tease.
He nods. âYou kept looking at me like you were already writing a story about us.â
You shrug. âMaybe I was.â
Then, quieter, you add: âBut I like your version better.â
You and Yoongi have been together for over two years now. Thatâs not even counting the year beforeâwhen you both clung to the idea of just friends like it was some kind of lifeline, even as everything between you said otherwise. Late-night calls, shared silences, too-long stares, the kind of conversations that felt like peeling each other open, layer by layer.
Everyone saw it. Except, apparently, you and him.
Or maybe you did see it. Maybe you were just scared to name it.
Either way, it all came to a head one nightâtangled sheets, hearts racing, a confession slipping out in the dark like it had been waiting all that time just to be said out loud. And after that, well⊠the rest unraveled beautifully.
âIt was bound to happen,â Hoseok had said with a grin so wide it felt smug. âHonestly, I was just waiting for one of you to crack. You were already acting like a married couple and you hadnât even kissed yet.â
Seokjin, ever the dramatist, had clapped a hand on Yoongiâs shoulder and told you both, âYou donât understand. This guy? He doesnât react to people. He nods at introductions and moves on. But you? You walked into the room at that party and he looked up. Thatâs practically a love letter coming from him.â
Namjoon had agreed, of courseâmore calm, more analytical, but just as insistent. âWeâve seen him hear a song he loves and still just blink. But when you spoke for the first time, he tilted his head, like he was trying to figure out a melody he didnât want to forget.â
It sounds dramatic. Overblown. But youâve lived with Yoongi long enough to know that his reactions arenât always loudâbut theyâre deep. And real.
And now, two years in, you still catch him looking at you the same way he did back thenâlike heâs studying you, memorizing you, writing lyrics in his head that only youâll ever get to hear.
You joke that heâs soft for you. He just shrugs and says, âYeah. And?â
But thereâs this quiet steadiness to it, too. Like after all the slow burn, the long talks, the almosts and maybes, you both found something solid. Something that doesnât need to burn wildly all the time because it stays.
So yeahâHoseok was right. It was bound to happen.
And now you both took a break.
Wellâtechnically, you didnât take a break. Letâs rewind. That makes it sound way more dramatic than it was.
You just went on a trip.
A girlsâ trip. Bali. Sun-soaked beaches, endless laughter, fruity drinks with names you couldn't pronounce, and the kind of easy joy that only comes when youâre surrounded by women who love you like sisters. It was good. Noâwonderful, even. It was the kind of trip you talk about for years after, the kind that feels like a pause from real life in the best possible way.
But still⊠you missed him.
You didnât say it at first. You told yourself it was healthyâgood, evenâto have space. That it was nice not to be The Couple for once. You didnât need to be that clingy type, right?
Right?
Except⊠it hit faster than you expected. Maybe on the second morning, when your coffee didnât taste quite the same without his weirdly specific milk-to-coffee ratio. Maybe when someone cracked a joke and your instinct was to turn, to catch his eye across the table and share that look you always did when something was exactly your brand of funny. Maybe when you fell asleep without the weight of his arm slung around your waist and woke up reaching for someone who wasnât there.
It was the first time youâd spent more than 48 hours apart since becoming officially, capital-B Boyfriend and capital-G Girlfriendâa title that felt funny on your tongue at first, but quickly became second nature. You werenât all over each other all the time.
(Okay, you were. But like, in a wholesome, âIâd follow you into the kitchen just to steal a grape from your handâ kind of way.)
But it wasnât just physical. That wasnât it. You liked him. Genuinely. You liked being with himâliked how he made space for your chaos, how he listened like every word mattered, how he challenged you without ever making you feel small. You liked the quiet hours and the loud laughter and the strange little routines that made your life feel stitched together in all the right ways.
So yeah, Bali was gorgeous. Your girls were radiant. The food was incredible. But there was this quiet, persistent pull in your chest the whole timeâa whisper that said, I wish he was seeing this too.
And now youâre back. Sitting beside him, knees brushing, headphones still warm from when he played you that song. And it hits you all over again:
You missed him. Not in a dramatic, world-ending way.
Just in the way you always miss home when youâve been gone too long.
Youâre still barefoot, half sunk into the old couch in the corner of the studio, hair a little messy from the flight, face flushed with excitement instead of exhaustion. You just listened to the songâhis songâand you swear your ribcage is still vibrating from the last chord. But your mindâs already off, burning through memory, hands moving animatedly as you talk.
âOh, babe,â you say, practically bouncing in your seat, âBali was insane. I mean, the kind of beauty that doesnât even feel real half the time. Youâre walking down a street and suddenly thereâs a temple just... there. No gates. No warning. Just stone and incense and a woman with silver hair weaving flower offerings like itâs the most normal Tuesday in the world.â
Yoongi hums from the swivel chair, eyes on you, chin in hand. Youâre not even looking at himâyouâre too wrapped up in everything you're trying to say at once. And god, youâre glowing.
âAnd the air?â you go on, laughing breathlessly, âYoongiâitâs like the whole island is perfumed. Salt, frangipani, smoke, clove cigarettesâit gets in your clothes, in your hair. You become part of it. I havenât felt that light in years. Like my whole body was being wrung out and re-threaded.â
He doesnât say anything. Just watches. Quiet. Intense.
âAnd there was this one night,â you continue, tucking your feet under you. âWe went to this hidden beachâlike, you have to go down a billion steps that look like theyâve been carved by actual ghostsâand when we got there? Bonfire. Music. Locals playing guitar on these beat-up amps powered by a generator that sounded like it was dying.â
You grin, eyes flicking up to him for the first time. Heâs still. Too still.
You push on, because youâre on fire now. âThey handed us drinksâstuff made with arak and fruit juice, totally unregulated, Iâm probably lucky I didnât go blindâand they were just... flirting. Shamelessly. With everyone. Dami got asked to teach this guy how to salsa. Chaeyoung got proposed to with a mango. And Iââ you pause, tilting your head, eyes dancing, ââI got called a goddess like, three times. Four, if you count the guy who kept asking if I wanted a moonlit shoulder massage.â
Yoongi's eyebrow twitches.
You notice. You smirk.
âRelax,â you tease. âI told him I was taken. Very taken. Like, off-the-market, emotionally-devoted, boyfriend-writes-me-songs kind of taken.â
His lips twitch, but the line of his jaw stays tight.
You lean forward a little. âYoongi.â
He still doesnât look at you.
âYoongi,â you sing again, dragging out the vowels.
Finally, he lifts his eyes to yours, deadpan. âIâm just wondering why you remember how many times someone called you a goddess, but you canât remember the name of the ramen place we went to three times in one week.â
You blink. Then you laugh. âAre youâoh my God, are you jealous?â
He shrugs like itâs nothing. âIâm just saying, you were gone for two weeks and apparently became the main character in a beach romance novel.â
âWell,â you hum, shifting closer, âI am a woman of many genres.â
He gives you a look. âIncluding âhot girl summer in Bali with mysterious shoulder-massaging men.â Got it.â
You bite back another laugh, slide closer until your legs touch. âWould it make you feel better if I told you none of them had your voice? Or your hands? Or your devastating ability to turn missing someone into actual music?â
He doesnât replyâbut heâs listening.
You rest your chin on his shoulder. âI loved every minute of it. But I thought about you the whole time.â
His voice is lower now. âEven when someone was calling you a goddess?â
You grin. âEspecially then.â
He exhales, finally, leaning back into you.
âYouâre still annoyed,â you murmur, smiling.
âI wrote you a love song and you got proposed to with fruit,â he mutters.
You laugh against his neck. âOkay, thatâs fair. But at least your song didnât give me food poisoning.â
He finally cracks a smile.
And in the soft silence that follows, you slide your hand into his.
Back. Safe. Still burningâwith the sun, with the music, with him.
The day after the studio sessionâafter Yoongi had pulled you into his world and played you that new song with the kind of pride he rarely let showâyou were finally home, finally grounded enough to unpack.
Youâd brought back a mountain of things, mostly souvenirs for your friends. It wasnât even guilt-buying; you just missed them. A lot.
You started sorting everything out on your floor, each item sparking a memory of someoneâs laugh, someoneâs oddly specific obsession.
For Namjoon, you had a set of handcrafted ceramicsâdelicate bowls and one oddly shaped mug you knew heâd appreciate in an âobject with characterâ kind of way. He was into stuff like that: things with weight, texture, stories.
Seokjinâs little bundle was easier. He had this current fixation with coffee, and not just any coffeeâheâd sent you the exact brand he wanted, grown somewhere at a particular altitude, roasted a certain way. You werenât even sure how he found it, but you made the detour just for him. Worth it, you figured, for the chaos heâd unleash in the group chat once he got his hands on it.
Hoseok was getting the batik fabric you found in a tiny shop tucked away near the market. It had deep blues and burnt orangesâbold and beautiful, just like him. You already pictured him turning it into a jacket or draping it over something dramatically at a dance studio. And for his girlfriend, a delicate piece of handmade jewelryâsilver with tiny amber stones, shaped like falling leaves. She was going to lose her mind over it.
Your own stuff? That took less time. You hadnât packed much to begin withâmostly bikinis and breezy tops. The heat had practically demanded it. But youâd also picked up a bunch of new shorts, the kind that showed off your legs just enough. The thought made you grin.
You were definitely planning to wear them around Seoul soon.
Yoongi was definitely going to like them.
You were halfway through organizing your pile of clothes when your hand hit something solid near the bottom of your suitcase.
âOh... right.â
Tequila.
Chaeyoung.
The memory hit you like the smell of lime and salt.
Sheâd shown up in Bali like a whirlwindâbarely touched down in Seoul for the past eight months. Sheâd bounced from London to Chile, Argentina, and then Mexico, and somehow skipped straight to Bali to meet you all, suitcase in tow and stories practically spilling out of her mouth.
âI brought the best tequila for you girls,â sheâd announced like it was gold. She held it up like a trophy, her sunglasses still on even though the sun had already dipped behind the trees.
âYouâre gonna love it. I swear,â she added, unscrewing the cap to let you smell it right then and there.
Dami squinted at her, skeptical. âWhat do you mean best? Likeâgood flavor or good time?â
Chaeyoung had smirked. âOh, babe, if I told you half the things I did after a couple of shots of thisâŠâ
âYouâre crazy,â Taeha called out from the back patio.
âNo, babe,â Chaeyoung said, eyes wild and glass already half-empty, âyouâre gonna want to be crazy after I teach you this little trick. Trust meâthis stuff? Itâll get your man on fire.â
The room paused, like it collectively sensed incoming chaos.
Jieun blinked. âWhy does that sound illegal?â
âBecause it probably is,â Dami whispered, crossing her arms like she was preparing for war.
Chaeyoung ignored both of them, too far gone. She slammed her glass down like she was about to present a scientific discovery. âOkay, LISTEN. Iâm about to change all your lives.â
âOh no,â Taeha muttered. âNot another âI saw a TikTok and now Iâm a sex guruâ monologueââ
âSHUT UP and listenâ, Chaeyoung snapped, already standing like a drunk prophet. âSo I was in Mexico, okay? Had just eaten like...six tacos and a churro. Iâm tipsy. This guy is rambling about the flavor notes in mezcal like heâs auditioning for MasterChef: Alcoholic Edition, and Iâm scrolling TikTok minding my businessâand BAM.â
She clapped loudly. Everyone jumped.
âThis womanâan actress, like straight up goddess energyâcomes up on my For You Page. And sheâs like, âThis is how you seduce a man in ten seconds or less.â I didnât even blink. I learned.â
âStop,â Jieun begged, already wheezing. âI canât breathe when you talk like this.â
âIâm serious!â Chaeyoung shouted. âYou donât need lingerie. You donât need a playlist. You just need THIS.â
She grabbed a pillow off the couch and slammed it onto the floor like it owed her money. âDami, youâre the man. Get over here.â
âNo. Absolutely not.â
âDAMI. Get. Over. Here.â
By the time Dami crawled over, purely out of morbid curiosity, Chaeyoung was already miming the scene. She picked up her shot glass like it was sacred, locked fake-eyes with Dami, and whispered:
âYou take the tequila. You hold it. You stare. Not blink. Not smile. Just stare like youâre about to commit emotional crimes.â
She mimed holding the shot in her mouth, then leaned toward Dami with cartoonishly intense eye contact.
âAnd THEN,â she continued, dramatically slow, âyou pass it. Mouth. To. Mouth.â
The room exploded.
Jieun SCREAMED. âWHAT THE FUCK!!!â
âI SWEAR TO GOD IâM GONNA DIE,â Taeha said, curled into a ball.
Dami fell backward, shrieking. âGet off me, you demon woman!â
âI WAS DOING RESEARCH!â Chaeyoung yelled back, offended.
âYOU DID THIS TO SOMEONE?â you gasped.
âIn the bathroom of a rooftop bar in Oaxaca!â she declared like she was announcing a Grammy win.Â
âWHAT.â
âWHATTTTTTTTT?!â
Jieun was hiding behind the couch now. âI cannot believe I have to know you.â
Chaeyoung, now fully unhinged, launched into a dramatic reenactmentâflipping her hair, straddling the pillow like a man was beneath it. âThen we made out so hard I almost knocked a soap dispenser off the wall. I think there was applause outside. I donât know. I blacked out from the POWER.â
âYou need help,â Dami groaned, fanning herself.
âNo, YOU need tequila and a man with low expectations,â Chaeyoung snapped, already pouring more shots. âNow, whoâs next? Letâs practice. Iâll be the guy. Come on. Seduce me, cowards!â
You were crying from laughter. Your stomach hurt. Your soul hurt. Jieun looked like she was about to call a priest.
âDo we need to tell Yoongi about this?â Taeha asked you with an evil grin.
âNo one tells Yoongi anything,â you said quickly, gripping your drink like it was your only protection.
Chaeyoung just smirked at you, devilish. âYouâre gonna try it. I know you are.â
You just laughedâand avoided her gaze.
But she already knew.
Yeah, that bottle of tequila was now staring at you.
Oh, you were gonna have fun.
By the time Yoongi woke upâhair messy, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blinking at you like you were a dreamâit was nearly noon.
âYou unpacked already?â he asked, voice raspy, warm with sleep.
âTrying to pretend Iâm not still on Bali time,â you mumbled, smiling into your mug.
He padded over, kissed your temple, and muttered something about making tteokbokki.
And god, he really could cook.
You sat cross-legged on the counter while he moved through the kitchen with quiet confidence, slicing green onions, adding just the right amount of gochugaru like it was instinct. The rich, spicy scent filled the apartment, and when you finally sat down to eat, you could have cried from the comfort of it. After two weeks of fresh seafood and tropical fruits, having something that tasted like homeâlike Seoul, like himâfelt grounding.
âStill like mine better than any Bali food?â he asked, smug as he watched you devour the last piece.
You licked your spoon. âNo offense to Bali, but your tteokbokki is emotional support food. It wins.â
He grinned, that small, rare one that made your stomach flutter.
Now, hours later, the sun was setting outside the living room window. The city buzzed softly in the distance, but here in the apartment, it was calmâdim lights, a quiet movie playing, legs tangled under a shared blanket. Yoongi leaned into the cushions, one arm draped behind you, the other lazily scrolling through his phone during the slow parts.
âShould we open some wine?â he asked, his voice low, almost a hum.
âOnly if you pick it,â you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.
He gave you a small pat on the thigh before heading over to the shelf tucked into the corner of the kitchenâa narrow unit lined with a modest but respectable collection of bottles. He crouched down, humming to himself, searching for the right red.
Then he paused.
â...What the hell is this?â
You turned your head.
Yoongi straightened slowly, holding up a sleek, unfamiliar bottle. The label was bright. Bold. Very not him.
He squinted at it. âDid this multiply in my apartment without my permission? I did not buy this.â
You bit your lip, trying very hard not to smile.
He turned to face you. âThis yours?â
You gave him a sheepish nod.
He examined the label again, then looked at you with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. âWhy... do you have a bottle of tequila hiding in my apartment?â
âChaeyoung gave it to me,â you explained, as innocently as possible. âAs a gift.â
Yoongi arched a brow. âThat sounds fake. Try again.â
âOkay,â you admitted, slowly standing up, blanket falling from your lap. âIt was part of a girlsâ night... situation. Involving stories. And hypotheticals. And a very specific TikTok.â
Yoongi narrowed his eyes at you like he was trying to read subtitles you werenât offering.
ââŠWhat kind of TikTok?â
You gave him a totally innocent smile. âA harmless one.â
âThatâs never true,â he said flatly. âEvery time someone starts a sentence with âso I saw this TikTokâ it ends in something insane or borderline illegal.â
You raised your hands in mock surrender. âNobody got arrested. Nobody died. There were just... beverages. And discussions. Thatâs all.â
Yoongi held up the bottle like it was radioactive. âSo this ended with you bringing back imported mystery tequila from girls' night? Thatâs the takeaway?â
âDonât be dramatic,â you said, walking over and plucking the bottle from his hands. âItâs artisanal.â
âThatâs not reassuring.â
âYou act like Iâm hiding a crime,â you teased, setting it carefully on the table.
âYou are hiding something,â he muttered, still watching you suspiciously. âYouâre way too smiley for this to be a normal âhey letâs have tequilaâ situation.â
You shrugged, doing your best to look unbotheredâeven as your face threatened to betray you with another grin. âMaybe I just missed you and thought itâd be fun to have a drink together.â
âUh-huh,â he said slowly, eyes narrowing like he was filing that line away for later. âTotally believable. No other reason. No hidden context.â
âExactly.â
A pause.
Yoongi finally dropped back onto the couch beside you, still eyeing the bottle like it might start talking.
âYouâre lucky I like you,â he muttered under his breath.
You nudged his knee with yours. âI am lucky.â
He glanced at you, then let out a small, exasperated laugh. âAnd now Iâm low-key afraid to drink that.â
You leaned over and kissed his cheek. âWell, good thing weâre having wine right now.â
He shot you a look, but couldnât help the amused smile tugging at his lips.
It had been a shitty week. No poetic metaphors, no dramatic flair. Just plain, exhausting, soul-sucking shit. Going back to work was shitty. As an editor at a publishing company, you were used to juggling deadlines, writer meltdowns, and 2 a.m. âurgentâ revisions â but this week? This week decided to personally test your will to live.
By Friday, you were running on caffeine, petty rage, and whatever serotonin your cat videos could offer.
Thankfully, it was over. Finally.
You were curled up on the couch in an oversized hoodie, staring blankly at your phone while half a bag of chips sat forgotten beside you. Yoongi had texted earlier â be home in an hour, miss u â and even just that had been enough to keep you from combusting.
With a sigh, you opened your messages app, finally catching up on the chaos youâd ignored all week.
Your friends' group chat was on fire. Everyone was still riding the Bali high, posting blurry sunset photos, thirst traps in bikinis, and messages like:
Taeha: literally thinking about the nasi goreng at 3am
Jieun: my skin still glows like i bathed in tropical gods
Dami: WHEN are we doing round two. i need a new passport stamp and a new man. urgently.
Taeha: can we do Greece. or Spain. or literally anywhere with sun and drama.
You smiled, heart softening a little. Yeah. That trip was magic.
And then you saw it â a private message from Chaeyoung.
Chaeyoungđ„:
[TikTok link]
âthis is the visual representation of what i tried to explain that night LMAOâ
âgiving this to u cuz u r the only one with a man lolâ
You tapped the link, suspicious.
The video started playing â and you immediately paused it, jaw dropping, face heating.
Oh. OH.
It was the exact tequila trick sheâd so enthusiastically attempted to act out back in Bali. Except now, seeing it performed in real time â slow, hot, absolutely lethal â made something in your brain short-circuit. You blinked, stared at your phone like it betrayed you, then hit play again. For science.
The way the woman in the video straddled her man, the effortless way she passed the drink between their mouths, the almost moan he let out like it rewired his whole nervous systemâ
Yeah. You were watching this on a Friday night after getting metaphorically body-slammed by your job. You deserved joy. You deserved serotonin. And preferably, you deserved it in the form of your boyfriend, shirtless, on this very couch.
You:
chaeyoung.
what the hell. why r u sending me thisÂ
Chaeyoung:
DIDNâT I JUST SAID YOU R THE ONLY ONE WITH A MAN THAT YOU CAN CALL YOURS. SEE THE VISION
You:
i see it
i feel it
Chaeyoung:
YESSSS
get that man WEAK, babes.
You:
heâs coming home in 40
how fast do u think i can shower and emotionally prepare
Chaeyoung:
light the fucking torch.
You stared at the screen for a second, heart racing, lip caught between your teeth.
Well. You did just wash your hair last night. And your cute robe was clean. And that bottle Chaeyoung gave you? Still hiding behind the wine rack like a dirty little secret.
You stood up.
Time to turn this terrible week aroundâwith tequila, TikTok tactics, and one very lucky boyfriend.
The apartment was dimly lit, cozy, and quietâexactly the way Yoongi liked it after a long day. He kicked off his shoes by the door, ran a hand through his hair, and called out casually, âBabe? Iâm home.â
No answer.
Well, no immediate answer.
Just the soft hum of music coming from the living roomâsomething low and sultry. It wasnât your usual playlist. This was a vibe.
He squinted. Suspicious.
âBabe?â he tried again, stepping further in. His jacket was halfway off his shoulders when he turned the cornerâand stopped dead in his tracks.
You were in the living room. Waiting.
Correction: you were posed in the living room.
Wearing your favorite silk robeâone that barely grazed your thighs, tied in a loose, suspiciously flimsy knot. Candles flickered on the coffee table. Two glasses sat beside a bottle he definitely didnât own.
âHi,â you said sweetly, crossing one leg over the other as you sat perched on the edge of the couch like a perfectly wrapped sin.
Yoongi blinked. â...What the hell is going on.â
âCelebrating,â you answered, like it was obvious.
He raised a brow. âCelebrating what?â
âThe end of a very horrible week,â you said, then added with a grin, âAnd also⊠you.â
Yoongi was now actively side-eyeing the bottle. âIs thatââ
âThe tequila,â you confirmed. âYes.â
âI thought we said we were saving that forââ
âPlans change,â you cut in, voice light. âBesides, I have a new method. A fun one.â
He blinked at you again, slower this time. âWhy does that sound threatening.â
âItâs not,â you said. âItâs sexy.â
You laughed, a little wild in your eyes, and patted the spot in front of you. âSit. Trust me.â
Yoongi hesitated, that familiar wariness flickering behind his dark eyes like a warning sirenâthis was definitely going to be one of those moments. But as always, he couldnât resist you. With a sigh, he shrugged off his jacket and dropped onto the couch, still shooting you a suspicious look. âYouâre being weird.â
âIâm being generous,â you teased, voice low and mischievous.
You slid closer, your hands gentle but firm on his shoulders. âThis is something I learned.â You practically straddled him, settling down on his lap with a confident smile.
Yoongiâs brows knit together, confused but intrigued. âWhatââ
âThey said this is how tequila tastes the best,â you whispered, your fingers tracing the buttons of his shirt. âAnd since I know you really like your alcoholâŠâ
You slowly hooked your finger into the top button of his shirt, eyes not leaving his face. âCan I unbutton this?â
Yoongi tilted his head slightly, lips curling in amusement. âYes,â he replied, raising a brow as if to say whatever you're up to... Iâm watching you.
With a sly little grin, you unfastened one button. Then the next. Then another. You were deliberate with itâfingers brushing his skin each time, exposing just enough of his chest to leave your mouth watering. His skin was warm, soft, and smelled faintly of the cologne he always wore. That scent you liked to steal from the collar of his sweaters.
You leaned in, holding the tequila shot glass loosely in your hand, and whisperedâhalf to him, half to yourself, âAnd then I have to... huh... lick.â
You dipped your head andâwithout hesitationâflattened your tongue against the base of his neck. You dragged it slowly up, tracing a path over his collarbone and along the curve of his shoulder, right where the salt would go in the classic version. Except you werenât following any rules.
Yoongiâs breath caught sharply. His hands, resting on your hips, twitched.
You leaned back, just enough to lock eyes with him. He looked stunned. Flushed. Slightly speechless.
Then, as if to really commit to the bit, you took the shot. Head tilted back, throat bobbing as the tequila slid down.
And finallyâeyes on hisâyour hand reached out for the lime. But instead of putting it in your mouth, you brought it up to his lips.
âBite,â you said softly.
He obeyed.
You leaned in one last time, stealing the lime back with a kiss that lingered longer than necessary, your lips brushing his in a mix of citrus and heat.
âOkayâwhere the hell?â Yoongi sputtered, blinking like he just came out of a trance. âWhat? Why? What the hell?â
He was flusteredâgenuinely flusteredâand that was rare for him. A soft pink crept up the sides of his neck, and his chest was still rising and falling just a little faster than usual. You stayed exactly where you were, still straddling his lap, hands resting lightly on his now half-unbuttoned shirt like it was the most casual thing in the world.
You tilted your head innocently, though your smirk betrayed you. âThis is why I wanted to save that bottle.â
Yoongi stared at you, eyes narrowing. âThis is what that TikTok discussion was about?â
You leaned forward just enough so that your chest brushed his, your voice dropping to a whisper. âI told you it was educational content.â
He huffed a dry laugh, but his hands were already on your hips again, holding you tighter now. âEducational? Babe, you just licked me like a human salt rim and then kissed tequila into my mouth. That wasnât education. That was witchcraft.â
You bit your lip, eyes gleaming. âWitchcraft that works, clearly.â
Yoongiâs gaze dropped to your lips, his breath catching slightly. You could feel him shifting beneath you, his composure unraveling by the second.
âYouâre literally still on top of me,â he muttered, voice lower now, rougher.
âMhm.â You rolled your hips just a tiny bit, enough to make his hands dig into your waist in warning. âOn purpose.â
His eyes snapped back to yours, something darker flickering there now. âYou planned this.â
You kissed the corner of his mouth. âMaybe.â
âMaybe, my ass.â
He surged up just enough to kiss you fully, mouth warm and tasting faintly of lime and tequila, his hands sliding under your shirt like he was reclaiming control. But you broke the kiss with a breathless laugh, leaning back just enough to look him in the eyes.
âYou said you liked tequila.â
âI like peace and quiet too, but I guess Iâm not getting that either,â he muttered, though the way he looked at you said something very different.
âNot when Iâm around,â you teased, pulling his shirt fully open now and tossing the shot glass aside like the game was only beginning.Â
He chuckled, low and wicked. âAnd here I was, just trying to have a normal Friday night.â
âBut did you like it though?â you asked, breathless now, lips still tingling from the kiss. You dragged your hands slowly up his chest, over the exposed skin youâd just unbuttoned, nails light enough to make him twitch. âYou havenât said anything about it, babe.â
Yoongi looked at youâreally looked at you. His pupils were blown wide now, jaw tight, lips slightly parted as he processed the question, like you had just asked him something offensive.
âYouâre seriously asking me that,â he said, voice low, hoarse with restraint, âwhile youâre literally sitting on me like this?â
You rolled your hips ever so slightly, the friction cruel in how light it was. âJust want feedback.â
Yoongi let out a sharp breathâhalf disbelief, half groanâand grabbed you by the hips, steadying you, containing you, but barely. His fingers dug in, possessive.
âOf course I fucking liked it,â he said, eyes dragging down from your lips to your neck, to the swell of your chest beneath your shirt. âWho the fuck do you think I am?â
You smiled slowly. âJust making sure.â
âYou licked my neck, downed a shot like it was foreplay, and then had the audacity to grind on me like it was a goddamn game.â
You tilted your head. âIt was a game.â
He pulled you flush against him, his mouth brushing the corner of yours with maddening softness, the kind that made your whole body tense in anticipation. âOh, itâs a fucking war now.â
You gasped, but before you could respond, his mouth was on yours againâhotter this time, needier, tongue sweeping past your lips like he needed more of you now. His hands slid up your back, under your shirt, dragging it higher with every desperate kiss.
He was already hard beneath you, and the way his hips bucked up, just once, slow and deliberate, told you exactly how much control he was pretending to have.
âYou wanna know if I liked it?â he growled against your mouth, lips brushing yours with each word. âIâm gonna show you how much.â
And he kissed you againâmessy, rough, like the question had flipped a switch in him. One hand tugged at the waistband of your shorts while the other held you firmly in place, his thigh pressing between yours now. Heat pooled low in your belly.
âTequila,â he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck. âWhat kind of spell did you girls cook up in Bali?â
You laughed, breath shaky as your hands tangled in his hair. âThe kind that ends with you begging.â
He was gone the second you straddled him.
Yoongi triedâreally triedâto keep his cool. But the minute you whispered âlickâ and dragged your tongue along his neck, something short-circuited. His brain, his restraint, his sense of time. All of it.
And now, here you wereâsitting on him like sin in human form, asking if he liked it.
Liked it?
He wanted to laugh. Scream. Flip the couch. Instead, he grabbed your hips because he had to. Not to stop youâhell noâbut because if he didnât hold on, he might do something entirely unhinged. Like flip you over and lose his mind.
âOf course I fucking liked it,â he said, and even to his own ears, his voice sounded wrecked. He could feel the way your weight settled into his lap, how warm you were, how smug. You knew exactly what you were doing, and it was driving him insane.
He couldnât look away from your mouth. The way you were breathing a little faster. The faint shimmer of tequila still lingering on your lips.
When you rolled your hips againâagainâhe swore under his breath.
His body reacted instantly, hips lifting into yours with an involuntary jerk that made him clench his jaw. Your breath caught. Good. You felt it too.
âYouâre gonna fucking kill me,â he muttered, dragging his hands under your shirt, mapping every inch of skin like he had to memorize it. âThisâwhatever this isâyouâre not walking away from it, you know that?â
You tilted your head, smirking. âWasnât planning to. I told you I had a shitty week.â
Yoongi chuckled, the sound deep in his throat as he leaned in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. âSo this was your plan, huh?â
You felt the slow drag of his hands down your sidesâwarm, steady, maddening.
âMmm,â he murmured, voice low and laced with amusement. âYou just wanted to have a little fun. That it?â
His nose nudged against your cheek before he whispered, âYou missed me, babe. Donât play like you didnât.â
You tried to keep a straight face, but the way he spokeâso casual, so sure of youâmade your breath hitch.
âTwo weeks without meâŠâ His teeth grazed your jaw. âTwo weeks without sex.â
Your thighs instinctively tightened around his hips, and he noticedâof course he did.
âOhhh, I knew it,â he grinned, cocky now. âI wonder what you got up to while I was around. Hm? What kind of desperate little thoughts did that pretty head of yours have?â
He ran his hands up under your shirt again, slow, appreciating every curve like heâd been starving for it. âYou did something to this body, didnât you?â he drawled, voice dark velvet now. âYouâve been walking around all tan and glowy and smug like that trip fixed your soulâbut I know what you really needed.â
His fingers curled around your hips, rocking you down against him, just enough to remind you exactly how ready he was.
âYouâre a whole different person when youâre horny, baby. So needy. So fucking honest.â
You squirmed, and his laugh was smug, satisfied.
âYou had a shitty week,â he said, dragging his mouth down to your neck, lips soft but teasing. âSo naturally, you thoughtââHey, I know whatâll help. Let me climb on top of my boyfriend and ride the stress away.ââ
âIs it working?â you whispered, breath hot against his cheek.
He pulled back just enough to look at youâreally look, eyes burning like they could eat you alive.
âI made you a song while we were apart,â he said with mock offense. âYou? You learned a seduction trick off TikTok.â
You grinned. âProductive two weeks.â
Yoongiâs hands were still on your waist, warm and possessive, when he leaned back just slightly, eyes hooded and gleaming with something dangerous. You knew that look. That smirk. Your stomach flipped.
âSoâŠâ he began, brushing his thumbs in slow circles over your bare skin, âyou pulled that little tequila stuntâŠâ
You grinned. âGuilty.â
ââŠand thought I wouldnât retaliate?â
Your smile faltered. âWhat?â
He leaned in again, lips barely ghosting over yours as he whispered, âYou really think I donât have a few tricks of my own, baby?â
You swallowed hard.
âIâve been patient,â he continued, dragging his fingers slowlyâinfuriatingly slowlyâdown your spine. âYou had your fun. Now itâs my turn.â
Before you could respond, he was lifting you effortlessly, standing with you wrapped around him like it was second natureâbecause, at this point, it was. You barely had time to gasp before he was carrying you down the hallway toward the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him like he meant it.
He laid you on the bed with a reverence that made your heart race and your thighs press together, and then he disappeared for a secondâjust long enough to make you whine in protest.
âRelax,â came his voice from somewhere near the kitchen, casual and dangerous. âIâm just grabbing the bottle. If youâre gonna start something, babe, you better be ready to finish it.â
Your mouth went dry.
When he returned, the bottle of tequila was in one hand, and that same dark smirk was back on his face. He set it gently on the nightstand, then climbed onto the bed with the kind of grace that made your breath catch.
âYou remember how it goes, right?â he murmured, kneeling between your legs. âSalt⊠lick⊠shot.â
You nodded, suddenly the one speechless.
He dragged a finger across the curve of your collarbone, then leaned in to kiss the spotâslow, open-mouthed, lingering. You felt your heartbeat stutter.
âLift your arms,â he whispered.
You obeyed. He licked a line just below your clavicle, then sprinkled the salt there with deliberate precision. His lips brushed your ear again.
âKeep still.â
You couldnât breathe.
He brought the shot glass up, holding it steady in one hand as he dipped his head.
The lick came firstâwet, slow, decadent. His tongue traced the salt from your chest with a kind of reverence that made your whole body tighten beneath him.
Then the shotâhead tilted back, clean and quick.
And then?
Then came the lime.
Instead of handing it to you, Yoongi brought it to your mouth himself, holding the wedge with his fingers just so. âBite,â he murmured, his eyes locked on your lips.
You didâand his eyes darkened.
He watched the way your mouth moved, watched the little shiver run through you from the sour tang and the heat still lingering on your skin.
âFuck,â he muttered, dropping the lime to the side and pushing you gently back onto the pillows. âYou're never allowed to do that trick again unless I get to do it right back.â
Your laugh was breathless. âDeal.â
But before you could say anything else, his mouth was back on youâhot, insistent, everywhere at once. He kissed a path down your stomach, murmuring praise between every inch of skin.
And just before he disappeared between your thighs, he looked up at you with that same boyish smirk that always got you in trouble.
âYou had a shitty week,â he said, voice low âGuess Iâm gonna have to fuck it out of you.â
You barely had time to react before Yoongiâs mouth was on you againâslow. He kissed down your stomach like he was mapping it, like he was reclaiming it. His fingers slid under the waistband of your shorts, tugging just enough to make you whimper.
âYou wore these to tease me, huh?â he murmured, hot breath fanning over your skin. âYou knew exactly what you were doing.â
âMaybe,â you said, breathless, hands tangling in his hair.
He chuckled, dark and low. âYou walk in here, tequila bottle like some kind of sex witch⊠straddle me like itâs nothing, lick salt off my chest like thatâs a normal Friday nightâwhat the fuck do you expect me to do?â
You were about to answerâsomething witty, something brattyâbut then he had your shorts off and his mouth was on your inner thigh, kissing the skin there like it was sacred.
âYou smell like heaven,â he muttered. âAnd youâre shaking. Youâve been thinking about this all week, havenât you?â
âYes,â you gasped.
He hummed. âThen stop pretending like you donât want me to ruin you.â
And he did. Tongue pressed flat, slow and firmâone long lick that had your hips bucking off the bed. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you down with practiced ease.
âFuck, baby,â you breathed, already seeing stars.
Yoongi didnât respond. He was focused, utterly and deliciously focused, like he was composing a melody with your body as the instrument. He switched between long, slow strokes and quick flicks that had you sobbing his name.
Every time you got close, heâd pull backâkiss your thighs, suck a little mark into the skin just to watch you squirm.
âYou donât get to come yet,â he said, voice rough now. âNot until I say.â
You whimpered, a full-body shiver running through you.
He slid two fingers into youâslow, curling just rightâand your back arched. Your hands gripped the sheets, clawed at them. He pressed kisses to your inner thigh as he fucked you with his fingers, mouth still devastating between your legs.
âYou taste like you missed me,â he said, voice hoarse, fingers never slowing. âIs that what this is? Two weeks of missing me? Of needing this cock and not getting it?â
âYoongiââ
âTell me.â
âYesâyes, fuck, I missed youââ
âYeah, you did.â His teeth grazed your skin, his fingers moving faster now. âMissed being filled. Missed being fucked like you deserved.â
You were a trembling mess, every nerve ending lit up, every muscle tense and begging for release.
And just when you thought you couldnât take another second, he moved up your body, hovered over you, kissed your lips deep and dirty with your taste still on his tongue.
âWanna come?â he whispered, grinding against you, already rock hard through his boxers.
âYes, pleaseââ
âGood,â he smirked. âBecause Iâm not stopping until you do. And then again. And again. You're not sleeping tonight, babe.â
Yoongi didnât stopânot when your legs started to tremble, not when your breath hitched in that high, helpless way that drove him insane. He was relentless, completely immersed, tongue gliding in slow, torturous circles before switching to sharp, precise flicks that had you arching off the bed.
âGod, fuck. Please,â you almost choked, voice wrecked, coming out in desperate, broken pieces. âFuck, fuckââ
Your hand flew to his hair, threading through the dark strands with shaking fingers. You werenât just touching himâyou were clinging, grounding yourself against the overwhelming wave crashing through your body. Then your other hand joined, not stroking, not pullingâjust holding on as he pulled deeper sounds from you than you'd ever made before.
âIâfuck,â you gasped again, voice hoarse and breathless, hips rising against his mouth. âYoongiâpleaseâI can'tââ
He growled low, the sound vibrating against you in a way that made you cry out. And still, he didnât stop.
Didnât even look up.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
You were falling apart under him, trembling and moaning and begging, and he was drinking it in like your body was his favorite kind of worship. His hands tightened on your thighs, holding you open, holding you downâas if to say Youâre not going anywhere. Iâm not done yet.
Because he wasnât.
He was building you like a beat, layering sensation on sensation until it all collapsedâuntil the dam broke and you screamed his name, clenching around nothing, your body shaking as pleasure tore through you.
And even then, he still didnât let go.
âGood girl,â he murmured against your thigh, breath hot, voice rough with pride and lust. âNow letâs see how you take cockâ
He didnât give you much time to recoverâjust enough for your breathing to even out, for your lashes to flutter open, dazed and ruined, still trembling from the aftermath.
Yoongi leaned over you, chest brushing yours, the weight of him grounding you. His lips ghosted across your jawline, featherlight, and then lower, over your neck, where he bit down gentlyâclaiming.
"You always taste like this?" he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Or is this just what happens when you miss me?"
You whimpered, already breathless again.
He sat back on his knees, undoing his belt in one smooth pull that made your mouth go dry. His eyes never left yoursâdark, heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide with hunger. His shirt hung open, still a little damp where youâd licked the salt off his skin, and he looked completely, devastatingly fucked out, even though he hadnât gotten anything yet.
âLook at you,â he murmured, eyes raking down your body. âYouâre shaking. You really had a week, huh?â
You nodded. Barely. And he smiled, slow and sinful.
âWell, baby,â he said, positioning himself between your thighs, stroking himself once, twiceâthick, flushed, already drippingââlet me make it better.â
And then he pressed in.
The stretch made your breath catch, eyes fluttering shutâyour body still too sensitive, too desperateâand he hissed between his teeth.
âFuck, youâre tight. Always so good for me. Goddamn.â
He rolled his hips, slow and deep, and it was like the air was punched out of your lungs. He filled you completely, every inch deliberate, every movement dragging against all the places you needed him.
Your hands flew to his shoulders, nails digging in for purchase.
âYoongiâfuckââ
He caught your mouth in a kiss, messy and hot, all tongue and teeth, swallowing your sounds like he wanted to own them. His thrusts got harder, deeper, finding that rhythm that had your entire body arching, your legs locking around his waist like he was the only thing anchoring you.
"You think you can come in here, ride me with tequila tricks, and not get absolutely wrecked?" he growled into your neck.
You moanedâhelplessâand he smirked.
"Not after that little show, baby. No way."
He shifted, one hand sliding under your thigh to hitch it higher around him, changing the angleâand fuck, you saw stars. Your back arched off the bed, your head thrown back, and Yoongi watched like he was witnessing art.
Yoongiâs grip tightened, his voice dropping low and rough against your skin. âWhat did they call you? A goddess?â His hips thrust harder, heavier, deliberately rougher, every movement pushing you closer to the edge. âBut they didnât get to have you like this, right?â
You choked on a breath, overwhelmed by the sensation. âOh my god⊠I told youâfuckâbecause I thought it was⊠there, fuckâfunny⊠Oh my god, are you really jealâfuck!â
Your eyes rolled back, pleasure washing over you in waves so intense you could barely keep up.
âIâm not jealous,â Yoongi growled, voice thick with need.
âNo?â you teased breathlessly, arching into him.
âIâm thriving,â he said, pressing his forehead to yours, every word dripping with possessiveness. âThey donât fucking get to see you like this. Only I do.â
âYou feel that?â he grunted, thrusting harder now, body slamming into yours with a rhythm that left you gasping. âThatâs mine. All of thisâmine.â
You couldn't speakâyou could barely think. Every movement was electric, every drag of him inside you a white-hot promise of release. His pace was brutal now, every snap of his hips laced with possession, with the kind of love that ruins you for anyone else.
âYouâre gonna come again,â he saidâlow, rough, a little breathless, but firm. Not a question. A command. âAnd then youâre gonna do it one more time. Because I missed this, too. I fucking missed you.â
He growled the last part, voice cracking slightly under the weight of how real it was. His hips didnât let upâdeep, relentless, tuned perfectly to your body like heâd memorized every reaction, every gasp.
Your fingers clawed at his back, useless against the way your body spiraled. You were wreckedâutterly, completely, beautifully wrecked.
âIâI missed you so much, Yoongi,â you sobbed, the pleasure too much to hold in anymore. âIâm gonna⊠fuâfuck, cumââ
âOh my god,â is all you can manage, your voice wrecked and breathless, your whole body trembling beneath him.
âInside,â you whisper, your lips brushing his ear, need thick in your tone.
Heâs still movingâslow now, but deep, deliberateâas if he wants to feel every last second of you wrapped around him. The look in his eyes is feral, undone.
âFucking missed you so much, babe,â he groans, and then heâs right thereâburying himself deep as he cums hard, hips stuttering, spilling into you with a growl so raw it vibrates in your chest. His whole body tenses against yours as he rides it out, forehead pressed to yours.
âI fucking missed you,â he repeats, almost breathless, voice rasping against your lips. âI told youâI wrote a whole damn song because I missed you. I didnât have time to give you something earlier but I had this whole fucking planâa date, like a proper boyfriend.â
He huffs out a breathless, delirious laugh, still barely able to move.
âAnd now look at us,â he adds, burying his face in your neck. âFucking tequila.â
You laugh, weak and breathless, wrapping your arms around him tighter. âNext time you bring the salt.â
if you leave something behind (you gain something too.)
pairing: bucky barnes x multiverse! reader
summary: youâre a TVA agentâmeant to observe, never interfereâbut you fall for him in every universe. every iteration. every version of james buchanan Barnes. and across centuries, across collapse and convergence, that love stays. steady. inevitable. written into the code of the multiverse like a rule it canât break. (multiverse!) inspired by past lives (2023) and the ministry of time. for an expanded explanation and playlist, click here.
word count: 15.7k
content warnings: 18+ mdni, fem reader, heavy angst w/ a happy ending, oral (f and m receiving), creampie, piv, praise, overstimulation, hair pulling, breast worship, use of pet names, mentions of death and loss
This is it.
The glamorous, sparkling career of a TVA precision-field agent.Â
Emphasis on âprecision.â Emphasis on âfield.â Emphasis, mostly, on âagent,â because the term âanalystâ was deemed too misleading after what happened in 1806 Prussia (one rogue spreadsheet, a very confused Napoleon, and three weeks of bureaucratic bloodshed).
Youâre not like the Minutemen, stomping into timelines in those tactical chic jumpsuits, pruning anomalies with the self-satisfaction of people who still think âdeleteâ is a solution. Youâre not an auditorâthank Godâsquinting at branching event charts and muttering about entropy coefficients over cold tea.
No. Youâre the needle. The thread. The hand that sews.
Your job is surgical. Your presence is a whisper. Where others correct by erasure, you correct by inclusion. You enter the timeline. You become part of it. You donât push the dominoes overâyou walk by, breathe funny, and trust the air will tip them just right.
Thereâs no glory in your work. No medals. No mission logs, either.Â
Everything you do is redactedâeven from you. You carry the residue of other peopleâs lives under your fingernails, and sometimes forget which memories belong to whom.Â
Sometimes you wake up choking on grief that was never yours. You learn to live with that.
Itâs the first thing they ask you in training, during the psych filters: Would knowing the future help you grieve less?
No one answers yes. Not honestly.
You understand now why. Thereâs no solace in foreknowledge, just the burden of it. Knowing that someone dies doesnât stop you from loving them. It just makes every moment feel like a countdown.
You specialize in delicate convergences: moments in history so precariously balanced that a sneeze in the wrong direction could avalanche into centuries of collapse. Your handlers call them âsoftpoints.â You call them âthe edge of the knife.â
Sometimes youâre a midwife in 1421. Sometimes youâre the barista who smiles just enough to make a physicist reconsider her route to work. Sometimes youâre a corpse at the right place, the right time, to remind a man of the past he keeps trying to forget.
Right now, you're really fucking hungover.
You started having the dream again.
Not a dream, exactly. A memory with the edges worn smooth. At first it came in piecesâclipped sounds, filtered light, the low hum of something old and mechanical beneath your feet. You dismissed it. Just timeline residue. A misplaced echo.
But it kept returning.
Always the same: a red-brick apartment building. New Yorkâno file, no mission tagâin winter. Brooklyn, more specifically, from your view of the bridge. Youâre on a stoop. Someone calls your name and you turn just in time to see a shadow disappear around the corner. A laugh rides the wind, low and familiar.
You wake up before you follow. Every time.
Your mouth tastes like floor polish and betrayal. Your eyes open one at a time, not out of coordination, but protest. Your skull seems like it's determined to play a high-stakes game of ping-pong against itself.
You groan.
This is how your days usually start.Â
You sit up slowly, bones cracking like old film reels, and assess the carnage around your quarters.
Clothes: on the chair, on the floor, one boot in the sink.
Timepad: blinking faintly on the nightstand, still charged.
Your hair is somewhere between âungovernableâ and âformerly respected.â You run a hand through it and immediately regret that decision. Your reflection in the tiny wall mirror is a damning indictment of last nightâs choices. Smudged eyeliner. A smear of something neon-orange near your jawline. You shower quickly â TVA-issued water pressure: inconsistent, ironic. You pull on a button-up and slacks instead â neutral, inoffensive.
Youâll blend into whatever century they throw you into next. For now, you settle for looking like you might belong in the TVA cafeteria line.
By the time you lace your boots (twice â the first attempt ends in a mild panic attack and a missing sock), the hangoverâs down to a dull roar. Your breath smells like expired mint gum and broken dreams, so you down two cups of black coffee and chew on one of those flavorless temporal hydration tablets like it might save your soul.
You do your job. Reliably. Unremarkably. The way they like it.
And sometimes you drink enough that for a few hours, you donât remember how you got here. Or how youâve always been here.
You toss your timepad into your holster, slap a mediocre patch on your face to cover the worst of the under-eye shadows, and mutter something vaguely threatening at your own reflection.
Time to go.
Three mugs deep into lukewarm cafeteria coffee that tastes like regret and the glue holding office furniture together, youâre hunched over yet another Form G-17 â âSuspected Non-Nexus Deviation: B-Class Branch.â Your fourth this week. Youâve logged more hours categorizing existential anomalies than actually interfering with any, which is particularly unusual, for you anyway. You've been dormant for much longer than you're used to.
The previous G-17s included such branch classics as âcow develops rudimentary consciousness,â âSteve Rogers blinks twice during a televised 2013 speech instead of once,â and âLoki starts a book club.â (Unauthorized self-improvement remains a hot-button issue.)
This one, thoughâthis oneâs different.
The case file reads:
CASE FILE: #616-BE0
MISSION CLASS: Softpoint Convergence
LOCATION: Siberia, USSR
DATE: February 1955
SUMMARY:
A low-grade temporal softpoint has been detected. Origin ambiguous. Energy output consistent with pre-convergent instability. Divergent potential is not yet sufficient to trigger a Nexus Event, but the timeline is exhibiting signs of local timeline âfraying.â Mission parameters suggest passive stabilization through presence, not correction. Duration: 3 hours. Environmental hostility high.
NOTES:
Embed into local context. Observe anomaly behavior. Maintain temporal camouflage. Apply Softpoint Integration Protocol if deviation escalates.
You stare at the file.
Cold, quiet dread coils low in your stomach. Siberia. February. 1955. No glamour in that assignmentâjust ice and silence and the kind of untraceable damage that leaves timelines limping.
Across from you, Casey is organizing his pen caddy by weight again. You catch a glimpse of the sticky note on his lunchbox: âPlease do not eat my croissant. Please.â The second âpleaseâ is underlined three times.
You stole that croissant yesterday.
Honestly, he should thank you. It was a little dry.
You turn your eyes back to the file and eye the temperature index: -43°C. S. âOh good,â you mutter to no one. âToe amputation weather.â
You stand, suit creaking as you shift, and tug on your tie with practiced resentment. You snap your timepad into place on your wrist. The UI pings with a mild hum â dull orange light, sanctioned and soulless.
Casey looks up.
âHeading out?â he asks, hopeful. He always wants your desk when youâre gone. You have the only chair that doesnât squeak like a dying goose.
âYup,â you say. âBrad flagged something âmildly interesting.â Weâll see if itâs another raccoon wasted off shrooms.â
âOr a bear,â Casey offers.
You click your timepad open, keying in the Siberia coordinates. âOr a hallucinating bear.â
Casey nods gravely.
The door opens, temporal energy flaring in its signature burnt-orange halo. You take one last swig of your bad coffee, grimace as it hits your tongue, and mutter, âLetâs go see what broke this time.â
Then you step through.
The light swallows you whole.
And you forget, for a secondâjust a secondâthat you were ever anything else.
EARTH-616 | SIBERIA, 1955
The walls groaned when the wind pressed against them. Not urgently. Not like they were in danger of collapse. More like an old man muttering in his sleep.
You didnât trust the ship, not entirely. It had been retrofitted for temporal operations, but barelyâstill more icebreaker than chronal vessel. The insulation was patchy in places, and every vent exhaled a little breath of cold that bit at your ankles. If the TVA had a top-shelf of deployment crafts, this wasnât on it. This was bottom-shelf. Dusty. Dinged up. Probably cursed.
Still. It was warm. Warm enough.
Outside, Siberia stretched like a battlefield already lost. White, endless, blank. Indifferent to watchers, to wanderers, to time itself. It didnât care that the threads of history bent here. That the TVA had deemed this place a convergence zoneâa softpoint where multiple outcomes were forming brittle overlaps. No Nexus spike yet. But something was pulsing.
You leaned back against the wall and let the thermos rest against your chest. The rhythmic thump of the engine hummed through your bones. You liked that. The vibration reminded you that you were still solid. Still here. Still someone with a job to do.
Observe. Do not interfere.
And yet. A flicker on the monitor caught your attention.
Unidentified movementâQuadrant C. Low thermal. Not vehicle. Not patrol. One heat signature. Steady. Moving through the storm.
Human-shaped. Probably.
You didnât move yet. Just watched. Let it crawl across the display while you listened to the wind.
You checked your timepad again. No nexus flare. No spike. But there was a pulse. Faint, irregular. Like the anomaly was alive.
You didnât believe in fate. But you believed in gravity. In the way some people pulled history around them like cloaks. This place? It felt pulled.
The door behind you hissed open, then shut again with a metallic shudderâjust a shift in cabin pressure, but your body went still anyway. One hand tightened around the cooling thermos; the other hovered near your holster. Not paranoid. Just prepared.
You took a breath. Let it sit in your lungs like steam.
The blip on the monitor moved closer. Still slow. Still steady.
Somewhere out there, in that wide, white nowhere, something was walking toward you.
Before you can focus or fixate on the blip, you hear the bang. Itâs not the ship groaning this time. Not the distant thunder of ice shifting. This is close. Inside.
You didn't run. Running was noise, panic, a rookie move. Instead, you moved swiftly and fluidly, silent as frost.
The corridor narrowed as you descended, metal groaning beneath your boots, the walls sweating condensation from the sudden temperature drop. Ahead, you heard clear sounds of intrusionâboots scraping against metal, something sharp and metallic snapping like bone.
Voices shouted orders in Russian, clipped and urgent.
You pressed against the wall outside the sub-hold entrance, flicking your wrist to pull up the heat signatures on your timepad. Fourâno, fiveâdistinct signatures flickered on screen, scattered and frantic, like dropped matchsticks.
Far more than the single blip you'd tracked earlier.
You move anyway.
Quiet. Calculated. Not to neutralizeâjust to see.
Inside, the hold is chaos: crates overturned, equipment flickering, something sulfuric in the air. A soldier stumbles into your path, disoriented, eyes wrongâlike the mind inside doesnât fit anymore. You sidestep, smooth and practiced, letting him fall without intervention. Another crashes through the smoke and doesnât even register you.
Your breath clouds the air. The hold smells like ozone and rust and something sharperâlike old blood sealed in with frost. And then you see it.Â
In the corner of the hold, something humsâlow, persistent, and thoroughly annoying. Not a cryo chamber, thank god. You've had enough encounters with frozen bodies this fiscal quarter.Â
Instead, it's a pulse field generatorâstandard TVA gear, uncomfortably grafted onto mid-century Soviet tech. You frown deeply, which is practically your default expression at this point. This thing was supposed to be dormant.
According to the updated log, this thing is officially a Temporal Dissipation Nodeâa fancy TVA euphemism for a safety valve that bleeds out timeline tension. Supposedly passive, no-contact. The kind of setup they drop into delicate softpoints, relying entirely on subtlety and minimal human interaction.
This node, however, isn't subtle at all. It's malfunctioning, stuttering irregular pulses instead of smooth ones. Perfect. You crouch, eyes narrowing as you spot obvious manual overrides and Soviet tampering. Wonderful. Someone's been messing around inside the casing.
âGreat,â you mutter under your breath, tasting bitterness that has nothing to do with your morning coffee. âNo wonder they didnât send backup. Needed someone expendable.â
Before you can fully embrace the gravity of the situation, the far wall explodes inward in a decidedly dramatic fashionâmetal screeching, smoke filling the room. You whip around, baton raised instinctively, already calculating how much paperwork this will generateâ
âand freeze.
Because someone's standing there. Just standing. Breathing hard, like he ran the whole way here through the ice.
His hair is long and damp at the ends, curling slightly where the frost is starting to melt. His clothes are frayed at the edgesâstandard-issue Soviet combat gear, only half-zipped, soaked through. Thereâs snow clinging to the edges of his sleeve. His stance is wide, solid. Familiar in a way that makes your blood run cold.
But it's his eyes that hold you still.
Not the metal arm, titanium and deadly. Not his sharp-edged stance, nor the rifle slung almost forgotten across his back. It's the eyesâpale blue, intensely focused. Clear. Too clear.
Just staring.
Like youâre an answer to a question he hasnât been able to phrase. Like heâs seen you before and forgot until now.
And maybeâyou freeze, stomach folding in on itselfâmaybe you forgot too.
The Winter Soldier. James Buchanan Barnes.
Itâs not recognition, exactly. Not full-blown. But something in you shifts, quiet and tectonic. The sensation of stepping into a half-remembered dream. Or maybe it's the ache youâve been waking up with lately, the dream you can never hold onto, just shapes and colors and a voice you almost know.
Youâve heard plenty about Buâthe Winter Soldier from hushed whispers in break rooms and blurry security footage in restricted archives. Never once did you picture him looking so⊠aware.Â
At the TVA, heâs quietly regarded as a tragedy. Not a threat, not a glitchâjust a sorrow too persistent to be useful. His story, in every version theyâve managed to scrape together, is one long unraveling. Grief braided into duty. Identity shredded and rebuilt, over and over, never the same way twice. Heâs the man who keeps losing himself and somehow finding his way backâbloodied, wrong, resilient.
Maybe thatâs why he doesnât replicate well. His storyâs too heavy to echo cleanly across timelines. The trauma calcifies too early or never forms at all. He fractures, or fades, or dies too soon. The man doesnât scale. Whatever makes him who he isâthe loyalty, the guilt, the staggering, stubborn will to keep tryingâitâs never quite transferable.
The few variants that do emerge feel more like flickers than full lives. Glimpses. Reverberations. None of them last long. Some of them are never quite right.
In all your missions, all the cautious mentions of him across different centuries and realities and debriefs and documents, youâve never actually met any versions of him.
Not directly. Not face-to-face. Youâve seen the aftershocks he leaves behindâcratered timelines, corrupted code, confused agents muttering about ghosts with metal arms. Youâve traced the outlines of his story across so many fractured worlds, each one slightly wrong. The scent of smoke where he shouldâve stood. A silhouette in archival footage. A name carved into a resistance wall in a language long dead. But never him. Not until now.
It should be insignificant. It shouldn't matter. There should be no correlation, not even a twinge of paths intertwining.
Except now heâs standing in front of you, and it feels like being struck clean through the chest with something invisible and ancient.
In one smooth movement, he dispatches a soldierâa precise blade across the throat. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Then his eyes sweep the hold again, landing on you and locking in place like he couldn't stand to take his eyes away.
You take in the rest of him.
His face is younger, but that's to be expected. Well, not young, exactlyâbut preserved, like a man caught mid-sentence and left on pause. Strong jaw, a haunted set to his mouth, cheekbones that look sculpted more by winter than by genes. He looks like he hasnât shaved in a week and hasnât cared in far longer. You run a mental calculator, it must've been only about a decade since⊠the thing.
But itâs the eyes againâflicking over you, sharp and clinical. Blue, frostbitten, edged with something youâd almost call suspicion, if there wasnât so much⊠exhaustion in it.
And finallyâhis silence. Not blank, not confused. Just... watchful. Like he's seen this play out a hundred times already. His head tilts slightly. Just a fraction. Like heâs cataloging the shift in your body language.Â
Realization hits you with an unpleasant jolt: heâs uncertain. Of the timeline. Of the mission. Of you.
Whatever brutal conditioning was poured into him hasnât fully rebooted yet. Thereâs still too much of the man bleeding through the programming. His breathâs too ragged. His movements, a fraction too slow. His gazeânot vacant, not robotic, but⊠blinking too hard. Like the worldâs coming in too fast, too bright, too much.
Your timepad buzzes insistently, a sharp vibration at your wristâtwenty minutes and some change until convergence. You lower your baton slightly, resigned, and open your mouth.
âLookââ
But your sentence is abruptly cut short as a shadow drops from the walkway above, gun raised. Before you can react, a powerful arm wraps across your mouth, hauling you sharply back against a solid chest. The bullet punches into the floor exactly where your head had been, sparking furiously.
âQuiet,â he rasps. His voice is rough-edged, wind-scouredâhoarse from disuse or screaming into nothing or god knows what else. The metal arm presses lightly against your abdomen. Not pinning. Just⊠grounding.
You nod. One deliberate motion. A signal that you understand. That youâll play along.
Thereâs a beatâone heartbeat, maybe twoâbefore he releases you. The contact disappears like breath off a mirror. Quick. Clean.
Two more figures drop from aboveâarmed, definitely not TVA or Soviet. Fantastic. A third-party complication. Just what this mission needed.
Bucky moves first, a blur of ruthless precision. You watch him take down an attacker effortlessly: elbow, weapon disarm, throat strike. Smooth, clinical, deadly poetry.Â
The air shudders againâan ugly crack in the hull overhead. Your timepad screams: fracture line detected. asset instability threshold imminent. Everythingâs shaking. You grab his arm and mutter, âWe have to move.â
He hesitatesâbut only for a second.
Then he runs.
You donât speak as you sprint through the corridor, ducking falling beams and sparking lights. He stays close. Too close. Like heâs guarding your back on instinct. Like he hasnât figured out yet that you arenât the one who needs protecting.
You hit a collapsed hallway and double back, darting into a maintenance shaft. The walls here sweat condensation. Buckyâs chest is heaving from exertion, breath coming too fast.
You glance back.
Heâs stopped.
Heâs leaning a hand against the wall, eyes shut. Not from exhaustion. From something else.
His metal fist clenches tightâso tight the plating groansâand he presses it to his temple like heâs trying to block something out. His whole body shakes, just once. A full-body flinch. Like his brainâs short-circuiting.
âHey,â you say, softly now. No command. Just presence. âHey.â
Nothing.
âBucky.â
It slips out before you can catch it.
And it works.
He startles. Freezes. His eyes snap openâand they find yours instantly.
Something ancient and aching floods his expression. Not anger. Not threat. Just confusion. Recognition. Fear.
Not of you. For you.
His lips part like heâs going to speakâbut no sound comes out.
You move toward him. Slowly. Hands up. Nonthreatening.
You reach him slowly, each step cautious, deliberate. His back is against the bulkhead now, shoulders rigid like heâs trying to hold himself together through sheer force of will. You stop just short, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body.
The lighting flickers, painting sharp angles across his face. For a moment, he looks nothing like a weapon. He just looks... young. Tired. Worn raw from too many ghosts.
âIâm not here to hurt you,â you say quietly. âI swear. Iâm not.â
His jaw twitches. His eyes wonât leave yours. That look againâlike he knows you. Like heâs trying to dig the truth out of your face with nothing but instinct and desperation.
âI know this place is loud,â you continue, softer still. âI know your head must feel like a war zone right now. But youâre doing fine. Better than fine.â
A sharp breath. His fingers twitch at his side, metal knuckles flexing like heâs fighting the urge to reach for you. Or to run. Youâre not sure which would be worse.
And then the timepad on your wrist pulsesâa slow, resonant tone. The kind it only makes when a divergence has been successfully reabsorbed. You glance down.
Of course. Thatâs what this was. The system was waiting for the moment he didnât break. For the second he chose not to collapse, or kill, or disappear. A single, improbable outcome unfolding exactly as needed.
It was him. He was the pulse.
You let out a shaky exhale. The node in the hold mustâve gone inertâno more timeline bleed, no more irregular pulses. Outside, the stormâs intensity drops by half in minutes. The hull creaks as pressure stabilizes. Everythingâs slowing down. Calming.
Itâs over.
The right call now would be to leave. Every protocol youâve ever memorized is screaming at you to disengage, to extract clean, to leave no mark and make no memory.
But.
Youâve alreadyâfuck, youâve already. The moment he looked at you like thatâlike you were familiar, like you matteredâit was over. You are so utterly, catastrophically screwed.
âI donât know what they told you,â you say, and your voice barely clears your throat. Itâs quieter now. Gentler. Like youâre afraid of scaring him back into whatever shell he crawled out of. âAbout this place. About this mission. I donât even know if youâre going to remember this tomorrow. But I wanted you to knowââ
You donât finish.
Because he speaks.
âWill I see you again?â
The words are soft. Barely voiced. Like he had to haul them out of someplace deep and rusted shut. They land heavyâdenser than sound has any right to be. It knocks the breath out of you.Â
You blink. âWhat?â
He steps forwardâjust one measured stepâbut itâs enough to change the air between you. Close now. Close enough to see the uneven skin at the corner of his mouth, the wind-chapped crack at his lower lip. Close enough to notice how his left hand shakes, barely-there tremors betraying the tension heâs trying to lock down.
He doesnât say it again. He doesnât need to.
You could lie. You could make it easier. There are a dozen lines youâve used beforeâsmooth, forgettable, safe. But you donât reach for any of them.
Instead, you smile. Itâs lopsided, weary, born of too many years being the one who leaves first. Itâs your shield and your surrender, both.
âOnly if you start talking more,â you say, a half-hearted tease wrapped in something much more fragile. You flip open your timepad as the breach activates, casting soft gold light against the hallway walls.
The portal hums. Warm. Waiting.
But your heartâs a thunderclap now. Relentless. Youâre already tucking away the tilt of his head, the way his gaze softenedânot like surrender, but like a question. Like maybe heâd found something in you worth staying awake for.
And you know betterâgod, do you know betterâbut your feet donât move. You hesitate. Just a second. Just enough to feel it. Then you step through.
You donât look back. You never do.
But the image of his eyesâice-clear, impossibly humanâfollows you like a ghost you didnât mean to keep.
.
You wait for the hammer to fall.
You expect it in the usual waysâa recall order, a message from Oversight, a polite but unambiguous invitation to report to Subsector 8 for disciplinary review. You expect the breach notice, the system ping that says unauthorized designation use or noncompliant field contact, maybe even timeline contamination: agent-induced.
You expect something.
Because you said his name.
Because you looked at him like a person, not a variable. Because you touched him. Not in passingânot incidental. You chose to.
Youâve seen people get demoted for less. Scrubbed out. Timeline reassigned, memory wiped, consigned to desk duty or worseâshunted into the Void or the Nullspace, that softly brutal end-of-line where broken things go to dissolve.
And youâyouâlet your guard down in the middle of a convergence zone and called the Winter Soldier by his name. Thatâs not oversight. Thatâs not mission drift. Thatâs a lapse.
And yet⊠nothing happens.
Not a single alarm. No reprimand. No haunting message from Internal Realities. No pulled credentials. No veiled threats in Performance Management.
Instead, your timepad pings three days later with a new assignment.
Business as usual.
You run it back a dozen times, trying to parse the angleâwaiting for the catch. It never comes. You go on a mission in Year 3830 where the only threat is a sentient vine and a mild temporal rash. You document a collapsing micro-timeline in 1994 Missouri. You sit through three mandatory debriefs and a cross-departmental cultural sensitivity training that somehow lasts six hours.
Nothing.
Just⊠more work.
You fall back into the rhythm, the TVA's particular brand of unremarkable eternity. The recycled coffee, the endless corridors, the clipped dialogue, the dozens of agents who all look slightly frayed around the edges in the same way. The paperwork is never-ending, the bureaucracy divine in its pettiness. Time moves strange hereâlike chewing on tinfoil. Sometimes it gallops. Sometimes it forgets you entirely.
But thereâs something different now.
Itâs you.
You keep seeing himâin flickers and echoes, half-formed thoughts you donât realize youâre having until they hit the page. You start reviewing your field notes only to find entire paragraphs written in shorthand about the moment he tilted his head. About the way he said Will I see you again?
You shouldnât care. You donât care. Itâs just a glitch in your focus. Just⊠inertia.
Still, you pull up his file. James Buchanan Barnes.
Itâs a fractured thing. Not quite whole, like someone took sandpaper to the edges. Parts redacted, others duplicated. A timeline that canât seem to decide if it wants to be linear. No two missions involving him look the same. There are strange annotations. Personal tags from long-retired analysts. Notations like non-repeatable trauma pattern and event recursion index unstable.
Some entries are missing dates.
You read through anyway. Not for duty. Not even for curiosity, really.
You just want to.
And then, one standard TVA cycle later, it lands. Another assignment. This time the seal is embossed in goldâCausal Preservation Division. Low-risk, softpoint reinforcement. Routine.
You flick through the details:
CASE FILE: #456-TH9
MISSION CLASS: Softpoint Reinforcement
LOCATION: British Isles, Kingdom of Latveria Borderlands
DATE: JUNE 1602
ASSIGNED COVER: Itinerant Herbalist, non-native, licensed under local superstition codes
SUMMARY:
Objective is limited to passive timeline stabilization: ensure delivery of a restorative tonic to a six-year-old child suffering from swamp fever. This act preserves a familial survival event critical to a downstream medical lineage. Mission does not intersect with major temporal figures.
You are not to interfere with core narrative threads. You are not here for Bucky Barnes.
(But the file doesn't say that last sentence. You just write it down anyway.)
You frown at the file. It feels⊠small. Intentionally. A clean mission. An easy one, all things expected. No soldiers, no storms. Just a timeline that needs a nudge.
Still, you hesitate.
Not because itâs dangerous. Because itâs not. And because part of you wondersâquiet, insistentâif heâll be there again. Not as the Winter Soldier. Maybe as something else. Someone else.
The TVA says every mission is randomized.
But it never quite feels like that, does it?
EARTH-456 | BRITISH ISLES, 1602
The first thing you register is the smell. Damp earth. Horse sweat. Pine sap and someone nearby frying something questionably birdlike in lard.
Your boots sink into wet loam as the time door closes behind you with a dull sigh. Itâs quiet here, beneath the canopyâjust birdsong and the faint crackle of something cooking over a badly constructed fire pit.
You scan the clearing.
They call it a "camp," but itâs more aspirational than functional. A few makeshift tents, some scattered crates stamped with the royal crestârecently liberated, if the smashed locks and missing inventory are any clue.
You move quietly, cloaked in the nondescript garb of a traveling herbalistâdirt under your nails, satchel full of fake tinctures, a few well-placed knives.Â
You watch from the shade of the trees as he crouches beside the firepit, running a cloth along the edge of a short dagger. His hairâs tied back, rough and practical. Thereâs mud up to his knees and blood on his knuckles, dried like old guilt.
He doesnât see you, not yet.
Later, after setting up a modest stall in the village square (all intentional smoke and drying herbs, designed to blend in more than stand out), youâre told by a fellow field agent to visit the pub.
âThe meadâs surprisingly tolerable,â they say, nudging your satchel. âAlso, your contactâs not due for another twelve hours, so donât just sit there and brood. Blend in.â
You go.
The pub is suspended in a towering yew, three stories up a gnarled trunk, accessible only by a ladder that looks like it hates everyone who uses it. The structure groans in the wind but holds, its branches creaking like tired bones. The inside smells of firewood, old ale, and something herbalâprobably the same bitterroot tincture youâve been pretending to peddle all day.
The mead is surprisingly tolerable. You settle into a booth carved into the wall, lit by low-burning lanterns. Itâs warm. Quiet. You sip and let yourself feel anonymous.
Right up until the door slams open in that unmistakably theatrical way only someone with a chip on their shoulder and too much presence can manage.
You look upâand still, somehow, youâre not ready.
Heâs changed, of course. Thatâs the constant.
His hair is pulled back in a low tie, streaked with ash and caught with a bit of red cloth. He wears a leather cloak patched with scavenged velvet. The left arm, impossibly, is still metalâbut shaped like something out of myth. Not sleek. Not sterile. Forged. Etched in old runes that flicker faintly in the lantern light.
A blacksmithâs nightmare. A knight's inheritance.
And then thereâs the way he movesâlike someone used to silence, used to watching the world from its edge and only stepping in when absolutely necessary. He doesnât walk so much as arrive, and the moment he does, the tavern seems smaller. Quieter.
His eyesâthose same pale, searching eyesâfind yours almost immediately.
He pauses, mid-step. The look on his face isnât surprise. Itâs that ache of recognition, buried too deep to name. Like catching your reflection in a mirror that doesnât quite match.
He walks toward you without invitation. Controlled. Coiled. Not hostile. Just inevitable.
âMy lady, you shouldnât be out this late,â he says, voice worn at the edges, smoke-scoured and rough from a life thatâs clearly involved too many cold nights and too few comforts. âNot alone.â
You take a slow sip, meet his gaze. âItâs always late here. And rarely alone.â
He studies you. Not just your face, but your posture, your stillness. The way you speak like youâve been somewhere else too long to fully belong here.
Something flickers in his expression. Not memory. But something adjacent.
He lowers himself into the seat across from you without asking. Heâs still damp at the collarârain, or sweat, or both. Heâs got a scar running from his jaw to the hollow of his throat, clean and straight like a blade meant to silence. But his voice doesnât shake.
âHave we met?â
You offer a small, unreadable smile. âI donât believe so.â
But he keeps looking. You can feel him doing itâmapping the angles of your face against some invisible sketch, something etched into his bones that refuses to fade.
âYou look lost.â
âJust passing through.â
His mouth pulls tight at the corner, like that answer doesnât satisfy. You can tell he doesnât believe youâbut he doesnât press.
He nods toward a table in the back, where a small crew drinks from shared mugs and watches the door. They wear scraps of stolen uniforms and carry themselves with the weight of people whoâve stopped pretending theyâll live long lives.
âYou shouldnât be here,â he says again.
You glance at them. âNeither should you.â
His silence is telling. It confirms what you already guessed.
Heâs part of something. A resistance, sure, but not just that. Heâs the center of it. The calm in the chaos. The one who moves supply through enemy lines and burns bridges behind him. His coat bears a crest heâs tried to removeâonce royal, now repurposed. His fingers twitch when heâs still too long, and thereâs something reverent in how the others look at him when they think heâs not paying attention.
This version of him is no less dangerous. But more visible, somehow. More known. To these people, heâs a savior. To himself, probably a liability.
Always the same story: a man pressed into myth by the weight of his own regrets.
And still, he looks at you with that same protective wariness. Like something in him knows you donât quite belong hereâand wants to guard you anyway.
âCome on,â he says quietly. âIâll walk you home.â
The words strike you harder than they should. Like something remembered from a dream that felt real long after you woke.
The night outside is so still you can hear the wind whispering between the boughs.
He pauses under the lantern hanging from a bent branch. Looks at you, shadow-draped and silent.
âWhy are you here?â
You should lie. You want to lie.
But instead, you say it softly. âBecause I said I would be.â
He blinks. The words hit something deep. Maybe he doesnât understand them. But he feels them.
You step closer. Just close enough to reach up, cup his jaw gently, feel the sharp edge of his breath catch in his throat. And then you kiss him.
The moment your lips touch his, the rest of the world blanks. Not goneâjust irrelevant. The pub, the low burn of lanterns, the sound of rain tapping against the wooden slatsâit all slips away. All that remains is this.
His mouth is warm, unexpectedly so, and still. Cautious. As if heâs holding still for a test he doesnât know the answer to.
Youâre the one who moves first. Just slightly. Just enough to let it mean something.
And godsâit does.
It means everything you havenât said aloud. Every hour you spent since Siberia rewatching that moment when he looked at you like he knew you. Every line of his file you traced with your eyes long after you were supposed to close it. Every anomaly he left in his wake, the hollow prints he pressed into timelines like fingerprints you couldnât scrub clean.
Youâd told yourself it was curiosity. Professional interest. A harmless fixation. Just trying to cover your own ass in the event that the TVA catches up to you, foolish, foolish girl. But now you know better.
Because kissing him feels like gravity finally catching up to you.
He doesnât pull away.
His hand twitchesâjust onceâlike he might lift it, might anchor you there with the metal one, or with the other, the one that remembers touch. But he doesnât. He just breathes against your mouth like he doesnât know what heâs doing. Like no oneâs kissed him like this in years.
Like no oneâs ever kissed him like they remembered him.
The kiss is brief. You make yourself pull back before it deepens, before it turns into something hungrier, something you wonât be able to file away as incidental.
But you linger close.
He sends you off with a kiss to your forehead.
You complete the mission in silence.
The child is easy to findâjust as the file described. Freckled nose, limp in his motherâs arms, fever-bright. You hand over the tonic with a reassuring word and a warm enough smile to pass for human. The woman weeps when the boy stirs minutes later, the color already returning to his cheeks.
And just like thatâitâs done.
Softpoint reinforced. Future intact.
The door opens in a grove just outside the village, where moss curls over tree roots like sleeping hands. Golden light hums at the edges of the breach. You donât look back. Youâve learned your lesson there.
But as you step through, the last thing you hearâcarried faintly on the windâis his voice.
âI never got your name,â he says into a room thatâs not as empty as he thinks it is. Not yet.
.
You try to stay detached. Try to mark each version of him like a data pointâdistinct and catalogued, filed neatly beneath coordinates and context. But it never works. The lines blur.
Thereâs the one with the scar over his brow and the wild dog stare, who watches your hands like theyâre a threat and touches you like theyâre a prayer.
The one in 2049 who doesnât speak until the third encounter but holds out his hand like heâs known you forever. The one who plays cello in a city that shouldn't exist, who smiles only for children and flinches at thunder. The one who dies before you can reach him. You stay by his body anyway, until the timeline resets.
Each time, itâs different.
Each time, itâs him.
You start to think: maybe heâs not a variable. Maybe heâs the constant. The fixed point the multiverse canât help but echo. A gravitational pull in human formâtethered to something your soul must have signed onto long before the TVA ever handed you a timepad.
You wonder if the multiverse is trying to teach you something. Or if itâs punishing you insteadâshowing you every version of the thing you canât quite keep. Like a lesson in longing, rerun on loop.
You try not to hope. But the hope comes anyway. It always does. Soft and bright, a bruise you press on just to feel.
Then you get your next assignment.
The file is clean. Neat. Sanitized in that way TVA summaries always areâeuphemisms in place of grief, percentages instead of people. But you read between the lines. The divergence happened on the train. Or rather, didnât.
You read it twice. Three times. It doesnât change.
This Bucky Barnes didnât fall. The train held. The mission succeeded. Captain Carter rescued him and helped dismantle the remains of Hydraâs European cell before the war even ended. He was never captured. Never reprogrammed. Never dragged through a Hydra chamber like something to be melted down and reforged.
You try to imagine him without the weight.
You picture Bucky Barnes smiling easily, untethered to the guilt of fifty years of carnage he never chose. A man who still cracks his knuckles but not because they ache with remembered pain. One who walks into sunlight without flinching.
You wonder what that would be like.
So you go.
Of course you go.
You always do.
EARTH-838 | LONDON, 1944
Youâve never liked the long assignments.
Short ones are surgicalâget in, disrupt or observe, slip out before the timeline notices the echo of your footsteps. This one, though, is different. Your mission folder is three times thicker than usual. Paper-clipped pages in brittle brown envelopes. Dossiers printed on carbon-smudged letterhead. Photographs tucked inside, blurred by time and memory.
Youâre embedded with the 107th, slotted in as a specialist from Intelligence, the kind who shows up with forged credentials and a quiet knack for being in the right place just before things go wrong. Your cover holds. Mostly. They think youâre here to coordinate logistics for Hydra base strikes. Theyâre not entirely wrong.
The first time you see him again, heâs making a sarcastic remark about British rations and butterless toast. Heâs not in uniformâjust a pressed shirt with rolled sleeves and a cigarette dangling loosely between two fingers, a smear of grease on his wrist. He laughs when Howard Stark tosses a wrench and almost breaks a window.
Itâs different sound from what you've heard over the years.
But then Bucky Barnes notices you.
Not all at once. Not like in the stories people tell themselves after the factâlove at first glance, magnetic fate, sparks across a battlefield. No, it starts in pieces. A glance held a beat too long during mission briefings. A muttered thank you when you slip him a replacement knife requisition that definitely wasnât cleared. The way he starts lingering near your tent in the evenings, offering lazy conversation while the others clean weapons or sleep.
âYou always write that fast?â he asks once, elbow braced on the flap of the entrance like itâs casual, like he didnât cross half the camp just to talk to you.
You donât look up. âOnly when Iâm trying to drown out poorly played harmonica.â
He grins. âHey, Duganâs doing his best.â
You snort. âHis best sounds like a wounded mule.â
He laughs again, quieter this time. You feel it settle between your ribs like a warm coin. Itâs nothing. Just noise. You tell yourself that.
Weeks pass like that. Quiet orbit. You take longer walks to the mess hall because he always times his exit to meet you halfway. He asks questionsâabout where you're from (a place you name off a pre-approved list), what brought you to London (the war, obviously), if you believe in fate.
You lie when you can. You dodge when you must.
But not everything you say is false. You like coffee too bitter and books too sad. You write letters you never send. You donât sleep well. Youâve lost people.
He listens. He remembers. He starts showing up with extra coffee. Offers to walk you back to your quarters even though itâs technically against regulations. You start lingering in his doorway.
He never pushes.
And you hate itâhow much you want him to.
The first time he touches you, it's an accident. Your fingers brush as he passes you a pen. Your skin sparks. Itâs stupid, how much you feel it.
He notices.
"You ever get that sense," he says one night in the empty mess, voices low, "that youâve known someone longer than youâre supposed to?"
Your breath catches.
You laugh it off. "I get that about my dentist."
He grins. But his eyes stay on yours too long.
Youâre not supposed to fall in this one.Â
But God, itâs so easy. So familiar.
Bucky tells you about his family. His sister. The stoop of his childhood apartment and how he used to sneak Steve a flask when the nurses werenât looking. He draws out your laugh like itâs a map, like he's been trying to find it for years.
And all the while, you feel it coming.Â
One night, two months in, he walks you back and you donât stop at your door. You let the silence linger. The city is dark and rain-slicked, war planes humming overhead like ghosts.
"Youâre not like anyone Iâve met before," he says, leaning against the wall.
You smile sadly. "Youâve said that to a lot of girls, Sergeant."
London spills into the streets like a wound unstitchedâmen and women dancing in front of blown-out buildings, children painting flags onto brick walls, sailors kissing strangers with the urgency of borrowed time. The city doesnât sleep. Neither do you.
Youâve stayed longer than planned.
Your official timeline expired a couple of hours ago. But your timepadâs been blinking quietly in your coat pocket since sundown, like a secret youâre not quite ready to confess. For long-term infiltrations, the TVA grants a small window of flexibilityâtwo to three extra hours, soft margin. Enough to wrap up loose ends. Enough to say goodbye without saying it.
Bucky doesnât know. Heâs too busy laughingâreally laughingâface lit by the amber glow of the pub sign behind him, arm draped lazily around your shoulders. Heâs had two pints and a victory cigar, and youâve never seen him look so alive.Â
Heâs in his shirtsleeves again, collar open at the throat, hair mussed from the wind. He smells like tobacco and soap and something citrusy he mustâve stolen from Starkâs ration stash. His hand grazes your shoulder as you step outside the crowded pub and into the cool night air. Heâs warm, even in the London chill. Always warm.
âIâve been thinking,â he says, suddenly serious, voice low in your ear.
You turn, startled by the shift. âAbout?â
He runs a hand through his hair, eyes flicking to the cobblestone street, then back to you. The revelers blur behind youâdrunk joy and blurred music, a world gone soft at the edges.
âYou could come with me,â he says. "To New York. Brooklyn."
Your stomach drops.
âWeâve got peace now. Thereâs gonna be rebuilding. A hell of a lot of it. I know itâs chaos but⊠I donât know. I thought maybeâŠâ He trails off, then forces a laugh, too bright. âForget it. Itâs dumb.â
You step in close. The timepad at your hip vibrates againâEXIT NODE ACTIVE. TEMPORAL STABILITY REACHED. RETURN IMMEDIATELY. You ignore it.
âSay it,â you whisper.
âIâll get a job,â Bucky says.
His Brooklyn accent is thick with hope, slipping out between the cracks like sunlight through boarded windows. His voice is rough and low, but urgentâlike if he stops speaking for even a second, this moment might collapse under the weight of everything itâs not allowed to be.
âYouâre so⊠so fucking smart it gets me dizzy sometimes. I watch you in a room andâChrist, Iâve seen tacticians, Iâve seen war heroesâbut no one moves the way you do.â
Heâs closer now, just a breath away, like proximity might be enough to anchor you to this place.
âIâll get us a place of our own. A tiny walk-up with drafty windows and floors that creak every time you step wrong. The kind of place where no one knows our names, but weâll learn the neighborsâ. Iâll fix the heater when it breaks. Iâll learn to make your coffee the way you like itâtwo sugars, not too sweet, extra hot. Iâll write it down if I have to. You wonât even have to ask.â
He swallows, his voice breaking just a little.
âIâll make pancakes on Sundays, even if I suck at it. Iâll burn the first batch every damn week and pretend I meant to. Weâll fight about the dishes and who left the radio on. Iâll learn to fold the sheets the right way, your way. Iâll leave notes on the fridge. Iâll rub your feet when youâve had a long day, even if you pretend you donât want me to.â
His eyes are wet now, but he doesnât blink them away. He wants you to see.
âIâll build a life where you can rest,â he says, so softly it barely carries over the celebration in the street. âNo secrets. No war. Just mornings and bad coffee and a bed we donât have to leave unless we want to.â
His hand lifts, hovering like he wants to touch you but doesnât dare. Heâs unraveling. And heâs never been more sure of anything.
âYou walk around like you donât belong to anyone,â he whispers. âBut you belong somewhere. You belong with someone who sees you.â
His eyes search yours, bright and raw.
âDarling,â he breathes, âI just wantââ
You donât speak. You want to. You want to say yes so badly your teeth ache with it.
Instead, your hand reaches for himâcups his cheek, thumb brushing the scrape of stubble there. You lean in before you can stop yourself.
The kiss is molten.
Not soft, not chaste. Itâs everything you arenât supposed to want: greedy, aching, desperate. It tastes like smoke and honey and warâs aftermath. You can feel the imprint of his hands at your waist, grounding you, like he already knows youâre slipping.
You gasp against his mouth when he deepens the kiss, his hand moving to cradle the back of your neck like heâs afraid youâll vanish if he lets go. And youâyou clutch at his coat, fingers fisting in the fabric like itâs the only solid thing left in the world. The city roars around youâdrunken songs, laughter, heels on cobblestoneâbut none of it touches this moment. It belongs to you. To him.
He kisses like heâs starved for something he canât name.
Like every version of himself has been waiting for this.
Somehow, you make it back to his quartersâbarely remembering how. The door slams shut behind you and heâs on you again, mouth warm and insistent, hands trembling now as they trace your jaw, your hips, the shape of your spine like heâs mapping it to memory. You let him. You want to be remembered.
âTell me this is real,â he murmurs against your throat, breath hot. âTell me Iâm not dreaming you.â
You tip your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed. âYouâre not dreaming.â
You pull his shirt free from his waistband, palms skimming over bare skin, warm and ridged with scars you recognize from dossiersâscars youâve imagined tracing with your mouth, with your hands, in every universe that told you not to.
Bucky's mouth finds the edge of your jaw, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss feels like a confession, like an apology, like a promise. "You're so fucking pretty," he moans into your skin, moving and moving and moving, until you feel his thigh part yours, giving you just the right amount of friction to drive you crazy.
Your shirt's off in turn, and all at once, he drifts down to your tits, cupping them with both palms and burying his face in them. For a moment, your brain short-circuitsâhe's groaning, tender kisses against your nipples and sucking, nipping at the swell of your breasts. "You taste so good, darling. God, I can taste you all day."
You pull on his hairâhard. "Bucky, please. Give me more."
"Ask and you shall receive."
You're rewarded with a beautiful view of him shedding the rest of his clothes off. You can'tâwon'tâlook away. It never ceases to amaze you, how pretty his cock is. You lick your lips as he gives it a stroke, slow and soft and positively ready for you.
Then Bucky leans forward, capturing your lips again with a certainty that makes your heart near burst out of your chest.Â
Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and you smile when he wrenches his head back, eyes shut in almost agony. Bucking against your hand, like he can't get enough of it. He says your name, and despite yourself, you grin before pulling yourself away from his kiss to lower your head, tongue swiping out to taste what leaks from him at the tip.
"Oh, god," His hands come to twist around your hair, the pull making your eyes water with something delicious, something filled with need. You keep going deeper, until he hits the back of your throat and you both moan. "You're so good to me. So, so good."
He's babbling now, as your lips stay wrapped around your cock and you're pressing the flat of your tongue against his veins, a hand stabilizing you underneath. "Sweetheart, you're perfect. I'm going toâoh, yes, right thereâgod, I'm gonna marry you. We're never gonna stop doing this. I'm never gonna get enough of you."
You take him there, all the way up, until he's almost to the edge and he has to ground his hands against your cheeks and pull you off. He looks down at you with that goddamned earnest look that makes you fall in love with him in the first place. "Notânot like this. I want to be inside you."
Of course, of course. "Of course, James."
He pushes you onto your back, and you can't help the giddy feeling in your chest, seeing how much of a mess you've made of him. His cock's shining with your spit and saliva, your wetness all over him. When Bucky sees where you're looking, he licks his lips. A preliminary swipe against your folds when you, very intentionally, thrust forward against his hips impatiently.
"So eager."
You glare at him, lips curling even as he takes both of your thighs until he's slotted between them. "There's no need to be a teaseâOh."
He sinks in, inch by agonizing inch, and you're moaning, jaw dropping as his cock disappears inside of you. You're so full. You've never been this full before and it makes you pant, sighing breathlessly, and when his thumb finds your clit, you whine and clench around him. Both of you moan in harmony.
His pace speeds up from there, hard and fast, and it's intensified by the way he looks at you. Eyes dissecting you carefully, trying to remember every expression, every second, every move that makes you keen further into his touch.Â
"Look at me, baby, please," Bucky growls and you do. "Look at me when you make me come."
You can't look away, feeling the stars gather up behind your eyes as your own orgasm catches up to youâfuck, it's nothing compared to how his release feels inside of you, the warmth, the way he feels so strong under your fingertips. His chest vibrating, mouth falling open in a prolonged, beautiful groan. He pushes himself deeper inside of you, until you feel his release slipping out of you onto the mattress.
You press a kiss to his forehead and let yourself fall asleep like thatâhim inside of you, tangled up in him.
The light is different when you wake up in the morning.
Soft, pale, almost shy. It seeps through the parted curtains like it doesnât want to intrude, spilling over the uneven floorboards and up the rumpled edge of the blanket half-draped across your hip.
His arm is still around you. Heavy in sleep. Warm. Bucky Barnes is still asleep.
You donât kiss him goodbye.
Instead, you whisper something he wonât hear. âI wish we had more time.â
And then you activate the timepad.
.
Time passes strangely in the TVA.
There are clocks, yes. Digital ones on walls, analog ones in desks, internal ones ticking behind your eyes. But none of them matter. Days donât pile up hereâthey just... repeat, under different names. Tuesday is a fiction. Sunday doesnât exist. Lunch breaks happen when the lights flicker just right, and sleep is what you do when your body gives out mid-report.
You stopped counting after the first month. You stopped pretending to count after the second.
Instead, you worked.
Harder than anyone. Longer than anyone. You took missions no one else wantedâscrubbing nexus events off apocalyptic wastelands, ghosting through centuries where empires rose and fell before youâd even finished breakfast. You volunteered for side branches, anomaly audits, recursive sync loops. Anything to keep moving.
It didnât go unnoticed.
A plaque went up in the Hall of Merit. "Agent of the Month." Your name, etched in fake gold. Mobius clapped you on the shoulder with a proud little smile. Brad brought you the worst celebratory cupcake youâve ever tasted. (Vanilla. Dry. Sprinkles like gravel.)
You smiled. You always smile.
You donât let yourself say what youâre really thinking.
That all of itâall the assignments, all the accolades, all the long nights pinning divergent strands back into placeâis just inertia. Just mass multiplied by pain. Because you know what happens when you stop moving.
And youâve tried. God, youâve tried.
You dodge his branches when you can. You pass them off to junior agents, citing temporal redundancy. You tell yourself itâs not cowardice if itâs protocol. You let yourself believe it, for a while.
Until the file lands on your desk.
CASE FILE: #2149-BE0
MISSION CLASS: Collapse Softpoint Reinforcement
LOCATION: Earth-2149 â Brooklyn, United States / Geneva, Switzerland
DATE: April 2018 (Post-Outbreak +1 Day)
ASSIGNED COVER: Civilian logistics runner, no official alignment, false survivor credentials
SUMMARY:
Objective is to reinforce critical softpoint during global collapse event: ensure Scott Lang, Peter Parker, and TâChalla successfully board Wakandan quinjet. This evacuation preserves three downstream nexus threads essential to limited multiversal salvage.
Do not interfere beyond softpoint parameters. Infected superhumans active.
You stare at it for a long time. You could say no. You should say no.
But your hand moves anyway. Signs the form. Accepts the mission.
No backup. No reassignment.
Just you.
EARTH-2149 | BROOKLYN, 2018 (+1 DAY POST-OUTBREAK)
Out of all the missions you've had so far, you think you hate this one the most. Which is saying something. Zombie apocalypse timelines are the worst.
The air reeks of ash and ozone. Youâre used to strange skies by now, but this one feels wrong in your bones. The light doesnât fall the way it shouldâtoo sharp at the edges, like the sunâs been split into shards and youâre walking through the aftermath.
You arrived forty hours ago. Standard infiltration and alignment. The assignment brief was brutal in its simplicity.
Bucky doesnât make it out of this timeline. He dies at Camp Lehigh. He buys them time.
And youâre supposed to let that happen.
Your first glimpse of him isnât cinematic. No slow reveal, no stirring strings. Just a sliver of profile through the cracked door of an old deli, combat boots pacing, rifle slung over his back, the metal arm glinting dull and scratched. Heâs talking to Parkerâlow and firm, the kind of voice meant to ground someone younger, more fragile.
When you step into the light, he turns toward you like he was already waiting. Eyes blue, shadowed. Jaw set. And there it is againâthat look. Recognition.
Your breath stutters. You donât say anything. You just nod, like youâve been here all along. Like youâre meant to be here.Â
You donât know if you can watch him die.
Not when youâve held versions of him in your arms, heard him laugh half-asleep beside a campfire, watched his hands shake after battle and pretended not to notice.
Peter introduces you. A name you chose at random from a TVA list. He doesnât flinch when Bucky says it aloud. But something shifts behind his eyesâquiet and soft and gone before it settles.
You get through the introductions. Kurt, smiling nervously. Sharon, bloody but unbowed. Okoye nods once at you, sharp and appraising. Happy makes a joke that doesnât quite land.
For the next two weeks, you stay with them.
You don't mean to get close to Bucky in this one. (You mean it this time. Seriously.) For the first couple of days, you try your best to stay away. You do your best to focus on the mission and he's⊠he's just another person in the crowd. You think that would make it easier, when heâwhen he eventuallyâYou can't even say it.
But it happens one morning, anywayâfog pooling low across the park, the air thick with that awful, metallic smell of rot. Youâre both on perimeter watch, standing on opposite ends of a shattered greenhouse. He catches you glancing toward the skyline, whatâs left of it, jagged teeth against the pale pink sky.
âPretty, isnât it?â he says, voice low, scratchy from disuse.
You blink from your thoughts. âIn a doomed, post-apocalyptic sort of way.â
He huffs a laugh. Almost smiles. âI was gonna say the same.â
Silence settles between you, but itâs a companionable thing. Not awkward. Not forced.
You speak first this time. âYou always this poetic?â
âOnly when Iâm tired. Or scared.â
You glance at him. âWhich is it now?â
He doesnât answer right away. Just shifts his weight, runs a hand through his hair, and says, âBoth.â
You donât touch. You donât need to. Itâs all there in the space between youâheavy with implication. Unspoken, but not unfelt.
You sleep on opposite ends of the same room. He never touches you. Never asks. But some nights you wake up to find his jacket draped over your legs. Once, during a particularly bad storm, he nudged a cracked thermos of lukewarm coffee toward you without a word.
He doesnât have to say anything. You feel it.
All of it.
And the worst partâthe most unbearableâis knowing itâs temporary. You feel the convergence approaching like a bruise beneath your ribs. Two days now, maybe three, before you lose him again. Before he dies. Before you vanish back into the timeline like a ghost leaving no fingerprints.
You try not to show it. You smile when Peter cracks a joke. You run drills with Sharon. You help Kurt fix a busted radio, even though itâs hopeless.
But every time you look at Bucky, your heart tightens in your chest like itâs trying to keep him there.
And then it's here.
The journey to Camp Lehigh was fucking gut-wrenching.
You've lost practically everyoneâSharon, Hope, Kurt, Happy, Okoye. It sits in you like a shard of ice. Not griefâthereâs no time for grief. Just weight. Just the bitter gravity of survival. The quinjet is prepped and waiting. The remaining survivorsâPeter, TâChalla, Langâs floating head in a jarâare already climbing aboard. Youâve done everything the mission brief demanded. You met the moment. You held the line.
Youâve done everything the mission brief saidâdown to the minute, the location, the final headcount. And you⊠youâre standing beside Bucky.
And still, youâre standing beside him.
Buckyâs chest rises and falls with the kind of steadiness that makes you ache. His metal arm glints in the firelight, streaked with ash and blood, fingers twitching in a rhythm you canât decipher. Thereâs soot on his cheek, a rip in his sleeve, and when he turns to you, thereâs something too clear in his eyes. Not fear. Not even pain.
Resolve.
You taste it in the back of your throat: the copper of a timeline ending.
âWe have to go,â you say softly, not to him, not really. Just to the air.
Bucky doesnât move.
He turns his head slightly, enough for you to see the hard line of his jaw. The wear around his eyes. Thereâs something about this version of himâfamiliar, but not calloused like the others. Still earnest enough to believe in sacrifice. Still sharp enough to choose it without flinching.
You hate that.
âIâll hold her off,â he says, and you feel something break, neat and irreversible, in your chest.
âNo,â you breathe. Too fast, too raw.
His brow furrows. âSomeone has to. You said it yourselfâif we donât get the jet off the ground, we lose everything.â
âThat doesnât mean it has to be you.â
He smiles, and itâs that same damn smile thatâs followed you across time. The one that says itâs already decided.
âI think it always was.â
You want to scream. You want to tell him heâs not disposable, not fated, not just a name on some cosmic itinerary that keeps getting torn out and rewritten. You want to confess that youâve met him over and over, and every time heâs left a bruise somewhere deeper.
But the timepad at your hip begins to beep.
MISSION END: T-MINUS 2 MINUTES
You ignore it.
âYouâll make it,â he says gently, like a goodbye.
âNo, I wonât,â you whisper. âNot really.â
Thereâs shouting near the quinjet ramp. Peter calling your name. Bruce waving you over. The others are loading in. You should be there. The moment is closing. The window is narrowing.
You donât move.
Instead, you step forward and press your hand to his cheek. Your skin is cold from the wind, but he leans into it anyway. His eyes flutter closed for half a secondâjust long enough for you to memorize it.
Then you kiss him.
Itâs not gentle. Itâs desperate. Greedy. A kiss that says remember me. Your hands fist in his jacket. His mouth moves against yours like itâs something heâs missed without knowing. You drink in every inch of himâthe scrape of stubble, the roughness of his palms against your back, the low sound he makes when you pull away.
âIâll find you again,â you say. It's a promise.
He nods once. His hand lingers at your waist for a breath longer than it should. Then he turns back towards Wanda.
You watch him go. You always watch him go.
The quinjet door hisses shut behind you. The engines roar to life. The pad at your side flashes, like some sick, fucking jokeâ
Mission Successful. Extraction in Progress.
You donât look back at the ground. Youâve learned that much, at least. Looking back doesnât stop the bleeding. But when the jet lifts, when the trees blur below and you canât see him anymoreâ
You swear something rips loose in you.
And this time, you donât think it will grow back.
.
Youâve seen him in snow.
In bloodied ice, in rusted Soviet hulls, in the shadow of burning quinjets and crumbling castles. Youâve seen him with death behind his eyes and guilt threaded into every line of his face. Youâve seen him careful, methodical. Kind in all the ways no one noticesâquiet in a world that demands noise. Someone who doesnât ask for gentleness, but gives it anyway.
And now youâve seen him in the dark, too. In 1602, under soot-smudged moons and flickering gaslights, a knife twirling between clever fingers. He hadnât known youânot really. Not as the woman whoâd held his gaze in a cryo chamber. Not as the silhouette slipping into the quinjet before he turned to face the Scarlet Witch. But heâd looked at you like he wanted to.
The thread stays taut between you, no matter the timeline.
So when you get the assignment to goâ
It doesnât land with ceremony. No formal debrief. Just a flicker on your desk monitor, a soft chime that cuts through the static hum of the TVAâs perpetual fluorescent haze. You almost miss it. You almost ignore it. Because everything still hurts.
The kind of hurt that doesn't pulseâit seeps. It rots. You move like youâre wearing someone elseâs body, like your own bones are too loud. You havenât been sleepingânot really.Â
You open the file with a numb hand. Just procedure, you tell yourself. Just another timeline. Until you see the numbers.
CASE FILE: #616-SV1
MISSION CLASS: Passive Observation
LOCATION: Bucharest, Romania
DATE: March 2016Â
ASSIGNED COVER: Independent tenant, upper flat
SUMMARY:
Subject Barnes, James B., presumed alive and in civilian hiding following HYDRA data exposure and the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. Timeline approaching critical inflection. Target is not actively breaching; no temporal instability present. Assignment is preventative: monitor for signs of deviation or catalyst behavior.
Do not engage. No interference unless softpoint destabilization occurs.
You let out a sound that might be a laugh. Or a sob. Itâs hard to tell.
Thereâs a reason TVA protocol avoids revisiting timelines. Too risky. Too messy. History isnât built for recursion. But thisâthis is a spiral. A closed loop. Like something unfinished trying to write its own end.
And now youâve been assigned to watch him again.
After all this time. After what you felt splinter through you like glass.
You should tell someone. Flag the conflict of interest. Recuse yourself.Â
You donât.
You close the file and begin packing for Bucharest.
EARTH-616 | BUCHAREST, 2016
You land in Bucharest in the dead quiet of early morning, the sky still purpled with sleep.Â
The city feels brittleâlike something trying very hard not to splinter. Your coverâs thin again: traveling contractor, repair work, nothing that draws attention. You rent a room across from a narrow building with stained windows and a faulty streetlamp that flickers at 2 a.m. every night like clockwork.
And you wait.
The first time you see him again, heâs carrying plums.
Youâre leaning on a railing, nursing coffee thatâs more soot than bean, watching the street in that not-watching way youâve perfected over decades. And there he is. Gray hoodie, boots worn to the stitching, a canvas bag slung across one shoulder.
He walks like someone trying to be smaller. Eyes down. Shoulders rounded. Every muscle still taut beneath the fabric, but pulled inward. Controlled.
You almost donât recognize him like this. Then he glances up. Brief. Casual.
But it slams into you anyway.
Because there it isâthat flicker. That impossible, unplaceable pull. Like gravity, but sideways. Like someone whispering your name in a language you forgot how to speak.
He doesnât stop. Doesnât linger. But you feel it. That taut little wire between your ribs goes taut again, humming faint and low.
Youâve seen him across centuries, across madness and ruins and impossible skies. And now, here he is, just... buying fruit.Â
You observe him for seven days. No contact. No breach.
Each morning, he walks the same path. Plums one day. Bread the next. He pauses at the corner every timeâchecks the shadows, the mirrors. Still sharp. Still trained. But dulled at the edges like heâs trying not to be. Like heâs tired of being a weapon, and doesnât quite know how to be anything else.
He never takes the same route home.
You map them all anyway.
Thereâs a rhythm to his caution. Itâs not paranoia. Itâs preservation. You know the difference. Youâve watched enough shattered timelines to recognize when someoneâs not trying to escape the worldâjust survive it.
And through it all, you pretend not to ache.
You keep the timepad dim, tucked under your coat like a second heart. The updates are clean. No deviations. No instability. Heâs not a threat. Not a spark.
Just a man. Still whole, somehow. Still holding.
But you find yourself watching anyway. Not for fractures or fault linesâbut for the quiet, ordinary proof that heâs still him. The way he double-checks his change at the fruit stall. The soft apology he gives a stray dog he nearly bumps with his boot. The habit of pausing in the stairwell, just long enough to listen for another pair of footsteps behind him. You memorize all of it like itâs going to disappear.
You donât. Of course you donât.
Until the night you lose him.
Itâs raining. Thin, indecisive drops that fall more like static than water. Youâre two streets behind, just enough distance to not spook him, when someone yells, and a car backfires, and you look away for a single goddamn second.
And heâs gone.
You circle three blocks. Then six. Nothing. Itâs half an hour later when you feel the grip.
Quick, precise. A hand closes over your arm and pulls you sidewaysâinto a narrow alley between buildings that still wear their war damage like it happened yesterday. The wall hits your spine. The air knocks out of you. And then heâs there.
Close. Too close.
Hood down. Eyes sharp. Rain slicking through his hair.
You donât move. Donât breathe.
Because heâs looking at you like heâs been waiting.
âYouâve been following me,â he says, voice low, rough. No heat in it. Just truth.
Your mouth opens. Closes.
He tilts his head, studying your face like heâs comparing it to something half-forgotten. Then he says, quiet, like a memory. âSiberia. 1955.â
The words gut you.
âI remember,â he says. âYou said my name.â
His name. That night. The way he shookâlike his own mind was something turning against him. The tremor in his breath. The metal arm pressed tight to his temple, like he could hold back whatever wave was cresting inside. And then your voice, just a whisper: Bucky.
And it worked.
He startled like the sound reached deeper than his programming. Like it found something still human.
You donât mean toâbut you reach up, slowly, and press your hand over his where it still grips your coat. His fingers tighten for a second. Then release.
You look at him. Really look.
The rain has soaked through everything, and heâs shivering. Not from cold. From memory. His breath ghosts in the narrow space between you, and his eyesâGod, his eyesâdonât look like a strangerâs.
It looks like home.
He takes a step back and mutters, âCome on.â
You follow him through back alleys and slick cobblestone streets to a squat building with iron balconies and doors that stick. His apartment is a few flights up, small and clean in the way that feels practicedâsurfaces scrubbed, not decorated. A cot, a kettle, a folded stack of shirts too neatly pressed. No photos. No noise.
He doesnât speak at first. Just watches you watch the space, like heâs trying to guess what youâll say.
âNot what you expected?â he asks eventually, voice rough.
You shake your head. âNo. Itâs exactly what I expected.â
He scoffs. Sits on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees. âHow do you know me?â
And you could lie. You could stall. But youâre tired of running out of time.
But youâre tired of running out of time. Siberia. The hold. The pulse. The kiss in 1602. The quinjet, the gaslight, the plague-soaked rooftops and the boy who lived because you were there. The mission you botched. The rules you broke. The dozens of timelines where he didnât make it. The handful where he almost did. The way it was always him. And when you finally stopâwhen the words have left you empty and open and rawâhe doesnât flinch.
He exhales, long and deliberate. His fingers twitch against his knee. Then he looks at youâreally looks, and you can feel the moment shift.
âWhen I saw you again,â he says, voice quieter now, but steadier, âon the street⊠it wasnât like remembering something. It was like finishing something.â
You blink. âFinishing?â
He nods, slowly. âYeah. Like⊠you know when youâve had a song stuck in your head for days? Not the lyricsâjust the feeling of it. The rhythm. The echo. And then one day it comes on the radio, and your chest justâunlocks. Like something you didnât know was broken gets put back together.â
He glances down at his hands, then back at you.
âThatâs what it felt like. Seeing you.â
You stay silent, afraid to interrupt the thread he's following.
âAt first I thought I was losing it,â he admits. âSome hallucination leftover from Hydra. A ghost memory I couldnât place. But then you moved, andâJesusâI knew it wasnât just in my head. The way you looked at me. Like you knew me. Like you werenât afraid of me.â
His jaw clenches, not from anger, but from something deeper. Held longer.
âIâve seen that look before,â he says. âFear. Disgust. Pity, sometimes. Iâm used to people stepping back. Or pretending they donât see me. But you⊠you didnât flinch. Not even in the alley. You looked at me like I wasââ He falters, and then tries again. âLike I was real. Like I had a name worth saying.â
Your chest aches.
He laughs, a short, unsteady breath. âGod, and hearing you say it againâBuckyâlike it was the first time all over. I donât know why that hit so hard. But it did. It felt like⊠like Iâd been underwater for years, and suddenly someone opened a window.â
You donât say anything.
Youâre still trying to breathe around the weight of him.
âI donât remember everything,â he says. âNot clearly. Flashes, maybe. Cold metal. Smoke. That lightâon your face, in that hallway. But I remember how I felt. I remember peace. For like⊠five seconds. It was the only thing that made sense.â
His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes.
âI think Iâve been looking for that feeling ever since.â
You don't answerânot with words. There's nothing left to say that would hold the weight this moment needs. So instead, you cross the small stretch of floor between you, slow and deliberate, and sink to your knees in front of him.
Your hand finds his, trembling with some emotion neither of you dares to name, and he lets out a soundâhalf-breath, half-confessionâas your fingers thread together.
âOkay?â you murmur.
He nods, once. But it's not enough. His hands rise, hesitant, then hungryâone brushing the curve of your cheek, the other settling at your waist like heâs still afraid you might vanish. Like if he touches you too hard, youâll be another dream, another phantom gone by morning.
And then he kisses you.
It starts soft, reverentâhis lips just ghosting yours, like he's asking permission. But the second you respond, the second you lean in and kiss him back with everything youâve carried through centuries of almosts, it shatters something in both of you.
He surges forward.
Kisses you again, deeper this time. More desperate.
Your back hits the wall with a muted thump, and suddenly his hands are everywhereâone splayed across your lower back, the other cradling your jaw. He kisses you like heâs starved for it, like heâs trying to map your mouth, your breath, the corners of your teeth. Like he's trying to memorize you from the inside out.
And thenâGodâhe breaks away just enough to kiss the line of your jaw. The soft spot beneath your ear. Your temple. Your forehead.
âYouâre real,â he breathes against your skin, almost like a prayer. âYouâre here.â
His lips trail lower, find the bend of your knee as you hitch your leg around his waist. He presses a kiss there too, slow and aching, like it means something. Like everything means something.
Youâre both breathing hard now, hands roaming, hearts pounding in rhythm too fast to be calm, too synchronized to be coincidence. He kisses your collarbone. The corner of your mouth. The space beneath your eye, where something like grief still lingers.
He's so gentle. Gentle all the way through until he manages to shove you to the bed, kissing his way down the column of your throat and then it shifts. His hands find their way inside your jeans and he gasps, shakily. "You're so wet, fuckâyou're so wet. For me?"
You nod, breathless.
It's another slow dance, as he rolls your jeans off, only to quickly find his way back like he can't stand to be parted from you. His fingers find your entrance, the rough pads of them swiftly finding your entrance and spreading the heat, the wetness around, like he's playing with his meal.Â
Then Bucky brings his mouth, that beautiful, beautiful mouth, to your cunt to replace his fingers and you swear you may have just died. He's soâhe's so passionate, devouring you with a hunger until your spine's arching off the bed, your hands tangling in his soft brown hair. He doesn't stop licking and sucking.
"Bucky, pleaseâoh god, please, don't stop."
You get closer and closer to the edge, hips rutting against his jaw. You feel everything so, so deeply. The way his stubble leaves goosebumps in its wake, his hands digging into your thighs to keep you in placeâand then, he slides a finger back inside you as he hums, satisfied with the moans he's wrenched out of you.
It's like coming home. Your orgasm's like a strike of lightning, crying out as you release, close to tears as he laps up the rest of your orgasm.
When he finally stands to start taking off his clothes, you've been reduced to nothing more than a boneless heap on his bed. Your knees are wobbling slightly, but you force yourself to get up anyway, helping him shed the rest. "I'mâhere. Let me help."
Bucky smiles. Softly.
"You're so sweet. You're too good for me."Â
You think you lose another shred of your sanity.
The look in your eyes lights something up in him. He joins you back on the bed and you can feel him, the weight of him, and it's all so familiar. He rests heavy on your thigh and your heart feels like it's about to come out of your chest.
"Bucky, please."
His cock slips inside of you, with a gasp and a groan, and suddenly, Bucky's locking his hands with yours. "Promise me you'll stay."
It's almost overwhelming, but he keeps you grounded. There's just so much of him. There's his teeth on your neck, the burn of his stubble on your collarbones, the way he sucks off marks against your skin and looms over you, like he never wants you to leave him again. His strength is addicting, the way he pushes you so close to breaking.Â
He says your name again. "Promise me."
You tell yourselfâyou're never letting him go again. You wrap your arms around him like something fierce, kissing him as he thrusts deeply, hitting the spot that makes stars light up behind your eyes. "BuckyâfuckâIâ"
Your name falls from his lips with a groan. "Sweetheart, I'mâ"
"Me too," You nod, whining when his pace quickens and itâyou don't mean to, but it makes you clench around him. "Let go for me. It's okay."
Bucky looks at you, his grip around your hands tightening, and suddenly, it's a rolling wave of pleasure, over and over and over until you're trembling. You can feel him, his warmth, so fucking much of it, it's addicting. He's still groaning, hips thrusting, like he's trying to carve a home out of you.
Youâre not sure how long you stay like thatâtwined together in the stillness, forehead pressed to his, breath shared in the hush of a room that suddenly feels too charged, too fragile to last.
You donât want to break it. But you have to.
âBucky,â you whisper, your voice threading through the quiet like a thread pulled taut. âTheyâre going to try to take me away.â
His eyes snap open. âWhat?â
You rest your hand against his chest, feel the beat of his heart stutter beneath your palm. âThe TVA. They monitor softpoint drift. Iâve pushed too many lines. Stayed too long. Thisââ You gesture softly between you, ââthis isnât sanctioned.â
He stares at you like he wants to argue. But he doesnât. Because he knows youâre not wrong.
âLet them try,â he mutters, jaw tight. His hands tighten where they rest on your waist, grounding. Possessive in the way a storm anchors to the sea. âI wonât let them.â
You smileâsad, crooked, fond. âYou might not get a choice. But I will. I always find a way back.â
He swallows hard. âYou promise?â
You nod. Press your lips to his againâgentle this time, slow and deliberate, like sealing a vow with your breath. Then you whisper against his mouth:
âIâll come back. I always come back.â
His eyes close for half a second. And when they open again, theyâre full of something wild. Unspoken. Undeniable.
âNext time,â you say, voice shaking with certainty, ânext time Iâll stay.â
THE NULL SECTOR | TVA DETENTION LOOP C-9
You broke protocol.Â
Not for the mission. Not for the stabilization of a softpoint. For him. For a man with a haunted gaze and a heartbeat you should never have memorized.
And the TVA caught up to you.
They always do.
They didnât drag you out of the field. There was no team of Minutemen, no sirens or threat display. Just a pulse through your timepad, a freeze-frame of motionâand then static. You never even got to say goodbye. Just watched as his apartment in Bucharest faded from view. The world around you disassembled. You didnât fall through time; it collapsed around you.
And then: nothing.
But nothing wasnât quiet.
Nothing was the absence of coordinates. A place with no variance, no measurement, no entropy. A sealed chamber of cognitive suspensionâstandard punishment for agents who breach emotional integrity clauses.
They called it ânullspaceâ in the manual. But that word doesnât tell the whole story.
Sometimes you remembered his voice. Sometimes you forgot your own. Time didnât move here. Not in any way that mattered. You floated in itâbodiless, unraveling, stitched together by a thousand what-ifs that all ended in silence. At first, you tried to count days. Then heartbeats. Then regrets.
You stopped when you couldnât tell which were yours and which belonged to the lives youâd watched but never lived.
You thought of his hand on your back. His voice rasping low when he asked you to stay. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiledânot every Bucky, but that Bucky. The one who knew without knowing. The one who held out hope like it was a knife and an offering both.
Maybe theyâd left you there forever.
But something changed.
When the light shifts again, itâs not like waking.
Itâs like surfacingâlike clawing your way out of a dream that was also a coffin. You blink against it, vision blurred and lungs tight with the phantom taste of ozone.
The TVA fell, you realize. Or maybe it evolved. The pruning stopped. The sacred timeline shattered. The multiverse stretched open like a wound and youâlike so many othersâwere set loose without fanfare.
Just a blinking cursor on a timepad.
Youâre on a bench. Clean metal. White walls. No restraints. Just a single timepad laid neatly on the seat beside you, like itâs been waiting.
You reach for it cautiously. No alerts. No directives. No timeline embedded. The screen flashes once and then settles.
âWelcome back, Agent.â
âStatus: Cleared.â
âAssignment Log: Vacated.â
You sit in the silence that follows, your fingers trembling.
âYou are free to go.â
Theyâve never said that before.
There's no debrief. No memory wipe. No analyst knocking at your door to escort you back to a cubicle and a world of recycled coffee and unread reports. Just⊠release.
It doesnât feel real. Then you notice the neatly packaged case file.
When you wrench it open, your eyes gaze upon a few simple words. Your name. Not your alias. Not your designation. Your name. Next to a birthplace.
Earth-616. Brooklyn.
And suddenly that dream⊠that dream you've always had isnât a metaphor. It isnât psychic bleed or misaligned memory. Itâs real.
The stoop. The red-brick building. The muffled laughter on the wind. It wasnât timeline residue.
It was home.
You see it all now: the way the sun hit the side of that building in the dreamâyour building. The stairs you mustâve climbed a thousand times before the TVA unmade you. The shadow rounding the corner wasnât just any figure. It was him. That version of him. Bucky Barnes in his sergeant uniform, calling for you before you could catch up.
And you never did. Until now.
The words fall into your chest like stones. Every suppressed instinct, every redacted name, every unexplainable ache when Bucky looked at you like you were someone heâd loved in a dreamâall of it clicks into place.
You were never a ghost in the machine. You were a person. You were his.
You stare back at the screen of your timepad. At the quiet, singular prompt at the bottom:
âINPUT COORDINATES.â
Your breath shakes.
For the first time in your life, thereâs no mission waiting. No protocol. No watchers behind two-way glass. Just the choice you were never allowed to make.
You donât hesitate.
EARTH-616 | BROOKLYN, 2026
You're not sure when you first fell in love with him. Maybe it was the 1940s, maybe it was in 1602, maybe it was earlier than language and names.Â
But youâve always been sure about how he looks in silhouetteâhow his shoulders hunch slightly when heâs thinking, how his hands twitch when heâs fighting the urge to reach for something he knows heâs not allowed to want.
And maybe thatâs why you keep searching for him in the in-betweens.Â
In lives that never finished writing themselves, in branch timelines that evaporated before they touched soil. You comb through the TVA archives like a woman possessedânot for intel, not even for closure, but for slivers. A timestamp where his name is scribbled in the corner. A blurry photo of someone with his gait. An anonymous field report that ends with, âtarget disappeared into snow.â
Everywhere, he disappears. And still, you follow.
You love Bucky Barnes the way fire loves oxygen: recklessly, instinctively. Not just for who he is now, but for every life he never got to live.Â
For the kid in Brooklyn who dragged Steve out of alley fights, for the soldier who fell off a train and was turned into a ghost, for the man who woke up decades later in Wakanda with a name that felt too big for his mouth. You love him for the quiet moments the world didnât seeâchopping wood in the forest, feeding stray cats on apartment balconies, the way his thumb brushes over his dog tags when he thinks no oneâs watching.
Bucky, who made you laugh over terrible coffee in a mess hall in 1943. The one who handed you a damp handkerchief in a zombie-scarred train depot, saying nothing as you wiped blood off your hands. The one in 1602 who watched you from beneath a soot-black hood, eyes squinting through torchlight, and still let you pass.
You remember something he once saidâmaybe it was in 1955, maybe in 2016, maybe in a fever dream. âPeople like us⊠we donât get soft landings.â And you think thatâs the tragedy of it.Â
He has always been built to break. And youâyou keep getting assigned to the wreckage.
Thereâs a concept you came across once, while embedded in a minor deviation out of Seoul, 1957. Not part of the assignmentâjust a detail on a bookstore receipt someone left behind.
In-yun. Fate through friction. The belief that even a passing graze between strangers means your souls have already brushed, thousands of times before.
Itâs nonsense, by TVA standards. Sentiment dressed up as spiritual determinism. No measurable coefficient. No supporting data. But you havenât stopped thinking about it since.
Youâve crossed paths with James Buchanan Barnes in more than a hundred timelines. Youâve logged the hours, cataloged the events, archived the footage. On paper, itâs coincidence. Strategic convergence. The mathematics of softpoints aligning with the gravitational pull of significant individuals. He is, after all, a heavily-indexed Variable.
But paper doesnât account for the way he looks at youâeach time new, each time the same. Like he recognizes your silence before you speak. Like your presence reads to him not as anomaly, but inevitability.
He's not supposed to remember you. He canât. And still, he always sees you.
Thatâs the part that undoes you.
You ache because in every timeline, you find him. In every universe, you lose him.
But you thinkâno, you knowâif you had to live and comb through thousands more universes just to stand in front of him again, in the year 2026, youâd do it. Youâd do it a thousand more.
Because even if all he says is, âTook you long enough,â youâd still believe it was worth the wait.
EARTH-616 | BROOKLYN, 2026
The year is 2026. This Earth breathes uneasily in peacetime. Starkâs foundation has pivoted to disaster relief and neural rehabilitation tech. Wakanda opens its fourth embassyâthis one in Seoul. Post-Blip survivor benefits have just passed preliminary legislation in three states. And James Buchanan Barnesâformer assassin, occasional Avengerâhas just won his election for the U.S. House of Representatives.
Redistricting helped. So did the veteransâ vote. So did the way he looked people in the eye when he told them he remembered what it was like to be used, to be weaponized, to be hollowed out and told to smile for the cameras. But mostly, it was him. The myth re-forged as man.
You find him at the VA in Brooklyn. Technically off-duty, technically supposed to be celebrating. But of course heâs here. Rolling up shirt sleeves to take constituent questions. Translating bureaucratic-speak into something that feels like compassion. He looks like a U.S. History textbook illustrationâwhite dress shirt, tie slightly loosened, blazer draped over the back of a chair.Â
And somehow still the same soul youâve met in a hundred different guises. The same gravity. The same ache. Like no matter the universe, heâs always trying to make something right.
You step into the lobby, boot heels echoing on tile, and the gravity of him pulls you forward before youâve fully decided to be brave.
Heâs facing away, head slightly bowed in conversation with a nurse, his hair still too long for Washington norms, tucked neatly behind his ears. The sight of him hits low in your stomachâfamiliar and wild, as always. The sound of his laugh, rare and rumbling, sends a tremor through your ribs.
âExcuse me,â you say, steadying your voice like itâs just another assignment. âIâm a deeply concerned constituent, and Iâd like to register a complaint about your policies.â
He turns.
And the moment lands like gravity reasserting itself.
His eyes go wide. Then narrow. Then go soft in that way only youâve ever seenâlike heâs witnessing a miracle he doesnât trust yet. He doesnât say your name. Doesnât need to.
You only just open your mouth to say something else when heâs already in front of you. And thenâ
He kisses you.
Not tentative. Not questioning. Just real. Like this has always been the ending he was holding out for. His hand cups the back of your neck like he thinks you might vanish again if he doesnât keep contact. You let yourself press into itâmouth to mouth, memory to body. The weight of the years falling off both your shoulders.
You pull back, breathless. Smiling.
âYou came back,â he says, wonder tucked beneath the rasp of his voice. âYou came back.â
Your hands are on his chest now, smoothing fabric just to touch him, to confirm heâs real. âTook me long enough,â you echo, and his smile breaks wide and unguarded, rare and all for you.
Then he stills, just a little.
âYou staying?â he asks.
You donât hesitate.
âYes.â
And that, his laugh, short and disbelieving, his forehead pressed briefly to yours like a prayer, is the softest landing either of you has ever known.
âIâd fix azrielâ âIâd fix erisâ Iâd make them worse Iâd be weaponizing that mating bond territorialism and giving them enrichment by tattling on all the people in prythian being mean to me
Summary: Alice's vision is clear - Jasper will meet his blood singer and once that happens, her fate would be sealed. However, when he finds her, Jasper manages to resist the thirst, long enough for his family to step in and save them both from a tragedy. The vision predicted more than death for her and Jasper wasn't ready for what it meant. As years pass, Y/N meets someone new, someone who will lead her straight back to Forks to face her destiny.
Warnings: injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, grief, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol
Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader
